Saskia is late. Shocker

So it was my turn to blog last week. On Monday that is, or Sunday, I forget. And I've finally got round to it. My excuse? It was my damned birthday on Monday - I say fair enough. Plus, if I was actually on time for once in my life I truly believe the world would implode, so really it was a selfless act - safety first people, safety first.

Today I met with Chris and Laura to seek out Victorian toy-based inspiration. We went to Covent Garden to Pollock's Toy Shop and nosed around, picking things up, taking photos and honing straight towards anything that had a 'Please don't touch' sign above them. Toys you can't touch? That's just too English even for me. Lots of food for thought - does Death have a yo-yo, or a cup and ball? Can we make a world out of wind-ups and Spilikins? Anything is possible. Afterwards we went for cake and made paper aeroplanes - sometimes I wonder where the artistic investigation begins and the playtime stops, but maybe thats the point. Perhaps theatre only thrives because we're not allowed to play anymore. Well Pollocks to that.

Last week Syrie, Harriet and I went to Homebase, AKA Land Of Dreams, to look for Duck-building materials. We came back with a length of dowel ('What's dowel?' Ben asked. 'It's like a stick,' Saskia replied. 'Oh.' Said Ben), a plug and a catflap. (It should be noted that the two latter objects were personal purchases for my new flat, although I think it would be an interesting challenge to make a Duck out of the three aforementioned items). We then went to the nearby builders' yard in the search of a hoover pipe and with some amusement from the boiler-suit wearing crew that greeted us, were presented with exactly what we were looking for. 'How much do you want for it?' 'Just a smile.' Bingo. All we have to do now is build the damn thing - I believe that is Wednesday's job.

And so the construction, both literally and conceptually, of DDT continues. It finally feels like there's the hint of flesh on the bones now; if you asked my how we're doing it, I might even be able to give you a vague idea. Which is exciting. I think what people forget about making something, making anything in fact, with more than one other person is that it really takes time; part of our process of working on this project was (and is) finding out what that process is and should be. But I don't see that as a negative thing, we never were a West End, deadline-based, cash cow company and doubt we ever will be. I'd say we're more of a slow-burner - we make our marinade from scratch God damn it (to borrow/steal Ben's analogy for just a moment). He'd say we're making soup - I'd say we're more of a meaty stew, a tagine if you will, or for the vegetarians amongst us, a ratatouille. And as Willy Russell rightly points out in his gambit with Miss Rita, 'You can't burn a ratatouille.'