Conversation openers

Chatting to new people can be difficult. You remember the social group I joined back in February? Well, it’s probably best to say it’s been a slow burner, which is another way of saying that I haven’t really had the time to get that involved in their events.

What tends to put me off is the fact that you have to book and pay up front, so if for any reason you can’t go (or, *whisper*, something better comes up), you might lose money. As a result I haven’t really got to know people at anything beyond a superficial level. Making new friends is hard work. It’s about discovering things you have in common. I quickly realise that my experiences/interests and those of others differ widely.

In the course of one evening, I find I’m:

· Saying that I find Morris dancers who have been roaming the town with painted faces a bit freaky, and finding that others don’t agree
· Trying to explain how Twitter works, and why it’s interesting to find out what Philip Schofield is doing
· Defending Facebook as a method of communication – if you use it properly!
· Leaving the question ‘why did you join?’ hanging in the air.
· Trying to find an adequate response to the query ‘couldn’t you find anything closer to home?’ when I say that I work in Liverpool
· Discussing just how many of the pubs of York I haven’t visited (quite a few actually, believe it or not), and that whilst I haven’t been thrown out of any of them, I have been asked to leave quite a few*
· Defending the wondrous venue which is the Evil Eye against the shocking allegation that it’s a ‘den of iniquity’ as ‘they sell absinthe**!’

They are generally nice, and friendly, people. It’s just that at the moment it feels like quite hard work. I am going to try and persevere, particularly as Autumn is approaching, and at the very least it will get me out of the house.

*Because they wanted to close, I hasten to add.
**well, yes, they do, but I’ve never been brave enough to try it.

The continuing search

Along with my never ending search for Jesus in a snowstorm*, I’m always on the look out for lime vodka, ever since we bought some at a fair in Cheltenham a few years ago. It was the stuff of legend, but it didn’t last long, and I’ve never come across any since.

Looking at the list of vodkas in the bars of Krakow makes me very optimistic. They seem to have all sorts of flavours. In the first ‘tasting’, I try mandarin, which comes in a chilled glass, and is lovely. We then decide to visit the Vodka Bar, which advertises that it has 108 flavours of vodka. We only try two, (well, it is only early evening) but they have the elusive lime vodka. And it is really something special.

Cat asks where we can buy it, and the barman directs us to a shop in the main square. It’s a couple of days before we start the serious search, during which we try other varieties, including cherry, lemon, honey, and just plain vodka. Nothing comes close, though the ‘Polish Flag’** cocktail is pretty special.

When we start the search, every time we ask, we’re offered lemon, and having no idea of the Polish for ‘lime’ try to explain that it’s like lemon, only green. It doesn’t get us far. We are offered a ‘lime infused’ Finlandia, but I’ve tried that, and it’s a very pale imitation.

In our last night, and in the last shop – one of the 24 hour Alkoholes – we’re again offered lemon, or mandarin. I opt for mandarin, as it’s the closest I’m going to get.

The search continues.

*He exists, I saw him once at Milan station. As far as I’m concerned it should probably be a place of pilgrimage!
**vodka and grenadine

Time of our lives

It’s been nearly 6 years. In some ways it feels like yesterday, in others it feels a life time away. I haven’t seen most of these people since the day we graduated. Their lives were at a different stage to mine when we finished, and we didn’t keep in touch. It was also in the days before Facebook, which is where I’ve rediscovered everyone. I wouldn’t have known about this reunion without it.

What surprises me is how many of them are still in York, and yet I don’t ever see them (don’t they shop?!). I guess we go to different places.

I’m also surprised that everyone looks the same. Oh, there are a few different haircuts, a little weight gained, and lost (and that’s just me), but it’s like the years have rolled back, and the same groupings quickly start forming. Some haven’t been back since graduation, and have been re-visiting college during their stay. I’m slightly horrified to be told that the Chapel Theatre is no more, and it has been converted into a soulless conference venue. Even the Grot* Suite has gone.

The chosen venues don’t allow for much catching up to be done. We start in Vodka Revolution. The last time I was in there, it was still Bar 38. It’s quite Gothic, so I like the decoraton, but sometime after 9pm, they turn the volume up, and everyone is having to shout to try and have a conversation. Eventually there’s a general consensus that we should move somewhere quieter (and cheaper). Rounding everyone up turns into a bit of an effort, and we leave a few stragglers behind.

We head to the Lowther. I smile wryly. The last time I was in here I was getting very drunk with actors. It’s not one of my drinking places of choice in normal circumstances. The bar staff leave a lot to be desired, lacking in customer service skills and, it seems, basic intelligence. It feels quite empty, but we soon fill it up, but the dynamics have changed en route. In the last place, we were all standing and circulating to catch up, now people are sitting down, and it becomes less easy to chat.

Another surprise is just how many are working ‘in the industry’. At the end of Uni, few people seemed to have plans, as many of us seemed pretty jaded at the end of 3 years, but now most of them are doing something that could be described as ‘creative’. Two are actors, one is doing the drivetime show on Yorkshire Coast Radio, others are working in tv, or in technical positions, some are teaching, one ‘works for the government’, and one is a lecturer at Uni in film and tv.

I have to admit to being a little envious, and a part of me wishes that I’d had the confidence and been brave enough to follow the dream, particularly when I tell them that I still work in personnel, and that I don’t do much theatre these days. It makes me wonder what would have happened if I'd have gone for it, rather than settle for something which now no longer exists.

*So called, not because it was grotty, (though it was a bit), but after Jerzy Grotowski – reading his biog makes you sort of understand the sort of theatre they liked at college, and you can see why, for a while, I stopped going to musicals!

You know how I hold a grudge!

We’re sitting in Bobo Lobo, drinking Bellinis*, and reminiscing, as you tend to these days when a Griffin gig is on the horizon. Behind me, on the TV screen, the bar is showing ‘the 100 greatest love songs’, but with the sound turned off, as they’re actually playing latino music.

Suddenly Coza stops mid sentence.
‘Oh My God!’
‘What?’
‘Look!’

I turn round in my seat, and on the screen is the ‘artist’ who will always be known as ‘Bedingplant’. We can’t even hear it, but we both have the same memories, of an October evening, that will be 5 years ago this year..

‘I still can’t listen to it, you know. If it comes on the radio, I have to turn it off.’ Thankfully, this time, the bar have already done this!

*and very good ones they were too.

Is it wrong to have traditions after 3 visits?

I was in Bradford last night. For the first time since Good Friday 2005, when we memorably sat in the Love Apple and wrote a ‘Happy Easter’ card for Jesus*. I got lost on my way in, and couldn’t find the car park**. I guess you could say I don’t go there a lot, and I’m clearly very transparent, as when I mentioned at work that I was off to Bradford, my boss immediately asked ‘are you going to the Alhambra?’ The city centre looked as unfinished as it had over two years ago.

Infrequent as my visits are, there are traditions to be followed. The Love Apple is the pre-theatre venue of choice, although it was sadly lacking in actors last night, and could only offer members of a band setting up for a Halloween gig. There was a bit of high pitched squealing though, as Corinne and I bonded over a Stephen Fry book on poetry while eating the hummus.

Post show, we headed to the Sir Titus Salt. Yes, it is a Wetherspoon’s, but it’s a Wetherspoon’s in a converted swimming baths, and also has memories. Of actors, who also weren’t very impressed with Bradford, Last night it also had a rowdy crowd from the University of Bradford (‘has Bradford even got a university?’) but thankfully they moved on, so we were generally able to discuss the production in peace.

As for Comedy of Errors, well, that was so good it’s a whole separate post.

*As in JCS, We're really not that odd.

**I also got lost on the way out, and began to despair of ever finding my way back onto the M62

On being competitive

It's a belief of mine, frequently stated, that there's no point in being competitive unless you have a chance of winning. Therefore, I wasn't competitive about the cricket but I was incredibly competitive the following day at a pub quiz.

We'd arrived late anyway, so had to be read all the first set of questions separately whilst eveyone else was having a drinks break. V was very honourable, as she could have read some of the answers. I'd like to say I'd have been the same, but I'm not convinced. I thought they were pretty tough, as were the second set, but with a bit of debate, discussion and guesswork, we'd got answers for most of them.

It then came to the scoring, during which I'd got distracted by the fact that there was also a tombola going on, and complaining that, £3 later, all I'd gained was a very small packet of bathsalts!

When we got our question sheets back, and started to go through it, we realised a couple of things. We hadn't got our 'picture sheet' back, and some of the questions which were marked wrong were in fact right, and we should actually have 5 more points. That would be at least 2 points more than those who were being announced as the winners then.

I may have started to rant a bit, but subsided a little when reminded it was for charity. I had to settle for the moral high ground that we actually won, and, as we were declared officially third, a voucher for a Yorkshire Tea loaf. And an invite to come again, which might not have been extended if I'd have made more of a fuss. It's a nice pub, and I'd like to go back.

Schmoozing and boozing

‘It’s a long time since I’ve seen you like this’
‘I’m high on wine, and actors’

I know I’m being quite giddy, and giggly. I’m in a theatre bar practicing the art of the schmooze. It’s a skill that’s been somewhat underused of late, so it’s sending me rather hyper.

The reason…our first trip of the year to see Blood Brothers, our first trip, in fact, since last September, so there have been some cast changes. Linda Nolan is back as Mrs J – this is the first time I’ve seen her in the role since the last time the show was in Billingham – she remains the leading exponent of ‘lapel acting*’. She really feels it at the end, yet moves me less than a simple gesture does from another performer. We have a new narrator in Craig Price. Craig is a veteran of the JCS tour, and played Jesus for the second half of the tour; ‘yes, he died on stage every night’, and a new Linda, but we still have Stephen Palfreeman as Mickey, and he’s fabulous. I cry at the end, but I don’t stand.

At the end of the show, we go round to the stage door; it’s been a while. Craig is one of the first out commenting ‘I thought I saw you’. We have a quick chat and then he suggests we go for a drink, as they keep the theatre bar open. (There really is no where else to go in Billingham – early we’d had walked round a precinct with about 10 cash points, and no shops – and a sign saying ‘welcome to Billingham town centre). Well, we’ve been invited – it would be rude to refuse, wouldn’t it?

We head back inside, get a drink, and chat to Craig, catching up on what he, and others, have been doing; Stephen comes over, and we talk about theatre, touring, venues, theatrical digs, the price of tickets in London. I’m in my element, and knocking back the vino at a rate not seen recently. About midnight we, and the remaining cast members are asked to leave by the bar staff. We get hugs from Stephen, testing if they’re still as bone crushing as we remember. Pretty good I’d say.

We head back to Boro, to complete the night’s drinking in the late bars. I later realise that tonight we’ve been asked to leave 3 different bars, as they wanted to close. A pretty good night I’d say.

*this means tugging her coat lapels in the intensely emotional scenes.

Cute, but understated

Once again, we’re 'in bed' at the Evil Eye, discussing life, the universe and everything. Sometime after I’ve tried to explain the difference between sci fi and fantasy, and bonded over the cat-love with D, we move on to other topics.

‘You could have stalking t-shirts done, you know like those gig t-shirts with a tour list down the back, you could have stalkees down the back’. We collapse in giggles at the idea of having ‘this year I’m stalking…’ with a list on. We’d have Griffin*, and ‘Corinne’s Richard’, and John Barrowman even though we haven’t stalked him yet.

I comment that I’d need a very big t-shirt. And it would have a lot of actors on it.

Having made Coza snort coke**, and nearly choke, we decide that we’re cute, but understated, stalkers.

* well, he’d have to be top, just in terms of sheer volume

**of the ‘diet’ variety, I hasten to add

Equality has a long way to go

Scene 1

An office. The saga of the laptop continues. I asked the question, 'How's my laptop?' more in hope than in expectation.However, the answer was unexpected.
'Ah, well, you didn't need one that good, so we've decided N should have that one. We've found you a 'ladies' laptop'.
Me: (in what even I would describe as a 'dangerous' tone) 'What? I really don't think you want to say that to me.'
Said laptop is produced. It is second hand, has been gathering dust for a few months, and is the size of a note pad. It is useless. 'How do you think I'm going to use that?' (I'm angry, but also close to tears, which are partly frustration at the fact I'm getting nowhere)
'What do you mean? It's a ladies laptop - look, it will go in your handbag'.
I know in my head that I'm being fobbed off here. And it isn't even working yet.

Scene 2

A pub. I'm sitting on my own, clutching a glass of wine, and feeling conspicuous. I find I'm doing this more frequently these days, as I'm away quite a lot with work, and this means I usually have to eat alone. I still feel that a woman alone in a pub looks odd, in a way that a man never does. Perhaps it's the fact that the pub remains, in my eyes, a 'blokey' environment, in a way that a wine bar doesn't. I know these are my issues, but I guess I hate how vulnerable it makes me feel.

In this pub, there's a line of blokes standing at the bar. I wait patiently to get served, and am pretty much ignored, until one of them rather than the bar staff notices that I was before him, and points me out. I spot a little cubby hole where I can sit, and quickly claim it. I try to be a grown up, but I still find I'm getting out my work file, and scribbling notes, and the playing with my phone. Anything to look busy, and create an illusion of confidence.

The world's our lobster*

So, it’s Saturday night, we’re in the West End of London, in the middle of Theatreland, on the edges of Soho, and we’ve just emerged from the last night of a West End show. Of course, our thoughts fly to alcohol. There has to be lots of pubs with a late licence here, doesn’t there? – after all we know how actors like a drink. There must be half a dozen pubs within a few hundred yards.

The first one we try, a woman at the door tells us it’s closing (it’s 10 to 11, and no one has dipped any lights**). The next one, hmmm, not really our style. There’s Walkabout across the road, people are still going in, and there’s a bouncer on the door. ‘What time are you open until?’ ‘3am, £8 entry’. Well, if I was going to pay £8 before I even get a drink, it wouldn’t be to go into Walkabout. We see another bar/club - £10 entry on a Saturday night. No chance. By this point all the pubs that looked like they were open are starting to close and we start to wonder what a girl has to do to get a drink in this city! We give up, and head back to the hotel bar, which we know is open till 2am, and which will probably work out cheaper. As we head back we’re hailed from a stretch pickup (I kid you not!) with the enticing cry of ‘Oi! Birds!’ Strangely, we’re not tempted by this.

* Cat, I told you I’d call it that
**well known as the universal signal for closing time

Bring on the bevvies!

I went to Liverpool this weekend for my extended 'birthday trip’, to see ‘Blood Brothers’, and also to see something of the city. It was good to be there when it wasn’t mid-winter and blowing a gale, though we did discover that some parts of Liverpool are always windy, and it is not a good idea to wear a full skirt.
And it was quite a weekend, from the taxi driver who took us into town, pointing out its red light district, to the sweltering heat of ‘the largest two tier theatre in Britain’, and a very entertaining night in the pub behind the theatre. ‘Ma Egerton’s’.
Before I go on, I think the pub needs a few words of introduction. We first discovered it over a year ago, on a legendary weekend which involved us taking in Whitby, Birmingham and Liverpool in the space of three days*. By the time we reached Liverpool we were hyper, and gagging for a drink, so we rolled into the pub to discover it had a painting of George Formby*** on the wall, and a free juke box. As this was just before Christmas, we found ourselves singing along loudly to Christmas songs with the rest of the pub joining in.
But I digress, we ate**** and revisited a spectacular fountain, and watched a bit of Dr Who on a huge TV screen, before heading into the theatre. I’ll be writing about the show separately, but suffice it to say that I have seen BB just a few times over the last few months, though there had been a gap of four and a half months since my last visit. Sadly there were a number of breaches of the ‘Theatre Snob’ rules that evening, the most irritating being a mobile phone that went off 3 times in one of the most dramatic scenes.
Post show, we headed for the pub, which, given the show came down just before 11pm, it was good to note had no discernable licensing hours. It was very full on this occasion so with some of the cheapest doubles on record in hand*****we ventured outside, which led to a chance encounter in a pub doorway and a discussion about Fish from the Marillion******. And there we were for the next two hours, for once, not schmoozing with actors, who were a mere stones throw away, but being entertained by Mickey, a Liverpool lad with a certain amount of charm (which was sadly lacking in his brother and his mates) who was greatly smitten by one of our number, and perhaps less smitten by her 'little sister'.
At least he never asked if I was their mother!!

P.S sorry about all the footnotes!

*some of our number had been in London the night before, but I was in Harrogate watching 'my' Aled**
**that would be the ‘Walking in the Air’ one
***the comedy value of this at that moment in time would just take too much explaining
****this is an essential part of any trip
*****one of the ‘minuses’ of the pub is that it serves really horrid wine, so I have to drink vodka
******Really, that has to be one of the strangest conversation starters - 'Kayleigh' - that was their hit!