How do I constantly find myself in these situations? Why do I let myself get roped in? Is it not bad enough that every time I return to London I find myself spending the bulk of my time in former places of employment? But now I've decided to work too?
The theatre is much the same. But why am I seated with the audience on Prompt Side? They can't even see the stage. And who's bright idea was it to have me play the keyboard? Do I have queues? What do I play? And when?
This is all Gary's fault. Why do I listen to him? Why do I empathize? He's not even here! The bastard has gone home and left me to my own devices. I should probably twiddle out a few notes. Twiddle, twiddle. That didn't sound too bad. At least these electric fuckers don't go out of tune.
Is that intermission? My bladder is bursting. I can't just leave the keyboard here. Christ, it's bulky. Excuse me, excuse.... These fucking geriatrics are limping up the stairs, hurry up and croak, Mildred! I need to drain the weasel, get a strong drink from the bar and - provided I have time - ask someone what I'm actually supposed to do during the second half of the godforsaken play. Hurry it up, people!
What was that? Seagulls squawking? I can hear people outside. And the horn from the shipyard. I'm in Govan, in bed. I have to piss. Of course I do. My dreams have never really been shrouded in metaphor.
Okay, now where are we? Great, half way through the second act. At least I managed to miss the bulk of it by being awake. Should I be playing something? Did anyone notice my absence? Did they fuck. I imagine this is an elaborate practical joke dreamt up by that vile swine Gary and his cohort Tom. How I loathe them.
Is that it? The end? Both brothers are dead, right? They've managed to find their way to their untimely death after having navigated through the most contrived story of all time? Aye? Twiddle-fuckin-dee. Might as well give these people their moneys worth, bang out a few notes as they roar and applaud. A wee solo for you fine, fine people.
Thank Christ that's over. Or is it? We're striking the set. Of course we are, that makes sense. But for what? No point in asking, just strip it bare.
Okay, the DJ's here. Thank God. There's a good 50 people milling around. They look as bored as I do. Let's get this over with. I just need to jump the 38 back to Hackney. It's the 38 right? Fuck you, Gary, why are you putting me through this?
The DJ is scratching. Rejoice! The sooner he starts, the sooner he finishes. He wants us to make noise. We are not making noise. It dawns on me that if we don't all start yelling Lil' Wayne will never come out. Come on people, make some noise! Lil' Wayne! WOOOO! I try to whip up some enthusiasm.
There's Tom. Tom! Tom, you fucker! It's the 38 right? That gets me to Hackney? I can get booze 24 hours right? Oh you're busy. At least make some noise and help get -
There he is! Weezy, on stage. Rap, you fud! Get this over with. No, he won't. He's standing next to me now. You've not just let us down, you've let yourself down. I hope you're happy, Weezy. Don't look at me like that.
Fuck this, Tom can handle this shit. I'm going to go find the 38. It is the 38, right? To get to Hackney? Okay. I'm in Victoria station. There's Keira Knightley. She's standing next to a row of chocolate bars being greeted by what I assume is her boyfriend. Is that... there's a white chocolate bar behind her that has her face on it. I didn't realize she was that much of a corporate shill, not that I ever put that much thought into it.
I pick up one of the chocolate bars and I'm waving it in her face. Hey Keira I'm going to steal the chocolate you sponsored, you bitch! Haha, I love you!
I'm running now. Outside of Victoria station. A phone! I'll call Gary, make sure it's the 38. The 38 back to Hackney. I need change. No... I have a mobile phone.... Dialing.... Gary, you vicious bastard! Is it the 38? Is... Yeah? The 38 back to Hackney? I can get booze 24 hours right? Yeah... And you're still up? ......Yeah, I left it to Tom. I can't go back in. I had, there was a thing... and Keira Knightley was.... Yeah. The chocolate. Okay, bye.
I head to a corner shop and look at the chocolate bars. A lot more white chocolate available these days. I should probably steal a few of these. Inside a Russian prostitute and a dumpy shop clerk watch me.
I hear the shipyard horn blow.