Scenes from an Italian restaurant

Scene one

I have a new mobile phone. Among other interesting features, it has Sat Nav. As we had to reach the hotel and check in, prior to meeting in the restaurant, I decided to try it out. It would probably have helped if I’d had the instructions with me!

To Lovely Boss: ‘I’m surprised we made it, actually. When I entered the co-ordinates into my phone, it tried to send me to Berlin!’

Scene two

Lovely Boss is a footy fanatic, and his team are Hull City, who are apparently doing remarkably well. He tells us that tomorrow he’s driving from the west coast to the east coast and back again, to see them play. He tries to explain it to me:

‘It’s as if you’d suddenly discovered another six Shakespeare plays that you never knew existed. That’s what it’s like for me, after 104 years of rubbish’.

I understand this.

Strictly Update

I have to admit to being a little underwhelmed by this year’s Strictly so far. I keep telling myself it’s early days still, but no one has actually grabbed my attention yet. I do like Austin, but he has a rather annoying way of watching Erin while he’s dancing, rather than performing out to the audience. I also like Tom, but he doesn’t seem to have that special spark (but then I was always going to compare him, wasn't I). If I have a favourite at all, it’s Cherie, mostly because of the beautiful rumba that she and James did a few weeks ago (I have never liked him in previous series, feeling him to be a bit of a bully), but also because she was ‘my’ first RSC Viola*, all those years ago.

I found the last couple of weeks pretty disappointing. I usually love the American Smooth, but wasn’t overwhelmed by any of them (I thought Lisa and Brendan were overmarked), and the sambas were pretty average. This week, I was expecting some pretty dramatic pasos, but they were all pretty lack lustre. The Viennese Waltz is a beautiful dance, but can be difficult to make exciting – last year we had a some lovely examples, and they’re hard to forget – this year, well, it all felt a bit pedestrian.

Then, last night, in between programmes on ITV, there was a trailer for next year’s Strictly live show in Newcastle. I didn’t go this year, mainly because the only person I wanted to see in it was James Martin. For next year, they were trailing the celebrities, Julian Clary (ok, yes, funny, but not a great dancer), Jill Halfpenny (very good, but I really wasn’t as addicted in series 2), so far, so not making me book, and GETHIN JONES. He was never going to do it while he was with Blue Peter, but this year, he’s available!

I have absolutely no willpower when it comes to thing like this, and just know it’s only going to be a matter of time before I book.

*Newcastle Theatre Royal 1980 - it was magical, and I can still recall it so clearly

Breaking the silence

I haven’t watched the webcam for years. The last time Griffin played at the Bedford, I was there (I think – it’s a long time since I knew such things so precisely). Once upon a time, I would have felt such heartache that I wasn’t there tonight. Now, do I wish I was there? Not really, though it is the Bedford, and that’s a bit special - and I’d like to be with friends, as Corinne, Dean and Director Boy are there, but I can appreciate the music on line.

The set list is the one I’ve heard over the last few gigs, with one addition, and performed acoustically. Naked is slow, and beautiful, and I love it like this, noting all the lyrics. So much of the magic has faded, but I wonder if I will ever tire of the sound of his voice. Somehow, listening remotely, sitting in my kitchen with only the cat for company, I can appreciate it without distractions.

About halfway through the set comes the comment about how quiet people are, and an attempt at a ‘joke’ about a badger, ‘anything to break the silence’. I think he could put up a banner and no one would notice. It falls flat, and he gives up, and just keeps singing. I’ve Lived is next. I sing along loudly in the kitchen. I couldn’t do that in the Bedford.

The final song is Silent Suicide, as I’d expected. I love it, and again, I’m singing along (at this point the cat has retreated back to the sofa, she’s a harsh critic).

It’s been an odd experience, doing this again, but it has lifted me after a pretty cr***y day at work, and that has to be good.

Sunday night in

I usually go to the pub quiz on a Sunday evening. It serves the dual purpose of a chance to win money (and wine) with the opportunity to put off thinking about Monday for as long as possible.

Last week however, the jackpot (£170!) was won, and not by us. Somehow I think we believed that it was just a matter of time before we won it, and it was waiting for us to add it to our ‘pot’. Sadly, someone else got it, so I wasn’t that disappointed that I had to miss the quiz to drive south for work.

So, instead of drinking pinot grigio in the pub, I found myself in a rather nice hotel in Hatfield*, arriving in plenty of time for the Strictly results show**. Checking in, I decided I needed wine and snacks with my viewing. What did I see? The room service menu!

So, there I was – chips, wine, and a cafetiere of coffee, Strictly on the fancy tv. And then, to follow…Dirty Dancing. There are worse ways to spend Sunday evening when you’re away from home.

*nice hotels are seriously cheap on a Sunday night, I've paid more for the Travelodge next door.
**Yes, I was recording it, but there's always the chance someone will blab!

Eurobeat revisited

Once we knew that Eurobeat was transferring to the West End, we simply had to go again, and take Corinne with us.

This time, I decided to be Irish for the evening, Cat opted for the UK, and Corinne chose Sweden (‘it’s the closest they have to Norway’). We got our badges and bought our flags, and I resisted the cd. Once we took our seats, I seemed to be in a bit of a Scandanavian enclave, as I was surrounded by Swedes.

The theatre was pretty full, and judging by the noise, everyone was ready to have a good time. The show opened, and we found that Les Dennis was off, and Sergei was played by the chap who had been the winning Estonian contestant last time. This was good, in that we got to see a lot of him, but bad in that he was no longer singing.

As for the contestants, well, for some reason, between touring and arriving in London, Estonia has become Poland, though none of the others have changed. The new Polish contestant was good, but not as slick or as funny as before. Some acts seemed more acute in their parody a second time around – UK, Russia, Ireland, whilst others just went on too long – Iceland (greeted by boos, and the comment ‘yes, give us back our money you Icelandic b*****ds’), Germany.

This time I voted for Russia, Poland and (quite bizarrely), Hungary. And this time, Russia won. As we left the theatre, we were singing the songs. They get into your head. Just like the real thing.

Meet the Author

We went along to see Liberty on the other night. Direct from Shakespeare’s Globe, it was as near as I’m going to get to there this year.

A new play by Glyn Maxwell, based on a novel by Anatole France (no, I’d never heard of him either), it’s the story of a sub-Robespierre revolutionary and his journey from idealist to supporter of the ‘Terror’. As a play, it was very ‘wordy’, but enjoyable, and there were some very strong performances, from Kirsty Besterman as an actress from the National (bet they had fun with that on the South Bank – it fell a bit flat in York!), and John Bett as an ex-Duke.

At the interval, we had a bit of a wager on who was for the chop. It’s a measure of it’s unpredictability in that we got it wrong in some cases. I was very disappointed with the size of the audience, but they did give the cast a warm reception. It’s only on for three days, so I’d expected a better turn out, but then I guess it’s quite a hard sell. I’m sure Flashdance, the Musical is doing much better business down the road at the Opera House.

Afterwards, rather than stay in the theatre bar, we went to the Lion and Lamb, which has recently opened. Corinne and I had tried to get in a few weeks ago, but couldn’t find a seat, but this time we found a separate room overlooking the street. Decorated with lanterns, and old prints, with huge wooden tables and pew like seats, we commented that we could still be in the play.

The next thing we saw was the actors entering the room, and sitting at the next table. From overheard comments, it seemed they felt at home too. We exchanged a few comments with them and returned to our conversation. A few minutes later, we heard the actors going ‘author, author’ when another man entered. No prizes for guessing who he was then (and no prizes for guessing that they wanted this to be noticed)!

He turned to us as asked what we thought of the play. It was one of those moments where you don’t quite know what to say. You can’t rave about it, but it was interesting, and had some good characters. The theatre snob in me paused for a moment. The others were less troubled by this and were complementary.

Turning to me, he asked ‘did you find it dense, and hard to follow?’

‘No, not at all – but then I do know quite a lot about the French Revolution*’

*Thanks to A level History all those years ago – so ‘quite a lot’ is perhaps a bit excessive.

The play's the thing

After the theatrical one-upmanship and costume selection, the day came for the performance of our rehearsed reading.

Arriving as instructed at 11am for further run throughs, I was a little perturbed to find only myself and the writer/director there. A few minutes later, Shakespearean Actor arrived, and we went through into the studio, where props and costumes were being gathered. When I looked at some of the items, I knew I was right about my costume.

Eventually the others turned up, apart from Opera Man, who couldn’t be contacted, so the first play had to be run through with the writer playing his part.

By the end of a pretty slow run through, it was nearly 1pm, and we had to perform at 2.30pm. I knew the play that needed the most work was the second piece, and yet we hadn’t touched it. Just as we were working out how we could cast around our absent player, Opera Man walked in, unapologetic.

After quickly dashing across the stage of the main house to get changed in the green room, we started a run of the second play. The writer had supposedly worked through the entrance and exit problems from last week, but it still wasn’t very clear, so we sorted things out for ourselves.

Despite all the issues, with costume, lights, and a professional theatre space, I was loving it. We didn’t manage a full run, though, before we had to stop to let the audience in.

As we waited, we stood on the stage of the main theatre, looking out into that auditorium. It holds such memories for me, as I did my first real performances there. It feels as though you can reach the whole of the space from the stage. Shakespearean Actor felt the need to give us a bit of his Leontes, but I was happy just to drink in the atmosphere, smiling at K about shared memories.

Back to reality, they performed the first piece, but I didn’t go and watch, as I’d just seen it. After the interval, I was on.

It seemed to go pretty well, apparently better than the first one, but you couldn’t really appreciate the humour unless you really knew your Chekov. I felt I played my part as well as I could in the circumstances, and actually managed to cry when needed*.

Afterwards, as with all good theatre, a few of us adjourned to the pub, to talk about acting. After all my concerns the previous week, it was actually really enjoyable.

I think I’ve got my taste for acting back.

*Really, she was a bit of a drip!

After the train tickets, you’d thing I’d have learned but…

It was time to tax my car yesterday. I always put if off as long as possible, because I resent the cost, so last week, it was time to gather all the documentation together.

I had the renewal notice, no problem, as that had been sent in the last month. Next, to find the MOT certificate and the insurance policy. I looked in the usual ‘safe place’. Theatre tickets, home insurance yes. Car insurance, MOT, no.

Hmmm, where to look next? I tried the unorganised heap of papers at the end of the sofa. Yes! The MOT certificate was here (and probably had been since April, I really AM that untidy).

No car insurance though. I went through a couple more heaps of papers, and found nothing. I was running out of ideas, so finally, I decided the only option was to order a copy (and yes, there have been a few other years, when I’ve had to do this. You think I’d learn, but I don’t).

I did this on line, expecting the certificate to arrive in a couple of days.

It didn’t.

I rang up, to check it had been sent, and they had no record. They couldn’t guarantee a replacement in less than 5 days – so much for ‘first class’ post!

I decided to have one final search, knowing that the original was going to be in the house somewhere.

I finally found it on top of a lot of magazines. Yes, it was in a ‘safe’ place. It just wasn’t one I thought of looking in!