Long story here. Studied at below with Peter Nichols who wrote the play. Poor man was demented for me to get it right. I had some great lunches with him and others at the Little Venice before hours of gruelling rehearsal shit I didn't fully understand, with that writer, a depressed and almost demented father wanting what was best for his daughter. I tried. The kids in care homes in those days, were probably better off than they are now. It''s a fucking heartbreak, all over the place.I can't write about the kids I saw. In those hospitals. Those horrific institutions. I walked into one with Alan and Peter and the entire ward screamed.What seemed like hundreds of abandoned kids on either side. One nurse was smoking a fag at the end of it, at a desk. I was scared a bit and asked her 'why are they screaming'? She said 'they are happy to see you' that decided me to help.
I never knew anything like it existed. I was having my own troubles. I had to do this thing as Peter Medak, the director, said I'd really help if I did. So I did. My mum didn't want me to do it. But I had to. I was tiny but a good girl. Not the brat some bitch has made me out to be at times. Just a straight kid wondering what the fuck was going on, as not much made sense in my life.
Little Venice.
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