Author: albarclay

London is sticky. I got here and realised I was going to stay here overnight. Just too tired and it’s too much my home in this flat for me to pass through it without sleeping. I loaded up my kilt and related paraphernalia. It’s all a little haphazard but it’s a family wedding and so it makes sense to wear the family tartan.

Now I’m just lying on my back in my hot room, and when I glance movement out of the corner of my eye I keep thinking it’s the little cat. She’s sending me projections. She wants treats and cuddles. I’ve let her down striking out to London. But here I am.

From here non stop it’s about eight hours to Glasgow. I’ve done it a few times in one go. Once it was in a van with no air con when it was like this. Bergman is going to be a luxury, and I’ve managed to pass the work on Tuesday so I can have a relatively slow return after the wedding.

Hugo is one of my nephews fathered by Jeremy, the youngest artist son of my father’s (first?) brood – (apparently there might have been some in Japan in the late 1940’s…) I’ve always called them brothers, and I get on with their kids. This one has stayed in art but is a producer. I went to the Affordable Art Fair last time as he was the Fair Director. I couldn’t afford any of the art. Buying modern art as an investment seems odd to me as someone who has tried to sell on a few pieces that my parents bought. Largely it seems to be a buyer’s market unless you are selling through a gallery. I suppose that’s what the Affordable Art Fair makes possible, but then the artists will need to have a gallery. I guess it’s like actors and agents. Gallery helps guarantee quality in a subjective market. Value is sustained by hype, hype is mostly purchased. Investment stokes investment. As an artist, you get back what you put in minus a cut from the gallery, and sometimes you get lucky. As a punter “Just buy what you like,” he advised me, and I think that’s the extent of it really. Buy art you like and hope that your taste matches that of the kingmakers. But this thing I’ve heard : “art holds its value” – that hasn’t borne out with the second hand paintings I’ve tried to sell. Maybe I was going about it the wrong way.

Hugo is getting married. I’m very happy to be invited and able to go. He was very understanding about the nature of my work and let me be a maybe for a long long time. Weddings are extremely tricky for actors, and I’ve had more than one occasion where I’ve ended up missing an important one, sometimes at horribly short notice and in very stressful circumstances. This one I’m gonna make it. I’ll do the whole drive tomorrow. It’s nothing in the scheme of what I’m used to. I’ll get there and be kilted up and all will be well and I’ll be the weird uncle.

I can’t quite believe that this is my final night alone in Brighton this time around. It’s been joyful having little Tessy as my master. It’s been lovely being here in this unfamiliar and busy town. My friend reminded me yesterday that there’s plenty going on here, plenty to find. I’ve mostly just been relaxing while I’m here though. There’s scope for that, particularly within this soft and happy little flat above the noise overlooking the sea.

Today I tried to hoover and set back so I wouldn’t leave the place mucky. I’m crap at cleaning but I did my best, while Tess hid under the bed. I’ll have a bath now and then tomorrow I’ll make my way up towards Scotland. Long way to go, Brighton to Glasgow. I’ll have to break my journey somewhere. I haven’t even really thought about where, but it’ll find its way. Maybe I’ll just overnight in London and then mission it on Saturday. I just know how punishing it is to do it all in one day. Ideally I’ll be there Saturday night. I’ve booked a room with that expectation.

Tonight I’ll relax. Early bed, early rise. Sort things out tomorrow. Tonight is just for playing with Tessy and reading my book. I’ve packed, sent a load of invoices, worked out what I’m supposed to be doing after the wedding. I’ve even tried to find cover for next Tuesday in Greenwich as it might be a lovely opportunity if I can drive slowly south from Scotland and say hello to old friends on the way. At the expense of a few days low paid workshop, I’m happy to just take my time. That particular project doesn’t pay enough to justify taking the life hit. But they might not be able to find cover for precisely the same reason I’m not very sold on doing it. Gotta pay what the job is worth. I’ll take a hit for things like Extreme-E, but that brings adventure and its a consistent daily rate over time which makes up for the rate being smaller. There’s an important message in the work, so I do it when I can. It’s about personal responsibility and understanding how easy it is to pretend that our actions have no consequences. I’m happy to do it for cheap when it doesn’t negatively impact my life to do so.

Bath is running. Seagulls are calling. Cat is hoping for more laser pen. It is warm and clear. I’m planning on sleeping very well. I’ve got cash for the catsitter and she is gonna be spoiling Tessy going forward. Night night all.

Not a working day for me, or for my old mate. I’ve been in Brighton a while now, but I haven’t been into town. Today was tourist day.

It’s a good day to do the tourist stuff, a Wednesday. Since I’m usually working weekends I like to try and take space when everyone is working. And it’s the solstice. The longest day. Still a lot of summer left but they start to get shorter now.

There was plenty of alcohol today. Morning margarita on the beach. Then Craft Beer in flights. Small glasses of many varieties. We had a table booked for half two and I was already concerned I would sleep through lunch when we arrived at The Ivy Asia. It’s a ridiculous place. Ill fitted trippy uplit green floor tiles and absurd finery. “Stolen from The Ivy Asia” say the napkin rings and chopstick holders in what I assume must be encouragement even though we don’t succumb up temptation. A monkey holds up our lettuce. We stuff our faces.

Downstairs in the loo, someone has placed a very lifelike rubber samurai in front of one of the urinals. Upstairs, everything is spicy and over-presented. This place is both fabulous and awful. I had a great time. Lobster and duck rice. Black miso cod. Ribs. Decadence! Sheer unmitigated decadence.

Sake and Singha and we go stand in the sea awhile. We walk down the shitty pier. Then up into town to have ice cream and then to Plateau for natural wine and clean cocktails.

By the time my friend got back on his train I was surprised I could still function. I wandered homeward, fed the cat, had a hot bath and now I’m going to sleep the wonderful happy sleep of someone who has done something, even though I’m truth all I’ve done is eaten good food and had a little bit too much booze on a Wednesday. Still I’m tired and replete and very very happy to have spent time with my old schoolfriend and felt a connection and a truth.

Just past midnight and I’m lying with the cat thinking about confined spaces. I have been swept up in this awful story about billionaires going to the Titanic in a submarine. That ship is over 2 miles deep, with such a weight of water over it. It was famously marketed as unsinkable, providing a helpful frame of reference for you if anyone tells you anything is anything. Like the guy three years before Grenfell who told me to take my ladder to the roof off the fire escape because “nobody will ever need to escape to the roof from here because the fire doors will stop any fire.” “What if they don’t?” “They are guaranteed to.” Everybody who sells things to us will be speculating about our safety, and most of them will fudge the figures or outright lie because profit is king.

These poor people though. They paid an astronomical sum in order to go in a tiny private submarine to that place of death on the ocean floor. Why? They have lost communication and there’s only so much air. Perhaps they just decided to cut off comms and save power. It seems likely that something big went wrong, in which case suddenly it is an impossible situation for everyone on board… if the motor is somehow bust, if they can’t get up on their own steam, then it is just more souls to the underwater horror of that famous and unprecedented hubris. Even if someone works out where they are, if they’re at depth then that’s where they’ll stay.

Right now, somewhere awful, a human drama could be playing out beyond description. An explorer, three extremely rich men over fifty and a teenage boy who has never had to think about value. A limited supply of oxygen. Pressure outside that would crush you in moments. Inside, personalities that are used to being top dog. Under pressure. Perhaps, just perhaps they’ll all be ok. But it puts this whole space / ocean tourism thing into relief. This is an expensive journey, and the CEO is there with everyone to reassure them it’s safe. It clearly isn’t. What a horror.

I went to the dodgy Kemptown pub to watch the last few overs of what has been an incredible first Ashes test match, even if the pendulum swung to the Aussies. My day largely involved playing with the cat, hoping for the England team and then worrying about the people in the sub. God what a horrible way to go. I hope they come out of it…

Ahhhhh good evening.

It’s quiet here. Quiet enough that I can hear a night bird singing in the square. The wind is low though, so I can hear the sea. But I’m aware that there’s nuance here. Occasionally I hear a car here. In London, at mine, a break in the traffic is a rare thing.

I’m sitting on the floor with the cat, in complete darkness. I’ve been away a few days and she’s taking her time to reintegrate me. She’s a very boundaried creature. I arrived armed with new cat grass, and even though she is joyfully consuming my present, she is not certain where and how she can trust me. So I thought I’d sit stark naked and write to you while she works it out. Just so long as she knows I’m available for basic interaction and she doesn’t try and sever various important anatomical gifts. She’s a resourceful beast. If all cats were like her they would evolve civilisation. All her unique aspects are things that, if followed through and bred into, would eventually lead to “Supercats”

I’ve met a lot of dumb cats, and a lot of smart cats. She’s the smartest I’ve known. It wouldn’t surprise me to find this cat stroking some bald old white dude and telling James Bond how she intends to kill him.

We will remember how to be friends, I hope. Just as I hope she won’t come up with her usual 4am jumping on my pillow stuff.

I’m going to sleep. It’s late. It’s back to me and the cat… But she follows me in my dreams. It’s very very helpful to have a cat in your life, when it comes to all the woowoo stuff. Nobody needs to have to do the stuff we have to do alone. If you’re attempting anything spiritual, ask a cat to help you. While we feed them world food and give them world strokes, they help us navigate all the otherworldly madness that we trigger and negotiate almost unknowingly.

Ahhh lovely. What a lovely evening. Marylebone Theatre, this dark and humid Sunday night. Rain in the air, and heat. We all came in and looked at one another. Some of us had never met until an hour before the show. Some of us were old friends, proven colleagues, running mates. All of us had thrown in our lot with The Factory. A mischievous theatre company? An actor’s gym? A clique? An open and expanding friendship group of like minded geeky artists?

One of the places I feel at home and welcome.

Sunday night has usually been the night we play. So we played. Julius Caesar this evening. A new project and one that will likely pop up from time to time and bring that strange mixture of rigour and freedom that form our happy heart. There were people there I haven’t seen for ages and have been deeply important in the past. There were friends old and new, actors and creatives bound together by the will to make something LIVE. With the rise of AI it is getting more and more crucial to look towards the things that are made in the moment with humans. With 26 audience alongside us, we became a little live group and told this ancient tale of ambition and thwarted passion together. “There’s nothing like this,” one lovely old fellow said at the end. I was only covering small parts tonight so I know what he meant. I had enough space in my head to see the moments of immediacy bubble up and pop. I welcomed those simple flashes of play. Sometimes the joy was testament to the deep relationships some of us have built from years running alongside each other in the weird struggle I’ve been documenting the last few years. Other times the joy was in the moment, impossible things to imitate, one time flashes. Madness and inspiration. Truth and fun.

I’m not sure what I brought. I was trying to make big offers. I asked an audience member “What’s wrong with Caius Ligarius” as he has an injury. “He can’t straighten his arms,” she told me. I tried to make him arthritic. My Soothsayer was clearly just on a cocktail of narcotics. Cicero lived in a broom cupboard and wouldn’t leave. Antony’s servant enjoyed lying on his back. I incorporated him into Soldier 1, as it’s a logical throughline, so Soldier 1 also found an excuse to lie back. And Pleb 4 … well he’s a brute. “Tear him for his bad verses!”

I need to properly finish learning Antony. I am not show ready yet but need to be as this is another focused and curious live happening and it certainly feeds to my tastes and maybe that’s enough. I’ve had months to lead up to it but you know how crazy my life has been lately, and I’m aware that it’s in good hands so long as Nell or Leila are free. But for fairness and balance it’s useful to have all the parts well covered.

A happy show. Back to Brighton tomorrow and kittycat. But I’m glad I made it possible to come and play as it has helped me remember what a glory The Factory can be…

Up with dawn. 4am and I told the cat to wait despite her bum being in my face. 5am and her persistence mixed with having things to do propelled me up. I gave her mackerel which isn’t her favourite but it needed using up and I figured she was hungry after persistent shouting. She mostly turned her nose up.

I found myself staying with her, stroking and grooming her. She’s got the measure of me now. In return she makes the “giving her medicine” experience much less troublesome – or perhaps I’ve got better at it. I stayed with her and played with her for about two hours longer than I had intended, and then shot up to Croydon to rent the van.

Pace van hire have been my go-to for years for workhorse van rental in London, free of bullshit. I usually go to New Cross where you can park free locally. This time I went to Croydon as it worked geographically. Parking all day was about a fiver. I was late to pick up the van and behind schedule, but they were brilliant and understanding and helpful despite my barely concealed rage at having to wait for them to go and get the thing. As always a good vehicle. Previous clients have chewed up the interior but it was happy to GO. That said, the first time we went at speed it stank a bit. Likely it had sat for a while, but … they have decent mechanics and we are there for the prices. It was a good engine, plenty of space and remarkably fuel efficient.

We were picking up entomological journals from Northamptonshire. My brother was with me. They are all off to the museum for reference. I was just the ferryman, curious and helpful as ever, a little bit lost in conversation sometimes, happy to absorb.

Max was looking at every tree, picking up every rock. ’twas ever thus, and this fellow – the donor – was part of his tribe. I saw them in their element. And oh, I love my brother.

It was an incredible collection of rare scientific periodicals. It’s going to the right place. I was happy to help move it there. I remembered a snippet of conversation between them as a way of filling you in. There’s no competition between these humans – they both just love their medium and this is casual chat:

“I see you have a good crop of Anthrinus on the Oxide Daisies. probably from the swifts. yeah they look like Verbasci… … ? Ooh what type of moth is that?”

These were two specialist big brains and I grew up with one of them. I had been aware of the swifts, wheeling and crying over the house, nesting in the eaves. Wonderful to hear their calls as we sat having strawberries in the garden. The buzzing of happy bees in a very fertile garden, the calls of wonderful birds. Two good smart hearts who care about the natural world. And his brilliant wife and I. Not collectors in the same way, but connectors. We quickly found understanding – she had been a headteacher for years, and shares the joy I take in speaking truth whenever possible.

A lovely day even though it was much later finishing than expected so I’ll be going into a show tomorrow underprepared, but hey, it’s The Factory?!

Fine. I’ll just have another day in Brighton with the cat. Things to do? Yeah like stroking. Stroking that cat. That’s the thing I do. That’s it. And feeding her. And occasionally randomly getting full on bitten when I don’t expect it. Although mostly she’s been a sausage and she hasn’t drawn blood. She took my wrist in my fangs earlier but was merciful.

She tried to wake me up at 4 jumping on the pillow and shouting. I checked my watch and drew the line. I set an alarm for 5.30. She tried a few more times but I made her wait until half five. It’s been creeping earlier and earlier and suddenly it was too early, too early. No. I’ll be off into the dawn tomorrow though God help me. Way too early to be leaving but van hire and all that crap awaits me, so she will actually get all her stuff done with the dawn tomorrow.

I ate out again this evening at Brighton Curry. A mixture of treating myself and not wanting to do the washing up. Tasty food just down the road from a massive bollocks of a place. St James’s Street where all the fucked people hang out shoplifting and selling drugs. Brighton is small enough that all the stuff is walkable and it changes fast. Walking east from here you’re going from Kew to Camden to Covent Garden in about thirty minutes. The cash point on St James is a constant noise of one person withdrawing money while another one fidgets in their peripheral vision. All I needed was £40 for the cat cover. Fuckers were all over me. It’s rarified here and there’s less to do. More fuckheads pushed into smaller areas. Filthy angry people trying to exchange money for poison. I watched someone pull on a COVID mask, walk into a supermarket and walk straight back out with presentation pack of Nivea that was right by the door. It all happened so quickly.

I’m home now, and laying out money and food so it’s easy for Beth to look after the little pussyface. I’ll only be gone two nights but I’m already sad about it as we’ve found a dialogue, the little thing and I, and the closest I’ve got to a routine in many decades even if it is entirely against my instincts and preferences.

Bedtime now, early. Likely I’m gonna take my sleepy drink to be certain I get a few hours in as tomorrow will involve too much driving. Then apparently I’m playing multiple small parts in Julius Caesar somewhere in London on Sunday night…

I’m sitting in Suraya which is a little Thai restaurant just up the road from Lou’s in Kemptown. When I left this evening, Tessy tried to leave with me. She’s been a house cat all her life but she’s a cat so she’s interested in boundaries. I propped the door for her so she knew she could get back in and she thoroughly inspected the corridor where I suspect she thinks I’m going to be spending my evening. Once she decided there was nothing interesting for her, she retreated to the flat and sat on the stairs looking very disappointed at my decision to vacate the premises when she was really rather hoping she could sit and stare at me some more.

Suraya will cook me dinner and do the washing up in exchange for money though. Today I’m very happy with that kind of a deal. I haven’t had much sleep. And here it is. Nom.

Replete and a little bit poorer I’m now back at the flat waiting for a bath to run and I’m aiming to be asleep before 11. There’s no way Tessa is gonna synchronise to me so I’m gonna have to just make peace that she will jump up and shout right in my face no matter how dead asleep I might be. This morning it was ten to five. The days are still getting longer. I’m going to be a morning person until my catsitting is finished, as anything else will just leave me feeling awful.

Last night there was a crane fly in the bedroom, near my bed, just as I was going to sleep. “A bit early in the year,” I thought. “Play food!” thought Tessy. This led to a series of hunts until I was relieved through the thwarted veil of dreams to hear a contented crunching sound.

I’m back there now, bathed and fed, and it’s just gone eleven. At least this time I’ll be asleep by midnight, and hopefully if no crane flies, I’ll get the night without a little creature leaping all over me.

Great. That’s two days of nothing. That’s what I wanted, frankly. There has to be balance and all that running around was doing me in. Now Lou is the one dealing with multiple shitstorms and I’m just chilling out with a poorly cat.

She woke me up this time by jumping onto the bed and shouting in my ear at 5.20am. It’s just as well she’s unbelievably cute because that would otherwise be a hanging matter. I can hold onto the dream and do her soup, but just barely and then no matter how hard I try I only go back down for a few hours because I know I need to do her medicine while it’s still morning. She finds it all a game. I still find it stressful pretending not to find it stressful. And this has been the minutiae of the day.

Pleasant enough to have nothing but a cat and a flat to look after. Nothing really pending either. A friend of mine just missed another lovely acting job and rang me to express about it. There’s only one person getting each job, I guess. We are both looking forward to being that person. Too many actors. I’m just learning a couple of small parts for Julius Caesar and reading my book and chilling out in my new role as cat-slave, here in this happy soft top floor flat.

It’s 1am though. I don’t know what happened to time. One second I was running a bath and the next it was past midnight. Tessy is being cute but I know damn well that she’ll be hungry as soon as it’s dawn so I’m gonna try and get a good four hours before I’m put back to work. On which subject, it’s probably time for me to be more productive now. That’s been a lovely non-weekend weekend…