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.