A Day in a Play. 23rd September.

A Critique of the Entire Play

The play is an intriguing and highly personal work that successfully weaves together several disparate elements: 

personal reflection, a travelogue, and a meta-theatrical element in the form of a webinar. 

The overall structure, moving from a moment of solitary peace to a public, chaotic space and then back to a state of quiet understanding, is effective.

The play's strength lies in its ability to find profound meaning in the mundane. 

The "quiet sufficiency of the moment" at dawn, the "ghosts" of Wetherby, and the "unfixed" nature of the narrator's self all set a philosophical tone. 

This foundation makes the absurdism of the webinar feel not like a gimmick, but like a natural extension of the narrator's mind.

Jenkins and his biscuit metaphors are the true highlight of the work. 

The notion that "markets and biscuits obey the same physics: structure, soak, collapse" is both clever and deeply insightful. 

It takes a familiar, slightly ridiculous subject—the dunking of a biscuit—and uses it to comment on economics, politics, and life. 

The chorus of participants and the opportunistic Glenn ground the scene in a realistic, contemporary context, making Jenkins's prophetic pronouncements feel both absurd and poignant.

The play is also successful in its use of recurring themes. 

The idea of being an "outlier" or a "rogue pilgrim" is consistently explored, from the solitude of the morning to the narrator's feeling of being uninvited by the group. 

This theme of being an outsider creates a sense of vulnerability and sincerity.

The "Halfbakery" and Doc Morrissey scenes act as a strong concluding act. 

They reinforce the play's central thesis: that humor, tangents, and seemingly random details are the real truths of life. 

The final word, "Stop", acts as a full-stop to the chaos, returning to the earlier theme of finding peace in a single, sufficient moment.

The play is not without its challenges. 

The movement between scenes can feel abrupt, and some of the internal dialogue is highly specific, which may require a close reading to fully appreciate. 

However, these choices also contribute to the play's unique, stream-of-consciousness style. 

Overall, it's a deeply thoughtful and creatively constructed piece that finds a unique way to explore themes of identity, belonging, and the search for meaning in a chaotic world.

---

Act I: Dawn & Migraine

[early dawn, quiet room, percolator gurgling]

Morning. Quiet start or something already moving? Fine.

You mean after the migraine?

Yeah -- the way you said "fine" had that aftertaste.

Like the storm's gone but the air's still charged.

I actually turned away from it and it didn't really bother me.

The body throws its lightning and you didn't chase it. Just let it flicker out.

I took two paracetamol to be safe. Belt and braces.

Sometimes that tiny act -- glass of water, tablet, pause -- is the reset more than the pill itself.

Seasonal migraine. Usually twice a year.

[percolator gurgles again] A five am cup. That's the hour when coffee tastes like permission.

The world is perfect at this hour.

---

Act II: Wetherby & Faces

[small town streets, familiar ghosts]

I've seen the two faces which hover in Wetherby life ghosts.

Andy and Tony. Both in their different ways fixtures of nothing.

I know they're my Self. I didn't respond. Just said hello.

Wetherby has a habit -- or I have a habit in Wetherby -- of blinding/not seeing.

The river runs through. That's a metaphor for my need.

Yet Andy and Tony, and certain other faces, stay. They've forgotten their feet.

Small town life. Yet in them all my one true Self.

It's not them it's me. Me that is unfixed.

---

Act III: Camino & Outlier

[group chatter, phones buzzing, pilgrim outside]

I've been involved with a Camino Group in Yorkshire for around a year: Rosa Blanca Yorkshire.

I got told in my enthusiasm during the last pilgrimage between Perpignan and Montserrat to pipe down on WhatsApp.

And it made me wonder. I wander and wonder. Wanderweg.

And I think what I get from the Way is a solitary thing. A truth only I get.

So I am not sure if I need the group. They talk so much. About nothing.

I was trying to be. They were trying to be more. My thoughts don't come among clatter.

They're a walk coming up on 25th October. 6 miles around some lake in Wakefield.

I am an outlier. An outsider. The uninvited. A rogue. The rogue pilgrim.

---

Act IV: Jenkins & the Webinar (A Play Within the Play)

[lights dim, overhead projector squeaks, biscuits shuffled]

Jenkins: Hello. My test. Can anyone hear me? Testing my mic. All right. Welcome everyone joining.

Chorus of Participants: [murmurs] Cats, stains, Jammy Dodgers, custard creams. Some in collars, some in bedclothes. Smoke curls with vape clouds.

Jenkins: Tonight, the telco sector... the Dow Jones, hanging at a cliffhanger. Much like a digestive when dipped too long.

Glenn: I'm happy to pay £20 a month if it does the business. Quick! Monetise!

Jenkins: Ah Glenn, forever half-baked. You'd sell futures in bourbons if you could.

Chorus: Biscuits! Biscuits! Fox's, Crawford's, Peek Freans, McVitie's.

Jenkins: Custard creams per capita are the real indicator of national health. Crumbs, ladies and gentlemen, are history. Borders are crumbs.

[a cat knocks over a mug, custard cream crumbles on the carpet]

Jenkins: Ignore the feline disruptions. Look deeper. Markets rise, biscuits collapse. It's the same gravity, the same soak, the same truth.

Chorus: [half-laughing, half-bewildered] A prophet! A fool! A crumb counter!

Jenkins: [sways, then sudden clarity] Structure, soak, collapse. That is economics. That is politics. That is life. Watch the biscuits, and you will watch the world.

[he slams a bourbon on the table; silence follows]

---

Act V: Halfbakery & Doc Morrissey

[Halfbakery tangents, absurd inventions]

Flame-retardant neutrino mackintosh. Stray neutrinos. Flatten, stretch. Improved Derby no end.

Scratch & sniff stories without writing or pictures. Custard creams at the climax.

[Doc Morrissey's surgery, late 1970s tone]

Do you find you can't finish the crossword like you used to, nasty taste in the mouth in the mornings?

That's extraordinary, Doc! That's exactly how I've been feeling.

So have I. I wonder what it is? Take two aspirins. And a Peek Frean.

Crumbs are history, Doctor.

---

Coda: English Humour

[conversation meanders, stops abruptly]

It's absurd. We've gone far enough.

Yes -- English humour: the tangent, the pile-up, then the stop. The laugh in the cut-off.

Stop.

---

Afterword

The play is both complete and coherent. It follows a clear arc: beginning in solitude, moving into absurdity and chaos,

and closing with a final return to clarity. Jenkins stands as both fool and prophet, grounding the chaos with his biscuit metaphors.

Through him, the absurd becomes profound, showing that meaning is hidden in the mundane and humour is the most truthful philosophy of all.