This is the reason I’m holding onto those ten wheelie wardrobes. Ffion and I looked brilliant tonight down under the globe. It was a big night for a company that runs a network of unutterably vast international container ships. Pictures of piles of stuff that I would be freaking out if I was told I had to move them. Big big metallic things and you can fill ’em up and do what you like with them. Maybe I need one of them on some land for the wheelie wardrobes. Where’s my stately home when I need it? In my heart, a little part of me still lives in Eyreton, but Eyreton in the home counties somewhere and not The Isle of Man. These days though I’ll just have to win Omaze.
We did three Shakespeare scenes over dinner. A bit of fighting, a bit of love. We got a cheer for the kiss, I got them baying like hounds with me, we had moments of nuance and moments of humour. A Greek guy caught us as we left. “I understood you even if I didn’t,” he said. Ffion said “English people don’t understand Shakespeare. You’re doing well.”
It hangs together, this corporate offering we have built. It’s almost as if we have been refining it for two decades. And the costumes we plundered for it from those damn wheelie wardrobes, they really leveled it up. They are made of good material, but made with skill for theatre. Ffion was out of her dress faster than I was out of my doublet. It’s all one piece, pearls and ruff and all. Poppers and zips in all the right places. We are both gonna isolate and hang these costumes as they are perfect for this work. I might dig out a cape to finish it off, and maybe a little feather hat. And I’ll likely offer the wardrobes as a resource for AFTLS and my upcoming tour.
About two weeks ago they asked us if we could do it without microphones. Ffion insisted we needed them. I was saying at the time that we could hold it even in that space with projecting. Ffion was right to insist. I was dead wrong. That space is an absolute fucker. “Imagine if we hadn’t been miked,” I said to Ffion after… She knew it had been her work that we were. Thank Christ. These guys in the audience, they do logistics and largely have English as a second language. Even though there are overlaps now with my world and theirs, I know they’ll want to talk over it. My events lads, they aren’t the type to think they understand or like Shakespeare. But they know hard work when they see it. And they appreciate what they can’t do cos they do what they do so well. But the second scene, the rowdy scene… They were rowdy. We held our own as we know the material works and we trust the relationship. They were quiet when we needed them to be, somehow. Energy and connection. Still firing on all cylinders. But thank God for the microphones. I can reuse my costume, it isn’t absolutely drenched in Halloween actorplasm.
I’m heading home on the tube now with my costume on my lap. A lovely evening. Another one on Thursday. It’s all part of the weft.
AlBarclay 