So it's a picture of the Oyster Bar ceiling. Not in London, not a theatre, but it's pretty. As far as the text below is concerned, there's a name mentioned that clearly indicates I wrote this a few years ago.
March 23
I have beside me, as I write, a printout of Moody’s latest email, entitled “Re: Your Creditors.” Judging by its length (I haven’t time to read it), it appears to be a faithful copy of the Gütenberg Bible. Oh, and a telegram from him has arrived, which I hope is not too urgent, for, again, I haven’t time in my busy schedule to read every stray piece of mail.
Have been mulling Scene 4 (“You’re Only Jung Once”) and done some reconsidering. I believe we should forget the geese and go with penguins.
Furthermore, re: Scene 4— have decided to perform it entirely in mime. The miming course I was required to take at the Old Vic has never come in handy, so why not take advantage of it now? I reason that the seduction scene between Jung and young Sabine is the perfect opportunity. I have never performed any phallic miming before (v. Freudian); am excited about its possibilities.
Moody, or Carolyn, or somebody must have a word with this Pollocks fellow. When I demonstrated the phallic miming for him, he tried to stab me with Jung’s fountain pen. What with that and Carolyn’s recent attack upon me with a Lady Gillette razor, I find myself between Scylla and Charybdis, so I spend more and more time at the pub.
I did happen to notice, at the end of Moody’s epic epistle, mention of a link to a cheat site for “Medal of Honour.” I pride myself in playing these games by the rules and entirely on my own. To satisfy a wayward curiosity, however, I will ask Moody to forward the link.
Have been nursing a hangover that is older than Carolyn’s boys. Which reminds me, apparently one of those boys is a girl. I learnt this the painful way when I was discussing C.’s boys with C. the other day. I was subjected to a buffeting about the ears for half an hour; the passion of the thing led, however, to more gratifying fare about which I need not elaborate.
I have jolly well given up expecting any information from Moody re: the Indiana Jones opportunity. My step-son’s ferret relays just about as much news as he does: perhaps I should hire it as my agent!
March 24
Why can’t my agent sign my name to these blasted photos? I am a v. busy man. I am currently engaged in finding a replacement for Billings, the actor playing Freud. (Billings ran away with my P.A. late last p.m. I think they went to Majorca. Doesn’t everyone?) I hesitate ringing up Nathan Lane because I am convinced he would try to upstage me at every opportunity, yet I feel he would be perfect for the role. I like a Freud who can not only bellow, but also execute a masterful spit-take.
I have decided that the love scene between Jung and Sabine should take place in a hot air balloon. Must demand that Pollocks arrange rental of same.
Must also remember to tell P. A. to order warmish undergarments for my stage door appearances. Though it is indeed gratifying to mingle with devoted fans, I worry about the effects of hypothermia on a certain essential function. Damn! Just remembered that P.A. has absconded! Such is a life in the theatre.
If I decide against Nathan Lane, I wonder how Robin Williams* would fare as Freud? (Although he may have too much hair. By now, my readers must know how I feel about such people.)
Have just rung off with Harvey Fierstein, one of my top choices for Freud. The only drawback I see is that he, too, has far too much hair. Furthermore, he isn't interested.
If only Zero Mostel were still alive! He had hardly any hair at all. But he would probably try to upstage me.
This is a cut-throat business. If your co-star isn't trying to upstage you, he probably has too much hair, and if he doesn't have too much hair, he's probably to trying to upstage you.
Well, Pollocks has instructed me to get a facial, so I must run.
March 25
Patrick Stewart is the perfect choice! Must instruct agent to ring him for me immediately, as I am v. busy. (Must hoover the carpet for C.)
Curtain goes up tonight! My chi is tied up in knots. Unless we find a replacement, I will be playing both roles, Jung and Freud, a first for the London theatre, and, I trust, a first for modern psychiatry. Of course, if my creditors corner me before sevenish, I have trained several hamsters to perform the musical numbers by jumping up and down on a xylophone.
Currently Listening to: Self, reading book on CD: Self-Rising Flour, a Merchant MacLean Action Mystery
Currently Reading: Meisner, On Acting
Currently Watching: Self, in Jaded Autumn
Currently Eating: Currents. Ha, just having you on. Currently dieting, as wardrobe mistress does not know how to measure properly.
*Written a few years ago.
March 23
I have beside me, as I write, a printout of Moody’s latest email, entitled “Re: Your Creditors.” Judging by its length (I haven’t time to read it), it appears to be a faithful copy of the Gütenberg Bible. Oh, and a telegram from him has arrived, which I hope is not too urgent, for, again, I haven’t time in my busy schedule to read every stray piece of mail.
Have been mulling Scene 4 (“You’re Only Jung Once”) and done some reconsidering. I believe we should forget the geese and go with penguins.
Furthermore, re: Scene 4— have decided to perform it entirely in mime. The miming course I was required to take at the Old Vic has never come in handy, so why not take advantage of it now? I reason that the seduction scene between Jung and young Sabine is the perfect opportunity. I have never performed any phallic miming before (v. Freudian); am excited about its possibilities.
Moody, or Carolyn, or somebody must have a word with this Pollocks fellow. When I demonstrated the phallic miming for him, he tried to stab me with Jung’s fountain pen. What with that and Carolyn’s recent attack upon me with a Lady Gillette razor, I find myself between Scylla and Charybdis, so I spend more and more time at the pub.
I did happen to notice, at the end of Moody’s epic epistle, mention of a link to a cheat site for “Medal of Honour.” I pride myself in playing these games by the rules and entirely on my own. To satisfy a wayward curiosity, however, I will ask Moody to forward the link.
Have been nursing a hangover that is older than Carolyn’s boys. Which reminds me, apparently one of those boys is a girl. I learnt this the painful way when I was discussing C.’s boys with C. the other day. I was subjected to a buffeting about the ears for half an hour; the passion of the thing led, however, to more gratifying fare about which I need not elaborate.
I have jolly well given up expecting any information from Moody re: the Indiana Jones opportunity. My step-son’s ferret relays just about as much news as he does: perhaps I should hire it as my agent!
March 24
Why can’t my agent sign my name to these blasted photos? I am a v. busy man. I am currently engaged in finding a replacement for Billings, the actor playing Freud. (Billings ran away with my P.A. late last p.m. I think they went to Majorca. Doesn’t everyone?) I hesitate ringing up Nathan Lane because I am convinced he would try to upstage me at every opportunity, yet I feel he would be perfect for the role. I like a Freud who can not only bellow, but also execute a masterful spit-take.
I have decided that the love scene between Jung and Sabine should take place in a hot air balloon. Must demand that Pollocks arrange rental of same.
Must also remember to tell P. A. to order warmish undergarments for my stage door appearances. Though it is indeed gratifying to mingle with devoted fans, I worry about the effects of hypothermia on a certain essential function. Damn! Just remembered that P.A. has absconded! Such is a life in the theatre.
If I decide against Nathan Lane, I wonder how Robin Williams* would fare as Freud? (Although he may have too much hair. By now, my readers must know how I feel about such people.)
Have just rung off with Harvey Fierstein, one of my top choices for Freud. The only drawback I see is that he, too, has far too much hair. Furthermore, he isn't interested.
If only Zero Mostel were still alive! He had hardly any hair at all. But he would probably try to upstage me.
This is a cut-throat business. If your co-star isn't trying to upstage you, he probably has too much hair, and if he doesn't have too much hair, he's probably to trying to upstage you.
Well, Pollocks has instructed me to get a facial, so I must run.
March 25
Patrick Stewart is the perfect choice! Must instruct agent to ring him for me immediately, as I am v. busy. (Must hoover the carpet for C.)
Curtain goes up tonight! My chi is tied up in knots. Unless we find a replacement, I will be playing both roles, Jung and Freud, a first for the London theatre, and, I trust, a first for modern psychiatry. Of course, if my creditors corner me before sevenish, I have trained several hamsters to perform the musical numbers by jumping up and down on a xylophone.
Currently Listening to: Self, reading book on CD: Self-Rising Flour, a Merchant MacLean Action Mystery
Currently Reading: Meisner, On Acting
Currently Watching: Self, in Jaded Autumn
Currently Eating: Currents. Ha, just having you on. Currently dieting, as wardrobe mistress does not know how to measure properly.
*Written a few years ago.