Roller Coaster

The past few days began well, went downhill, back up, down again, up, down and now really down...

First was the first meeting of The Duchess of Malfi cast; three hours in the doomed Greenwich Theatre with Director Bruce, Producer Alice and various members of the technical crew. Highly professional and a sense of being back in school, with strict rules and firm timetables. A good start.

Then came another rehearsal for As You Like It; the details are already foggy in my mind, and I do not remember any particular problem, but I came home out of sorts, and went to straight to bed for a long, pleasurable sleep.

Saturday morning was an audition in a venue near my home for a music video. I would be the barman, a role I'd enjoy. I won't hear for several days, and even if I don't get it, I made, I think, a good impression.

On to As You Like It, a speed-through. The young cast around me rushed through their paces, enjoying every minute. I fluffed my lines, majorly, and left the stage angry with myself. The fact that all the other older actors found the experience unpleasant and some coped no better than I did, didn't lighten my mood.

From there to Snaresbrook to be filmed as a mutilated corpse, discovered at my desk by my son returning home. The only part of me which moved was my arm, flopping off my knee when he touched me. Uncomfortable but fun.

Back home, exhausted, I thought I'd sleep, but the speed-through failure rankled in my mind and I tossed and turned for hours, angry with myself. Sleep, when it came, was spasmodic and I woke up in the morning in a foul mood.

To Holborn again for another run-through of AYLI. My lines were better but not perfect. My presence was stronger but I again fluffed lines, again the director pointed out faults and again my confidence fell, to its lowest point yet. From Holborn to the White Bear to paint the set. A relaxing evening and my mood improved, but again I was pleased to get home and collapse into bed.

A good night's sleep until 6am, when I woke with a sore throat, dozing fitfully until I finally woke up. I now sit at the computer, catching up on emails, with a headache and a sense of dread. Today is the Tech, followed by a Dress. I know I will be competent, but everyone else will do well. I know the director will criticise whatever I do. I know I will be in a bad mood. I know I will come home with a worse headache and a more painful throat. I know that opening night, tomorrow, will not be the best start to my stage career. At least I also know that my parts are so small that no matter what I do, I will not harm the overall production.