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June 03, 2006
The Bells! The Bells!
It must have been a great party when the last cd played was Guns 'n Roses' Appetite For Destruction, on repeat. I think I passed out about 6am after an intensive face slapping contest with an equally inebriated Robert. A Robert is an indigenous Glaswegian species that feeds on beer and Buckfast, doesn't like mornings and has small hands.
On the shadow of my fifth time of turning 25 I shaved off my facial hair to appear more youthfull and invited a bunch of people over to my place (purely for the reason that I find it more comfortable to pass out on my couch rather than the pavement) and soaked the lot in champagne. Unfortunately I didn't get to lick it off anybody. The downside of the episode is that my neighbours love me (not), Axl Rose is welcoming me to the jungle for the umpteenth time, I'm wearing Paul Liburd's cardigan, the champagne is finished, nobody passed out in my bed, I will be pointed and laughed at at work on Monday and my hair is hurting. The upside is that I don't need to buy any other type of alcohol for the next hundred years and that I will live as long because my body is so thoroughly pickled.
This bloody floor is sooooooo steep... ©
My social life has been totally neglicible due to a serious bout of workaholism. Krzysztof Pastor piled on the pressure and the rehearsals for the national tour after the Festival are well on the way. Me and Diana have been helping Ashley out with getting the new casts of Acrid Avid Jam (Sophie and Tama) and Refurbished Behaviour (Patti and Paul) up to speed. On top of all that we're doing Room Of Cooks, a trio Ashley made for Royal Ballet in the mid-nineties. I'm dancing Adam Cooper's part. Weird. While learning all this new work we're still keeping the rest of the stuff, like Agon, on the boil and squeezing in, just for a good measure, a few rehearsals of the Nutcracker diverts to be performed on the national tour. The whole company is mentally and physically wiped out and severly in need of a break. For me the critical mass was reached a week ago and something had to give: luckily on that faithful weekend was the birthday of lovely Martina and the combined stag do of Andy and Joce, a couple of our ex-dancers. I preached the dangers of alcohol and the joys of love to all and sundry for two days and nights. Monday was a good day to strip the flaky paint off a couple of doors in the hallway: just a breath in the general direction and it came off a doddle...
Words like 'legs' and 'Africa' come to mind. ©
After resetting the counter the week rolled along in a slight upward trend and before I knew it it was midnight on Thursday night: the bells tolled, Friday arrived, the cork popped, the phone rang. It was Stevie Wonder calling from New York... Four hours of sleep makes ballet so beautiful again. On the wings of Red Bull and slave labour the party was whipped together yesterday evening, the rest is history and I'm having to intensely concentrate on surviving the loud noises the circular saw wielding little birds are making. Since I'm so well warmed up, I'm taking Jack's word that it's a good idea to go out tonight to feed alcohol to a rubber-clad cigarette girl.
I'm only going as a spectator... Honest!
The future looks just as rosy-cheeked as the past has been: next Friday is the official Summer Send-Off Party of the company in Tramway. Spoons and potatos will be used and alcohol served. There's no end to the punishment!
Upright, slightly leaning, but not holding on. Pink, but not bloodshot. Must try harder next time. ©
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