AlBarclay

Peace and quiet by the sea. I think all the service industry servicing left me needing to recharge. This little hotel room, almost entirely dominated by a four poster bed and the trappings of faded opulence – this has been where I’ve charged myself up again like a battery. There’s a pass in Bergman so I can just leave him, and I have. I’ll go move him at 9 tomorrow and get myself back to London but for today I’ve unplugged from everything. I didn’t even check my phone until afternoon.

It transpired that Brian and Maddy had attempted to get a train to this part of the world, but Southern Rail had disgorged them in Arundel. They decided to make the best of it in Arundel, and by the time I discovered their plight I was already committed to a day of absolute idleness.

I wandered down to the bottom of the square, where The Regency served me Spaghetti Napolitana outside in the sunshine. I basked like a lizard. The air is cold but the sun is starting to feel like it’s taking this Spring business seriously. I didn’t get out of town, but found momentarily peaceful places and inhabited them. When I got flooded by too many people I just retreated to this little room.

In my early twenties I occasionally used to go to Paris for the weekend, when the Eurostar was new and you could get £25 return for under 25 year olds. I’d book into a run down hotel like this one, and get some sort of thrill out of it. My temporary home away from home, where I am only on my own schedule. There’s a kettle in here so I could have gone full Pot Noodle, but the spaghetti was only a tenner and it didn’t make the room stink.

I’ve got my Steam Deck with me – haven’t used it for months as too busy – so I enjoyed geeking out by working around how to get a native port of the original Animal Crossing game up and running in time to buy some turnips in the Sunday morning market. I did way too much turnip trading in lockdown when I got swept up in New Horizons. I’ll never have time to do that now, but I can have a bit of nostalgia gaming while I wind down, plus I somehow enjoy the process of messing around with Linux to get things like that up and running. There is a strand of me that runs very deep geek. It’s probably why I was so triggered by “Fatima’s next job could be in cyber”.

A busy and varied week again next week. This life keeps on being bright rich and strange. A day like today once every week or so makes it possible to fly forward full force the rest of the time.

I’m in a hotel room in Regency Square. It was cheap last minute on Booking.com. I’m here in Brighton to take Lou’s car in for MOT and she has a stable catsitter at home at moment. Tessy is fragile and the catsitter is important for Lou’s stability right now when many aspects of her existence are in flux. I would sooner not make any disruption to her existence. So I booked this room. I’m at the back. Were I at the front I’d be able to see this:

This is an evil glowing crow in a top hat that reminds everyone in Brighton about greed.

Right now I think they call it the i360. The bassacred nature of Londoners is partly to blame for it. They put up that stupid millennium wheel and somehow it filled a gap and we kinda loved it and kept it and now it’s the London Eye. So… Brighton council spent all the money on god’s earth (like over 30 million) for this thing to be made by the same lot. Somehow they got away with it once. But honestly, no, not twice, it was never going to work here, never. I expect it wasn’t meant to either – there are many ways of getting public money into private pockets – look at Trump. Locals call it “the cock ring”. It’s a shaft. It sits there doing the evil crow until some idiot pays and then a ring slides up and down the shaft and the people in it see a tiny bit more sea and drink a bit more champagne and congratulate each other. Quod est interius, est sicut exterius. On the inside they masturbate. On the outside they masturbate.

Leads me to wonder what has happened in this hotel room, which has a very old two poster bed. I expect there’s been plenty of all sorts here at this price. There’s not much floor outside the bed. All I need is what I have. I’m here for two nights. Very odd to be in this town without Lou, but even though it is only two hours drive, it is still two hours drive and it feels like I want to justify it rather than just serve needs. So I’m gonna hang out by the seaside.

When I remember how basically I did what I did yesterday every day for a month and a half last summer in Paris it puts into perspective the fact that I really needed to stop today.

I’m match fit for theatre at the moment, in that I’m breathing clearly and I’m listening to my body. That’s how I caught the shoe thing in time to get my trainers couriered to me. But match fit for events is a different thing and my body is surprised after a working day that wasn’t even 20 hours. I remember one night in Paris when I had to just pull the van up and go into a tiny little knocking shop, book a room for a night, collapse on a single bed, wake up four hours later and go into another 20 hour day. I love the challenge of it thankfully. It’s like when the temperature was -20 in South Bend I was enervated by the newness. I love Al vs Environment stuff.

This year the conference was really smooth. The team knows each other now and we can quickly distribute jobs and cover all angles without overlapping or annoying each other. It’s really nice to be part of it. Some are military types, others lifelong event types, the skillsets overlap and come together nicely.

Things outside of our control come from the venue. This venue insisted on their own security and a very expensive man to be a loading bay presence. The loading bay man was an investment, in terms of positive energy and helpfulness. Too much money considering we had it covered, but to his absolute credit he read the situation and understood that we had it covered anyway, and responded by upping his game and making himself really useful to justify the amount he was getting. I credit him highly.

Security were generally great but there was one guy who absolutely couldn’t take orders from a woman, so he spent most of the evening subverting and patronising Shimmy. People like him contributed to the first Trump term. He didn’t do it openly, just when he thought he could get away with it. He tried to recruit me at one point after she left. “Does she tell you all how to suck eggs like that?” he asked after she asked him to try and do his job better. “Do you have any idea how much she’s carrying on this job?” I asked him. “Just do what she asks, she’s not asking you randomly ” and he knew he couldn’t play manboy with me. She’s fucking great at her job. He’s a little sad douche. If she tells me to do something I know she needs it done and even if it seems logically complicated it’s likely because she’s managing someone up the chain. I’ll just do it. We all know how it works, and we shouldn’t need to have it explained. I can flash back to various deserts: “Make the lines of posts in the desert exactly perfect and evenly spaced because JT is a posh boy who is OCD to fuckery and has no perspective on anything outside his own crap.” Logic is only an accessory in events. You also have to manage the clients / the people up the chain, and everyone has their own completely different structure of what is important. I look for practicality and immediacy and solutions but I’ve learnt that many people need to have the process laid out before they can trust a solution. Society is difficult. An event or a show is society in microcosm, and compromise and open communication makes for smoother running across the board. She busted me bringing my car on site late last night. “It would have been fine if you hadn’t noticed,” I tried. “No, Al, the plat is already too crowded.” I looked with her eyes, agreed with her, and took him back off site.

But … I’m tired out and just in my head today. I took home an open bottle of lovely red wine. It had to be finished tonight you see? The cork had been popped. Thankfully Maddy is home too.

They’ve roped Ffion into Voice of God for the conference. Right now they are all practicing the presentations etc. Power Point and speakers and musical intro outro etc. I’m in my comfy trainers and it feels like a whole new footworld. That said it’s still only eleven o’clock. It’s been quiet enough that I could go on a coffee run. Just helped the Monkey Shoulder guy build his stand, just in time. Now it’s about making sure the table wine is cold enough and considering I slung 40 bags of ice into the freezer yesterday I think that can be achieved.

Guinness just got sent seven full barrels. Often there’s no exit strategy and I can’t imagine they’ll all go in the few hours we have with all the other choices, despite the fact it was Paddy’s day yesterday. Hannah is running around the stage upstairs while I’m mostly desnagging suppliers. It’s nice to think there are good friends who are known and used by these guys now, some of them more frequently than I am these days. We have to look after one another as we work our way through this shitstorm.

—

Does the “D” stand for diplomat? My T-shirt has D3 on it. I’m not sure what the D actually stands for but I’ll take it. Defused a little moment between two neighbouring concessions. Now a calm moment waiting for a briefing…

—

I’m waiting for a speaker outside and noticed the ash buckets in the smoking area are being used as bins. Sent a photo to the WhatsApp group. I can fucking guarantee you that it’ll be me with the gloves on once this guy shows up. But a man can dream. There are eleven of us after all.

—

Slow moment. Waiting behind the audience with my speaker. Luke did the bins bless him. I had a moment to respond to an email from my agent.

—

Not for long but now another snatched moment. They’ll all be going up for dinner in ten minutes. String quartet is practicing the imperial march from Star Wars. Everyone seems to have enough ice. It’s about to go mental downstairs when they all fight to be first out. And suddenly I’ve got to get three sets of earplugs…

—

It’s midnight. Feet hurt. I’ve been pouring out open table wine. Sad job. I think the DJ winds up in 30. I’m trying to get ahead of the load out.

—

It’s about to get very very busy in here and they’ll all want to ask me things and I’m knackered.

Apparently she’s Titanium. She often is. She never sounds bored of it. I’m happy for her. They are mostly too pissed to dance and loads of them are gone. Doesn’t stop her from being Titanium. Maybe nothing can?

—

Oh my poor feet. Lift going up. *Stairs* lift going down *stairs* repeat until feet nothing but bruise. Then repeat.

—

Very nearly finished. Dropped my room key somewhere, have driven Bergie to the hotel and waiting for the others to let me in the hotel so I can talk to reception and get into my room to grab my stuff. Then fifteen minutes drive home and I’ll be asleep in nice sheets with cats and I don’t have to wake at any particular time …

—

I’m home I’m home! My feet are bruises. It’s only just gone 3am. That’s actually pretty good going. Fourth year in a row ticked off and it is extraordinary to be part of Shimmy’s team for this. She runs a tight ship with humour and perspective. Zzzzzz

I still kinda like my new Timberland Boots, they look nice, but I think this event has put paid to them as my new everyday footwear. They crush my toes together and that’s fine if you are doing a normal day and care about aesthetic. But … I have a habit of Tiggering until I drop and the pain I was in at the end of this pretty normal hours day was enough to make me realise I needed a solution for tomorrow. In the mid term I’ll be shelling out for a new pair of Brashers. In the short term I moved to the wonders of technology, I used one of the internet disruptors. Uber still employs humans at least. I’ve seen about 5 of those cunting self drive cars in London since I’ve been back. They’ve always been full but I know now. Little fuckers.

Helen is staying at mine. I went on Uber and I booked a courier. First it was Mujeeb, up in Knightsbridge, with his Honda. He was sitting outside a Turkish delivery place near Harrods. He didn’t move for ages. Eventually he cancelled and Bilal popped up, south of the river. Albert Bridge is closed, and Uber was trying to send him on all sorts of ridiculous diversions but he stuck to his guns and sped across Chelsea Bridge in excellent time. We were all watching in real time. “Why do these shoes matter so much to you?” asks Hannah, Luke’s girlfriend. Because my feet are fucking killing me already, and at the end of the day I got my working hours for tomorrow and they are 8am to 3am (and that means close of play which might end up being 4am frankly). I was already expecting that, but I wasn’t expecting hurty feet and I’m not going there. Bilal was a superhero. The whole thing with tip cost just over ten quid and now I’ve got shoes I know I can walk in for hours tomorrow. Up and down stairs loads too. But I’m gonna need another pair of Brashers. I wrecked them in just over two years, and that was Paris mostly. They got hacked into instead of my feet. That’s what you pay for. Paris and Kumano and heavy heavy daily bashing. But Brashers were my dancing shoes when I was raving. If they can keep me dancing for 48 hours with occasional little sips of water and a chip off that plate for the salty taste oooh then they are the shoes I need to wear whilst my body falls apart because of that yummy misspent youth and that ill advised but delightful young adulthood.

I wonder sometimes if I might take one of those things again nowadays.I haven’t one  for so long now. The world moved in and the time is never right. I don’t really feel the need to plug in plug out in that way, and Jesus I don’t want the next day when it all feels so bleak and heavy unless… Unless… Well, let’s see if there’s any seratonin left …

Not that such musings are relevant to events Al.

Tomorrow he’ll be heralding in the booze, part of a team of sober pied pipers leading just 300 people to various different booze concessions. It’ll be the usual for events Al. Troubleshooting, working out what people think isn’t their job and making it his, being point of contact for people stuck in stalls, carrying bags of ice, emptying slops, politely informing people, cleaning, working out where the thing is, organising the thing if it isn’t. He’ll have to try to remember to write this piecemeal as I go, cos bedtime will be deadtime. It’s gonna be a busy day but one I’m good at. And I’ll be comfy and swanky in my (cheap off vinted shhh) white Gucci trainers.

I’m parked at the North west border of my borough. From thence it is a ten minute walk to the Ibis Shepherd’s Bush, where I’m staying tonight. I could commute without too much concern, but I’ve learnt to take the question out of it and be in the hotel room with everyone else for these jobs. Predictability is important.

This will be the fourth consecutive year that it has worked for me to do this particular event. A different venue in London every time, and a team that is growing more and more familiar. These are good people and we know the job very well now. It’ll be a lot of work, but good work and we will smash it out. This year a bit bigger than previous.

Today I just took it easy in anticipation of a few days graft to come. I had a hot bath, went back to sleep for a bit in the daytime tangled up in Boo who has decided she likes to sit by my head if I’m sleeping and play pattycake if my hands are available.

We all went to Pizza Express tonight and had the briefing. Ali is here, from Paris Olympics. He is totally recovered now – that terrible cough that made me worried sick for him in the dusty warehouse – it was undiagnosed asthma and now he’s drugged up and a new man. We had a moment this evening reminiscing. It was a really strong time together, supplying and troubleshooting those games, negotiating all the individuals, stitching together communications, buying fucking screws. There’s nothing like the crucible of relentless random hard work to brand and secure friendships. Bless him, he came to Othello with his missus. “I’ve never seen a Shakespeare before”.

So … I’m in bed and it’s early for me, but the morning will be early too. Brian left a coffee outside my room this morning at the time I’ll be starting work tomorrow, and by the time I found it it was freezing cold. I’m looking forward to a few days of honest work, and so is my bank balance. I’ve got friends in my bed the next two nights! Shame I won’t get to see them but happy to be earning and making space for them. I still want auditions, but there was one year I sang ‘Boy for Sale” at 4am in a Premier Inn over this job. They recalled me for Sowerberry, got weirded out by me going barefoot in the recall, and went with someone else. I loved having the chance and – good that Annelie had at least seen me. Musical theatre was never my bag so it was a throw of the dice and one I’m happy to have made. The more people that see us the higher the chances of working more.

Event now though. All that stuff can wait. I’m gonna go to sleep and lose the next few days.

I’m plugged back in to London. But not feeling the need to go out in it. My decisions are being made by my budget, largely. We were gonna order burgers from Five Guys but thankfully I proposed a countermeasure. Brian and I went to the shop and got mince, eggs, onion and garlic. I then rolled it all around with some spice and we had home made burger instead. Cheaper and better. Just harder to do when the lazy tracks are well laid. I’m glad that we all managed to avoid the takeaway again. It’s a small victory, but … I’m fed up of giving my money out willy nilly. I have to settle my expenses. And I absolutely have to empty that fucking unit as it’s murdering me.

Right now it is 11pm on Sunday. I’m in bed with the blanket on, trying to pluck up the courage to go brush my teeth in the cold. Today has been all about nesting with cats. That’s ok. Tomorrow will be starting a little event with old friends. It’ll get busy so I’m okay with it being peaceful for now.

I’ve got Lou’s quilt on the bed. I was worried about the cats attacking it, but I’ve decided I’m happier having it on and risking cats than only using it in digs. It is heavy and comfy and a helpful reminder of how awesome she is. So far it has just had a little bit of affectionate claw from Misty. Boo appears to have grown out of midnight foot hunting. In fact, both of the cats seem to respect the sanctity of human sleep. What a remarkable thing. I’m used to cats that shout you awake in the morning because they want their munge.

I’m not gonna be awake much longer. Things are gonna get busy from tomorrow. I’m looking forward to the event though – lots of old friends. Happy collaboration. Even Ali P is gonna be there, the other side of our Janus Head in that mad Paris Olympic warehouse. He’s a beautiful human being and I’ve missed him.

I thought I’d drive to Walthamstow. Turns out that’s something I would regret. Couldn’t find parking anywhere. Eventually got a pay and display spot. Paid for the maximum three hours, knowing I would be there for a little more.  Some fucker camped it. Issued the ticket as early as possible after the expiration. I got back to Bergie and loudly wished sickness on him. I paid money to park there and I would have paid for longer had it been possible. There were spaces around me for other drivers. Once again, the car tax, and the letter of the law over the spirit. I hope he gets nasty boils on his arse. Fifty five quid.

I drove there to see Soho Theatre Walthamstow, and to attend a workshop from a new friend. The theatre is great, there at the top of the hill, surrounded by impossible parking options and hungry wardens. Up on the third floor, Callum and Emma were working with people on Patrick Tucker’s stuff. I only met Callum recently, but he’s been running in this mad game for longer than I have. He loves similar things. And he is carrying the torch from Patrick Tucker. Patrick came to my school when I knew I’d be an actor. He did a workshop that I’ll never forget on cuescript Shakespeare, up at the top of The Butler Centre, where I used to go to Flambards every week. Back then I was a kid but I already knew I wanted this life, somehow.

I went to Chalke Festival with some of them last summer with Henry V. All things being even I’ll get to come back this year – they’ve been asked to bring The Scottish Play – cue scripted once again. I love this kind of work, I love how hard it is and what it reveals. Geeky rigour. I’m always on for that kind of thing.

On the way home I saw a Korean butcher. I pulled up and bought a brilliant ribeye for a good price and when I got out some guy was about to ticket Bergie again. I drove away. “Oh thanks, is parking still restricted here on a Saturday?” No ticket issued, but I didn’t trust that fucker. Making a note of it here to remind myself of the date and circumstances as I reckon he is gonna try and make out like he had issued the ticket already but he won’t have photos and I’ll have to go through the adjudicator. I’ll wait and see. If he tries it then he can have the arse boils too, but if not I’ll let him off and the Walthamstow guy can get double.

Apparently confidentiality is terrifically important. If someone took a photo and put it on social media it would invalidate all of our courses. So says the man running our Speed Awareness Course. For that reason I won’t write his name, but : there’s a picture of him in his attic where he’s driving like a lunatic. Geddit?

It’s him and another guy, they do an hour and a half each of presenting a bunch of slides in a PowerPoint. The voiceovers are human and the graphics is CGI not yet AI, so I’m able to focus without rage.

I drove at 35 on a straight empty road at night. I was too tired to make my primary scan the sides of the road and my secondary scan the road itself. I made the mistake of prioritising looking at the road, and missed the camera.

None of that would wash as an excuse had I driven pell mell into some poor family’s prize anteater. They would have a critically injured anteater and I would have been even later to get to bed. “I was tired and the road was empty” wouldn’t wash for the sad family of the anteater. Plus my children and my granny won’t be confident to drive with an anteater injurer. I have now learned my lesson boy howdy.

Said lesson was delivered in an old transport museum an hour and a half drive from Imperial College where I invigilated the morning shift. I didn’t want to be late so had to floor it to get there and I’m glad I did as now I know the error of my ways. I’m a new man guv, honest I am. I can feel myself walking lighter than when I came into that course. The scales have fallen away from my eyes. I feel free. Bright. I could sing. SING!

“This is a fucking waste of time,” John grumbles. My neighbour on the right agrees with him. I’m between two ladies, I’m one of the youngest of the twenty four people in this room. Our facilitator is trying to bring lightness to a room full of pissed off old people. I’m here and not on zoom mainly because I’m curious to see this executed in person, and partly because I hate zoom meetings with a deep burning passionate zeal. Most of the people here can’t operate their phone.

But on my left: “Alexander! My name is the same as Alexander the Great’s mother!” She is enjoying being here. She doesn’t get out much perhaps. It is adult learning. I try take a leaf out of her book. She gets me a cup of tea. Might as well enjoy it while it is in front of us.

We play guess the speed limit. We watch hazard awareness videos and guess what is going to be drawn next on the screen. We see a parked van and have to guess what the hazard will be. Will it be a car? A falling piano? A workman in the road? The reason we can’t guess what they’ve made up is because the made up car we are following is driving a little faster than the previous made up car where the hazard was more predictable. Of course. Now I understand. 

For the second half I can barely see the screen anyway. I took my lenses out to rest my tired eyes. My neighbour has taken out her hearing aid. “It’s bliss,” she winks.”Selective hearing”.

I am now more aware of speed. I was expecting to have to look at a load of pictures of dead kids. Thankfully it is more practical than that, less of a guilt trip.

I think on some level something has likely got through the barriers. Mostly the fact that if it is 30mph and people keep crashing at 35 they are only gonna drop the road to a 20 and nobody wants that shit. Toe the line now, hopefully avoid losing more liberty down the line? Boiling Frogs. “Why are you on this course? Because they offered it. Because points on the licence would be more expensive.”

£2400 in that room.

140 million in revenue annually. They try and balance it against a notional “cost” from injury of 24.2 billion. There’s even a slide to tell us this . “Yeah but that’s insurance companies and private individuals and so on,” pipes up one wag in our group. Occasionally I look behind me and see how royally pissed off everyone in this room is looking. I’m sitting towards the front. So I can see the screen. Ish.

I’ve got my piece of paper to take home. Learnt a couple of bits and bobs. Hopefully that’ll be it for at least three years.

Sleep now.

Sammy sent me a photo today of a Cresta Run timesheet. It was for The Willoughby Cup. Her cousin was riding and she knew enough about me to know it would be familiar and interesting.

I haven’t been back to St Moritz for decades. I went under my own steam a few times after dad died and we lost the flat. The last time I went I was was still at drama school. I stayed in the Soldanella, but round the back, looking after an old guy who was a friend of dad’s who had been shocked by a car crash he’d had on the way up the pass. Urs gave me a deal in an unused staff room, so long as I took care of Kyle. He was feeling old. We played backgammon for higher stakes than I was comfortable losing, and I won thank God. I marched him to the cash point the next day. “You’re your father’s son”.

It was cathartic to go back there, fund it with a double six, ride again. I would have been so fucked if dad’s ghost hadn’t brought me that lucky double. Kyle couldn’t believe it either. “Double or quits,” he tried and I said I had to stop. O knew he was good for it. He was the one who named the stakes. I was being hustled. Dad again: “You can make profit from hustlers as long as you pull out earlier than they think you will.”

I wouldn’t be able to get near my times now on the Cresta. I was incredibly good, briefly.

The timesheets haven’t changed. It brought it all back to see him as an SL rider, in the Willoughby Cup.

Digby Willoughby was my first boss. The cup is named for him. He was a Gurkha Colonel, and he was an incredible man, in many ways. I worked for a season as a Tower Boy for him, running the timing machines and doing odd jobs. Putting the flag up in the morning, getting to know the various people who came through the club. I flew back to London from time to time to audition for drama schools. It was that time. My Guildhall first round audition was one such time, a stolen couple of days. It cost me anything I might have earned. I’m so glad I did it.

Digby was compact. Traditional. He hated all the technology that was coming in to this amateur version of Bob Skeleton. The Willoughby Cup is a new innovation that plays to his strength. You ride on a club toboggan in normal clothes, no skin suits. They have a seat that slides forward and backwards on the frame. If you are forward, your weight lifts the knives from the back runners out of the ice so you steer with momentum only but you are faster. If your weight is back, the little knives are in and you can influence your direction a little bit.

Basically for Junction riding on one of those things you have to ride full forward until just before Shuttlecock when you have to pull right back, right hand forward, pull up to Nino’s broom and then push yourself into a good line round the top, coming forward just as you exit and enter Stream. Then, so long as you can control the careening toboggan away from hitting the sides in the straight you’ll have a reasonable run through Scylla and Charybdis and a good time if you don’t stick your feet in. There are some fine points of steering and line, but if you’re on a trad you aren’t doing what I was doing as a young man and trying to see how fast it is possible to go. I preferred riding from top, but I had a death wish. Were I to come back now, I would start in Junction season.

It’s funny to think I got really fucking good at something and I haven’t been able to afford going out there since. I love it though. Dad is buried there. It is part of me, that valley town where I spent so much of my childhood. But the people we laughed at growing up, wearing their furs, spending way too much on everything – they haven’t stopped spending. And daddy doesn’t work there anymore.

I miss the place though. Oh lord. This season no go but perhaps next season I’ll finally get back out there. My handicap will be awful, in light of my old times. I’ve learnt caution in some small measure since those days. Not much caution, but a bit.