It’s the end of a work-long day. The desk lamp is shining. The dregs of Rioja are poured. I’ve survived the rush hour commute. And the city struggle is nicely behind me.
Because in just under an hour, I’ll be heading out again. Into the smoke and mirror fray. Specifically, to sit with trembling mind at the press night for our show. To watch the years of midnight oil unfurl in public. To flop my heart on the slab in the same room as a kitchen knife and a long-handled axe.
I mean, seriously, why?
I haven’t got long so I’ll be quick with the answer … Because being there in the room where the truly talented are raising your ideas from the page, that’s pretty bloody amazing. It fills your heart. Lifts you up. Undoes the work of the day, the week, the usual news.
Whatever the audience thinks.
But they’re a reason too. Because theatre is a bit like a church. People in rows, hoping this is going to be good, take their mind of, help make it up, maybe even sway it a particular warmer way.
And really, it’s kind of odd for me to be asking why the crazy risk, why invest in the loaded dice?
Because it feels good. And I like it. And it might just open a door.
Also, it sort of helps me breathe.