AlBarclay

Hot bath and a cup of yogi tea coming. It’s eight and if I play my cards right I’ll be asleep by ten. A new adventure into routine for a while. As yet an unbeaten track to the rehearsal rooms in Clapham. I could walk there in an hour though, and if the weather is nice I have a feeling that’s what I’ll do. If it’s shitty there are all sorts of options, and I’m tempted to look into electric scooter offerings in the area as that was an elegant solution at Halloween up in Hampstead.

Today I sat with the play. I still don’t think it has been announced even though I found my name on a publically available brochure online. But until it is announced I’m holding back on identifiers. I write a daily blog, it’s helpful for people to be satisfied I’m not going to blab things. Not that there’s much to blab really. David Beckham won’t be making a cameo. As with the plant medicine, where it was blindingly obvious what it was but I never named it, so I’ll have to be with this play until I get the official all clear.

It’s an interesting one though. As I’ve read that extraordinary old play, I’ve been thinking about misinformation, which is at the heart of it. With the tools we have these days, people can create evidence to back any number of half arsed theories. In politics, in history, in science, the internet is driving towards misinformation backed by forged evidence, knowing how easy it is to trick even reasonably clever people with a bias. And most people have biases – inclinations to believe certain narratives. And you can tip people’s biases too, with the right falsification at the right moment. Show a Mulder (I want to believe) the right forgery and they close the door to discussion. It backs up what they suspected all along. It’s easy to call them idiots, but they aren’t. Yes they’re dupes. But it’s a pandemic of dupes. More and more people are attaching themselves to made up stories that help make order out of a world that is so much more random and chaotic and ugly than we would like it to be. And because history and the mainstream narratives are peppered with expedient lies and bent optics, it is easy to substitute another lie to seeking minds without much critical capacity. “They’re lying to you man. They want you to believe what they want you to believe so they can manipulate your actions. I’m showing you the definitely actual truth thing so you aren’t a sheep like them and you can follow me blindly instead and do what I suggest.”

This play digs through these mind games, shows how trusting we can be of the wrong things, how evidence can be falsified, how we can be so easily misled.

Bath is run. They’re playing Graceland in the park over the road. I’m gonna wind down.

I’m just home. There’s a concert over the road in Battersea Park. Showtunes. It’s coming loud through my window. There’s a chicken in the oven. Ratatouille and roast potatoes. Gonna chuck in some broccoli and contemplating how to achieve decent gravy without opening a bottle of red wine.

After we closed the ceremony this morning I persuaded Natalya to blow some tobacco up my nose to just ground me enough to drive home. Now I’m home, starving and drawn out, happy and knackered, glad there’s a day before rehearsal starts to just reintegrate with the world I can hear coming in through my window.

An incredible night last night. A night that lasted a thousand years but held lightly and safely. Stumbling through revelations in the darkness. A thousand years gives time to contemplate so much, to reorganise and re-examine long held notions. This is a strong medicine but a good one, and one that promotes life. Not like booze that just numbs into a circular blindness and demotivates. Action is needed in many aspects of my existence. Stopping this weekend has helped wind back the spring.

It is not of our soil, this grandmother vine, but it is of this earth, and for this earth and fit for purpose. The dense thick taste of it, essence of tree. The community of it, essence of humanity. Beautiful music and soundscapes all night, gongs and more portable instruments, at one point two literal actual Royal Pythons, carefully stewarded, curious like Hex. I had one on my face awhile. That was just sensation. Part of the journey but not part of the shift. Much discussed in darkness, much exposed to light. There are no words for this, and to confine such things in writing is to put water in a jar and say it’s the ocean. I could express a remembered snippet, describe an interaction there in the dark with my eyes in a mask so I could see. But as with so much that draws me, it is a fleeting experience, written on the wind, what will stay will stay, with us. And it is a personal journey that we all undertook last night, together. Made better by the fact we were sharing it. But different for us all.

Just inches between our sleeping mats, our journeys overlapping, our energies spilling over and back inevitably. Live music playing as people weep and people laugh and people purge. The purge is noisy by nature, the brew it brings up is far more toxic than the one you drink, it calls a shout as it comes, hard to resist, part triumph part disgust as it surges up the spine into the bucket. Momentarily unpleasant, but just … part of the weird process. All these brave humans looking for a shift, hoping to go deeper, trying to turn corners, comprehend griefs, settle into themselves. I was proud to momentarily be in that strange and sparky tribe. This is a thing that makes no sense, but it is a thing of great beauty. And now I’m going to sleep in my own bed. I ate my dinner half way through this, washed it all up, now it’s dreams and a calm tomorrow.

Here again in the sunshine, calm and surprisingly well rested. Eighteen punters, eight people on the ceremony side, and I cant help but think I’m on the wrong side, just receiving. It’s not my job. Nice to dip into it from time to time though and drop all the helpfulness and find out what I need and go towards it. I need excellent financial advice. That’s what I need. I didn’t have to illustrate that by blowing money on a weekend in Hereford and a load of plant medicine, but it’s good to put it into relief. I’m out of debt again because of the Olympics, but only if they pay me which they might struggle with now because of incomprehensible monolithic bureaucracy. Plus my bed is covered with letters where I’m being fined for not paying fines because I couldn’t afford to pay the fines for the things I couldn’t afford that I couldn’t afford.

Sun on the top of the clouds and burning through in patches. Wind in the grass and the reeds.

These guys are a lovely lot. Lots of stuff going on. Messy old lives we all lead. Here we all are with all our mad shit and all our clarity, sharing both with each other.

Last night was something of a purge. My stomach was empty but still filled a bucket. Stumbled outside and “mindfully” slung it into a patch of nettles before rinsing the bucket and doing it all again three hours later. Sometimes you forget that if you’re trying to bring new things in you have to make room for them first. Purging is good for you, kids!

There’s Sananga involved here as well, and I’ve brought some hapay which is basically hard snuff. I haven’t had any hapay as it grounds me and I’m still looking to air and fire right now. The Sananga … you lie on your back and they put it on your closed eyes. Opening your eyes is nothing but pain from then, and all you want to do is close them, so you open them and open them and it hurts and it hurts and somehow it all comes good and there’s definitely a metaphor in there somewhere. I love the stuff but I fucking hate it and I can feel it on my eyes but I know damn well that it solved my blepharitis years and years ago, and I’ve been wearing my lenses too long so why not fill them up with painplant medicine? Which sane person wouldn’t solve mild anxiety over contact lens use by lying on their back and having a stranger pour agonyjuice into their crying face? “You curled up like a bug,” says Rob who was next to me. “It was that or scream the place down.”

I’m happy to be here, and happy I came. I haven’t necessarily been very sociable but it’s not what it’s all about. I just ate a big lunch and I’ll probably be looking it at all in a white bucket in six hours time. All is well, all will be well. I’ve got so much work to do. And I need to pay someone now, the right someone, to help finally dig me from all my financial buggery, because that someone can’t be me. I’m too shit at it and it doesn’t feel like that’ll change in time. Plant medicine and singing doesn’t do the paperwork.

It’s a couple of minutes to 4pm. I’m sitting on a wooden bench outside a converted barn in Hereford. My hands smell of Florida Water and my hair smells of palo santo. Over the fields I can see a little church spire, and beyond that the rolling hills of Wales. It’s sacred country out here, lush and ancient. It only took four hours from London, and just as I arrived I got an email telling me that the A1 form rejection I had from the government means that I’m gonna have to do some complicated bureaucratic gymnastics before I get paid for France. On a normal day it would make me feel my usual combination of sick and powerless, such as I have grown accustomed to. As it is I’m dropping the need to care, for now, so I can go do some healing. Medicine won’t solve bureaucracy, but maybe postmedicineAl can.

Loads of people here. We are very tightly packed. I’ve brought some objects of significance but I’ve had to organise things very tightly in my little space. A tiny airbed, a duvet, things to contemplate. People have come from all over. Liverpool. Bournemouth. Estonia. I thought I had a schlep coming up from London with two passengers.

I have a feeling it’ll all kick off soon and I know I won’t be wanting to write anything once we are go, so I’m here now, taking my mind off the fact I’m hungry. No food today but for a few slices of mango. I was looking longingly at blackberries just now. Before long there’ll be a taste in my mouth like nothing on earth.

Nature and space, here. The air is moving but there’s sun. Apparently there might be a storm later which will be interesting if it develops. For now just late summer and the sound of small talk.

I’ve got myself here, got over myself to get here, know what I’m here for. The unknown is still a big thing to contemplate. I think I’ll sort out water, make out my mattress is inflated, do the admin things and then get stuck back into the intentions and all the oojiebojie crap that has got me here.

Invoices will come good one way or another. What an absolute ballache that’ll be. But that’s not for today-Al…

Long quiet day today. I drew up my invoice for Paris but haven’t sent it cos I feel weird about it. I think I’ll just have to get over myself in that regard. I worked like a train, and just because I kinda enjoy not having time to think doesn’t mean that I’m not doing skilled work. “You enjoy it” is the principle under which thousands of actors put money into producer’s pockets at the start of their careers, often working hard for so little compensation that they end up having to do something else long term. Ali has been doing this event stuff for longer than I, so I should trust his judgement. I just pathologically try and make sure my working relationships are positive and I don’t like surprises. It’s the only way we get anywhere, keeping it positive and doing great work. The few times the positive has gone sour I can feel the domino effect into other jobs. People talk.

I’m still on all the WhatsApp groups. It’s weird. I’ve muted them but I’m aware of all the things people are needing. I’m having to stop myself from getting involved. It’s all building up towards the Paralympics. I’m only out of it a few days but it is already starting to feel like a world away. Line learning, Shakespeare and now I’m off for two days on a little country healing retreat before rehearsal starts.

Right now though I’m in bed and it’s just gone nine. I’ll be asleep in an hour I hope. Just gotta wait until the chamomile is drinking temperature. Behind me the muted street sounds that let me think it might still be summer because the window is open a crack. In front of me, Dreamland and chamomile.

I’m warm and cosy. I wish I’d been able to spend longer with Lou, I’m thinking of her and little Tessy over there in Brighton. But I’ve got clean sheets here as well and I can guiltlessly starfish and snore like a chainsaw.

Long monologue written without a great deal of thought and the need to be perfect on camera with barely any time to prepare and good lordy bunghole I should likely have outsourced that one. The money didn’t balance the work. I wanted a get out early when I realised it was a thought frame with some bits of legalese and other bits of just words. “Likely he will be checking his notes,” I tried, to no avail. “Will there be an autocue?” I didn’t have full context. This is a student piece. This makes sense of why they are asking too much for too little, but I would have done well to know that going in.

I’m still surprised at myself for having learned as much as I did with the time I had. This overlapped with Loutime at the end of Paris. I’ve seen nothing of her and we are still so busy. For me to do it properly would have involved two good days of structured learn time, with sleeps programmed in. I chose to give my thoughts to Lou instead of the text, so the text suffered. It’s a lonely job, line learning. I’m fine about the fact I was remembering on camera. But right there, that’s three students who won’t have me on the top of their list when they hit the industry. insha’Allah. “We’ll fix it in post.” They’ll have to. But they were always going to. Long takes, odd thoughtwriting. I did what I could and I did it well for camera. But I didn’t manage to go straight through.

Hey ho. I am not my job. I detest not doing it to the best of my ability but I’ve been too busy and they didn’t know what they were asking for. Fine if I can just give the thoughts, but when I discovered they needed to be phrased as they’d been hacked I switched out a touch. Still turned up, I think. Avoided the trap on the other side of work like that, where you wiggle your face and voice all over the place and look thrice titted. I’m happy to have been erring on the drop-side instead of the clown-side. Still, I wish there had been two more days in the world.

As it is, I drove up from Lou this morning, plungered most of it into my head, spat it out, went home.

Now it’s bedtime and it’s lovely to be back in London because but for a short power nap I literally haven’t stopped at home for months.

The thing about Brighton is that the alternative has long been the mainstream. I haven’t been to Terre a Terre until tonight, but Lou and I went for a blowout and we were the only straight presenting couple in the village. It’s a vegetarian restaurant, or vegan if you like, doing it expressively. It’s been around since 1993, and it’s only just down the road from Lou. We finally partook, and it was mighty fine. I’ll be farting all night.

Morning took us up above The Seven Sisters at Seaford Head, picking between the thistles and the instagrammers. Sun still working hard to stop us having to wear too many layers, wind in disagreement. I put a jacket on. We aren’t in Paris anymore, Toto.

Seaford is an early call for us to visit, not least for the views but also because the coffee van serves excellent coffee and there’s local art sold at fair prices in the gift shop. See how middle aged I have become? There’s a good wood nearby as well. When we were blown out on the cliffs we went and did a circuit in the woods. Cramming in that nature stuff while we can!! Soon it’ll be rehearsing in a little room in Clapham so I want to catch as much green as I can between now and then. I have been receiving emails. One is diversity and inclusion. “What was the main earner in your household doing for work when you were 14?” There’s no category for “Competitive Extreme Sportsman” but you can make your own…

So a day of walking and nature, with a good run of Bergman to get to it. This is why it’s great to have a car, to make it easier to be impulsive and complete in these things. Public transport and it would’ve been the wood or the headland, not both. I’m sad Lou and I haven’t had much time this late summer just to hang together, and with her work and my rehearsals it won’t get easier, but we are good at maximising the time when we get it even if a truly relaxing time together also involves long hours sleeping. It’s ten. She’s already conked out and I’ll be right behind, most likely lifting the counterpane right off the bed with the gaseous results of Terre a Terre. Yummy food, but I’ve been on meat with meat for a month…

Now though I have to cram some words into my brain a moment before sleep…

Seaside morning, and all the tired is still coming out of me. Last night I felt like I had a massive cold suddenly, and inevitably it was full moon and all the pulls and pushes and there was no impetus to write by the time I got into bed because sleep just felt more important.

Yesterday was full but largely peaceful. Being here with Bergman it made sense to go to Lou’s workshop in Ditchling and load up some upholstery and curtains she had made. We drove to her client’s house, up in the hills, glorious and sprawling. We built in some curtains she had made into a little caravan in an orchard and perhaps we both rather wished we had a lovely home in the hills with caravans and orchards. My new handiness upgrade proved mildly helpful. She’s done a lovely job.

Then the day was ours, but with little need to rush around, Lou made a mushroom risotto and we just relaxed until the evening brought the darkness and the moon.

Now I’m waking up, later than I thought I might with my body clock wired to early. I feel battered despite sleep but the day is here in front of us now and it is coming up time to be in it. I’ve been cutting out various touching toxins recently and being a bit more mindful of diet, which probably explains why I’m heavy this morning, but I’ve got lines to learn and Lou to love and life to live. Best get into the day.

Finally woke in my own bed. Got up and made scrambled eggs, hung out with Brian a few hours. Caught up, played games, Sunday morning. An early afternoon power nap and then into Bergman to drive to Oxfordshire. Lou has been at a festival. I was gonna give her a lift home tomorrow, but since I’m in the habit of finding my way past local security, we figured we should enjoy some of the last night together.

I was at this festival in 2020 right at the height of all the COVID madness and somehow they managed to persuade the government to let about 500 hippies come and wobble about in this park. I haven’t been back since, but I was a very happy hippy to have that moment. Local security were worse than I’ve ever known at a festival, as could be expected on that summer of separation. They brought conflict with them that put an edge on what would otherwise have been an unequivocally brilliant summer weekend, one of the lucky few. Lou and I shared Flavia’s bell tent and oh my lord it was freezing cold.

I only caught a few hours tonight, and it was recognisable but very very different. More than ten times the hippies. “This set didn’t exist when we were younger,” says Lou, and yes not on this scale surely… not with this economy. Eight or nine thousand people who have spent upward of £220 to be in a field with no booze for a weekend. Lovely August weekend, mind you. Green Man weekend. When I was working the festival circuit, it was always these August Festivals that carried the magic, when the summer is entrenched at last.

I fit right in to walk past security at the right place. I’d thrown a shawl over a ripped T-shirt, kept on my knackered boots and filthy cargo shorts. I look absolutely exhausted just like everyone else. It’s very much the opposite vibe to the job I’ve just come away from… Loads of drifting people wandering past people talking about. If your basic needs are catered for it’s easier to look towards the luxuries, like self realisation. Loads of these people are minted. But they don’t drink and they’re lovely. Better than the lager lager lager lager shouting mega mega white thing set I hauled myself into adulthood with.

We stayed long enough to be at the front of a kirtan, “Hindu Karaoke,” loads of people singing and breathing and dancing together and a healing thing to be part of even if I wasn’t supposed to be there.

Now it’s past 2am, but we decided to still go back to Lou’s. Roads are quiet on a Sunday and her tent and mattress only really does one. Neither of us fancied a cold and rough night, we are both knackered. So a late night drive instead and now a peaceful sleep by the sea.

It’s nine. I’m in bed. Haven’t unpacked. Ate some dim-sum.

I’m sad to be leaving the warehouse and the crew and the boulevard peripherique and the paris behind. This has been a seriously intensive time, and they’re all still in it. Work sleep work sleep work don’t sleep much

Suddenly I’m home and it’s hot but it’s familiar. I’m in my own bed here in London town. Late summer wind in the trees. I took all pressure off myself to do anything today and now I’m off to sleep early. My clock is wired to early rise now which is no bad thing, and without the necessity of things to do I’m trying it hard to stay awake.

There’s a little pocket of lovely people still working hard in gay Paree. I had to pull out. I’ll miss them. I’ll even miss the work.

To learn a city like that, in a flash, on strange roads with new people… A strange experience. A lost month or so but making space in a team that has borne fruit. I’ll be able to break it down in time, but this evening is for the crash. I’m in bed already, flask by my side, clean sheets, pajamas and a hot bath but not too hot. Washed the dust off, will sleep the work off. Hard work is good for the soul.

Being awake isn’t working. I’ll write when I wake.

Scrambled eggs with Brian and a lovely if brief moment at home. Eleven hours of sleep. I haven’t unpacked or done the washing. That’ll wait until I’m back from Brighton. I’ll be bringing my copy of Othello down there with me. A bit of headshift by the sea. Wonders. Open spaace.