DIARY
Sorry - I don't think I believe in web blogs. Well, the jury is still out.
Isn't culture, whether it comes from theatre, film, tv or the internet, about well crafted work with something to say, or simply the joy of escapism? I don't think your life is going to be enhanced if I tell you what I got up to today. Correct me if I am wrong and I will gladly tell you what I had for lunch. (Soup).
And if you do want to know what I got up to today, then shouldn't we be mates meeting down the pub. And if we aren't mates that meet for a drink, then why are you interested in my soup based lunch (it was Spinach and Nutmeg). You see, talking about yourself on the internet is addictive. Now I want to tell you more. (I had bread with it too.) But telling you more will surely enhance my sense of self beyond its remit and I'll turn into a tosser. (Actually, it wasn't bread - it was a bagel.)
Maybe, if in the unlikely event I become a Dame or produce consistent work of confidence boosting notoriety, then I will write reams and reams about me and my life and get it all off my chest and feel like I have the right to a bit of cosy self-importance. For now, if you have my phone number, let's chat over a drink. If you don't - wait for the reams in 30 years time. (Or 2 days time if I become addicted) Or email me and tell me I'm wrong about blogs.
As I say, jury is out. (It was an onion bagel.)