I've read Ulysses. Or rather...
That bloody book. Ages it has. Haranguing and haranguing. Four times I tried. Four times! But done it is it is the. Done. One word after another just like in that Stephen King thing with killing things and never a Latin quote to spoil the bloody sport of reading it and. Kidney. Still. Where was it purchased? At his favourite second-hand book shop, Henry Pordes, being located at 58 to 60 Charing Cross Road in the city of London for one pound and 99 pence from the small table on your right near the stairs. Why was it on that table? That was the table where Mr Pordes placed all the specials. A new book. New as the day. But cheap. All the books that no one cares and no one cares for but I said yes I will Yes.
And I read the f**ker.
I'm letting everyone know. And since I've not written one blogging word since I arrived back in God's Own VIP Section – seriously don't come here by boat, not even P and bloody O, you won't be allowed off – I thought that bragging about reading exploits was as good a start as any. And, by the way, it's hard at times, easy at times, beautiful at times, and, sometimes, you don't understand how he's done to your imagination what he's done. I think an angel reached up through his arse and down his arm and pushed the pencil around occasionally. I give it 5 stars and a drunk comet.
I've been back for over 6 of your months. There's been no regular work but a lot of house-sitting and a lot of living in the mother's grannie flat and one trip to South Australia and I might have gone to Queensland back over Christmas but I can't remember.
Nonetheless I'm now a University Lecturer (my capitals) in the Humanities Department (their capitals) at the uNIvERsiTY oF nEwCAsTLe, oUrimBaH cAmpUS (stream-of-consciousness capitals). Which means we're a fair whack from Newcastle but you still get your piece of paper at the end. I've seen the online HR site where I electronically complete my time sheet and I'm applying for a course to learn how to fill it out electronically. I hope there's a free spot. Of course, one may have to do it online.
I was sitting at home at a desk writing a marvellous screenplay called “Avoca” - it's a heart warming love story that goes over a whole lifetime and set on a beach and I think when it's made some people might call it a bit slow – when the phone rings.
Stuart: “My friend needs someone to lecture for her at the university. Mind if I put your name in the ring?”
Me: “Think of a reason to say no. Think of a reason to say no.”
Stuart: “What?”
Me: “Sure.”
I hang up. Jocelyn rings.
Jocelyn: “I need someone to lecture about Acting and Performing for the rest of the year. I have two blokes with proper degrees but are you interested?”
Me: “Think of a reason to say no. Think of a reason to say no.”
Jocelyn: “What?”
Me: “Do I have to do my time-sheet online?”
Jocelyn: “Yeh but it's not hard.”
Me: “Sure. Whatever. I've read Ulysses.”
Next day I'm sitting in exactly the same position. The script is in exactly the same position.
Jocelyn: “Yeh. The gig's yours.”
Me: “Thanks.”
Jocelyn: “Bye.”
Me: “Bye.”
And that's how you interview for a position at a university
I did my first lecture last week. Went okay. In my own head I'm calling it “How To Play Cowboys And Indians As A Grown-Up”. I'm going to teach them about Theatre of the Poor, Theatre of the Oppressed, Epic Theatre, Street Theatre, Forum Theatre, Theatre of Cruelty, Noh, Artuad, Butoh and Brecht and then I'm going to teach them about what actually happens. I'm kidding. It was too easy. I had to go there. (I'm not kidding.)
On a personal note I'm back in that strange land I wandered into in 2011. The land with no magnetic north. Or south. I feel nothing pulling me forward. Or up or down. Or anything really. Which is not really...um...me. Mind you, according to a few books I've read since I started work as a dresser on Rock of Ages on London's glittering West End last year – boy did that situation turn out to more spiritual than the poster implied - I'm not really here. Here isn't really here. This is all a dream. An illusion. A massive hallucinogenic movie. An amazing non-thing that isn't really happening at all.
Okay...
So I've decided I'd really like to be non-realistically wealthy. Might have to stick an exclamation mark on the end of Avoca. Avoca!
To my English friends – I miss you and wish you all well. I will return. One day.
To my Aussie friends – I've not caught up with all of you face-to-face yet, which is ridiculous after all this time. Apologies. Will be well-received. Where's my dinner invite???? I'm kidding! (I'm not kidding.)
I'm also turning 50 at some point in the near-ish future. Or at least, this body through whom the universal WooHaa is flepturating is putting 50 sun orbits on its time-sheet. Which, if we ignore the circular motion is really just a long piece of cosmic string, and seriously, how long is a piece of string? Urh. It's enough to make you paint your whole body white and let the spirits take over your kinetic movement thus creating a physical semiotic experience that can be observed and enjoyed by a spect-actor in a non-linear ludic space.
Me? I think I might organise a big game of Blazing Saddles.
Don't worry. Political Correctness isn't really real.
Apparently you can get that on a t-shirt in Port Moresby.
Exclamation mark.
