I guess I have fewer regrets about the period since the last Interlude. The mistakes I made resulted in learnings that I grew from. I still had many discoveries to make but I had fewer regrets. There are things that I would have done differently. But knowing that made me stronger.
The smallest regret was my educational achivement. I had excelled at school and achieved outstanding results. At university I excelled in other ways. I made friends where I expected to find none. I stretched myself in trying new things and many gave me experience that I draw upon today. I continued to develop my particular brand of loyalty and friendship and my own brand of me.
No regrets.
Monday, June 9, 2014
The final blow-out
So - that's it? Over? Well - not quite.
The final hurrah of University life was a trip to Edinburgh for the festival. Those final few terms were spent in the company of budding theatricals, as we know. This was the greatest of opportunities to not say goodbye. We cajoled the Union into giving us some underwriting and a minibus and I cajoled a foundation into giving us some money and rehearsals commenced for 'Cuckoo'.
Casting was controversial. Previous favourites were overlooked and newbies ended up in leading roles as Indians and Nurses (work it out).
I moved digs, continued a relentless programme of garlic cooking, smoking, drinking and rehearsing and we were off. I was the first driver....
The extent of C's resistance to roadtravel was not fully apparent to me. She had been in a serious car crash on her gap year and has remained a nervous traveller since. She sat in the seat behind the driver's steadily drinking. And singing. I, in the meantime, couldn't find the fullbeam of the headlights and the night was closing in.
It's extraordinary to me that a bunch of students can work out how to book venues, marketing and accomodation in another city, let alone pack a roofrack on a minibus. But we made it in one piece, driving through the night, and arriving for a tech rehearsal at a converted leisure centre, early in the morning.
The show itself was a triumph - uncharacteristically sold out for a student show in Edinburgh. As memorable as all that was, the trip was memorable for so many other reasons.
Scampi and Chips after every show, with a lot of drinking. Starting at about 230pm.
Everyone coming up to see the show from home. Sleeping in the corridor, in cupboards and, of course, in other people's beds.
Nurse Ratched's endless shagging of her boyfriend. Endless.
The teriffic reviews that decided to single out our Billy for sole criticism - resulting in a meltdown (and a pickup) that last through until 5 minutes before the next performance.
My brother and his girlfriend even came. Cue a very nice dinner (and the discovery of warm brie salad) and a very raucous evening at the Fringe Club (lots of shouting down free mike standups - to the extent that we got told off by another patron).
Lots and lots of inhaling.
A trip to Roslyn Chapel long before Da Vinci Code.
Stubbing a cigarette out in C's eye. A trip to hospital and a lifetime of recrimination ensued.
Getting slagged off by the show that was after us - for our pretentious warmups and our postshow rounds of self-congratulation. Their criticism was justified.
The stars in the Gilded Balloon Bar. Bill went one step too far and got lambasted by Mark Lamarr.
The ceiling falling in on our digs.
The constant harranging of the cast to 'do some flyering'. They must have done because we sold out!
The discovery of Fecund Theatre, Ertha Kitt doing James Joyce and, more important than anything, "The Night that Larry Kramer Kissed Me".
And the long drive home. Dropping people off as we went. Overshooting my own home for a final night or two in my now ex University Town. A final drink or two at the pub where I'd developed the most shocking of habits (pints, cockles and drunkenly telling the barmaid all my problems). A round of words-lite goodbyes. A taxi arrival. And gone.
The final hurrah of University life was a trip to Edinburgh for the festival. Those final few terms were spent in the company of budding theatricals, as we know. This was the greatest of opportunities to not say goodbye. We cajoled the Union into giving us some underwriting and a minibus and I cajoled a foundation into giving us some money and rehearsals commenced for 'Cuckoo'.
Casting was controversial. Previous favourites were overlooked and newbies ended up in leading roles as Indians and Nurses (work it out).
I moved digs, continued a relentless programme of garlic cooking, smoking, drinking and rehearsing and we were off. I was the first driver....
The extent of C's resistance to roadtravel was not fully apparent to me. She had been in a serious car crash on her gap year and has remained a nervous traveller since. She sat in the seat behind the driver's steadily drinking. And singing. I, in the meantime, couldn't find the fullbeam of the headlights and the night was closing in.
It's extraordinary to me that a bunch of students can work out how to book venues, marketing and accomodation in another city, let alone pack a roofrack on a minibus. But we made it in one piece, driving through the night, and arriving for a tech rehearsal at a converted leisure centre, early in the morning.
The show itself was a triumph - uncharacteristically sold out for a student show in Edinburgh. As memorable as all that was, the trip was memorable for so many other reasons.
Scampi and Chips after every show, with a lot of drinking. Starting at about 230pm.
Everyone coming up to see the show from home. Sleeping in the corridor, in cupboards and, of course, in other people's beds.
Nurse Ratched's endless shagging of her boyfriend. Endless.
The teriffic reviews that decided to single out our Billy for sole criticism - resulting in a meltdown (and a pickup) that last through until 5 minutes before the next performance.
My brother and his girlfriend even came. Cue a very nice dinner (and the discovery of warm brie salad) and a very raucous evening at the Fringe Club (lots of shouting down free mike standups - to the extent that we got told off by another patron).
Lots and lots of inhaling.
A trip to Roslyn Chapel long before Da Vinci Code.Stubbing a cigarette out in C's eye. A trip to hospital and a lifetime of recrimination ensued.
Getting slagged off by the show that was after us - for our pretentious warmups and our postshow rounds of self-congratulation. Their criticism was justified.
The stars in the Gilded Balloon Bar. Bill went one step too far and got lambasted by Mark Lamarr.
The ceiling falling in on our digs.
The constant harranging of the cast to 'do some flyering'. They must have done because we sold out!
The discovery of Fecund Theatre, Ertha Kitt doing James Joyce and, more important than anything, "The Night that Larry Kramer Kissed Me".
And the long drive home. Dropping people off as we went. Overshooting my own home for a final night or two in my now ex University Town. A final drink or two at the pub where I'd developed the most shocking of habits (pints, cockles and drunkenly telling the barmaid all my problems). A round of words-lite goodbyes. A taxi arrival. And gone.
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