Author: albarclay

I just had my sleepy drink. This means I’ve only got twenty minutes left really. That’s enough time, I’m sure, to account for the day. I woke up with a headache and I think my body is just processing things. It kinda took me out though for the whole morning and half the afternoon. But I had theatre to go to, dammit. The Christmas Show. I know it so well. Twelfth Night. I’ll be seeing it again in January. This one was with AFTLS with whom I’ve toured America a couple of times. And the last time was with that show. I sat with most of the cast from our one, and we all thoroughly enjoyed it. I love it when it is stripped back like that, when it really becomes about the humans and the text. A lovely old guy sat next to me and used the word “concept” about our Othello and I almost exploded, but yeah I guess we did some non literal things, but everything was in service to the text. Useful, forever useful, to realise we are making something that is subjectively experienced. Much as Othello was to my taste it is true that he says he dies upon a kiss. “Why didn’t they snog at the end, I wanted to see him snog a corpse” is a valid response. “How dare they switch the lights off for the strangling I want to see it,” we can tell that person that he says “Put out the light”. “to die upon a kiss” is textual, and he only stopped doing it late in previews, and I never thought anyone would object and call it “concept” that he doesn’t snog dead Desdemona. “It’s in the text,” he says, telling me objected to “the concept”. And I think this is just a generational thing. I’m annoyed about it only in retrospect cos I still can’t balance the show I was involved with the things some people wrote about it. I think I have to more completely learn that critics are largely leftbrainers and as such their scribblings have to be as compassionately allowed as their social skills.

I loved Twelfth Night. Lovely to see completely different humans dealing with similar problems in a new way. Lovely to see the points of similarity too – I was sitting next to Kaffe and some of the convergence was massive. But the whole thing came out completely new, as you’d expect with such good actors. The company is always strong on these. It’s so important you get along. It is intense, a different state every week, and it is hard work, teaching so many workshops on so many unusual subjects : “Speaking truth to power,” was one subject I had to teach one time at Wellesley College, using Twelfth Night. I remember that workshop though. Getting people into their bodies and voices and breath, reminding them that communication is much more than just words – it’s a genuinely joyful thing to have the chance to share with young people.

I can feel the curtains closing in. Drinking sleepiness before blog removes censor.

I’m gonna have to go bye-bye. Early start tomorrow fuck it.

The first day of advent. I got out to go see Frank. He was scratching a Cabaret at The Museum of Comedy and I’ve never seen him perform before. I keep missing him, and didn’t want to make a habit of it. As part of his costume he was wearing a gorgeous velvet tail coat that came through my possession and didn’t fit me but perfectly fitted him. It was fabulous. He was riffing, largely through translated Jacques Brel songs but applying them to his own life. He ended up getting me up on stage to be a cow for him. It’s always weird as a performer being the stooge – you are almost honour bound to do it badly but you want to do it well. I let him lead.

I’m glad to have finally seen him work – I knew damn well he was full of charisma and being his stooge momentarily magnified my initial instinct that there might be a collaboration with him down the line. There’s always been a straight line between us in thought despite very different life experiences to this point.

Also a reminder that there’s a whole world of work out there if we make it. Funding is always the fucker there, and it is the admin hole that largely discourages me, but if you build it they will come, and in the end it’s just a few forms and a huge amount of luck.

It started at 5 and was over by six. Alexei Sayle was on next but I went home – didn’t have tickets and it was enough effort to get myself out in the first place.

Home is warm and full of cat. I’ve started a new advent calendar. Stage one towards Christmassing the flat. I’ve also recruited Frank to come the night before and stay on the sofa. Morgan used to do that, it is lovely and means one more hand and much more fun in the morning. I haven’t been recruiting hard this year but it’s good to wait until December. There’s a lot of tidying between now and then. But the machine is clicking into gear now it is December and the millennials are playing Whamageddon.

Forest bike into town and back out again, but my loyalty to you underdog has been damaged by them insisting I park it in an official parking spot. Somehow Lime have avoided that in Chelsea so far, and I tried to stop outside my flat next to a Lime bike but had to move on to a much longer walk back home. Loyalty is built by ease, and it looks like I’m gonna try the big boys for my zipping into town to see cabaret type needs.

Home now and it’s not too late. I’ve gone and got myself into Ted Lasso. Did some filming with one of the guys in it earlier this year and lots of people wanted to talk about it. It certainly makes an impression. I didn’t know it was about football but it has been perfect for my ADHD double lining. It’s playing now and I’m following it while writing. Already on episode seven. British made stuff, made nicely, well acted, well written. Over in Brighton I’m very aware that Lou is watching Bright Young Things. She wanted to watch it with me but it was a long-ago version of me and I find it hard to look back across the mess of mum’s death into the absolute ironclad optimism of that lad. I’m still optimistic. Got a bit more realism now. Still just as much of an eejit. I was in my twenties… Nice it’s on record I guess.

The party boats are out on this unseasonably mild evening. I went for a walk, just so I could tell myself I’ve done something today. I’ve been sad. Took a while to hit me this time and I’m still pretty positive in my thought patterns, but the end of the show, hardness about a friend, the encroaching dark… It all came together. I cancelled my plans and stayed at home with a zoomy cat. I’m getting better at “don’t catch the ribbon” but I’m never gonna beat her. She is industrious and quick and has been good company. She knocks stuff over loudly at night though, and I’m gonna have to put a blanket at the end of the bed so she doesn’t eat my feet.

I thought I’d go out in the evening, just for a walk, just so I could feel like I’d done something with my day. It’s been uninspiring to look at through the window, but the reality was a pleasant surprise. The warmth in the wind was a pleasant surprise. I went up to the Kings Road, walked past loads of house parties, lots of big groups of tipsy people going to the next venue. It’s buzzy but I felt weirdly at home, safe. Like this is my town and tonight I’m not going to any of these parties and I’m not doing a play I’m just gonna hang out with this little black familiar, eat pasta and have a quiet night of it.

I feel a little separate from the world at the moment because I’m half deaf again. It popped and cleared two days ago and then I had another bath last night and the same thing happened. I’ll have to wear ear plugs in the bath from now on. Something has happened to make my left ear a one way street for water that then just sits there causing me no pain but messing with my alignment and my hearing. I reckon it’ll clear in about two days and I’ve got to remember not to do it again. I might try putting my head upside down… My handstand is pretty practiced at the moment, and it’s the only angle I haven’t tried to get the water out…

Walking back to my flat I saw how I’d left all the lights on. Everyone else in my block was mostly dark, every room was blazing. No wonder the leccy bill is so high every month. Bad habits. Dad would be flabbergasted. I’m sure the baths are the main culprit. But still, every little helps…

Brian is off on one of his jaunts so I’m in charge of the cat. Boo is extremely affectionate, and tiny. In the manner of Pickle she’s the smallest cat in the world and she sits on you and purrs, and won’t take a hint if you need to move. I’ve never heard her meow, even when she wants to get into a closed door. She’s pretty self determined, and in this modern world, everything is automated. I’m trying to make sense of the self cleaning litter box. I’m also bewildered by the gravity feeder for dry food. The one thing I’ve done for her is to put a big glass of water on the floor in my room. I always find that cats don’t like to drink from next to the food. I expect the water gets brackish quickly. She takes lots of water from the glass now so I’ll find the right receptacle and make it a permanent feature.

She’s a little black ghost, very used to company, seeking it. And she’s a hunter. I’ve not met a cat so good at catching the toys. Tessy is a prissy madam and only plays when she’s in the mood. She’s got a heart condition and her main motivation is food. Boy is enthusiastic but haphazard. Pickle was quick and ruthless but I think Boo takes the cake. She’s had more practice. She insists on play pretty regularly and gets disconsolate if she hasn’t had any. I’ve been home a lot recently so we’ve started to learn to trust each other, but she will insist on attacking my feet in the middle of the night.

In the light of the fact she has come to us as a modern cat – an automated cat – I put down some Black Friday money on Amazon and purchased her a toy that plays itself, for when I’m out. It rolls around if hit, and goes to sleep after three minutes. I have a feeling she’ll tear it to shreds in seconds, but for the days when we are both out of the house for long periods it feels like she is going to need stimulus. God, we’re gonna end up with another cat if we aren’t careful.

My day began with a drive to Richmond to talk to Alison at The Petersham Hotel about possibly putting some of the money I’ve earned recently into a Holiday Property Bond. It’s a quality of life investment instead of a quest for profit. You immediately lose just over 25% of your investment, but then you get cheap access to some remarkably luxurious places to go for a break. Lou and I both know we enjoy staying in such places and I’m better off putting it somewhere before I fritter it away. I’ll be thinking about it for the next few weeks. It’s a very soft sell – they seem to be doing alright – but a little bit of me likes the idea of sexy holidays. Could be that I’ll need to be more predictable than I am. It’s all too complicated to explain, but it doesn’t feel like a ponzi scheme, and various friends have expressed positive feelings towards the bond they inherited from their auntie etc. It can be passed down in perpetuity, and even pays a tiny tiny amount to your next of kin when you die. It’s technically a very small life insurance policy with benefits – that’s how they got it through the Financial Services. It’s down to whether It want to lose control of a chunk of capital in exchange for future nice things… It all vanishes quickly if we’re not careful, and there’s a big work gap before Christmas. Gotta put my practical head on.

Well then. I’m home, quiet. What happened today? I did a London.

Up at 8 when my feet were attacked. Got the bubbler back into play, bubbled an oat latte. Lou and Stratford I have a nearby place that will sell me an excellent latte. Chelsea is residential. There’s nothing but a Tesco in my area and Tesco hates you.

So, here I am. I did an admin today. A big big admin like a good boy. I booked a new log book, taxed my vehicle, and sorted residents permit. It felt like a lot but actually I could have done it ages ago. The idea of the lost log book prevented me, and now I have no doubt but that I will be absolutely persecuted with astronomical fines for not being good at admin. Not being good at admin is the single most expensive thing in the modern age. The laptops will inherit the earth. I’ve spent over a hundred pounds parking outside my home since I got back from Stratford before I fixed this.

I went to RBKC and they let me get a resident parking permit even though I have had to renew my car’s log book, but only a 3 month one. I’ll have to do it again soon. Life, it seems, is admin. We’ve made up this whole society thing, but somehow the fuckers who enjoy box ticking are running the show.

I’ve been trying to sort out all sorts of things and all of them would be easier if I was Malcolm from accounts. I’m so fed up of people obstructing everything with bureaucracy. Life is hard enough.

Brian is off tomorrow for a week. I’ll get to hang with Boo.

I have been making sense of all the vitamins I’ve bought over the decades. Today as part of the experiment I tried some 4 years expired oil and multivitamins mix. At 4pm I thought about it and realised I had eaten nothing all day, so I made two hard boiled eggs and then a big pile of pills. I was half expecting it to go bad and it did. I was belching sanatogen and spitting oil. The rest of it has gone in the bin and I cooked a Jalfrezi for Brian and I to top up. I loved it. He couldn’t get beyond one mouthful. Spice in Rochdale is salt on the chips. I feel bad about it as he’s off for a week first thing tomorrow. I might have given him an edible last meal. Still, he eats lunch.

Boo and I are on the sofa. We watched the Dungeons and Dragons movie: Honour among thieves (American spelling). I met the casting director yesterday and fuck yes she’s a goodie.

It’s half nine. I’m turning in. Sure it’s cold but also it is the week. I’m back with Brian. He works a stone cold week. My recovery days wouldn’t match his rigour. Every weekday he gets up and hits the world. Weekends he still might but he knows he doesn’t have to.

I’ve been going to bed this kind of time with Lou and I find it helps with waking up the other end. This time of year, the mornings are the light. As a child I was afraid of the dark. As an adult I hate it differently. I have learnt how to hold myself so you can plunge me into utter nothing and my curiosity will be piqued before my fear. I can’t do anything about the sun though or the lack of it, and my eyes are light affected. Right now I’m sad for the light. I prefer the world when it shines.

Still, it seems wherever I go there is cat. This is in keeping with Burroughs and the whole psychopomp thing. Here, on my lap, black as the night, I have this ridiculous creature, whurring like a chainsaw.

I’m gonna chill out and let time work. She’s already bolder than I expected after a few days. She’s fed by an auto feeder and I’m used to food motivated cats. She’s been a breeder so her motivation has maybe never been thought about but I think it’s play. She doesn’t have to create a relationship with her humans about food, so next on the list is the need for stimulation. I reckon we will be improvising games together before long.. Right now I’m going to have to shift my ADHD manifesting as my big toe has already been attacked by her and scratched. Food motivated cats wake you up at half 3 because their bowl is empty. Play motivated cats hunt and catch your big toe for fun at dawn. I’m gonna have scratches all over my foot and I’m gonna forgive the lot.

Guildhall lunch today. I came back from Lou for it. I am glad I did. Good to plug into the old place. They totally and utterly fucked over a large number of excellent staff members in lockdown. I wanted to meet the new ones. I would argue that Wyn died because of it, and he was remarkable.

Orla and David are both excellent humans. I think there’s an academic bent to the course now. Hopefully they’re minimising it as best they can. Academics don’t make good actors. So long as the craft access is there, the movement and the voice, then the rest of the work has to be about taking them out of academic interpretation and into instinctive response. Without that they are just going to make directors and critics. I wasn’t certain they’ve cracked that – it might be a drama degree with movement and voice attached. Leah Muller is an incredible movement teacher, and Annemette Verspeak is wonderful. We go way back. I got employed by a friend of mine to teach students at a drama school called The Courtyard. I think it is gone now. It was an ego project and took money for hope giving nothing in return. “These kids can’t speak,” Mel said, and I realised she had been there before. I contacted her; “They are being misled.” I tried to teach them something. It was over two years into them being rewarded for atrocious tricks. I tried to plug them into their authentic voices but it was largely too late. They were all good young humans, but they had eaten two years of shit and paid heartily for it. I was paid a portion of my friend’s directing fee – a pittance – and was only brought in because she wanted to try to try to try and help them learn something. I tried. Some of them unlocked things. But then they went back to June who just immediately switched them off again. I’d love to think that even one of them might be still an actor now. If they are it is despite the training

“The last bit of colour before the winter takes hold,” Lou has just said, of the light through the trees at Stanmer Park. Late afternoon sun through the damp, the crowds are not there at this time of year, the sky is blue though and the last of the leaves have turned. Some pathways are half-heartedly fenced off for “improvement work” but nobody was working on them. We shifted the ped barrier and struck out.

The cedars, slippery clay mud tracks, little glades. We went up to where the bluebells start in April and but for muddy dog walkers it was peaceful. I got mud in my boot, all the way up, into the top. Not sure how. There’s horse shit all over. Robins and squirrels. It’s good to be back in this part of the world. Magpies. Not much else. The hardy and bold species, the ones that are used to scavenging from humans and don’t tend to have rocks thrown at them.

In the walled garden, we ran into Ben – another Factorite, a man I’ve known for long years. Twice in one week. We talked about Othello. Great to see him there, to be in his space again so soon. I’m considerably slower to trust men. “That’s some strong energy you’ve just sewn around The Factory,” Lou observed after we parted. “That sort of thing might keep happening for a bit…” Especially since I’m going to be in Julius Caesar next week.

Lou had booked a sauna at Stanmer Sauna Gardens, Bella’s place.

It’s a horse box, toasty warm, so hot sometimes that we had to get out as both Lou and I found it painful to breathe through our noses. We would emerge steaming, cool in the air, go back in. I didn’t plunge as I might normally do, or run to the sea as is recommended at Beach Box. I just cooked and cooled, cooked and cooled. It’s about taking care and going to wellness after such a long time of consistent *something* . Paris to Othello. Now JC and almost certainly a spot of Santa, ding dong captain random is calling and must be answered.

We watched Wes Anderson films by the radiator with occasional breaks to stroke the cat. We had an enormously hot bath. We put the blanket on. Last night my dreams were wild and my sleep was very broken, more than usual. Less lucidity than usual, I woke myself up from sudden nightmare and that never happens. I steer it good again. My creative and my cosmic muscles must be stretched. Good to rest them. I’ll sleep better tonight I’m sure.

Komedia Brighton this evening for Cassandra Jenkins and I had assumed based on the music that it would be jazz bar set up, not a mosh pit. This is a singer songwriter I found in Paris through FIP, the excellent French radio station. It’s ethereal plinky plonky synth, some basic guitar, solo female alto voice, cosmic lyrics. If you’re stoned it’s probably lovely. It also really works when you’ve been in a hard hot job for weeks and you are driving a Luton Van through the dawn in an unfamiliar country. That’s the day I booked these tickets – when the dawn broke as she blimbled on about the Aurora and I did a little cry as I drove about “wow, the size of the universe, gee how lucky I am” and all that familiar track.

Standing in a mosh pit largely surrounded by men and occasional tutting women in glasses, it was impossible to recreate the vibe. We could see her on a screen, and occasionally her guitar if I stood on tiptoe. Nobody is going to be dancing to this. We can tune in, listen to the lyrics. But they’re at the end of a long tour. Arguably it is the Brighton crew who illegally range extended FIP so it could be picked up here – it is that act that sold most of the tickets tonight. “I’m curious to hear her introduction,” I said to Lou. You can learn a lot by how people start.

“Hey *insert town name* this is *week* of the tour now so *generic reaction*. I’m happy to be here because I can go to *local record STORE!* *pause for applause* I didn’t see *local landmark* (In this case “the ocean.” We are by the sea.) I didn’t see *local landmark* yet but I hope to. Hey , how was *previous band*? *pause for applause* *applapause?* Here’s a song.”

The songs were slightly louder than the tutting of the woman next to us. I realised very quickly that I either needed to be sitting down and slightly narcotised, or I needed to be wired, driving a Luton van round the route peripherique, hoping for something cosmic to distract me from multiple languages, screws, drills and cable ties.

She’s a good musician. Sure let’s go Joni or Patti first, but there needs to be new light. The first four tracks might have been one long slightly varied single. Lou and I are tired. No shame leaving a tired gig early when you can’t see a fucking thing anyway and the woman to your right disapproves of your very existence. Her boyfriend went and stood right in front of me. Pair of douchebags and I’m tired.

A surprise she didn’t mention FIP, maybe she didn’t know. She’s a good artist, working hard, on the road, tired. If I’d been on the lash I might have just got slammed and had my emotions triggered into weeping “oh god the atmosphere is just a membrane and there’s nothingness just beyond us forever”. That’s the problem with getting older. Done all that a few times, it costs money, you feel worse that next day. “If we aren’t feeling it we can jump anytime,” I had said before we went in. “I’ve got no skin in the game.

We are back having camomile tea and she’s still singing. I still recommend her. Driving late it useful to have these tracks where you listen to the words sometimes, mixed up with the banging WAKE UP type things. It’s what FIP did so well. Here’s the lyrics to Aurora IL and that was my dawn song and one that I’ll be putting on my Paris playlist when I finally get round to building it.

The band’s gone
And I’m laid up
At a hotel counting days
in Aurora

A thousand miles from home
Looking for signs of life
Circling the parking lot
Just to see blue sky
I watch planes fly
Over the city
Caught in space-time
Nowhere to be

A billionaire in Texas
Built a rocket ship
To send the oldest man in space up
Up on a pleasure trip

And when he came down crying
On the local news
He couldn’t stop talking
About the color blue

It’s a thin line
Over the planet
Just a thin line
Between us and nothingness

The bus left this morning
They took my name off the marquee
How long can I stare at the ceiling
Before it kills me?
Yeah, it kills me so

I watch planes fly
Over and over
Ripping space-time
Out in Aurora

Over and over out in Aurora
Over and over out in Aurora
Over and over out in Aurora

Too many tall men in the front rows. Literally might as well listen on Spotify.

Bed before nine. In London. The windows are rattling in the storm. Boo jumped up on my bed briefly earlier but she’s suspicious of me at the moment and skittish. She’s a very tiny black cat. We are going to be friends.

The morning was interesting. How many of us were out by ten? I don’t reckon many of us. The traffic wardens were swarming like flies. Colin got a ticket with his car door open. Juliet had a guy trying to get her when Claire and I drove past. Fuckers.

Most of us with cars were operating the tactic of chucking everything into the vehicle so it can be sorted when we get home. It’s not elegant but it’s expedient. What a lovely last week, but full on, full of emotion and boozy. I’m glad I’ll be off to the seaside and the calm of Lou for a wee while shortly.

Claire and I laughed through a storm all the way to London and it was only really when I walked in the door and 19:15 happened while I was getting to know a small black cat that it occurred to me that the Othello slice of life has now shifted to make way for whatever is coming next. It’s been a ride and I’ve loved it.

Now I’m in bed with the electric blanket on and I was in the bath so long I’ve gone deaf in one ear. There’s a tiny black cat sitting contentedly at my feet. The second half of Raiders of the Lost Ark is still playing in the living room but I turned in. Too sleepy. I only get one night in my bed so I’m gonna drink it in, do a bit of languishing, snore like a chainsaw, see what time the cat wakes me. Apparently she’s fond of nocturnal cuddles.

I’ll try sleep with my left ear down in the hope I get my hearing back in the night. Clean sheets. Warmth and Brian for company. It’s been a good day and I’ve mostly avoided feeling sad.

5am.

I’m supposed to be out of here at ten.

Turns out I’m the party house. I kinda knew it might happen. It comes with being easy going. Although nobody in this company hated anyone else, it has been a truly lovely bunch.

Largely I think that the fact I was trying to sort out the bundle led to it being my place that was hosting last night drinks.

I pulled out Shining Avon The Green Eyed Kiss round about the end of the show. I had to give back my pass so needed to get into the understage first. Carried them up just slung over my shoulder.

The bundle is a magic thing. We all made it, many of us were there to see it sunk. It lives in an extremely rich world of “yes but what if”. When it was made the voices told us it would draw rats and it would stink. It never stank and of course no rats. It desiccated very quickly. Jules and Fin and myself moved it during the show that was stopped by an audience panic attack. It was always supposed to be under us. We all felt pulled up when it was in The Ashcroft Room. We made sure it was pulling down and had no more issues thereafter.

Rhys is asleep on my sofa bed. He’s a dad of two, Minnie’s husband, and has plugged in a day early for Twelfth Night just so he can see what we’ve made. I adore him. The perfect companion for our final night. He thoroughly got it. Tonight, so many of the cast were here, making it all make sense, we band of brothers…

We sang to the bundle as we moved it. Then we got John to cast it into the Avon. A swan was momentarily curious in case it was a new swan, this big weird white thing. It very quickly just became a mess of ideas, and the swan could tell almost immediately that it was irrelevant. It has sunk now. These ideas and thoughts will rest on the river bed.

I enjoyed being music master. I used a chain gang song, adapted. “Soon I will be done with the troubles of the world going home to live with God.” Adjusted lyrics for the bundle, took out God, brought in river. It fitted.

We are done. I haven’t processed it yet and won’t when my clock says 5:31 and I’m only about three quarters packed for a ten o’clock exit. I’m relying on them knowing we won’t all make the deadline.

Still. Alarm set for 9:15. That’s not early.

And Rhys will carry the torch. Fire! We go on and on. I adore the fact he’s here, passing out mid tarot reading, living the dream.