Bye Bye Baby

Oh dear, I feel just like those old people do (you know, 'parents') when they experience that 'empty nest' syndrome. You see, now that the selection process is over for the Triliteral Stageplay Festival 2010, there's very little for me to do for a while. I've now had to hand over to my lovely boys and their young, talented friends who will be dealing with all of the artistic side of things - that is the auditions, casting and rehearsals. In one way this is most appropriate because I'm working full-time down at the salt mines these days, and so can't get involved in much during the day anyway, but I do feel somewhat 'out of the loop' and it's left me feeling slightly bereft. I've had to wave bye-bye to anything truly hands-on for the time being, and it's like seeing my lovely babies leave for University or something, and I'm left here all alone while they go off and have fun.

Of course, in true fashion, my naughty boys haven't even kept me up-to-date with what's going on. They're too busy even to remember about me, and who can blame them? When you're having fun doing something that you love, who wants to remember about the old man sitting alone in the homestead, wondering in silence what on earth is going on? I suspect that the only time they will think of me is when they want their washing done, and then they'll just parcel it all up and send it home without even a cheery note. By the way, I am speaking metaphorically here – I don't really do their washing.

Oh well, I suppose I shouldn't begrudge them their bit of fun – but I can't help imagining the worst; speculating on what might have happened at today's auditions (whether they have found the stars of our shows, or whether it's all been a procession of wannabe Dorothys). Actually, you'd think that the plural of 'Dorothy' would be 'Dorothies', but that doesn't seem right either.

As for me, I return to the sailing season tomorrow. I'm not sure that I'm in the mood for it really – it's still quite cold out there, and the idea of getting togged up in lycra and neoprene and blasting round the racecourse in this weather isn't exactly appealing. Actually, if the wind is anything like it is tonight, there won't be much 'blasting' around anyway – we'll probably just sit in the doldrums, battling the current, freezing our balls off. Never mind – at least it will provide me with some exercise and fresh air, two things I don't get much of, cooped up in the dark and dismal conditions down at the salt mines. And at least if there's little wind we won't capsize (not that we usually do; we normally win). Notwithstanding that, I'd still rather be skiing – I had an email from the Ski Club of Great Britain today (the weekly newsletter) in which it said that there's still plenty of snow in the Alps. Hmm, perhaps I could take off – after all, they won't miss me back at Triliteral HQ, will they?

And now, to football. I just watched the opening minutes of the Manchester United v Bayern Munich game and I was dismayed to see a banner hanging from the stands declaring: "Rooney – The White Pelé". What the fuck is all that about? Couldn't they just have said "The British Pelé" or "The Manchester Pelé"? It's disgraceful, that's what it is. And who was this Pelé fellah anyway? Was he any good?