Back when I used to teach in high school I was given a gold-plated opportunity by one of my Principals. He had looked over my qualifications (unbeknownst to me) and called me into his office one day. 

"You're drama trained," he said.

Indeed I was, but there had been no demand for such teachers. I had a full English load.

"I want you to set up a drama space and run classes, if we can get the students."

I almost fell off my seat. No-one thus far in my career had shown the slightest interest in what I was qualified to do. I had never been asked before.

Within 12 months the school had an impressive drama studio, created out of an old storeroom, a budget, and five classes. My teaching life had been transformed. It was jolly hard work but intensely satisfying. For once, I really felt that I was in my element.

I mention this ancient history only because of a book I received in the post on Thursday last. I had been perusing my library a few weeks earlier and noticed that a volume of a particular series of plays was missing, one that contained a one-act play that I had directed long ago. I had found a second hand copy online and now I have the full set. Just sentimentality, I realise.

But the play itself is a bit of a gem because it falls into the very category of absurdism that I found most challenging. The Smile, by Howard Barker, is a didactic piece ideal for an ensemble of student actors. It lends itself to endless reinterpretation and in fact, the two productions I directed were substantially different on a number of levels.

One day I wouldn't mind reviving it as part of a performance festival. Who knows?