I can’t quite make sense of the fact we woke up this morning in Foston on the Wolds. But we did.
I got my 4kg of frozen Chicken of the Woods into a thermal box. We cleaned the place and changed the sheets back and did all the things one is expected to do at end of tenancy. Bergman was loaded up and we were on the road after just one more walk around the garden. That was a treat, that whole trip up north. I’m thrilled it ended with a licence for Lou. But… the south was calling.
We stopped briefly in the local town, horrid by comparison, and bought a burnt northern latte from a friendly kiosk. And then we absolutely burnt it back down south. “It’s good we aren’t in a hurry,” Lou occasionally mildly observed as Bergie and I ate the miles. I needed to get back by five. We were home at half past two.
The Chicken of the Woods was still solid so now it’s in my freezer and can be parceled out should anyone want some, and if not will very gradually dwindle over a long long period of time as I get better at recipes with it. It’s a complete protein and apparently comes with all sorts of health benefits.
I went into town. The Globe again, but unrelated to recent and forthcoming visits. There’s a festival show coming and I might be involved. Workshops today. Very very elucidating. I’m always happy to geek out about craft and these seem to be good people to geek out alongside. Joy and bombast and as ever I went in with both feet.
I’m tired now though. Got back home about half an hour ago and ate lasagna. I’m writing on the sofa as I don’t want to disturb Lou, she’s been asleep with earplugs in for a few hours now. Normally by this time I’d be in bed these days.
I’m gonna act on that and put myself down for the night. Much to do.
She booked this cottage for a week in Foston on the Wold. I’ve been driving her in for her regular lessons with Adam in Bridlington. She emailed eight to ten driving instructors a little over a month ago when she realised she wasn’t gonna be able to change her test cos the DVLA website is literally atrocious. Of the instructors, four were on holiday, four couldn’t be arsed to help her, Adam came up trumps. She had only booked the test up here thinking it would be possible to change, but change wasn’t possible. So we came up. It would’ve been an expensive downer if after this lovely week she didn’t pass. I turned down a lovely audition. Lou paid for the whole week here in this cottage.
It’s got a big garden, pretty well sheltered, that catches the sun. When we got home today I was happy and relieved, Lou was ecstatic. I got in the shower, scrubbed up and then went out and just lay on my back stark naked in the sun. When you spend all year moaning about the cold and dark you have to take advantage of these days when the light is full and the world is warm. I’m feeling a little closer to the tan I’m supposed to be. Just a few more weeks or months of days like this and better please, oh universe.
I’ve carried some work here, but this week has been Lou’s week and I deliberately cut back a bit. I’m glad of it, things are moving out there in the world. I wanted to take this opportunity and I absolutely did, even if it involved having to cancel some things. I managed to honour one job without even being on it myself. I’ll go back into the madness now and see where it all lands.
Oh lord, there’s a lot to do in the world. But for this evening I can be here and share in Lou’s happiness, and feel how the sun has been on me and know that there’s a lot of summer left.
Living in the countryside this week, once again my cycle has shifted so I just want to go to sleep with the daylight. There are owls outside just starting, but the day birds are still calling as the blutac colour in the sky still fades away to darkness.
I’ve left Lou to sleep on her own tonight as I don’t want to be snoring her awake the night before her driving test. She’s likely to be restless anyway and this way she gets to flail around and I don’t need to restrict my movement. This week has been building up to tomorrow morning. I’ll drive her in and then hang out and maybe have a coffee while she goes around showing someone how thoughtful and safe and competent she is now at the old driving malarkey so he can give her a certificate that lets her drive however she wants. Plenty of people get them who shouldn’t be on the road. She’s got the skills now. It’ll be good in her life. I’m happy to be here to support her.
But yeah, even though I’ve done very little today I’m ready to crash. We watched Life of Pi on Blu-ray and honestly I don’t know how we have let go of this thing of owning our movies and music so easily. You can get DVDs for peanuts now. Sure they take up space, but this thing where we pay for a licence that can be revoked at any time and everyone loses access when we die, that sucks for everyone but the people running the platforms. It’s not really an issue storing DVDs and pulling one out of a box and sticking it into a slot. It all works fine. I don’t like streaming. The same with games… My great big steam library will get locked eventually even if I give someone my password because it knows my age and it won’t let it still be accessed if I’m supposed to be 120.
The sky outside the window is oil black now. Just a touch of light still spilling back to us and it’s ten to ten. This is late for me these days and the cottage is silent now, no big roads nearby, very few houses. We went for a little walk through a secret door this evening. It’s bucolic and reasonably remote here, twenty minutes drive minimum for a coffee by someone else, although there’s a pub up the road by the river. For now I’m enjoying living here, I’m getting up to date with my admin. Before long I’d probably start getting bored, but not for a while. There are plenty of books to read, films to watch, trees to hug. If I lived here I’d go riding twice a week and be much healthier, and I’d rarely if ever see midnight.
I bought some art for Lou the other day. Found it at a local shop, it immediately jumped out at me.
When we drove down the lane to where we are staying, here in Foston on the Wolds, we both saw a hare through the window of the car. You don’t see them often. Lou has business with them, spiritual business. I saw a simple image in a shop but it immediately called to me for her. I’ve never bought any art so quickly.
An old German riddle reads thus: “Drei Hasen und der Löffel (or Ohren) drei und doch hat jeder seine zwei.”
“Three hares and their ears three, and yet each one has only two.”
The answer is a picture. A variant of this picture wot I bought Lou:
Loffel can mean spoon or rabbit ear hence the Alsatian variant with Ohren.
The image is circular. Each of three hares shares an ear with a neighbour. The hares are linked by the loffel.
I start with Germany, but this is older than that riddle. Throughout Devon and the South of England the motif is common in medieval churches, not restricted to edges where the makers marks are, but prominent. Often they are called “Tinner’s Hares”. Tin. We were selling tin globally, it’s what put us on the map. The Phoenicians were trading with us since forever. It’s why we think Joseph of Aramethea might have come here, perhaps with his apprentice Jesus, although that’s pushing it. AND DID THOSE FEET etc. Sure the thorn bushes in Glastonbury from Jerusalem, holy blood, holy grail etc etc. He gave his tomb and he was in tin… And hares are tangled up with resurrection and even virgin births through Eostre and various other mythoii. The Eostre Bunny comes when nature comes back from death, laying eggs.
Three hares three ears but each have two.
You’d be surprised how far back it goes, how widespread it is, this image.
Three. Think of triskelion and triquetra in Celtic myth through paganism and Hinduism to Christianity. Land sea sky. Mind body soul. Pitta Vata Kapha. Father Son Holy-Spirit. Maiden Mother Crone. Three three three, intertwined forever in this dance, all interlinked, bound together forever. Round and round and round we go.
You’ll find these hares in synagogues, in Islamic temples in Iran, in pagan and Celtic places of power across the world. They’re in the Yungang grottoes, the Mugao Caves, all over the art of 6th century Buddhist caves in China. Three and three and lucky lucky rabbits. Did they come to us down the silk road? Or did they just rise naturally? However it happened these little interconnected beasts have been hammering away at the edge of our thoughts for such a long time it is hard to contemplate how long. It is a satisfying symbol, and boy oh boy it really has been chasing round for time and time and time.
Like so many of these things I’ve probably seen it, been aware of it, never thought about it until just now. Now I’ve realised I won’t get to the bottom of it with the internet which is mostly copy paste and present as fact, where the citations go round in circles. There are whole books on this symbol, and loads of people laughably trying to tell us what the symbol means. Symbols defy meaning it’s why they’re fucking symbols, they mean many things all at the same time otherwise you’d just write it down in words. We are all so desperate to have everything fathomed.
Three hares, three ears. Round we go. It only works in a circle so they have to run together forever linked forever round. I have no idea what it means. Lou is driving. Wheels go round. Gotta be some lucky hare lucky luck stuff there, right?
I’ve been going to Woldgate Trekking Centre. They are just outside Bridlington. I found them online and rang them up a few weeks ago. “I need to raise my confidence on a horse again as I keep getting asked if I can ride by my agent and I don’t want to say yes and then look like a prat.”
Becky has taken me out a couple of times now, and man she really knows her horses. It’s a glorious thing to spend time with truly skilful people. She has a lifetime of care and understanding with horses and it really shows. I’m in good hands. Not like with the expensive chancers I gave up on in London. Under her observance it is all coming back.
Roscoe is his own boss and he isn’t very used to doing anything but plodding, but we seem to be getting on. He trotted a bit with me on top of a hill this afternoon. He’s only little in some ways – he’s short with a stubby neck. I feel much further forward than I’m used to. His little fluffy ears are quite eloquent and he’s an absolute fucker for trying to run my head into low branches so I gave to duck so it’s harder for me to rein him off the tasty morsels at the side of the road. I’m wise to his ways now, but he’s clever.
Just cos it’s the modern world we have to be on roads a fair amount. Cars that have to wait respond in a variety of ways, but about one in three they just sit there looking pissed off and won’t make eye contact. Friendly old Yorkshire and still the old “should” comes in, like those yobs that roadrage cyclists. “This unusual thing exists and my behaviour has changed as a result so now my latent rage is finding a target with the unusual thing.” “They shouldn’t be on our car road those horses.”
We were mostly on bridleways.
I’ve had a great day but mostly in the fresh air and lots of persuading Roscoe to trot. Just had a hot bath but I’m whacked out with the country air and it’s barely 9pm. Feeling good though, and very glad to be back on the horse. Next time Becky says she reckons I’m good to take him for a canter. Will he canter? He’s got long legs despite his little stubby neck… I’m up for having a go with him. Can’t tell the casting director I’m back on the horse unless I’m back on the horse. And once this week is over I’ll have to find somewhere nearer to home to tick it over maybe once a week. A bit of regulatory, I love horses, free exercise and it could help me get a decent job. Win win win.
And some of the chicken ended up in a risotto. Nom.
I went back to that Laetiporus Sulphureous, armed with a kitchen knife, and took home as much as I could carry. That’s a lot of chicken of the woods, all in my thermal box.
This evening preparing it was work. The constant rich woody smell of it, water water everywhere and I’m cutting and sorting and weighing and testing consistency. I could afford to be choosy. Out of about ten kilo of the stuff I ended up with four that I wanted, packed into 500g freezer bags and popped into the great big chest freezer in the utility room that I didn’t know about until this morning.
Any friends wanting the fruit of my labours, I’m sure I could gift you a bag. Apparently it freezes well and defrosts as fresh as when it was frozen so there’s 8 bags of tasty foraged and carefully cleaned wild mushroom coming home in my thermal box from east Yorkshire on Tuesday. I’ve been looking for the damn things for years. Then loads of them showed up when I wasn’t looking. Gorgeous weird thing, and by the time I was done cleaning it I didn’t feel inclined to put any in my mouth so I’ve kept a little bit back in the fridge and I’ll get stuck in in the morning. I’ll have to. Just gonna sautee some with garlic and butter and a shallot for breakfast. Rich breakfast but I’m in Yorkshire. Kinda on my holidays. I can do what I want.
It’s glorious here. We go for evening walks to the river, there was a deer in the garden this morning when we woke up. Lou threw open the curtain and exclaimed. We’ve been feeding the wild birds poppadoms. This evening I tried to carry a Tesco bag full of chicken of the woods shavings to the nearest telegraph pole, but the bottom came out on the road. It looks like papaya. The texture is similar too, the good bits a bit squishy but hanging together, going towards slime at the tips and towards wood at the base. The bits I’ve kept are largely middle ground. I might have made a mushroom stock but I’m not at home and there’s enough to carry with the mushrooms themselves.
In bed again now in the peace having had a lovely relaxing evening interlaced with a panic about something at home that thankfully could have been a total disaster but for Brian. Once again that man warrants his Superman T-shirt. I think I’ll have to get him a new one.
Roscoe was the name of the horse. A right old man. Fetlocks and piebald, he can’t be arsed to trot. “You’ll mostly be stopping him eating,” she said and that’s fair. But he took me right past the biggest goddamn chicken of the woods I’ve ever seen. “Fuck me!” I exclaimed, and the lass behind me said “Oh aye it’s beautiful up here.” I was making a mental note of where the hell I was so I could get right back as soon as the hack was over, and I did.
It was so big.
This is two of them. The lower one is fresh. See the difference?
One stump with loads, and nobody from the local area is collecting for sure or they couldn’t get so old. So I go for a little wander. Sure enough, dryads saddle.
Not as good to eat but they’ll go well together sauteed or even in a risotto. Stems can be hard and you want the smaller ones. I could’ve fed a restaurant for a week with that patch of woodland, but even though nobody is picking I’ve got no freezer here so I only took what I thought I could eat.
I haven’t the inclination to cook them today so they’re in the fridge overnight in brown paper and I’ll get stuck in on the morrow. I’ve been looking for those things for ages and then suddenly two mushrooms I’ve had three strikes with in one day. My third strike with the saddles so I’ve never eaten one. I have to find things and get a second opinion 3 times at least before I allow consumption, just as being dead probably sucks.
My bum hurts a bit from being back in the saddle but I could get behind living in the country and galloping around. Just need to make a bit more money. Ain’t that always the way.
I freezeframed the trailer of one of last year’s movies, just to see if I could find my face in the scene I knew I was in. There it was. Hooray. No lines in the trailer but I’ve only got about two in the movie so no surprises. A nice British comedy, releasing June 12. Deep Cover. Until I know if my lines are cut I’ll not get too excited.
There’s work to be had, money to be made. Riding those horsies again might just help pin down those period drama parts. Gotta keep adding value. Still rolling the dice. Fuck yeah.
The morning found Lou and I in the grounds of Lincoln Cathedral. They sell you breakfast in the shadow of the edifice, and it is vast and impressive. It’s rare I can’t finish an English breakfast. And the bells ring loud and old in the cathedral. It took twenty years to build, shortly after the Norman conquest, and you can be sure there’s some moron in America that wouldn’t be able to make a Lego house and thinks that because it looks difficult it must have been like aliens or I dunno ancient clever giant people.
We decanted into Bergie and the next few hours I was remotely supervising a big old truck load in London whilst haring up through the country to Bridlington. Long way up but we did it in stages. All went well with the load. All went well with the drive. Tomorrow they’ll unload it and I won’t be there either. I’m not a control freak at all, but I’m very used to being hands on, so it is a very curious experience to do it remotely. Still I’ve always been good at building teams, and morale. I enjoy myself in life enough that it can be contagious.
Lou and I are now about to go to bed in a rented cottage half an hour out of Bridlington in deep countryside. Without a car or a horse you aren’t gonna get anywhere here. Bergie will be our lifeline to civilisation. But tonight we had a simple peaceful meal here in the quiet : pasta with veg and pesto. The epicurean in me had no choice but to soak some dry porcini up to add, and some quick pantoasted pine nuts. Even the simplest meals respond to great ingredients, and I had no choice when I saw those porcini sitting in the reduced section. Gotta love the north.
Then the darkness fell and honestly my ability to stay awake just vanished again. I’m halfway through a job that I’m entirely supervising without being present. It’s a lesson. I had to turn down a recall for something I really wanted. Another lesson. “Right is that which happens,” Minnies grandpa used to say. I’ll take that. There’s a fertile void instead.
Recall for a US tour but typically I’m absolutely committed for the next week to be out town working away from home. I’m still on my laptop, still working remotely, but you need to be in the room with Shakespeare and I can’t be in that room. I dared to hope that there would be another day for recalls, but typically my actual recall time is exactly the time Lou will start her driving test. I’m not gonna make it.
We’re in a motel outside Lincoln tonight. Halfway to Bridlington. Didn’t need to smash it all the way up the coast in one shot so I booked this place to break the journey. Damon’s Hotel. It’s all Rhett Butler and Jack Vettriano. Big lights in the carpark. Big beds in the rooms.
Alongside my burgeoning haulage empire I’ve been trying to adapt Midsummer Night’s Dream for a brief tasteful wedding experience. Nothing too showy, definitely nothing low. I like the client but have been really pissed off with the venue recently. They held back payment and have been trying to squeeze us down down down. I’m supposed to be looking at Cymbeline too, and had to pull out at last minute from Julius Caesar with The Factory to honour a clearance commitment. These are small things but they add up. It’s time to put aside my chagrin with the venue and use the peaceful days I have ahead of me to really make sure this wedding entertainment is as tidy and well prepared as the van load I’m organising remotely will be tomorrow morning.
Planning is important and I’ve spread myself thin, but I’ve got my laptop with me now and we’re about to have a week in a calm cottage where I can throw words about until we are locked in with some lovely wedding stuff. All will be well, and all will be well and all manner of things will be well.
Only a few hours drive to get here but I’m pooped. Lou is already asleep. I think I’m gonna hit dreamland and let my brain sort out all the questions and worries. “How do I include that bit with the flowers and not make it stand out strangely?” “Where and how best to bring in the best man?” “Will that 18 tonner show up on time?” “Are they gonna have to ratchet flight cases onto the stillages?” “How do I tell them best that I can’t recall for Alonso even though I’d love to do it?” “And then stitch in Puck at the end with some Prospero?” “What about the cue Script Henry?” “And the Willow Globe let’s not forget the Willow Globe,” “They better have a spare pump truck in the Newcastle venue” “Maybe Gravesend or Maidstone would be the best place for my warehouse?” “Beatrice and Benedick would go well.” “How much should I quote for that next job?” “Sweet musk roses and with eglantine…” “Is Lou saying something?” “Pallets, pump trucks, iambic, euro crates, agent, payroll, manifest, flowers”
A lovely relaxed weekend. I woke from the most involved dreams I’ve had for ages. I dreamt back to a man I met on the street near Waterloo station perhaps twenty years ago who was on his way to kill himself. I saw something in his eyes and asked him if he was alright, and we had an explosive and bizarre night walking the streets by the river together while he told me his things. He was a Scotsman. I remember his face. I’ve just searched his name as he’s stored in my phone with his first name and “Waterloo walking suicide watch”. It was him in my dream, clear as day. I hope he hasn’t gone back dark. I liked him. But I never messaged him again, we were from utterly different worlds. At the time that was the dynamic he needed, a stranger, a bouncing point. I still remember the look I caught as I walked past – he was in such a mess of despair.
Those days were curious days. There was always something happening around there. Perry was working the Pit Bar so you had a decent shot at a free pint if the show wasn’t down yet. Someone would be having drinks at one of the Vics, Kevin was slurping up the new boys on the block, Flay was putting up with my random drop ins. You always had a friend around The Cut on any given evening, particularly if you were willing to expand south to the river and the Nash. Empty buildings where we might hack together a Hamlet. Youth, hope, possibility, immortality, immunity to consequence. Now we know what it means to be broke. Fuck it. Lots of us have progeny. There are new young communities where sentences all end with upflection and opinion is fact. We have ceded our place in the shadowy lights, as is the natural order. I don’t feel squeezed out but I no longer feel like I’m the centre. Last time I was at The Pit Bar a friend of mine turned on me for no reason. We have barely spoken since. It was the end of an age of innocence.
Today I looked at a load of stillages and quoted a client for haulage. That’s the world right now for this theatre kid. I won’t be there to do the job, but I reckon it’ll go smooth and I trust my team in London even if I’ve just had to pull one member. I know my van intermediary from Paris and I know he gets the job done. I’d call him a friend as much as you can ever make friends when you’re running into a wall together on the daily.
I’ve found an events lad in Newcastle who sounds like he’s the real deal to sort the unload. We’ve got a few days to bring it together and I’ll be live for it on my phone, might even drive up to Newcastle from Yorkshire if I’m not confident. Hopefully all will be well though. It’s interesting having all this new stuff to worry about.
AlBarclay 