Thursday in three parts

Of course, we're talking about the Thursday that happened two weeks ago, because I don't like to rush these things, as you know.

1) I was quite taken with this arrangement of rubbish outside the Barbican, which I observed on my way to see South Pacific with my pals from choir. My favourite thing about it is that it looks exactly like the wrapped up body of a giant-headed man with no arms or legs.


There are many reasons why a man may have an abnormally large head. Illness, an unfortunate accident of genes... OK, there are two reasons. Or, in fact, three, since I imagine this man's head – the head of a disgraced Barbican employee, I believe – was so gigantic because it was bursting with ideas.

Ideas such as: 'Wouldn't it be an amazing idea to have more ladies' toilets near the Barbican's main theatre auditorium, so that people could do more during the interval than locate the toilets, queue, use them, then sprint, sweaty and flustered, back to their seats just as the curtain goes up again?'

The enterprising Barbican employee's plan must have been rejected because it would interfere with the precious bloody architecture of the building. Presumably people urinated less in the '70s.

Another idea: 'Wouldn't it be good if the dedicated email account for Barbican lost property actually responded to emails regarding lost property*?'

The response was clearly to cut off his arms and legs for insubordination and throw him out with the rubbish.

Arts administration is a cut-throat world. If, by throat, you mean legs. And also arms. Which I do.

2) When I was sitting in Starbucks, killing some time before I went to the Barbican, a woman spent several minutes eyeing me nervously, before walked across the room towards me. 'Are you waiting to interview someone for a job?' she said to me. 'Erm... no,' I said. 'Oh...' she said, 'it's just you look like someone who might be.'

Now I wish I'd said yes. I feel quite confident that I could have conducted a searching 30-minute interrogation without having any idea what the job was. People believe anything when you wear glasses and have a notebook out on the table.

3) When you are sitting in the highest, cheapest seats of the theatre, you have a great view down into the orchestra pit. The massive square in me (most of me is a massive square, apart from the bit that sometimes eats a Marks & Spencer's sandwich in Starbucks) was a little shocked to see the clarinettist flicking through a magazine during the idle moments when she wasn't playing. I wonder what is the most elaborate extra-curricular activity you could get away with doing in an orchestra pit during the performance, while still technically meeting the demands of your job. Yoga? Your ironing? Building a matchstick scale model of the Barbican inside the Barbican?

Pottery would be a good one, of course. Imagine attempting to keep your wheel turning with the foot pedals while simultaneously negotiating the tricky rhythms of Happy Talk.

Metal detecting is a popular hobby, but I would not recommend carrying this out in an orchestra pit during a performance.

*First world problems: I have lost a beautiful blue leopard-print Whistles scarf. First world solutions: It's either in the Barbican, Starbucks or cute cupcake-vending cafe Bea's Of Bloomsbury.