Old Meeting Yard, Bedworth

I fear I am in danger of becoming boring on the subject of how I continue to be overwhelmed by the strength of community spirit in English rural neighbourhoods.

This week I performed in Bedworth, a town in north Warwickshire which developed in the  coal mining era of the late 19^th and 20^th centuries.  Communities thrived around their meeting places in those days and the town boasts the Old Meeting Yard, a huge Victorian building which high ceilings, thick walls and an acoustic to die for.     Often community centres of such age and scale are too big for modern uses and it struck me as a building which could so easily have become a dinosaur, but Bedworth has spirit and that spirit has not only kept the building alive, but provided the need and, more to the point, money for its facilities to be improved and updated.  And so a brand new kitchen and toilet facilities have been built.  Accordingly, it was felt that the appropriate entertainment for the night was my play “Ten Days … that shook the Kitchen!” and an audience of nearly 70 gathered to sit at long tables to watch the show and then enjoy supper cooked in the  new kitchen.

Standing in the wings minutes before curtain up there was a noise to my left and a latecomer walked in from the cold and told me he’d convinced himself that the play started half an hour later than advertised.  As this was happening, Linda the organiser was introducing me.  As she finished her introduction, he walked towards the door through which I was about to make my entrance.    The audience burst into a welcoming round of applause, and he entered – never to be late again, I fancy.

After the show a lady came up to me and accused me of stalking her.  This could have been awkward.   Stalkers and actors have been known to go together .. but isn’t it the actor who is supposed to be the one who is stalked, I wondered?  The lady explained that there were at least five coincidences between the storyline of the play and her life: school life, the ages of her children being the same as that of the children in the play, their weekly activities being identical, the African snails her children brought home from school – one of which bore the same name as one of the children in the play.  By this time even I was beginning to feel spooked.  Reassured though  because Ten Days .. that shook the Kitchen! is now three years old.  I know we’re not talking longevity on the scale of The Mousetrap, but nevertheless it was comforting to be told that the play is as relevant today as it was when I first wrote it.  

Shottery and Foxt

Getting a little behind here .. this blog is supposed to be a catalogue of all my performances.  There are two to catch up with.

First the Girls’Grammar School at Shottery.  Toby and I revelled in the luxury of only having had to travel about seven miles.  We strolled in, chatted to friends who were organising the event and started to set up in a leisurely fashion.  At this point things started to go a little wrong.  One of the lights wouldn’t work, one of the electric sockets jammed and we took far too long deciding which route the cable would take along the floor from the lights to the control desk.  Before we knew where we were, we were in a rush and feeling a little fraught.   It all got done and I retreated backstage to sit in the girls’ changing room whilst the audience stoked up on food and drink.  At which point it occurred to me that I hadn’t checked the set but couldn’t go back onstage because the audience had assembled.  I tried to find Toby whilst remaining invisible.  Not easy.  Hoarse whispers from the girls’ changing room through the gap in the door didn’t work because he’d gone elsewhere.  But it was OK.  He reappeared in plenty of time, surreptitiously took a photo of the set with his i-phone and my mind was set at rest.

That was Double Booked last week.  This week we did Family Matters in Foxt.  Foxt is about as far away as it is sensible to travel in one night.  It felt like going on a motoring holiday.  But Foxt is worth every mile.  Everyone is so friendly and generous in their reaction to the show.  I still haven’t worked out where the villagers of Foxt actually live though.   I’ve been there twice and so far only noticed a pub, a church and the village hall.  There must be some houses, but I’ve yet to see them.  It’s mostly fields. 

Early on in Family Matters someone in the company has to make a loud farting noise.  I used to do it myself, but I’ve reworked the start of the play and that doesn’t work any more.  A couple of weeks ago when Toby II did the teching he seized the farting job with enthusiasm.  Three nights in a row he blew high pitched, Catherine wheel type whizzers across the audiences in Rolleston, Wellesbourne and Holloway – to universal hilarity.  He said he’d learned them from a boy named Hetherington in his primary school who had had a vast repertoire.  Toby the First took over the job this week, and it would not be unfair to say that he was less than keen – which is a triple negative way of saying he really wasn’t up for it.  But, fair do’s,  he gave it his best shot.  My mega-brained, aspiring choral scholar blew a gentle and polite raspberry right on cue in Foxt.  It sounded utterly authentic, but a little quiet, and I wasn’t sure the audience members at the other end of the room had heard it, so I said the word too, and got the laugh.  Only later did it occur to me that my saying of the word rendered Toby’s doing the sound effect redundant, which might have meant that the people sitting nearest to him didn’t realise that the noise he made was all part of the show.   Next time, we’ll re-think.     

Bridge House Theatre

This was a night to remember.   One of those occasions when everything seemed to go right.  Ticket sales were good and the theatre space was pure luxury.   Not only onstage.   I had grown fondly accustomed to my Edinburgh venue and still have no complaints but the basket of fruit, biscuits, tea, coffee and china cups in the Bridge House Theatre dressing room was a vast improvement upon the empty cans of Red Bull from the late night comedy shows which littered the underground dressing room I'd used during the Festival.  That and the fact that the loo worked... and all the lights.

I spent the fifteen minutes before the start sitting upstairs listening to the audience assemble.  As the time meandered by I imagined myself catching my foot and falling down the stairs and onto the stage.  The thought became an obsession, so I entered rather gingerly, I think.  Must have looked amazing though because the audience applauded.  I told Bill when I got home.  "Well it was a literary festival."  He said knowingly, as if he would.  That's the convention at literary festivals apparently.  Nothing to do with how brilliantly I'd come down the stairs at all. 

I had been most excited about the after show discussion .... intrigued to know what might be asked.  There were a few friends in the audience and some my children's schoolfriends' parents.  Second question:  are any of the characters based on anyone you know?   Oh, the temptation!   "Yes, actually.  The character called Timmy's Mum .. the supercilious cow who never returns favours and always looks down at you.  Well, you know so and so?  What do you think?  And the drop dead gorgeous teacher character?  Do you remember Mr .... from the Junior School.   Left a few years ago?  Knowing look.   Only it wouldn't have been true.  Not entirely.

Holloway, Rolleston and Wellesbourne

Anyone who knows me will confirm that I am a worrier.  If there isn't anything to worry about already (though there always is), I will find something.  And so the challenges of this week have popped into my mind periodically throughout the summer.  Occasionally they have kept me awake.  Occasionally, over the toast and marmalade I have had to be reassured that it will all be all right.  And even though I am beginning - only just beginning -  to realise that usually things do work out all right .. there have been numerous moments of anxiety over the past few months  Why panic?  Three performances of Family Matters on three consecutive days in three different venues with a brand new techie.  I should have been grateful, I suppose.  The presence of all this uncharted water almost (but not quite) displaced all other unnecessary concerns.

And so the process of things working out all right has been quite pleasant.  First of all .. the brand new techie turned out not to be the cause of any concern at all. (Not counting momentary worry over his heavy cold which, had it been flu, would have removed all our rehearsal time.)  We had our rehearsals and they went well.  He knew what he was doing and did it very well, rarely needing to be told anything twice.  The essential characteristics of a techie, I now know, are eternal optimism, utter calm and having the name Toby or, if necessary, Dik.  Calm when the lighting stand falls to bits, calm when the buzzing sound won't go away, calm on discovery that you are in charge of house lights, sound effects and all the other things that Ginny originally told you that someone else would do.  Toby The Second (to distinguish him from Toby The First and Dik, my other techies) had it all. 

The next worry was whether or not we would get to either of the more distant venues on time.  Our venue for Thursday's show - Holloway, near Matlock, seemed like the end of the earth and we couldn't leave till 3.30 p.m.  Miraculously the roads were clear and we arrived with time to spare and discovered that our venue had a fully operational lighting rig.  No need to set up our own, which was a blessing.  Not that there's anything wrong with ours, but it is a bit of a faff and it's lovely to be able to leave it in the car.    Once the local organiser had got over Toby in his (brand new for sixth form and there hadn't been time to change) suit, he demonstrated that the Florence Nightingale Memorial Hall had everything we needed to make the show a technical dream.  To our relief, we also discovered that this audience, unlike most, was incredibly prompt.  We started and finished punctually and were home before 11.  Phew.  One down; two to go.

On Friday the weather and traffic were horrendous. Driving rain, spray, accidents and slow moving traffic from the Avon to the Trent. We weren't travelling by waterways, but Stratford and Burton don't sound so picturesque.  And, actually, we were travelling by waterways pretty much, given the weather.  I became mesmerised by the ETA predicted by the sat nav as, without apology, it grew later and later and worried out loud to Toby whether or not we'd get there on time.  But we were saved by the M6 toll and sat nav lady's decision to take us a different route from that recommended by AA routeplanner.  And then, bliss once more, the venue had its own sound system .. so no need for ours.   Another technical triumph.  Home by 11 again.  Just one left.

I can't complain about the journey or travelling conditions to our final venue.  This performance was in my own village.  It took us all of three minutes to get there.  I was able to go home to get into costume.  Rather strange, that.   We were getting rather good at setting up by now.. and once again were blessed with a venue that boasts its own sound system.  All just a little bit too relaxing so .... what did I do?  Left the sperm cell in the staff room.  So at the moment when Freddie has to pop offstage briefly to go and fetch it from outside the door, I had to run down a corridor, identify the staff room door (which is exactly the same as all the other doors in the corridor) and go and find it, as the audience sat waiting and wondering.  Well, I thought it was funny, anyway.

So what's next ... back to Double Booked for next week's performances in Warwick and Stratford.  Shouldn't be too much to worry about on the travel front ..or the techie (Toby the First back in charge) ..if I'm not careful I'll start worrying about what to worry about.