I feel so angry, wronged, helpless, downtrodden, bitter, revengeful – over things that shouldn’t bother me that much. We went to see one of the live National Theatre broadcasts at the West Norwood Picturehouse cinema on Thursday night. A brilliant play called Hansard, by Simon Woods. I was captivated. Then the live feed went down and we sat looking at a blank screen for 20 minutes. When the picture restored, it was in time for the credits only.
Incensed from East Dulwich
Since then I have felt like a malingering unexploded bomb. Someone only has to brush against me and I’ll go off. I hate this feeling. In the old days it wouldn’t necessarily have prompted me to reach for the bottle, but within a short while I would have reached for it anyway, and when I did, the consequences would be dire. The toxic bile within me would have to come out somewhere, perhaps as sarcasm, or bad-mannered ingratitude, or a melt-down of self-righteous rage over the next mistake inflicted upon me by some hapless employee of a fat-cat corporation. Picturehouse springs to mind!
A far-away glaze would come over me. I would flare up then calm down and drift into some innocuous hallucination that would quickly ignite again. I would be ranting at the memory of an old boss from 30 years ago, threats flying out like sparks. Solicitors, trustees, MPs, back-street thugs would all be invoked in my fantasy-torrent of abuse.
As it is, I can sense the powder keg within me now, even without the alcohol. Sobriety hasn’t flushed it away. But it’s contained. There’s a bomb-disposal team around the shell and they’re skillfully cordoning off the risk to a contained area. They’ve also put a drain on the toxic effluent and I know it won’t be too long before the worst of it is out safely.
But right now I am still waiting for anger leave me, and it’s a horrible feeling. I’d like to give the National Theatre a piece of my mind. More so than Picturehouse, oddly; perhaps because I think the NT would actually care. My venom would be taken seriously. Picturehouse is a corporate entity, part of cineworld, and like all PLCs, is contemptuous of its customers. We stand in the way of their profit at the same time as being their only means of making it. Oh God, I’m off again…I’ll go for a run and have a bath…much better than the old days – which would be vodka diluted in a strawberry Volvic bottle! Hurrah for Sobriety!
for more of this kind of drivel have a look at my book page