Theres another one gone

Murdered to Death has ended.

I’ve sent the Colonel off to the tropics for the next few months. Thoroughly enjoyable time in my life, rehearsals went swimmingly and the performances were an absolute hoot. The audiences were raucous and we pretty much sold out the whole run.

I was terribly nervous the day the play started, and more so on the day before. I kept thinking “Well, over 2000 people are going to see this, what if I balls up?”. Needless to say, this sort of negative thinking doesn’t do one much good.

Thing is, once I got to the theatre, stuck on the costume and make-up I was fine. So, hopefully lesson learned from that.

I’ll be back to ranting soon enough, but right now I’m afflicted with hay fever. It doesn’t help I live next door to a meadow. Hmm

 

Like a strong odour

Like a strong smell that causes embarrassment when guests arrive, I have returned once more.

Haven’t been at the old PC for a while as I was rather busy with caring for our gran. Technically the wife’s grandmother, however she passed away, so time has been taken up with funeral arrangements and such.

I couldn’t really think of anything to write about either, my joie de vivre was a bit lacking.

The play Murdered to Death starts this coming week, which is causing me no end of nerves. Quite why I’m not so sure, I can readily identify with the part of the Colonel. Him being a heavy drinking, tweed wearing chap with an eye for the ladies and terrible trouble with remembering names.

It’s dress rehearsal and publicity photographs today, so it was rather disconcerting to find an enormous spot right on my forehead. Quite why this should occur at my age and neglect to fulfil it’s duty to afflict the face of some nauseating adolescent is beyond me.

 

The ramblings of a mad man

If you are unfortunate enough to bump into me in the darkest parts of Hindley Green, then you may well think that I am rather insane.

For at the moment, I wander about with a Harris Tweed jacket and an MP3 player, muttering to myself.

I’m learning lines, however, so I do stroll about saying things like ‘Dashed rotten business’ and ‘I say old girl’.

This however leads to me reflecting on my own mental health. Thing is, I tend to act like the character I’m playing, so at the moment I’m using a lot of RP, calling everybody ‘old girl, old boy, or old chap’. I even shouted at a lady who attempted to run me over this morning in a 1930′s style.

I’m sure my family are glad that I didn’t go for a part in ‘Hi De Hi’ as boundless cheerfulness is worse than my usual misanthropy.

 

Viva Boredom!

I’m aware that I haven’t posted for a short while. However, things are very different in my new house. My wife and I are caring for an 89 year old lady (Wife’s gran) who has recently broke her hip and had a stroke. She also has dementia.

Rather than put her in a ‘home’ we felt it was better for her to receive care from her family in her own surroundings.

Of course, it’s hard and rather tiring. Still, it is rewarding and she is happier that she isn’t alone.

It does mean however that our own free time is somewhat limited. Hence the lack of blogging recently.

Today, I was reading the paper and was struck by something. Not literally of course, I have no wounds. The Condem government is proposing more changes to Sunday trading in order to ‘stimulate’ the economy. Given that people have less money to spend (with fuel, food and heating costs being so expensive), quite what people will be able to buy is beyond me. However, I digress. Sunday in Britain used to be a national day of boredom. One couldn’t pop out to the shops or pub as everything was shut. This posed a challenge in my childhood. We used to go for ‘days out’ in a British made car, which invariably meant parking by a motorway waiting for the radiator to cool down.

Sundays were so universally dull that Morrisey wrote ‘Everyday is like Sunday’. These days, everyday is much like another.

It seems that modern British society has become ‘boredom averse’. I feel that this is a great pity. Boredom breeds creativity. Of course chronic boredom leads to riots, sort of. I think a hint of boredom is just the ticket. It can lead to writing silly verse, or playing cards, Monopoly or attempting to teach the cat to use the toilet.

The modern answer to boredom is to go out and spend money you haven’t got on stuff you don’t particularly need.

How does that build character?

Yawn

Well moving house is not my idea of fun. Firstly why do I own so much junk? Secondly why do I now have it my new house?

Today I have been up in the attic packing away stuff from our old house that we never use. Hmm.

Still, it’s been good exercise I suppose. My trousers now keep falling down, maybe that is just the Benny Hill in me coming out though.

In between moving house, unpacking etc I’ve been on stage each evening in A Streetcar Named Desire. My scenes seem to involve a lot of fighting, which unsurprisingly is also exhausting. I think it is worth noting that Tennessee Williams wasn’t much of gag merchant!

Oh well I must dash as the theatre beckons.

Aurevoir Fitzy

Well, Panto finished last night. It’s been tremendous fun to do, arduous at times but so worthwhile. I might be able to pop some video clips on here if I can figure out the technology. Sadly I wasn’t able to stay for the aftershow party for too long, pity really as the cast & directors have been great fun.

My buttocks are relieved however. Getting a swift boot up there each night has taken it’s toll and there have been occasions when it wasn’t only my buttocks that received a blow. Let’s just say I’m glad I’m not planning any more children.  So, the moustache has gone for now, so have the big hats and gratuitous eye-liner.

Today was rehearsal for Streetcar, which I’m also looking forward too. I love the intensity of the play and it’s such a fine cast. Once more I left with bruises but I’m brimming with confidence about the next production.

Opening night

Thank goodness. No more rehearsal. It’s time to get things started, it’s time to light the lights (etc etc).
Opening night and I’m so relieved. Once the production opens, I can sleep again, no more strange dreams about forgetting lines, or sets collapsing or new bits being inserted into the script.
I’ll post photo’s later and let you know how it went.
You lucky people.

Made up!

I have to admit it, but I don’t have the patience to be a transvestite.
I shall explain, yesterday was dress rehearsal for the panto. I spent an absolute age in make-up and ended up looking like a cross dressing wizard.
Normally, stage/TV make-up is a 2 second job. Some powder on the forehead and nose so that the light doesn’t bounce off too harshly. That’s fine. Humiliating, but fine.
The sight of a man putting mascara on is really quite horrific. Whilst sat in the chair, I felt like I was in Clockwork Orange, the part where Alex has his eyes held open whilst being subjected to traumatising film clips.
Then lip-gloss. Why do women do this? It’s deeply unpleasant. It felt like my lips had been glued with boiled down horse hooves. I couldn’t drink a cup of tea without leaving it looking as though a slut had been trying to eat it.
Then there is the experience of taking it off. After using a wipe, I showered my face, then used a hot towel and still I felt like I had make-up on.
The morning was spent with my good lady who instructed me on the art of wearing tights. These pesky items of clothing are fickle and prone to disintegration. It’s also a nightmare when one hears the call of nature. However, I suppose as an aspiring actor I should be glad to finally be in tights!

So long to all that

This time of year the Television schedules are fit to bursting with tedious review shows. These inane dribllefests are hosted by a vacuous panel of D-list celebrities who plough through a three hour show bereft of any humour.

The relentless head shots, repeats of footage you only saw last week and pithy comments tend to bring on feelings of self-harm after about 3 hours.

So, with that in mind, I thought I would do my own review of the year.

January:

The year started off really badly. I was started a poorly paid boring job, listening to corporate drones who used newspeak. However rather than hang myself I went for an audition and got the part of Dr Spivey in One Flew Over The Cuckoos nest.

Feb:

More tedium in my paid job. Child protection training was done on-line, which was ironic I suppose. I had to suffer the horror of cartoon social workers blabbering away about things such as neglect and abuse. This made me want to go out and punch the nearest child in the face and steal his dinner money.

March:

March was actually not a bad month. I had a night out in a pretend casino and lost lots of pretend money and drank real tequila. Actually, that was probably the only highlight. So, really it was another shite month.

April:

Ah, this month I did Cuckoo’s nest. It went down a storm, but afterwards I felt like there was a huge hole in my life. With no new productions coming up, I had precious little hope of any form of relaxation to look forward to. I did a few days filming, which was something of a curates egg. I did not enjoy getting up at 4:30am. I did however appreciate a large cooked breakfast that was free of charge, lunch and afternoon snacks. Oh, I started this blog as my previous site (which was hosted by Blogger) died on me.

May:

My career reached yet another nadir. I don’t think there is a collective noun for the plural of nadir but maybe ‘a nuisance of nadir’ would be appropriate. I turned down a job, as frankly I have to admit to myself that I am far too judgemental of people’s behaviour at times. Sexual health promotion would not be the ideal job for me. I can’t be laissez-fair about this sort of thing. I am typically English, and I like being repressed. I spent my day job handing out ill-fitting shoes to people and trying to work on peoples inter-relatedness. Hmm. I’m a fine one to do that.

June:

I met my new and truly terrifying new dentist whom I thought was both evil and attractive at the same time..I’m such as sucker for that.  I had some shots done for a theatrical agent, erm….I think that was it. I’m sure something was going on somewhere else but I can’t recall.

July:

Audition month. I went for the 39 steps, which I didn’t get. I did however get my first part in a musical. I’ve never done a musical before. I must admit it was quite daunting at first, my character didn’t sing but I did sing in the chorus the songs ‘Oldest established’ , ‘Luck be a lady’ and ‘Sit down your rocking the boat’. Meeting this new company did me the world of good however and I’ve made some great friends there. It was also the holiday to Majorca which went very well, despite the appalling food, the family and I had a blast.

August:

Time for my post holiday psychosis. I decided to roll dice to make decisions for a few weeks. I re-started meditation, read books on Buddhism and the Tao. Spent my paid working hours doing absolutely nothing at all.

September:

I started to write my book ‘Kevin the third’. I did nothing else other than rehearse that month.  Not really my most memorable.

October:

Show time. Guys and Dolls was a blast as was the after-show party. I auditioned for Dick Whittington and got the part of Alderman Fitzwarren. Donned a moustache. Went to work in a team I had previously been fired from. I had job interviews but in the end I turned them down, my heart isn’t in mental health nursing.

November:

I spent a great deal of time rehearsing and reading about economics. Not at the same time of course, that would be dangerous.

December:

Lots more rehearsing for Panto. Of course we had Christmas which wasn’t particularly fun for myself and Lady Nobacon. I may post more about that once the festive season is over.

Hmm

What a boring year!

Humbug day

I don’t know about you, but it seems that if one says “I’m not keen on Christmas” then you may as well sign the sex offenders register and defecate on Princess Diana’s grave for all the popularity you will gain.

I know I am not alone in my ambivalence towards all things festive.

I enjoy seeing my son open presents but after that it’s all down hill. Copious drinking, eating food from dawn till midnight, people talking over a TV show you want to watch. Sigh..

However, I know that men of a certain age love a good moan. It does us good, I have no empirical data to support this assertion, but as it is the time of year when magical thinking is allowed, I will assert my case.

I advocate a world wide holiday of moaning, being grumpy, brutal honesty and sobriety.

One day where we can really let rip.

It’s more likely to bring peace on Earth than some fat bloke trying to squeeze down your chimney.