AlBarclay

A lovely big space in Elephant and Castle for what will be the last Julius Caesar of the year. Playing these two shows I am absolutely compelled to say that we have much depth to plumb as yet. This thorny interpersonal shitshow of ambition and betrayal. The language is just extraordinary, the thoughts it evokes are so wide and so dense. This is a huge piece of writing, much bigger than the few of us who have come to play, and we have our rocks at the top but we also have really interesting bubbling young players at entry level and there are many small parts with associated obstructions and games for many players. This is a really fun project and a proving ground. Established players can get stuck into small parts or big parts and we can create a language that shifts from match to match but that can be followed through. Two nights in a week. Two very different squads. Two very different spaces. And we absolutely carried it both times.

This evening was harder. The dice fell on a very tricky space for act one, and there were multiple line drops at a time where it is crucial to build audience confidence. I started to worry we would lose track of it, despite an overly generous audience. We pulled together and we served each other and we won.

These Factory shows, they are a celebration of craft and an shared ritual in the NOW. They’re about what it means to be genuinely LIVE, and the complicity with the audience when the telling is shared. Stories are for community. We built the idea of society on stories. All we have of the ancients is their tales – the cuneiform carved into stone in Sumeria that gave us Gilgamesh… Just one tale among many but taking in the flood event, talking about mortality, pride, grief, sex, rage… Stories make sense of the vastness. There’s something in Caesar for everyone, and it comes out different every time, and I think and hope that, should we have access to the spaces, we can continue to play this tale and grow as we do it.

I’m home now, with a small cat lying next to me, tired and happy, ready for another day of random tomorrow. I let myself believe that I’d have time to stop but it’s all kicking off again and I wouldn’t have it any other way. I was on the phone to Lou earlier when I realised I had overstretched myself tomorrow, but I think I’ve made it work. ish.

Got to go to bed now though. I pulled out of the post show pub after just one pint despite a huge showing from the Othello company. I had driven in to force myself to stay sober. It’s a clever trick but I usually get pissed off with myself for it post show. I was cursing all the way to the car.

Made a quick prawn cocktail before bed. Easy eighties nom. Now just gonna collapse. Just have to remember to pack my iPad tomorrow as I’ll need it in the studio. zz

No show this evening so it was just another day in the studio. It’s exhausting for my friend who is reading. She wanted me to do it instead of her but they wanted her voice so I’m helping her out. I’ve a sneaking suspicion it’d be quicker if it was me, just as I’d have spent a few days prepping it cos it’s still my job. She trained as an actor but it’s not been her jig for decades and, the unglamorous truth is that the bulk of the work is done in your bedroom. The days on set, the shows under the lights? They’re the mushroom. The complex network of skills and hidden work and talks with other practitioners – that’s the mycelium. “It’s about the work,” as an old voice teacher would repeat. And it really is. She’d bring up the old analogy of the swan on water. It looks serene and still, but that’s only because the legs are going like crazy underwater.

There was some compromise on quality today. A couple of misreads that I wanted to go back on were nixxed by the studio engineer who knew how far behind we were. I expressed concern to him. “We’re compromising integrity in the name of expedience.” He shrugged. “That’s the way of it.” He’s not used to having a creative eye in the room anyway, so he picks up on differences in the text as written, but has no ear to even hear the nuance between two different readings of the same words. He is the reason why in a climactic moment in Witcher 2 someone tells you that the enemy army has been “routed” but pronounces it like they’ve been told where to go by someone. There’ll be a few clangers now, despite my efforts to prevent them, because we haven’t enough time.

We finished early and I went to see an old friend. I have bought a month of Lime Bike and I’m using it whenever possible. Today, that involved getting a bike in Queens Park to join the tow path at Ladbroke Grove. I went down the tow path all the way to Park Royal.

Fuck me, Lime bikes are still thankfully mostly lawless. Forest has started to force everyone to only stop in designated areas, thus making themselves into buses where you have to work. I can still stop my Lime outside my flat and pick it up from there if it is still there in the morning. The economy is good enough that the chances are it won’t be.

Down the tow path, in darkness, it felt like I was only a bad encounter with a puddle of sick or dead leaves away from a cold wet sudden wet shock. I was very happy to be one of the few people choosing that route, but was struck by how many Lime Bikes I passed next to the narrow boats. Right now these bikes make so much possible. Likely that’ll change, they’ll be forced to become less relevant. Currently they are the best way to move around this city. Your own bike will get stolen. These bikes are no longer your responsibility as soon as they’ve got you where you need to go. That’s so London. I’m happy to be part of it.

Dinner with an old school friend. His mother supported my ambition and welcomed me when my parents were loving me but still frantically trying to stop me from being an actor. It continues to be lovely to share progress with him.

Then home for an attempt at an early bed but largely thwarted as my head won’t shut up. Right now I’m letting Boo use me as a climbing frame while I find a way to ease into sleep. I do have a little bit of sleepy drink left but I never use it unless there’s early work so I’ll have to go to sleep on my own terms. The content of the book we’ve been recording is remarkable and exactly right for where I am right now. It’s about letting go of the confines we make for ourselves and accepting that we have chosen this existence on a deeper level than we can properly understand. It’s about how we best honour the decision we made when we went into this one. It’s some of the densest prose I’ve been exposed to since Rosamund Mckitterick. It’s either a load of old hooey or the perfect book for me to have found here as I cross into what might be merely the second half of my existence in this one, but only if I take care. Mum had scant five years left …

Fuck it. I just got home. It’s not midnight yet but close. I am SO HUNGRY. I have a week’s worth of HelloFresh in the fridge, but Brian is asleep in his room and Tom is asleep in the living room. I can’t very well cook and eat. So I’ve spent £25 on a Tops Pizza and I’ll have to eat it in my bedroom.

Today started with a cold Lime bike, still 40 minutes to get up to Queen’s Park where the studio is. We are recording an audiobook about egodeath. It’s fantastically dense. I’m not reading it, I’m directing. The reader is a friend of mine. She wanted not to do it, but she’s doing it. She’s right for it. She’s a good reader. But she hasn’t done the prep and no amount of chutzpah will carry you through such dense prose without fault if unprepared. If it was more fluent I might be coming in occasionally with interpretation notes, but largely today has been about getting through it. She’s got a cough. She doesn’t like the studio as it’s air conditioned. She’s brilliant thankfully.

Still there’s a lot to get through in a short space of time. She wanted to do it in two days but it is almost certainly gonna be a three day thing. Today was maybe the hardest for me as my ear hadn’t cleared at all. I’ve been half deaf for ages.

After the studio I rushed to Mornington Crescent and to Theatro Technis, where we do Scene and Heard. The Factory were doing Julius Caesar. Lots of the Othello company were there playing whatever they were playing. I was small parts, able to largely observe and marvel, and occasionally able to step up and do a thing.

As we were warming up there was an almighty POP and a good two thirds of my hearing came back. There’s still something not right, but I’ve got some hopi ear candles I ordered online. If my bedroom pizza hasn’t arrived by the time I’m finished this blog I’ll see if I lie for ten minutes while one of those things scientifically pulls the earwax out. They use controlled convection to soften and pull out the earwax, and despite the fact you might be pissed off with the fact they aren’t offered by trad doctors, they work. I have had past blocks cleared by them. I once asked a gay vicar I was living with in St Moritz if he had any, thinking they were well known things. He suggested I put a roll of paper in my ear and set fire to it. “Are you serious?” “It’ll be the same as these hopi ear candles you are asking for.” “Are you sure?” “Yeah, it’ll be just as effective.” He was being clever, the cunt. I rarely notice, so aged 22 I did as he suggested, trusting his wisdom. He meant “Neither of them will do anything,” cos despite being bold enough to be out gay Anglican, he had no truck with anything out of the ordinary. Maybe that’s why he’d ended up the English vicar of St Moritz. I pulled it out almost immediately, of course, that hot hot tube of paper that could have done my ear serious smoke damage. That was almost thirty years ago and he was at least twenty years older than me. One of the early lessons that age doesn’t always bring wisdom. Many people stick to limited tracks forever.

I’m still pretty easy to fool if the thing you are making up presents like genuine experience but actually comes from deep secret prejudice. I’m getting better at reading these unevolved people though and discounting them – there are plenty of signals. But I really really want to see the best in you all. I hate it when you let me down like Brent did there.

Bedtime soon but I need my cheese. My phone just went zizz so I think it’s close. Studio again tomorrow and hopefully we’ll speed up. The glossary today was hard going. I think it’ll be easier going forward. I hope. Matt the studio engineer is a master. We are finding a way to work together, the three of us. We all just want it to be a good product. I think it will be… My friend is great, the text is great, the studio is great, I’m great. What’s not to love?

#Postscript

It arrived late. I have moaned about it. Boo is very suspicious of bedroom pizza. I am as well but I’m gonna munch half of this, and then almost immediately have sleepydrink and find out what cheese does to dreams…

I might have run out of sleepydrink. Aaargjlh

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.