![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
poliphilo It's raining. This is the first day this week we haven't had to go out and do something interesting or have something interesting happen on home turf. I think I'll noodle.
By which I mean just write without any intention of being clever. Maybe pick up some loose threads.
Julia sorted out the garden for us on Tuesday. It took her and her two assistants all day. I had let the weeds flourish. I'd planted shrubs in stupid places. I like having a garden but I'm not a gardener. My idea of gardening is letting Nature do its thing with the least possible interference from myself.
The builders are still in. When they've finished with the attic room it'll be the nicest room in the house. Also the one with the best view. We're planning to move our computers up there.
Back end of last week we went to the theatre- something we hadn't done in ages- not since Ailz finished her Shakespeare course with the OU. We saw a silly show based on The Invisible Man. The Invisible Man is a very good story and they'd yukked it up lamentably without entirely smothering the original. There was some stage magic. One of the actors had a CV which highlighted his having "starred" in Crossroads- a famously terrible daytime soap with wobbly sets that got itself put out of its misery a generation ago. I do love actors. I admire how they just soldier on and soldier on- most of them- without ever being sprinkled with star dust. Most will never be famous, most will never even be recognised from show to show- but there they still are, taking what they can get, , slathering on the grease paint, wiping it off again...
Stevenson has a great little story called Providence and the Guitar. It's about the camerarderie between unsuccessful artists....
Eastbourne's Devonshire Park Theatre is Victorian and largely unreconstructed. I'd love to wander about in it when there's nothing doing, pay attention to the plasterwork, soak up the atmosphere. I wonder if there's a ghost...
By which I mean just write without any intention of being clever. Maybe pick up some loose threads.
Julia sorted out the garden for us on Tuesday. It took her and her two assistants all day. I had let the weeds flourish. I'd planted shrubs in stupid places. I like having a garden but I'm not a gardener. My idea of gardening is letting Nature do its thing with the least possible interference from myself.
The builders are still in. When they've finished with the attic room it'll be the nicest room in the house. Also the one with the best view. We're planning to move our computers up there.
Back end of last week we went to the theatre- something we hadn't done in ages- not since Ailz finished her Shakespeare course with the OU. We saw a silly show based on The Invisible Man. The Invisible Man is a very good story and they'd yukked it up lamentably without entirely smothering the original. There was some stage magic. One of the actors had a CV which highlighted his having "starred" in Crossroads- a famously terrible daytime soap with wobbly sets that got itself put out of its misery a generation ago. I do love actors. I admire how they just soldier on and soldier on- most of them- without ever being sprinkled with star dust. Most will never be famous, most will never even be recognised from show to show- but there they still are, taking what they can get, , slathering on the grease paint, wiping it off again...
Stevenson has a great little story called Providence and the Guitar. It's about the camerarderie between unsuccessful artists....
Eastbourne's Devonshire Park Theatre is Victorian and largely unreconstructed. I'd love to wander about in it when there's nothing doing, pay attention to the plasterwork, soak up the atmosphere. I wonder if there's a ghost...
