The continuation of the previous blog entry as promised; albeit a smidgen behind schedule due to my stint in traction. But I’m much better now.

I made that up about the traction… lies are fun…

Previously noted in “The Deep End”, I posited four (4) scenarios upon which I was to elucidate, so to set the record straight;

a) Everyone who was called rocked up at the appropriate time. All except “Roy”. He was late, cursing the foul weather for the traffic.
b) We all got the message and showed up at the morgue. All except “Roy”, who arrived at the correct destination by pure luck.
c) Everyone, at some point these past weeks, will be struck down with dysentery (at worst) or rancid flatulence (at best) thanks to the cafeteria’s EMP (expired meat products). All except “Roy”. He was late, thereby missing the aforementioned delicacies. In retaliation he has also cut half his right hand off, for which he now brandishes stitches.
d) I am still part of the production, and am the envy and champion of all involved. All except “Roy”, who observes me with bemused detachment. This is because he is jinxed with Crap Fortune.

(NB: I confess I am being a tad unfair to the marvellous Nick (our “Roy” in question), but with good reason. It is, after all, MY blog, and all my colleagues must be evenly castigated one by one- purely for the sake of balance.)

Anyone familiar with the spook film “The Ring” will be aware of the connotation of the two words “Seven Days”. It means Time Is Not On Our Side No More. Our Cup Runneth Out. We open in a week, and whilst Cuppa-Killer would have you believe that all is peachy keen, a taste of barbequed panic is beginning to pervade the atmosphere. Although that could be the EMPs previously eaten.

To whit, Diane “Slugger” Fischer is now chewing her nails (the nine inch ones!), Sonia and Seton are engaged in a costume war as ruffles and wigs are flung to and fro (geddit?? Fro???) and I spend my days avoiding Beth’s knife-throwing attempts by wearing Sarah as a disguise.

So. We have one week left. We have twelve rehearsals. Twelve rehearsals in seven days. Not totally unpossible; just stupid. Where will it end? Probably in a week’s time….

El
20/10/06

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