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to Stratford I will end up spending four
years wiei the company, during which time they will have done thirteen
Shakespeares and I will have been in two - yet I joined the company to
play Shakespeare. The situation is absurd.
    A punk vagrant is stuck in a tree, having tried to climb into a deserted
property. High off the ground, his long coat caught among the branches
like wings. He tries to free himself occasionally, listlessly, then gives up
again. His hair is a rainbow of the most vibrant colours. From a distance
bright and beautiful. A tropical bird. But as I pass underneath, close to,
the hair is matted and filthy. His eyes are closed. He seems to have fallen
asleep.

Tuesday 29 November
    M o N TY s e s s 1 0 N He talks about Fritz Perls and the Gestalt theory. The
here and now is the only time that exists. And being yourself. Not accepting
yourself, not taking yourself for granted. Being yourself. Your self. Monty
defines `normality' as a contentment with who you are.
    The sunlight is weird at this time of year - an insistent silver light. This
morning as I shave it falls on the water and throws a strange light on my
face. Instantly Richard III. I stare at him for a moment, then quickly fetch
a sketchbook to put down what I've just seen. But it's a difficult drawing. The strange light can only be indicated by leaving one eye unfinished and
beaming out of the darkish face. So difficult to avoid cliche. What I find
myself recreating is straight out of Hammer Horror. And worse of all, the
lips I have drawn are not my own, but Olivier's. Again that giant shadow
falls across the landscape and I dart around trying to find some light of
my own. My Richard is in its infancy; barely that, it is still struggling to
take form, uncertain even whether to take form. And there's this fully
formed, famously formed, infamous child murderer leaning over the
cradle ...

    DUO FRANCO RESTAURANT Lunch with Ron Daniels. I developed a
great affection for Ron during Maydays, partly because we're both Anglicised foreigners - he's from Brazil.
    `Servants do make life easier,' he says wistfully as we settle at our table.
    `Oh God, don't they just? Being brought up with them finishes you for
life. I find it impossible to do any domestic work at all. It just seems the
most appalling waste of time.'
    The restaurant is run by a swarthy brotherhood of Italians. They play
opera instead of muzak and sing along loudly as they pass among the
tables. The specialities of the day are told to you in aggressively thick
Italian accents, followed by a dark-eyed stare which challenges you to ask
them to repeat. This Mafia once-over is worth it for the calves' liver which
is the sweetest in the world. I urge Ron to try it.
    We are on to our desserts before he says, `Right, let's talk business.'
    `Yes please.'
    `Channel Four are interested in a mini-series of Maydays, possibly in
four parts ...'
    Clever tactics. I was expecting the Stratford season, get a Maydays
telly instead. But I'm not going to bite: `Sounds wonderful. It's a pity
negotiations aren't further ahead. It might help me sort out next year. I'm
so disappointed you've all failed to find anything else for me.'
    `Paranoia, PARANOIA!' Ron yells in delight, disturbing one of the
waiters as he was reaching for his big moment in Otello; the man glares
murderously, but Ron is still laughing, `We didn't even finalise the Main
House season till last night.'
    The plays will be Henry V (Adrian Noble directing Ken Branagh),
Merchant of Venice (John Caird directing Ian McDiarmid), Richard, Hamlet,
Love's Labour's.
    `First of all,' says Ron, `I must urge you to have a play out after Richard.

    I know you're a workaholic, but it is a terribly taxing part, vocally, mentally,
physically. Richard is notorious for crippling actors. They spend years
afterwards on osteopaths' couches. Trust me - you'll need a rest.'
    `But isn't Roger going straight from Hamlet to Berowne?'
    `Not the