That Friday Feeling

One of the most interesting things about finally having a job which operates on a normal work week is that my appreciation of Friday has dramatically increased. In a pub, Friday brings with it a sense of resigned dread with the knowledge that everyone else has finished work for the week and will want a drink, and that they will probably want another drink, and another until it's well past midnight and you're not even masking the disdain in your voice when you ask them to leave.

Now, it's 4:30pm on a Friday and not only and I off work until Monday morning, but already I'm on a train bound for the beautiful city that is York, and all the beautiful people who live there. I could get used to this lifestyle, I suppose, but when it comes down to it I think I would always rather work in the latter part of the day, leaving my mornings to relax. Some day I'll strike a balance, and until then I'm happy where I am.

Good Evening Wemb- Wherever We Are!

Tonight saw Team Tomato's first evening show, in a large hall on a large stage with a paying audience. For the first time in ages I felt wonderfully at home, treading the boards, looking out at the sea (in truth, more like a large pond) of chairs, the lights, the sound, everything screamed theatre! Then this illusion of grandeur is shattered by the Audience of Boredom. Honestly some of those faces said, 'I would literally rather be having a root canal right now.' If pantomime bothers you that much then don't have children.

The saving grace were four members of Team Dry Fish - who's performance of Robin Hood we had seen earlier this week - clapping, cheering, laughing and booing their hearts out. And then helping us clear out afterwards. That's what friends are for, eh? Personally, I couldn't ask for better ones.

Today got me thinking though, if I could do this set-up full time (i.e. one show in the afternoon, one in the evening) I absolutely would, without hesitation. Of course, I realise that's essentially what I'm working towards: a profession in theatre, doing matinees and evening shows. It's always nice to realise the passion is still there, and that the goal hasn't changed.

Minions, if you take anything from reading my words, let it be this: dreams, by their very nature, are difficult to grasp or remember; but when you find passion your dreams will be as vivid as life itself. Those are the dreams to chase.

Mockingjay: Part 1 (Roses are White...)

Today we treated ourselves to a night at the cinema in Durham to see the latest installment of the Hunger Games filmatic series. And once again, I was not disappointed.

Having just finished the book I was especially eager to see how true the adaptation was, and despite some minor details being skimmed over (or at least re-imagined) the overall effect was brilliant. The advantage of a film over the book is that the film can go beyond the first-person perspective of the written works, allowing a huge opportunity for filmmakers to allow extra detail not seen in the books. As I'm refraining from posting any spoilers, I shall leave it there, with the recommendation that you read the books, watch the films, and join the fight.

Hook: Mime Artist

There has been an affliction which has affected me like a curse since my early forays into the thespian lifestyle: my throat. Whenever opportunity knocks, some lurgy seems to sneak through the cracks before I can shut the door, and render me (somewhat literally) speechless. Today, the curse chose to strike.

It was nought more than a mild cough at first, but as soon as I began to act something was wrong. It wasn't just the horrendous feedback from my microphone that troubled me (still having issues on that front), but the fact that my voice just wasn't coming out of my mouth. It is as though certain pitches of speech have been muted, and since I rarely speak in monotone, the effects are noticeable.

Fortunately, I discovered the perfect cure for my ailment during my first acting gig, back in school - anaesthetic throat spray. Genius stuff, literally numbs all the bits that are hurting (i.e. preventing sound) and allows my deep, bellowing tones to echo once more around hall and school.

12-Person Get-out

Turns out when you trebble the number of people striking a set, the time taken decreases rapidly. Far more than two-thirds, by my estimates.

Tonight we had the treat of being able to watch another team perform their show, and it was lovely. The jokes were on point, the villain was a delicious mix of evil and hilarious, the good guys were all smiles and excellent fight skills, and the children laughed, clapped, sang along. And at the end, we joined fellow audience-based team and helped them get everything into their van. A record time later, we're all in our vans and off home just in time to get into bed. Because apparently this week is going to be punctuated by evil morning call times.

Early to Bed, Early to Rise

So the saying goes; health, wealth, and wisdom should soon be forthcoming. Until then, some reflections on villainy.

I love playing the villain. In fact I've almost always played some sort of mean-spirited or misguided character throughout my acting life. There's something really invigorating about being mean, being really, really disliked by an audience, that I just love. Much as I love playing the good guy (see Kill Day), there's always a sort of pressure to keep the audience on your side. You have to make them like you, make them laugh, you have to fight for their affection. As a villain, you don't have to do anything. If they want to like you, that's great. I've had loads of children acting like presidents of the Captain Hook Fan Club during shows, made even better by the hundreds of children around them booing as if their life depended on it. Villainy allows for a great degree of freedom in acting, and a certain following who will support you with such outstanding valour. Call it supporting the underdog, call it being sadistic, everyone loves the bad guy. I suppose the only drawback is there's pretty much zero chance of on-screen romance.

I'm a Pirate... Get Me Out of Here!

Since Big Brother left Channel 4, I've been hard pressed to find really good trash TV to keep me going, fuelling my expectations of minor celebrity status. Luckily, I'm a Celebrity is back for its fortnight-long romp, and I'm reminded of how much I would love to have enough celebrity status to be invited to the Australian jungle, but how much I would probably hate everyone else who has the same level of celebrity as me.

Already I'm shouting at the TV, sighing loudly at any stupid comment, and wincing at the various trials. The pay is probably lousy as well, considering what you're put through. However, if that call came through, you can bet your bush tucker I'd drop everything to wade through cockroaches and chow down on genitals. After all, it's like the turtle and the slug, amirite?

The Get-Ins

This isn't the fist-bump, top-score, boss battle 'get in', this is us moving a vanful of heavy set and equipment into some rather unaccommodating schools. Today, both of them were horrible.

School one: park on the road, move your things up these stairs and a ramp into this classroom whist we wait for breakfast club to finish, then you can just put your stuff in and be ready to start in about half an hour? Yes, and whilst we're at it, I'll have Jennifer Lawrence appear for a cameo, shall I?

School two: Emily's reaction summed it up really. "Ah. I think I've been here before. Hm." No amusing anecdote about a previous show, no scary stories of mislaid props, just a slightly concerned "Hm." The concern was well founded. It made the morning school look like a walk in the metaphorical park. We dodged our set through at least one classroom, two hallways, four tight turns, and 12 steps. And we were in a rush.

Well, at least my microphone works these days.. (touch wood).

Late, as Usual

Missed the midnight deadline which separated yesterday from its more current counterpart it seems. Ah well, with any luck you'll get two posts in the next 24 hours.

The reason for my lateness can be attributed to the same cursed plauge that resulted in a spate of empty days and late bedtimes last week - reading. Having finally watched Catching Fire, I decided I could finally crack into Mockingjay, which has been snuggly sitting on my kindle since I first got it last year. Now, three days later, it has been read and my praise for the Hunger Games series has peaked, as the ending neatly ties up all the lose ends whilst at the same time remaining truly gripping down to the final words. I can't wait to see the film.

On another note, one more item was checked off my bucket list tonight; I now own an entirely unauthentic sombrero. Thank you, Chiquitos.

Christmas Cometh

The advertising is out in full force, the Christmas isles have appeared in supermarkets, the Coca-Cola lorry is touring the country, if anyone was unsure as to our next big holiday event, they've probably been living in a hole with no electricity or any means of keeping time.

For me, as usual, this is the time of year when I negotiate with work time I can spend with my family and friends. Last year was quite easy.. I was working in a call centre where I could chose my shifts and they closed over Christmas anyway. This year things are a little more awkward. We don't actually know when we're breaking up for the holidays. It all hinges on dates and flights for me. I want to see my family for Christmas and work the pub for New Year. That's if we stop performing early enough for me to get flights. Otherwise it may be the other way around. In a worst-case scenario I won't find out in time to get any flights and I'll be at a bit of a loss during the festive season.. it doesn't usually occur to me that planes can sell out.. I suppose I've been quite lucky so far. Let's hope it holds out until the end of the year..

Good Night

Nowhere has my life-long night-owl status been more prevalent than when I'm in a situation involving 'normal' working hours. If I had it my way, bed time would be around midnight to one a.m., my alarm would go off around 10am and my day would begin in earnest around noon. But here I am, in bed at 10:30pm (and it feels like a late bedtime since everyone else was upstairs over an hour ago), my alarm set for just after 6:00am, and with me needing to be in the van before 7, ready for the day.

Many people mistake this odd ideal timeframe for laziness. I disagree. During my waking hours I am just as productive as anyone else, occasionally even more so, because for some pathological reason my brain prefers scrubbing kitchens at midnight and lounging around before noon. Alas, my brain is currently overruled by my body, along with a pretty clear contract. If I want to feed it, I have to adapt to this alien schedule. You'd think after nine weeks I would be used to it.. no such luck.

The Scourge of the Writer

There is a power in this universe which, when implemented, is more detrimental to a writer such as myself than any illness or disaster.

That power is the time- and concentration-succubus that is reading. Yes, a well-penned novel can destroy plans set in solid stone, utterly obliterate any hope of productivity or interaction with the real world. That, in short, is why I didn't write anything yesterday. I was too tired from reading The Colour of Magic by Terry Prachett. Rather, I was finishing it. Because it was excellent. If anyone is struggling to think of Christmas present ideas (you probably all are. I apologize, I can be somewhat hard to buy for) then I may hint at an Amazon gift card. No need for frivolous spending, a mere £3 will buy me a new book. And I promise, I won't judge how much you love me on how much money you give me. Absolutely not.

Time Doesn't Fly

Time flows, peacefully but with purpose. That's how it feels anyway. I know it doesn't feel like week 7 on the road, but I hardly feel as though I lived in London for a while year. However it feels, facts remain. Rehearsals, which feel like we could still be in them, were two months ago. That ridiculous B&B, we haven't been there for almost three weeks.

And yet, it feels like an age since I've seen my friends, two days past. Years since I've seen my family, which in some cases it has been. Time is a funny thing, which we have no control over. It feels like memory has a firm grip on time, but in reality you can grip time as easily as water.

Troubles

There are two things I could talk to you about this evening. One has plagued me since the tour started, the other since I mastered self-awareness (yes, rather more philosophical an ailment.)

The most prevalent one is these damned microphones. I can see why I've never felt at a loss without them. I'm now using the replacement mic pack and yet problems have not been remedied. This pack doesn't like batteries. Today, mid-show, the battery moved somewhat. The microphone stopped transmitting. Twice. Once in each show. In show one this resulted in Mr Darling's second entrance occurring as I tried to desperately pull my clothes back on over my microphone wire (apparently the audience didn't notice that he looked a little more unkempt than his initial appearance); show two granted me a little more time to accomplish this manoeuvre, and in Hook's costume, with the added joy of juggling the tech cues amid costume fiddling. Bah and humbug to the lot of 'em.

The second thought.. perhaps better left for another time. Goodnight, minions.

The Long Weekend

Don't you just love those weekends that feel like forever, the days amble on in no particular hurry, the nights seem to last long enough to get 10 hours sleep without missing that brunch meeting, and everyone you see is just plain old happy. This was one of those weekends. And to top it off, people I was unassociated with were getting into difficult situations in front of me. Schadenfreude at its best.

On the train to York a woman got into an argument with the guard because her 2-person railcard wasn't valid without a second traveller (the guard was polite, professional, and kept a hilarious smile glued to his face). The weekend's main event was the underwhelming second part of Doctor Who's series finale. I won't go into detail for fear of 'Spoilers!' being cried through the streets, but suffice to say I was unimpressed. Tonight, considerably delaying my return journey to base camp, I watched The Hunger Games: Catching Fire. I read the book a while ago but never had chance to see this instalment, and I loved it. The details, descriptions, everything I loved about the book had made it into the ridiculously long motion picture. Now I can't wait to read and see Mockingjay.

Everybody Needs Good Neighbours

I'm going to miss having Team Dickpan next door, they're leaving tomorrow and their TM Hayley is not only bloody lovely - she's the dear who shot me in the face for Halloween - but she's also got a PlayStation and a plethora of nerdy humour to match my own. Tonight we played Worms, the odd new 3D version which I think is ridiculously inferior to the classic two-dimensional strategy game (this new version reminded me very much of an old classic - Hogs of War - from the PS1 days..) but a jolly good laugh nonetheless.

Alas, all good things must inevitably end;  Dick takes wing tomorrow, off to roam in new climbs and so forth, and I'll be stuck with Team Tomato once more. And if I'm honest, there are few people I'd rather be stuck with than these three.

Remember, Remember

No fireworks, bonfires or even sparklers for me tonight. I did, however, fill Uma with hot chocolate and settled down to watch more Game of Thrones, followed by The Apprentice and costume repairs.

I know I've mentioned it before, but I'll repeat for those of you who may not have gotten the idea; never ever try and tell an actor that they have an easy job. It is possibly the most insulting thing you could tell us and you may well have some insults (Shakespearian and contemporary) directed towards you followed by lengthy speeches about what we go through on a daily basis. I bring this up because yesterday a certain head teacher made a rather offensively offhand remark, asking, "so are you all looking into Drama Studies, or what?" I wish I lived in a cartoon so I could have smacked her with my BA Theatre & English Literature degree, which I earned two years ago. No, this is not some sort of hobby, this is my profession, much like yours is being in charge of a school. My hobbies include video games, Doctor Who, and blogging, much like yours seem to include being a colossal arse-hat.

Nope-vember

When I first heard about Movember (back when it was called the slightly less catchy 'No-shave November') I participated. Not that I had much to offer, my hair was more prone to falling across my face rather than growing on it. Now that the delights of being a teenager have passed, I'm consciously not participating out of respect for men everywhere. Because that which I call facial hair is about as respectable as a small dog in a raincoat.

Based on my family's genealogy, I should be able to grow something resembling a beard by the time I'm 27. Until then, don't hold your breath.

I Need More Souls!

No, I didn't get killed over the weekend. The blame behind my lack of blogging lies with Soul Caliber, Game of Thrones, and actually that about covers it. We're in the Durham/Newcastle area for the next month and a half, and for the first week we're neighbours with one if the Dick Whittington teams. Their TM, Hayley, is a self-confessed nerd and had the PS3, Marvel pajamas and Batman slippers to back up that confession. We had a good ol' natter about all things exciting in the world of nerdom, including the MCU line-up for the next 5 years and then we combined asdf and Skyrim before moving on to Soul Caliber character creation (Captain Hook is rather dashing and a skilled fighter) and play. As one of the fundamentals of this game is button-mashing, we were quite evenly matched, and I claim that my losses were nothing more than fluke.

Back in our own house, Joe and Emily invested in the first two seasons of Game of Thrones, in order to re-live the excellent television that is the series, and also to introduce Grace to said awesomeness. I came back to catch the end of episode one, ending on my favourite cliffhanger (spoiler alert, but if this is a spoiler you're unbelievably behind the times): Jamie pushing Bran out of the window. Fits! Wine! Incest! Child abuse! All in the first episode. And it keeps getting better. Can't wait to re-live it with them.