Monday, 28 March 2016

Cover Me.

Tonight I met with Mr Doggett to update our Public Liability Insurance and sign a few forms to register with a new accountant.

I plan to so bloody reckless now we’re re-insured. I’ll dress solely in shell suits with my hair lacquered up to-the-max. Never before in the history of mankind will one person have been so inflammable; I’ll be the personification of the cast of Backdraft after a grossly misjudged publicity stunt; call me Wicker Man Ephgrave.

(...though I've never actually seen it.)

The only downside to our policy is it doesn’t protect us from everything you'd think. We’re not covered for any equestrian work conducted by us or someone else on our behalf, nor can we handle muskets, pistols or guns; there goes our proposed Three Musketers remake. We can’t perform at an altitude in excess of three metres without potentially falling financially foul should we injure anyone around us, so our fourth plinth physical theatre installation has been nixed. It official: we’re living in a nanny state.

I wonder how hard it is to juggle knives? There’s only one way to find out; henceforth, my blogs will come to you via dictatype technology.

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