Today is not a good day. Being woken by one’s father come to take your electric wheelchair for repairs is not a good thing, especially with my choice of night attire. I have great respect for my father but I seem to disappoint him more and more these days. Not academically, as I used to, but with my conduct. He seems to think I’m a lazy pervert who doesn’t look after his equipment, which is more or less true, but I would maintain I get my work in on time, and it is up to a high standard, which, here, is what counts.

Anyway, yesterday did not disappoint. Pool, No Water was marvellous: rocky did a great job, for what she created was simultaneously balletic and violent. Mind you, she had three of the best actors of our year to work with. I would bet a pork pie they’re in for a first.

Air Swimming with tally and Nicky was wonderfully poignant and beautiful. It concerned two women, locked up in a mental institution for about fifty years, their friendship, or perhaps their love. Oh yes, and Doris Day.

Perhaps the most striking piece of the whole weekend was one about a cancer patient – a professor of literature with terminal cancer. It concerned her final weeks in the hospital. It deeply troubled me, for, excellently acted though it was I kept thinking ‘tomorrow, she will not be dead, but will drink coffee in the wes.’ These are just plays, where death is not death; they are not real, but games. In a passing moment, I hated the whole business for it. Perhaps prose, pure symbolism, is the only way to represent reality, but this is a debate for another time and another blog entry.

I better get on with work. I have a script to read through. Before I end and post this, I want to say how much I love my dad and hate disappointing him.