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"It must be so glamorous" my parents' friends always coo when they're told I run a theatre. "Our son Andrew" – yes, I will name names – "just works in a call centre. Whereas you, well, you're in show business." This is not the truth.
They imagine me, in a tuxedo, gliding through rows of golden seats, surrounded by plush red walls, hob-knobbing with Kevin Spacey (no pun intended), living solely on those tubs of ice-cream with the plastic spoon in-the-lid like a camp, soon to be diabetic, James Bond.
I suppose it's my fault they have this impression, as, whenever they visit me, I never take them to theatres that are on a par with my own. There is no glamour involved. People often say it's a sacrifice but I've never seen a concrete and confirmed list of what people give up. So, these are things you must kiss goodbye to if you are ever going to run a building.
Dignity
You are always understaffed therefore every job is your responsibility. Just over a week ago I had a visitor from a high profile company come to visit me and talk about bringing their new show – a bijou studio piece – into our space. Perfect.
Except, mid-conversation, an audience member approaches our table to say that he's just been sick in the bathrooms but the toilet won't flush. And there's an interval queue simmering with resentment. The artist I am meeting only has 15 more minutes before she has to catch her train so we try, in vain, to continue talking on location in the cubicle, while I – due to a mysterious lack of plunger – have to try to unblock the toilet with my bare hands. I bet Kevin Spacey doesn't find himself on his knees in a toilet cubicle while discussing programming policy (no pun intended).
A Sense Of Reality
Maybe it comes from working in a building that's been designed to keep sunlight out, but I've found a grip on reality soon starts to slip.
Earlier this year my Nan died. The burial was held in a hurry but the night before I had agreed to help a company get a very complex set in. It came to 2am when I realised I wouldn't be able to get home without it taking me hours and I had to catch a train before 7am to get to the funeral. It then hit me that not only did I not own a clean white shirt but my old suit jacket had been damaged and was no longer wearable. Rummaging through the costume store I found an undertaker's costume that we'd used in a previous production. Perfect, I thought. It looks like it'll just about fit. So I decided to sleep at the theatre (in the Access Toilet – very roomy) and travel from there straight to the station. What I'd forgotten is that in the play the jacket was made for, the undertaker pulls out a gun – meaning there was a large gun shaped pocket on the inside of the jacket and, on the back, the faded but unmistakable stains of fake blood.
I haven't heard from most of the family since.
Human Contact
This doesn't count if you have talented friends.
When you're programming a theatre season you are saying "I think all of these shows are good, worth seeing and I'm putting my name on them". Therefore, if you start programming crap it reflects badly on you. Which often means you can't programme the work of your friends. This leads to the inevitable problem that you can no longer be nice and lie about what you think of work. As soon as you say you liked something they'll want you to put it in your theatre. If you tell the truth they'll never speak to you again. But, I'm sure you're thinking, you'll always have that special someone...won't you?
Um...no.
It would appear I've gone out of my way to make myself unattractive to women. Most women want their men coming to bed – I'm generalising here – smelling of manly things like sawdust, Old Spice or mild racism. In my last relationship I often came to bed smelling of cleaning products, our baby-changing station (for anyone who has one they'll know of the smell I'm referring to) or paint.
Sleep.
This one really speaks for itself. There are always more emails to write, more copy to proof, more reviewers to chase, more toilet paper to order, more invites to send and, in this instance, more blogs to write. However, I'd like to think I'd made this job sound truly awful by this point. The odd thing though is that it isn't. It's a job I've time and again put first. Above girls, friends, Nan's death etc.
When I started running theatres someone far more experienced than myself told me that there were two sayings that, when coupled, summed up the venue-running experience.
Firstly: Running a theatre is like hosting a constant party.
And secondly: You can never truly enjoy your own party.
I'm not sure what part of the job I enjoy. Like a mosaic, I think it's hard to enjoy each piece on its own but, when looked at as a whole, the true pleasure is revealed. And I'm sure even the most successful Artistic Directors, yes even Mr. Spacey, spend most of their time groping round in the dark trying to find their next piece to make them whole. Pun intended.
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