The DUP?!

So it would appear that Theresa May has got into bed with the ghastly DUP in a last-ditched attempt to stop her house of cards from tumbling down. It beggars belief to learn what that dreadful person will do simply to remain in power. Who else will she screw over in this increasingly bizarre one-woman mission to gain a "hard Brexit"? What even is hard Brexit? She claims it's the will of the people and yet she refuses to tell us what it is. One assumes that's because she knows it's something the people won't want. What the hell is that nut job planning?

Now I don't pretend to be an expert in the DUP. Rumour has it they're anti-abortion and that some of them are creationists, which is just the sort of lunacy you need in politics particularly to prop up a prime minister who, by her own admission regularly asks for God's assistance when making decisions. What's certainly not in doubt is the DUP's utterly backward views on gay marriage. Because of them, Northern Ireland remains the last corner of the British Isles where LGBT people are not equal. In my mind you would have to be a fairly unpleasant person to continue to back a prime minister who would be prepared to cynically form an alliance with people like that, particularly in the light of the fact that May is only in Parliament right now because of the surge in support for her party in Scotland, a phenomenon largely attributed to Ruth Davidson, a gay woman, who is about to get married to her long term partner!

Insanity.

I'm finally at the stage with Em where I've done all the work I need to do as writer and can leave a rehearsal at the end of a day without worrying about what I need to do when I get home. It's been a long time coming! Of course, I get home at night far too tired to do anything other than sleep, but it's a relief to know somehow that, if I went into a coma tomorrow, the show would still go on. It's floating. I've done my bit. And, furthermore, the creative team is so strong that I don't need to do anything in rehearsals now except sit at the back of the theatre drinking tea and trying to keep everyone chipper through the long tech.

The show has suddenly started to feel coherent and exciting. I realise I've spent much of the rehearsal period feeling a little distanced from the material I've written. I'm not quite sure why that is. I had the crap kicked out of me on Beyond the Fence, so there's probably an element of self-preservation in play. It's possible too that my subconscious, knowing how close I am to the material, has forced me to remain a little more detached and aloof. It may simply be that I've become old and jaded. It's probably quite healthy for a writer to stay on the outside of his work, however, and not to be as profoundly engulfed by it as I was with Brass. The most peculiar thing about Brass is that I actually ended up feeling like I was dealing with my own memories to the extent that it never even occurred to me to wonder, for example, whether the language I was using was authentic. It was probably something to do with my life long obsession with the First World War. All kinds of little stories and accounts that I'd read over the years had become so lodged in my mind that it sometimes ended up feeling like I was telling my own story! That, or that, in a previous life, I was some sort of Tommy!