Wait until dark

I've just come back from the Wednesday Playoffs. Once a month, five amateur writers enter excerpts from plays. These are performed (reading from script) and the audience votes on the two winners to go through to the final.

At the beginning of the evening the compere reminded us that we were voting on quality of script not acting - as everyone is an amateur and some are (much) better than others.

The writing in one of the plays was on a level so much higher than any of the others that I gave it both my votes: there was no comparison. And it wasn't a winner!!! I couldn't believe it. The plays that won were okay but used stereotypes and predictable jokes. Oh, honestly, it really made me mad.

I was thinking that the play wot me and my writing buddy are (supposed to be) writing was a bit carry-on-like, but I think we could be onto a winner with these audiences. If we ever get it written.

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I've come home to a dark upstairs. A fuse went this morning and I emailed Husband because I couldn't remember how to change it. My Outlook is being overly-cautious and sending lots of my mail, including his reply, into the Spam folder. Meaning I forgot about it until I got home now in the dark. And changing the fuse means venturing into the outside shed, standing on a chair and threading fuse wire through little holes. (No, Stu and Winston, we haven't got round to changing our fusebox for a modern one yet - I recall your remarks last time this happened - I must have a good memory - for some things.) So getting ready for bed could be an adventure.

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I shouldn't have given this post that title. I remember the first time I saw the play, Wait Until Dark, in the theatre. It frightened the life out of me. I hope Younger Son comes home soon.
xx