It's a quarter past four and I have just got home. That's 4.15am. We finished the dress rehearsal, which was excellent apart from a few prop and costume items which need sorting out, at around midnight. Then producer, director him, director her, footnote, set man, previous producer and mad new mug, aka stand-in landlord, did four hours of work. We finished and hung the unseen university drop cloth, director her's magnificent Michaelangelo, and completed the side flats to go with it. Then we tidied up. Paint, tools, brushes, trays, bits of paper, battery packs, half drunk cups of coffee... We then took pictures. Of director her with the Michaelangelo. And of us all under the clock. Then footnote drove me home. She said she felt more like fucknote. I feel like DEATH.
Thought for the day: 'Success is one per cent inspiration and 99 per cent persperation.' When I started typing that I could remember who said it. Now I can't. I think I'm too tired. Night, night.
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