The key?

Yesterdays bread lapped up with todays evening meal of melting pork in gravy with lentils and mmmmmm!
Formidable.
Zut alors! this tastes good!
Thlurp tmm tmm tchm, is the only sound in the room as I suck the marrow from out the bones.
A slug of white wine and I reflect once again on how lucky I am.

I have fantastic family, those at home whose support brought me here, and those here in my adopted country who supply me with food, french and new trousers.

I am working with a theatre legend; El Monsieur Professor whose school I have wanted to attend for the last 4 years. (Ben Cutler I don't know if I ever told you but I owe you for turning me onto monsieur G at your lab all those years ago.)

And...

I'm loved!

Est voila.

Surely that is enough.

Or is it?

Maybe for some.

But apparently not for me.

Selfish as it sounds I need more.

I need the love of the audience and so far I have not got it.

Clown class; It's good in a way that my classmates see me as a partial stranger.
To get too comfortable with one another only leads to nepotistic laughter and in jokes.
But the unknown public await, an unproven audience, together there only for one night, in one place, paying their money earned by sweat and graft, who wish to be lifted somewhere new, carried to an imaginary world where beauty rules supreme.

Ahh!

Please my little boatman cradle me onward.
Onward
Onward
Onwaaaaaaards

Bid me view places unseen, to drift on the tide of fantasy, and peek through the cracks of your mind to view the spectres of dreams.

Amen.

Non?

I need their love.
And so do all here who crave longevity in this business.
To be loved is to last.

And so, without this love yet I strive again for more.
More laughs.
More laughs.
More laughs.

The key to longevity?

Help me monsieur.

I want to succeed.