Author: albarclay

How delightful. I ran into an old friend going home. Friday night in London, but there are some places where you can go without membership and have a relatively well priced drink and a conversation without having to shout. The Rose and Crown. One of the last bastions of the Chelsea that WAS before The Cadogan Estate murdered it with rent. They’ve recently taken all the pictures off the wall which implies a refurb and I’ll be really really really upset if they turn it into just another homogenous gastrowhatever. I’m sure the landlord is thinking “Prime location” but LOOK at the competition for these identical bollocks pubs. The competition for somewhere with painted flock walls and well priced pints is virtually nil. That’s why it always well attended with people who don’t just talk in ra. The Surprise at Chelsea, my local pub, you walk in and they tell you you aren’t supposed to sit there. Further down, The Phene was good but then it went on the tellybox in “Nothing To Do With Real Chelsea but We Have Make-up On” (was that the name of the reality show? It slips my mind.) People re-enacting their lives for camera. Pre AI AI. But it kinda wrecked the Phene as suddenly it got ideas.

Cadogan Arms was ruined fifteen years ago or more, I still miss it. What’s left? A couple. And the younger generations aren’t drinking so much. So I guess they might be wanting to make a Z Trap. I hope not, there’s no such thing, they are wise to such fuckery that generation. The brewery trying to “modernise” will just alienate the remains of the clientele and bring no custom. Better to turn it into a cabaret than a gastro if you’re after the youth.

Back in hooliganism, even though it was a long way from the stadium, the pub got a bit of a name for itself I’m told. They left it alone a long time for that reason. Maybe they think enough time has passed. Who knows, its been the same guy behind the bar for most of my adult life. Long may it continue. They used to have a brilliant Thai kitchen, but lockdown killed it off.

Rehearsal feels fruitful still. We have such a vast amount to consider still. Christmas is coming. There’s gonna be a GAP. Great I can secure my lines as I’m catsitting in Rye for much of the season. But beginning to see how much is still to do. Thankfully I trust the process.

I’m chilling out this evening at home with the cats. Ellie is gonna show up and stay in the Tom Bellerby suite – (the sofa). I just cooked all the pasta. All is well.

Music today, and wrestling. Poor Sam was having to wrestle himself and we could offer ideas but largely he was stuck with it. Five of us and currently we are making the ring which needs four. Stone discussion about whether we make a triangular ring so I’m free as Le Beaux to referee/hold signifiers. The game is always about keeping the characters alive in some way when we step out of them. All five of us are multi-roling and we all know that it is not satisfying when we lose somebody completely. At this stage, much better to make things difficult for ourselves. We might end up cutting loads of this work but we have to try the work to work out what we’re gonna cut. I have a feeling it might just end up as Sam without a ring swirling scarves, but we need to get to that stage first.

For me this first pass is about finding the general shape and then we can dig in dig in dig in.

It’s a really lovely room.

The afternoon involved Tom, our musician, who has composed some pieces for us. We booked him before we started as we all knew that the music was gonna be crucial for this piece. It’s a pastoral. I’m gonna be travelling with an accordion again and actually maybe the shit one I’ve got that only does major chords will suffice. It’ll save me a chunk of money if so. Tom is an ex Guildhall lad, ten years after me. A few of the recent companies have used him. He gets the game.

This is gonna be a lovely show but there’s a ton of work first, and we still have the uncertainty as some of the company have had visa application “rejected pending social media check” which isn’t as bad as it sounds – it is standard practice. I’m happy to trust we will all get through.

I’m exhausted now though as had to Uber to The Globe right away and do a White Rabbit. Haven’t been paid for most of them, or my big recent clearance job where I laid down literally thousands in expenses. I’ve got more outstanding right now than I’ve had outstanding in my life and my overdrafts are becoming relevant. In some ways it is heartening to know it’s coming but in others its fucking terrifying cos everything is on trust. Money money money. Meh.

I’m just gonna bath, sleep, and trust.

I won’t be numbering them all like this I’m sure.

Uber driver dropped me off here in the fog. Half seven. I’m “Transport Captain” so this shit has to be my remit. I end up with three people’s passports and we all clear the first few levels of security together.

Level 1 checking the docs. We are miraculously in the right queue. Level 2 going through security. Think airport but a little less angry. Then up in a lift.

Stage 1: Check we are all in the right place. Hard copy of photo makes things much better.

Stage 2: Fingerprinting.

Stage 3: Interview. “When did you become an actor?” In retrospect I should have said the date I pulled out of my arsehole when the visa company asked when my self employment started. As it is I said the basic truth: “I’ve been an actor all my life,” which thankfully seemed to be enough.

Then I got a piece of paper. They’ll check my socials now and make sure I’ve not been fomenting dissent, but I’m pretty happy to believe that I’ll get to do a sadly very short trip to the USA with As You Like It. With a really gorgeous group of actors.

The rehearsal room is so safe at the moment. I can be an enthusiastic oaf without being hated for it. Thank the lord.

We have started on scene work. I’ve been unable and mildly unwilling to hard learn lines until I’m aware of context. As it happens I can consume a large part in a short time, but for it to be flowing and organic it is better for me to have a feeling of who I am in the world first. I’ve got enough now to knuckle in and I’m not worried about things in the short term. But it’s been important to connect with the others and they all have a work ethic which is thankfully not self important. There is an understanding that everyone has a process. Mine is responsive attack. I will be throwing too much for the next week or so as I learn how we all fit. Then I’ll settle. And we have time in terms of time to work, even if we have quite stuttered rehearsal time.

They’re gonna post back our passports. It’s very odd to leave them. Hopefully soon all will be well and done. Fun work ahoyyyy!

Oh man I’m knackered. What a lovely creative start though. The Arsie Annie intimacy coordinator type work definitely helps with a shorthand into trusting each other.

Start the process with a stagger through. Why not? Helps us identify the moments we don’t properly understand. Helps us look for the snags. Script is in hand this week and it is so clear that it needs to not be. We can’t work out of reading brain in this stuff. There’s too much to think about physically. Some interesting helpful decisions coming up already when all five of us are engaged together. The collective brain is always gonna be better than plans we made in the bedroom two weeks before we started rehearsal.

The afternoon was music but inevitably that fed character discussions and some scene work. I didn’t have my accordion but I really don’t like the one I have at the moment. Silly old thief, I hope he got more than it cost to repair my car window out of it. I’ll probably have to spend some money and buy one I can look at. Mister Allodi is mostly retired now out in Lewisham. You might persuade him to repair one but the shop is shut. I’ll have to go further afield.

—

Hot bath. I’m zonked. Very early start tomorrow to go do US Visa type things so I’ve got myself into bed and it is only just nine. I don’t think there’s any need to stay up. I think I’m gonnan have some sleepy drink and just sink into oblivion.

First day of rehearsal. I’m feeling a lot less anxious now. Still got a mountain to climb.

The morning was visa logistics and general admin, and then we had a moment to talk about scheduling before lunch. I think from the light of that that we’ll be able to work together nicely. It’s a funny thing to do, to throw 5 actors into a room with a play for a few weeks and no director and see what comes out the other side. You need a good balance of order and chaos, and I think we have this. TC had said many inspirational things over the time I’ve known him, but one of the ones that sticks is “Great theatre is a balance between the fixed and the flowing.”. You need people who are super organised and together and you need people who are gonna keep coming up with big offers. Knowing which one of those I am and which of them I’m not gives me comfort that we have things covered in this particular room. I’m not gonna be the only one doing my best end, but the other end is covered too.

The afternoon was RC-Annie. Sounds like “Arsie Annie”. People sniff at this sort of thing but it’s important. An intimacy coordinator. She comes in on day one and helps make a safe environment to build the show. We never had that on the previous tours I’ve done and we definitely could have done with it. A language where we can negotiate potentially difficult interpersonal dynamics. It was a day well spent even though we are all looking at what needs to be achieved right now and the time we have for it and quietly freaking out.

We will be making a whole darn Shakespeare play together, and playing all the parts, and trying to do it well by whatever standards we have in our brains about what doing it well means… But we will hopefully arrive at an accord where we all share the meaning of that well. And negotiating these unspoken personal boundaries is where arsie Annie really makes sense. I’m so glad the company programmed it. I was worried about being seen as the old guy etc etc just as I’ve got some years on them. Now I feel safe. And I feel like I know the others better. We are gonna be in each others pockets, so we need to.

Pub quiz tonight though at Vaulty Towers. Ugh. Mel has always wanted to go, weirdly. She loves a pub quiz, she’s only here for a week. Someone has given her the idea it’s a “the best” one. “I’ve always wanted to go but never had a team.” Shotgun Carousel and Mel and our BAC youthcrowd built the place. I’ve sent various event friends there and they love it. It’s not cheap but it has character. Gotta go. No phones.

—

Hours later. A Christmas tie break drag catwalk performance from Brunhilda won us the five bonus points to make our team of two win the first pub quiz we’ve won since the one where Harriet and I on a very early date guessed the right number of bottles in the cellar of The Windsor Castle as a tie breaker. The prize at Vaulty is a £100 free bar tab. Mel goes back to America soon. I don’t need a bar tab. We will work out how to blow it with friends. Any sense of victory was removed by timing, with a loaded conversation landing on WhatsApp exactly as the winners were announced. It has left me completely flooded.

I didn’t want to go out tonight at all… I did though. Mel is so rarely in town and she’s a great power of a friend. We won a thing together. I think that might be good? I feel a bit sick.

I’m in bed. Looking forward to tomorrow. Wishing it could all be easy.

Ahhhhhhhh

And relax.

Mel isn’t around much these days so I invited her for a Sunday roast.

The first thing I did today was just… not wake up in the morning. No alarm. Oh joy. Just the ambient Brian and Maddy and cats. At about ten I was having an eerily specific dream where Bergie got stolen. This is anxiety brought on by the fact that there are two eurocrates of ratchet straps and hard hats visible in the back. A chancer might thing “ooh and there’ll be tools”. I’ve had my window smashed once before and that accordion never came back to me. I woke, got up, realised nobody was in the flat but the heating was on. Naked coffee and then back into a blanket heated bed. This Sunday is the Sunday things Sunday.

Mel showed up in the afternoon. Good and late, hurrah. I wasn’t functioning until it was getting dark. We went to Waitrose and I got a bird and veg and tatties. She got a bottle of pre-mulled wine and I told her to send it back. “The alcohol will be cooked off!” Maybe, but I’m not drinking that shit when I’m starting rehearsals tomorrow morning. Headache juice.

I like this tomorrow bunch, they seem really focused. But I’m gonna be the old guy and empathy only works backwards so I am worried I’ll come across as old fashioned or whatever. I doubt it but one can worry. We will all be making this thing together and it is really exciting and will be lovely. But it is a negotiation. We make it TOGETHER. Until I know them I don’t know what the dynamic will be.

Mel and I chatted while I prepped the roast. Nothing too complicated, this is a meal that’s a frame for a catch-up. Coincidentally my gravy was one of my best for ages. It’s always about what’s kicking around in the cupboard, but also it turned out to be a good juicy chicken plus we ended up mulling just half a bottle of merlot so the other half went to sauce.

And now it’s bedtime. And I’m up for it tomorrow. But want to be fresh and fighting fit. So I’m off to sleep.

“We’ve almost made it through silly week,” says Izzy briefing the waiters. 25 of them with varying degrees of competence. Some green, some vets. They have to brief in our changing room today. No room elsewhere. It gives me flashbacks to my work as Restaurant or Kitchen manager for big events. It was never paid enough for the hours, and when they brought in a toxic Floor Manager it killed the point of it for me. I enjoyed building the teams. I was good at it. He wouldn’t let me. I suffered and so did the event.

It really has been silly week here though, and in London generally. Last night my rabbit hat got stolen from the changing room and I didn’t notice until half eleven. The fucking DJ had grabbed it cos he thought it looked cool. Thankfully one of the bar staff said “Have you checked the DJ booth – he was wearing a hat sometimes.” Too late, too tired. By the time I had found it I had missed the last westbound tube from Mansion House. I walked up St Paul’s. Central and Vic run later. Got myself as far as Victoria before it was dead end. Went to look for a bus.

London is funny at the moment, it really is. Lots of people have been activated into genuinely believing that there is some sort of Islamic takeover happening. It would be funny if it wasn’t so angry, but these frightened fragile people are empowered by world politics at the moment and their fragility makes London feel unsafe. According to the narrative, “they” are trying to breed “us” out etc etc. As a result, a certain type of nervous person is taking what they think of as positive action, while also trying to frame themselves as a minority/victim. Like John in Hamburg customs who told me “You’re not allowed to ask for a white coffee in my police canteen.” “That’s ridiculous,” was my response. Because I reckon he was lying. “Yeah it is ridiculous.” The only context in which that is the case is if our John is going every day to the staff members: “I want my coffee white here please. White. That’s how I want it. Yeah do you understand?” And some staff member has been like: “I think there’s something going on with John. It might be easier if we just ask him if he wants milk with his coffee.”

There was a very very drunk man with glasses by my bus stop. Very similar type to John. He was telling a taxi driver “You’re racist for not taking me.” That old banana. He thinks he’s clever cos he’s turning it round. “We’re in the minority now us britshers etc”

Silly fucker. He’s all over the place. He comes up to me looking for support. “He’s fucking racist, doesn’t want to go south of the river.” He wants a response and his thought-things don’t go together. I try logic. “Maybe he thought you might be drunk? Cabbies worry about it cos of sick” I’m not throwing it at him at this point, that I think he’s obviously being an idiot. I’m just nudging him – it might help him get a cab if he doesn’t open the interaction with “Salaam Aleikum do you speak English language yes yes?”

I’ve got eyeliner on though from work. And I’m wearing a Stetson. He takes me in. “Look at you, fucking council estate middle class. That’s what you are isn’t it? Fucking council estate middle class.” I’m so bemused by this that I am momentarily totally flabbergasted.

It’s a funny thing we do in these situations. It’s an assessment. I can see he’s focussed on me now. He might flail at me. “Will I win in a fight?” I can see how drunk he is, he’s smaller than me and he’s wearing glasses. Yes. I know I’m not gonna punch him first though, just as I know that if he tries me I can avoid it and worst case send one quick jab to his nose. He’s too slow not to get hurt. I don’t want to have to do it though. I’ll avoid it if at all possible. But … I relax my shoulders and my hands and ease my breathing, get myself into a state of readiness. I’ve been in these fights before but not for decades. Nobody really wants to throw a punch, a single punch usually ends it. It’s just the usual nonsense from him of talk shout push hope you don’t get someone impatient and quick.

He’s right up in my grill. “I’m gonna decimate you, fucking council house middle class.” It’s the eyeliner. He thinks I think I’m Russell Brand. I’m just watching him for a draw back or a butt forward, something that will hurt me and needs to be squashed. He raises a hand slowly, puts it right up pointing in my face, but … slowly. I stand my ground as he’s just talking shit and putting his hand near my face. He hasn’t got nasty long nails, I’ve got reaction time still. But I haven’t considered my hat. He takes it off and throws it into the road with a little flair like he’s just done a clever. I go and pick it up and a black cabbie is coming past who watched it happen. He pops the door. I get in. “Thanks. I can’t be bothered with this guy.”

He doesn’t put the meter on until we are halfway home. I tip him well. Cabbies are still amazing. The knowledge… They ain’t cheap but they’re iconic and they really have to learn the streets.

Missing the last tube turned into a right odyssey and he got me to my door, and out of the myopic view of that particular Cyclops.

“Council estate middle class.”lol

I’m under the globe again, dressed as Shakespeare this time. It’s hot down here and the costume is not easy to remove. It was made with fastenings that then got damp when the show it was used for was flooded. It looks fantastic but you’ve got to think to do it up. And I can’t get my ruff on alone.

Ruff needs washing. It has old make-up on it, yellowing it. The yellow is from the actor whose name is sewn into the top of it. I actually auditioned for that job, in a moment of weakness. Did a fine audition but politics. I dodged a bullet. It was an early model of the using actors as facilitators and paying them in farts by ducking equity. I’m gonna have to soak my ruff with vanish I think, but that might make it all less white and just spread the contagion. This is still a useful costume – they spent on the build – but it’s high maintenance and it was already barely worn but much damaged when it came to me.

Gotta use the resources we have though.

Mel is upstairs in the foyer of the exhibition space, reading tarot for people. She’s on for a few hours. I finished officially some time ago but I never see her and I know that it helps to have people run the queue and give her breaks etc. Right now I’m writing this to you as it is the early rush and it’ll take care of itself.  I’ll go up again when I’m done writing but it is an eleven thirty finish so I’m not gonna be able to write when I get home. Tomorrow morning NO WORK. YAY.

Lou is still working all the hours God made and I wish I could help lighten her load. Big old show she’s on. And Riyadh is not a nature park.

I’m gonna go up and check the Mel situation. I’m still in full Shakespeare. Every time I’m out there I need to be adding value. “There are more things in heaven and earth (horatio) than are dreamt of in your philosophy”. Shakespeare does tarot… Hmm

Thursday is the new Friday. I’m in the Swan. Just finished and thought I’d write before tube. Tomorrow feels like a holiday, I’m not in until 11am. Tink blew a gasket because they hadn’t got round to telling her that we have two events tomorrow, and one is Alice and the other is Shakespeare. She’s got a Titania stilt costume she made. Nobody told her it was gonna be needed.

I’m used to the events team running around dropping everything. I work in a very different hat on events quite frequently at a surprisingly high level, where my job is to pretend to be the bottom of the pile but work out how to access all areas and then find all the things that everyone passive aggressively thinks is someone else’s job and make sure they all get done. With that in mind I can help pick up the drops. Which is why I dropped the info to Tink.

They had an idea that Ffion and I would perform for the client on the globe mainstage. I immediately knew that would never fly. I would be open to a conversation with Michelle, frankly. We could likely build some content for corporate clients that has integrity, considering the team of humans I know. Factory alone with Ffion and I and we are golden. My best mate is a fucking associate artist here. Just because I do the corporate and sometimes the education absolutely shouldn’t obviate me from the main. But this is a heavily boundaried space. And there are some literal actual idiot actors working the exhibition space. I’ve seen some woeful stuff done by then. I got involved in some once. Atrocious clueless dross. Thankfully I was largely anonymous and it was entirely forgettable.

Event work is a skill. But this industry assumes everyone is a specialist. It’s annoying. Many people can wear many hats – you get to my age still doing it and you can do the things. Loads of people I know can use a drill but can also use an angle grinder. People can do screen acting and theatre acting without exploding. People can do event acting and theatre acting and screen acting and still be the same human. We are not works of art. Yes, sure, sometimes someone gets famous on the telly and they literally just can’t. But I’m talking about people like me who have consumed themselves into learning a craft ignoring the fact that the gates are frequently kept by the blind.

The theatre industry, the mainstream theatre industry, has always felt spectacularly closed to me thus far. My first job was a film. And somehow that means I’m allowed to only meet for film. So I’ve done that and it’s been good. But I’m weirdly not able to meet for mainstream theatre. It’s heartbreaking.

I used to say I’ve literally never auditioned for a theatre you’ve heard of. For over 20 years I said that and then I met and recalled recently for Hull Truck. Didn’t get it dammit. 1 strike.

Yes, I did work at the RSC but I didn’t have to audition. The director, bless his heart, asked for me. He lives and works in Canada though so that’s not something to rely on. And I got that life changing offer through hard graft on The Odyssey.

Meh. I love this stupid industry full of weirdly high status presenting tits who left drama school two years before me.

I’m going home to eat pasta and sleep deeply and dream of finding my Katie Mitchell.

Stopping for a moment. My car is still parked outside Imperial. Had some corrections which meant the exam overran, so I had to sling myself over on the tube to The Globe, consuming a ham and greve baguette and a large latte with an extra shot as we moved. I’ll go back and get him before bed as I’m back at Imperial at 8:45 tomorrow and driving there makes so much more sense than any other way. I can park outside. It’s a hard wired routine now, the commute to that strange day job. I reckon I can go from bed to exam room set up in just over half an hour if I’ve done my prep before sleep. Fifteen minutes drive to park outside, walk up to ACEX 3 get the trolley. 5 minutes walk to the room. Ten minutes set up. “Hold the room a moment I’m just gonna check the toilets.” That was roughly what I did this morning. Brian had cooked surprise breakfast for Maddy and myself. I noticed it sitting cold and sad upon the table as I left and momentarily regretted that extra fifteen minutes in bed. Still the loo check can usually take in a visit to the campus branch of Pret a Manger which seems to be taking over the world right now. The higher quantities needed of any ingredient the more the quality inevitably suffers, I find myself thinking. Pret for breakfast, pret for lunch. I’ll only have emergency coffees there though as it is made out of ground up arses. If they did decent coffee I’d get the membership but they don’t so it would be a sentence. I went to Blank Street for my evening post work pre work pick me up instead. They still use beans. Beans taste better then arses.

Only a few more of these multi-job days and even though I won’t be able to stop, there will be a shift of focus. A change is as good as a rest. I’ll start the business of “How shall we best serve this scene?” and bunny will fall by the wayside. I’ll miss the bankside team though. They are a positive and fun bunch, hard working and full of personality. I’m getting on first name terms with lots of them now. Never been one to behave like I’m different or special. Probably a trick missed with the arsehole brigade who run the world, but I am happy in my niche. Visible friendly odd. “Unthreatening Alien” said Jethro once and it resonated. But I am always open to working the big jobs, and thriving when I am.

The client tonight was a theatrical fellow. Big on his musicals. Twin sister was in the original Starlight Express. Works for a bank. “You’re doing what my parents wanted me to do,” I told him. “You’re doing what I wanted my children to do,” he responded. It’s pleasant to remember when your balls are stapled to the train that this job is aspirational to some. Oh the glamour. “Why yes. Every night, sir, I work at The Globe as an actor, why yes indeed.” SMALL PRINT: (dressed as a bunny rabbit just for corporate parties not allowed to be thought of as a real actor in this frame technically not even supposed to be visible on the ground beyond the cast iron gate in any form of costume)

I liked the client. The ease of privilege. Some people get engaged in the arts. He goes to the theatre all the time, drags his kids, sends them to acting classes. He’s the guy who I see in the interval buying a bottle of champagne at the theatre bar. Without the likes of him we would all be paid even less.

Now I’m waiting for Mel who is reading tarot in the balcony room. Frankly though I just want to go to bed.

—

Evening went swimmingly. I’m home with happy cats. Didn’t see Mel, I hadn’t been able to brief her beforehand about the client so she kept working thinking someone would break her. I needed to get home so called it before she realised.zzz