It's the 18th March. ICARUS, a grand promenade folk opera, opens it's heavy church doors in 18 days.
There is something terrifying and something exhilirating about making this show. Often I have no idea what is going to happen until it's happened, equally I often have a plan and it turns out looking entirely different. But at the end of each day, we're a little step closer to something truly remarkable.
I popped in to Fine Chisel's rehearsal the other day in the wonderful Pocklington Arts Centre. A newly formed choir were singing and arranging songs; a group of local drummers were figuring our their rhythms; a chap had brought his guitar and was quizzing George about the chords; a group were in the corner weving clouds out of willing. Then a world reknowned rocking horse maker brought in a giant pair of wings he'd made. These days are starting to feel normal, which is wonderful. My contribution? I made the tea.
For me, it's about sitting back and watching. Fine Chisel are a darn fine bunch, fearlessly pulling together a flight, a fall, a wake and a party with 50 people they only met a couple of weeks ago. It's cheesy, but it's starting to feel like a big group of friends.
I had a production meeting about hang gliders, candle-lit processions, stopping traffic, good weather, bad weather, buffets, projectors and whether you're allowed to tape stuff down to ancient church floors. It's no ordinary theatre show, this. Now is it full of ordinary people. Ask any of us who are working on it. The people are just flipping wonderful.
18 days to go. Expect to be seeing a lot of this image.
It's of a boy, flying. How real that is starting to feel.