Yesterday, I battled my Queensland mentality of staying indoors (changing/cancelling plans etc) whenever it rains, finally dragging myself out into the wet to see a little more of London, though mainly to seek a job. I wandered along the murky Thames River on the Southbank in the drizzle, past Lambeth Palace, the London Eye (if it went lots faster I'm sure it would be lots more fun), looking over to the magnificent gold-glittering (even through the rain) houses of Parliament and Big Ben (not as big as I expected), to visit the National Theatre and the Old Vic, rain-soggy CV's in tow. At the National - a modern brick-box of a building hiding three theatres : the Olivier, the Lyttelton and the Cottesloe- I only briefly poked my nose around before navigating my way to the stage door, where I'd been informed by kindly security staff that I'd find the human resources department. Once there, I was directed to an in-house phone and spoke to a very efficient sounding lady who told me in her crisp clipped english that I was to apply only through their website. A little perturbed, I trudged on to the Old Vic, my London A-Z clutched close to my chest, also quite soppy now despite my (cheap = frail) umbrella, where I met a lovely young man in charge of seemingly hundreds of ushers all loitering on the stairs as a performance of Osborne's "The Entertainer" took place within. Displayed photographs of this theatre looked magnificent and regal, and while Kevin Spacey himself was not in the building all the staff seemed friendly and smiled at me (probably out of pity at my dismal drenched state). The amiable manager stated the obvious: that he had plenty of staff. Nevertheless, he took my CV and gave me some positive affirmation based on his own employment experience. Not particularly encoured however, I traipsed home, in more of a pelt than a trickle now. My flares soaking up the rain to my knees, I finally understood the jeans-inside-the-boots fashion which previously bewildered me. Then my umbrella died. I had heard an amusing description of London as an umbrella graveyard (umbrella necropolis!). Unfortunately it is true. And not so funny now. Umbrella inside out, spokes exposed, entirely disfunctional, I marched half-drowning through puddles, in my heavy flares, miserable. Not a bloody street sign anywhere to be found, I somehow found familiar territory, the slightly-overdone-chocolate-cookie aroma of a nearby coffee factory heralding home. Saturated. I wondered about the suicide statistics in London.

Today, a visit to Doctor Theatre. I attended (via another drizzly walk) a matinee of "Attempts on her Life" by Martin Crimp at the National Theatre. I was keen to see this play as I had worked on parts of the script in an acting workhop with Kate Gaul in Sydney. About a visual artist who has documented attempts on her life (including a succesful one), I loved the writing, fascinating in that it was unallocated dialogue, therefore up to the director and actors to assign words to characters. Open to interpretation indeed. It was an engaging performance though not exactly escapist theatre. The large cast maneuvered and operated perhaps nine or more video cameras around the stage, as well as an assortment of props and projection screens, peformed music live and even line-danced at one point. It was clearly a big-budget affair, which I enjoyed, but I'd love to see a profit-share version. Walking home in the rain AGAIN was not as torturous this time, thanks to the inspiration of theatre.
Moreover, good news arrived in the form of a call from fabulous friend Jacobie offering me a job. I am to be a 'viewing assistant' at Christies Auction House where Jacobie is deputy front-of-house manager. Relief. I start this saturday.