GOSH! What on earth happened there? I hear you cry. Where were you all that time, Mugridge? You deserted ‘all’ of us for so very long.
DON’T WORRY EVERYBODY! I’m HERE! Since I last wrote this, I have been to France where I helped to curate a theatre festival in a 13th century abbey, then we slept in a French car park for a few days, and now I am in Dorset, spending my days dressed as a tortoise, chasing my husband around in front of small children whilst wearing a crash helmet.
OF COURSE.
(I should explain for those people who think that this makes my husband and I exhibitionist perverts, we are not. We are performing ‘The Hare and the Tortoise’ in Dorset until Christmas Eve. So that clears that up)
I am currently sitting in our digs in Poole, in ‘Dolphin Cottage.’ We came to the realisation about 4 minutes after moving in that the emphasis should be on ‘dolphin’ rather than ‘cottage.’ There are no cottage-like accents to this house at all. No open fire, no thatched roof, no inconveniently chilly floor tiles. There are, however, ceramic dolphins EVERYWHERE. Tom accidentally sat on one the first week we were here, coming to the conclusion that Dorset dolphins have surprisingly sharp fins.
Having one place to be for 6 whole weeks has been, quite simply, heaven. After a year of being all over the place, never being in one home for more than 2 weeks, having somewhere to call home for over a month has been just what I needed. I got overexcited about cooking again just because I had a kitchen, and I’ve roasted ALL KINDS of crazy stuff. (by this I mean beetroot and once, carrots.)
An extended period of time by the sea has also left me feeling very creative. I have 2 weeks booked in as soon as the New Year begins to work on my next solo project and I keep having bursts of getting all giddy and writing down ideas. I decided to start 2012 off with a big exciting leap and I can’t imagine anything more exciting than 2 weeks in a rehearsal room with 2 inspiring people, very possibly listening to Van Halen really loud before each day’s work begins.
Enough of me being all giddy about the future, here are some memorable moments of the last few months:
1) Whilst wild- camping in France (NB- this does not, as several people have thought, mean ‘naked camping.’) we decided to be cavalier and ask a farmer if we could stay in his field. I think he was a bit confused, but he did look a bit like the farmer out of ‘Babe’ which made me feel less frightened that he was going to come out of his house with a big shovel and bludgeon us both to death.
2) During one afternoon of driving round French countryside a bit aimlessly, looking for somewhere to get a sandwich, the only place we found open was a café full of nuns. They were eating omelettes and talking about unemployment levels in Britain.
3) During rehearsals for The Hare and The Tortoise, I was suffering with knots in my shoulders (being a tortoise seems to involve being quite hunched) and so I decided to book myself in for a massage at The Lush Spa. I like Lush, I like strangers greasing me up. It was going to be a good afternoon. Imagine my delight (and inner monologue) when the massage unexpectedly turned out to be ‘sea-themed’ with a room ankle-deep in dry ice, a soundtrack of vigorous sea shanties and bird calls, and a cup of tea, shortbread and RUM at the end. Imagine it. Just imagine. Then imagine me on the massage table resisting the urge not to shout ‘THIS IS HILARIOUS AND I LOVE IT’ to the lovely polite French lady working magic on my shoulders. A ridiculous and perfect afternoon.
4) Due to suddenly having our evenings free (children watch theatre in the day?!I know!) my husband and I decided to ‘get into Buffy.’ NO THAT IS NOT RUDE. It turns out that I missed out massively as a teenager, as I didn’t even manage to catch one episode. Despite my irritation of Buffy often being dressed like a lady of the night (althought that MIGHT just be the 90s) and being quite often genuinely frightened, I am really enjoying it. Yes, I spent one episode behind a cushion due to an irrational fear of ventriloquist dummies, but when they start killing people and talking on their own, I think I’m allowed that one.
5) Solely based on the recommendation of a man who works in Lush (I’ve spent an expensive amount of time in that shop over the last 6 weeks) Tom and I took the train to Boscombe, 20 minutes away on the train from Poole, to visit a café where apparently, they do a good flapjack. Predictably, and in true Frankland style, the café was shut. We went to another café instead where we bought a lamp and the best tablecloth in the world. (true fact)
6) We went back to the recommended café the next day. We got there too late. It was shut again.
7) My bestest pal came down from London at the end of a tiring weekend wearing aforementioned crash helmet and running on the spot a lot to the cheers of many children. The two of us spent an entire day in pyjamas, watching classic and indeed classic films such as Home Alone 2. It was truly the most perfect and restful way to spend the day. Yes, we got up and went outside for an hour at the beginning of the day to forage for food (go to a café for eggs benedict) but we were promptly back in the pyjamas, eating cheese off a big board and working our way through The Vicar of Dibley Christmas Specials.
So, there you have it. The next 2 weeks before Christmas bring a move to The Lyric Theatre in Bridport where we perform until Christmas Eve, and a sad goodbye to Dolphin Cottage and the fibre-optic Christmas tree we found in a cupboard here.
This is tortoise, signing out for now.
Merry pre-Christmas Christmas, everyone
Thursday 8 December 2011
Monday 26 September 2011
The Reflections, the Rhubarb Umbrella and the Unpacked Washbag
And so, the tour is over. Well, the UK bit of it anyway.
217 shows, 1085 audience members, 22 venues, 5000 miles, 7 mechanics, 3 tow trucks, 2 shellfish-based food poisoning incidents, 2 kazoos.
I'm struggling to find any way of summing up the last 5 months in an easy way. There just isn't a way of putting it neatly. I've been beaming, I've been shattered, I've been on the hard shoulder of the M6, I've been in an art deco hotel with my favourite primary school teacher, I've been mostly in wellies.
And now, I've been home. The flat was waiting for us like a patient friend, welcoming us back and reminding me that we have a lot of stuff, most of which doesn't match any of the other stuff. I love it. The garden has once again been working a little harder than it needed to on producing giant, ungainly plants. Should I need a new umbrella in the next few months, I have a rhubarb plant that could provide me with several.
I haven't counted this properly, but I would estimate that I've been at home for roughly 12 days in the last 5 months-each time I think about this I wonder why on earth I haven't been shaken by feeling unsettled. I like to make nests (not ACTUAL nests, I'm not a BIRD, and even if I was, I'd be a really good one, like an emu who would build a cool house out of feathers and bits of twinkly stuff) As a general rule, I like to be in the same place for a while. Basically, I like to be somewhere for long enough to unpack my washbag. Yes, cotton wool pads, you CAN go in a little pot by the sink. When I look back over the last few months, I wonder why I don't feel that sense of chaos of having been in 22 different places, why I don't feel a smug sense of self congratulatory pride on having been able to deal with this nomadic life-not once was my washbag fully unpacked. Yes, sometimes the shampoo and conditioner stayed in the shower, but the nail clippers and exfoliating gloves remained firmly tucked away. On reflection (and I've been doing a lot of that in the last week since I finished the tour) the thing that has kept me settled has been Joni. My campervan. My constant. In the show, I talk a little about how doing the show in Joni is a little way towards being at home and at work at the same time and I didn't really realise how true that was until this week. Joni is full of our stuff (no, none of that matches anything either) she has been, for the duration of the tour, my little mini house on wheels.
That's right folks.
I'm a tortoise.
This notion of 'what is home' is something I'm being asked to think more about this week, as I am currently up in Manchester, working as creative mentor with a spoken word artist and theatre maker, Fergus Evans, on a new project about home and identity. It is fitting that I had to leave my little London nest once again for yet more days away from it, but that washbag is used to working hard so there's no reason to empty it quite yet. Through discussions, I came to an upsetting realisation that there was a point on tour when I started to call my various Travelodges 'home' which was a deeply depressing thought. Nobody wants to live in a house where the shower gel is nailed to the wall and you can play 'Count the stains' on any of the flat surfaces. Although, that is a good game.
Home is going to start being orange and on wheels again, as we are taking Joni to France next week to perform the show there, at the inaugural 'Festival de Pontlevoy.' At some point in between now and the 7th October, I have to remember how to speak French again, as the last thing I want to do it to perform to 5 solemnly confused faces who no idea what I'm talking about or why there are two men who performed in the 1970s who were both called 'Ronnie.' I need to translate my show, or at least some of it, as currently all I really have is 'Bonjour, je suis Laura Mugridge' and I'm not sure I can string that out for an hour. I also don't want to just rely on learning car-based vocab, whereby the show would just me pointing to stuff and saying 'Steering Wheel.....Clutch.....SEATBELT.'
We have left ourselves lots of time to get to and from the festival in the middle of France and will be ambling down through French woodland/motorways (we haven't looked properly at the map yet) and doing some writing. I'm always a little anxious when faced with my husband conversing with French people as he often makes words up, and once accidentally told an old lady selling watermelons that he was horny. I will need to supervise him heavily throughout our stay.
And Joni, beautiful, orange, tortoise shell Joni, will be returning to France, where she spent the first 30 years of her life. I'm hoping that being back in her homeland will suddenly mean she starts communicating with us, Herbie style.
I'll keep you all posted.
217 shows, 1085 audience members, 22 venues, 5000 miles, 7 mechanics, 3 tow trucks, 2 shellfish-based food poisoning incidents, 2 kazoos.
I'm struggling to find any way of summing up the last 5 months in an easy way. There just isn't a way of putting it neatly. I've been beaming, I've been shattered, I've been on the hard shoulder of the M6, I've been in an art deco hotel with my favourite primary school teacher, I've been mostly in wellies.
And now, I've been home. The flat was waiting for us like a patient friend, welcoming us back and reminding me that we have a lot of stuff, most of which doesn't match any of the other stuff. I love it. The garden has once again been working a little harder than it needed to on producing giant, ungainly plants. Should I need a new umbrella in the next few months, I have a rhubarb plant that could provide me with several.
I haven't counted this properly, but I would estimate that I've been at home for roughly 12 days in the last 5 months-each time I think about this I wonder why on earth I haven't been shaken by feeling unsettled. I like to make nests (not ACTUAL nests, I'm not a BIRD, and even if I was, I'd be a really good one, like an emu who would build a cool house out of feathers and bits of twinkly stuff) As a general rule, I like to be in the same place for a while. Basically, I like to be somewhere for long enough to unpack my washbag. Yes, cotton wool pads, you CAN go in a little pot by the sink. When I look back over the last few months, I wonder why I don't feel that sense of chaos of having been in 22 different places, why I don't feel a smug sense of self congratulatory pride on having been able to deal with this nomadic life-not once was my washbag fully unpacked. Yes, sometimes the shampoo and conditioner stayed in the shower, but the nail clippers and exfoliating gloves remained firmly tucked away. On reflection (and I've been doing a lot of that in the last week since I finished the tour) the thing that has kept me settled has been Joni. My campervan. My constant. In the show, I talk a little about how doing the show in Joni is a little way towards being at home and at work at the same time and I didn't really realise how true that was until this week. Joni is full of our stuff (no, none of that matches anything either) she has been, for the duration of the tour, my little mini house on wheels.
That's right folks.
I'm a tortoise.
This notion of 'what is home' is something I'm being asked to think more about this week, as I am currently up in Manchester, working as creative mentor with a spoken word artist and theatre maker, Fergus Evans, on a new project about home and identity. It is fitting that I had to leave my little London nest once again for yet more days away from it, but that washbag is used to working hard so there's no reason to empty it quite yet. Through discussions, I came to an upsetting realisation that there was a point on tour when I started to call my various Travelodges 'home' which was a deeply depressing thought. Nobody wants to live in a house where the shower gel is nailed to the wall and you can play 'Count the stains' on any of the flat surfaces. Although, that is a good game.
Home is going to start being orange and on wheels again, as we are taking Joni to France next week to perform the show there, at the inaugural 'Festival de Pontlevoy.' At some point in between now and the 7th October, I have to remember how to speak French again, as the last thing I want to do it to perform to 5 solemnly confused faces who no idea what I'm talking about or why there are two men who performed in the 1970s who were both called 'Ronnie.' I need to translate my show, or at least some of it, as currently all I really have is 'Bonjour, je suis Laura Mugridge' and I'm not sure I can string that out for an hour. I also don't want to just rely on learning car-based vocab, whereby the show would just me pointing to stuff and saying 'Steering Wheel.....Clutch.....SEATBELT.'
We have left ourselves lots of time to get to and from the festival in the middle of France and will be ambling down through French woodland/motorways (we haven't looked properly at the map yet) and doing some writing. I'm always a little anxious when faced with my husband conversing with French people as he often makes words up, and once accidentally told an old lady selling watermelons that he was horny. I will need to supervise him heavily throughout our stay.
And Joni, beautiful, orange, tortoise shell Joni, will be returning to France, where she spent the first 30 years of her life. I'm hoping that being back in her homeland will suddenly mean she starts communicating with us, Herbie style.
I'll keep you all posted.
Friday 16 September 2011
The Buddhist Nun, the Ghost Dog and the Pineapple Upside Down Cake
I have never tried to write a blog after eating a full English breakfast, so let's give this a whirl shall we. If it suddenly becomes incomprehensible half way through, or just stops, you will know that I have either a) nodded off due to over consumption of meat or b) decided to go and have some more.
And so, here we are in the Trough of Bowland, a beautiful, wet, green, rolling hilled corner of Lancashire, ready to perform 4 shows today. Well, I'm obviously not ready just yet. I've got an awful lot of digesting to do before I'm ready to be that physically close to 5 other people. Last night, we arrived in Joni the campervan at The Parkers Arms, a beautiful pub restaurant tucked away in the hills and were greeted so enthusiastically I felt like an old friend. When you walk into a pub and the landlord shouts 'LAURA! COME IN! LOVELY TO SEE YOU!' even though he has never met you before, you know you're in good company. (NB-this would obviously be weird if your name wasn't Laura)
Since I last updated this blog, I have travelled many many miles. After flying down from Edinburgh to Cornwall (MUCH quicker than driving, just for the record) and spending a whole week doing nothing but eating and looking at the sea, we then drove IN ONE GO to the Wirral. I then performed the show in Salford, outside the Lowry, and now we have returned to gorgeous, cheese filled Lancashire, for the last few days of Running on Air in the UK. As always, if I were to write about all the adventures we'd had, I'd be here all day, so here are a few of the memorable moments:
1) On arriving at our little camping spot right by the sea in Cornwall, we were greeted by a 10 year old boy named Kelly, who climbed into Joni to demonstrate a selection of unsuccessful magic tricks. It didn't matter one bit that none of them worked, as he preceeded each 'reveal' with the phrase 'now then, things around here are about to change.'
2) There is nothing better than camping in Cornwall, nothing better at all. Our little camping spot was a bit of a secret spot, somewhere that isn't advertised, and somewhere we found completely by chance. Waking up in the morning with a view of the ocean, then drifting off to sleep with the sound of it lapping against the sand is something that will never fail to make me happy.
3) Whilst in Cornwall, Tom and I visited a country fair. We looked at some pictures of birds, we saw a man doing something strenuous to some granite, we missed the sheepdog trials, we were tricked in buying some cheese. We also happened upon a second hand clothing stall, at which I bought a 'St Ives Lifeguard' red hoodie. Only now we are out of Cornwall do I feel brave enough to wear this new purchase, as I was so scared I'd get myself into a position of having to rescue someone from some deep water that I left it in my bag until we were over the border. I do have my bronze swimming badge, but this only means that should I be unlucky enough to fall into a canal wearing my pyjamas, I'd be able to swim towards the edge, possibly picking up a plastic brick and swimming through a hoop on the way.
4) Whilst by the sea, I did a bit of 'surfing.' Now, I've put that in inverted commas because what I basically did was to lie on the board like a seal while Tom pushed me and I went 'weeeeeeee!' What I did discover, however, is that EVERYBODY looks cool in a wetsuit, holding a board. It's a sport unlike others, in that you don't have to really do anything at all apart from walk around on the beach, looking thoughtfully at the water, nodding your head and saying 'dude' every so often.
5) Whilst doing the show in Falmouth for a week, after the seaside retreat, we got to see lots of friends and family, and that made me really happy. They came to the show, they celebrated my birthday with me in a seafood restaurant where the food left your clothes smelling like they'd spend 4 years on the inside of a crab, they invited us into their houses for tasty food, proper showers and lovely chats in the garden. Should we ever end up in Cornwall, we'll be amongst champions.
6) During the drive from Cornwall to the Wirral (yes, that is an EXTREMELY LONG WAY) Tom started to feel a bit poorly, and we had to keep stopping so he could have a nap in the back of Joni (one of the great advantages of owning such a vehicle is the ease of being able to go to sleep at virtually any point in the day). By the time we reached our campsite, neither of us felt particularly brilliant. Without going into too much detail, what followed was a night-long double-whammy food poisoning extravaganza on a campsite with no toilet, an experience that heavily tested the romance element of our marriage. You really do know you've found the right person when they continue to look you in the eye, and indeed still love you, after seeing you vomit into a field at hourly intervals whilst wailing 'I just don't understand how there's anything left.' Good times.
7) Somehow, some way, we managed to recover for the next day, however, and we headed for the wedding of two lovely friends of ours. I'd like to make it clear that we drove to another campsite that morning, where we managed to have a shower. Nobody likes a wedding guest with sick in their hair. The wedding was a real treat, full of smiles and ice cream and bunting and dancing. Take THAT, food poisoning.
8) After the first day of shows at The Lowry, Tom and I stayed with 2 super friends of ours in Manchester. We were tired, they presented us with a dinner consisting of only cheese. I need say no more about how much we love those guys.
9)Yesterday in my shows, I performed to my own mum (a natural on the slide whistle) a Buddhist nun (very good at the marracas) and a 6ft5 man who was one of the loveliest presences I've had in the front seat. Another treat from yesterday was the lady who announced towards the end of the show 'I'm terribly sorry, I've just realised that my top is on inside out.' We left her on her own in Joni for a little while after the show, to rectify the situation. Barbara, you made me smile a lot.
10) As requested, our arrival at my parents house on Wednesday evening was filled with snuggles, the best spaghetti bolognaise I've ever tasted, and a pineapple upside down cake. The combination of Team Mugridge and a retro feast made me really happy to be home.
11) Last night, whilst eating the delicious feast prepared for us by the chef here at the Parkers Arms, a huge white dog made his way right over to Tom and started to stare at him intently. The moment at which Tom realised this was happening was a joy to watch, as Tom had momentarily thought it was a ghost, which scared the living daylights out of him., making him screech like a tiny girl.
And so, another day of shows awaits. Sunday night will mark the end of the tour in the UK, as we then head off to France to perform it there. At some point I will be attempting to translate it into French, but right now I'm far too busy meeting the characters of Lancashire, and, let's not forget, digesting that full English breakfast.
And so, here we are in the Trough of Bowland, a beautiful, wet, green, rolling hilled corner of Lancashire, ready to perform 4 shows today. Well, I'm obviously not ready just yet. I've got an awful lot of digesting to do before I'm ready to be that physically close to 5 other people. Last night, we arrived in Joni the campervan at The Parkers Arms, a beautiful pub restaurant tucked away in the hills and were greeted so enthusiastically I felt like an old friend. When you walk into a pub and the landlord shouts 'LAURA! COME IN! LOVELY TO SEE YOU!' even though he has never met you before, you know you're in good company. (NB-this would obviously be weird if your name wasn't Laura)
Since I last updated this blog, I have travelled many many miles. After flying down from Edinburgh to Cornwall (MUCH quicker than driving, just for the record) and spending a whole week doing nothing but eating and looking at the sea, we then drove IN ONE GO to the Wirral. I then performed the show in Salford, outside the Lowry, and now we have returned to gorgeous, cheese filled Lancashire, for the last few days of Running on Air in the UK. As always, if I were to write about all the adventures we'd had, I'd be here all day, so here are a few of the memorable moments:
1) On arriving at our little camping spot right by the sea in Cornwall, we were greeted by a 10 year old boy named Kelly, who climbed into Joni to demonstrate a selection of unsuccessful magic tricks. It didn't matter one bit that none of them worked, as he preceeded each 'reveal' with the phrase 'now then, things around here are about to change.'
2) There is nothing better than camping in Cornwall, nothing better at all. Our little camping spot was a bit of a secret spot, somewhere that isn't advertised, and somewhere we found completely by chance. Waking up in the morning with a view of the ocean, then drifting off to sleep with the sound of it lapping against the sand is something that will never fail to make me happy.
3) Whilst in Cornwall, Tom and I visited a country fair. We looked at some pictures of birds, we saw a man doing something strenuous to some granite, we missed the sheepdog trials, we were tricked in buying some cheese. We also happened upon a second hand clothing stall, at which I bought a 'St Ives Lifeguard' red hoodie. Only now we are out of Cornwall do I feel brave enough to wear this new purchase, as I was so scared I'd get myself into a position of having to rescue someone from some deep water that I left it in my bag until we were over the border. I do have my bronze swimming badge, but this only means that should I be unlucky enough to fall into a canal wearing my pyjamas, I'd be able to swim towards the edge, possibly picking up a plastic brick and swimming through a hoop on the way.
4) Whilst by the sea, I did a bit of 'surfing.' Now, I've put that in inverted commas because what I basically did was to lie on the board like a seal while Tom pushed me and I went 'weeeeeeee!' What I did discover, however, is that EVERYBODY looks cool in a wetsuit, holding a board. It's a sport unlike others, in that you don't have to really do anything at all apart from walk around on the beach, looking thoughtfully at the water, nodding your head and saying 'dude' every so often.
5) Whilst doing the show in Falmouth for a week, after the seaside retreat, we got to see lots of friends and family, and that made me really happy. They came to the show, they celebrated my birthday with me in a seafood restaurant where the food left your clothes smelling like they'd spend 4 years on the inside of a crab, they invited us into their houses for tasty food, proper showers and lovely chats in the garden. Should we ever end up in Cornwall, we'll be amongst champions.
6) During the drive from Cornwall to the Wirral (yes, that is an EXTREMELY LONG WAY) Tom started to feel a bit poorly, and we had to keep stopping so he could have a nap in the back of Joni (one of the great advantages of owning such a vehicle is the ease of being able to go to sleep at virtually any point in the day). By the time we reached our campsite, neither of us felt particularly brilliant. Without going into too much detail, what followed was a night-long double-whammy food poisoning extravaganza on a campsite with no toilet, an experience that heavily tested the romance element of our marriage. You really do know you've found the right person when they continue to look you in the eye, and indeed still love you, after seeing you vomit into a field at hourly intervals whilst wailing 'I just don't understand how there's anything left.' Good times.
7) Somehow, some way, we managed to recover for the next day, however, and we headed for the wedding of two lovely friends of ours. I'd like to make it clear that we drove to another campsite that morning, where we managed to have a shower. Nobody likes a wedding guest with sick in their hair. The wedding was a real treat, full of smiles and ice cream and bunting and dancing. Take THAT, food poisoning.
8) After the first day of shows at The Lowry, Tom and I stayed with 2 super friends of ours in Manchester. We were tired, they presented us with a dinner consisting of only cheese. I need say no more about how much we love those guys.
9)Yesterday in my shows, I performed to my own mum (a natural on the slide whistle) a Buddhist nun (very good at the marracas) and a 6ft5 man who was one of the loveliest presences I've had in the front seat. Another treat from yesterday was the lady who announced towards the end of the show 'I'm terribly sorry, I've just realised that my top is on inside out.' We left her on her own in Joni for a little while after the show, to rectify the situation. Barbara, you made me smile a lot.
10) As requested, our arrival at my parents house on Wednesday evening was filled with snuggles, the best spaghetti bolognaise I've ever tasted, and a pineapple upside down cake. The combination of Team Mugridge and a retro feast made me really happy to be home.
11) Last night, whilst eating the delicious feast prepared for us by the chef here at the Parkers Arms, a huge white dog made his way right over to Tom and started to stare at him intently. The moment at which Tom realised this was happening was a joy to watch, as Tom had momentarily thought it was a ghost, which scared the living daylights out of him., making him screech like a tiny girl.
And so, another day of shows awaits. Sunday night will mark the end of the tour in the UK, as we then head off to France to perform it there. At some point I will be attempting to translate it into French, but right now I'm far too busy meeting the characters of Lancashire, and, let's not forget, digesting that full English breakfast.
Sunday 28 August 2011
The Germs, The Rollercoaster and The Emergency Jumper.
Hello. How've you been? Your hair looks nice today. I hope it's not raining as much outside your window as it is outside mine. Well, it's not MY window, it's the window of the little flat I have been living in for a couple of weeks. It's in Edinburgh. And Edinburgh, it seems, is currently going through the Autumn to Winter changeover. It was so cold today I was instructed to bring my husband an emergency jumper. These, my friends, are chilly times. I have spent the last 2 days sneezing, as the Edinburgh germ monkey has taken me in its little tartan grip. I am sporting the ever-attractive red nose/puffy eyes/bits of soggy tissue spilling out of your handbag/olbas oil scented look that is ever so the rage north of the border once the festival hits.
Right now I am squirrelled away in a little corner of Edinburgh. This time tomorrow I will be snuggled down in Joni the beautiful orangey yellow campervan, at entirely the other end of the country. Cornwall, wonderful Cornwall. I don't care if it's raining, if it's foggy, if it's so cold I need to put on MY emergency cardigan, all I need is a little bit of peace and nature, where teenagers don't try to give me small pieces of card whilst walking like demon creatures next to me and wearing pointy shoes and singing into my face without accompaniment. I also need some vegetables. Or just ANY GREEN FOOD.
The festival has been exhausting and eye opening in equal measure. I have seen theatre that has inspired me, made me feel excited about making more work. I have seen theatre that has left me thinking a lot about the role of the audience in the telling of a story. I have seen theatre that made me incredibly proud of the man I married. I have seen one piece of theatre that made me so angry I had to take my jumper off.
It has, as always, been an emotional and financial rollercoaster. (the financial rollercoaster would just consist of one track that plummets steadily into the ground, then leaves you there, strapped in, until you manage to pedal your way out whilst screaming HELP ME to the people who pass by)
Joni the campervan has not been with us up here in Scotland. She is waiting patiently for us in Cornwall, sporting her lovely silvery jacket and full of camping accessories (including some melamine plates that I am PRETTY SURE I forgot to wash before getting the train up here. If Joni smells like a dead mackerel, or has grown mushroom clusters, then I only have myself to blame) We are flying from Edinburgh to Cornwall and I have already had to convince someone else to drive some of my luggage back for me, having bought a 1950s style peach dress with loads of netting, that is so poofy it won't actually fit into my bag. I was tempted to wear it onboard, but then decided that Mad Men chic possibly wasn't the most comfortable of choices on a plane. I was also nervous about getting the netting trapped in the moving walkways at the aiport and getting limbs ripped off, which wouldn't help with the relaxation I've got planned.
In terms of 'Running on Air' there is still some distance to go. Next stop is Falmouth, somewhere I am looking forward to immensely, not least because we are being parked really near a really good pasty shop. Lots of my husbands friends and family will be coming along and I'm excited about performing the show there, as much of the story is about Cornwall. It's somewhere I feel happy, somewhere I love to spend time and somewhere I can wear wellies all the time without judgement. I got married there, in an apocolyptic storm that was so awful it made the news.
I really can't wait to be back.
Right now I am squirrelled away in a little corner of Edinburgh. This time tomorrow I will be snuggled down in Joni the beautiful orangey yellow campervan, at entirely the other end of the country. Cornwall, wonderful Cornwall. I don't care if it's raining, if it's foggy, if it's so cold I need to put on MY emergency cardigan, all I need is a little bit of peace and nature, where teenagers don't try to give me small pieces of card whilst walking like demon creatures next to me and wearing pointy shoes and singing into my face without accompaniment. I also need some vegetables. Or just ANY GREEN FOOD.
The festival has been exhausting and eye opening in equal measure. I have seen theatre that has inspired me, made me feel excited about making more work. I have seen theatre that has left me thinking a lot about the role of the audience in the telling of a story. I have seen theatre that made me incredibly proud of the man I married. I have seen one piece of theatre that made me so angry I had to take my jumper off.
It has, as always, been an emotional and financial rollercoaster. (the financial rollercoaster would just consist of one track that plummets steadily into the ground, then leaves you there, strapped in, until you manage to pedal your way out whilst screaming HELP ME to the people who pass by)
Joni the campervan has not been with us up here in Scotland. She is waiting patiently for us in Cornwall, sporting her lovely silvery jacket and full of camping accessories (including some melamine plates that I am PRETTY SURE I forgot to wash before getting the train up here. If Joni smells like a dead mackerel, or has grown mushroom clusters, then I only have myself to blame) We are flying from Edinburgh to Cornwall and I have already had to convince someone else to drive some of my luggage back for me, having bought a 1950s style peach dress with loads of netting, that is so poofy it won't actually fit into my bag. I was tempted to wear it onboard, but then decided that Mad Men chic possibly wasn't the most comfortable of choices on a plane. I was also nervous about getting the netting trapped in the moving walkways at the aiport and getting limbs ripped off, which wouldn't help with the relaxation I've got planned.
In terms of 'Running on Air' there is still some distance to go. Next stop is Falmouth, somewhere I am looking forward to immensely, not least because we are being parked really near a really good pasty shop. Lots of my husbands friends and family will be coming along and I'm excited about performing the show there, as much of the story is about Cornwall. It's somewhere I feel happy, somewhere I love to spend time and somewhere I can wear wellies all the time without judgement. I got married there, in an apocolyptic storm that was so awful it made the news.
I really can't wait to be back.
Tuesday 2 August 2011
The Rhubarb, The Bra and the Eyepatch.
Now then, I only have a little while to update this today as made a to-do list earlier and there are 29 things on there. I normally put things on to-do lists that are really easy to cross off, such as 'put shoes on before going out' and that way I can feel as if I am achieving something, but this time there is no room for that kind of frivolity.
Here is the problem- I have had a week off at home. At the beginning of the week off, I had absolutely no idea what to do with myself. Since the end of April I have been all over the darn place- filling my time with a) doing shows and b) waiting for RAC mechanics on the side of various UK motorways. Every moment has been filled with the tour, and for moments that were not filled with that. there was Downton Abbey and eating cheese and crackers. It's been pretty jampacked. (Jam, as well, there has been some of that too)
When presented with a week of enforced RELAXING , well I panicked. I felt lost within the vortex of a whole 14 hours of being awake and not actually working. Here are just a selection of things that I did to fill my time:
1) I completely reorganised my underwear drawer. I re-balled my socks, folded my pyjamas and realised that I do not own enough bras. I did, however, remember that I own a horrifically bright luminous pink bra that is so harmful to the eyes I had to hide it underneath my Superman pyjama bottoms.
2) I washed my front door. This is not a euphimism.
3) I harvested all the rhubarb for the garden and made every rhubarb recipe I could think of. (Well, I say 'I'. I OBVIOUSLY MEAN Jamie Oliver. ) I made rhubarb crumble, and, um, roasted rhubarb. OK, so maybe there were only 3 recipes in the book. The other one was
'Rhubarb Bellinis, ' which, in the book, look like the most wonderful thing you could possibly drink on a summer's evening before your husband leaves for Edinburgh for a month, sipping pink blushed cocktails delicately in the garden while the sun sets behind the trees.
What I essentially made was a warm, brown fizzing 2 layered mush, not dissimilar to a drinkable lava lamp. A cocktail is less sophisticated if you have to continue whisking it with a miniature fork whilst trying to pour it into your mouth.
THANKS A LOT JAMIE.
4) I bought a new yellow blanket from a charity shop. I did this on a day that was so hot even looking at the blanket made me overheat. With hindsight, a silly idea.
5) I drank some cider out of the fridge to test whether it had gone off or not.
And so, there we are. That is how I have spent my week off. I have now realised that I leave again on Thursday morning and there is no way I am going to fit in everything that I need to do. Having spent so much time cutting up rhubarb and drinking things out of the fridge just to clear some of the shelves, I am now in a desperate scramble to get everything done. I am dealing with this by a) writing this blog which is in no way making any dent on my list of tasks and b) trying to teach the cat to clean herself after rolling in piles of dust in the garden. I think you'll agree that those are both marvellous uses of my time.
Oh, and of course, I went to the allotment. I have really missed having a little haven to hang out in and I was so excited to see what changes there have been. I am delighted to report that I had 2 of the most perfect, tasty blueberries I have ever eaten. I would have had more, but our plant hadn't actually grown any more, so 2 it was. This morning my allotment buddy and I spent an hour digging for potatoes, finding them like little nuggets of gold. It felt like digging for treasure. I am tempted to try and find my eyepatch from when I was a child to feel like a real pirate.
We also spent a long while pulling diseased leaves off the courgette plants. But there's nothing exciting about that.
Here is the problem- I have had a week off at home. At the beginning of the week off, I had absolutely no idea what to do with myself. Since the end of April I have been all over the darn place- filling my time with a) doing shows and b) waiting for RAC mechanics on the side of various UK motorways. Every moment has been filled with the tour, and for moments that were not filled with that. there was Downton Abbey and eating cheese and crackers. It's been pretty jampacked. (Jam, as well, there has been some of that too)
When presented with a week of enforced RELAXING , well I panicked. I felt lost within the vortex of a whole 14 hours of being awake and not actually working. Here are just a selection of things that I did to fill my time:
1) I completely reorganised my underwear drawer. I re-balled my socks, folded my pyjamas and realised that I do not own enough bras. I did, however, remember that I own a horrifically bright luminous pink bra that is so harmful to the eyes I had to hide it underneath my Superman pyjama bottoms.
2) I washed my front door. This is not a euphimism.
3) I harvested all the rhubarb for the garden and made every rhubarb recipe I could think of. (Well, I say 'I'. I OBVIOUSLY MEAN Jamie Oliver. ) I made rhubarb crumble, and, um, roasted rhubarb. OK, so maybe there were only 3 recipes in the book. The other one was
'Rhubarb Bellinis, ' which, in the book, look like the most wonderful thing you could possibly drink on a summer's evening before your husband leaves for Edinburgh for a month, sipping pink blushed cocktails delicately in the garden while the sun sets behind the trees.
What I essentially made was a warm, brown fizzing 2 layered mush, not dissimilar to a drinkable lava lamp. A cocktail is less sophisticated if you have to continue whisking it with a miniature fork whilst trying to pour it into your mouth.
THANKS A LOT JAMIE.
4) I bought a new yellow blanket from a charity shop. I did this on a day that was so hot even looking at the blanket made me overheat. With hindsight, a silly idea.
5) I drank some cider out of the fridge to test whether it had gone off or not.
And so, there we are. That is how I have spent my week off. I have now realised that I leave again on Thursday morning and there is no way I am going to fit in everything that I need to do. Having spent so much time cutting up rhubarb and drinking things out of the fridge just to clear some of the shelves, I am now in a desperate scramble to get everything done. I am dealing with this by a) writing this blog which is in no way making any dent on my list of tasks and b) trying to teach the cat to clean herself after rolling in piles of dust in the garden. I think you'll agree that those are both marvellous uses of my time.
Oh, and of course, I went to the allotment. I have really missed having a little haven to hang out in and I was so excited to see what changes there have been. I am delighted to report that I had 2 of the most perfect, tasty blueberries I have ever eaten. I would have had more, but our plant hadn't actually grown any more, so 2 it was. This morning my allotment buddy and I spent an hour digging for potatoes, finding them like little nuggets of gold. It felt like digging for treasure. I am tempted to try and find my eyepatch from when I was a child to feel like a real pirate.
We also spent a long while pulling diseased leaves off the courgette plants. But there's nothing exciting about that.
Wednesday 13 July 2011
The Dolphins, the Swan and the Arran Jumper.
Again, it's been too long, hasn't it.
I'm managing to catch a few moments in my little blog- writing corner as I am home for precisely 19 hours and have just enough time to a) write this and b) pop a wash on. I have an anorak to wash and that will not wait.
Since I last updated the blog, Joni and I have been to Reading, Ipswich, Cardiff, Hull, Kendal, Giggleswick, Holmfirth (where Last of the Summer Wine was filmed) back to London, then to Eastleigh, Newbury and back to London.
What's that? I hear you cry- Have you upgraded Joni to a different car that really LOVES going long distances in short spaces of time?
No.
No we haven't.
Now, Joni DID enjoy SOME of those miles. She enjoyed, for example, going up to the top of Kirkstone Pass outside of Kendal, where she pushed herself up with all her might, then sat proudly amongst the low cloud, looking beautiful for weary cyclists and walkers.
She did NOT, however, getting down again, and she preferred, instead, to basically roll down, then have an extremely dramatic breakdown at the bottom in a Booths carpark, where we were circled by 9 year old girls on bikes taunting us with 'ooh, your van's broken down, we heard a big bang.' YES THANK YOU VERY MUCH LADIES WE ARE AWARE OF THAT AND YES, OUR VAN MAY BE MAKING BANGING NOISES YOU CAN PROBABLY HEAR A NUMBER OF MILES AWAY BUT SHE IS STILL VERY PRETTY ON THE OUTSIDE THANK YOU VERY MUCH.
In short, the last few weeks have presented more engine problems than I ever thought it possible to appear. I have learned many new words of a mechanical nature, and although I am not entirely confident about using them in full sentences, Joni's mechanic has told me that I am least pronouncing them correctly.
We have been extremely unlucky with Joni's engine- one mystery problem was chased around and around for 3 weeks and 7 mechanics, spread all over the UK, scratched their heads and changed various things (I know all the names of those things, if you wanted to test me) The problem, which we eventually found in Hull, was a TEENY TINY piece of plastic in the fuel tank. Helpfully, the mechanic who found it has made it into a keyring for us, so we can forever remember the utter mechanical horror of Summer 2011.
The sheer number of breakdowns we have had has had a positive side to it, too. We have met a wonderful array of delightful RAC men, roadside mechanics, VW enthusiasts and petrol station attendants. Without wanting to sound like a big sap (this tour has turned me a bit emotional- probably something to do with the lack of sleep and sheer volume of raspberry jelly I have eaten) we have met some heroes. All you can hope for when you're tired and stranded on the side of the road is that someone kind will turn up, someone who doesn't taunt you for owning a classic car, someone who won't think you've got mental problems for doing a show inside a van. ('What? But where do the audience go while you're in the van? Do they watch it from another van? But what HAPPENS in there...?')
As with my last blog, the highs and lows have been all too numerous to list, so here is my Top Ten Memorable Moment from the last 5 weeks:
1) In on of my Hull shows, I met a man called Gary who has what can only be described as 'Gardening Tourettes.' At any given moment, he would interrupt me to tell me about another vegetable that he had recently planted. Towards the end of my show, when I am recounting quite an emotional encounter, during which I gained clarity about all sorts of things, Gary shouted 'I GREW SOME ROCKET' very closely into my face. Thanks Gary.
2)In Giggleswick, we met Katy, the wife of the headmaster of the boarding school there, who is currently in the middle of knitting an Arran jumper. She started making that jumper 27 years ago.
3) In Clapham (just outside of Giggleswick) Tom and I had had the wonderful and rare treat of camping for 2 nights and having a day to just....be. It was amazing. During the day, we went for a little walk into the village. We walked past a garden, with a lone plastic, 2D swan ornament. On that swan, was printed the word 'John.' That made us laugh for a long time.
4) In Cardiff, Joni was parked outside the Wales Millenium Centre. She was quite a sight, resting a little orangey yellow treat nestled underneath a huge and overwhelming building. On the Sunday night, Michael Ball was doing a solo concert inside the main auditorium. I have never seen so many pastel anoraks in one place. He sold 1900 tickets for his 8pm show. I sold 5. Needless to say, we were both sold out. I will now be popping myself in the same 'National Treasure bracket as Michael Ball. Any problems with that, I will deal with those personally.
5) In the show, I like to hope that I leave people wondering if my stories are real or not. In Ipswich, after my opening sentence of 'Hello, I'm Laura,' I was greeted with 'IS THAT YOUR REAL NAME?' There was clearly no hope for any sort of illusion with that audience. We dealt with that, and moved on. It turned out to be quite a lovely show.
6) I have mentioned before that sometimes, audiences members come back after they've seen the show and bring me gifts. You may remember that in Taunton, I received a chilli plant. You will be pleased to know that I have not killed it yet. In Eastleigh, I received a gift that I feel may be difficult to beat. A local man, who had not seen the show, arrived at the van in between shows, with a huge, framed painting of a family of dophins. In an oddly grumpy manner he announced 'This is for you. Put it up in your van' and marched off. On closer inspection, I am almost certain that the painting had been very recently ripped off a wall. We didn't manage to find that wall, so are now the proud owners of a slightly odd painting of some dolphins that does not fit in the van at all. If you are the owner of a newly empty wall, please do get in touch.
7) In the spirit of using my downtime on tour to work my way through various costume dramas, I can now add Little Dorrit to my list. I liked it, although this was mainly due to the unintentionally comic way in which Andy Serkis kept peeping round the side of trees in a French, sneaky manner.
8) In London, whilst doing the show in a very corporate square near Euston Station, Sandi Toksvig very kindly accepted my invitation to come along to see the show. I was a bit giddy to engage so closely with someone who has inspired my writing for many years, but I *think* I managed to hold it together and I had a really wonderful show with a warm and open audience. Joni is still reeling from hearing the best laugh in showbusiness.
9) An important part of the show is a story of how I climbed a hill to perform a gig to the elements, a few years ago, when I was feeling lost and low and in need of inspiration. In Kendal a few weeks ago, in the midst of a weekend of awful breakdowns and feeling incredibly weary, I climbed up to the top of Gummers Howe, which overlooks Lake Windermere, with 20 audience members, and recreated that gig, with the wind and the rain and the feeling that whatever happens, I must always remember how this feels. Always.
10) Also in Kendal, Joni met her husband to be. He is a T25 called Lionel. Details need to be worked out but needless to say, that wedding is going to ROCK.
I'm managing to catch a few moments in my little blog- writing corner as I am home for precisely 19 hours and have just enough time to a) write this and b) pop a wash on. I have an anorak to wash and that will not wait.
Since I last updated the blog, Joni and I have been to Reading, Ipswich, Cardiff, Hull, Kendal, Giggleswick, Holmfirth (where Last of the Summer Wine was filmed) back to London, then to Eastleigh, Newbury and back to London.
What's that? I hear you cry- Have you upgraded Joni to a different car that really LOVES going long distances in short spaces of time?
No.
No we haven't.
Now, Joni DID enjoy SOME of those miles. She enjoyed, for example, going up to the top of Kirkstone Pass outside of Kendal, where she pushed herself up with all her might, then sat proudly amongst the low cloud, looking beautiful for weary cyclists and walkers.
She did NOT, however, getting down again, and she preferred, instead, to basically roll down, then have an extremely dramatic breakdown at the bottom in a Booths carpark, where we were circled by 9 year old girls on bikes taunting us with 'ooh, your van's broken down, we heard a big bang.' YES THANK YOU VERY MUCH LADIES WE ARE AWARE OF THAT AND YES, OUR VAN MAY BE MAKING BANGING NOISES YOU CAN PROBABLY HEAR A NUMBER OF MILES AWAY BUT SHE IS STILL VERY PRETTY ON THE OUTSIDE THANK YOU VERY MUCH.
In short, the last few weeks have presented more engine problems than I ever thought it possible to appear. I have learned many new words of a mechanical nature, and although I am not entirely confident about using them in full sentences, Joni's mechanic has told me that I am least pronouncing them correctly.
We have been extremely unlucky with Joni's engine- one mystery problem was chased around and around for 3 weeks and 7 mechanics, spread all over the UK, scratched their heads and changed various things (I know all the names of those things, if you wanted to test me) The problem, which we eventually found in Hull, was a TEENY TINY piece of plastic in the fuel tank. Helpfully, the mechanic who found it has made it into a keyring for us, so we can forever remember the utter mechanical horror of Summer 2011.
The sheer number of breakdowns we have had has had a positive side to it, too. We have met a wonderful array of delightful RAC men, roadside mechanics, VW enthusiasts and petrol station attendants. Without wanting to sound like a big sap (this tour has turned me a bit emotional- probably something to do with the lack of sleep and sheer volume of raspberry jelly I have eaten) we have met some heroes. All you can hope for when you're tired and stranded on the side of the road is that someone kind will turn up, someone who doesn't taunt you for owning a classic car, someone who won't think you've got mental problems for doing a show inside a van. ('What? But where do the audience go while you're in the van? Do they watch it from another van? But what HAPPENS in there...?')
As with my last blog, the highs and lows have been all too numerous to list, so here is my Top Ten Memorable Moment from the last 5 weeks:
1) In on of my Hull shows, I met a man called Gary who has what can only be described as 'Gardening Tourettes.' At any given moment, he would interrupt me to tell me about another vegetable that he had recently planted. Towards the end of my show, when I am recounting quite an emotional encounter, during which I gained clarity about all sorts of things, Gary shouted 'I GREW SOME ROCKET' very closely into my face. Thanks Gary.
2)In Giggleswick, we met Katy, the wife of the headmaster of the boarding school there, who is currently in the middle of knitting an Arran jumper. She started making that jumper 27 years ago.
3) In Clapham (just outside of Giggleswick) Tom and I had had the wonderful and rare treat of camping for 2 nights and having a day to just....be. It was amazing. During the day, we went for a little walk into the village. We walked past a garden, with a lone plastic, 2D swan ornament. On that swan, was printed the word 'John.' That made us laugh for a long time.
4) In Cardiff, Joni was parked outside the Wales Millenium Centre. She was quite a sight, resting a little orangey yellow treat nestled underneath a huge and overwhelming building. On the Sunday night, Michael Ball was doing a solo concert inside the main auditorium. I have never seen so many pastel anoraks in one place. He sold 1900 tickets for his 8pm show. I sold 5. Needless to say, we were both sold out. I will now be popping myself in the same 'National Treasure bracket as Michael Ball. Any problems with that, I will deal with those personally.
5) In the show, I like to hope that I leave people wondering if my stories are real or not. In Ipswich, after my opening sentence of 'Hello, I'm Laura,' I was greeted with 'IS THAT YOUR REAL NAME?' There was clearly no hope for any sort of illusion with that audience. We dealt with that, and moved on. It turned out to be quite a lovely show.
6) I have mentioned before that sometimes, audiences members come back after they've seen the show and bring me gifts. You may remember that in Taunton, I received a chilli plant. You will be pleased to know that I have not killed it yet. In Eastleigh, I received a gift that I feel may be difficult to beat. A local man, who had not seen the show, arrived at the van in between shows, with a huge, framed painting of a family of dophins. In an oddly grumpy manner he announced 'This is for you. Put it up in your van' and marched off. On closer inspection, I am almost certain that the painting had been very recently ripped off a wall. We didn't manage to find that wall, so are now the proud owners of a slightly odd painting of some dolphins that does not fit in the van at all. If you are the owner of a newly empty wall, please do get in touch.
7) In the spirit of using my downtime on tour to work my way through various costume dramas, I can now add Little Dorrit to my list. I liked it, although this was mainly due to the unintentionally comic way in which Andy Serkis kept peeping round the side of trees in a French, sneaky manner.
8) In London, whilst doing the show in a very corporate square near Euston Station, Sandi Toksvig very kindly accepted my invitation to come along to see the show. I was a bit giddy to engage so closely with someone who has inspired my writing for many years, but I *think* I managed to hold it together and I had a really wonderful show with a warm and open audience. Joni is still reeling from hearing the best laugh in showbusiness.
9) An important part of the show is a story of how I climbed a hill to perform a gig to the elements, a few years ago, when I was feeling lost and low and in need of inspiration. In Kendal a few weeks ago, in the midst of a weekend of awful breakdowns and feeling incredibly weary, I climbed up to the top of Gummers Howe, which overlooks Lake Windermere, with 20 audience members, and recreated that gig, with the wind and the rain and the feeling that whatever happens, I must always remember how this feels. Always.
10) Also in Kendal, Joni met her husband to be. He is a T25 called Lionel. Details need to be worked out but needless to say, that wedding is going to ROCK.
Thursday 2 June 2011
The Scones, The Sickness and the DVD Boxset
Well now, this is rather overdue isn't it.
If it's any consolation, I am writing this blog in my head pretty much all the time, the only problem comes when the internet in the places I'm staying costs more than the accommodation itself. Now, I know you can't read the blog from inside my head (that's a VERY good thing, believe me) but, trust me, it was HILARIOUS.
So, I've now been on tour for just over a month and would like to report that:
a) I am still alive (I think this is massively due to the high strength vitamin C I have been taking)
b) Joni the campervan is still alive (although she has given us a couple of scares)
c) I am still loving every second of it.
So far on our travels, we have been as far north as Paisley and as far south as Devon. Joni has been parked by the sea, by a gorgeous loch, and by some wheelie bins. Audiences have been, in equal measure, wonderful, kind, full of laughter, bonkers, unpredictable, baffled and surprised.
Today I am at home, in our little flat, squirrelled up in my little seat by the garden window. The cat is trying to get my attention to congratulate her on the killing of a dried leaf she has proudly brought in, and the sun is shining. I've been home since Monday evening and am off again tomorrow afternoon, heading for South Street in Reading. I have loved being at home for a little while- I get to see my husband, I get to remember how ridiculous my cat's behaviour is, I get to spend time on the allotment, and I get to eat warm food with real cutlery (although I did very much enjoy my Travelodge picnic involving eating crisps out of a tray I made from the lid of the cool box) There is something warming about being home, something magical about the chemistry of being back amongst familiar smells, waking up in my own bed, knowing what height the lightswitch is in the bathroom. I adore being here.
Having said that, I am enjoying being on tour far more than I ever anticipated. I am loving the adventure of it all- each day, each show, each minute of the show, is filled with unexpected surprises and treats. Turning up to each new place, the sound of Joni's engine babbling away like a happy tractor, hopping out to meet a new set of challenges and sights. The joy of the unknown has surpassed all expectations.
Now, if I wrote a blog about each place I'd been to, I'd be here until tomorrow evening, subsequently missing my journey down to Reading and, therefore, all my shows, so I am going to hit you with a list of top memorable moments. I would call them the 'highlights,' but that's not necessarily what they are.
1) In Morecambe, amidst the slightly apocolyptic weather on the seafront, my favourite teacher from primary school came to see my show. I think most of us have that teacher that we remember with huge fondness. Mrs Cornthwaite was mine. I felt giddy to see her- she looked exactly the same. I'd like to say that she thought I looked TOTALLY DIFFERENT to the bowl-haired, slightly crazy looking little girl with the thick glasses and the eyepatch, but sadly, this wasn't the case. We went out for dinner afterwards and ate mussels and talked and talked and talked. She bought me a selection of wonderful things for my allotment, and a new writing book. She remembered how I always loved to write and I was overwhelmed by this part of my past coming back and being so awesome.
2) Whilst sheltering from the rain in Williamson Park in Lancaster, two members of my audience from the day before came back to visit me and bring me homemade scones and tea in between shows. With homemade gooseberry jam. And a BABY (that was their baby, they weren't giving him to me as a gift- that would've been far too much) I was so touched by this and we sat and ate the surprise picnic in Joni while the Lancaster rained bashed the windows and made us feel like it was somehow November all over again.
3) In Taunton, a man asked me if he could bring his girlfriend into the show with him. He hadn't been able to get her a ticket and asked if I could 'squeeze her in,' possibly sitting on his knee. I had to explain that this wasn't really like going on a normal car journey, and that the whole '5 people at once' thing wasn't me being decadent, that is the ABSOLUTE MAXIMUM of people that can physically fit into Joni.
4) In Paisley, I saw a shop called 'MENACE- Continental Childrenswear.' That made me laugh for a long time.
5) In Harrogate, I overheard the following conversation in a toilet:
Lady 1) " Ooh, it smells nice in here, doesn't it?"
Lady 2) "Ooh yes, it does. 'Cause they don't often smell nice do they, toilets.."
JOY
6) In Lancaster, I had to get out of the camper about 4 minutes into the show to be violently sick. For a while, I think the audience thought it was part of the show, as I announced it very politely and calmly, but had they been able to hear my inner monologue, they would have heard me screaming QUICK! GET OUT OF MY WAY! I AM DEFINITELY GOING TO BE SICK AND I REALLY DON'T WANT TO DO IT IN HERE AS THAT WILL BE MASSIVELY TRAUMATIC FOR EVERYONE INVOLVED AND I WILL NEVER GET IT OUT OF THE CARPET.'
Needless to say, that is the last time I will be eating seafood in between shows.
It is also, hopefully the last time I will ever leave an entirely undigested mussel on the pavement outside a city centre Travelodge.
7) Also in Lancaster, I found myself standing in the street with 50 other people, most of whom were pensioners, wearing my Superman pyjamas. This was due to an unplanned fire alarm test. Thank goodness I wasn't wearing the cape. I may have had to explain to them all that I couldn't help, and the cape was purely aesthetic.
8) On the way home to London last week, Joni broke down. Three times. I spent most of the day on the hard shoulder of the M6, it took 14 hours to get from Lancashire to London and we arrived on the back of a tow truck. This was a really awful day and not one I want to go into too much as the anxiety fuelled weeping may kick in again.
Panic not, we figured out what the problem was and Joni went into Campervan Hospital for a day, but it did make me aware all over again about how owning a classic VW is truly a labour of love. I wouldn't have it any other way- I'm in this for the rough and the smooth, and it made me realise how precious Joni is to me and how much of a commitment it is to own her. I would say that she is now purring like a kitten, but that is a sound you are never going to hear coming from a VW. Think 'old man leopard with a cough.'
9) In Taunton, an audience member popped back the next day and left a chilli plant by Joni, for me to find. She had grown it in her own garden and wanted to give it to me for the allotment. Again, I was extremely touched by this lovely gesture. Although I do now feel a massive responsibility to not accidentally kill it by spraying it with Flash Kitchen Cleaner.
10) Over the last 2 weeks, I have watched the entirety of series one of 'Downton Abbey.'
I know that's nothing to do with the show. I just really, really liked it.
If it's any consolation, I am writing this blog in my head pretty much all the time, the only problem comes when the internet in the places I'm staying costs more than the accommodation itself. Now, I know you can't read the blog from inside my head (that's a VERY good thing, believe me) but, trust me, it was HILARIOUS.
So, I've now been on tour for just over a month and would like to report that:
a) I am still alive (I think this is massively due to the high strength vitamin C I have been taking)
b) Joni the campervan is still alive (although she has given us a couple of scares)
c) I am still loving every second of it.
So far on our travels, we have been as far north as Paisley and as far south as Devon. Joni has been parked by the sea, by a gorgeous loch, and by some wheelie bins. Audiences have been, in equal measure, wonderful, kind, full of laughter, bonkers, unpredictable, baffled and surprised.
Today I am at home, in our little flat, squirrelled up in my little seat by the garden window. The cat is trying to get my attention to congratulate her on the killing of a dried leaf she has proudly brought in, and the sun is shining. I've been home since Monday evening and am off again tomorrow afternoon, heading for South Street in Reading. I have loved being at home for a little while- I get to see my husband, I get to remember how ridiculous my cat's behaviour is, I get to spend time on the allotment, and I get to eat warm food with real cutlery (although I did very much enjoy my Travelodge picnic involving eating crisps out of a tray I made from the lid of the cool box) There is something warming about being home, something magical about the chemistry of being back amongst familiar smells, waking up in my own bed, knowing what height the lightswitch is in the bathroom. I adore being here.
Having said that, I am enjoying being on tour far more than I ever anticipated. I am loving the adventure of it all- each day, each show, each minute of the show, is filled with unexpected surprises and treats. Turning up to each new place, the sound of Joni's engine babbling away like a happy tractor, hopping out to meet a new set of challenges and sights. The joy of the unknown has surpassed all expectations.
Now, if I wrote a blog about each place I'd been to, I'd be here until tomorrow evening, subsequently missing my journey down to Reading and, therefore, all my shows, so I am going to hit you with a list of top memorable moments. I would call them the 'highlights,' but that's not necessarily what they are.
1) In Morecambe, amidst the slightly apocolyptic weather on the seafront, my favourite teacher from primary school came to see my show. I think most of us have that teacher that we remember with huge fondness. Mrs Cornthwaite was mine. I felt giddy to see her- she looked exactly the same. I'd like to say that she thought I looked TOTALLY DIFFERENT to the bowl-haired, slightly crazy looking little girl with the thick glasses and the eyepatch, but sadly, this wasn't the case. We went out for dinner afterwards and ate mussels and talked and talked and talked. She bought me a selection of wonderful things for my allotment, and a new writing book. She remembered how I always loved to write and I was overwhelmed by this part of my past coming back and being so awesome.
2) Whilst sheltering from the rain in Williamson Park in Lancaster, two members of my audience from the day before came back to visit me and bring me homemade scones and tea in between shows. With homemade gooseberry jam. And a BABY (that was their baby, they weren't giving him to me as a gift- that would've been far too much) I was so touched by this and we sat and ate the surprise picnic in Joni while the Lancaster rained bashed the windows and made us feel like it was somehow November all over again.
3) In Taunton, a man asked me if he could bring his girlfriend into the show with him. He hadn't been able to get her a ticket and asked if I could 'squeeze her in,' possibly sitting on his knee. I had to explain that this wasn't really like going on a normal car journey, and that the whole '5 people at once' thing wasn't me being decadent, that is the ABSOLUTE MAXIMUM of people that can physically fit into Joni.
4) In Paisley, I saw a shop called 'MENACE- Continental Childrenswear.' That made me laugh for a long time.
5) In Harrogate, I overheard the following conversation in a toilet:
Lady 1) " Ooh, it smells nice in here, doesn't it?"
Lady 2) "Ooh yes, it does. 'Cause they don't often smell nice do they, toilets.."
JOY
6) In Lancaster, I had to get out of the camper about 4 minutes into the show to be violently sick. For a while, I think the audience thought it was part of the show, as I announced it very politely and calmly, but had they been able to hear my inner monologue, they would have heard me screaming QUICK! GET OUT OF MY WAY! I AM DEFINITELY GOING TO BE SICK AND I REALLY DON'T WANT TO DO IT IN HERE AS THAT WILL BE MASSIVELY TRAUMATIC FOR EVERYONE INVOLVED AND I WILL NEVER GET IT OUT OF THE CARPET.'
Needless to say, that is the last time I will be eating seafood in between shows.
It is also, hopefully the last time I will ever leave an entirely undigested mussel on the pavement outside a city centre Travelodge.
7) Also in Lancaster, I found myself standing in the street with 50 other people, most of whom were pensioners, wearing my Superman pyjamas. This was due to an unplanned fire alarm test. Thank goodness I wasn't wearing the cape. I may have had to explain to them all that I couldn't help, and the cape was purely aesthetic.
8) On the way home to London last week, Joni broke down. Three times. I spent most of the day on the hard shoulder of the M6, it took 14 hours to get from Lancashire to London and we arrived on the back of a tow truck. This was a really awful day and not one I want to go into too much as the anxiety fuelled weeping may kick in again.
Panic not, we figured out what the problem was and Joni went into Campervan Hospital for a day, but it did make me aware all over again about how owning a classic VW is truly a labour of love. I wouldn't have it any other way- I'm in this for the rough and the smooth, and it made me realise how precious Joni is to me and how much of a commitment it is to own her. I would say that she is now purring like a kitten, but that is a sound you are never going to hear coming from a VW. Think 'old man leopard with a cough.'
9) In Taunton, an audience member popped back the next day and left a chilli plant by Joni, for me to find. She had grown it in her own garden and wanted to give it to me for the allotment. Again, I was extremely touched by this lovely gesture. Although I do now feel a massive responsibility to not accidentally kill it by spraying it with Flash Kitchen Cleaner.
10) Over the last 2 weeks, I have watched the entirety of series one of 'Downton Abbey.'
I know that's nothing to do with the show. I just really, really liked it.
Monday 2 May 2011
The Sunshine, The Ambush and the Slow Motion Montage
And so, here we are.
On tour.
Yowsers.
I am hoping to update this frequently while I am away- the idea of writing this from a little window somewhere makes me happy. I am currently sitting in a hotel room in a swish hotel in Retford, (near Worksop, I THINK) and wearing a new jumper that I bought today. It makes me feel like Felicity Kendal in The Good Life. This is mainly because it looks like I've already owned it for about 20 years. I think it's a little way of taking the allotment with me on tour. My husband was reluctant to let me take a fruit bush in the van with me so looking like I should be holding a spade will have to suffice.
Leaving to go on tour on Friday was tricky- this was for 3 main reasons:
1) I am rubbish at packing. I tend to pack as many things as I can physically put in a bag, usually breaking a zip in the process as I have a very GET IN THERE- JUST GET IN YOU IDIOT approach. Packing for several months was a huge challenge for me, not only because I do not own a suitcase. I am now using a large bag designed for a golfer.
2)I kept getting distracted by the Royal Wedding. I say 'distracted'- what I actually mean is that I kept having to stop what I was doing to have a big cry. In short, I will cry at all weddings, no matter how tasteless/unemotional/misjudged they are. You could put a weasel in a white dress and I would cry at 'how beautiful' it looked. This is not to suggest that Kate Middleton looks like a wease. I think the general consensus is that she is a 'hottie'.
3) I was feeling a bit emotional anyway, about the idea of being away from home for several months. I was unbelievably excited about the tour- it's something I've been counting down to for a while- but I felt all teary about leaving Tom for a little while. I had my suspicions that these emotions were bubbling when I inexplicably burst into tears during an election montage in The West Wing the night before. Montages, like weddings, are guaranteed to make me cry. Particularly if there is any element of slow-motion.
Inspite of all this emotion, driving away from the house in beautiful Joni, beeping the horn and waving to Tom out of the window felt so incredibly exciting. The first few hours of driving were thrilling- my stage manager Beck who is with me, and I, ate several jelly babies, and I discovered Becky's INCREDIBLE talent for a terrifying accurate impression of a peacock. Quite a shock in such a small space but I enjoyed it immensely.
And, here I am now, having already done 8 shows. The first stop was The Junction in Cambridge, a festival of new, site specific and imtimate work. The sun was shining, the people were smiling, and it was so windy that I had constant fear of my dress blowing over my head, giving the audience far more than they had paid for. I felt nervous and exhilarating doing the show again after such a long break, but the people that Joni welcomed in through her doors were kind, enthusiastic and brought the sunshine in with them.
I did have one show, on Sunday that I will hereafter be referring to as 'The Great Ambush of 2011.' During the middle section of the show, it seems I was 'set upon' by approximately 20 local youths, who found it amusing to knock on all the windows, open the doors and rock the van, a experience that shocked me more than I would have predicted. What I try to do within the show is to create a tiny little world inside Joni- distant from reality. I want people to forget where they are for an hour, and feel that inside Joni is all that exists. An invasion from the outside world left me shaken as it was so unexpected. The audience with me during that show were truly wonderful, and after a small cry (YES I CRIED AGAIN- it's been an emotional week.) we continued our journey together. I doubt I will ever forget that show.
I will also never forget the fact that for the shows that followed that one- Joni and I were granted our very own security guard. How incredibly exciting. I felt like J-Lo, although 'L-Mug' is not a name I will be taking on. Due to the heat of the afternoon, I did have to insist that my burly security guard popped on a bit of suncream (I do worry) but he didn't protest, and the rest of the afternoon travelled along smoothly, with more lovely audience members and more sunshine.
Today we drive to Leeds. I have never been to Leeds. Apparently it's quite snazzy. Joni and I are excited.
More...much more to come....
Thursday 21 April 2011
The Feast, the Suitcase and David Tenant.
Well, it's a beautiful sunny day again. It does seem that I often spent sunny days inside doing adminstrational tasks. I think that the sun inspires me to write. It also inspires me to eat Feast ice creams, a treat for which I currently have a seemingly unstoppable obsession. Managing to eat the outside ice cream bit without breaking the inside chocolate bit is surely one of life's great achievements. If I manage it, I often feel the need to approach the nearest person and shout 'LOOK! I DID IT! I AM THE ULTIMATE CHAMPION!' at them.
You'll be pleased to know that I have, up to now, managed to resist that urge.
I'll be heading down to the allotment in a little while, with Desert Island Discs in my ears. I have recently discovered their archives and am enjoying so much learning lots about some of my heroes. I am also enjoying the realisation that celebrities are not necessary cooler than me when it comes to music. Particularly David Tenant.
The allotment is coming along nicely, and is still providing me with the most wonderful of peaceful moments. We do need a new watering can, as the current one pours both out of the spout, and out of the bottom, soaking your wellies and your trousers from the knees downwards. It's very cooling, but I often leave the allotment looking suspiciously like I've wet myself.
The kitchen and bathroom are now full of tomato seedlings planted in cut off toilet rolls. I have only made the water/ Flash cleaner mistake once in the last few weeks, and to be honest, I don't those particular seeds were going to do that well anyway.
I will miss the allotment while I am away on tour. It has turned out to be a little haven for me. I am going to take a photo of it away with me, put it up in Joni the campervan, and make sure I take time to look at it and imagine myself back there when things get a bit too much. The tour is fast approaching- I leave a week tomorrow (yowsers, that's the first time I've written that down) and it is all starting to feel very real. I am incredibly excited about it, and also get waves of unbearable nausea about every 45 minutes when I remember what I am about to embark upon.
I found myself in Cambridge last weekend and popped into The Junction theatre, which is my first stop next week. (I went to Cambridge on purpose, I didn't 'find myself' there after getting massively lost on my way back from Budgeons.) They interviewed me about the show, and I thought I'd pop that link in here. Please remember if you listen to it that I am 30, and not 11 like I sound:
http://audioboo.fm/boos/334710-junction-sampled-festival-podcast-interview-with-laura-mugridge-joni-part-one
Last week was a week of redevelopment of the show. The story is so autobiographical that I felt it needed to be updated. It was a week of hard work, tough at times, and involved many emotions, including euphoria, blind fear, disbelief and, principally, joy that I get to do this show all over again. It also involved an AWFUL lot of tea. I seemed to spend the entire time washing up mugs, but I am sure there was some rehearsal in there somewhere too.
Being on tour is a new experience for me. Generally, I like being at home. I like pottering about, I like writing from this little spot by the window. I like my husband.
I am in the process of putting together a 'Tour Survival Kit' to ease the worry of being away for so long. After realising that I probably needed a suitcase more than I needed 'fancy exfoliator for skin-treat,' I have reworked the list and come up with something more practical.
1) Suitcase (carrying all belongings in a selection of Sainsburys carrier bags is not correct behaviour for a woman in her 30s)
2)New washbag (old one has remnants of Lush solid shampoo bar that has been welded on to the side since 2004)
3) Notebook for musings
4) Superman pyjamas PLUS CAPE (it makes me feel magical, even when worn with sleepwear)
5) Series One of Quantum Leap (I can't afford the whole set so am doing it one series at a time)
6) Large supply of Sesame Snaps
7) Photo of allotment
8) Clothes
Now all that's sorted, I can concentrate on being exited. I've a feeling that's going to take up a lot of time. In the meantime, I am heading down to Devon on Saturday to join my husband who is away rehearsing a show with his dad. We will be spending the Easter weekend camping in Joni, giving her a last civilian treat before she switches into show mode. We will also be celebrating our 2nd wedding anniversary. It seems crazy that our wedding day, with its perfect magical moments, dancing until 2am and the 'worst weather that Cornwall has seen in 7 years' was two whole years ago. I can't wait to spend the day on Monday with that awesome bloke I married, and, of course, kicking his ass at backgammon. He may be handsome and brilliant, but he can be unbearably smug when he beats me at board games.
You'll be pleased to know that I have, up to now, managed to resist that urge.
I'll be heading down to the allotment in a little while, with Desert Island Discs in my ears. I have recently discovered their archives and am enjoying so much learning lots about some of my heroes. I am also enjoying the realisation that celebrities are not necessary cooler than me when it comes to music. Particularly David Tenant.
The allotment is coming along nicely, and is still providing me with the most wonderful of peaceful moments. We do need a new watering can, as the current one pours both out of the spout, and out of the bottom, soaking your wellies and your trousers from the knees downwards. It's very cooling, but I often leave the allotment looking suspiciously like I've wet myself.
The kitchen and bathroom are now full of tomato seedlings planted in cut off toilet rolls. I have only made the water/ Flash cleaner mistake once in the last few weeks, and to be honest, I don't those particular seeds were going to do that well anyway.
I will miss the allotment while I am away on tour. It has turned out to be a little haven for me. I am going to take a photo of it away with me, put it up in Joni the campervan, and make sure I take time to look at it and imagine myself back there when things get a bit too much. The tour is fast approaching- I leave a week tomorrow (yowsers, that's the first time I've written that down) and it is all starting to feel very real. I am incredibly excited about it, and also get waves of unbearable nausea about every 45 minutes when I remember what I am about to embark upon.
I found myself in Cambridge last weekend and popped into The Junction theatre, which is my first stop next week. (I went to Cambridge on purpose, I didn't 'find myself' there after getting massively lost on my way back from Budgeons.) They interviewed me about the show, and I thought I'd pop that link in here. Please remember if you listen to it that I am 30, and not 11 like I sound:
http://audioboo.fm/boos/334710-junction-sampled-festival-podcast-interview-with-laura-mugridge-joni-part-one
Last week was a week of redevelopment of the show. The story is so autobiographical that I felt it needed to be updated. It was a week of hard work, tough at times, and involved many emotions, including euphoria, blind fear, disbelief and, principally, joy that I get to do this show all over again. It also involved an AWFUL lot of tea. I seemed to spend the entire time washing up mugs, but I am sure there was some rehearsal in there somewhere too.
Being on tour is a new experience for me. Generally, I like being at home. I like pottering about, I like writing from this little spot by the window. I like my husband.
I am in the process of putting together a 'Tour Survival Kit' to ease the worry of being away for so long. After realising that I probably needed a suitcase more than I needed 'fancy exfoliator for skin-treat,' I have reworked the list and come up with something more practical.
1) Suitcase (carrying all belongings in a selection of Sainsburys carrier bags is not correct behaviour for a woman in her 30s)
2)New washbag (old one has remnants of Lush solid shampoo bar that has been welded on to the side since 2004)
3) Notebook for musings
4) Superman pyjamas PLUS CAPE (it makes me feel magical, even when worn with sleepwear)
5) Series One of Quantum Leap (I can't afford the whole set so am doing it one series at a time)
6) Large supply of Sesame Snaps
7) Photo of allotment
8) Clothes
Now all that's sorted, I can concentrate on being exited. I've a feeling that's going to take up a lot of time. In the meantime, I am heading down to Devon on Saturday to join my husband who is away rehearsing a show with his dad. We will be spending the Easter weekend camping in Joni, giving her a last civilian treat before she switches into show mode. We will also be celebrating our 2nd wedding anniversary. It seems crazy that our wedding day, with its perfect magical moments, dancing until 2am and the 'worst weather that Cornwall has seen in 7 years' was two whole years ago. I can't wait to spend the day on Monday with that awesome bloke I married, and, of course, kicking his ass at backgammon. He may be handsome and brilliant, but he can be unbearably smug when he beats me at board games.
Sunday 3 April 2011
The Hula Hoop, the Seedlings and the Mystery Potatoes
Goodness me, what a beautiful day. The sun is shining, the coffee is hot and the cat is going mental over a broken guitar string that she is attempting to communicate with by squeaking at it.
I have had an extremely busy few weeks, lots of time spent indoors, an upsetting amount of time on trains (typically carrying a selection of objects that raised eyebrows each time I got onto the tube) I wish I could say that in the last 2 weeks I hadn't knocked lots of stuff off a shelf in Tesco with a hula hoop and then got a lady's leg trapped in it, because alas, I can't.
I have been doing a project in a primary school in Essex, the target of which is being brave. We are asking the children to look outside of their comfort zone and take risks. If ever I go into school feeling low (which is quite often, due to the 5am starts that the job requires. I have been told I am 'pure evil' before 8.30am) then after 5 minutes with the children, their beaming faces, jumpers covered in mashed potato and grazes on their noses, I am beaming myself. I feel like I'm learning a lot from them- they are so open to new things, skipping fearlessly into the unknown, something that oftens renders me nervous.
My UK tour is an example of this. It starts in 26 days (gulp) and although I am full of excitement, I also feel a level of apprehension. It's just that I don't know what to expect from 'being on the road.' Will I get homesick? Will I turn into Spinal Tap? Will I live exclusively on Ginsters pasties for 4 months, like Alan Partridge? The possibilities are endless.
One thing I will miss is the allotment. That has been an unexpected surprise treat for the Spring. With a little bit of work whenever we can find a moment, the 4 of us have turned what looked like a slightly rubbish lawn into a plot just ready to get going.
Our kitchen is full of little seedlings, starting to peep their green heads out of the soil. My main worry is that I am going to accidentally spray them with kitchen cleaner like I did last year, but I am being much more careful this time. It turns out that courgette plants aren't massively keen on being covered in citrus multi purpose spray.
Our bathroom is full of potatoes, and if I'm honest, I can't remember why. I know we are waiting for something to happen. It could have happened already, but I wouldn't know if had as I can't remember what I'm looking out for. Chips?
This afternoon I am heading to that beautiful patch of peacefulness. It turns out that our little spot is the calm I've been looking for. I have to find a way to take a little bit of it away with me on tour.
A potato, perhaps?
I have had an extremely busy few weeks, lots of time spent indoors, an upsetting amount of time on trains (typically carrying a selection of objects that raised eyebrows each time I got onto the tube) I wish I could say that in the last 2 weeks I hadn't knocked lots of stuff off a shelf in Tesco with a hula hoop and then got a lady's leg trapped in it, because alas, I can't.
I have been doing a project in a primary school in Essex, the target of which is being brave. We are asking the children to look outside of their comfort zone and take risks. If ever I go into school feeling low (which is quite often, due to the 5am starts that the job requires. I have been told I am 'pure evil' before 8.30am) then after 5 minutes with the children, their beaming faces, jumpers covered in mashed potato and grazes on their noses, I am beaming myself. I feel like I'm learning a lot from them- they are so open to new things, skipping fearlessly into the unknown, something that oftens renders me nervous.
My UK tour is an example of this. It starts in 26 days (gulp) and although I am full of excitement, I also feel a level of apprehension. It's just that I don't know what to expect from 'being on the road.' Will I get homesick? Will I turn into Spinal Tap? Will I live exclusively on Ginsters pasties for 4 months, like Alan Partridge? The possibilities are endless.
One thing I will miss is the allotment. That has been an unexpected surprise treat for the Spring. With a little bit of work whenever we can find a moment, the 4 of us have turned what looked like a slightly rubbish lawn into a plot just ready to get going.
Our kitchen is full of little seedlings, starting to peep their green heads out of the soil. My main worry is that I am going to accidentally spray them with kitchen cleaner like I did last year, but I am being much more careful this time. It turns out that courgette plants aren't massively keen on being covered in citrus multi purpose spray.
Our bathroom is full of potatoes, and if I'm honest, I can't remember why. I know we are waiting for something to happen. It could have happened already, but I wouldn't know if had as I can't remember what I'm looking out for. Chips?
This afternoon I am heading to that beautiful patch of peacefulness. It turns out that our little spot is the calm I've been looking for. I have to find a way to take a little bit of it away with me on tour.
A potato, perhaps?
Tuesday 8 March 2011
the Dual Carriageway, the Treacle Tart and the Glorious New Song
Good morning from my sunny little corner- the sun is beaming in through the door to the garden, the cat is scampering/prancing/jumping like a mental and I have a spring in my step (well I would if I was walking around, but that makes typing difficult)
There are several reasons for my chirpy mood.
a) It is sunny
b)I have discovered some new music recently and am in that first flush of love for a song that I cannot get to the end of without starting it again, like a child watching a Disney film.
c) I spent the entire weekend in a dressing gown.
Let me elaborate (I know that's what you wanted, I could sense it)
Actually, there isn't much elaborating to do on point a)- I think it's pretty standard for sunshine to make people happy. Unless, of course, there is a huge life threatening drought. That doesn't seem to be the case here
b) The song that is making my heart sing is this song:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-wsdC74-t2s
I was introduced to this album last night and woke up thinking about it. I will be taking this beautiful sound with me wherever I go today. ( I will take my headphones out when talking to people, but only if I think they are interesting enough to get my full attention. Otherwise they are staying IN) I love the first day of having found a new song-it feels like an exciting new relationship that you want to tell everyone about. I sometimes like to pretend I'm in a film when going about my daily business and enjoy choosing appropriate music for varying levels of emotional situations (Fleetwood Mac when running for a bus, for example)
Today's film will be a lovely one.
c) My weekend in a dressing gown was not due to me spending 2 days in some sort of sex nest. My husband was not involved at all. In fact, he was very understanding of the whole thing.
Two years ago, on my hen do (I hate the word 'do' in reference to a party, but I am going to bare it for the purposes of this sentence) I headed to Crawley for the weekend with 14 of my favourite people. Forget Prague, forget Paris, forget Blackpool-Crawley, my friends, is where the COOLIES hang out. And the coolies wear DRESSING GOWNS.
We spent the weekend in a wooden lodge somewhere leafy and wonderful just outside of Crawley. There is a golf course, there is a health club, there are some wonderful little lodges made out of wood that have underfloor heating. Three days were spent wearing dressing gowns, eating crisps and laughing til we cried at my cousin Catherine trying to hum the baseline from 'Good Vibrations.'
This time it was very similar.
There was four us returning to the lodges-we were four women desperate for a break. It's often so easy to forget the need for planning some time in to just 'be.' I spend so much time fitting one thing in to another in my schedule, ending up in a neverending game of Diary Tetris. This weekend was exactly what I needed.
All three days involved wearing elasticated waistband 'leisure trousers' until roughly 7pm, then changing in pyjamas. You'd be right in thinking that those two outfits are basically the same.
The highlight for me was the discovery of a present in silver paper, hidden in my luggage by my husband. What is it? I thought. Some treats for dinner? A little love note?
Wrong.
As if I wasn't already sure enough that I had married the right person, I opened the parcel to find a very small red and blue silky cape. My awesome husband had guessed, quite rightly, that the thing missing in my life is the finishing touches to my new Superman pyjamas.
Is it a bird? Is it a plane? No, it's a woman in her 30s wearing pyjamas designed for a child.
And a CAPE.
It goes without saying that my fellow lodge- dwellers set me a selection of superhero tasks to perform whilst in my heroic outfit, although I did find the cape a little snug in the neck area (for 'snug' please read 'slightly strangling.') This was due to the fact that it was designed for a 5 year old. I also find it highly amusing that my husband and I now own the rest of the outfit which he had to buy along with the cape. I have thought about dressing up the cat but I'm not sure she'll enjoy it as much as I would.
When not performing deeds of pyjama based bravery, we spent our time doing exactly what we wanted. Our motto of 'There is no judgement in Crawley' meant that no activity/ lack of activity/ strange choice of snack food/ excessive amount of snack food was frowned upon. Yes we ate treacle tart ALL DAY. But what happens in Crawley stays in Crawley.
Highlights were the face masks that made us look frighteningly like we were recreating the Black and White Minstrel Show, a few rounds of The Humming Game (no Beach Boys this time but there was a wonderful and surprising rendition of various 80s drum solos through the medium of hum) a country ramble that took us over a dual carriage way and through an estate, and the perfect and precious gift of a bit of quiet. I spent a few hours alone, just reading, just being. It was heavenly. The sun shone, the treacle tart seemed neverending, the box of wine made it impossible for us to tell exactly how much we'd actually drunk.
Perfect.
There are several reasons for my chirpy mood.
a) It is sunny
b)I have discovered some new music recently and am in that first flush of love for a song that I cannot get to the end of without starting it again, like a child watching a Disney film.
c) I spent the entire weekend in a dressing gown.
Let me elaborate (I know that's what you wanted, I could sense it)
Actually, there isn't much elaborating to do on point a)- I think it's pretty standard for sunshine to make people happy. Unless, of course, there is a huge life threatening drought. That doesn't seem to be the case here
b) The song that is making my heart sing is this song:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-wsdC74-t2s
I was introduced to this album last night and woke up thinking about it. I will be taking this beautiful sound with me wherever I go today. ( I will take my headphones out when talking to people, but only if I think they are interesting enough to get my full attention. Otherwise they are staying IN) I love the first day of having found a new song-it feels like an exciting new relationship that you want to tell everyone about. I sometimes like to pretend I'm in a film when going about my daily business and enjoy choosing appropriate music for varying levels of emotional situations (Fleetwood Mac when running for a bus, for example)
Today's film will be a lovely one.
c) My weekend in a dressing gown was not due to me spending 2 days in some sort of sex nest. My husband was not involved at all. In fact, he was very understanding of the whole thing.
Two years ago, on my hen do (I hate the word 'do' in reference to a party, but I am going to bare it for the purposes of this sentence) I headed to Crawley for the weekend with 14 of my favourite people. Forget Prague, forget Paris, forget Blackpool-Crawley, my friends, is where the COOLIES hang out. And the coolies wear DRESSING GOWNS.
We spent the weekend in a wooden lodge somewhere leafy and wonderful just outside of Crawley. There is a golf course, there is a health club, there are some wonderful little lodges made out of wood that have underfloor heating. Three days were spent wearing dressing gowns, eating crisps and laughing til we cried at my cousin Catherine trying to hum the baseline from 'Good Vibrations.'
This time it was very similar.
There was four us returning to the lodges-we were four women desperate for a break. It's often so easy to forget the need for planning some time in to just 'be.' I spend so much time fitting one thing in to another in my schedule, ending up in a neverending game of Diary Tetris. This weekend was exactly what I needed.
All three days involved wearing elasticated waistband 'leisure trousers' until roughly 7pm, then changing in pyjamas. You'd be right in thinking that those two outfits are basically the same.
The highlight for me was the discovery of a present in silver paper, hidden in my luggage by my husband. What is it? I thought. Some treats for dinner? A little love note?
Wrong.
As if I wasn't already sure enough that I had married the right person, I opened the parcel to find a very small red and blue silky cape. My awesome husband had guessed, quite rightly, that the thing missing in my life is the finishing touches to my new Superman pyjamas.
Is it a bird? Is it a plane? No, it's a woman in her 30s wearing pyjamas designed for a child.
And a CAPE.
It goes without saying that my fellow lodge- dwellers set me a selection of superhero tasks to perform whilst in my heroic outfit, although I did find the cape a little snug in the neck area (for 'snug' please read 'slightly strangling.') This was due to the fact that it was designed for a 5 year old. I also find it highly amusing that my husband and I now own the rest of the outfit which he had to buy along with the cape. I have thought about dressing up the cat but I'm not sure she'll enjoy it as much as I would.
When not performing deeds of pyjama based bravery, we spent our time doing exactly what we wanted. Our motto of 'There is no judgement in Crawley' meant that no activity/ lack of activity/ strange choice of snack food/ excessive amount of snack food was frowned upon. Yes we ate treacle tart ALL DAY. But what happens in Crawley stays in Crawley.
Highlights were the face masks that made us look frighteningly like we were recreating the Black and White Minstrel Show, a few rounds of The Humming Game (no Beach Boys this time but there was a wonderful and surprising rendition of various 80s drum solos through the medium of hum) a country ramble that took us over a dual carriage way and through an estate, and the perfect and precious gift of a bit of quiet. I spent a few hours alone, just reading, just being. It was heavenly. The sun shone, the treacle tart seemed neverending, the box of wine made it impossible for us to tell exactly how much we'd actually drunk.
Perfect.
Monday 28 February 2011
The Leaves, the Giant Fork and the BIG NEWS
So here I am again, squirrelled up in my little study, watching a very grey day amuse itself outside the window. I spent hours clearing up leaves a few weeks ago and somehow, just to spite me, they have all come back. Our patio area once again looks like it has a brown bristly carpet and every time we open the kitchen door, we are attacked by overexcited leaves trying to make a bid for warmth.
The garden is looking pretty much exactly the same as it did when I last blogged. The giant cat toilet remains, although I think the cat is being a little more respectful after we had a 'little word' and the shed still looks like it was built by drunk people with no arms. There is one section of the garden that has a lot of green stuff in it. I say green stuff, but what I basically mean is 'a selection of unidentifiable plants that we don't understand and lots and lots of weeds.' The problem we have is telling what is weed and what is plant. It's a section of the garden we don't spend much time on- the vegetable area tends to get the most focus as, well, let's face it, I'm much more excited about things you can put in an omelette. My instinct with this section of the garden is to dig everything up and start again. I'd like to know what's there, and treat it all well and appropriately. I do feel a little guilty about this, however. It feels oddly like the gardening equivalent of ethnic cleansing. The previous tenants of this house obviously went to a lot of trouble planting all that, and I feel it would be wrong to tear everything out just so I have the satisfaction of being able to say 'LOOK- Look at THAT PLANT. That plant is definitely a HOSTA. And I know that because I PUT IT THERE.'
The BIG NEWS this time is pretty big, actually. It will mean more blogs, it will mean more anecdotes about how we did something wrong and ended up with a selection of freak like vegetables, it will mean more time outside.
That's right my friends, after 3 years on the waiting list, we have got our ALLOTMENT. If you were all here in my house I would now be enthusiastically high fiving you and wooping like a deranged teenage girl, but as you are not (and that's probably a good thing) I will sit quietly here with the lovely knowledge that there is a little patch of land 5 minutes away from our house that is just waiting for us. It's a little patch of stillness in crazy London- backing onto a reservoir and a cemetery (two areas not known for their noise disturbance) and I feel so lucky to have somewhere to head to when everything else all gets a bit much. Like Arthur from Eastenders, I have plans for a little shed where I can read, drink a beer in the summer and put photos up of impressive vegetables we have grown. We are sharing the plot with some friends of ours as life is busy, and our first 'meeting' yesterday was a joy- it involved a trip to the patch to go 'LOOK! Isn't this AWESOME' and a 'Vegetable Planning Meeting' (hereafter referred to as a VPM) which involved a big piece of paper and some massive pens. We have plans for a Fruit Corner, an Underground Corner, an Overground Corner and a 'Nearly Courgette' corner. I have managed to get over my disappointment that only one of those corners is named after a yoghurt.
The allotment was very quiet yesterday and we were the only people there, overexcitedly dividing our sections with green string and proudly placing the miniature scarecrow that I got from my mum in the post. If our patch is attacked by any miniature birds, they are going to freak OUT.
I'm looking forward to meeting more members of the allotment's community. The only person I've met so far was three years ago, when we initially put our names down on the waiting list. He was a lovely elderly man who was covered in bugs and smelled intensely of mint. He also turned out to be a local DJ and did us a rather terrifying Kenneth Williams impression for no apparent reason. If everyone is as lovely as he was, we are in for a treat.
I have a bit of time to myself this week so I plan on heading down there with a big fork (I love holding those as I like to pretend I'm a Borrower) to turn over the ground and get it ready for the new seeds. We haven't got a shed yet so if it rains, I am just going to carry on. Or, sit in the toilet block with a book and a flask.
It doesn't get more exciting than this.
The garden is looking pretty much exactly the same as it did when I last blogged. The giant cat toilet remains, although I think the cat is being a little more respectful after we had a 'little word' and the shed still looks like it was built by drunk people with no arms. There is one section of the garden that has a lot of green stuff in it. I say green stuff, but what I basically mean is 'a selection of unidentifiable plants that we don't understand and lots and lots of weeds.' The problem we have is telling what is weed and what is plant. It's a section of the garden we don't spend much time on- the vegetable area tends to get the most focus as, well, let's face it, I'm much more excited about things you can put in an omelette. My instinct with this section of the garden is to dig everything up and start again. I'd like to know what's there, and treat it all well and appropriately. I do feel a little guilty about this, however. It feels oddly like the gardening equivalent of ethnic cleansing. The previous tenants of this house obviously went to a lot of trouble planting all that, and I feel it would be wrong to tear everything out just so I have the satisfaction of being able to say 'LOOK- Look at THAT PLANT. That plant is definitely a HOSTA. And I know that because I PUT IT THERE.'
The BIG NEWS this time is pretty big, actually. It will mean more blogs, it will mean more anecdotes about how we did something wrong and ended up with a selection of freak like vegetables, it will mean more time outside.
That's right my friends, after 3 years on the waiting list, we have got our ALLOTMENT. If you were all here in my house I would now be enthusiastically high fiving you and wooping like a deranged teenage girl, but as you are not (and that's probably a good thing) I will sit quietly here with the lovely knowledge that there is a little patch of land 5 minutes away from our house that is just waiting for us. It's a little patch of stillness in crazy London- backing onto a reservoir and a cemetery (two areas not known for their noise disturbance) and I feel so lucky to have somewhere to head to when everything else all gets a bit much. Like Arthur from Eastenders, I have plans for a little shed where I can read, drink a beer in the summer and put photos up of impressive vegetables we have grown. We are sharing the plot with some friends of ours as life is busy, and our first 'meeting' yesterday was a joy- it involved a trip to the patch to go 'LOOK! Isn't this AWESOME' and a 'Vegetable Planning Meeting' (hereafter referred to as a VPM) which involved a big piece of paper and some massive pens. We have plans for a Fruit Corner, an Underground Corner, an Overground Corner and a 'Nearly Courgette' corner. I have managed to get over my disappointment that only one of those corners is named after a yoghurt.
The allotment was very quiet yesterday and we were the only people there, overexcitedly dividing our sections with green string and proudly placing the miniature scarecrow that I got from my mum in the post. If our patch is attacked by any miniature birds, they are going to freak OUT.
I'm looking forward to meeting more members of the allotment's community. The only person I've met so far was three years ago, when we initially put our names down on the waiting list. He was a lovely elderly man who was covered in bugs and smelled intensely of mint. He also turned out to be a local DJ and did us a rather terrifying Kenneth Williams impression for no apparent reason. If everyone is as lovely as he was, we are in for a treat.
I have a bit of time to myself this week so I plan on heading down there with a big fork (I love holding those as I like to pretend I'm a Borrower) to turn over the ground and get it ready for the new seeds. We haven't got a shed yet so if it rains, I am just going to carry on. Or, sit in the toilet block with a book and a flask.
It doesn't get more exciting than this.
Wednesday 16 February 2011
The Lab Coats, The Jungle and the First Adventure of the Year.
Well, whether it's actually the time for it, or whether massive global warming is beginning to have a horrific effect on the weather, Spring seems to be ever so slightly sprung. I have been waiting patiently and excitedly for daffodils to appear in the garden, and then, realising that we didn't actually plant any, have made a mental note to do that next year, to avoid disappointment.
In other garden news, we have cleared the vegetable patch in preparation for the new seeds for 2011. We have dug up the dried up, frozen remains of the vegetables from last year and left a beautiful, clear space for new life, accidentally creating what can only be described as a 'Massive Cat Toilet.' As I am not physically capable of being in the garden all day and all night, discouraging the cat from totally ruining all our hard work, I have had a stern word with her, and vowed to get the new seeds in soon. It's been exciting to think about what we might grow this year. Last year we went a bit planting-mental, saying 'AH HAHA HA gardening magazines, you don't know WHAT you're talking about- leaving space for things to grow? Oh no no no no..
After watching our garden turn into an overgrown vegetable jungle, with runner beans fighting with beetroot for survival, and a pumpkin that was so desperate for some space it grew half way across the lawn, we have learned our lesson. This year, my friends, we are going for quality. Last year we followed the 'get as many seeds into the ground as we can physically manage' tactic. This year we will be much more selective.
In camping news, Joni the beautiful orange campervan had her first adventure of 2011 yesterday. She has spent the winter months snuggled up in her winter anorak and now her sunshine orange glow is once more beaming onto the patch of road outside our house. She took a few goes to start (wouldn't you if you'd been standing still with an anorak on for 3 months?) then ran like a dream on her first trip out
I would like to tell you that her first adventure was to a leafy glade somewhere wonderfully peaceful, where we parked next to a mountain stream and waited for wildlife to dance for us and flowers to grow up her sides.
It wasn't. It was to pick up 15 labcoats from Surrey Quays.
Don't ask.
I have not yet broken to her that she is going on a UK tour from the 30th April onwards but if she is half as excited as I am, she will be tooting her horn with glee. I sat in her outside the house yesterday as it went dark, feeling a rush of anticipation for the months to come- we will be travelling as far north as Glasgow, as far south as Plymouth, and I can't wait to meet the many people who will be climbing through her doors.
Look out Britain- Joni's going on the road..
In other garden news, we have cleared the vegetable patch in preparation for the new seeds for 2011. We have dug up the dried up, frozen remains of the vegetables from last year and left a beautiful, clear space for new life, accidentally creating what can only be described as a 'Massive Cat Toilet.' As I am not physically capable of being in the garden all day and all night, discouraging the cat from totally ruining all our hard work, I have had a stern word with her, and vowed to get the new seeds in soon. It's been exciting to think about what we might grow this year. Last year we went a bit planting-mental, saying 'AH HAHA HA gardening magazines, you don't know WHAT you're talking about- leaving space for things to grow? Oh no no no no..
After watching our garden turn into an overgrown vegetable jungle, with runner beans fighting with beetroot for survival, and a pumpkin that was so desperate for some space it grew half way across the lawn, we have learned our lesson. This year, my friends, we are going for quality. Last year we followed the 'get as many seeds into the ground as we can physically manage' tactic. This year we will be much more selective.
In camping news, Joni the beautiful orange campervan had her first adventure of 2011 yesterday. She has spent the winter months snuggled up in her winter anorak and now her sunshine orange glow is once more beaming onto the patch of road outside our house. She took a few goes to start (wouldn't you if you'd been standing still with an anorak on for 3 months?) then ran like a dream on her first trip out
I would like to tell you that her first adventure was to a leafy glade somewhere wonderfully peaceful, where we parked next to a mountain stream and waited for wildlife to dance for us and flowers to grow up her sides.
It wasn't. It was to pick up 15 labcoats from Surrey Quays.
Don't ask.
I have not yet broken to her that she is going on a UK tour from the 30th April onwards but if she is half as excited as I am, she will be tooting her horn with glee. I sat in her outside the house yesterday as it went dark, feeling a rush of anticipation for the months to come- we will be travelling as far north as Glasgow, as far south as Plymouth, and I can't wait to meet the many people who will be climbing through her doors.
Look out Britain- Joni's going on the road..
Monday 31 January 2011
The Collie Dog, the Cathedral and the 17 books.
It's been a little while again hasn't it. This has been for 2 reasons.
a) Last week I booked myself up so much that I frequently found myself praying for both the cloning process and teleportation to be key parts of my life. ( I wished for this in particular on Thursday evening when I got in from work at 12.30am and had to get up again at 5am-there was a moment of 'there's clearly been some horrible mistake' when the alarm went off, but it turned out that the only mistake was me assuming I was some sort of super-human robot when booking in work)
b) The Boy and I went on a little holiday. Yes, an ACTUAL HOLIDAY. To a REAL FOREIGN COUNTRY.
Yes, that's right. We went to Wales.
We last went to Wales after our wedding in April 2009, disappearing for a week to a little cottage with an open fire and dangerously low doorframes to spend time sitting under a blanket eating cheese and watching The West Wing. (because, my friends, we know how to PARTY)
This trip was relatively similar. We rented a little cottage in St David's, Britain's smallest city. It earned this title as it is very small and has a MASSIVE cathedral. Each time we went into the 'city' we were the only 2 people there. We laughed at the man in the surf shop who announced to Tom that the sale had now finished, despite there being approximately 70 enormous red SALE signs hanging over our heads, we sat mesmerised and emotional by the choral rehearsal in the cathedral, and never stopped being bemused by the sandwich shop that closed for lunch. It was a lovely place, the only lowlight being the supermarket, which felt suspiciously like an American supermarket featured in one of those films about serial killers.
The cottage was a little corner of rural heaven- no phone reception, no internet, and lovely plates. There is nothing better than an evening spent in front of an open fire with a book. We had plenty of choice in the book department as, in typical holiday style, we brought an overwhelming amount with us. It was unlikely we'd ever actually get through 17 books in 6 days, but it was good to have the option.
A lovely holiday highlight was the furry black and white visitor who popped her head in every morning to greet us. Don't be alarmed- this wasn't a local, dressed in a panda suit, but a gentle and clever collie dog called Jess. Well, we spent the week calling her Jess- it turned out that her name was entirely different and we'd possibly spent several days massively confusing her. There was a lot of stick throwing involved in our relationship- kindling from the fire was used until chewed to pieces, then one day she turned up with what can only be described as half a tree, and the stakes were really raised.
I returned to London feeling lighter than before (I am obviously speaking metaphorically- the amount of food I consumed during that week is something I wouldn't be happy putting online) and since getting back, I have been searching for that stillness, that silence of having a few hours just being in one place, reading. It's something I strive for but often fail at. Life (and facebook) often get in the way and it's hard to take the time just to do nothing at all.
So this is resolution for 2011. To sometimes do nothing. Nothing at all.
Ooh, and buy some new plates.
a) Last week I booked myself up so much that I frequently found myself praying for both the cloning process and teleportation to be key parts of my life. ( I wished for this in particular on Thursday evening when I got in from work at 12.30am and had to get up again at 5am-there was a moment of 'there's clearly been some horrible mistake' when the alarm went off, but it turned out that the only mistake was me assuming I was some sort of super-human robot when booking in work)
b) The Boy and I went on a little holiday. Yes, an ACTUAL HOLIDAY. To a REAL FOREIGN COUNTRY.
Yes, that's right. We went to Wales.
We last went to Wales after our wedding in April 2009, disappearing for a week to a little cottage with an open fire and dangerously low doorframes to spend time sitting under a blanket eating cheese and watching The West Wing. (because, my friends, we know how to PARTY)
This trip was relatively similar. We rented a little cottage in St David's, Britain's smallest city. It earned this title as it is very small and has a MASSIVE cathedral. Each time we went into the 'city' we were the only 2 people there. We laughed at the man in the surf shop who announced to Tom that the sale had now finished, despite there being approximately 70 enormous red SALE signs hanging over our heads, we sat mesmerised and emotional by the choral rehearsal in the cathedral, and never stopped being bemused by the sandwich shop that closed for lunch. It was a lovely place, the only lowlight being the supermarket, which felt suspiciously like an American supermarket featured in one of those films about serial killers.
The cottage was a little corner of rural heaven- no phone reception, no internet, and lovely plates. There is nothing better than an evening spent in front of an open fire with a book. We had plenty of choice in the book department as, in typical holiday style, we brought an overwhelming amount with us. It was unlikely we'd ever actually get through 17 books in 6 days, but it was good to have the option.
A lovely holiday highlight was the furry black and white visitor who popped her head in every morning to greet us. Don't be alarmed- this wasn't a local, dressed in a panda suit, but a gentle and clever collie dog called Jess. Well, we spent the week calling her Jess- it turned out that her name was entirely different and we'd possibly spent several days massively confusing her. There was a lot of stick throwing involved in our relationship- kindling from the fire was used until chewed to pieces, then one day she turned up with what can only be described as half a tree, and the stakes were really raised.
I returned to London feeling lighter than before (I am obviously speaking metaphorically- the amount of food I consumed during that week is something I wouldn't be happy putting online) and since getting back, I have been searching for that stillness, that silence of having a few hours just being in one place, reading. It's something I strive for but often fail at. Life (and facebook) often get in the way and it's hard to take the time just to do nothing at all.
So this is resolution for 2011. To sometimes do nothing. Nothing at all.
Ooh, and buy some new plates.
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