Cleaned myself: clean
Monkey see, monkey do: clean
Tics: getting clean
Believe in God? invoked, so yes.
YTLH: seriously getting clean
Casting is almost complete, and despite being in charge, I’ve managed to hand out significant roles to a pair of bêtes noires – both holding out for the role of God as it happens, which, in the end, Mrs. Lindsay, being considered marginally the lesser of two evils, secured. It being offered mainly because of my revulsion of all that is Johnny Carver; and to reward that ungenerous, spiteful and selfish decision, God, the real one, has delivered to me someone far worse than Johnny could have ever been.
She is a writer apparently, and in these first few days, she has gone to town on dissecting the draft script … ‘No darling, God would never say that,’ &c.
She knows about such things because she belongs to a writing club, and to two writers’ groups on Twitter. Oh, and she’s a published author (self). Her canon comprises a 46-page horror story called ‘I’m in Bits.’ In the blurb on her website, she sets out in an essay almost as long as the book itself, her motivation for writing it. It turns out that she went on a visit to a primary school with her reading group, and she didn’t like the way that the staff ordered her about and instructed her in the way she should use the cloakroom facilities. So, all that makes it into the book, to which she adds a teacher who discovers that bits keep dropping off her body. The synopsis on Amazon, where it retails for 67p, describes the same visit to the primary school happening to the protagonist.
One thing I’ll say for her, these experiences have given her confidence; she has managed to completely undermine my authority and have us write-off the rehearsal, in the one time we’ve met since casting. Luckily, not many people turned up.
So like Boris and free school meals, I need to head off a maelstrom of my own making. If I read him right, he has done (has been advised to do) a shrewd thing: realising that he is powerless against a tide of invective from the opposition, he has had his own side criticise him, on terms, such that he can respond with a coherent message to them. And I am going to do the same via Big Tooth at the next rehearsal, so that I can take quell the nascent rebellion without having to deal with the ignorant harpy directly.
Frankly, she’s overweight for God, and she’s also going to be told to wear her tennis spanx, or do something about it. That’s what I like about the rehearsal room, honesty trumps the right to take offence every time.