Yes, we are.
Having taken in the most prestigious theatres in Peterborough and Musselburgh, and the second most prestigious in Winchester, we are now in Derby. A huge audience of children and a collision with an inanimate object so far. It's all going swimmingly. One of our company has his birthday tomorrow. He's spending tonight alone in Derby, in his digs on the main methamphetamine boulevard. Lucky bastard.
Saturday, 24 April 2010
Friday, 26 March 2010
Tooooor
Currently in Eastbourne.
Mason fucks up in the digs stakes, we have two shite reviews and a gaggle of smelly gentlemen who want our autographs but dont want to see the show.
Taa raa.
Mason fucks up in the digs stakes, we have two shite reviews and a gaggle of smelly gentlemen who want our autographs but dont want to see the show.
Taa raa.
Thursday, 11 March 2010
Intense
We reconvene in earnest.
2 weeks off, and our arrival in Southsea is heralded all over the local press. Uncle Banjo gives a great account of himself in one local paper, the olympic breakfast that is Mason plugs the show in another. As is their wont, the local paper misquotes and those turning up to see Graham Seed play Stanhope are sorely disappointed.
Our first call in Southsea was to run the lines. We sort of jogged them. It took a rather long time, but was almost worth it in the end, as the show went reasonably well- rust hadnt completely set in, although there was a bit of oxidisation on the surface. We hastily retreated to the bar local to the theatre, and that is all I seem to remember of our time there. It was a nice pub, they treated us to food and we treated them to our wit and wisdom and musicality. I think chocolate-nob may have thrown up as a result of excess on one of those evenings, but as we have learned, that is par for the course for a fellow more used to sipping from the fairest of all chalices than from the top of a pint of ale. In Southsea, each member of the company, for the first time, had his own dressing room (bar those doubling as crew). Several of the company made the most of this privilege and, by the Tuesday evening, a queue had formed outside the stage door, people clamouring to catch one of the rare performances of the lesser-spotted cuckoo bird. I believe he was charging £10 a show, but cast members werent allowed to buy tickets.
After another couple of days of no-shows, we stravaged up to the beautiful middle (of) England town of Loughborough. Contrary to early expectations, given the TOTAL lack of evidence of our impending arrival to the theatre, we actually seemed to sell out two whole performances. In fact, the matinee was so busy, that we actually had to wait until an extra couple of rows of seats were put in to accomodate the throngs of people dying to see the show. In fact, they were so pleased to be there, they couldnt even contain their excitement, and in some cases, bodily functions, even as the play progressed to its most climactic moments. If only teenagers hibernated until the summer, that'd be alright. Still, it seems they enjoyed the show, as their rapturous applaud at the end inferred. They clapped until we came on for the bows, when they promplty stopped, leaving only a few courteous teachers to fill the void. The company spat their collective dummies (some spat actual phlegm) and didnt come out for the encore call. They didnt want us to anyway. Ho-hum.
Now, we're off to begin one of the more intensive blocks of the tour. Durham leads to Buxton leads to Bracknell leads to Eastbourne. And barely a matinee amongst them. How wonderful. It'll be nice to get some continuity going. The staccato nature of the tour so far makes for staccato shows at times. Also, it gives the bog trotters more of an opportunity to scope out some of the less reputable venues in a town if we're spending more than one night there. I might bring my swimming trunks to Eastbourne. It's a surprise.
In other news, I saw a load of trainspotters in Doncaster as we passed through on the train. I fel like telling them to wise up, but each to their own, eh? Also, I heard that trainspotters carry numchuks everywhere.
2 weeks off, and our arrival in Southsea is heralded all over the local press. Uncle Banjo gives a great account of himself in one local paper, the olympic breakfast that is Mason plugs the show in another. As is their wont, the local paper misquotes and those turning up to see Graham Seed play Stanhope are sorely disappointed.
Our first call in Southsea was to run the lines. We sort of jogged them. It took a rather long time, but was almost worth it in the end, as the show went reasonably well- rust hadnt completely set in, although there was a bit of oxidisation on the surface. We hastily retreated to the bar local to the theatre, and that is all I seem to remember of our time there. It was a nice pub, they treated us to food and we treated them to our wit and wisdom and musicality. I think chocolate-nob may have thrown up as a result of excess on one of those evenings, but as we have learned, that is par for the course for a fellow more used to sipping from the fairest of all chalices than from the top of a pint of ale. In Southsea, each member of the company, for the first time, had his own dressing room (bar those doubling as crew). Several of the company made the most of this privilege and, by the Tuesday evening, a queue had formed outside the stage door, people clamouring to catch one of the rare performances of the lesser-spotted cuckoo bird. I believe he was charging £10 a show, but cast members werent allowed to buy tickets.
After another couple of days of no-shows, we stravaged up to the beautiful middle (of) England town of Loughborough. Contrary to early expectations, given the TOTAL lack of evidence of our impending arrival to the theatre, we actually seemed to sell out two whole performances. In fact, the matinee was so busy, that we actually had to wait until an extra couple of rows of seats were put in to accomodate the throngs of people dying to see the show. In fact, they were so pleased to be there, they couldnt even contain their excitement, and in some cases, bodily functions, even as the play progressed to its most climactic moments. If only teenagers hibernated until the summer, that'd be alright. Still, it seems they enjoyed the show, as their rapturous applaud at the end inferred. They clapped until we came on for the bows, when they promplty stopped, leaving only a few courteous teachers to fill the void. The company spat their collective dummies (some spat actual phlegm) and didnt come out for the encore call. They didnt want us to anyway. Ho-hum.
Now, we're off to begin one of the more intensive blocks of the tour. Durham leads to Buxton leads to Bracknell leads to Eastbourne. And barely a matinee amongst them. How wonderful. It'll be nice to get some continuity going. The staccato nature of the tour so far makes for staccato shows at times. Also, it gives the bog trotters more of an opportunity to scope out some of the less reputable venues in a town if we're spending more than one night there. I might bring my swimming trunks to Eastbourne. It's a surprise.
In other news, I saw a load of trainspotters in Doncaster as we passed through on the train. I fel like telling them to wise up, but each to their own, eh? Also, I heard that trainspotters carry numchuks everywhere.
Sunday, 14 February 2010
Sorry
How terribly lapse I have been in updating this blog of late. Our devoted followers must be positively champing at the bit to hear more ripping yarns of the revellry and repugnancy of the Journey's End tour.
Since the last post, we have played three different venues- the Lighthouse Theatre in Poole, the Hexagon in Reading and the Adam Smith Theatre in Kircaldy (pronounced Kir-coddy), Scotland. Audience numbers have been variable, as they are wont to be on such diverse tours. We had a large rabble in Reading, including a lot of younger people, who laughed at words like "fat". Fat is a funny word, no doubt about it. In fact, I'm barely able to type the word "fat" without pebbledashing my underpants due to uncontrollable fits of hysterical laughter.
Fat. LOL!
Poole was nice. Some of us stayed in the greatest digs ever known to the theatrical industry. We had a massive telly and Sky Plus and a pub next door. The local beer "Fortyniner" was absolutely down ye. The audiences were sparse in Poole, but they were all pretty complimentary, which is nice. The theatre had a nice cafe in the foyer, and they served a great ploughman's platter. Apparently, however, the goats cheese salad was utter shite. We enjoyed walking around the Quays in Poole, and were even able to give one of the company a new nickname whilst there.
As I type, we are travelling back from Kircaldy on the train. This train has wifi. We thought we might be able to upgrade to first class for a tenner, but it turns out to have been £25. Well, as fantastically renumerated as I am for this tour, that's a bit of a stretch in the budget. However, one crumb of comfort is that as cramped as cattle class may appear to be, it is nowhere near as umcomfortable as sitting in a Rover 200 surrounded by flatulent bog trotters and chocolate-knobbed miscreants for the next 9 hours en route to the home counties. How the saving of £37 must seem a bittersweet pill when visting the 14th overpriced "Journey's Friend" of the day whilst waiting for your travelling party to drain their bladders of the cans of special brew consumed to make the journey ever so slightly more bearable. Still, I suppose you can add about £11.50 to that £37 saving, considering that none of the voyagers in that Rover 200 will need to pay to see the forthcoming production of "The Importance of being Oscar", as one suspects that there will have been several free previews between Carlisle and Bury St Edmonds. Showtunes, line runs and the stagnant miasma of a booze-addled Wurzel Gummage. Thank you Scotrail.
Meanwhile, back at the ranch, the audiences in Poole- as small as they were- were wonderful. In this blogger's humble opinion, they seemed like they were with us for the whole journey. And everyone was lovely. The box office staff, the theatre management, the local landlord, all were exceptionally hospitable. And, for the very first time in my (albeit fairly limited) career, we had a pot of tea sent up at the interval. A pot of bloody tea! I have never seen the like of that in my life. To any budding theatre producers/bookers reading this blog, please take this bit of information on board. All that is required for to have a happy company is prompt payment and a cup of tea at the interval. Every now and then a free beer is hugely appreciated, but the positive effects of the interval cup of tea cannot be overestimated. In short, actors want to be treated like pensioners. Talked to with quiet deference and offered tea all the time.
I'm not sure if I have anything to add at this point. If I think of owt, Ill tell you later.
Happy Valentine's Day.
Since the last post, we have played three different venues- the Lighthouse Theatre in Poole, the Hexagon in Reading and the Adam Smith Theatre in Kircaldy (pronounced Kir-coddy), Scotland. Audience numbers have been variable, as they are wont to be on such diverse tours. We had a large rabble in Reading, including a lot of younger people, who laughed at words like "fat". Fat is a funny word, no doubt about it. In fact, I'm barely able to type the word "fat" without pebbledashing my underpants due to uncontrollable fits of hysterical laughter.
Fat. LOL!
Poole was nice. Some of us stayed in the greatest digs ever known to the theatrical industry. We had a massive telly and Sky Plus and a pub next door. The local beer "Fortyniner" was absolutely down ye. The audiences were sparse in Poole, but they were all pretty complimentary, which is nice. The theatre had a nice cafe in the foyer, and they served a great ploughman's platter. Apparently, however, the goats cheese salad was utter shite. We enjoyed walking around the Quays in Poole, and were even able to give one of the company a new nickname whilst there.
As I type, we are travelling back from Kircaldy on the train. This train has wifi. We thought we might be able to upgrade to first class for a tenner, but it turns out to have been £25. Well, as fantastically renumerated as I am for this tour, that's a bit of a stretch in the budget. However, one crumb of comfort is that as cramped as cattle class may appear to be, it is nowhere near as umcomfortable as sitting in a Rover 200 surrounded by flatulent bog trotters and chocolate-knobbed miscreants for the next 9 hours en route to the home counties. How the saving of £37 must seem a bittersweet pill when visting the 14th overpriced "Journey's Friend" of the day whilst waiting for your travelling party to drain their bladders of the cans of special brew consumed to make the journey ever so slightly more bearable. Still, I suppose you can add about £11.50 to that £37 saving, considering that none of the voyagers in that Rover 200 will need to pay to see the forthcoming production of "The Importance of being Oscar", as one suspects that there will have been several free previews between Carlisle and Bury St Edmonds. Showtunes, line runs and the stagnant miasma of a booze-addled Wurzel Gummage. Thank you Scotrail.
Meanwhile, back at the ranch, the audiences in Poole- as small as they were- were wonderful. In this blogger's humble opinion, they seemed like they were with us for the whole journey. And everyone was lovely. The box office staff, the theatre management, the local landlord, all were exceptionally hospitable. And, for the very first time in my (albeit fairly limited) career, we had a pot of tea sent up at the interval. A pot of bloody tea! I have never seen the like of that in my life. To any budding theatre producers/bookers reading this blog, please take this bit of information on board. All that is required for to have a happy company is prompt payment and a cup of tea at the interval. Every now and then a free beer is hugely appreciated, but the positive effects of the interval cup of tea cannot be overestimated. In short, actors want to be treated like pensioners. Talked to with quiet deference and offered tea all the time.
I'm not sure if I have anything to add at this point. If I think of owt, Ill tell you later.
Happy Valentine's Day.
Tuesday, 26 January 2010
The Shopping Dog
The shopping dog
Chained to the rail
Whilst his master
Indulges retail
Lifting from shelves
Their daily board
Whilst their hound stays lonely
And ignored
People pass
And lift their gaze
The dog remembers
His halcyon days
Bounding through parks
Chasing balls
Lying on shag pile
Licking balls
But now the dog
Exiled from the store
Doesnt feel quite
So lucky no more
And so he barks
And wags his tail
Stands on two feet
His efforts fail
He whinneys and wimpers
Snarls and growls
Inciting no favour
Only scowls
So what can we learn from this tale?
"The woe of the shopping dog"?
That one's best efforts are mostly ignored.
Another example- this blog.
Chained to the rail
Whilst his master
Indulges retail
Lifting from shelves
Their daily board
Whilst their hound stays lonely
And ignored
People pass
And lift their gaze
The dog remembers
His halcyon days
Bounding through parks
Chasing balls
Lying on shag pile
Licking balls
But now the dog
Exiled from the store
Doesnt feel quite
So lucky no more
And so he barks
And wags his tail
Stands on two feet
His efforts fail
He whinneys and wimpers
Snarls and growls
Inciting no favour
Only scowls
So what can we learn from this tale?
"The woe of the shopping dog"?
That one's best efforts are mostly ignored.
Another example- this blog.
Wednesday, 20 January 2010
Curry sauce and Whatley's wallet.
Cast went for a curry last night. I ate what I thought was a green bean; it turned out to be a spicy chilli. I had to pour cold yoghurt into my mouth to curb the pain. Alastair then had green curry paste poured down his back by the waiter. He was not best pleased.
Today was hectic but a lot was achieved by stage management, costume, technicians and cast. So many people are working so bloody hard for this show it is unbelievable. I never realised quite how much work goes on backstage. Wow. Hats off to appropriate people and so on.
Finding it very strange having Alastair Whatley esq actually living in my house. He's sound asleep in the room below having got lost on the way home. He's also lost his wallet. Please return if found, preferably with the money inside... See you all soon [although no-one is actually reading this]. x
Today was hectic but a lot was achieved by stage management, costume, technicians and cast. So many people are working so bloody hard for this show it is unbelievable. I never realised quite how much work goes on backstage. Wow. Hats off to appropriate people and so on.
Finding it very strange having Alastair Whatley esq actually living in my house. He's sound asleep in the room below having got lost on the way home. He's also lost his wallet. Please return if found, preferably with the money inside... See you all soon [although no-one is actually reading this]. x
Tuesday, 19 January 2010
Basingstoke
We have little key fobs to get in and out of doors, so we all feel very official and that.
We have done a run and panicked a fair amount, then gone to Tesco's for to buy food. The food in there is reasonably priced, and fairly nutritionally balanced.
Last night, we went for a beer in a pub near our digs. The company, already conspicuous by their general frivolity and questionable facial hair, drank pints, in some small way to try and not draw further attention to themselves in what was an otherwise quiet pub with chatty locals mulling over what we were doing there. The spell was broken by our esteemed director, who, on his second round, decided to have a Malibu and Coke, and a "Virgin Mary" on his third round. A bloody mary without the vodka.
Deary bloody me.
One of our actors has split his contact lens, another cut his tongue on a piece of shrapnel from a prop mug. Between Hubert cutting his teeth on this tour and Graham cutting his tongue, there'll be no healthy mouths by the time we reach Kircaldy.
It's my birthday on Sunday. My girlfriend is taking me out for a couple of beers.
Join us again for the blog.
We have done a run and panicked a fair amount, then gone to Tesco's for to buy food. The food in there is reasonably priced, and fairly nutritionally balanced.
Last night, we went for a beer in a pub near our digs. The company, already conspicuous by their general frivolity and questionable facial hair, drank pints, in some small way to try and not draw further attention to themselves in what was an otherwise quiet pub with chatty locals mulling over what we were doing there. The spell was broken by our esteemed director, who, on his second round, decided to have a Malibu and Coke, and a "Virgin Mary" on his third round. A bloody mary without the vodka.
Deary bloody me.
One of our actors has split his contact lens, another cut his tongue on a piece of shrapnel from a prop mug. Between Hubert cutting his teeth on this tour and Graham cutting his tongue, there'll be no healthy mouths by the time we reach Kircaldy.
It's my birthday on Sunday. My girlfriend is taking me out for a couple of beers.
Join us again for the blog.
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