A couple of days ago I wrote about writing and jotting notes as ideas, thoughts observations occur to me, but how I’m blighted by appalling, careless handwriting. To get round this I’ve started jotting notes on my phone, but a combination, of flat thumbs, rushing and yes, carelessness, sometimes even those jottings, though legible are difficult and sometimes impossible to interpret and understand.
I shared some examples, and a friend challenged me to write something including these mysterious messages! I wrote the first part yesterday; some friends in an amateur dramatic group are getting together for the first meeting after lock-down, and to begin to organise their next production. They are going to be performing ‘The White Clock’ by a writer they have not met before, Martin Furber.
So, here is the next instalment; it’s the following week and Jessie and Max are meeting Alex and Lissa for a bite to eat before they all head to the rehearsal:
The White Clock (ii)
Jessie and Max met up with Alex and Lissa for a sandwich at The Squirrel’s Dray before rehearsal. It was warm enough to sit in the garden and they caught up with each other’s news.
“Not sure if I know what to think of this play, very odd if you ask me,” Alex commented, pushing his glasses up his nose.
Jessie was puzzled. “I must have missed the odd, it just seems rather wordy and lacking action. The speech I have to make in the prize giving scene is virtually one long tongue-twister.”
“Well Max being an aquatic mammal pathologist is weird – and how does it fit in with the rest of it?”
Max laughed, but then seeing that Alex looked surprised presumed he’d misheard. “What did you say I was, Al?”
But Alex was thinking of his own part, “That thing I have to say – I just know I’m going to bugger it up, ‘cetaceans, sirenians, pinnipeds and fissipeds’!”
Now Jessie joined in “Honestly Al, I’ve not seen that! I think I must have a scene missing.” She pulled out her script. “Can we just check we’ve got the right parts otherwise there’s going to be a gigantic cock-up.”
“Maybe Therma sabotaged them, shuffled them up, pulled out pages – hey, folks, look at the time! We’ll check it later, come on, don’t want to be late for Martin!” Lissa stood up, pushing back her chair.
They grabbed their things. “I’m not an aquatic pathologist, anyway, you’ve got that wrong, Al, I’m a geologist, a very boring geologist!” Max protested.
“Well, I hope you are, the scene with the porpoise dissection is just grim!” Lissa headed for the gate out of the pub garden. “We’re going to have to say unsuitable for children otherwise, and warn all our old lady fans – we don’t want them fainting in the aisles!!”