Even though I am happy…
The Playhouse Life-drawing Club takes place in the grungy theatre bar with a barman who likes to watch. The Playhouse is on the verge of bankruptcy. The tables haven’t been wiped since the cleaners stopped being paid. The podium is theatrically spot-lit. Marlene Dietrich is singing. Helga, who is my fan (fantastic definition! Can’t get enough of you!), gives me costumes to put on from the theatre’s wardrobe and they make me pose on a rickety sideboard. In the break someone gets me a dry white wine.
Change of music. I am back on the sideboard with wine in my veins when Dido’s song ‘Thank You
I watched it with my ex about a million times when I was backwards and forwards to the Aberdeen clinic. I had twelve goes, not three.
In the next scene they are in the bathroom testing Sharon’s pee. There’s this agonizing moment of watching for the little line to appear – will it, won’t it – then they go ecstatic and dance about.
My eyes swim. I try blinking. I try not blinking. One tear pops out. It’s just an auld lang syne tear.
Ilka claimed that DVD, thank god.
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