Sunday and another week gone, seemingly in the blink of an eye. Douglas leaves today for Athens on the midday boat and then flies to England on Wednesday. His first medical appointment has already been arranged for Thursday morning. Friends everywhere have been so supportive but while he is away that support can be in thought only and in a situation like this you feel so utterly helpless which, in fact, is what you are.
So I am on my todd for the next twelve days as Chris is not due back until the morning of the18th. It does feel a bit weird, in fact the whole situation feels surreal. Not that I haven’t been on my todd before but not under these circumstances. Douglas said at dinner yesterday evening that the moment his back is turned everything electrical in the house starting with this computer is going to crash. I hope not. It will be candles, oil lamps and gas cooker if it does. It is also awkward not being able to drive having not renewed my stolen licence, being still partially sighted in the right eye (though it seems to be improving or is that just wishful thinking?) and having just had the pacemaker fitted. If the cops were to stop me I’d probably be in a heap of trouble and that would be just my luck.
Douglas informed Lightning Source of the delay thanks to DHL in receiving the proof of THE JOURNEYS WE MAKE and got an immediate reply to the effect that they would send another copy to him in England free of charge. Now that is what I call excellent customer relations. Pity not all firms are like that. Haven’t heard from Vanessa Redgrave or her agent, not a dickie bird but, (optimism again) maybe it is early days yet but the question is, should I hold out much hope? It is a cry from the heart of the most neglected dramatist of the 20th/21st centuries. Nobody can say I don’t try but properties are sent out on a wing and a prayer only it would seem to disappear into the wild blue yonder, and there’s a string of clichés for you. Today the accent is all on yoof. The BBC is run by children and I see a seventeen year old girl is having her play produced at The Royal Court Upstairs. She is evidently described as a real find. But then so was Sheila Delaney when she wrote A TASTE OF HONEY and will this one also turn out to be a one play playwright? Whatever, I wish her every success. Talking of which, whatever happened to Arnold Wesker after his brief flurry of fame? Must look him up on the internet.