When I arrived to prepare for our final performance of the show on Saturday at 3.00 pm, there were two workmen cutting the grass in the area adjacent to the amphitheatre where we doing our thing. As I went to check on the crash barriers we'd installed on the various corridors around the acting area I couldn't help but notice just how noisy the machines were that the guys were using and how unwieldy they looked. I tried to imagine using one, having to deal head-on with the noise, and being dressed from head to foot in the heavy duty clothing the workers had donned to protect themselves from the scorching sun and the shards of grass flying around. I reckon I was a pretty hardy young chap back in the days when I was labouring in factories, but I think even the younger version of me wouldn't have been able to pull off a full shift doing the grass-cutting.
The obvious truth that we couldn't have begun to consider using the area for public performance if it were not for the fact the surrounding grass was kept in such good order came to the forefront of my mind. As did the fact that it was highly likely these guys were paid a tiny fraction of what I was getting for doing something I enjoyed, taxing as it was. Sometimes simple truths can be awkward, but usefully salutary.
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