SURPRISE!
Did you think I'd forgotten about this blog? That's it, you thought, Mugridge has stopped writing, she's too busy growing vegetables now, she probably runs some sort of courgette farm and spends all day rubbing her hands together with glee that she's managed to turn her allotment into a thriving, profitable business. She's such an entrepreneur.
Nope. The only things on our allotment at the moment are a) weeds and b) a bit of unplanned lawn and c) Potatoes. There are always potatoes. Whether we planted them or not.
There has been such a large gap between my last post and now because of many reasons. I've been making shows, I've been getting new carpets. I've been raising a tiny human. That last one is probably the most time consuming. To be honest, getting new carpets was quite a quick process and the fact that I was out when it happened so my husband had to singlehandedly move all our furniture out of all our rooms meant that for me, it went very smoothly.
The tiny human is now 19 months old and the only thing I can compare this to is living with a miniature drunk clown. Sometimes unreasonable, often loud, often found hiding behind a curtain, often laughing at nothing for no reason and sometimes being sick on public transport with no warning. (I went to pick up my coat from the dry cleaners yesterday and was told that 'it needs another go.')
I had a *gulp* moment yesterday when I prepared my son's lunchbox for the first time. He has just started going to a childminder for 2 days a week and I found myself feeling overwhelmed by the step that seems to indicate. I have been feeding him for 19 months, don't worry, sometimes I even give him wholewheat, artisan fancy stuff and not just spaghetti hoops, but there was something about placing a day full of snacks into a little box that suddenly made me aware of him being a proper grown up person, not just this tiny shouty bald dinosaur creature who lives in our house.
Creatively, he makes me feel alive. I hate parenting cliches and I would never claim that 'I am mother, hear me roar' but his uninhibited, brave and bold presence brings an element of unpredictable, creative spark into life. Sometimes he just laughs at shoes. I can learn a lot from this level of joy. I think we can all learn a lot from someone who can play with a whisk for 15 minutes and spends the first half of every morning posting fridge magnets, clean washing and rice cakes through a cat flap.
His arrival in particular has inspired me in my work and am just beginning the process of making a new show in collaboration with my incredible midwife, who 'caught' him when he was born and with whom I am now close friends. I am also working with a consultant obstetrician, a neuroscientist and some amazing theatre maker colleagues to look at the medical and the magical, how our bodies can do proper amazing things and how were are slowly being encouraged to look at ourselves as robots and not messy, natural beings that we should trust in.
I am premiering the show in January 2015 and am extremely excited to get going on it. As part of the research I am attending a Midwifery Conference in May and am hoping more than anything that I don't pass out at any point in the week. I am not ready for the shame of lying unconscious in a plushly carpeted room with lots of medical professionals whispering 'she's not one of us' while I have to put my head between my legs and eat a satsuma.
The inspiration to start writing this again has been the combination of the little dude not being around for 2 days a week and the springtime. I'm back in my little spot by the window again, looking out onto our wasteground of a garden and feeling grateful for the time and space to write. It's not been impossible to work with a baby, not at all, but it is more relaxing without someone trying to crawl up your leg or rubbing peanut butter sandwiches into your trousers. Or, lately, inexplicably shouting 'ABBA' into your face, over and over again.
So here's to 2014. Writing and making and beaming oh my.
Friday, 7 March 2014
Tuesday, 27 March 2012
The plastic sea creatures, the meanest man in the world and the banana baby.
The sun is shining brightly, the birds are cheeping merrily. People have taken their jumpers off and are starting to buy Soleros. It's still actually quite chilly, but let's all pretend that it's not and let's shiver slightly while we say to ourselves that YES, it's OK TO HAVE A MINT FEAST if we really want one.
Like most self employed artists, who are free to enjoy the delights of the outdoors as we are not constrained by traditional office hours, I have spent the whole day inside, getting on with administrational tasks. I have been lost within a big and exciting sea of 'stuff' for the last few months and have been neglecting writing this, which makes me sad. NO MORE, I say. I will return to my blog, feeling excited about what is happening and wanting to share it. Just as soon as I've finished this mint Feast. I don't know if you've ever tried to type on a laptop whilst trying to balance a green dribbling mess of a snack on the top of a cup, but I wouldn't recommend it.
When I last posted, I was submerged in a world of puppetry, and, four months, three heavy colds and 80 shows later, I am now back in London and working on my new show. I began in January, with only the idea that I wanted to find out more about the sea, and the idea of an old man's face in my head. He was very clearly there, very well defined, and I wanted to write about him. These two tiny bits of ideas are now 'The Watery Journey of Nereus Pike.' It's a true story that I made up. There are plastic sea creatures, there is live music. there is a nautical jumper. You know you have truly arrived in a family when your mother-in-law buys you a selection of plastic lobsters to play with in the bath. These have OBVIOUSLY ended up on stage.
The show is still in its 'work in progress' phase which is an odd stage. It basically means you have to say 'look guys, this isn't finished. Please give me feedback once you've seen it. But only GOOD feedback or I might cry.' It is tempting to apologise for the work, introduce it through clenched teeth, but I don't feel sorry for it. I love what is there so far and although I'm well aware that it needs a lot more work, the 'nest' of it exists very strongly for me. Now I just have to figure out what to put in the nest. Lobsters, obviously, and more stuff too.
In non show-making news, the camping season has well and truly begun and, true to form, Tom and I have braved Joni already this year, heading to a field in Oxfordshire owned by the rudest man in the world. Yes sir, you may have a Land Rover, but you are mean. If you don't want people camping in your field, DON'T OPEN A CAMPSITE YOU BIG MEANIE. We got our own back, however, by leaving some pretty horrific tyre tracks when we got stuck in the mud and had to be pulled out by a tractor. Good times.
We were also unlucky with the weather (a recurring theme in the life of The Franklands) and spent two days huddling like penguins desperate for survival in the awning, while sleet bashed against the flimsy windows and made us wonder why on earth we didn't check the weather forecast before we left. It turns out that sleet is just snow without the romance. If Aled Jones had sung about the Sleetman, he probably wouldn't be presenting Songs of Praise now.
It was, as always, perfect, and ignited the desire for many more camping trips this year. Camping is going to start being, well, a bit different soon, and possibly a little noisier, as we are expecting a baby in August. All extremely exciting and ridiculous to think that there is something the length of a banana hanging out in my stomach. It seems to be enjoying itself, and being generally relaxed, spending half of the 12 week scan asleep, while I leapt around the hospital like an idiot, trying to get it to move into the right position for measurements. I've never jumped up and down in a waiting room before whilst drinking a can of Coke, but I'm hoping it's not something I will have to do again. It confused everyone and made me look like a lunatic. I imagine that will be something I have to get used to when the little scamp arrives.
Needless to say, babyseat for campervan is the first thing we are researching. We do have quite sizeable drawers in Joni but apparently it's 'frowned upon' to put babies in furniture.
Thursday, 8 December 2011
The Tortoise, The Sea Shanties and The Cafe of Nuns
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
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
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.
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