I have a calendar on the wall next to my ‘work station’…is that still a thing or has the PC (that’s politically correct as opposed to personal computer) world changed that expression to something less authoritarian? Anyway, my calendar, it is the kind that has 2″ boxes for each day so plenty of room to put my reminders, appointments and aide memoires; I also have a paper diary and tucked in my iPhone case, slips of paper with lists of things I mustn’t forget.
‘Piece of ribbon’ is one of the important items on my list.
The calendar has a different picture each month (taken by local photographer Pete Hackett who happens to also be one of the theatre technicians and all round good egg). I like to see what is happening at a glance including any changes I have made. It’s easier and often quicker than opening another tab or trying to find the right screen on my phone and anyway the crossed out stuff is often equally informative.
There have been a few crossing-outs this month.
When one of our trustees popped in, they were shocked to see we had the blinds pulled down obscuring the fantastic view, I’m not convinced she’s convinced by our reasoning – blinded by the sun, squinting at everything (Gabby is worried about the onset of wrinkles, I’m on the downward slope of that particular hill and am more worried about future possibility of cataracts) and not being able to see the screens because of the reflection.
We had a hot and sunny day on Monday, I mean really hot, baking hot in fact. We had to have all the windows open (blinds shut) and the door that separates us from the auditorium so there was a through draft. We don’t generally have the door open because the huge open space on the other side of the door that is the theatre is like a vast sink hole that sucks every bit of warmth out of the office and within seconds of opening the door we start shivering with cold.
But Monday was gloriously hot and knowing how rare these moments are and despite not getting home until nearly 6pm I rushed into the house, said a quick hello to my son and reassured him there would be some dinner at some point that night, then rushed back out having changed at Wonder Woman speed into my swimwear and was back off down to the beach. It was wonderful to still feel warm after having a (very) cooling dip in the sea.
I had two consecutive nights of poor sleep that I put down to the book I’m reading. The Goldfinch by Donna Tartt is definitely not for the faint of heart and starts off with a catastrophic explosion in a museum that is full of visitors. I am very susceptible to literary influences and have been known to occasionally take on a whole new personae in the wake of some of my favourite characters.
Anyway, my expectations were raised on two more sunny occasions so rather than having to go home first I brought in my bag of swim stuff ready to do my Wonder Woman thing in the ladies, but on both occasions I ended up taking it home again as the weather changed to the more typical dull and windy.
I blame Storm Hector’s tail. The high winds took their toll on our colourful bunting that Pete had strung across Theatre Square and on Thursday I found one length draped across Theatre Arch and another had lassoed itself around a neighbouring property’s parasol stand and bird bath, over the fence panel and down into the flower bed. With a nifty pincer movement I soon had it coiled and in a controlled heap. I like to think my daily walk up and down Hill Road (the clue is in the name) helps keep my leg muscles primed for just such events.
The brilliant Lyme Bay Removals popped in on Thursday afternoon to move the grand up onto the stage – “tea Mr Shifter” – ready for a performance. At the same time we were having a meeting in the auditorium so it was an opportunity for everyone to practice their stage skills and propel their voice.
I checked my calendar before I left to drive over to Weston-Super-Mare to look at a puppy with my son, it was going to be an early start in the morning to let the piano tuner in. I have always imagined piano tuners to be failed concert pianists but Martyn Goddard is a paramedic who enjoys the complete contrast of piano tuning and whilst he may not be a wannabe concert pianist, he sure can play.
I’ve scribbled a note on my calendar to remind me about his ability to tickle the ivories, you never know when you might need a piano tuning paramedic and whatever else you do, don’t let me forget the ribbon.