Monday, July 21, 2003

Diaries are more fun. You can’t say “Dear Blog”, for instance, without feeling more than a little foolish. And you certainly can’t put down the things you can safely say in your private li’l book for whoever drops in to read. Then why a blog? This is a question that occupies me every time I think I should add an entry. Why indeed.

We performed Jean Anouilh’s ‘Episode in the Life of An Author’ today at Trinca, a bar-restaurant on Park Street (in Calcutta, for the uninitiated). I played the part of a Rumanian journalist, come to interview the Author. Light little farce, quite easy on the nerves. It was quite an experience, performing in such a place, and I think it was worth the (minimal) trouble we took over it. It was a free show, a sort of bonus for today’s lunch guests. We ourselves didn’t get any money, but we did get to order our choice of a scrumptious lunch. And there were free tasters of Bacardi Breezer on offer. Altogether, we didn’t do too badly off a show it took us five evenings to bring together, more or less. And I didn’t even mention the press coverage we should get for such an unusual performance.

Spirits have finally revived after a couple of days of feeling very sorry for myself. Beq and I MUST learn not to get on each other’s nerves so much.

-- See, that’s what I mean. How on earth is an utter stranger going to know who Beq is and why my spirits would be low? So I might as well write all this in my diary, except it’s too much hard work actually writing all this in the big book. Typing’s so much less work. (shamefaced grin)


Beq said...

Man! This was FIVE fucking years ago!!! Yet I remember more from then than from two years I guess I'm all right!

Sue said...

Yeah... you're going to the end of the line.