At one of the Universities I attended, and at a time in the early 90s when I was involved in theatre, I was invited with a small group of other budding wanna-be playwrights to sit in for a short get-together with Spalding Gray. For those who don’t know who this is, he was a performance artist/ actor/ writer, probably best known for the film version of his monologue “Swimming to Cambodia.” The meeting took place, with 10 or so people present, in a small, book-lined room set in a tower in one of the older University buildings. As he finally came in, quite a bit late if I recall correctly, he sat down in a chair, soaked from the rain outside, and asked us all to wait for a few moments. He then began to remove his shoes and sodden socks, which he laid on a radiator behind his seat to dry (and, perhaps, to add a distinctive aroma to the proceedings). The quirkiness of writers, one supposes.

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