26 February 2008
Fame At Last
Like most playwrights who've not got there yet I dream of seeing my name in orange neon on the facade of the Royal Court, or in massive dots on the NT billboard. Until that dream flowers or dies, however, I have the West End Whingers review of Cloudcuckooland to keep the fires of ambition stoked. I was sitting just three down from Andrew in the front row, reminiscent of the night I sat in close proximity to Michael Billington scribbling away during the Euripides I'd done for the Gate. On this occasion though, any latent anxiety had no time to rise, as we were all too busy blowing up balloons, calling out the names of dinosaurs and pledging allegiance to the city state of Cloudcuckooland (complete with actions). But I was sorry Andrew didn't have time (or enough hands) to whip out a notebook, as I'd primed Spike to march up to him and demand to know "What are you writing?".