Only 35 miles to drive today and I was in Newcastle by lunch. The Live Theatre has been the venue for my final preview for quite a few years now (possibly right back to the days of Talking Cock - I started performing here because my director Jeremy was working there) and I usually treat myself and my wife to a night at the nearby posho Malmaison (the lifts speak to you in French). Alas my wife couldn't be with me this time due to work commitments so I found myself in a room overlooking the Millennium Bridge alone. What a waste of a romantic setting. At least I could romance myself.
But it would be a romantic con anyway, because I would look all posh and swanky, but in fact the room was cheaper than last night's Premier Inn as Malmaison run a deal on Sunday where the room only costs £50 provided you then spend £75 in the restaurant. So you get a super posh meal and a super posh room for £125, which is pretty good value (though two years ago the room was only a tenner). Especially when I also make it a personal mission to steal as many bottles of their shampoo and conditioner off of the maids' trollies (the bottles are big and a couple of them will last me through the Fringe and save me maybe £1.50 - I doubt many of the people who stay in this hotel have such an eye for a thieving bargain or see them selves as a-two modern day Robin Hoods).
I may be a-two modern day Robin Hoods (I wonder how many of you even get that reference) but I am only one person. With two people spending £75 on food and drink is not too difficult, but alone that is quite tricky. But as I had arrived early they let me include my lunch in the deal. Being me, I was of course determined to try and spend the £75, but no more, to squeeze the best value out of the deal. Annoyingly the hotel also runs a Sunday Brunch deal where you get a three course meal for £20, including a buffet first course. I ate so much that I felt like I'd never need to eat again.
Perhaps the hotel was forewarned of my criminal activities (I don't know what I've done to give myself away) and there was probably a warrant out on me already for stealing my own £10 note yesterday, but it was much harder to steal shampoo than usual. The maids now seem to keep their supply in a seperate little box that they take into the room with them. But I am still a master-criminal and so managed to get myself a reasonable supply. I didn't take the piss though. But I would have done if they'd left it on the trolley. I contented myself with two bottles. I think when I am finally imprisoned the other cons will see me as a gentleman thief, only taking what he needs and no more. I am sure the hotel would probably give me the shampoo if I asked for it, but that's not as much fun as feeling like an international jewel thief. Weirdly unlike the international jewel thief who has just taken a massive haul of jewels in Cannes, my heist was not mentioned on the BBC news. Making me a better thief than the Cannes criminal. The secret of being a great cat-burglar is to never even be discovered. I am too clever and wily to give anything away to the fucking rozzers. And even when I do send them taunting letters they never read them out on the telly anyway.
I wanted to learn the Hamlet bit this afternoon, but got distracted catching up on my audio-blogs and then remembered that I had to write a Metro article (but luckily I could utilise a bit that I had just decided to cut from the show). But I managed a little work on the script over the dinner that I didn't actually need but was determined to eat.
In the Live Theatre dressing room I laughed at the plug socket that said "Nigel Havers Only". I liked the idea that there were sockets around the country that were kept exclusively for his use. Either for him to plug in a limited number of items (only shavers and electric toothbrushes usually use this kind of socket) or perhaps to recharge himself. Perhaps that is how he keeps looking so young and handsome. He is like an electricity vampire. I did start to worry as I imagined what he might plug into those holes. As someone pointed out, he might be bifurcated.
The final preview was a little shaky in places, but I was pleased with it on the whole. I've cut a few things and tightened up some other bits and I think it came in at only a little bit over the hour. There is another cut I could make by not discussing my grandma at all and in some ways it might be stronger to go straight from the punchline of the Old Woman Who Swallowed A Fly to the end. But I like the slightly more downbeat and ambiguous conclusion of my musings about Doris in Heaven. Less is more. But in a more real sense, more is more.
It was a good show to end the previews on, leaving me feeling optimistic. Still a little bit of work to be done.
I went back to the hotel, estimating that I still had £15 to spend and had a couple of vodka martinis with olives. Drinking in a posh bar on my own I felt like Don Draper, but without the sex appeal. And in Newcastle. It was an apt way to celebrate the end of my previews and the beginning of the real thing. I feel relaxed and like I have nothing to lose (apart from thousands of pounds - though at least this busy weekend has helped offset that a little bit) and nothing to prove and quietly confident that I've put together something that is already good and that will get better. This is an excellent state of mind to be in. I hope it lasts.
Tomorrow I roll into Edinburgh for my 22nd Fringe. Where did the year go? Where did the decade go? Where did my adult life go?
