There's very little to be said about today. Nathan and I are slightly in stasis, waiting to hear about the project we've been pitching over the last week or so. For the first time (certainly in my life) we've passed on a rather extraordinary opportunity because it didn't feel quite right. It remains to be seen if we will get an opportunity to develop the project in a slightly different way, but if not, there's plenty to be getting on with to keep us busy, and we've very much enjoyed the process of working on the pitch.
The frustration of the day manifested itself in an absolute flurry of creativity on Brass. I wrote about 30 pages of manuscript, almost on autopilot. I genuinely couldn't write things down fast enough. It was just as well, really, because, towards the end of the day, news arrived that tickets have now gone on sale for Brass! How terrifying is that? Tickets on sale before the show is either fully written or cast! Still, all I can do is quote the divine (and sadly no longer with us) Tessa Schneiderman, my first tutor at drama school, who sat us down before embarking on a devised project and said, "I've no idea what's going to happen over the next six weeks" (cue everyone looking at each other slightly uncomfortably) "but I know that it will be remarkable!" (And it was!)
Like Tessa, I am suitably confident in my abilities to know that Brass will be extraordinary. It's almost certainly the best thing I've ever written. It's gritty, funny and desperately sad. Plainly, as a British man, I'll be forced to tell the world that it's flawed or a bit rubbish for fear of coming across as too arrogant (but I'll be secretly lying because I know how great it is!)
...And for those early-birders who want to see this extraordinary work, and like to book tickets eight months in advance, you can purchase seats by going to...
I'm sure there won't be a stampede just yet, but am equally sure the show will eventually sell out.