Process of Elimination

Monday.

14:00 (ish)

I finish the work I had to do, send it off via email, then I lean back in my chair stretching and yawning.  If I was a character in a film or a TV series I’d do that thing where I’d rub my eyes and pinch the bridge of my nose, or take off my glasses.  But I’m not a character in a film or in a TV series (that I know of) and I don’t wear glasses.  I think I should wear glasses.  I think I might look sexy in glasses, like a hot and interesting Economics Lecturer who is perhaps hiding something from his past.

This is how it feels to be lonely

14:05

I make myself a cup of tea.  If I was a hot and interesting Economics Lecturer with a secret past I’d probably drink coffee.  But I’m not allowed coffee because it raises my blood pressure.  I say hello to Fergal the cat as I make my way back to the study.  Fergal blocks my way and yowls.  I ask Fergal to let me pass, please.  Fergal bites my foot.  I feed Fergal.  I put a plaster on my foot to stop the bleeding.

14:10

I open up Draft 15 of the play.  I have a few hours now to devote solely to making suggestions for edits to the play in preparation for my meeting later that evening with Naomi.  My tea is already cold and there’s a bloody thumb print and a cat hair on the rim of my You Know Nothing Jon Snow mug.  I wonder what made the hot and interesting Economics Lecturer bury his past so deeply.  He may be a serial murderer, or a Russian spy… or maybe he’s in a Witness Protection Programme after testifying against the mob.  I wonder if people are looking for him.  I wonder if they pay for information.

14:20

I can’t find anything on the internet about reward money offered by organised crime syndicates, but I do find a funny video about a cat biting a man on the foot.  I set to work on the play.  I use a highlight tool to mark lines (or sometimes whole sections) that I think could be cut. The intent is to get rid of anything that slows down the pace of the farce, or doesn’t help develop the characters, or just gets in the way.  Naomi calls it waffle.  I am eliminating the waffle.  I repeat it like a mantra – I am eliminating the waffle, I am eliminating the waffle, eliminating the waffle, the waffle.  I realise this mantra perfectly fits the tune of Like a Rhinestone Cowboy by Glen Campbell, which reminds me I’m hungry and I could really go for some tinned soup.  

14:50-15:00

I’ve worked on a few pages and made a few staggeringly brilliant suggestions.  I hobble out into the garden to get some air.  A nearby car radio is playing That’s the Way it Is by Bruce Hornsby and the Range, a song about the US Civil rights Movement in the 60s.  I sit for a while in the cool afternoon listening to Bruce bash away at the piano, then a BBC News report comes on and I find I must leave the garden and go back inside.  I’m avoiding all news sources because Donald Trump is bad for my blood pressure.

16:05

According to Google, there are fifteen organised crime syndicates operating in the UK.  The nearest one to me operates from Chipping Sodbury.  Who knew?  I wonder if there’s a way of contacting them to tell them I’ve found the turncoat Economics Lecturer who ratted them out.  

17:45

My tentative enquiry email to “The Waste Disposal” people in Chipping Sodbury has pinged back a cryptic reply.  I describe the snitch and ask for £20 in used notes.  Fergal yowls at me.  I change the sum to £25.  Fergal blinks his approval.  I send the email.

18:20

I scoff down some chicken soup and get myself ready to head off to meet Naomi.  I have edited around 25 pages of script, and I have prepared other production documents we’ll need to discuss.

19:00

I am about to shut down my laptop so that I can take it with me to the meeting when I see I have more email.  “Don” from the “Waste Disposal” people in Chipping Sodbury has confirmed the description of the informant and agreed the price.  Done.  Fuggedaboutit.  There is also an email from Naomi, who has sent me her suggestions for edits.  I don’t have time to read it, as I’m about to leave the house.

19:20

I’m in the Banco Lounge, having a cup of tea and waiting for Naomi.  I boot up my laptop, log in to the shared wi-fi, and read the email from Naomi.  She has made suggested edits to around 25 pages of script.  They almost precisely match mine, to the comma.  I smile – it’s pleasing to know that we’re in tune with each other’s creative decisions.  We make a good team.  I get an email from my bank, saying that I have a new deposit of £25, but that this has been used by the bank to pay off bank charges I’ve incurred by going overdrawn.  I really must stop reading emails from my bank – they’re bad for my blood pressure.

19:35

Naomi breezes in and sits down opposite me.  I’d offer to buy her a drink but I don’t have any money.  Shall we begin, she says, as Alabama 3’s Woke Up This Morning comes on the sound system and a man who looks like an Economics Lecturer turns around in his chair to look directly at me.  He mimes pulling a trigger.