Author: albarclay

Happy Christmas everyone. My warm flat is more or less ready, and I’m in post bath torpor winding gently towards snooze. I thought about going to midnight mass at Chelsea Old Church, but I’m not gonna be up that late. Bedtime is earlier for me at the moment while it’s dark. I wouldn’t want to snore in church. And anyway, the last time I went the vicar just berated us all for being tourists. We were all tipsy anyway.

Nothing will start early tomorrow. I doubt we’ll eat the main meal until like half six so the day will mostly be about the little snacky things. The fridge is packed to the gills.

It was nice to have Brian here. Felt like old times. We had good years in this place together. We are good at winding down together. Today was very pirate themed. We watched Hook and then we sailed the seven seas as a pirate crew in Sea of Thieves together and had a rarely successful voyage, mostly as a result of collaborating with someone. I sunk a galleon and then someone attacked our friends boat so Brian filled them full of holes while I swam over to their boat and stabbed them in the back while they were trying to repair the damage. Foul deeds on the high seas. They sunk and we sold all their stuff. Then, much to the consternation of our new ally who appeared to want to go on to more adventures, we set fire to our own boat, scuttled it and quit the game. Much to do in the morning. Can’t be playing games all night.

While we watched Hook we peeled two big bags of potatoes. The flat is serviceable, even if the little room that used to be mine has become a repository for crap. The living room is mostly clear although there’s still plenty you could break if you were committed about being drunk in it. There are some Christmas elves coming tomorrow who have past form in such behaviours. But there’s something reassuringly familiar about this. We did this lots. We have consistent threads running through it. The shopping was a little more streamlined than it has been some years. We still ended up with pre-cooked quail’s eggs and caviar and all sorts of things we might have been better off avoiding, but the quantities are better than they have been previously. Hopefully it’ll all get eaten but nobody will be hungry. That’s the dream. Or thirsty. Five bottles of prosecco between ten of us, one of whom is teetotal? Plus some beer and a box of red wine… Some years I’ve bought a bottle of gin and whisky and they’ve both been empty at the end. It didn’t feel necessary this time… I don’t think anyone is going to be drinking too oblivion. But it’s unlikely my blog will make much sense unless I’m clever and write it early.

Lovely to be back able to do this though. A two year hiatus what with Jersey and Lockdown. Christmassy Christmas! Hooray. And now a happy sleep with my electric blankie. Enjoy your celebration wherever you are. Pop in if you’re local. Xx

And I woke up this morning to a little damp spray on my face. “Must’ve been a dream,” I thought as I take a drink of water from the cup on my bedside table. Tastes odd, I think. I roll over. *Ploink* The sound of water landing in a glass…

And I’m awake and the light is on and yep, it’s not even raining heavily but it’s coming into my bedroom again. This hasn’t happened for a year or more but they’ve just had very expensive scaffolding up the block and I was assured again and again that they’d solve it and they haven’t. It’s always come in a little bit, in heavy rain. Usually just to my bathroom though but whatever they’ve done has moved it. I’m not happy. Tristan Jethro and I made that room into a safe haven. A little oasis of not much stuff in the flat of stuff. Clean paint, new plaster replacing the old flooded wall. Now it’s all staining and buckling again and I’m not happy about it.

Interesting timing though. The cracks in the room of bed occurring just as I’m making good progress sorting out the rest of the place. Tristan came over for a rushed hour this morning and I had prepared for him. Together we slung a great deal of the things that could be slung up into the attic. The difference now is I know what’s there. There are sections for things like the Christmas Carol costume spares and even my Halloween Walk kit. I have enough to deal with here and I can take the rest down when Mel and I make that show about giving the audience STUFF. Much is sorted.

It feels lighter in here already and there’s more room. Books are the problem now. Just too many and they’re heavy. But the flat feels a lot more like a place to live in than it did. A few more committed days like the two I’ve just had and it’ll start to really show.

But damn, that drip. I sent loads of strongly worded emails and got the auto reply saying there’s nobody there until the third of January. Impeccable timing as always…

Christmas first. Just hopefully it won’t rain loads…

It feels like progress. I need some help now as there are tons of bags queued up to go into the attic. I know what’s in them this time though which makes a change, and there’s lots earmarked for the charity shop and more in the bin. Still too much furniture and right now with it all sorted but not put away it feels like absolute carnage in here. But progress. The thing I always forget until I do it is that it can be quite fun and quite satisfying, sorting through things with the benefit of distance and making decisions. There are still plenty of things that I should probably chuck but I haven’t. There are still loads of objects that have no place to be. My eBay pile in the bedroom is far too high and none of it is listed. There’s so much costume, so many weird things, so many beautiful coats and useful random hats. I would need a day like this every day for a month to really make sense of this, but I just keep getting swept up in the dayjob parade instead, or emergency recovery. Still, a day. A much needed day, making some sense of the objects that encroach on my daily living space.

Books are a problem. I hate throwing away books, but I would have to have shelves all round my flat to fit them all. They’re heavy to take up to the attic and the dust up there isn’t good for them. I need to work out what to do with the books.

Then all the photos. Negatives and snaps taken by people no longer with us of people no longer with us. Moments in time that were once full and have now faded. Everything so fleeting and these little pictures to remember them by in places I never went to. But so many of them. Boxes of them. Slides and no projector. Our photo stuff just stays on our phone and occasionally goes on the socials but usually just sits in megabytes and will sit there forever but it won’t be pulling on us. These photos – burning them would feel ruthless. Sorting them would take weeks. Putting them in a box and leaving them forever seems to be the logical action… Maybe one day etc.

Letters? Yeah they just go back in the box. Knick-knacks? I’ve binned a fair amount and I won’t miss them. Clothes have gone to the charity pile in large quantities. I can give Christmas people stupid presents.

Still so much to remove though. So much. How did I accumulate so much? Incrementally, up in the lift, box after box and even though I’ve got rid of so much there’s still so much more to get rid of.

I’m knackered now for the day. A glass of wine, a bath, an early bed. More tomorrow and then I’ll see the shape of it. Maybe I’ll put some Christmas decorations up this time tomorrow…

At lunchtime, a quick jaunt to The Kings Road. So many cars. So many pedestrians. Was it really only that recently that the streets were empty but for two or three isolated masked individuals stealing their lonely way from A to B. Two years ago Harrods was suddenly open and I went in search of Vacherin. A man desperately sold me a pair of snow globes for a fiver. He had a huge pile of them. Nobody was shopping. My quest for Vacherin was in vain though. Not even Harrods.

Today I went to Partridges. “You’re in time, but just. There’s two left. We didn’t get many this year. Supply issues. Do you want them both?” I left the last one for some other lucky fellow.

I have no idea when I first had Vacherin but I love the stuff. It’s the Christmas Cheese. Seasonally produced. Unpasteurised. Stinky. Wonderful. There’s something missing if it’s not there. And I’ve learnt to get it earlier than anything else. It’s one of it things that sometimes runs out. The other is turkey. They’ve had a bout of avian flu so I thought it best to get the bird today and head off any uncertainty. Sometimes I order at the butcher, but this year I trusted Marks and Sparks. I got us all one hundred quid worth of huge big bird. Driving home it was on the passenger seat and the seatbelt alarm kept going off. It’s like a child. I’ll have to get up early on Christmas morning to put it in the oven.

The flat. Oh the flat. I’ll have to pretend I’m someone else and then employ myself to tidy it up. Not enough time. Lots to do. If I don’t keep getting flooded by the size of what needs to be done then I might be able to pick through jobs and make some difference in here. Bedtime now though. And back to the war of brain flood/distraction tomorrow.

The thing to remember is that normally I’m doing Carol and my whole head is full of that. This year that isn’t pulling my focus so I can likely achieve a lot if I push myself or find the right state of mind. It’s hard on my own though. I’m easily distracted and there’s a lot to distract me. Tomorrow will be the benchmark. If I make good progress tomorrow then I’ll be roughly on track. Gods. Best get myself off to bed for a good night’s sleep…

I’m coming to the end of my jobs list for other people which means I’ll have to start doing things for myself before long. It’s getting to be unavoidable. I do have to drive up to Nottingham and back before Christmas, but I’m mostly able now to just switch the lights off in the Al Barclay stall and wait for next year.

Christmas will carry a certain degree of obligation, and I’ve been using it as a deadline to try to sort my flat out, but the flat ain’t gonna be sorted. I can do a couple of days of arbitrating though and make it better. Better than nothing. And if the lockup hadn’t been robbed I’d be inclined to bring more things there. I was there today and the thieves haven’t come back, but I’ve never put good things in since the fuckers filed that bolt and nicked my impact driver and combi drill set. Maybe I’d be well served to start trusting it again. There’s room in it, albeit not very much.

This is the darkest night. This is it folks. We are at the bottom. From here on the days get longer. Solstice at long last. The most important day in many of the ancient calendars. Monoliths and buildings from forgotten civilisations the world over still catch and channel the light of solstice at sunset or at noon or at dawn. An awakening into a warmer brighter world to come. And here in the UK while our ambulance workers and nurses do what is to them almost unthinkable because it’s the only way they have left, we watch the darkness. They have kept the NHS that preserves us going despite being the financial victim of these stone-humans in Westminster killing it on purpose to replace it with the American model. “Paying nurses properly would be taking money from urgent care,” they say, not highlighting that they are the ones who can decide where the money is taken from. Replace “It” with “we”. Maybe it should have been taken from the PPE backhanders, or the Test and Trace debacle, or, dare I say it, the cost of this sociopathic Brexit. They found the magic money tree, and they cut it down and distributed it amongst their friends. Today, as fits the darkest day, the home secretary is crowing with delight to have legal permission once more to loudly fly people who have spent everything and risked drowning and potentially could prop up the understaffed nursing sector to Rwanda. Her parents came here in the 1960’s. She just wants to lock the doors. Maybe she’s aware what a horrible person she is and assumes that everybody coming in is a dangerous sociopathic narcissist.

It’s not even 8. It feels like it’s 2am. I can’t stay awake. I left the house at 4 this morning to take Mel to Heathrow and who knows how long she’s gonna be back home. She wants me to come join her Mardi Gras crew. Free accommodation. I don’t think I’ll be paid though and I’m a gun for hire.

Happy solstice. Happy corner.

A good portion of today was spent cleaning. Not for myself of course. Much as I would be well served by occasionally spending a good portion of my day cleaning in my flat, it seems as ever that I’m better at doing such things for others than for myself. Still, there’s learning in it.

“I’m thinking of pushing the nuclear button and just getting rid of all the stuff I’ve accumulated over all these divorces and changes and lessons,” says my friend as I drive her from Battersea to Chelsea. Bergman is full of scooters that her children have grown out of, and car seats that she no longer needs. She is surrounded by good m food and has a heavy case full of something on her lap. The scooters all get slung into a damp basement. “I know what you mean,” I tell her. “It’s hard in the moment to do it. But when you zoom out a bit you see how it all only slows you down.” We drive from the basement to her new flat and I unload the bags of food while she has an argument with the removal guys.

The removal guys are familiar to me. Paid by the hour, no leader. A deliberate lack of common sense meaning they need every job to be detailed to them and if they are on their own and have finished the job they were told, they are just standing in a huddle waiting for the next one. My friend is, of course, paying them considerably more than she agreed now. She’s knackered. The best use of my time today really was getting off the sticky stuff. Decades worth of children’s stickers firmly jammed onto all the surfaces in this rented flat. She was unexpectedly turfed out at short notice so I was involved in the end of tenancy clean. All the landlords in London are doing it these days it seems. Hoik the tenant, give it a lick of paint, put it on for double. Scrub scrub scrub scrub. The removal guys had polyfillad all the drill holes without pulling the wall plugs out. Part of the service. “Have you got any pliers?” I ask them. “No,” they shrug. Of course not.

Clean clean scrub scrub and now I’m home and I’m knackered. Bath and early bed. Up tomorrow at 4am to drive a friend to Heathrow, then one more friend to help with one more moving of things and then I can finally focus on myself, my flat and the fact that there are lots of people coming here for Christmas and there’s barely room to move…

Gotta learn one day to know when to say no, but they’re all paying me and it’s expensive to exist right now so it can only be a good thing.

I’ve been listening to Radio 4 when I’m driving alone for so many years now that I don’t really think of it as a middle aged type habit but perhaps it is. It passes the time. I’ve learnt plenty, forgotten more. Sometimes they run really interesting deep content, about current affairs or history. This year I’ve particularly enjoyed Gabriel Gatehouse doing “The Coming Storm”, “A History of the World in 100 Objects”, and “The Digital Human”. All three have the luxury of time to gently unfold curious perspectives on things both ancient and modern and on human nature. I am a questioner, and I will always examine my information for motive and source, but while I’m driving some of the noise in my head is gone and I become perhaps a little more absorbent. So when they talk about books, I often go and buy them. It was so with Piranesi last summer, and I got through it in a day and revelled in the images I still carry in memory today. And it happened again today.

The day started with Spielberg on Desert Island Discs which was a coup considering he famously shuns interviews. His mum sounded awesome. I enjoyed getting under the skin of his lust for positivity. The big stories he tells always thrust towards a bright part of human nature. Even his songs were chosen mostly for how they connect him to the important people in his life. He came across as a kind man, and I’m glad of it. Then it was The Archers and as ever I mostly switched off. I could tell you loosely what’s going on but my driving brain can’t hold fiction as well as fact so I often just white noise through all the radio dramas. I enjoy it for the history and the fact that there are still some talented people for whom it is their whole career. But I’m never gonna hold it. There’ve been some natty little consumer programmes including one where they left three fans on with three batteries to see which ones lasted longest. Amazon basics were cheapest and died first but started flagging early, Duracell were three times the price for another hour and then some new super energiser type was another hour for like ten times. The science of batteries was useful to re-hear considering I’m having to try and enthuse people about that sort of thing when the acting is not happening.

Then this evening they had Katherine Rundell on talking about her new book The Golden Mole. It’s a book about nature. It’s kind of a modern Bestiary of Wonders. Her approach is full of love for nature and she’s carrying this joy for life mixed with a full sense that we all have to keep moving forward our benchmark for care towards the world. I bought it on Kindle immediately and I’ve been racing through it this evening. I’ve always wanted to raise my profile enough that I can do one of those “Actor talks about nature,” things to help raise awareness of how our actions trickle down to the smallest things and then back up to us. She’s gently moving things that way in her writings and her actions and I’m happy to have found another writer through Radio 4. Better perhaps than just the same songs on Spotify again.

I’m still feeling a bit peaky so trying for an early bed tonight. But maybe just a few more sections of the Bestiary first. Lemurs next… I used to love them in Gerald Durrell’s captive breeding programme in Jersey. Endangered even then… What have we done?

It’s been lovely over the last couple of years to discover a new town through Lou’s eyes. Brighton. My first encounter with it was on a bright summer day aged maybe 25 with Kate. She wanted a daytrip to the seaside. We went by train and took photos of each other on a disposable camera, paddling. Cute photos. We were part of the throng. I swam in the sea near the pier. Then we went back to the big London.

Learning the town through a local has helped me feel towards it more personally. Lou and I like many of the same things. For different reasons we both love peace and nature, so much of what I’ve learnt of the town has been in that direction. Places the crowds don’t go. Little benches and out of the way spots. Nature walks and trees.

The train strike gave me a bonus extra Lou day. We had determined that we probably wouldn’t be able to catch each other until after Christmas. Then suddenly she landed at Heathrow in the middle of industrial action. Her possible coach was cancelled. She’s working for a theatre company so neither of us wanted to make theatre people pay for a £150 taxi when there was another option. I picked her up at Heathrow, and chauffered her back to the sea. After the week we’ve both had it felt like an opportunity to recover a little in one another’s company.

A beautiful meal. Great company. Cats and sunset. Now I’m back on duty and still feeling rough so it’s bedtime…

My nose is streaming. My top lip is red raw. I feel a bit run down and coldy. I look like I’ve got a Mister Tumble sized coke habit. All the nasty leaky wetness and none of the expense and arrogant shouting. I’ve been through a box of Kleenex in the last 24 hours. I guess that’s what was brewing when I felt like bollocks yesterday. Have I been overworking myself, perhaps? HOW DARE YOU SIR.

I like the variety. I NEED the variety. Not that I have ADHD or anything oh no goodness no look over there. But… Sometimes it’s nice just to know what the living fuck is about to happen.

I’m in Brighton. There’s a cat cleaning its arse at my feet. She too has been out of sorts after unpredictable things happened. Lou went to Marseilles at short notice to emergencymake an entire company worth of costumes in three days. We’ve both had a busy patch. We both got through it thinking of the money. Better by far to have it coming in on these cold days where the little meter in the kitchen has monthly looking numbers at the end of the week. Lou landed at Heathrow this evening mid train strike and I’m unexpectedly in Brighton as she needed a chauffeur or a million pounds for a taxi. These festive strikes… I get it, we wouldn’t have holidays if it wasn’t for the unions, and the people wearing the hat are contemptible villains without a speck of statesmanship, common sense or kindness. They likely all look like me right now as well for different reasons. So yeah, we have to protest. We have to highlight their incompetent apathetic mismanagement and greed. It’s not right to blame the protestors. But it’s annoying. At least I’ve got a car. It means I get a bonus night with Lou.

I’m here for one night. The cat is displaced from her bed territory, so she’s surveying us as we drop off, and slowly drawing her plans against us. She’ll wait until I’m sleeping and then make her move. She bit my foot earlier. She’s a poppet, but she can turn on a dime and be a committed and lethal attack cat.

It’s half past four and I think I’m ready to go to bed. When I’m doing these workshops online I have to point a light into my face. My lenses go in earlier than they usually would so I’m wearing them much longer hours. And after a full day of it, mixed with the confusion of not really being able to sense what is happening in the room, it is perhaps not surprising that I’ve got a splitting headache.

Engineering, folks. It’s a wonderful life, helping people and trying to save the planet.  Even in my own flat, to a room full of people I can’t see and can barely hear, I’m projecting a day full of energy in the hopes that, just occasionally, someone like Daniel will come to the mic and talk me through his A-Frame shelter in minute detail before explaining exactly how to make fire with sticks.

Now I’m running a bath and I feel wrung out and there’s another early start tomorrow cos I’m a glutton for punishment and I told them I could invigilate exams again. The bath takes even longer to run since the boiler got fixed. We are talking about an hour and a half now. I put it on as soon the last workshop ended.

In lunch I rushed over to Battersea to take meter readings for a friend who is under pressure from the energy companies. Maybe I should have stopped and had a sandwich instead. In fact I haven’t eaten yet today so that’s something I can do before bed. But I’m not getting on very well with this screen right now so I’m signing off early for a hopefully restorative evening.