I'm presently wandering, somewhat aimlessly, around a 24 hour Tesco store. The lighting is clinical and insanely bright. I don't really know what I'm buying. I'm feeling a little lonely. I feel like someone in an art house film. It's the sort of film where they don't play incidental music to ease the brutality of the shots. I might buy a little pastry. I might not. Very little else will happen in the sequence but I'll act it beautifully. The harsh lighting will make the wrinkles on my forehead look like tram lines. This will make me act better.
I'm somewhere between Ormskirk and Southport. I've been working with the fabulous students at Edge Hill University today. We've been working on a very exciting Em-based project. They're essentially re-recording one of the ensemble album tracks, and we're going to film them, singing and dancing, in full costume, on the streets of Liverpool.
I was up at some ungodly hour this morning, steaming up the M1 and M6 in the car I've borrowed from my parents for the occasion. I stopped at Watford Gap and drank tea surrounded by men in cheap suits. My tea was too expensive but the queue for Macdonald's, where tea is cheaper, was insane.
I reached the students just before lunch. I didn't know where they were rehearsing, but could hear my music drifting down from an upstairs window. It's always surreal when that happens. Clare Chandler was putting a group of lads through their paces when I walked in. I'm not sure the students are hugely fast when it comes to picking up harmonies but they have great energy and life and many are true Scousers which somehow makes the song seem more legitimate!
What seems clear to me is that the university is incredibly lucky to have Claire. She keeps her ear permanently to the ground, is a great supporter of British musical theatre and brings in really interesting practitioners to work with the students.
During the afternoon we did more note-bashing and I'm hoping the cast will go away and do their homework before the studio sessions tomorrow. If they do, we're on course for something fabulous.
I'm staying in a Premier Inn. It's expensive. I don't understand why it's expensive because I'm hardly in a tourist trap. I understood that Premier Inn rooms all had baths. Sadly I've been dumped in the disabled access room which means instead of a bath, I've got some kind of drive-through shower. I'd imagined a long, hot soak. I don't have phone reception either, so I've already missed a call from the film office in Liverpool. There's also an internal door leading to the next door room. I can hear everything they're saying. I'm a little sad. What is this place?