Tuesday.: Week begins well when brewing nervous breakdown fuelled by Red Bull and Marlboro Menthols arrives and the cast, noticing my thousand-yard stare, take charge. Meanwhile Emily, the Producer, rocks me gently against her bosom and I clutch my now-battered copy of The Odyssey, muttering “WWOD?” What Would Odysseus Do?
Wednesday: Apparently Odysseus would ditch the caffeine drinks, dress like a gypsy queen and fuel up on female empowerment via Madonna Glee-injection. A rejuvenated Director Bitch from Hell returns to rehearsal. Cast respond well to instructions to be men who killed puppies for fun as children. “You are all vile,” I tell them proudly. They beam at me beatifically.
Thursday: After making passionate and bold assertions in tute about novel I have not read, I quick march over to rehearsal. The music cue-to-cue is in tatters, as LMH have apparently lied about owning a piano. Why? Why?
Friday. May Day. Solve problems of stress with retail therapy. Solve problems of money with student credit card. Spend evening being witty, charming and attractive (definitely true and not pleasant, cocktail-fuelled delusion) before retiring to bed.
Saturday: Arrive at 10am rehearsal to find large proportion of cast sleepless and hung-over/still drunk. Tell them loudly I have little sympathy. One goes to sleep on floor of rehearsal room. Write off day’s productivity.
Sunday: Get-in at Playhouse. Am asked to give opinion on ‘cladding’. Don’t know what ‘cladding’ is. Transpires to be technical word for ‘draping’. Realise suddenly that set- nay, entire play – is a realisation of the inside of my head, making the cast and crew tiny brain-people. The realisation cheers me considerably. Leaving the theatre, Producer and I spot giant Odyssey poster erected above Playhouse entrance for the first time. We hold hands and pray.
