Finally, everything is under one roof. The last storage space has been emptied and we are home.
Time for a cuppa.
Time to lay the foundations of a lifes work. Our enthusiasum is quickly dulled by the sheer quantity of admin, but, heads down, bully and shove, as they say on the playing fields of one of the better schools. We are going to have to expand the office, finding someone who smokes, drinks and is gifted in IT could be hard. There will still be a lot of hefting, but around the house and not in and out of the van. That matters.
We are meeting with designers and builders and an artist is working on an impression of the final look of the theatre.
Cameron seems to want to help small businesses. Which might prove crucial in the coming days of economic woe.
There is much manual labour to be done in the next few months and the long dark nights will have us beavering away like gnomes to get the Tea House ready. but soon it will be time to light the fires, open the doors and tell the stories in the West End of the South Bank. We have time to write. Got a great idea for a 21 century kitchen sink drama. We are the radicals now.
Free at last, free at last, thank god almighty, I'm free at last.
The musical is now on the back burner. Don't watch this space because I won't mention it again. Just to let you know though, it ended with a group of irate conservatives hoisting a public sector worker up onto a crucifix, making a bonfire of regulation beneath him and burning him to death while he sings "I thought a public sector job would be recession proof, I'm only here to help, you know " While they chant "Health and safety this, you pointless waste of space!"
Autumn is here, this is the great season for theatre and our house is dark. We are plotting and working as the days lengthen. We will see you in the spring, until then we will try and remember to update you on our progress.
Cafe Rouge, Maison Blanc, the Tea House will be blue, oak and iron, baby.