Thorsday

The Groucho Club, in Dean Street, is my actors club.
Bernie makes life sweet, he hugs me in reception and makes me feel like Lisa Minnelli.
I took Pammie and Paul, who are over from new York. I had a coffee they had wine.
We then went to my favourite Chinese restaurant in China town and had ‘margerine prawns’ which sound offensive but taste divine.
We had a meal for two because the meal for three would have been too much, after which I grabbed a taxi and came home in the fog.

It had been a day of consolidation.
Yesterday I was all over the place. To be honest I haven’t really adjusted to being back to work, can’t find the perfect route to Leicester Square, can’t kick my cold and after my gargantuan Christmas I really need a holiday.
After yesterdays excesses I had to face the music. I really hate criticsim, I hate getting things wrong, I don’t like being in the firing line especially when I have brought it all on myself. I feel utterly supported by Lucy, my producer and Chris, my supreme leader. They teach without making me feel completely moronic. When my confidence takes a battering I end up making glaring mistakes that in the cold light of hindsight could have been avoided.
This morning, however, I had a fine chat with Claire in Cardiff, who is introducing me to the world of twits. She is creating my twittering site, which as yet I haven’t a clue what it entails, but Claire will get The FAIRFIELD HALL gig on the 26th March, out there in the newest jeni barnett domain.
Brave New World is all I can say.
I’m so congested I cant hear anything which has meant me feeling even more isolated than normal.
Having bashed myself up I’m now having to take stock.
22.18, the old man’s watching a sci-fi film and I’m catching up on myself.
I shall have a hot rooibosh tea, write a little then take to my bed.
sleep well tonight and don’t let the credit crunch bite….