Identity theft

There is now another shadow of future self on this blogspot - cheeky bugger. I must remember to start shredding from here on in.

My girlfriend - for that is what she seems to be now - has decided that I don't have to turn to Christ after all so we can keep seeing each other.

Is this a good thing? I'm not entirely sure. She is after all still a pretty basic Christian and everything I read seems to condemn our chances in my eyes. When I met her I had just finished reading Derren Brown's TRICKS OF THE MIND and was nodding enthusiastically at his condemnation of man's gullibility in matters religious.

Now I'm reading THE WORLD JONES MADE by Philip K Dick where a couple split due to their opposing views - him rational, her wanting to succumb to the irrational. The joy of purpose versus the pursuit of objective truth.

So, we proceed to see how we get on under the new circumstances.

Unreasonable is always so tempting

Now, I know most of my friends would never have had this problem.

You meet a girl, you get on well, enjoy her company, love her smile and want to run your hands through her hair. Only she wants you to be born again in the love of Christ.

Advice for my future self. Put down the idea, and move back from it with your hands in the air. Then turn and run, and keep running, and don't look back.

This is not an obstacle that can be ignored.

She herself describes her and her kind as peculiar - and this allows me to phrase the question that I would otherwise consider to be slightly offensive: Why do I seem to have a taste for peculiar girls?

Feeling bitter that this simply can not be any different. If I get my way then that would involve her getting hurt. If she gets her way, then...well I can only consider that would have involved me going insane, which I don't want too much. Not even for a squeeze.

I have not dealt with this properly yet. I will do tomorrow, Sunday, when....? Facing facts is not my strongest suit. I always believe there are options. And there always are options though there is a time for decisions - picking the best option and going with it.

Sometimes the best is not concrete. It is amorphous, you can't touch it or feel it's positiveness. You just have to believe it. An exercise in faith of my own.

The freedom of chains

I have now decided to take out a mobile phone contract, of sorts. As far as I understand it, I am not locked into it, but if I cancel then my Broadband contract will go up in price. This is the wily way of VirginMedia.

And without a thought I've ditched the exciting in-house entertainment that is cable TV. The first time I did that it was a terrifying decision - a crazy assault on the notion that 20th century television is a must without which I would wither and die. But I took it back later when I found that it was actually cheaper to have TV than not to (that was the wily, weird, way of Telewest, now VirginMedia).

As the proud owner of a ridiculously large phone, I thought that it was time to move on from my pay-as-you-go position and start feeling that I could occasionally make a phone call without waiting until I get to work to make free calls, as I'm surely saving enough through not having to buy toilet paper and envelopes already.

So, in effect, I've swapped the TV for 100 free minutes of calls a month. Now I've got to find people to call having carefully avoided making friends in the last few years as I hate topping up my phone. And I dropped the home phone long ago in favour of Skype, and only phone people I know very well on that as they're used to me breaking up, running out of credit, or are used to recieving silent calls when my soundcard doesn't work.

And the real nightmare of changing networks or doing anything in this age? Passwords! You speak to people that you set up an account with some years ago - "What is your memorable word?" Bugger! would probably be the best one as that's the one that pops into my head whenever I'm asked. "And the first 2 digits of your 4 number code?" They won't let me use bugger for that one.

So, determined to make a clean break from past mistakes, I decide to use a word that is memorable and I can always recall even if asked again in a year. "Lumbago," bounds out of my mouth for no apparent reason and will rest on the account now until I've completely forgotten it. Bugger!

Pat me on the back

I went to Tesco, famous for its tempting BOGOF deals, looking for bread rolls. The rolls I wanted were on Buy one get one free. And so I picked up two packs.

On getting to the counter, I realised the chances of me eating 12 bread rolls in the next two days are extremely slim, so after much dispute with self I only bought one, leaving the otherwise free pack at the supermarket.

What a struggle and how strong the pull of something free. We're slaves to this kind of thing in many ways, and that was my first blow for freedom. I do not need more of everything all the time and yet it is so seductive. Hopefully someone will buy the rolls and find a use for them.

I just hope that a bunch of young ladies in skimpy summer clothes don't come knocking on the door looking for a bread roll party and, finding a shortage of rolls here, go moseying along to the next flat. Otherwise I think I did the right thing.

Projects on the go

Currently writing a sit-com with a friend. He's had this idea for ages and can't find a co-writer. I have now heroically stepped up the mark, and am co-writer. Story lines of three episodes written, 3 more to go, and then the screaming starts.

Learning lines for 12th Night - ongoing. Hate learning lines and hate not knowing lines on the night of the play, but can not compare the two when they are more than a day apart, so can not get motivated until the day before.

Work - trying to promote myself as a perl wizard. Mickey Mouse as the Sorcerer's Apprentice springs to mind. Except he did actually do stuff.

Currently reading Derren Brown's "Trick of the Mind". Find him hysterically funny, and very informative and can't help liking a man who calls me a 'clever sausage'.

Yet more drama

No, not drama of the plate smashing, "Where were you last night?" kind, but of the thespianic variety.

The drama group of which I'm a member has a juniors wing, and they were putting on a play reading of Invisible Friends by Mr Alan Ayckbourn. I was roped in to do the lights, having once sat nervously in front of the lighting board for a full production of the kids before. Didn't have much idea what I was doing then, and less this time as the show was the first visit I'd made.

But it was an informal occasion, and all hiccoughs and things were part of the fun. The children were amazing, and only had a couple of rehearsals. The director is a genius at drawing mature performances out of people who can have very little idea of what is required. Though some of them seem to have such finely honed instincts for comedy, it's quite amazing.

Play rehearsal tomorrow night for 12th Night. I'm pre-booked for the next play as well - Caucasian Chalk Circle. My inflated ego for having been asked to do that even without auditioning was punctured somewhat when the co-director said, "Yes, we're asking any men under 40 and with a pulse."

There's a lesson there lads - am-dram. Women out-number the men every time.

I hardly seem to have planted my feet in the flat this week. Was in terror of being marooned in Surrey last night when I went to celebrate a friend's wedding. Congrats to Lucy and Shacks! But why Bentley? I find leaving Zone 3 of the underground traumatic enough! Bentley!!

Our taxi driver failed to pick us up for the last Bentley to London train, so we had to hijack another cab and pay him double to desert his fare so that we could catch the last train from Farnham, the next village.

By the time we were back, the tube had packed in for the night. Yes, London - the 12 hour society. Do come. So I pitched into bed at 2am having travelled back on the 76 bus. Then up at 9 this morn to meet friends.

My new piece of web-space may get some use as friend has announced that he wants to set up a site. Watch this space - I'm going to bed.

Time flies, time flies by too soon

Well said Mr Midge Ure. Doesn't time just fly? I'm doing very little writing, though there is plenty that I could write about.

Have just returned from seeing David Mitchell, author of Cloud Atlas and most recently Black Swan Green, give a talk about his books and answer questions about his writing.

He was very gracious and self-effacing, making a genuine effort to entertain us and also to deal seriously with questions that were asked. Seemed like a nice guy, but will try one of his books from the library.

Doing an online search I see that his book is available from Haringey Libraries at the Marcus Garvey Library. Why does this ring a bell for me? Big White Fog at the Almeida. If it's still on when you read this, do go and see it. A very powerful and heartfelt piece about principles, practicality and struggle.

Have put the first few words down for the script that I'm writing with a friend and he's coming over tomorrow night so we can properly draw up character studies and a synopsis.

In the meantime I struggle to even think about beginning to learn my lines for an amateur production of 12th Night. Scripts down on the 8th of June - I've hardly even picked mine up yet!

Went to see Othello at the Globe last night. Very energetic and engaging. It was a full house and when the doors were open across the way, we could see the Thames quietly chugging by. There was no rain, but I shared a blanket with my friend who seemed very impressed by the whole show - especially the dancing they put on at the end of the performance. Definitely a mood lifter after the gloom of Othello's sad end. Oops, should have said 'spoiler ahead'!

Persistence

Well, the idea of keeping the writing going had stalled again. I've nothing to say, but here's a filler just to keep the mind ticking over and the blog in my mind.

I've really just decided to use it as a goal to start writing - discipline and habit. I've fallen down, but I will try to get up again...

Getting Closer to Patrick Marber

After seeing the play Closer, Nicole Kidman and Tom Cruise, at the time together and filming Eyes Wide Shut in the UK, were keen to be involved in turning Patrick Marber's play into a film.

But the time wasn't right for him, and neither was it right when Mike Nichols took him out for a New York breakfast and proposed the same thing. Patrick Marber maintained his integrity and wasn't won over by celluloid glamour.

That was until his wife gave birth and, keen to provide for his family, all artistic resistance evaporated and he turned the play over to Mike Nichols, who has a strong track record of turning plays into films.

And Marber is not the precious artist. He was the one encouraging Nichols to stray from the confines of the play to make the film less of a filmed theatrical. And it is this attitude of letting it go that has probably kept him sane as he has seen various interpretations around the world.

"It's always the men who dick around with it," he says thinking of an Italian director who screened a short film of a deer being knocked down by a truck before the play begun.

Having seen the play performed worldwide, it was no problem for him to have American accents in the film as the characters, "had ceased to be British by that time".

He pays special tribute to Julia Roberts who he feels has been overlooked with the praise being heaped on the other characters in the film, although he clearly holds them all in high regard.
And this warmth goes for his original cast in the play at the National Theatre, of whom only Clive Owen transferred to the film, changing roles from Dan to Larry. "Clive grew into a Larry," Patrick says.

The last scene of the play, "is not the best scene in the play" Marber concedes, but that is not the reason for the changed ending of the film. That just seemed right at the time and he takes the opportunity to exonerate Mike Nichols from blame on that front. "People think I was pushed into it, but it was just something we all agreed."

Patrick Marber was talking at the National Theatre, 27th April 2007

The Night Watch - Life and love in war torn London

Those familiar with Sarah Waters' writing will not be disappointed by her new novel The Night Watch.
Her fluid style of writing allows the story to roll along without interruption, and the characters fit naturally into the canvas of World War Two. The wartime detail seems authentic and is not laid on too thick, the most important thing being the relationships between the characters.

It mainly focuses on a group of women and their lives and loves and, being a Sarah Waters book, a few of them are lesbians. This is not 'issue' writing though, and if Waters has any point to make about different sexual orientations, it is that it doesn't make the person different from anybody else. Also, if you're looking for pornography, then you will have to look elsewhere.

So we have a straightforeward historical romance, only slightly marred by the choice to jump about the chronology of the war. It seemed an unnecessary device, that didn't add anything to the book, but it was only mildly distracting and this was a very good read.

The Rise and Rise of David Nobbs

Went to the new Writers Guild hall on Thursday 26th, which is on Britannia Street just off Gray's Inn Road, to see David Nobbs give a talk on his life and works.

The room was brightly new, the smell of fresh carpeting being the first thing to greet you as you work your way through the awkward doors.

The second and third greetings come from Mo and Naomi, who introduce themselves, either freshly trained for, or freshly inspired by, the new building.

It's only a small gathering of around 30 people and David Nobbs is introduced as 'our president', 'we' being members of the Writers' Guild apparently, though I am not.

David gives an engaging talk, explaining that he doesn't know what we are expecting, but he is not a teacher so won't be teaching us about writing, though we may gain some tips as he goes along.

And he gives an enjoyable talk about becoming a writer, having the original idea for Reggie Perrin turned down by a Pebble Mill competition thus saving it from only being a half-our comedy.

Nothing is wasted, as David Nobbs, says so he took the material and put it in a novel and from there came the request for the famous comedy-drama.

As for tips, he says that he has only one slogan:

"Action without tension doesn't work, tension without action can work, but if you've got both you're doing well."

Not a catchy slogan by any means from 'Britain's best post-war comic novelist' as billed by Jonathan Coe, but very good advice, I'm sure.

And the lack of tension - drama, plot or interest - that you find in most sit-coms these days would seem to illustrate his point perfectly.

He also stressed rhythmn as being a major factor in writing dialogue for scripts and told a story about being banished from the house by his children for embarrassing them by trying to mimic Frankie Howerd, to try and capture his particular rhythmn. This almost ended in disaster as the police were called by passers-by who saw this man wandering the streets, talking to himself animatedly - this being in the days before mobile phones, when such odd behaviour is commonplace.

Nobbs has written for many of the greats, and another one he mentioned was Tommy Cooper who, although paying for the material, never appeared to use it. Cooper, it seems, simply ad-libbed his way through his act and Nobbs singled him out with the label of genius.

And there are minor things to take into account when writing a book too. For instance, many people only read for 20 minutes at a go on their way to bed, or on a train journey, and he mentioned that one of his earlier works, as being far too complicated - like a jigsaw puzzle - which meant that every time a reader picked up the book, they would spend that time trying to remember where they'd got to.

We followed this with a question and answer session, where we were told that Leonard Rossiter refused to do the second series of Reginald Perrin, unless there was a novel written of it first, and David read us a little bit from his new radio drama, The Maltby Collection starring Geoffrey Palmer, to demonstrate rhythmn and also something that David says he likes to use in his writing - repetition.

Then it was wine or juice with Doritos and chat amongst aspiring writers, published writers, publishers and readers, and a very pleasant atmosphere indeed. I took the card of a man who films his own sketches, so will be following that up as the beginnnigs of my career as an amateur film actor, chatted with a publisher who was the perfect example of ex-public school friendliness and chatted to Helen Smith ('Alison Wonderland') about blogs.

A very enjoyable event, and I'll be looking out for a few more of these.

Muriel's Wedding - the mould from which other feelgood films are cast

Having joined Tesco's branding of the home DVD club, which seems to be a front for LoveFilm, I scratched together a list of 10 films that I would like to see. Top of the list was Muriel's Wedding, which has been recommended to me a ridiculous amount of times.

It came off the list a couple of hours later, as it showed up on TV the same night, so I sat down to watch it without having to rely on the postman after all.

My first impression was decidedly negative. Muriel was a hideous character - unpleasant, unattractive and gauche. I nearly switched off the first time someone called her by her name thinking, "God, I don't want to watch a film about her!"

It turns out that this is why this film rises head and shoulders above other films in a similar vein. There is real characterisation, and the lows are very low and often bitter, so the highs are real gems. Instead of pandering to the viewer's expectations the story moves at its own pace and isn't afraid to really sink its teeth into your thigh. It doesn't then add a salve with fluffy and predictable moments thrown in for the sake of it. And during some of the laughs, you don't know wheter you should be laughing or crying.

It's true comedy drama, and the 'feelgood' label is one that I shouldn't attach to it. Imitations of it are feelgood films; this was simply a quality movie. And as it progresses you see Toni Colette's beauty shining through, and though Muriel is by no means perfect, she is someone I was happy to cheer on.

Rachel Griffiths provided great support as Rhonda, the buddy you always wanted, and Jeanie Drynan supplied a large dollop of poignancy as Muriel's neglected mother.

Highly recommended.

The Black Dahlia - Souless posturing

Went to visit a friend yesterday who is a member of LoveFilm, so he always has a stack of DVDs lying about.

I'd heard uninspiring things about The Black Dahlia, but with nothing to lose suggested that we watch it.

It was indeed uninspiring. Highly stylised to the point of being comical. The excuse, I suppose, is that it is an homage to Film Noir, but it was so lacking in soul that it was simply an exercise in technical skill.

Excellently crafted, but entirely unengaging. I would call this a background movie. The orchestral soundtrack and the sharp images which are occasionally striking, are all things that you can dip in and out of.

There is no point trying to outguess the contrived and obscure plot, and the actors did a fine job of portraying the cartoon characters required by the director.

Not a write off, but not a film I would suggest going out of your way to see.

The Importance of Being Earnest

Went to see the final preview of The Importance of Being Earnest at the Jermyn Street theatre on 18th. It's an Antic Disposition production and I should point out that I am friends of the owners/directors of the company before going any further. Also Miss Prism (Julie Burgess) is a pal of mine so I could do nothing but love her performance.

All interests declared, and ruthlessly searching my soul for bias, I can still highly recommend this to anyone who wants to go out and enjoy a class act, with a lot of laughs.

The plot

Two upper class rakes have cover stories for leaving town (or pretending to leave town) whenever they wish. It might be to avoid an obligation, or simply to pursue pleasure and avoid scandal. Algernon Montcrieffe goes to visit his invalid friend 'Bunbury' whose health can take sudden turns for the worse, and Jack has a troublesome brother called 'Earnest' who is always needing bailing out of trouble at a moment's notice.

When Jack decides to propose to Gwendoline (Algernon's cousin and daughter of the formidable Lady Bracknell) and Algernon, in the course of mischief-making, falls for Jack's ward Cecily, their cover stories crumble and confusion abounds. It is a comedy of manners that has survived the test of time thanks to Wilde's cynicism what lay beneath the manners of the day.

The cast

Stephen Carlile portrays Algernon with such an undercurrent of immorality that his louche decadence has a hard edge which raises the character from being a mere caricature and mouthpiece for clever lines, to a man who is both exciting and repugnent. He epitomises the fact that the human nature Wilde jokes about, is not a pleasant one.

Ian Hallard, as Jack, grows throughout the performace to stand his own ground against the fantastic Algernon. His philandering nature seems to pale in comparison to Algernon's, but when he takes the lead he assumes it very naturally.

James Pellow, plays the formidable Lady Bracknell. The apparently pantomime idea of having Lady Bracknell played by a man, actually removes the temptation of turning her into a grand dame. Aunt Augusta's piercing eye and self-satisfied mutterings are all the more powerful through Pellow's underplayed presence.

Georgina Carey as Gwendoline is beautiful, shallow and manipulative. Her superficiality is betrayed by the sly glances, minute pauses and calculating delivery that show the cogs turning as she works to secure her place with the right man in the right circumstances. It is easy to imageine that, in the fullness of time, she will be very much like her mother, Lady Bracknell.

Cecily, whose real name I don't have to hand, is terrifying as a young girl on the cusp of womanhood. Her gauche strategies and bubbling sexuality display the underpinnings of Gwendoline's more polished manners.

They are supported by the sexually repressed Miss Prism and her pursuit of the equally repressed vicar and served by the Butler in both town and country.

The set

Inspired and spare design. The central entrance is so imaginatively incorporated into the set that you forget that it's there when not in use other than to add a little colour to the set. The props set the scene without crowding the small stage, and all the action takes place without drawing any attention to the small place in which they are performing.

The venue

The Jermyn Street Theatre is small, but generally well laid out. It is like being in a large living room and a small flight of stairs from the box-office leads directly into the auditorium. It seats around 80 people in a nicely laid out setting. There is some scope for losing sight of characters on stage if they sit down, though the directors of IOBE seem to have noted this as there is little sitting. If you want to use the toilet, you will have to go in the interval or before the show as access involves walking across the stage.

Tracy Chevalier or the dishes?

Just as I was approaching the washing up, a friend rang to say she had a spare ticket for a talk by Tracy Chevalier promoting her new book Burning Bright, an historical novel about William Blake.

Not being the sort to turn my nose up at a free ticket (the intended attendee had cancelled at the last minute) I ran from the house (and my responsibilities) to see what Tracy had to say. I have to confess at this point that I didn't know who she was, other than a writer. It turns out that she is most famous for Girl with a Pearl Earring. I say most famous, as that's the one I had heard of because of the publicity for the film although I've not actually seen the movie or read the book.

The talk was at the Southbank Centre, and it's always a pleasure to head over to the Southbank, crossing the bridge from Embankment tube station, humming Waterloo Sunset as you go. To one side you have the London Eye, to the other you can see The City, with St Paul's Cathedral standing to the fore; old London standing proudly against the modern structures.

Tracy said that she now sees herself as half American and half English as she has lived 22 years of her life in America, and has now lived 22 years in England accounting for her full 44 years. Frankly she seemed all American to me. It was strange to hear her reading from her new book, which is set in 18th century London, in a very pronounced American accent. She said that she would not embarrass either us or herself by attempting the Dorset or London accents that the characters should have. Her delivery was pleasant anyhow.

After the reading she was in conversation with John Mullan, who is the chair of the Guardian's book club. He kept the chat going well, though I had the impression that Tracy could probably have given a straight talk quite comfortably as she was fluent and confident with an audience. She then fielded a small selection of questions from the crowd as the reading and talk had taken a little longer than expected.

Historical novels that use real people in an imaginary way are not really to my taste, so I didn't buy a copy of the book. I see it as a hijacking of the subject though, realistically speaking, biography is much the same. Ultimately, I prefer the supposed accountability of biography to the flexibility of literary docu-drama.

Perhaps it's difficult to judge a written style from a reading, but the writing was far more character based and descriptive than I like in my books. I'm far keener on a strong story line - though only having heard snippets, it's impossible to really appreciate the strength of the narrative.

It was an enjoyable talk and, whilst I'm not in a hurry to read one of Tracy's books, I did think she was well worth listening to and down to earth about her writing, without making it mundane. A pleasant evening, well spent.

Blogging on the go

Well, I'm not really on the go. I'm at home thinking about doing some washing up. Maybe some laundry. Perhaps even some vacuuming. The day holds such promise! It's the last sunny day in London for a while, they say. But I've been carefully trying not to complain about the winter, so I can complain about the sunshine with a clear conscience.
To draw out my eager anticipation of these household joys,  I thought that I would try sending a blog entry in by e-mail so I know that if I'm canoeing down the Amazon, I can still update regularly.
So here goes...
Ok, got the address wrong. Another go...oops, and another...

Every journey begins with something left behind

It occurred to me that the world may not need another Blog, even one written by me. Nonetheless, I have decided to give this whole public journal thing a go. If nothing else, it might inspire me to do something interesting at some point just in case someone stumbles across it.

So what happens when a blank mind is presented with a blank page? Very little probably, but I shall peg out my little piece of internet real-estate and see if I can build anything worthwhile on it. And should nothing come of it, then let us not say that I didn't try!

So, without further ado and with a minimum of fuss and fanfare, I declare this web-log officially....open!