Mutter

I need to get my brain working. Somehow. Although it’s still capable of sending instructions to my mouth to articulate the words of Tony Blair, it is reacting in shock to any suggestion of cognitive analysis of, for instance, anything happening in an office environment. This was acceptable for the first Monday morning after Easter, but the inbox is piling up and very soon my own Spongiform brain is going to get diagnosed by everyone around me. This would be more of a problem for me than it was for Tony. If I get kicked out I’m unlikely to get invited to be a peace envoy for the Quartet, while the only after dinner speaking I have experience of is muttering, “that was nice, is there any pudding?”

With my 40^th birthday hoving into view it was inevitable that my body would sent me some sign of impending decrepitude. Its chosen method was to knock me out cold less than an hour into the last night party for War of the Waleses. I then proceeded to sleep through several hours of raucous partying, including – I see from YouTube –  some very entertaining guitar work from John Major. Members of the cast kindly photographed me in my unconscious state – I look really rather peaceful. It’s certainly the best night’s sleep I had all week.

My Post Show Blues (PSB) are rather less than they normally would be, as attention has moved to our one-off, one-hour mini-version for the RSC Open Stages regional showcase next Thursday. Again, it is impossible to know how a half-length version of this play is going to come across, but I do know that it has the potential to be snortingly good fun again and I shall be heartily recommending it to everyone who missed the official run last week. In fact, I might turn into a theatre-promoting version of Pratchett’s Foul Ole Ron and wander around muttering endlessly about how I’m playing Tony Blair one last time; “Bugg’rit. Millenium Dome and Cherie.”  

Perhaps.

There’s even some sentence structure emerging somewhere. When this lunch break comes to a close there’s half a chance of work being successfully navigated. It really, really, really could happen.