I’m sat in the new holding area, waiting to go on the set of Casualty at BBC Studios. You could hear a feather drop in this vast, empty studio where four of us sit, taking the opportunity to do other work while we wait. It’s quite nice getting paid to sit and write with no distractions. I’m going to work in silence more often. The only distraction is my Pret lunch. It won’t stop staring at me, and the only thing stopping me eating it, is not knowing how long this working day is going to be. I could finish in two hours, making me slightly resentful that I wasted money on lunch, or I could be here until seven o’clock this evening, in which case I’d be rocking in my chair trying not to faint from hunger, kicking myself for not buying the entirety of a Pret shelf.
Okay I caved whilst writing this and ate almost the whole baguette. I don’t yet regret it.
Come actual lunch time, we still haven’t been used for our excellent cleaning skills, but it’s good to be back in a work environment, seeing everybody doing their jobs best they can with Covid restrictions, keeping the cogs turning on production. I’m perching in my too tight cleaning trousers, enjoying what I fear will be the last of the summer sun. If I close my eyes, I’m back on the beach in Pembrokeshire, only it’s my gurgling tummy acting as the sound of the waves, a big extractor as the fierce coastal breeze, and the chitter chatter of the cast and crew are the other holiday makers lounging on their towels, just glad to be around people again.
Looking at the forecast for the next couple of weeks, I start to worry. Not about when I’ll next jump in the sea or how soggy I’m going to get cycling around Cardiff or even when my next filming job will be. Just, when will I get the chance to wear my sleeveless jumpsuit?
A concerned clothes lover,
P.S. I managed to save half of my Pret Chocbar for later. A personal victory.