Going Swimmingly

The Lido on a rare sunny day 

I live about 20 minutes walk from London Fields Lido where, two or three times a week, I swim 1,500 - 2,000 metres. (Yes, non-stop, in 30 - 40 minutes, which is reasonable for one my age.) The advantage of the walk is that I can learn my lines for Clouds of Grey. Which means that I have been walking along the road mumbling such memorable lines as "What the **** are you doing here?" and "Put Channel Four Racing On".

All is going well - even (groan) swimmingly. I  have most of the lines committed to memory (with a thank you to writer-director Seth Jones for allowing us leeway on the script, which gives us actohs the opportunity to develop the characters to suit our individual talents). The problem now is that to fully embed the lines, I need to say them in character at normal to loud volume. Uttering threats of violence at the top of my voice, even in a deserted street, will not win me many friends. Which means that as I stroll along the suburban streets, my voce is more sotto than forte. Well, never mind, rehearsals start in ten days time and then I will be able to shout and swear to my heart's content.

[For new readers: Clouds of Grey, a strange, testosterone-driven drama, is on at the Moors Theatre, London N8, from 27 Jan to 5 Feb. Advance tickets are on sale at £8.80 each, including booking fee, which, for a full-length two act play, is a deal that is unlikely to be heard of again. Book here.]

Meanwhile, looking further into the future, a contract has been signed for Californian Lives - a production of three of my one-person plays opening at a well-known venue in April. Details to come very soon.