AlBarclay

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.

Well then. Once again I’m writing to you from my cozy cottage.

Last night I sent people messages just before 5am, booking them all into slots for tarot readings today. In the (morning?) I woke up and went for lunch with Georgina, then came back here and made a little warm cosy tarot nest. Lots of very different people, lots of very different readings, and the solid knowledge that Alice’s deck is a genuine glory. I love reading with it for people who haven’t had readings before. The Age of Aquarius lot did loads of damage to the perception of tarot with all the “I see your past and your future” hooey. It’s always nice to be clean for people, to make it their reading not mine. Someone observed “you approach this from the same sort of place as we approached this play,” and I LOVE that. Let’s take the bullshit and the grandstanding out and be crisp and clean with the meaning.

My old voice teacher was in tonight. She’s a powerhouse. She wanted to see John, and John wanted to see her. I was thrilled to have her in as she is a magical creature and has helped launch many ships including the good ship Al Barclay. Patsy Rosenberg. A wonderful exponent of craft. With some of the things I’ve had to sustain vocally over the years, I know I would have ended up with nodules if I hadn’t met her when I did. My damage is useful in my voice, but my clarity and breath support is major to the arsenal. That was her, and Jeanette and Kate. Her team.

Now back here I’m thinking about these two worlds that have come together on this job. My woowoo and my acting, aligning as I embody a stern kind man in a hard world. I condemn someone to a prolonged existence of extremely painful torture for no reason other than distaste for him and his actions. But other than THAT, he’s a pretty pleasant fellow. I am trying to make him the best version of absolute authority. He’s just a little bit fabulous, in his gold costume. I’ll miss him.

I got a poster printed out, and have got everyone to sign it in gold sharpie and that’s the first time I’ve EVER done that and I’m gonna get it framed. This will be a happy memory when I’m in the old folks home. “I still remember the first time I came up to the RSC to act, which play was it now? I can’t remember, there have been so many, but the company…”

OH BOLLOCKS

I’m drunk. I’m writing a drunk blog, drunken.

Here’s me trying to make sense by making sentences.

Anyone sensible would just … not. Surely.

A company drinks with the company paying for them. How delightful. We went to the Duck. We got to help say goodbye. Such wonderful people. I’ve never really felt so held by a company like I do here.

This has been a really lovely company. Tonight brought that home. We looked out for each other.

This has been a long time, with me knowing, playing to that knowing, all that.

I’m sorry if you want a morning read. I’m feeling particularly who?  My logic is all over the place with blinky drunk head, the simplest thing to do is throw my energy to established places that I don’t care about. I’m happiest to just write a blog that is largely nonsense and doesn’t manipulate thinking. Moo moo nah pertack bim sloop.

I’ll try and do better going forward. Night night. Plup. Love you all, I’m going to be shit today. hi.

I’ve just said goodnight to Ellie. She booked an Airbnb on impulse this morning so she wasn’t taking up my headspace. She would be staying on the sofa. It was a generous gesture and one that speaks of understanding. I’ve loved having Mel but actually just having my own space for me is going to be great. Apparently I woke Mel up this morning at 8:30 when I began my morning ritual of howling like a beached whale. We didn’t even leave the house until after noon, when I paid the people at Arkle to cook us late breakfast and do the washing up too. They recognised me. Last time I was there I was sick as a dog. Hey ho.

Today was lovely eventually. I did have to go back to bed after breakfast but I kept it down. Then at half four there was a Zoom Q and A with some current students at Birmingham Uni. That’s where Minnie went. I was very happy to try and be insightful, in the company of Fin, Claire and Scott. Lovely people, lovely work. The ownership that Tim has given us over our creative process in this show reflects strongly in such things. We will always try and carry the torch for him and his process because it is to our taste. There are many other ways to work. But his way is such fun and it helps you unlock bravery and simplicity. In the end I’m a gun for hire, but I’m never happier than when someone like Tim has hired me. Some people can use tools gracefully. I’m really just a massive tool. So are you. And your mum.

Now I’m winding to bed. Kitcat came this evening too. It’s amazing what has been made possible by my being in one place. Thank you to all the people who have come up and shared this moment with me. Double points if you’ve said “about fucking time”.

I did my thing of playing music by friends again. Played Amazing Devil, their first album which was made up here when Maddy and Joey were in Wolf Hall. Now I’m back into Liz Lawrence and her new album Peanuts. Yeti is playing right now. Strong track. She’s not fucking around, Liz. Proud to know her.

It’s not 2am yet. I’ll be asleep very soon. That’s okay. I’m gradually building a recovery deficit and might have to sleep for a whole day on Sunday once I’ve driven home, but I’m gonna be alert and alive to the needs of the various wonderful humans who plug into this job as it comes to an end. I’m not so old yet that I have no party. I’m just wise enough to have learnt that there’s more than just party.

Still. That was a lovely glass of wine at home with Ellie and a turning of the cards. My life is glorious. Thanks you lot. You are responsible for so much joy. What are we without the people we love?

Mel is downstairs again. I’m up here. I’m half tempted to go to sleep with the heating on as this morning was a battle to get out of bed, and the world was full of snow.

I’m going to trust the idea that the snow was an anomaly. I’ll switch off the heater. I’m happier snoring cold air than hot.

One show tonight, a matinee, and the effect of me being predictable for a change is really coming into my patterns. I had an old friend in again today. Last night a dear friend from Prep School came with her family and someone in the industry, Ruth, who had worked briefly with one of our cast. Phil and Sue from The Willow Globe were also in, and Simon Muller. And Mel of course. This isn’t even taking in the people who come and don’t tell me. I’m only in the second half but obviously I’m fabulous when I’m in. But every day is gonna be busy now I suspect. I’ve spent decades actively seeking the company of those who self-determine as edge dwellers. I love that space and that dialogue. Maybe I’ve been too unpredictable to really stop and gather and understand how lucky I’ve been to be surrounded by these great big glorious maniacs – Catherine coming with her school year, Ginny bringing everyone she could, Sarah rolling in despite being strapped. Kitcat might show tomorrow, but I’m not banking on it. Would be nice to see her. Only five days left.

Last night was boozy and I’ve been hosting again this evening and I’m tired and really not feeling up to even attempting to be eloquent about life. Mel is again in the shower as I write. The cottage is toasty. There is collaboration to be had. Maybe a Christmas thing. Who knows, but … these are friends that matter or at least Mel is a friend that matters and this is a shifted time. I’m not sure what is next in terms of work. I’m being careful about which aspects of my aargh lovely life I allow back in. But I remembered last weekend how much I love the events. That seems distant now, all the security wrangling, tool use, driving. I’ve been so happy as an actor. But the world is wide and I can’t sit on my hands too long… Glasgow? Milan? I’m always happier at last minute. But as I get older I start to honour the need for predictable dosh. Another acting job pronto please. I’ve sent some golden tapes so long as they can see past the beard…

Mel found the bagel. I didn’t even know I had the bagel. I suspect the bagel came into my possession because of Lou. I have eaten some of the bagel. The rest of the bagel will be eaten by others I am now abed. Bagels matter less. Mel is showering. Mel… Oh Mel. Where do I start?

Mel is simultaneously one of my oldest and strangest friends. I’ve just had to switch the boiler back on as she’s in the shower. She knows the tarot deck I work with so she and I gave a very cagey Simon Muller a reading that I had to pull myself out of as it was so fucking on point for what I know of his existence that it simultaneously blew my mind for what Alice the artist achieved before she thought too much about it, but also it helped me remember the collaboration that has always been at the heart of Mel and I, our jig, two chaos misfits.

Mel is part of how I found Lou – her flat in Hampstead, her snake in lockdown. Now she’s here, supporting me, totally. We collaborated on Simon’s reading and it was very interesting to see the differences but also the coming together. We both read it very differently but ultimately it was an empowering read. I deeply enjoyed the shared interpretation and I felt that the spread was such that Simon could never pretend the cards don’t have insight.

Mel is now on my sofa bed, as Michelle was, as Tristan might have been. She’s adapted it though, she’s actually put a tent up on it.

It’s impressive and I’m thoroughly behind it. My friend. I’ve missed her hard. She’ll be here a night or two and I’m not expecting her to try and black my eye. We pick our friends, and we stick by the ones who make us feel better. Silly Mel… We’ve covered a lot of ground and we have fought, but damn we get each other and make good things when we collaborate. I can hear her zipping herself in downstairs. She’s been in America, in Georgia. She’s not my only friend from Georgia so I get why she’s come back here. The woman they’ve elected in Georgia … oh my lord. Look her up. If she’s a potato then it is amazing how far she’s come. It she’s a human being then … she’s still in the creche.

Bagel or no bagel, election results or none, I’ve had a great night of boozy friends. I once again bought enough excellent wine to take me to the end of the week here and then shared it all in one night with friends. This time though I didn’t drink the lion’s share. I left that to friends who don’t have a matinee tomorrow.

I’m off to bed. Half ten isn’t early but it is when you’re still writing at 4:15.

zzz please don’t ring me early

The show would have just started on a normal night. I’m in bed.

We put the world to rights last night and in so doing we drank all the wine I’ve got, ate all the sausages and curry and naan, and a whole pack of cola bottles, laughed a lot and trashed the kitchen. I left the oven on all night by mistake. Yes I’d do it again, apart from the oven. I probably will do it again somewhere, maybe even including the oven.

5am sleep perhaps, and then up in the morning to meet Darren for brunch. Haven’t seen him since Paris. We went to Arkle, where Liam and Hester and Al were all munching healthily. I succeeded in eating about half of my chili eggs. Then we had a walk down the river and I barely got back in time to my digs and my poisoned body’s wholehearted rejection of the chili eggs. Shouldn’t have had something spicy. I never learn that one.

Back to bed and an argument with life. Do I really have to participate today? My body wouldn’t sleep but wasn’t really much into being awake either so I maintained a prone equilibrium between waking and sleeping, as nameless as the week after Christmas. It wasn’t comfortable or uncomfortable really it was just a period of existing. I called it time at about half past 4 and washed the guilt off in the shower, put a sharp suit on and walked to Avonside. Claire helped me nail a self tape, where the only real obstacle to the job is that the part feels like he might be clean shaven and Lodo has his Shakesbeard.

Waking up a little I rang Lou in the evening air and went to Lambs at Sheep Street. “No wine this evening?” asks the waitress and dear me yes I’m a creature of habit it seems. “Absolutely not, I haven’t been able to keep anything down all day,” I tell her and I see her worry when I go to the loo a bit later.

I ate my chicken and my soup all up like a good boy. Took plenty of time over it. I can say with a degree of confidence that it will now be broken down to liquids by acid and enzymes in my stomach and then broken into smaller and smaller molecules as it passes through my digestive tract. A slower process than one of the other options but ultimately a better outcome.

Five of us, sitting in a cottage on Waterside. It’s my cottage. We are talking about Othello. There’s passion and joy here. Will, Jules, Claire, Graham and I. I adore these people.

I’m in charge of the music. I’ve been playing Caravan Palace and The Cat Empire. We wanted something more chilled and so I’ve put on Liz Lawrence. Her first album. Bedroom Hero.

Liz was living in Stratford and got tangled up in the three year company here, alongside my bestie. She wrote these songs in these cottages. They have been part of my soundtrack to an extent she might never know. Occasionally she refers to the actors: “the queen wears her jeans when she’s watching TV, she yells at that screen “you don’t know what you mean!”

I love that observation. I know who that queen was. I watch TV and hate it when actors don’t know what they mean. It happens more often than you can possibly countenance. TV actors often have it learnt by rote and are just literally speaking random words in order. Sure you only get one take as often as not. But why not get someone who can act? There’s a whole team whose job it is to do the make-up and make you look nice.

But yeah, the five of us are doing the thing we do when we’ve had a hard week. I’m so tired. So tired. I hosted this drinks but I’m not in party mood. I’m playing my friend’s music and surrounded by new and old friends.

Al Liam and Hester all came tonight. People who have been so wonderful and bright in my life. I feel really really held, up here. Melody came to the matinee. I’ve known her since I was a teenager. Lou quite rightly identified that this is a rare thing, for me to be in one place and predictable. I love that so many of my old friends have come to play. I’m only really on in the second half. These guys are brilliant and this is mad fun and I’m gonna join in.