"Where the hell have you been?"

Life in London is sometimes not conducive to writing. Life in rep is often barely conducive to breathing.
That's my excuse and I'm sticking to it like Kate Winslet to the broken buoyant wreckage of the Titanic.

Working in rep has again been both a privilege and a feat of endurance. Wonderful friendships have been born, grown fat and settled into a lively athletic health that I'm certain will survive the rigours of time. I've nervously awaited, cheered, belittled, bemoaned, lambasted, over-analysed, over-rated, tolerated and celebrated any number of reviews and opinions of our precious work. I've been both the victim of almost debilitating nerves and also guilty of almost shameful apathy. I've drunk gallons of wind-down pints and wind-up coffees. Microwaved every ready meal Sainsburys has to offer. Grown moustaches, shaved moustaches, glued on moustaches, lost moustaches, cursed, damned and loved moustaches. Learnt lines at five in the morning because there just isn't enough hours in the day, worked like never before, spoken in 9 accents, murdered 3 people, fallen in love, fallen off stage, undressed in front of 500 people nightly, played the part of my career (so far), cried, sweat and bled, and all on equity minimum. I would very happily do it all again tomorrow.
Ok, maybe the day after tomorrow.

Now then... where did i leave my life?