AlBarclay

All this stuff belongs to Christine. She used to live below me. We got on, we were good neighbours. Sometimes when she was sick I would bring her food. We shared plates, company, wine. It was very Chelsea. One night I brought Siwan over and they bonded.

Christine decided to stop paying her rent at some point and there were all sorts of noises. The flat has been empty ever since she was evicted so I can’t help but think that the new deal is worse than the old deal. But she was evicted. Bailiffs got involved. And all this stuff ended up on the street. I had just got home. I moved it in multiple shifts in my car to Camden. Then I drove it to Canterbury.

I thought she would have got it back by now. I’ve asked her about it a few times and heard nothing. So I called her. I need space in Canterbury for *things unknown*

“I can’t store your stuff in Canterbury anymore. My only two options are to throw it away or pay to store your things with my own money. What do you reckon? Can you add an option?” *Talking talking talking* “ok but that doesn’t change my options. I have been trying to warn you about this. I can’t afford to store it anymore. But I don’t want to throw it away. Can you help me, considering it’s your stuff?” “Drive it to France?” “That’ll need a van or two trips and my time isn’t cheap and nor is fuel. I’m happy to do it for mates rates but I’m not doing it if I’m paying to do it so I’ll need money in advance.” *Talking talking talking*

Ugh

So now I’m storing it in London again. Brought it up tonight. i don’t want it but it seems wrong to chuck it. But I don’t think she’s ever gonna come up with a solution so that leaves me and if I do another van trip to Europe. I’ve done a few. If anyone needs anything brought over from France, particularly the vicinity of Biarritz, you’ll get a cheaper deal from me than anyone else for a van load as I can double bubble it.

There’s been a great deal of moving things around today. Not much disposal, although a bit went to the scrap guys in Whitstable. It’s an ongoing thing.

More tomorrow and I’m knackered. Still, a good day today.

I wrote here a few days ago that I used to do commercials all the time but haven’t had a whiff of one for ages.

Esta just rang. “It’s a good thing I’m in the office, darling.” It’s half six. Kharmel has called me in for a first round commercial casting.

I wrote her a card a while ago when I was up in Stratford and feeling employable. I thanked her honestly and expressed my happiness that she was credited in a well known movie she’d cast. Casting Directors don’t get as much recognition as they deserve. They populate the industry, and bring the variation and the colour.

There was a period where the only meetings I was getting were hers, and then – though it often went south – she helped me at least feel like I was pointing myself in the right direction. I know damn well I’m an asset now, I know my job, but there are many more rapids we have to negotiate to survive in this business. She helped. And right now, when the biggest problem I’ve got is cashflow, as if by magic a shot at a commercial again. Yes please. Thank you. Yum.

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Today was van all day with a brief meeting in the middle about a Shakespeare entertainment thing.

Tomorrow and the next day more van. I’ll be in Canterbury mostly moving my own stuff around to make room for more. Somehow before lunch I’ll have to record a self tape. And I’m happy to do so as I’ve wanted one with money attached. This year I’ve been reasonably discreet about the details but something delightful blew up in my face and left me in a very weird headspace. I really want to get down to nuts and bolts and put myself back together properly. This will help. And I’m thrilled that K is calling me in again. These are the people who can help, the casting directors. Without them at your shoulder it is very easy to fall away completely. You have to get in the room to stand a chance.

And so we push on. Today was about emptying one space to make room for more. I reckon I’ll take Christine’s stuff up up Camden. She is being totally helpless. “I can’t store it anymore. Either you tell me where to put it, or I have to either throw it away or pay my own money to store your things.” I offered to take it in for a few months when she was evicted and it was on the street. A few months is now years and she can’t pay me. I don’t like the version of me that throws it. She’s relying on me being nice. But there’s nice and there’s stupid… I know she will never make a call on it. So can I store it without it costing me? For now, perhaps, but in space I might otherwise use.

Ach.

Early bed tomorrow so I can be shiny on tape. Logistics.

Back in London and I wish I was still in Brighton with Lou. I think that was a Staycation. We barely moved but we did a lot of lovely things.

Yesterday after breakfast we went to Chanctonbury.

It’s strong up there in that grove of trees and footfall is attractively low because you have to go up a steep path to get there. Also this week some of the schools are in so there weren’t the desperate parents carting up their howling progeny in the desperate hope they will exhaust themselves screaming.

I’ve caught the sun. I’m a vessel for the sun. I have two very different skin palates and I prefer this one even though it’s the one where the eejits start saying things like “You’re not from round here are you?” I’ve had that all my life because … Well because idiots abound. The petri dish is full of them right now, encouraging each other with their utter nonsense.

Back in London now, and trying to think about logistics. I’m employing some friends again to do a difficult thing but I’m looking forward to it.

This morning though was about avoiding thinking about it for as long as possible.

I still hit the adrenaline. Lou has got decorators in her block. This morning they painted the block door shut. I found it when I went for coffee. Didn’t have the strength to open it from the inside.

I went back up to Lou’s and climbed down many flights of precarious fire escape ladder. At the bottom there is a four foot pile of new rubbish from the builders that nobody knew about. I walked across it and then hopped the wall. Sent some photos to Lou, as that’ll be an absolute bitch to clear down the line. I’d do it for £700 right now but that’ll double or more if it rains. Horrid lazy contractors. And I’m not getting involved, just looking at the job.

Bedtime.

Lou’s birthday! We wandered up to Starfish and Coffee on the far side of Queen’s Park. She made the cushion she sat on. “It’s in good nick that cushion, ” she told me. “Mind you the fabric was top quality. It probably had a 500000 on the Martindale rub count.”

Ok. Great. A new thing to me. To many of us. Today’s blog is coming to you courtesy of mister Martindale.

To test the durability of fabrics you rub in a continuous figure of eight with a certain amount of abrasion and a certain amount of force. How much? Who knows? The internet is not forthcoming on this at all.

Probably around the same time as Mister Kirkaldy was bending girders to breaking point in Southwark, someone in England was diligently circling fabrics with a custom made sandpaper thing and counting. And his name appears to have been Martindale. But even Wikipedia isn’t telling me much about him. AI provides his initials as JG, but AI is often drunk. Also there’s some dilution because there’s a modern electrics company called Martindale founded in Cleveland Ohio 1913.

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Right I’ve dug deeper. Seems he wasn’t industrial revolution. 1952 it appears, at the Wool Industries Research Association up in Leeds, a machine was made named after him. Very possibly BY him. He was doing it in the war though it seems. By 1952 he was a doctor. Still not clear what his names were. James George? Testing the cloth at the edges of gas masks (?) was his route into making sure your bum doesn’t go through the seat on the tube. Or soldier wool elsewhere? Socks so they don’t get such wet feet? What was he testing that now he has a test named after him?

“The testing process requires a Martindale machine. The tester pulls the test fabric taut across a series of plates on the lower side of the machine and places discs of worsted wool or wire mesh on the upper plates. The machine rubs the upper plates against the lower plates in a Lissajous curve. The tester inspects the fabric constantly for signs of wear. If there is a visible change in appearance or two yarns break, the test is complete.”

He made it across the pond like The Beatles, but the Americans have their own rival test too. This is just as obscure in genesis and named Wyzenbeek – like they absolutely had to give it the most American sounding name they could muster. He was more direct, mister W. Just a back and forth rub for Wyzenbeek. American directness. None of these goldarned corners.

Friction eventually wears things out. That’s the thing we know. It can be direct and repetitive like Wyzenbeek or it can be curly like Martindale. It’s amazing what people measure. But there we go.

We had a glorious day in the sun today. Up hill and down dale. I’m exhausted.

Out of the flat and down to the beach, but Brighton is crowded this weekend. Fatboy Slim is playing just down the road from here tonight and the Londoners are down in force. Lou was backstage when he played hundreds and hundreds of thousands in the nineties so she’s professionally over it. “It costs more money to go stand on a beach and watch Fatboy Slim than it does to go to Glyndebourne,” she comments as I’m writing. Because that’s what we did today after a spot of beachy languishing. We went to the opera again darling.

There’s no paddling pool full of ice and beers at Glyndebourne. But it isn’t chaos there either. I’ve been so many times in the last few years. “Are you a fan of the opera then?” asked her friend Simon, this morning, when we met briefly in Café Rust. That was my coffee solution as everywhere else decent had a weekend queue. “No, not particularly to be honest,” I replied. “But I’m learning”.

Ariadne auf Naxos is fucking weird.

“How are they gonna make a whole opera about that?”

I had a Theseus ladybird book as a kid. I loved it. Great illustrations. Clear telling. And I always thought it was a bit weird. There’s Theseus, and he’s stuck in the labyrinth and the daughter of the king basically saves his life cos she fancies him.  She gives him string. And a sword. He can track routes in the labyrinth using the string, and he can use the sword for poking into the bad bad maneating bull person thing that lives at the centre. So she runs away with victorious Theseus. Then next page they stop at an island and she goes to wash and Theseus fucks off with his boat and leaves her there on Naxos mostly undressed and sad. “How could Theseus leave that poor mostly undressed attractive young lady? If I were Theseus I’d be making sure that one stays happy.” But he forgets her. Heads off home, forgets to change the sails so his dad chucks himself off a cliff. “Is Theseus a bit of a space case?” “Yes, Lou. I think he is a bit of a space case”. It works out fine for Ariadne. Bacchus finds her and likes it. She ends up with her crown as the Corona Borealis.

For Richard Straus I reckon he wrote a bit of good opera about a sad lady on a desert island falling in love with Bacchus. Then realised he didn’t have enough for a full opera so bulked it up with a frame about two competing entertainments in one night and then hammered in a bit about Circe cos everyone likes Circe. Although I expected pigs when she came up. I was disappointed.

It was fun. It was opening night. They relaxed the rules a few years ago saying that all the men have to go in penguin costume so I wore a natty yellow waistcoat that belonged to a friend’s papa and one of Lou’s blockprints. Lou was in a lovely dress. We looked glam. We ate picnic, got sun, and had culture. All round a great day. If you asked me to sing a tune from it I wouldn’t be able to. But it’s not a musical. And the singers were brilliant, giving their all on a really awkward set.

A terrific day. Culture! I think I must be up to double figures with Glyndebourne…

Up in the morning and out before coffee. Only enough milk for one day I figured I’d get mine on the ashphalt. Misty forced me to stroke her a little bit by standing on the socks I was packing and yelling at me. But that was momentary before I hit the road. No lenses. Stopped at a Shell garage for an expensive vanilla latte. Sunglasses on and Radio 4 blithering on about pirates while I’m slowly waking up at 70 mph. Another coffee at a garage close to Brighton and I decide to put my lenses in at last. I wear them too long. My eyes are still fighting them. I should get some lensed glasses. But it’s usually better to be able to read the signs when you’re driving.

Late morning and I’m by the seaside. There’s a tarot day on in a church just down the road. We drive over and stump up a few quid each and wander around looking at nice art. Lots of very open wide eyed people who have opinions about star-seeds. I bought a witchy calendar by an oily lady. Took a fair number of business cards. Pleasant interactions with good people. I’m always at home to that lot, I can be one of them when I can be bothered to dig into all that stuff. You have to be very open which they all were. Sometimes you unexpectedly get things stuck in you when you do that. Brighton isn’t exempt from that, there are silly little boys playing with nasty things as well in that world. Most of the ones who weren’t shining were on their phones looking a bit hungover by their “Dark Magic tarot deck” – (I turned that one upside down when they weren’t looking).

Sated with the woowoo, we grabbed pub lunch in a really old manor house in Hove – Hangleton Manor. Pretty basic fayre but a beautiful garden staffed by enthusiastic and clueless Saturday staff at the start of their summer holidays.

A burger. Chips. Heavy on a summer’s day so we drove to Pyecombe and walked up the hill to a hill fort that’s usually pretty quiet. It didn’t disappoint although they’ve started quarrying one of the hills in the view since we were there before. Just one lady and three men with things that they probably call bikes but which have a battery on them and tyres like a tractor.

We lay in the sun awhile. Then walked down the hill again. A good day of no real pressure to do but just a chance to be, but in a variety of different contexts. Evening brought the third of the Nolan Batman movies that are on Netflix at the moment along with an amazing amount of unwelcome adverts for Oral B Toothpaste that make me wonder why the hell I haven’t had an advert recently, I used to be on timer for them all the time, I need the money. Would prefer to work with Nolan though to be honest. I’ll have to go catch The Odyssey. It was such a seminal piece of theatre for me, improvising that story every night with The Factory and Creation back in 2013. Nice to have connected with both those companies in the week the film launched.

Well. That was a long old day of admin.

H&H van hire has been bought by CVS van hire so now they have enough of an umbrella over them to raise their prices and drop VAT on top of theb prices. I was only using them occasionally anyway because generally Pace have been better for humans, particularly considering parking is free on Pomeroy street so I can drive there in Bergie and swap out into a van for the day. But this time I’ve gone even further out. There’s a couple of South African brothers who run a fleet of grit vans out of town. Siwan found them on an earlier job. They are perfect for my needs and they tip. So I ended up centralising with them for all my van needs. I don’t want too many vehicles generally on this job. Access is very tricky. But I’ll have two of the tippers and one Luton. I’ve asked for a cage on one tipper. Then I can really fill the fucker. Sittingbourne is an absolute bastard for tipping, they charge you the same for wood as they do for mixed as policy because they’re “full of wood” aka they saw you coming. So I’ll be having to be very careful about where things go and big loads will be my friend. I’m very glad I found that end of the world place in the marshes because they’ll buy literally everything for weight.

It might not be such a scrappy load to be honest. Maybe there’ll be some value. I’m gonna have to supervise tightly but I’m building my team supreme. Canice for tools diplomacy and lifting. John for tools lifting driving and heights. Mark for precision driving, lifting and positivity. Siwan for ratchet straps, tools, admin and lunch. Either Rhys or Tristan for lifting and cutting. Me for anything not being done quickly enough and general positivity.

I’m looking forward to it but it’s another big job. I’ve learnt now that the big jobs only get small with the prep. This guy called Dave was booked for just one day on one of the big ones recently and without appreciating that I’d done the maths in my head he freaked out at the size of it and starting trying to arbitrate it as if nobody had done the maths. I just let him, worked around him and got it all done despite him. Paid him too. Won’t use him again. The Olympics was a big learn for me though generally. With a small team you can achieve a great deal. But with a team of lazyass people you are stymied.

I’m slightly dependent on the inscrutable Andy who I have to have on site. If he pulls his weight with the others we will be golden. If he doesn’t it’ll be a shitshow. He’s the only guy who can drive the forks they have on site. I hate the unknown in these things. But I have to plan them. Too much is at stake. It’s a different part of my head. But I find it very fulfilling getting it dealt with.

I think this will be a good gig. But there’s a long way between now and then.

Longfield Hall on Knatchbull Road down in Camberwell. Last time we were here we all did the show in an upstairs room and didn’t move, so tonight we got them to come out into the park. There’s a little secret garden. We moved around in it and found some lovely moments while telling the story of Shakespeare’s Cymbeline.

My Frenchman ended up in an apple tree with everyone else. There were parakeets and helicopters and planes, often little gifts from God. The old game of “acknowledge and incorporate the distractions” was being played well by much of tonight’s squad. It felt well put together and very live, which is what we were trying for. We were clear and less gimmicky than last time – I didn’t get in any bins – and it felt like the squad is learning how to trust and play with each other. Pace was needed, we settled into things a bit too much and there were gaps for remembering dressed up like dramatic pauses.

I’m glad we moved it around. It would have been too hot in that room, and I feel like we exhausted it last time.

I’ll have to write about the show on a Google doc tomorrow. We still document our shows in forensic detail. We used to have a wetpaint site with blogs from every show we ever did but it fell off the internet a few years ago. I think Simon Muller saved a backup, but I might even be wrong about that. I’m sure it exists somewhere, but like so many things I like to be involved in there’s something ephemeral and unrepeatable about it to the extent that even the record gets lost.

I’m back home now on this late summer night listening to music come across the river in the slow summer air. Tomorrow I’ll have to book a whole load of vehicles and get all my tools out and charge them. I need to carefully write my budget down as well, and make damn sure I’m keeping within it. It’s Lou’s birthday coming up so I want to make sure that’s all done before I go and spend time with her.

It’s a lot of work coming up in the next few weeks, and an unknown amount of stuff to be processed somehow. Ideally I need to find a business in Kent that buys second hand Dolavs. There’s loads of admin to do and loads of careful planning ahead of three rush days where the absurdly expensive warehouse manager only works 9-5 and doesn’t strike me as a man who is interested in grafting. Last time he was more of an obstruction than an asset. I doubt a leopard changes his spots.

It’s half past seven in the morning. I’m at Harlow Town Station waiting for a coach to take me to the second day of this conference, out of town in a secure site. I drove here and parked in a council estate courtesy of Just Park. Often self determining is easier than the admin involved with asking a big company if I can get a permit to park on site. Nobody knows who to talk to and you send loads of emails and end up back where you started. I tend not to bother these days. They’ll refund the £7.00 I’ve paid.

Driving in to Harlow was depressing. Clearly the people of this town are not optimistic about the England vs Argentina match tonight. England flags all at half mast line the streets on the way in, mostly looking tattered and unpleasant. I’m a touch more optimistic than whichever pessimist put those filthy pennants up. I reckon I’m gonna watch tonight’s match at home after work like normal people. With a can of alcohol free Heineken.

Before the tournament I made a few bets to keep myself interested. One of them was the inevitable England to win bet, and another was Lionel Messi for Golden Boot, which is most goals scored. I got good odds because he’s old. He’ll only lose to an England player now if he loses. So hopefully it’s win win tonight for me.

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I’m half an hour early at Harlow. The company have laid on a coach with very specific timings and to be honest I don’t think they’ve thought this through. Loads of young people travelling somewhere unfamiliar first thing in the morning? They’re really starting the day with an aptitude test. I have a feeling someone will be doing shuttle runs throughout the morning, but it’s not my responsibility to make these calls so I’ll just be ready and let things play out. “The coach leaves at 8:30 prompt” says the email. Yeah pull the other one. Whoever wrote that email didn’t put train arrival times / departure times from London hubs to meet it etc. Whoever wrote that email thinks they wrote it to adults. Not inner city teenagers going to the boondocks for the first time. I’m trying to imagine the depressed England fan who put up those half mast flags. I picture him dead eyed and cheeks flushed, speaking in uncertain certainties. I don’t think we’d be friends. Harlow. Here we go.

—

Well. That happened. It was a fun day. Bus left twenty minutes late with only 4 no shows and two people who had no passport and wouldn’t have been allowed into the secure facility. I realised a little late that I’d be presenting two more PowerPoints over the course of the day. Three in a row is too much for anyone so I pretty much binned one and did a workshop instead which I know is allowed because they understand my offering at this company now and still somehow seek it out.

A beautiful day to be inside all day. I’m happy to catch the late afternoon light. Time to get back home, sharpen up my Caius Lucius lines for tomorrow and change my head again. Tech begone! That was a flood.

I’m very very stinky tonight. The place I was working in was hot and full of geeky teenagers. If you’ve ever been to a comic convention, there’s a certain miasmic odour that goes with large groups of geeky youth. So I’m writing this as I run a lukewarm bath for myself.

Last night and this morning I was quite proud of myself. Brian and Maddy thought I was dead. I went to bed before them, woke before them and managed to leave quietly despite coffee and a noisy one sided conversation about cuddles from Misty. Misty looks like a cute little fluffpot but she screams like a 40 a day Rolling Stones fan. They messaged checking I was okay at about 9. I had even set the coffee machine back to their preference. I like the espresso bubbler. They like a plunger. Different grind size. I love that grinder, and the milk system we have going now. Great coffee at home saves loads.

Ah the bath is ready. I’m in it.

So yes I’m off out tomorrow again early. Great big companies employing me for this one and you know how I am with NDAs, I can’t go joking about the smell of ’em and then tell you who they are.

They gave me a sandwich and a double decker for lunch, and I walked to Heisenberg for an excellent and oddly Breaking Bad themed latte.

But yeah I drove to work and parked for less than a tenner. JustPark have blown the doors off, they are making London so much more driveable for those of us with cars left. For the price of return tube I get to go in Bergie with air con and my choice of music. I parked in someone’s driveway. No wonder NCP have gone into administration. Work was in Ealing near the studios, so quicker for me by car than any other way. I had a moment of pause thinking of the distance between what I expected for myself this age when I first laid eyes on Ealing Studios aged 20. I’m glad I’m good at running tech conference rooms but…

Anyway I’m gonna wash the grime off.