Entry for 8th November, 2008 - theatre

I have been loading a van tonight.
For those of you out there in Blogland who harbour a view that the theatre is glamorous, you are wrong. The theare is not glamorous at all. It is about lugging large and heavy objects from one part of the country to another. For no appreciable gain.
It is about filling vans with diesel in the dead of night. It is about splinters in your fingers as you cart scenery out of some tiny theatre in the dead of night when the rest of the world is sleeping.
It is about a sly fag beside the bins in the alley outside the theatre. It is about discarded costumes hurled in costumes between scenes. And sitting, worn out, dog-tired in an empty set when everyone else has gone home with your body sapped and your mind stretched out like a telephone wire,trying to work out how to make the whole damn thing work.
It is about sitting backstage amongst the latent props, while someone says a line on the other side of a piece of hardboard, a whole world away.
I have been loading a van tonight.
For those of you out there in Blogland who harbour a view that the theatre is glamorous, you are wrong. The theare is not glamorous at all. It is about lugging large and heavy objects from one part of the country to another. For no appreciable gain.
It is about filling vans with diesel in the dead of night. It is about splinters in your fingers as you cart scenery out of some tiny theatre in the dead of night when the rest of the world is sleeping.
It is about a sly fag beside the bins in the alley outside the theatre. It is about discarded costumes hurled in costumes between scenes. And sitting, worn out, dog-tired in an empty set when everyone else has gone home with your body sapped and your mind stretched out like a telephone wire,trying to work out how to make the whole damn thing work.
It is about sitting backstage amongst the latent props, while someone says a line on the other side of a piece of hardboard, a whole world away.