my sugar bowl on TV

Such excitement! A woman was arrested in my kitchen tonight and escorted, in handcuffs, out of my front door. The camera hovered over a lovely butcher block counter, a tasteful green sugar bowl, a spiffy microwave. And then the front door, the street number, the front walk. The house was on screen for about twelve seconds, which took two days to shoot. And now, praise be, I do not ever have to watch Flashpoint again.

It was fun, though, to see my sugar bowl and front door on CTV. The house was rented for the TV shoot while I was away, but at least I caught a glimpse of it tonight. This is the third episode I've watched in my vigil, and my God, the show is exhausting, all stress and tension and macho cops in black. It's actually set in a recognisable Toronto, not masquerading as Chicago or Milwaukee but with streetcars and CN Tower yet also with guns, everyone has guns, which is just not the Canadian way. Street gangs in Toronto have guns, but not young housewives, not crazy radio hosts, not yet. Americans have guns.

The lady in my kitchen did not have any guns, I'm happy to say.

Went last night to see Tom Stoppard's Rock 'n' Roll at Canadian Stage. It's always strange for me to enter this particular theatre, because once upon a time, my husband ran it. Then it was a workplace for me, I was the Mrs., there to help him work the room. Hard to believe this was once my role, but true. Now I'm just a theatregoer arriving half an hour before the show, hoping for half-price tickets.

Stoppard's Rosencrantz and Guildenstern are Dead is a marvellous play, and I would have given anything to get to New York to see his recent The Coast of Utopia, but this play ... hmmm. I said to my friend Lynn afterwards, it's not his fault, it's his job to write a very long play full of every single thing he wants to throw in. It's a dramaturge's job to say, now Tom, it's lovely and clever and we're going to cut out at least three quarters of an hour. No one did, and the play is very long, very very wordy. Lots of interesting stuff, no question, about the reckoning of a life-long Communist as reality sets in; about the influence and importance of Western rock music on Eastern bloc political life, and life in general. But he throws in so much more that your head is reeling - Sappho! The responsibility of newspapers! Syd Barrett's entire life! Stop, Tom, the dramaturge should have said. Less is more. Let's not overload them, okay?

The play did make me realise how much pop music I missed, in the seventies when I was working as an actress - wasn't I listening to the radio? - and in the eighties with 2 small children. Pink Floyd, the Velvet Underground, Guns 'N' Roses, even U2 - I'm ashamed to say they just passed me by. Sometime I'll hang around YouTube calling up the past and make up for lost time.

The lady in my kitchen didn't have any roses, either.