Avatar on Tour - Skye
Final night on Skye, in the ridiculously beautiful setting of Sabhal Mor Ostaig, the Gaelic college. I cross the road bridge for the first time, and head south. Once again, it's a scorcher of a night.
What with the heat and the start of the footie, I'm amazed that people turn out for the play at all. But it's a great end to the tour, and a responsive last audience. Responsive, that is, apart from the bloke sitting next to me. He's asleep. He wakes up every now and then, snorts a bit, then falls asleep again, despite cracking performances just a few yards away on stage. I'm wondering if the actors can see him, and whether I should stab him in the ribs. But his pal on the other side appears to be doing just that, with little effect.In the interval, I can't resist: I tell him I'm the playwright and I'm - er - intrigued by his lack of - ur-hum - engagement with the play. Turns out he's been out in the sun all day doing a wildlife survey with a group of students, and this is the first time all week he's been able to shake them off and have a night out. Oh well. I get a free drink by way of apology.
Cheers, Mr Z. In a weird way, he becomes a handy symbol - of the sweating, snoring, cursing and coping of real, live theatre, and of my development as a writer. I realise it's the first time I've ever openly, confidently admitted to being one.
The next bit's hard. It's all over. The team pack up the set. I don't hang around. In the morning, they're off early in the bus. We're planning to meet at night in Edinburgh.
Maybe we will. But it's easier if we don't.
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