Open. Close. Riding the trains. Always so romantic. Flashes of other lives on the fast track to the central station. Where have they been, these different people? Where are they going? Are they as happy as me? Surely they are richer. Perhaps more powerful. But do their lives have more meaning, more focus, more pleasure? What is it to be really living? What does it take to feel really alive? Riding the trains. The motion. The movement. Enjoying each spin of the wheels on the track. The play of light, the open close, the colour combinations, the glimpses into flats, the friends and lovers you will never meet, the lives lived better or worse, a meal for two, a reconciliation, a parting, the detail, steam rising from a pot of pasta, the detail, flash, gone. Enjoying everything possible. This is living. In the stream. Riding the trains. Right here. Right now.
Thursday night (it’s the new Friday again), with the usual mix of theatre and kitsch and food and camp and, with Coco on the decks, most excellent music. It’s always a pleasure to play with this gang.