So, I just turned the handle of my saucepan around on heating up the spaghetti for our supper, and a whole bank of wall tiles fell off the kitchen wall. Marvellous. Another example of the delights of renting...
Still, I would have no play at all if I had never experienced such things. Imagine transforming it from 'Utility Room', where the boiler has broken down and we're gearing up to a power cut later, to 'Drawing Room', in which a sensuous log fire crackles and pops satisfyingly whilst the main characters sit reading Jane Eyre and sipping champagne.
No, it's all good practice for writing plays that speak to people. Or at least, speak to those who have ever lived in less-than-ideal conditions. Or at least those who have experienced breaking boilers, tumbling tiles and blankety blank (you fill in the gaps. Let's play: Guess what the next mishap will be). No, it's best I go through all this, along with my long-suffering husband and bemused child, so that I have plenty more fodder for the next play. Though I do feel sorry for my characters. It would be nice to think of them as moving forward in their lives, rather than facing another Christmas feeling freezing cold, wrapped up in duvets around their clothes, waggling their phones out of icicle-covered windows to gain a ounce of signal, eating budget vol-au-vents that taste of rubber... Where do I get my inspiration from??!
xxxx
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