How to follow Fenny Compton?
OK - double, almost treble the audience and thus the amount of money raised. Equal the appreciation. This, I think happened in Solihull the following week. Lorna Bevins. I don't usually mention promoters by name but Lorna had responded to the Marie Curie Big Build appeal in Solihull to find 100 women willing to raise £100 each in order to fund the building of a new wing on the side of the Children's Hospice. She drew an audience of 300 to watch Family Matters at The Bushell Hall, Solihull School and raised £4000. For the first time ever I had an inkling of what it is like to perform in a big venue. I'm used to intimate face to face, ear to ear contact with the the audience. I'm used to standing in kitchens and corridors, staff rooms and meeting rooms - anywhere that is out of sight of the audience in a village hall or school venue. But as I stood on the dark side of the vast velvet curtain on the Bushell Hall stage, surrounded by drum kits, music stands and the leftovers of previous productions all I could hear was a hum. The kind of hum that 300 people make. Only a velvet curtain separating me from them and even as I write this it sounds frightening, but there wasn't time for nerves. The route from the dressing room had been complex and I'd left the SatNav in the car so I had to go it alone. Made it in time and located the cans. Yes, cans. I had walkie talkie contact with John the techie who was five miles away at the other side of the auditorium. "Hello?" I whispered hoarsely. "Hello Ginny." said John in a normal voice, being used to this kind of thing. And that was pretty much the end of the conversation. All we really needed to do was establish that each other was there and we were ready to go. Cue music. Cue lights. Step on stage....miles of stage on which to stretch out and perform. Ok, don't get carried away. Audiences and venues like that are usually neither for Christmas nor for life.
The following week I gave my talk "To The Fringe And Beyond" to the Knowle Branch of the British Legion. This was fun. I set up the stage informally in full view of the audience and listened in on their banter. "You've got a lovely bum." wafted over from a table at which three rather elderly ladies sat with drinks. I turned to look, not wanting to miss out on a view of a lovely bum. Wasn't expecting it to belong to another woman. Gosh its different giving a talk though. No script. Sometimes when I share stories with friends I know I'm being interesting, sometimes I know I'm not. Without a script, but with sixty or so listeners, how could I know in advance which way this would go. Not as easy as it sounds, is talking. Thank heavens for my friend Cathy who heard the dress rehearsal in the morning. No script? No way!
Then back to Family Matters. Back to Middleton Cheney Primary School - one of the best audiences I know. Middleton Cheney isn't that far from Fenny Compton. They're both pretty close to Banbury. I guess there can't much else laugh at in Banbury.
And then .... the final assault - the Buxton Festival Fringe. Four days of flyering frenzy and Festival hype. I must confess that by this time of year I'm pretty done in and I had wondered to myself why I was bothering with Buxton. Within an hour of my arrival I remembered The people of Buxton are absolutely charming. They take flyers from my hand, they express interest in the show, they wish me good luck, and they make the whole experience utterly enjoyable. AND they gave me a five star review. I didn't think my shows were up to that. Solid four star stuff was what I did, I thought. I have always hoped for that elusive fifth star but had rather given up on it. But Buxton came up trumps. Lovely Buxton, bless you.
That is it for the 2011-2012 season. See you in October.
Wednesday 1 August 2012
Sunday 17 June 2012
Update
Pathetic, isn't it. You read on someone's advertising bumf that they write a blog after every show, then two months pass and what is there to read? Nada. Then, just when you think you'll sign out there is a splurge of verbal diarrhoea. Well, soz, but it's been a bit hectic since April and I'm in a bit of a strop since I've suggested two films to man and boy this evening and neither of them is interested in either because Portugal are playing Holland (like, do I care?), so I'm going to reminisce about the last two months instead.
April. Oh. Looks like nothing happened in April.
May. "Something Fishy" in Ettington. The venue was festooned with fishy decorations. Brilliantly huge audience and they made a colossal sum of money, chiefly I think because noone has to drive home and there was a bar.
The next day I did "Ten Days ..." in Rous Lench. There were tea towels hanging from clothes lines all around the venue. "Bit odd" I thought and assumed that they were some form of heritage or the latest sign of madness from the WI. Even the "I dream of Daniel Craig" tea towel didn't register the fact that they'd been put there specially for me. Only when I saw that the table decorations were wooden spoons and cooking implements did I cotton on. No dressing room in Rous Lench so I changed in the organiser's kitchen up the road, watched by an unblinking collie.
That was it until the Brighton Fringe. Oh my. So many stimuli. Here are my main impressions:
1. Flyering, flyering and flyering. Interminable flyering. Fabulous when someone sounds interested and oh, so depressing when they don't. So, so tempting to just put them in the bin. Reminded me of being a papergirl.
2. Tarik, the beautiful venue manager. He'd bought a sewing machine and sewn gold fabric to his collar and cuffs. Seated cross-legged on the floor of the green room lacing fairy lights onto string Tarik lit up my life.
3. Jenny's baby blanket. Jenny is married to John the techie (Hi John) and came along for a little holiday, together with the most complex piece of knitting I have ever seen for baby Jamie who was born last week. Message to Jamie: don't forget to thank Granny for the baby blanket when you learn to talk. She is the side of your bread that is buttered.
4. John's weather forecasts. John (Hi again John) is into the weather having been a sailor in a former life. Winds in Brighton were either on or offshore, according to their caprice. Rather witty, I thought.
5. My annual swim. Oh I do like to be beside the seaside for a week or so and can't resist a dip. Stinks though, the sea in Brighton. It's a kind of gross dead fish like pong. How come? It's not like that in Cornwall.
6. Prize for the most strange audience member. Well it's a toss up between the dog and the High Court Judge and his Clerk. The dog slept throughout. The Judge and his Clerk managed to stay awake, pre-show champagne at the Judges' Lodgings notwithstanding. If I'd had to bet on who'd nod off first I'd probably have put money on the Judge.
7. A most fortuitous meeting with a fringe reviewer. After four hours of continuous flyering I'd retired, knackered, to the Fringe Office - incapable of movement of speech until I gathered the strength to continue. Lady walks in and starts chatting to someone else. After 10 minutes or so I gather who she is, and we chat, and she promises to come to the show, and she does, and she gives it four stars, and THAT, is what I hoped to get out of Brighton.
The day after Brighton we did "Something Fishy' in Coventry. Unpacked the car to discover that the crutches had been left in Brighton. No!!!!!!! They are the punchline! As I mentally started rewriting the play Lady Fortune smiled on me. The organiser said she had not one but two pairs of crutches at home and she could spare one of them - in fact give one of them to me - forever.
And then the day after that we went to King's Bromley to do "Ten Days ..." And you'd think that we'd have felt a bit knackered after the May we had had, but there is nothing like a good audience to perk up a performer and King's Bromley came up trumps. What a night!
Day off .. then "Something Fishy" in Clipston. Dear, lovely Clipston. Have to say, hats off to the organisers for the nibbles: little plates with fancy meats, hummus, bread and olives. Fish and Chips is proving a popular accompaniment to Something Fishy (don't know how they think of it). Clipston was definitely a cut above.
And then Marston Green where Margret Wilden hosted the play with the kind of spirit and good humour I've seen in small doses elsewhere but rarely in such quantities as she brought to the evening. When we arrived it turned out we didn't need some of our equipment and I asked if it would be safe to leave it in the car. Marston Green looked a nice enough place, but then, I'd thought that about Bulkington where all my equipment was stolen from the car mid show last year. Margret said she would keep an eye on things for me. So efficiently did she keep to her promise that she was unable to prevent an opportunist thief from sneaking into the kitchen and stealing her purse while she was watching my car. It was a real shame. The evening had gone well, but this really spoiled it.
A week later we returned to Kirtlington, for whom I have a great affection as I have now performed there five times, even though I so far only have four plays. (Watch out for the "so far"!) It was a small but perfectly formed audience and "Something Fishy" went as well as I could have hoped.
Two weeks off and then back to Tysoe for "Family Matters". Gosh, it'd been a while since "Family Matters". A while during which a mouse had half eaten the sperm cell and I'd had to glue it back together again. Steve came to size up the techie's job. He arrived with the news that he had a bad back, a strong portent that he would be ideal for the job. John and I hobble around the place with varying states of bad back. John has now upped the anti with an Achilles tendon problem. Has to be said though, Steve did look in pain. Another moment for Lady Fortune though. We needed an extra curtain to hide the techies from the audience. Mel just happened to have not only the curtain but the stand to hang it on too because she is a photographer. How likely was that?
Leaving the best till last, now I come to Fenny Compton. One hundred in the audience. But not just one hundred, one hundred lively young people who were up for a laugh and didn't mind how long they had to wait till supper. Their laughter delayed the end of the show by a good 15 minutes. The moment I will remember. They were laughing, really laughing and I knew that the next line was going to make them laugh even more. I paused. I waited. I smiled. I looked at the lady who was laughing most. I smiled again. I started to laugh too. And then I delivered the line and the house came down. Moments like that are what it's all about and it's a good moment to talk.
April. Oh. Looks like nothing happened in April.
May. "Something Fishy" in Ettington. The venue was festooned with fishy decorations. Brilliantly huge audience and they made a colossal sum of money, chiefly I think because noone has to drive home and there was a bar.
The next day I did "Ten Days ..." in Rous Lench. There were tea towels hanging from clothes lines all around the venue. "Bit odd" I thought and assumed that they were some form of heritage or the latest sign of madness from the WI. Even the "I dream of Daniel Craig" tea towel didn't register the fact that they'd been put there specially for me. Only when I saw that the table decorations were wooden spoons and cooking implements did I cotton on. No dressing room in Rous Lench so I changed in the organiser's kitchen up the road, watched by an unblinking collie.
That was it until the Brighton Fringe. Oh my. So many stimuli. Here are my main impressions:
1. Flyering, flyering and flyering. Interminable flyering. Fabulous when someone sounds interested and oh, so depressing when they don't. So, so tempting to just put them in the bin. Reminded me of being a papergirl.
2. Tarik, the beautiful venue manager. He'd bought a sewing machine and sewn gold fabric to his collar and cuffs. Seated cross-legged on the floor of the green room lacing fairy lights onto string Tarik lit up my life.
3. Jenny's baby blanket. Jenny is married to John the techie (Hi John) and came along for a little holiday, together with the most complex piece of knitting I have ever seen for baby Jamie who was born last week. Message to Jamie: don't forget to thank Granny for the baby blanket when you learn to talk. She is the side of your bread that is buttered.
4. John's weather forecasts. John (Hi again John) is into the weather having been a sailor in a former life. Winds in Brighton were either on or offshore, according to their caprice. Rather witty, I thought.
5. My annual swim. Oh I do like to be beside the seaside for a week or so and can't resist a dip. Stinks though, the sea in Brighton. It's a kind of gross dead fish like pong. How come? It's not like that in Cornwall.
6. Prize for the most strange audience member. Well it's a toss up between the dog and the High Court Judge and his Clerk. The dog slept throughout. The Judge and his Clerk managed to stay awake, pre-show champagne at the Judges' Lodgings notwithstanding. If I'd had to bet on who'd nod off first I'd probably have put money on the Judge.
7. A most fortuitous meeting with a fringe reviewer. After four hours of continuous flyering I'd retired, knackered, to the Fringe Office - incapable of movement of speech until I gathered the strength to continue. Lady walks in and starts chatting to someone else. After 10 minutes or so I gather who she is, and we chat, and she promises to come to the show, and she does, and she gives it four stars, and THAT, is what I hoped to get out of Brighton.
The day after Brighton we did "Something Fishy' in Coventry. Unpacked the car to discover that the crutches had been left in Brighton. No!!!!!!! They are the punchline! As I mentally started rewriting the play Lady Fortune smiled on me. The organiser said she had not one but two pairs of crutches at home and she could spare one of them - in fact give one of them to me - forever.
And then the day after that we went to King's Bromley to do "Ten Days ..." And you'd think that we'd have felt a bit knackered after the May we had had, but there is nothing like a good audience to perk up a performer and King's Bromley came up trumps. What a night!
Day off .. then "Something Fishy" in Clipston. Dear, lovely Clipston. Have to say, hats off to the organisers for the nibbles: little plates with fancy meats, hummus, bread and olives. Fish and Chips is proving a popular accompaniment to Something Fishy (don't know how they think of it). Clipston was definitely a cut above.
And then Marston Green where Margret Wilden hosted the play with the kind of spirit and good humour I've seen in small doses elsewhere but rarely in such quantities as she brought to the evening. When we arrived it turned out we didn't need some of our equipment and I asked if it would be safe to leave it in the car. Marston Green looked a nice enough place, but then, I'd thought that about Bulkington where all my equipment was stolen from the car mid show last year. Margret said she would keep an eye on things for me. So efficiently did she keep to her promise that she was unable to prevent an opportunist thief from sneaking into the kitchen and stealing her purse while she was watching my car. It was a real shame. The evening had gone well, but this really spoiled it.
A week later we returned to Kirtlington, for whom I have a great affection as I have now performed there five times, even though I so far only have four plays. (Watch out for the "so far"!) It was a small but perfectly formed audience and "Something Fishy" went as well as I could have hoped.
Two weeks off and then back to Tysoe for "Family Matters". Gosh, it'd been a while since "Family Matters". A while during which a mouse had half eaten the sperm cell and I'd had to glue it back together again. Steve came to size up the techie's job. He arrived with the news that he had a bad back, a strong portent that he would be ideal for the job. John and I hobble around the place with varying states of bad back. John has now upped the anti with an Achilles tendon problem. Has to be said though, Steve did look in pain. Another moment for Lady Fortune though. We needed an extra curtain to hide the techies from the audience. Mel just happened to have not only the curtain but the stand to hang it on too because she is a photographer. How likely was that?
Leaving the best till last, now I come to Fenny Compton. One hundred in the audience. But not just one hundred, one hundred lively young people who were up for a laugh and didn't mind how long they had to wait till supper. Their laughter delayed the end of the show by a good 15 minutes. The moment I will remember. They were laughing, really laughing and I knew that the next line was going to make them laugh even more. I paused. I waited. I smiled. I looked at the lady who was laughing most. I smiled again. I started to laugh too. And then I delivered the line and the house came down. Moments like that are what it's all about and it's a good moment to talk.
Tuesday 10 April 2012
More tea?
Six months is a long time to wait for .... well most things really, particularly pain relief. Nevertheless, it is almost six months since I went into anaphylactic shock after a combined dose of ibuprofen and paracetamol. My blood pressure dropped so low that day that any doctor to whom I recite the figures rewards my story with a satisfying gasp of horror. There were other symptoms too: a blotchy, itchy rash, hot ears, rasping throat, loss of voice, swelling, more itching, uncontrollable itching .... So I stopped taking both drugs. That was fine until I developed a toothache. "Pass me the paracetamol. No, actually, don't." And then backache. "Try ibuprofen, it's an anti-inflamatory." Not in my case.
The letter from the hospital about today's appointment made it sound like it was going to be a pleasant experience. It told me to bring a book and that I might have to wait around for several hours whilst a controlled test of the least likely drug to affect me (paracetamol) was administered. Once I knew what I was allergic to I could re-establish a safe form of pain relief should I need it.
With novel in hand I set off for the hospital. All set, but I forgot to have a cup of tea before I left home.
Terrible traffic. According to the hospital information, the allergy testing clinic was located in The Department of Infection and Tropical Diseases (like, why there?) at the bum end of the hospital next to the Department of Sexual Health, or the Clap Clinic if you're in the trade. I clocked the location of the the tea counter at the hospital entrance but didn't dare stop for fear of being late. I hurried towards Infection and Tropical Diseases, gave the CC a wide berth and hoped that I wouldn't pick up anything nasty en route. Here there was no sign of a tea trolley.
"Would it be at all possible to have a cup of tea?" I asked my specialist nurse an hour later. "Not until we've finished the procedure, I'm afraid." How long would that be? Four hours. Four hours without a cup of tea?! "How do you cope?" I ventured. My specialist nurse said that for two years she'd worked in A and E and felt lucky to get much more than a sip of water in a 12 hour shift. I tried to look as if I wasn't that bothered.
Tiny droplets of paracetamol were being pin pricked into my skin, then syringed into my mouth with much waiting, taking of blood pressure, heart rate and lung capacity tests in between. If nothing happened I wasn't allergic. If it did, I was. After about an hour and a half I started to itch, but thought that it was merely the power of suggestion, a caffeine dip more likely, and paid no heed. Two hours later, my fingers were drumming on the table. This procedure was taking its time, clearly nothing was going to happen and my thirst for a cup of tea had not abated. And then my eyes began to feel prickly. "It'll be nothing." I thought. Then my ears started to get hot ... but the nurse had just shut the window so that was probably why. "Hang on." I thought. "My ears don't usually go hot every time someone shuts the window .. and now my eyes are itching even more .. and now my arms and legs, and I feel really woozy all of a sudden. I'm really sorry." I said "I think something's happening."
What is it about medical symptoms that makes us apologise? This was the sole purpose of the visit. My specialist nurse looked sceptical and wanted further proof. We looked at my legs. Red, blotchy patches were developing but the nurse was still doubtful. The itching and generally unwell feeling continued. Then a registrar joined us. She looked interested. Then, finally, the consultant came in and announced that the procedure would be halted and that we had proved that I was indeed allergic to paracetamol. Great! Now, finally, I might get some tea. Gasping wasn't the word.
As I said goodbye to the nurse I quipped that of course I had made the whole thing up just to get away to the cafe. She smiled. "I've never really known anyone do that. But then, it's not often that I find myself in the hands of a professional."
Me neither.
And I really don't know if that was a compliment or not, and red blotches are hard to fake. But since I now have a mug of the finest English Breakfast in my hand, I'm not that bothered.
The letter from the hospital about today's appointment made it sound like it was going to be a pleasant experience. It told me to bring a book and that I might have to wait around for several hours whilst a controlled test of the least likely drug to affect me (paracetamol) was administered. Once I knew what I was allergic to I could re-establish a safe form of pain relief should I need it.
With novel in hand I set off for the hospital. All set, but I forgot to have a cup of tea before I left home.
Terrible traffic. According to the hospital information, the allergy testing clinic was located in The Department of Infection and Tropical Diseases (like, why there?) at the bum end of the hospital next to the Department of Sexual Health, or the Clap Clinic if you're in the trade. I clocked the location of the the tea counter at the hospital entrance but didn't dare stop for fear of being late. I hurried towards Infection and Tropical Diseases, gave the CC a wide berth and hoped that I wouldn't pick up anything nasty en route. Here there was no sign of a tea trolley.
"Would it be at all possible to have a cup of tea?" I asked my specialist nurse an hour later. "Not until we've finished the procedure, I'm afraid." How long would that be? Four hours. Four hours without a cup of tea?! "How do you cope?" I ventured. My specialist nurse said that for two years she'd worked in A and E and felt lucky to get much more than a sip of water in a 12 hour shift. I tried to look as if I wasn't that bothered.
Tiny droplets of paracetamol were being pin pricked into my skin, then syringed into my mouth with much waiting, taking of blood pressure, heart rate and lung capacity tests in between. If nothing happened I wasn't allergic. If it did, I was. After about an hour and a half I started to itch, but thought that it was merely the power of suggestion, a caffeine dip more likely, and paid no heed. Two hours later, my fingers were drumming on the table. This procedure was taking its time, clearly nothing was going to happen and my thirst for a cup of tea had not abated. And then my eyes began to feel prickly. "It'll be nothing." I thought. Then my ears started to get hot ... but the nurse had just shut the window so that was probably why. "Hang on." I thought. "My ears don't usually go hot every time someone shuts the window .. and now my eyes are itching even more .. and now my arms and legs, and I feel really woozy all of a sudden. I'm really sorry." I said "I think something's happening."
What is it about medical symptoms that makes us apologise? This was the sole purpose of the visit. My specialist nurse looked sceptical and wanted further proof. We looked at my legs. Red, blotchy patches were developing but the nurse was still doubtful. The itching and generally unwell feeling continued. Then a registrar joined us. She looked interested. Then, finally, the consultant came in and announced that the procedure would be halted and that we had proved that I was indeed allergic to paracetamol. Great! Now, finally, I might get some tea. Gasping wasn't the word.
As I said goodbye to the nurse I quipped that of course I had made the whole thing up just to get away to the cafe. She smiled. "I've never really known anyone do that. But then, it's not often that I find myself in the hands of a professional."
Me neither.
And I really don't know if that was a compliment or not, and red blotches are hard to fake. But since I now have a mug of the finest English Breakfast in my hand, I'm not that bothered.
BLOG AWARDS 2nd attempt
Welcome to my fourth follower! Apparently the voting widget doesn't work. Try pasting this link into your browser link instead:
http://www.goodreads.com/book_blogger_award?category=Adult+Nonfiction
Thank you so much!
Ginny
http://www.goodreads.com/book_blogger_award?category=Adult+Nonfiction
Thank you so much!
Ginny
Thursday 5 April 2012
Blog Awards
To all my members .... yes all three of us .... please use this to vote for me as blogger of the year in the Blog Awards:
<div class='columnLeft widget'>
<style type='text/css'>
/*<![CDATA[*/
#grBlogAwardWidget-box {
padding: 15px;
-webkit-box-shadow: 1px 1px 4px 1px #ccc;
-moz-box-shadow: 1px 1px 4px 1px #ccc;
box-shadow: 1px 1px 4px 1px #ccc;
width: 265px
<div class='columnLeft widget'>
<style type='text/css'>
/*<![CDATA[*/
#grBlogAwardWidget-box {
padding: 15px;
-webkit-box-shadow: 1px 1px 4px 1px #ccc;
-moz-box-shadow: 1px 1px 4px 1px #ccc;
box-shadow: 1px 1px 4px 1px #ccc;
width: 265px
Monday 26 March 2012
Since late Feb
The next day we went to Wargrave, Berkshire. Bit of a heave but worth every inch of the way. Ruth Rich was among friends of similar ilk ... mothers just like her who stand outside the circle and wonder where they fit in, then realise that they are standing in a circle of their own and all they can do in those situations is laugh. Wargrave was a good night.
Preston on Stour was different. You can tell when the audience isn't going to like it just by listening to them as they settle in their seats. Those poor, county men in their jackets and ties. Ruth just wasn't their glass of Merlot.
Never mind, no time to dwell on it. The date is March 3rd and it is the world premiere of Something Fishy. The title lends itself to a fish and chip supper beforehand. The smell of salt and vinegar nearly blew my adenoids away. May I take a moment to comment on the dressing room? Yes, it was a cupboard, but I have had to change in more than my fair share of cupboards and this one was different. White jeans and cupboard floors don't go well but John Schumann of Wellesbourne knows how to clean a floor and I could have eaten my fish and chips off this one. But I wasn't in the mood for fish and chips as this was a World Premiere so I held back and let the vinegar clear from the air. Cue lights and sound and I stepped onto the stage. Bit of a big step up but WPs are like that and I did my best to look nimble. Audience came with me all the way. That's the thing about neighbours, you never know when you're going to wish you'd been nice to them.
Following week up to Endon, Staffs, where I met some wonderful, kind people who host the children from Chernobyl who come over for holidays away from toxic air and food. Ethan Baker aged 9 showed us all how to operate the lights in the village hall. I asked him if there was a hoover. Ethan is a Cub Scout. I know that because he was in uniform. Ethan Baker knows the hall inside out. He looked thoughtful and went away. Five minutes later he returned with a broom. "We have made prorgress." He announced in broad Stoke on Trent and was allowed to stay to see the show (Ten Days ..) He said he enjoyed it.
Then it was back to Abberley, Worcs where the lights are operated by Marcus, who had built his own control desk. This is how it goes: John has the script. When he sees a lighting cue coming up he nudges Marcus. Marcus then does what John has told him to do beforehand. Works a treat. Not all the drama was onstage though. A member of the audience had to be taken away in an ambulance having collapsed during the interval. I've since heard that she is OK and on the mend. Poor her, poor audience, poor organisers. Not poor me. I was fine backstage with a Pepsi Max and regular updates. With the reassurance that the casualty was well and on her way to hospital the second half continued.
Then a marathon three consecutive nights of "Ten Days ..." in Warwickshire, Staffs and Derbyshire. Not a good time for the lights to play up, but they did. Just not going to talk about it.
Drayton Bassett WI Hall is a teeny, pretty little place, admittedly a bit thin on dressing rooms (the kitchen) but I found a condemned lean-to which served the purpose. Great atmosphere. Man came up to me afterwards and told me how much he'd enjoyed .... (the show?) No, The Best Exotic Marigold Hotel.
Next day, Maevsyn Ridware VH. What hospitality we received there! Nothing was too much trouble for Alan and Allen, the organisers. Everyone was happy and this was a good night.
I had reckoned I could cope easily with a three night tour and a few hundred miles driving. The following morning I went with the family to a children's farm where I was pointed out as my great nephew's granny. Yes, OK, in theory, I could easily be his granny but the fact is that I am not, and my own children are still teenagers so I do not like to be referred to as a granny. The following morning, after an eventful and happy night in Muggington, despite harrowing preparations on account of a rogue fuse in a light plug, I was asked if I was in my retirement. Enough! Plainly a three night tour had taken its toll.
It wasn't the performing that had worn me out though, nor entirely the lights, though they were partly to blame. But also partly the travelling. I prefer to drive because I am a control freak and find it stressful to be a passenger, but I really must listen to my Sat Nav dood. The trouble is that I have gone off him and prefer to listen to John's exciting tales of encounters with bears in the Rockies. I would also like a bit more gossip. Sat Nav dood has what used to be an attractive but is now an annoying Australian accent and he can't say "road". His pronunciation rhymes with "bawd". And he leaves things too late. At Junction 9 of the M42 he is all over the place. Sorry dood, but you're history. I'm going to search online for a voice I like. Right now.
Preston on Stour was different. You can tell when the audience isn't going to like it just by listening to them as they settle in their seats. Those poor, county men in their jackets and ties. Ruth just wasn't their glass of Merlot.
Never mind, no time to dwell on it. The date is March 3rd and it is the world premiere of Something Fishy. The title lends itself to a fish and chip supper beforehand. The smell of salt and vinegar nearly blew my adenoids away. May I take a moment to comment on the dressing room? Yes, it was a cupboard, but I have had to change in more than my fair share of cupboards and this one was different. White jeans and cupboard floors don't go well but John Schumann of Wellesbourne knows how to clean a floor and I could have eaten my fish and chips off this one. But I wasn't in the mood for fish and chips as this was a World Premiere so I held back and let the vinegar clear from the air. Cue lights and sound and I stepped onto the stage. Bit of a big step up but WPs are like that and I did my best to look nimble. Audience came with me all the way. That's the thing about neighbours, you never know when you're going to wish you'd been nice to them.
Following week up to Endon, Staffs, where I met some wonderful, kind people who host the children from Chernobyl who come over for holidays away from toxic air and food. Ethan Baker aged 9 showed us all how to operate the lights in the village hall. I asked him if there was a hoover. Ethan is a Cub Scout. I know that because he was in uniform. Ethan Baker knows the hall inside out. He looked thoughtful and went away. Five minutes later he returned with a broom. "We have made prorgress." He announced in broad Stoke on Trent and was allowed to stay to see the show (Ten Days ..) He said he enjoyed it.
Then it was back to Abberley, Worcs where the lights are operated by Marcus, who had built his own control desk. This is how it goes: John has the script. When he sees a lighting cue coming up he nudges Marcus. Marcus then does what John has told him to do beforehand. Works a treat. Not all the drama was onstage though. A member of the audience had to be taken away in an ambulance having collapsed during the interval. I've since heard that she is OK and on the mend. Poor her, poor audience, poor organisers. Not poor me. I was fine backstage with a Pepsi Max and regular updates. With the reassurance that the casualty was well and on her way to hospital the second half continued.
Then a marathon three consecutive nights of "Ten Days ..." in Warwickshire, Staffs and Derbyshire. Not a good time for the lights to play up, but they did. Just not going to talk about it.
Drayton Bassett WI Hall is a teeny, pretty little place, admittedly a bit thin on dressing rooms (the kitchen) but I found a condemned lean-to which served the purpose. Great atmosphere. Man came up to me afterwards and told me how much he'd enjoyed .... (the show?) No, The Best Exotic Marigold Hotel.
Next day, Maevsyn Ridware VH. What hospitality we received there! Nothing was too much trouble for Alan and Allen, the organisers. Everyone was happy and this was a good night.
I had reckoned I could cope easily with a three night tour and a few hundred miles driving. The following morning I went with the family to a children's farm where I was pointed out as my great nephew's granny. Yes, OK, in theory, I could easily be his granny but the fact is that I am not, and my own children are still teenagers so I do not like to be referred to as a granny. The following morning, after an eventful and happy night in Muggington, despite harrowing preparations on account of a rogue fuse in a light plug, I was asked if I was in my retirement. Enough! Plainly a three night tour had taken its toll.
It wasn't the performing that had worn me out though, nor entirely the lights, though they were partly to blame. But also partly the travelling. I prefer to drive because I am a control freak and find it stressful to be a passenger, but I really must listen to my Sat Nav dood. The trouble is that I have gone off him and prefer to listen to John's exciting tales of encounters with bears in the Rockies. I would also like a bit more gossip. Sat Nav dood has what used to be an attractive but is now an annoying Australian accent and he can't say "road". His pronunciation rhymes with "bawd". And he leaves things too late. At Junction 9 of the M42 he is all over the place. Sorry dood, but you're history. I'm going to search online for a voice I like. Right now.
Sunday 26 February 2012
Practising what I preach
This week I gave a talk to some Year 10 Drama students. I talked about focus. It's one of those irritating words which sometimes make actors sound like they are trying to impress people. I told the students they wouldn't need it all the time but that they had to use it all the time for when unexpected emergencies occur, emergencies such as the show causing extreme audiences reactions like laughter so loud and prolonged that it makes you wonder if you'll ever get through the show, and the other extreme which is silence. Both are distracting. Both are dangerous. Too much laughter can tempt you to over egg the pudding and milk the moment (so many dairy analogies!), too little tempts you to speed up and get the show over with as quickly as possible. Focus enables you to carry on as if nothing is any different in either situation - keep your concentration and maintain an even pace. Focus is easy when nothing is happening. But when you're distracted either by noise or silence, it is easier said than done to be unaffected by your audience and keep your head. This weekend I experienced both extremes. It's fascinating: what makes one audience react vocally and loudly and another to listen quietly? The obvious answer is that one audience enjoys the show and the other doesn't. That's what it feels like at the time. But (and I'm not thinking this just to reassure myself) I think that is possibly too simplistic. If I can love a show and find it unbearably funny without having to express my mirth out loud (as I can and frequently do) then I must accept that others can too. The actor shouldn't need the audience's vocal participation to lean on for support during his performance. What he does need is focus. That is a far more useful and reliable tool. My newest piece of advertising blurb invites my audiences to laugh or nod knowingly. Knowing nods don't make any noise, but they are very welcome. Here endeth the lesson.
Tuesday 31 January 2012
West Haddon - public loos and costume changes
Having observed last week that Disabled Gents and Ladies always have to share public toilets with each other, unlike their able counterparts (someone should protest), and visited a school where they shared with able Ladies too, I arrived at West Haddon in a state of anticipation, eager to see the set up there. Normally my first concern on arrival at a venue is where to place the techie, lights and speakers but I've been to West Haddon before, and this time I couldn't wait to get to the loos. I wasn't disappointed. Disabled men and women share facilities in WH, this time with able Gents (fair enough) but also, yes AND with the Baby Changing Unit! Oh, the joy of laughter! Those poor West Haddon mums, never allowed to go into the baby changing room because it is in the Gents. No wonder they all looked so happy! But what about the dad in a wheelchair? Enough on his plate, I'd have thought.
Family Matters is my most complex play. 18 speaking parts, 33 characters, tricky props (don't mention the fairy lights or condom), sound and lighting cues and, now an onstage costume change. It has always bothered me that my character, Ruth, wears the same clothes to go shopping as she does for a party so I put in a costume change and spent a happy hour explaining to a shop assistant that I needed a long sleeved top. The colour didn't matter that much but it mustn't clash tonally with my Ikea tablecloth and apron. I would be wearing it to go to a barbecue and it had to be made of fabric that was warmer than what I would be wearing during that day because the weather was going to get cold and it would be illogical to change into something flimsy for eating outdoors (this is January). Oh, and it also had to be something with a wide neck so that I would be able to take it off really quickly. "When's this for, madam?" "Next Friday." If the shop assistant threw rolled eyes and finger-twirling-round-the-ear bonkers signals to her colleagues (like, how did this woman, who is clearly a slut, know what she'd be wearing during the day next Friday or that the weather would suddenly change?), I didn't notice. It hadn't occurred to me to mention that this whole scenario was going to take place in a play. When I finally mentioned the fact, quite incidentally, a tangible flood of relief that she wasn't dealing with quite such a loony after all overwhelmed her. She set to, producing multitudes of tops of differing weight and design from every shelf and store room. She totally cottoned on to the style of the play and I finally left the shop swinging a bag containing a snazzy, warm, red top in my hand. Worked a treat, I thought.
Family Matters is my most complex play. 18 speaking parts, 33 characters, tricky props (don't mention the fairy lights or condom), sound and lighting cues and, now an onstage costume change. It has always bothered me that my character, Ruth, wears the same clothes to go shopping as she does for a party so I put in a costume change and spent a happy hour explaining to a shop assistant that I needed a long sleeved top. The colour didn't matter that much but it mustn't clash tonally with my Ikea tablecloth and apron. I would be wearing it to go to a barbecue and it had to be made of fabric that was warmer than what I would be wearing during that day because the weather was going to get cold and it would be illogical to change into something flimsy for eating outdoors (this is January). Oh, and it also had to be something with a wide neck so that I would be able to take it off really quickly. "When's this for, madam?" "Next Friday." If the shop assistant threw rolled eyes and finger-twirling-round-the-ear bonkers signals to her colleagues (like, how did this woman, who is clearly a slut, know what she'd be wearing during the day next Friday or that the weather would suddenly change?), I didn't notice. It hadn't occurred to me to mention that this whole scenario was going to take place in a play. When I finally mentioned the fact, quite incidentally, a tangible flood of relief that she wasn't dealing with quite such a loony after all overwhelmed her. She set to, producing multitudes of tops of differing weight and design from every shelf and store room. She totally cottoned on to the style of the play and I finally left the shop swinging a bag containing a snazzy, warm, red top in my hand. Worked a treat, I thought.
Monday 23 January 2012
Dolphin School
I am also a snob. It's hereditary. I come from a family who can't help but be impressed by largesse - whether it be in terms of title, estate or education. Accordingly, a frisson of anticipation accompanied me to Dolphin School near Reading, a frisson which grew fizzier as I passed the road sign to the school, nowhere else, just the school. This school has its own road sign! Now there's posh.
All the hallmarks of exclusivity and fee-paying were visible on our arrival. Neatly games kitted little girls were playing netball on a pitch surrounded by 4 x 4s, mothers in plaid game fair style jackets and hats, and Dubarrys, wildly expensive leather boots which double as wellies when necessary. I know that because I have a pair myself.
John and I were shown into Reception where we signed ourselves in as guests and read the plethora of plaudits about the school "which had been left out on a little table for us to read." (That is a quote from the show, incidentally, not just an arbitrary use of inverted commas for the hell of it.) "Then I realised I hadn't been to the loo since lunchtime." (Another quote from the show.) I asked the very nice receptionist where the Ladies was and was directed to a door bearing "a picture of a girl in a silver sticky out skirt" (yes, another quote), a picture of a man in silver jeans, and a picture of a male or female in a silver wheelchair on it. Funny that. I've never thought of it before. There's never a special sign or even room for disabled women as opposed to men. All disabled people have to share the same loo. Someone should complain. What's good enough for the Disabled at the Dolphin School is good enough for the rest of us too and it turned out that that was the only loo in Reception, hence all three signs on one door. This discovery came as a kind of surprise, because I was kind of half expecting there to be lots of different loos, but it was nothing I couldn't handle. I was far more engaged by my habitual worry that I might pull the emergency cord instead of the light switch, a worry which almost, but not quite, puts me off using Disabled loos entirely when there is a choice.
The performance space was cavernous - a massive area which housed exhibitions of work and foreign trips, musical instruments and stands, comfy chairs, dining tables and gymnastic equipment. Practice rooms behind were stacked with pianos and percussion instruments. This was one nice School.
The hospitality matched the surroundings and John and I were plied with cups of tea as we set up for the show. Inevitably, therefore, it wasn't long before I needed the loo again. We were a good long walk from Reception so I asked where was the nearest. Here there were two loos: Disabled men and women had to share with able bodied women, but able bodied men were provided with facilities of their own. What an interesting distinction to draw. What quality do able bodied women possess that their male counterparts lack which renders them more suitable to share toilet facilities with the Disabled? Actually I can think of quite a few. I don't mean to be sexist, but men's toilet habits being what they are, it was probably deemed kinder not to inflict them on the Disabled. The architect must have been a woman. But then again, maybe not ... there was no mirror. No woman would decide that a mirror is unnecessary in the loo. It certainly is necessary if you're about to go on stage in front an audience of 70 or so people. I looked around for something with the power to reflect. There was only one thing so it would have to do. I bent over the loo handle and put on my make up. It wasn't easy. Would have been a hell of a lot more difficult if I'd been in a wheelchair.
But this isn't criticism. Children at the Dolphin School clearly have a wonderful education with all that music, travel and space in which to learn. If they grow up not needing to look in a mirror every time they go to the loo, that wouldn't be such a bad thing, would it?
All the hallmarks of exclusivity and fee-paying were visible on our arrival. Neatly games kitted little girls were playing netball on a pitch surrounded by 4 x 4s, mothers in plaid game fair style jackets and hats, and Dubarrys, wildly expensive leather boots which double as wellies when necessary. I know that because I have a pair myself.
John and I were shown into Reception where we signed ourselves in as guests and read the plethora of plaudits about the school "which had been left out on a little table for us to read." (That is a quote from the show, incidentally, not just an arbitrary use of inverted commas for the hell of it.) "Then I realised I hadn't been to the loo since lunchtime." (Another quote from the show.) I asked the very nice receptionist where the Ladies was and was directed to a door bearing "a picture of a girl in a silver sticky out skirt" (yes, another quote), a picture of a man in silver jeans, and a picture of a male or female in a silver wheelchair on it. Funny that. I've never thought of it before. There's never a special sign or even room for disabled women as opposed to men. All disabled people have to share the same loo. Someone should complain. What's good enough for the Disabled at the Dolphin School is good enough for the rest of us too and it turned out that that was the only loo in Reception, hence all three signs on one door. This discovery came as a kind of surprise, because I was kind of half expecting there to be lots of different loos, but it was nothing I couldn't handle. I was far more engaged by my habitual worry that I might pull the emergency cord instead of the light switch, a worry which almost, but not quite, puts me off using Disabled loos entirely when there is a choice.
The performance space was cavernous - a massive area which housed exhibitions of work and foreign trips, musical instruments and stands, comfy chairs, dining tables and gymnastic equipment. Practice rooms behind were stacked with pianos and percussion instruments. This was one nice School.
The hospitality matched the surroundings and John and I were plied with cups of tea as we set up for the show. Inevitably, therefore, it wasn't long before I needed the loo again. We were a good long walk from Reception so I asked where was the nearest. Here there were two loos: Disabled men and women had to share with able bodied women, but able bodied men were provided with facilities of their own. What an interesting distinction to draw. What quality do able bodied women possess that their male counterparts lack which renders them more suitable to share toilet facilities with the Disabled? Actually I can think of quite a few. I don't mean to be sexist, but men's toilet habits being what they are, it was probably deemed kinder not to inflict them on the Disabled. The architect must have been a woman. But then again, maybe not ... there was no mirror. No woman would decide that a mirror is unnecessary in the loo. It certainly is necessary if you're about to go on stage in front an audience of 70 or so people. I looked around for something with the power to reflect. There was only one thing so it would have to do. I bent over the loo handle and put on my make up. It wasn't easy. Would have been a hell of a lot more difficult if I'd been in a wheelchair.
But this isn't criticism. Children at the Dolphin School clearly have a wonderful education with all that music, travel and space in which to learn. If they grow up not needing to look in a mirror every time they go to the loo, that wouldn't be such a bad thing, would it?
Sunday 15 January 2012
Friday 13th in Ashton
Yes, I'll admit I am a little superstitious. I'm not OCD about it, but I adhere to a few random routines before shows: eating the same food, drinking the same drink, laying my clothes out in the same way before I go onstage, doing warm up exercise in a particular order, nothing out of the ordinary, I wouldn't say. However I did notice that my first show of 2012 was to take place on Friday 13th, and then tried not to think about it and treat the day like any other. In the morning I made some bread. I have forgiven our bread maker for some catastrophes last year and have made some pretty darn delicious chocolate croissants recently, so I thought I'd have another go at plain bread and set the machine off on its three hour marathon while I went through my show day rituals: running over lines, packing the car and ironing my costume. At lunchtime I removed a wadge of spongey goo from the bread maker and tried to convince myself that this disaster was not a portent of worse to come and that it counted as my dose of Friday 13th bad luck.
I should have concentrated more carefully while I was loading the car. When I unpacked it at the venue I realised that I'd left my microphone at home. I only use a mic in venues where I feel I need it and prefer not to use it at all. If I'd had the choice the hall in Ashton would have been a close call. It wasn't particularly big but the acoustic was dull, plus the large audience expected would add to sound absorption. But I didn't have the mic so I'd have to manage without - even for the finale song, when I really do prefer to use it. Time for the routine sip of diet coke - brilliant for zipping up the energy level and putting me in performance mode. Aaargh! I'd left that behind too. Then a horrible noise started to come through the speakers. I recalled the date and began to feel nervous about the show.
At this point David, John and John came riding in on white chargers. John produced a cordless radio mic for me to use during the song and assured me that he could hear everything else I said crystal clear from the rear of the hall. John II (St John actually, since he has recently agreed to tech for all future shows) obliterated the noise and David drove off to get me some diet coke.
From that moment on it was a dream night. The audience was perfect: a mix of lively young mums who were hell bent on having a good time and happy to laugh at themselves and me, and sprightly and attentive villagers - nearly a hundred of them, which is a fine number for a village audience on a cold January night. Ruth Rich was very happy to be back on the boards. There was only one disappointment. During the play Ruth "writes" in her diary. What actually happens is that I write my own remarks about how well the show is going down. There are some entertaining entries: "Could the person with a cough please shut up!" "Nose running - will they notice if I sniff?" "Love you, audience" "HELLO is there anyone out there?" But the pen had run out, so my effusive words came out as nothing but a few scratchy marks. Never mind, for lashings of bad luck this Friday 13th was a flop. But that's not to say I'm giving up my pre-show routines. Quite the opposite actually. Just imagine how the evening might have gone if I hadn't stuck to them.
Thursday 5 January 2012
Rounding up 2011
It only went and happened again, didn't it? No, not the microphone thing, nor having royalty in the audience. The allergic reaction. I've narrowed the offending substance down to paracetamol or ibuprofen. Sometime later this year I've got to go in to hospital for a controlled experiment to discover which of those two provokes the reaction. Or I could just take one of them now ... no, maybe not.
I've got all behind with my performance by performance blog though. After Waingroves there was Heage in Derbyshire. The last time I went there someone put their raffle prize on my set. This time, I couldn't work out why people were setting off fireworks outside on November 18th. Turned out it was the tea urn making all the noise. Heage is a bit like that, but for its eccentricity, remoteness and the fact that people are prepared to go out in the pitch dark in the dead of winter to see a performer from warm and cosy Warwickshire, I love it.
Then Alrewas, where I must confess I had a sense of humour failure when the lights played up again as we were setting up. It was the wrong place to get stroppy because the Alrewas welcome is very special: the food is amazing, the backstage help second to none and the audience are wonderful. Why the lights keep playing up is anyone's guess and I'm just not a good enough actor to pretend that everything is hunky dory before a show when I'm faced with the prospect of performing with one light, or no lights, as the mood takes them. They have now been fixed. Did you hear that lights? You have been fixed. No more allergic reactions from you, if you wouldn't mind.
So .... it was a huge relief and big, big treat to go to perform at the Bridge House Theatre in Warwick. Oh, what a night! One of the best. But before the show my son was terrified. This was a fundraiser for his forthcoming school rugby tour and lots of his friends were going to be in the audience. He couldn't bear to be present and waited at home whilst his mother cavorted around on his school stage before his teachers and classmates. I'd hardly entered the house when I arrived home before he asked how it went. "Terrible." I replied. "They just didn't laugh at all. In fact I think I'm going to give up doing this. It just isn't worth it."
Why did I say that? I don't know. I'd wanted to pick the audience up and take them home with me, they'd been so great. Just seemed like a bit of fun to tease my son.
I waited for an outburst of recrimination: Why did I have to do the show there in the first place? How could I let him down in front of everyone? That kind of thing. But I'd forgotten. Son is a nice chap. "I'm really sorry." I said, attempting in a fake way to cover my own fake disappointment at my fake flop, ready to disabuse him of the disaster as soon as he reacted. Son looked at me kindly, covering the humiliation he must have felt. "It's all right, mum. Don't worry." Five minutes later he dump tackled me onto the sofa and got his own back.
After that it was one more visit to Bulkington and I was home and dry for 2011 - well nearly. Bulkington holds the record for seeing all three of my shows in the space of ten months. Most venues take three years. I was therefore pleased to be able to tell them that I was still one step ahead and that a new play "Something Fishy" would be ready in March.
As a finale for 2011 I did a preview of "Something Fishy" before a selected audience of friends in our garage. The performance wasn't flawless but I was pleased with the reaction and can't wait, really can't wait to doing some more in 2012. Brighton here I come! Maybe Buxton too ..... Edinburgh, not sure.
See you soon.
I've got all behind with my performance by performance blog though. After Waingroves there was Heage in Derbyshire. The last time I went there someone put their raffle prize on my set. This time, I couldn't work out why people were setting off fireworks outside on November 18th. Turned out it was the tea urn making all the noise. Heage is a bit like that, but for its eccentricity, remoteness and the fact that people are prepared to go out in the pitch dark in the dead of winter to see a performer from warm and cosy Warwickshire, I love it.
Then Alrewas, where I must confess I had a sense of humour failure when the lights played up again as we were setting up. It was the wrong place to get stroppy because the Alrewas welcome is very special: the food is amazing, the backstage help second to none and the audience are wonderful. Why the lights keep playing up is anyone's guess and I'm just not a good enough actor to pretend that everything is hunky dory before a show when I'm faced with the prospect of performing with one light, or no lights, as the mood takes them. They have now been fixed. Did you hear that lights? You have been fixed. No more allergic reactions from you, if you wouldn't mind.
So .... it was a huge relief and big, big treat to go to perform at the Bridge House Theatre in Warwick. Oh, what a night! One of the best. But before the show my son was terrified. This was a fundraiser for his forthcoming school rugby tour and lots of his friends were going to be in the audience. He couldn't bear to be present and waited at home whilst his mother cavorted around on his school stage before his teachers and classmates. I'd hardly entered the house when I arrived home before he asked how it went. "Terrible." I replied. "They just didn't laugh at all. In fact I think I'm going to give up doing this. It just isn't worth it."
Why did I say that? I don't know. I'd wanted to pick the audience up and take them home with me, they'd been so great. Just seemed like a bit of fun to tease my son.
I waited for an outburst of recrimination: Why did I have to do the show there in the first place? How could I let him down in front of everyone? That kind of thing. But I'd forgotten. Son is a nice chap. "I'm really sorry." I said, attempting in a fake way to cover my own fake disappointment at my fake flop, ready to disabuse him of the disaster as soon as he reacted. Son looked at me kindly, covering the humiliation he must have felt. "It's all right, mum. Don't worry." Five minutes later he dump tackled me onto the sofa and got his own back.
After that it was one more visit to Bulkington and I was home and dry for 2011 - well nearly. Bulkington holds the record for seeing all three of my shows in the space of ten months. Most venues take three years. I was therefore pleased to be able to tell them that I was still one step ahead and that a new play "Something Fishy" would be ready in March.
As a finale for 2011 I did a preview of "Something Fishy" before a selected audience of friends in our garage. The performance wasn't flawless but I was pleased with the reaction and can't wait, really can't wait to doing some more in 2012. Brighton here I come! Maybe Buxton too ..... Edinburgh, not sure.
See you soon.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)