Of course it's hopelessly late to be tying up ends but yesterday, at last, they were tied.
Poor Ms B has been owed a sailor's hat for - hmm let's think - the better part of five if not six months. Not just any old sailor's hat but a precious ancestral sailor's hat. So Fool here got it as far as an interim location, failed to pass it on to her and promptly forgot all about it.
Fool here has also spent the last five (or six) months thinking furtively, guiltily, lazily, slackly that she still hasn't gone into our costume repository to stash away all the additional costumes lovingly fabricated by our astonishingly clever Czech designer for this past times festival show.
These two sources of shame converged last week - right in the middle of Fool's celebration of idleness - and shuffled and shovelled her at last in to some sort of action.
Last night saw the fruition of this guilty shame. An hour and a bit (or maybe it just seemed that) sucking in ancient moth wings, decaying polyester (and much better quality fabrics) and staggering up and down the heaving jostling life-of-their-own aisles of tweed and brocade that constitute the mezzanine level in our properties store.
In actuality, much of this effort backdated to my beloved Beatrice outing in July. An ugly yellow pair of those strange fat bottomed shorts that a man might wear paid tribute to this.
Most of the Tempy Tempest garments (Ariel's slim-fitting tie-dyed vest for e.g.) were snatched up by Costume Mistress extraordinaire for cataloguing. My tiny bitch kilt. Snatched up. (Dog ears are still obscurely stashed in a vase on my Edinburgh press shelf. Reluctant-to-relinquish-memento.) Ariel's dreadlocks. Snatched up. Caliban's rags. Snatched up - by me actually - for these are to live again in a forthcoming production. (You owe me costume hire money, C.)
Gonzalo's trousers went back to the suitcase for Mo(u)rning Trousers. The sailor's hat was retrieved from the Interim Place and restored to the (daughter of the) owner.
And that, my friends, at last, is more or less that.
Poor Ms B has been owed a sailor's hat for - hmm let's think - the better part of five if not six months. Not just any old sailor's hat but a precious ancestral sailor's hat. So Fool here got it as far as an interim location, failed to pass it on to her and promptly forgot all about it.
Fool here has also spent the last five (or six) months thinking furtively, guiltily, lazily, slackly that she still hasn't gone into our costume repository to stash away all the additional costumes lovingly fabricated by our astonishingly clever Czech designer for this past times festival show.
These two sources of shame converged last week - right in the middle of Fool's celebration of idleness - and shuffled and shovelled her at last in to some sort of action.
Last night saw the fruition of this guilty shame. An hour and a bit (or maybe it just seemed that) sucking in ancient moth wings, decaying polyester (and much better quality fabrics) and staggering up and down the heaving jostling life-of-their-own aisles of tweed and brocade that constitute the mezzanine level in our properties store.
In actuality, much of this effort backdated to my beloved Beatrice outing in July. An ugly yellow pair of those strange fat bottomed shorts that a man might wear paid tribute to this.
Most of the Tempy Tempest garments (Ariel's slim-fitting tie-dyed vest for e.g.) were snatched up by Costume Mistress extraordinaire for cataloguing. My tiny bitch kilt. Snatched up. (Dog ears are still obscurely stashed in a vase on my Edinburgh press shelf. Reluctant-to-relinquish-memento.) Ariel's dreadlocks. Snatched up. Caliban's rags. Snatched up - by me actually - for these are to live again in a forthcoming production. (You owe me costume hire money, C.)
Gonzalo's trousers went back to the suitcase for Mo(u)rning Trousers. The sailor's hat was retrieved from the Interim Place and restored to the (daughter of the) owner.
And that, my friends, at last, is more or less that.
posted by Claire at 8:45 pm
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