Tuesday, March 18, 2008
The Stress Dreams Of Constance Brown
Testament to these rather strained circumstances, are a series of rather poorly encoded stress-dreams:
1: Having the rather robust and functional mobile phone I currently have replaced by an inferior and rather flimsy model against my wishes.
2: Marvelling at a fighter jet with flapping wings (“that is an amazing thing, how the hell does it stay aloft”) seconds before its twin male pilots grow over ambitious and pile, sickeningly, into a rooftop and explode in a fatal ball of flames.
3: Being shocked and upset that a well known theatre promoter who we work with is in fact signficantly younger than I am.
4: Being rather more upset that, because the show required it, I now have an artistic, but spectacularly ugly brown tattoo covering my entire left fore-arm.
Still, all’s well that ends well. The shows passed off smoothly, we even had the time to examine, re-make and finally cut the Spa Scene, re-introduce The Orange Billowing Mass and make a host of other, smaller changes. Audience numbers were great and their responses tremendous, no planes have crashed, I still have my phone, my youth and unadorned fore-arms.
Who could want for anything more?