In July 2015 I perform an hour long monologue at the battersea arts centre. It’s about my time as an amateur boxer and how the gym was a sort-of sanctuary when my parents divorced, one of those stories I know I had to tell if I ever had the opportunity to write something long.
On the first night of the show my ex is in the front row. She gives me a card congratulating me on the success of making it. I fluffed my timing in three scenes and the weight of expectation fucks up any sort of celebration. A decade of youth theatre. This isn’t youth theatre.
I needed six weeks off work, three for rehearsing (and finishing) and three for the run. I ran through my first paycheck in the first three weeks. On the week of the run I was emptying my coin jar and using Mcdonalds Metro vouchers to eat after my show.
Every review gives me four stars, and I’m annoyed it’s not five.
In September 2016 we’re in San Diego and you’re driving us to the beach in your mum’s car, I ask if you want your birthday present early. It’s a mixtape I’ve been working on for the last two months. I learned how to use garageband so I can mix the horns of SpottieottieDopalicious with All night. kissupandrubupandfeelup. There’s also a K-pop medly and Converted youtube videos to mp3 for skits and Leonard cohen poems.
The tracklist starts with homeboy sandman singing happy birthday in Spanish then two lil boosie songs in a row, then the sky is the limit instrumental that I talk over, reading out our first ever texts.
There are bare mountains in the distance. I’ve never seen anything like it.
Our birthdays are six days apart, your present is a trip to this garden that has these exotic fish. It’s hard to understand that you can give something that cant be claimed, but the fish really are beautiful.