I've been telling anyone who asks, never again.
"How's the script coming along?" - "Never again!"
It's like pulling your own teeth out, the repetition, the monotony.
So many words. Thankfully they are Samuel Beckett's words and so they dance like ballet, read like poetry, scan like music.
These plays may be just 35 minutes long (each), but they are packed with gems, aces of black comedy and wry humour.
Mysterious they are. But entertaining and thought-provoking, too.

They are 2-handers. Mike Bennett, the other hand, is a fine fellow with all the goodness, courtesy and wit I like in people. I am a jibbering wreck at times and keep saying "never again" as I wander from room to room, sheafs to hand. The script comes to the shower with me, the bath, the loo and in my car as a silent, intimidating passenger whom I consult at every red light and the occasional lay-by. You can't let her go for a moment. She comes to bed with you, sleeps with you and wakes up with you. She's your lover. Yet you hate her. Never again.

But then.....I know I can't let anyone down. And I said yes, as I do - the answer is Yes, what's the question? Again. Another adventure; another box to tick. I aim to deliver. Come see. Anyone who gets me, will get these plays. And you can be in and out in an hour and a half. For fifteen quid. I would. But then I love the words. And also it's a terrific space, The Arts Theatre. A good bar and a clubby atmosphere. Have seen the auditorium, and the stage. Haven't seen the dressing-rooms, but I've been in moe than a few, and nothing will surprise.

I study the script on trains to London for the Beeb, to production meetings, all the time. I find corridors between carriages in the train to hold mobile phone chats, interviews etc. Can't bear the type who dismisses the presence of all others, as though the carriage were his/her private office. I say to them, excuse me, or madame, this is not your private office, if they go on too long diallling and receiving. Hate the ill-mannered and the arrogant. They get both barrels. Then sometimes they will look at me, figure it out and mumble who does he think he is? I've heard it and I think, I am just me. You may see me on the telly, or in your local paper, but I have the right to peace on a train, especially first-class, though not at all exclusively. We all have the right. Phone keeps ringing? Important person? Get in your car. Or get out into the train corridor, and find a quiet place, and speak quietly as though others are (and they are) listening. Respect.

To Royal Ascot on Tuesday where The Other Cockney Rebel contests the St James's Palace Stakes. 6/4 favourite. And quite right too. What he did at Newmarket and The Curragh was phenomenal. He's been valued by at least one prospective purchaser at 10 million pounds. After Royal Ascot, Phil C., the main player, will decide. I only wish he were mine. But he belongs to friends. And I am associated, therefore. You can't ask for much more than that. It's been a great thrill so far, and I suspect there's more to come. 6/4 could look like a steal come Tuesday late afternoon. No such thing as a sure thing in racing. But this charismatic and beautiful equine athlete is putting in work on the gallops to make the mouth water.

It's a good life, with so many adventures. Never again. Tick the boxes now.
Never again? I'll get back to you on that.

SH