AlBarclay

So I’ve been relaxed again today. He’s been relaxed again. That fellow in that house, he’s been relaxed again. I saw him through t’window in t’mornin. Relaxed again ‘e were. I dunno. Being relaxed? ‘es not from round ‘ere.

Last week I did a warehouse clearance. This week I grabbed everything off the washing line from last week. Which means without thinking about it I’m basically in my crew blacks every day with no real choice about it. I look like I’m in camo.

We are high up here, so there’s still a chance at being cool. The guinea pigs are running on green every day somehow. With this ongoing drought it is remarkable. But I move the run every day and there’s always green to put it on. It helps that the kids aren’t here, it means I can put it near their swing and so forth, which Liz and Luke can’t do. That’s where the best grass is.

People have started to know my business now, already. It is inevitable even if I’ve been a hermit largely. I was REMEMBERED at the local café. I have been hoping to sneak by under the radar. But I got rumbled.

I have been too curious about the coffee. Here, in Chinley, right by the train station, they could sell us all atrocious coffee and we would expect it. There’s an LED in the café telling us about train times. And I had to know about the coffee. It’s roasted in Buxton. Very local, and sourced very carefully and manually by a woman who runs a Thai Restaurant nearby. It’s genuinely remarkable.

Everyone comments on it. And I know why. I buy coffee out all the time. I bring big bags of it into the flat. Coffee is a lovely thing and doesn’t need to be done perfectly. People can waste their time getting crazy about detail. But in the end, if the beans are good, it tastes better. Church Street, all the beans are made of dead fish. Kemptown Bakery, they usually use good beans but had a period recently where they started using ground up rats. Chinley, The Green Lane Social? Great beans and then they aren’t nuking them with hypercooked milk. I’m very very happy to have them so close to me and the creatures.

Cos really is just me, a cat and the guinea pigs. Here’s Bingo and I gearing up for the WEEKEND!

Scary though to think, I’ve been here less than a week in my crew shirts and already: “You would have met Martin when you sat in that seat on Thursday,” the manager told me, when I asked if he was Martin. I’m sure people have made up all sorts of stories about what I’m up to. After a week.

I am turning in early this Friday summer night. The guinea pigs are safely in their hutch. The cat is fed and in the garden. It is just past 7pm and I’m gonna call an early stop to this week.

I just had a wildfire alert sent to my phone. I expect a lot of us did. Even if your phone is on silent it will make a noise. I wonder how many shows at Edinburgh just got interrupted so we could all be told not to light fires when all the grass is straw. It makes sense, but idiots are gonna idiot no matter what. There are plenty of people who stared at the eclipse on purpose because they’d been told not to. They’ll likely be okay but they’re idiots. Had it been total it would’ve been worse, but there was always brightness so their eye would have protected itself. But… this is the world we live in. “They don’t want us to stare at the eclipse.” “They don’t want us to have fires.” Plenty of contrarians gonna spark up the barbeque drunk this Friday night cos the warning message reminded them its an option. They’ll make videos about it with lumbering narrations and pay to have them pushed to the front of my algorithm. Lads cooking British sausages from English Britain, people with cosmic names ceremoniously cosmac parging energy flarms ya, other shades of idiot literally playing with fire. Our water supply must be dangerously low by now. We need a sustained period of rain, something I hate, but something the world wants up here. But I hope we don’t lose more woodland to wildfire cos of a smoker or an idiot or, worst of all, some arsonist inspired by some absurd notion.

The threat of fire aside, it is beautiful here. I’m in a gentle rhythm this week. Wake up, feed cat, snooze, put out guinea pigs, lounge around, go for coffee, ablute, snooze, lounge around, feed cat, lounge around, take in guinea pigs, put out bird seed, lounge around, sleep, repeat.

The local coffee shop makes excellent coffee. I am a fussy boy when it comes to that stuff. They do it marvelously. I usually end up buying two. It’s the simple things.

Bed and sleep though, I’m feeling the call. Friday night in Chinley? This young fellow won’t be hitting the town, that’s sure. I’ve got one eye open as the sky starts to go to grey and the birds pick up their chorus. Enough being awake for now. I can do more of it tomorrow.

I went slow today cus that’s my mandate.

I live in a large house at the moment, without carpets – as my foot found out. I just washed the blood off my gucci slide… Normally there are four people and a dog here, but as with Bella’s place in the woods, I get to encounter it solo which is a treat. I was hoping Lou would be free somehow for country things. But she can’t.

So it is me and a talkative cat. And two lovely rodents.

I’m in an attic room which confuses her as it is usually empty. But we’ve made sense of one another. The first day or so I was worried because they’re doing big building works next door. Didn’t want to lose her. I’m not worried anymore. She comes in at night. She doesn’t sleep with me yet, but actually we had a powernap simultaneously yesterday.

I think my mangled heel isn’t septic. It still hurts.

Everyone wants a conversation. It’s the North. I ate out for the first time with a double breakfast “are you sure you don’t want a triple”. There’s a lovely (queer?) manager who gave me plenty of recommendations. “What do you like?” he asked me. “Old things,” I managed. Then encouraged to elaborate I did with “Like stone circles and hill forts.” He gave me a list.

What a drought it has been. Everything in nature is stressed now. Rain would be amazing. And it is actually pretty green up here compared to Kent. My aunt tells me that in Jersey the grass is crunchy.

I’m gonna keep moving slowly. Food happens for the cat twice a day and she really prefers to be stroked as she eats. The guinea pigs haven’t got a clue what’s going on but they need to be fed. It’s a delightful existence for them but not intellectually challenging. I know from this experience that I’ll never keep one. Unless children suddenly happen in which case they’re almost as good as a hamster to teach kids about death. Really good to get them attached to something that will live a full life and still definitely be dead before they’re ten so you can have the funeral and the conversation and the ritual and it isn’t quite so awful when you inevitably fuck off yourself to Valhalla or back round or wherever you think you’re off to.

You’re gonna leave them at some point. If I was a parent I’d definitely get creatures involved. I love creatures. I don’t seek my own creatures cos they staple you to their name. It’s already hard enough to be truly unfettered. And we all keep making choices that lock us in. Cats I can understand, they aren’t idiots. I’ll never have a dog. I love a shepherd, many of the smart breeds. I’d have a border collie or an alsatian or a runner like a saluki. But my life is way too unpredictable. If I was used to it I could probably come with my dog as part of the package, fingernails, unkempt “this is Seyton”. But I’m easier without.

Meanwhile as I write the votes are being counted. Horrid Nigel resigned in his certain seat and tried to make out like it was him vs the establishment for a by election he triggered, really in order to try and avoid official scrutiny over his vast corruption. “It’s me against the establishment,” he attempted, looking so much like the establishment. He’s surrounded by jokes. “Binface isn’t funny,” I’ve seen as a headline, and yep, that’s the terrible thing. He’s actually a serious candidate. He will never win. But maybe some of the people who can’t see beyond the fear our nige is peddling will start to comprehend how absurd and self serving and pointless he is. Binface or Farage, it won’t affect a thing. Nor will the revolution Farage secretly wants with all the “reform” garbage. It’s just a power grab. To avoid devolving we have to acknowledge the effort and dismiss the angry little child.

The carpets have been taken up here. Spiky things are across the doorways. Last night, barefoot, I spun 180 degrees on my heel with my full bodyweight on one of the spiky bits and it chewed a hole in my hoof all the way to the red. That’s quite an achievement too, my feet are horny, like the cloven hoofs of deer. I wouldn’t have thought it would be possible to get to the red without a multitool so I’m impressed with myself and the chewing capacity of that fucking carpet catcher.

I unstuck my foot from the bloody sock and sat in the shower and cleaned it thoroughly. Didn’t find antiseptic but it’s not bad, it is mostly dead skin there anyway, and it only just got to the red, but just as my toe starts to settle the heel on the same foot mangles and I’m thinking the universe doesn’t want me to be going fell walking this week as was my hope. I’m not walking far at all on this as it is, inevitably, exactly where I put my weight. There’s a lot of hoof around it though so I’m just walking off balance or putting my toe down first. I’ll be fine. This is just bad luck and maybe we register these things more as we get old.

I hucked out the guinea pigs. There’s a neighbour who brings her mother’s Daily Mail newspapers and drops them off in an opaque bag at the door. From thence they go to the shed. And their next destination is under the straw. To my mind it is something of an exalted destination for such objects, to be drowned with the piss and shit of rodents. The filth of small animals going onto the filth of small animals.

—

I stopped writing because the sun started changing. There’s a sunset chair in the garden. The cat and I were sitting there. There’s something about these astral events that connect us all. We are so small. It helps us remember perhaps that we really have to cling to the things we can reach because we are a spot in infinity.

I’m off to bed, happy and tired. Have been communicating with lovely old friends this evening including Luisa from my Camino, just to check in after the quake and the idiot getting elected.

Next door the lads have started digging. That’s an organised neighbour. Liz and Luke are away for a fortnight so they brought in the digger and a skip. Who knows what they’re up to but they’re up to it now.

I sat in the window and openly watched them work over a cup of tea. The driver clocked me. I mimed pulling a ring pull and he smiled recognition. The neighbour’s kids were watching him work too. It’s interesting watching a man work a digger and he worked it with skill in a confined space.

It was cold enough at night that I’m putting on a duvet. That’s unfamiliar after the summer we have had.

So yeah. This is what I’m doing now. Looking after creatures and a home and winding down as I go.

Nothing is open in town on a Tuesday, but I drove into ALDI. “Oh here we go, look,” says an old white guy to his wife as I walk by. He ends up behind me in the queue and he is making small talk which I’m not great at but I’m trying and my accent likely pacifies him as it is similar to his but he still can’t help asking “you’re not from round here are you?” There’s no malice in it. I’ve got a big bushy beard again, I’m in the look where a renowned agent literally said to me: “Go and live in Afghanistan or you know somewhere and learn Arabic and you’ll never stop working”. I’m a benign middle class male creative currently looking after fluffy creatures in The Peak District but apparently I look like Osama bin Laden.

I have done some scouting of the local area but largely I’ve stayed put. I want the cat and the neighbours to trust my presence beard or no beard. The neighbours are right on top of us. Their kids go play on the trampoline in the evening. An old guy is growing tomatoes in the greenhouse, this is shared space , brilliantly and as it should be. And there’s no physical divide between the properties at the moment at all because of the works.

The first time I met my neighbour Jo, I kid you not, I sat down in what I thought was a private chair overlooking the garden and put my hands down the front of my trousers to adjust my bollocks – nobody wants to pull them down – and suddenly she was there looking and smiling at me as I extracted my hand from my trousers.

That’ll be all over the village by now. She pretended she hadn’t noticed.

It’s lovely being here but it is also nothing. I have learnt to be close to the job. That’s why I still persist with London. It’s so easy to be forgotten. I like it here but the machine is elsewhere.

Right now though the machine is in Edinburgh and so is my agent so… fuck it, this is a shot at stillness. I wouldn’t want to be doing Shakespeare in a garden for acorns right now anyway. I’m happy to just breathe. I needed this. I’m very happy that Liz needed someone to watch the fluff.

Four hour’s drive up here to Chinley, with the last hour mostly beautiful.

On the way up I drove past a huge great big retail complex. I was getting head-droppy and figured there’d be coffee. I also stopped into Markyparky for a fish pie. “What town am I in?” I asked the lady at the counter. “Chesterfield.”

My toe hurts less. My jaw hurts less. I’m here now and it is still and peaceful, with occasional small trains.

There’s a dependent cat. She reminds me of Carlos. She was on my lap earlier. She likely will sleep on my bed. She likes human company so if I’m not here she’ll probably go sleep with a neighbour.

There are two guinea pigs. I have very limited experience of the creatures. Charles had some in the garden at Avranches growing up, but a fox took them and we learnt never to speak of such things going forwards. I picked these ones up and moved them to their hutch. One of them squeaked at me the whole way, the other one just enjoyed the ride. I’ve given them celery and hay. I think they just eat and sleep and poo. I think that’s their jam. That’s all folks. Eat sleep poo repeat.

They’re safely stowed for the night and tomorrow I’ll put them back in their run in the morning. I just chopped up some apple for them. Their appetite seems to be boundless so they’ll be the bulk of my work, they love that lettuce. Likely we’ll get to know each other, these fluffy things and I. They’re just like big hamsters. I had a hamster once as a child and it definitely wasn’t killed by a rat, it escaped by pulling a hole into the cage through the bars, mum told me.

There’s still grass here on the lawns and it’s mostly green. That’s the advantage of being high up and further north perhaps. Most of this country is so arid this summer of drought. Lucky guinea pigs here – that they can still run on green grass.

It’s 8pm. I’ve had a fish pie. Feels like that’s all that’s left on the list for today. My bed is at the top of the house. It’s much cooler than London so I’ll be happy there, surrounded by big posters of my friend performing.

Likely I’ll just stop and rest now. It’s what I need, what my body is shouting about.

So I THINK that what I did was that I pulled the quick out of my toenail when I was assessing the damage from the stillage. I remember thinking at the time as I twisted that bit of broken nail out that “I might regret this. I might get a lot of pain for this later…” And then I pulled that bit of nail out the side and felt that crucial little bit of skin go with it.

We’ve all pulled the quick out before. If you haven’t yet I suspect you’re the exception. When you do it it feels like nothing. Twenty four hours later your finger or your toe hates you. It lasts about two days.

Toenail pulling was a well represented form of harmless torture. Start by pulling the toenails, then twisting the thumbs, then whatever you reckon is gonna do the trick – cut off the Johnson? But you don’t want to cause despair too early. Hope is the best weapon. So the continuous pain as your body puts that bit of skin back, that’s gotta be gold for your average family torture guy. A tiny thing for a big effect.

But… yeah, that’s been my day. Hating the pain in my toe. Working really hard vocally to try and encourage bravery and offers in a short rehearsal process with a load of people who aren’t professional actors. I always attack first and then pull back, it’s who I am. The Factory has spoilt me slightly in that I know people are listening and watching enough to build something together LIVE. Without that support, I tend to overpush looking for it.

It’s a lovely bunch. But fuck me, someone hits their own sides every fucking line, literally, not twenty seconds went by without a one or two arm sideslap. It drives me mad. And the PRONOUNS! Like there was always someone else about to do what WE did. No no no no it is almost always what we DID, or what we THINK we did.

So yeah, I was overpushing vocally in order that we all don’t look like we are leaning back and speaking words that aren’t ours out the side of our mouths. But in so doing I did something unusual to my jaw muscles. Now the pain in my toe is nothing compared to the pain in my face.

All will be well. I’m going up North. I don’t have to do much. I’ll look after some guinea pigs and a cat. And I’ll do fuck all for a while. All will be well. Maybe I’ll write something.

Just one more drive. I’ll try not to sleep weird on my jaw…

I wasn’t wearing steelies and I dropped a stillage on my ingrown toenail. I should have been wearing steelies, sure, but I always worry that if I get run over by a truck they’ll cut all my toes off. I own a pair of them but still I prefer to just be nimble. The ingrown toenail means that if someone blows on it I’ll scream anyway. If I’m working with more than set dressing I might get them on, or frankly if it’s not my site. In terms of what could have happened, what was risk assessed, it was smooth as you like. Two of the lads left a handbrake off (to my knowledge) when they got out of the van but neither of them killed an old lady at a bus stop. Greg and John both butted a heavy pendulum when we took a blanket off a grandfather clock but not hard.

I’m now standing on my owie toe outside stage door in Victoria to catch Lou after a show she’s covering. Her train is booked at eleven, show comes down about now. It’s the only chance I’ll get to see her, as despite my romantic hopes of a sojourn in the lovely Peak District, it doesn’t work with her schedule. This time last night I was already asleep and had been for two hours.

It’s twitchy outside here at this stage door. I’m staying pretty aware of my surroundings. There’s crack addict behind me tweaking out about how someone robbed her of a tenner and a fiver “as usual”. There’s a security guy with a big helmet on from The Keyholding Company. Black cabs with their lights on are queuing up to get people as the crowds predictably come out. I reckon it’s a good hunting ground.

Here come the actors. Autographs and photographs. This particular machine has been packing them in for so long now. It’s all very convivial, “oh my gosh you’ve come a long way! Hiya! Wow!” And sitting next to us on the floor the angry addicted lady on the pavement is looking for something inside her trainers. London. It’s not the warzone those idiots want to make it, but it has always been volatile and alive and sad and loose and mad and varied, particularly on hot summer nights.

—

It’s fun watching the cast come out. Mixture of types. Some very extroverted, others excellent at switching it off.

—

And Lou emerged. We sat in a quiet spot at Victoria Station for a snatched moment before she got on a train back to Brighton. Absolutely lovely and much needed just to be be with my exceptional girlfriend even for twenty five minutes on a balcony full of dropped chips.

I’ve been rehearsing Sir Toby Belch today up in Harrow. Only did him once before a fair few years ago now with AFTLS, so this time I won’t have to have a fight with myself. It’s another of those things I do just for the delight of it, and to keep the connection with my old school. When I was there were far had various actors who still showed up for it. Some are still around. The OH play is an institution and this year they’ve managed again to get it put on at the Sam Wanamaker so sod it I’ll go and enjoy myself because that building carries positive energetic associations for me. The lions gate. Glad I’m rehearsing something.

One final day of sorting things out and just time to drive back to London before I hit the wall hard. That’s it now for today, there’s nowt left in the tank. It’s just gone 8pm, Brian and Maddy have gone for shisha so I had a bath and walked around naked and now I’m in bed bed bed oh joyful bed.

Last night Canice and I slept in neighbouring rooms in the Keynes block of the Kent University campus. A little single bed. And student breakfast the next morning. It’s alright for £70 each. Big old plate of sausage and beans set me right up to empty the shipping container and consolidate everything into Armadillo. Next job is to get it all out in September. But this next fortnight is a time of stopping. Not that I’m capable of that. I start rehearsal tomorrow but I know the lines so reckon it should be something to enjoy.

Mid morning I posted Rhys’ wallet back to Stratford. There was a little bit more thinking and sorting to do but mostly I just wanted it all to stop so I pushed towards that and managed to get myself home early evening. I thought I’d do all my laundry tonight and maybe cook dinner and send an invoice but instead I grabbed a plate of sausage and mash with John as he had my driving license and left my stuff in my bag. No more sorting things out today. I’ve had enough.

The party boats are in full swing outside. Every time I look at something right now I assess it. Every time I hear a rattle on the road I wonder if the load is properly secured.

I haven’t had a day off for a long time now. By the time I get up to the Peak District I’ll have forgotten what resting is, just in time to do lots of it.

I’ll do some now though. Sleep before nine. That’s a win, even if I just got asked if I’m going to a friend’s party. No.

Done done done. Chairs went to charity.

There’s a great delight around working with actors. Honestly it’s fantastic if the balance works. We’ve been in digs, getting into site early. Morale has been excellent. There’s always the possibility they’ll get a job, but I’ve got enough competent friends by now that I trust it’s fine.

Sure, some employers have a swarm of people on close to minimum wage in hi-vis and gloves… I know those teams, they do get things done just through numbers and averages, but as soon as they aren’t told exactly what to do they stand around. And it is usually a horrible day.

My guys make decisions. I don’t always agree with them but I always support that they’re doing it. Siwan was listing stuff to sell online as we went. She often disagreed with my pricing and didn’t take my suggestions, but… that’s why I employed her. I haven’t got time or headspace to make all those calls, my focus is on clearance. And she’s adaptable and brilliant and can do the lifting or tools too if I ask. My team is a bunch of opinionated creatives who can all properly graft. It’s a team I’m at home with that a lot of people would suffer with just as it is FULL of personality. That’s how I like it. And I would recommend these guys to anyone, the ones I’ve settled with.

It’s down to Canice and I now, the rest I’ve sent home but they’ve gone home with laurels and that was always their job time.

Rhys is going back to Stratford. He’s been great for his OCD packing and his eye on fairness. Mark slung his tipper back too. He’s been great for morale, big and glowing and sensitive and his energetic bubble is vast. Canice is the guy I always recommend first when I can’t do the acting job. He’s nothing like me but we are both the same category of human. But he’s practical and ordered while being clever about the unusual. I work very well with him. And John, man I just love John. He was in my year at Guildhall, we lost each other by mistake for a few years during the struggle afterwards. We are reunited and I adore him forever. He’s extremely handy, knows how to graft, gets it. The way this team works now, I could absolutely run a big event with them. I’d just need Lou on her laptop or someone else as organised. Sylvia.

The only downside to actors on events is: “I can’t do the race in Chile, I’m filming for one day in the middle of it.”

That thing we actors have as our primary focus? “Acting”. It can make us noticeable to the boring people, who usually also assume our motives are corrupt. If you’ve got personality and you have an insecure manager (so many so many, the scum rises to the top), they need you to be subordinate and beiger then they are … So you’re fucked if you do my job.

I try not to let on I’m an actor these days on events or any handy jobs, or in general frankly. It’s a boring conversation even without all the fucked assumptions. Lots of people around me know and weirdly find it interesting or positive which tends to blow my cover to the people who think it just means showtunes and moaning.

…

But yep that’s the end of the job. Me and a load of handy performers and we got it clear. I would trust them all with my life, even if sometimes one of them jumps out of the van and leaves the handbrake off and runs back to it just in time to stop disaster. Twice. I’m told it’s to do with the handbrake on the van being bad… and somehow I find it very convincing… Surely nothing to do with their skillset of convincing people of things…

Tomorrow we are consolidating, Canice and I. And I’m dropping off a load of stillages on the way home. And then straight into rehearsal dammit for the OH play which I’m too much of a pushover to say I won’t do when they ask me… Plus it’s at the Wanamaker… Too much of an alignment…