AlBarclay

Crunch time. Sure we have a few weeks but we also know how a few weeks can go. I’m not too worried. This company is so strong on their own instincts. Trust will win the day.

I’ve been taken aside many times in rehearsal processes by insecure primadonnas. “We just haven’t been given direction” type stuff, usually from people who have but literally can’t cope unless they are told exactly what to do at every stage. One guy called an extra Saturday rehearsal in front of the director. Two others took me to lunch and tried to recruit me into a “we aren’t being told exactly what to do so I’m gonna tell is all what to do” type mafia.

It is mildly comforting to discover, sometimes decades later, that none of the people who have done that – (more than you would think) – have gone on to have robust careers. Why sew dissent? Trust the room. Trust the people. If there’s a chain of command, trust it. Why not?

Sure, art blends badly with obedience. But you have to be a team player in this game. If you make it negative because you haven’t been babysat then you won’t sustain a career, you can’t. Ultimately it has to be about the art in you and not you in the art.

Dammit I love the people I’m working with for that very reason. We are five massive geeks. All of us have learnt how our art works differently and we all respond to it through that personal prism. But… we are all totally focused on making the best show we can make. And as a result it is gonna be a really good shift at As You Like It.

It’s a play about plays. It’s an actor’s play. Every character is playing a part. The word “fool” is seeded throughout, along with the best explanation of satire and what it is for that Shakespeare ever wrote – I’ve quoted it before – The Fool’s Charter. Fool is 0 in the tarot. Fool is the wild card, the one outside the hierarchy, always safe always capable of changing things. There are more fools in this play than any other. Duke Senior, Touchstone, the dead deer, Celia, Jaques all have their motley way. Arguably others too. Shakespeare hammers the word throughout. He’s invested in this. Was it a changing time for his company? I’m not fully on the history of when Kemp gave way to Armin, but Touchstone is certainly Armin and I suspect it must be an early one as the writer is preoccupied with foolery. Suddenly it is a fool that has been a courtier.

I’m loving this. I’m knackered. I am not in an admirable fooling. God you good even.

I feel quite sad tonight. The darkness but also just going to Brighton and not seeing Lou. I charged up her car battery this morning but there’ll be work in March to get her on the road again. I went up and sat with Tessy. She insisted on play so for a long time it was ribbons.

A bright cold day out the window. I put the radiator on for her.

Then back to Bergie and back to London. I’m up to Miles Davis, Kind of Blue on the listening project. The first jazz album and perhaps it informed my mood. It has been a mixture of ease and struggle since Kid A. Unfamiliar and eclectic in genre. Bruce Springsteen, Notorious BIG. Then a run of ease with Velvet Underground, Sgt Pepper, Carole King, Patti Smith. I enjoyed Wu-tang Clan but couldn’t fathom d’Angelo : Voodoo. White Album and Jimi Hendrix familiar enough and I used to listen to Coltrane on purpose so I’m happy to have Miles but now I feel sad.

So I’m going to bed early. Back to rehearsal tomorrow and there’s loads to do and the worriers in the company are worrying. I know for absolute certain we are gonna be fine here. Sure I’ll be flying the flag for chaos but there’s plenty of orderheads here. So long as they don’t start thinking of me as obstructive when they go “Right, we need to work out how to kill this moment,” and I go “no we don’t”. (They’ll use language like “set” instead but I know what they mean). Some things absolutely have to breathe. But annoyingly, if your partner isn’t listening they can’t. We choose our battles.

I think I’m worrying when I don’t need to.

Café Rust for breakfast on my own. Then this evening, leftover Christmas ham and cheese. It isn’t nine yet. I slept really well last night in my weird hotel room cupboard. I think I’m gonna start the day tomorrow ready to roll for the week. I’m looking forward to this still, and happy we’ve got something excellent to run with. It’s a lovely bunch of people.

Hotel Sachi, on New Steine. £30 a night. Check yourself in, everything on a code. A single bed in a cupboard looking out on the square. The radiator is stuck on full blast so I’ve thrown open the sash window. I can hear St James’s Street this Saturday night but the other option is snoring in a hot room and spitting blood in the morning. I’m about to do some Shakespeare so my pipes need to be in good nick.

The other rooms are full. Lots of men talking loudly on phones in unfamiliar languages, watching foreign TV on high volume cast from phones. It’s basic here but there’s good WiFi. My bathroom is across the corridor, with a lock and key. When I get into it it’s mine, but the corridors are rarely empty in here so any late night wee I do will have to be dressed in something. I’ve got no pajamas.

I drove here from Hastings to look at Joni, Lou’s little green car. She has ongoing issues with her starter motor. Sure enough that’s happening. I’m gonna use a battery pack tomorrow just to juice up the battery. Hopefully see it through until march rather than let it die, but the cold months are still to come and I can’t start it without an engineer, I haven’t the knowledge and there’s no point as she’ll die again before Lou is back. I was hoping she’d play ball and start for me and then I could just rev her back to charge. Sadly not. Annoying.

I checked into the cheapest hotel nearby. I could have booked the flat next door to her for something like £175 a night. Obviously didn’t. It only gets booked once in a blue moon at that price which is great as the walls are thin and you don’t want to have to listen to the conversations of the sort of people who think that’s reasonable. They impose their noise on us anyway when we try to have a peaceful sauna at beach box. Coming in through the wall at midnight? Nope.

Brighton is OUT tonight though. It’s the little gap between Christmas and New Year, that everyone tries to name but no name will ever stick as the time itself is too shifty and lost. Missedmas. Malcolm. Twixtmas. Meh. No point imposing meaning on it. But everyone in this town, in many towns, is out getting fucked up.

Apart from the guy who is doing what I would have been doing if Joni had started. He’s running an engine. At ten at night. Hard to charge it. Right outside my open window.

I’m in my single bed in my cupboard. Thankfully I’ve got my book. And my sleepy drink. And Gaviscon. I can settle my Christmas tummy, shut my brain up and guarantee 4 hours of clear rest.

The highlight of my day was seeing Tessy. Fluffy ragdoll attack cat. She was happy to see me. We played and did brushing and generally looked at each other. Within ten seconds of my arrival she was slutdropped waiting for me to get brushing. She has a full time carer living there so I didn’t want to fuck with his routine with her, but I’ve missed her since Lou has gone. Exactly the same breed as Misty, but infinitely smarter and willing to bite you if you piss her off.

Back to the woods. Rajah and Carlos happy to see me. They’ve made a right mess of the area around the autofeeder but it seems the thing does what it is supposed to do. They’ve missed no meals.

Brian has a cat litter robot connected to his phone. It tells him how much poo the cats have done but both our cats weigh the same so it thinks we have one very shit-tastic feline. If we also had one of these autofeeders we could run the whole shebang from Addis Ababa. Thankfully we have neither the tech nor the inclination.

I could have put enough food in the feeder before Christmas to last right up until my friend gets back, but I didn’t want to leave the little terrors on their own too long. So I pushed myself out of the house on boxing day and here I am in the dark woods again.

If I lived in a place like this I’d start hibernating like a hedgehog. It has been dark so long I’m barely able to stop my eyes from drooping and it is barely 9pm. As soon as I’m done with this I’ll be out like a light for at least 3 hours. I love it here though, out in these woods, exempt from public haunt, finding tongues in trees, books in the running brooks, sermons in stones and good in everything.

Bella is back tomorrow evening. I’ll end up quite busy tomorrow. Gotta tidy up and then a zoom rehearsal to keep momentum up. Then driving to Brighton to check out Lou’s car. I think this early bed will pay for itself in time. It is inevitable.

Christmas happened! That’s it for another year. What a treat. I’m absolutely fucked.

Phew.

The first thing that we noticed was an ease.

I’m still friends with people who were regulars. They live in other countries now, or up in Scotland.

Lunchtime came and went. I knew that at some point it would get busy. But we were all enjoying the peace and quiet, while preparing vast amounts of food.

We get a mix of sober and drunk. We never know who or when. It is a saloon door.

Morning found me driving Santa and his luggage to the Mandarin Oriental. Santa is a wonderful authentic and inspirational human. I love that he has decided to make himself like that: “You are going to have a wonderful life. I came here specially to tell you.” He’s using his trauma and the things that nobody said. Good on him.

At the flat it was very chilled in the morning, we prepped all the food. When people got involved it was positive. I always use making blinis as a stealthy test to see what people are going to be like. I’ll make them part of a factory line for something that is only designed to give them pleasure. Just occasionally they will be a dick about it. This year everyone got it and got stuck in. It is only very rare that someone doesn’t get it and behaves like a tit. It’s good to know where the douches lie though when they have found their way to us.

It was such a lovely bunch this year. No energy vampires. It all just fell out as it fell out. I ended up running the hat game. And it was competitive. It’s always interesting to think of the people who came up multiple times. Charlie Chaplin and Pikachu. 7 people put in 4 names each. The ones we had back were either a clown that deliberately looks like a fascist dictator, and an electric Pokémon. We need fantasy right now. The world…

Very very happy that a friend appeared most of the way through. His sister is in prison this Christmas. Ugh. For caring about something. I feel terrible for them, to think about what it must mean to be pulled away by the law. It was protest. But what a very real thing to have to put up with. Well done her to have pissed someone off enough. I’m happy he knew the door was open. That is exactly what we’ve set out to do over the years. “The only saloon door in Chelsea,” : Charlotte Keatley 2017. Still the case.

Merry Christmas all. I’m a happy tired boy.

Four feeds guiltily loaded into the rotating cat feeder in Rye, with the blessing of the owner. Back up to London with a car full of cheese. On the way through Sussex and Kent, some patches of road had Union Flags half mast on every lamppost like they’re mourning the death of meaning.

We loaded the fridge and then went into separate rooms to be interviewed live on regional BBC Radio about orphan’s Christmas – they needed something to fill up the schedule and we got the roll of the dice.

It’s gonna be quite small probably tomorrow. About twelve over the course of the day but in dribs and drabs. I’m relieved. As is often the case, by the time it gets to Christmas I just want to stop. This year a bit less so than when I’m Scrooging it, but I’m still knackered. Nice to think about why we do this though. It can be a very starkly isolating period, and all the imagery involves happy looking groups of people. Christmas hats and camaraderie and jolly jolly jolly heigh ho the holly.

I’m in bed ready to get my head down, and I’m a bit bilious after an Indian meal. My gaviscon is in Bergie and I am debating as to whether to go get it just to make sure I’m not up all night dealing with all that spicy rich food before another day of indulgence. I think I’m too warm and cosy. I’ll take the risk.

We found blinis. I got the last box of quails eggs in London – not pre cooked with a little sachet of celery salt but I’ll hard-boil them in the morning and then we get them warm. That’s what mum used to do. Morning will be bubbles and blinis with lunpfish caviar cos daddy doesn’t stretch to beluga. And smoked salmon and cream cheese and chives and lemon. Then gammon and a great big chicken just as I haven’t got time to cook a turkey in a way that isn’t gonna be like eating paper. And some veggie options. Brian’s mum is here. She eateth not of the meat. I don’t think she’s the only one. Cauliflower cheese with all of the cheeses. Giant tiramisu. Frightening quantities of cheeeeese that need to be eeeeeeten.

Christmas is gonna happen. Nothing I can do to stop it. Might as well make a little area where the things exist. I’ve been my usual terrible Santa for presents. Nothing for anyone but chocolates…

In the morning we ran the first half. The shape is there, very rough hewn. Now we can break for Christmas.

Having no director makes interesting challenges. It’s hard to bust other actors. We do it as a matter of habit in The Factory. But “Why are you waving your arms around all over the place?” That’s fine in Factory context. Harder in others. You can’t play “don’t be a twat” with people until you’ve known them years.

I’m sure I’m guilty of all these things, but having watched loads of these shows now, things that happen include: No conflict in scenes cos everyone is trying to get on. People wandering around on the spot when monologuing. Both arms randomly slapping your side, like you never do in life. “The fish was this big” type gesture, where the script used to be, all the time. Sawing the air with your hand thus. Emphasising all the pronouns. Pointing to yourself when it’s a personal pronoun, you know, in case the audience aren’t sure who you mean by “ME”.

I suspect the next stage is to finish the first passthrough but then… discipline. Accuracy on words, and a real push to find the scenes while mining out extraneous gestures and all the little tricks and comforts that have done us so proud over however long we’ve been hacking out careers in pretending.

I drove to Rye. Dusk fell at about 3pm. I did some Christmas shopping at Jempsons, left it all in the car as it’s a cold night. Now I’m back at Bella’s with talkative cats and I’m already in bed but I’ll be up again in a moment as I want to eat something before sleep. I’m already in shutdown mode though, it has been dark so long already today. I hate the dark almost as much as I hate the cold.

I spent a little over £300 on food today for Christmas. Likely overdid the cheese. This isn’t including the booze, which I’ll get tomorrow. Or potatoes as there were none!

Got some sachets for mulling wine though and I fully intend to use them. The alcohol is cooked out, right?

Last night I went to bed at 8. That’s pretty easy to do in the woods at this time of year. The sun is long gone. It is so quiet.

At midnight I was woken up by a catflap. An unfamiliar loud noise. I had already taken the ticking clock from the bedroom. Being so solitary is unfamiliar. I’ve been in London a long time with my head to a main road.

Lines in my head. Big chunks of prose and verse, things I want to be comfortable with.

Midnight to 6am, I don’t think I slept at all. I couldn’t switch my head off. At home I would have solved it with sleepydrink. But no such solution. I tried counting, breathing, rolling. I tried madness. I tried anything that might work. When the alarm went off at 6 I was totally unrested, just a little bit annoyed that time had happened so fast.

Morning happened. Somehow I was up and filling up the autofeeder cos I’m not gonna be back until tomorrow afternoon, I’m a yo-yo. This is worth doing around what’s possible just as if I had time it would be restful. This time it isn’t. I’m banking it for next time.

I thought it would be glorious listening to Kid A up to town. I was listening to Radiohead back when Pablo Honey and The Bends happened. Loved OK Computer too, but never quite got to liking Kid A. Knackered with no sleep up through Surrey it just felt like I was listening to the gateway to Coldplay. Some guy falsetto wingeing. Disappointing. They recently soundtracked Hamlet up in Stratford. They’re still current. I’ll probably listen to it a few more times before I move on like I did with Kendrick Lamarr.

I think it’ll take about 80 albums before this top 500 settles though. There are gonna be unusually highly rated albums that don’t warrant it. Let’s imagine there were 30 people in the selection committee. Every one of them a muso. So every muso you know almost deliberately overrates one particular obscure album. It’s part of the language of being a muso. “Oh you’re not aware of Manillo: Carpet Lobster? You haven’t lived.” I’ve been guilty of such things before, I was obsessed with Plastic Beach for years to the extent I had it reflected back at me by someone who had already heard me singing its praises.

The top few picks of all the Rolling Stone committee would have been promoted up the list artificially. So far no U2 and I’m willing to suspect we won’t see them until after 100 because of the free iTunes debacle – the committee is mostly the age that had their ITunes shuffle derailed by Apple forcing Bono on everyone. Apple somehow shouldered the hate onto the artist. This helps me remember that this list is a subjective list. “Best band in the world,” said Rolling Stone in the nineties. But they fucked up with social media in a new way. They’ve been referenced in the blurb for high rated albums. But we won’t see them for a while. Some rock cooking though, Bruce Springsteen next up.

But … this is the wittering of a man who hasn’t slept. I can’t think of much else but my soundscape. I’m gonna be up and down a lot in the next few days. Gonna really enjoy sleeping in my own bed tonight, with all the road noise. I’m not even gonna need sleepydrink.

Settling down to an early night in Rye. I’m gonna be back and forth a lot the next few days but I’m ok with that as when I get here it’s chill. I’ve been using the peace to look at my words, as it is all gonna start getting more complicated now. Time ticks on inevitably.

My musical listening project is moving on. Lots of hip hop in the Rolling Stone top 500, and for sure the choices have been made despite the personalities of the respective artists. But there are some right classics here

Aretha and The Stones was my jam in Budapest. Then around early rehearsals, Public Enemy. I bought “Fear of a Black Planet” on cassette to annoy my mum. It Takes a Nation of Millions to Hold Us Back wasn’t familiar to me but was as a result. I don’t go to hip hop for choice these days so I’m finding it hard work thinking about it before I start playing the albums they recommend but… there’s always something to get hold of when I do start playing. They’ve all been selected by committee. They’re all good albums, across many genres, and I’m gonna start to miss the stuff I usually listen to before long as my listening has habitually been anti-commercial.

The last few days it was The Clash, London Calling, very familiar, an accepted voice of dissent. They would hate being so high in such a list. And right after them, Kanye. I was exposed to him as a person in the media before I knew his music. I’ve always avoided him. “I’m a genius, voice of a generation,” etc. There are two Bob Dylan albums in the top 20, one Kanye. Michael Jackson there too, my generation’s version of the complicated fucked up egomaniac musician that gets big. They have the self absorbtion to take the time needed to make good music I guess. I was really surprised to enjoy Kanye’s Beautiful Dark Twisted Fantasy. Listened a few times. Rushed through Bob and Highway 61 Revisited just now as I was driving south and it is too familiar to me now. It has its place though.

As I write, my glasses are giving me Kendrick Lamarr : To Pimp a Butterfly. I’ll be relieved to go into the familiar embrace of Thom York in the next album but actually the challenge is really on me now to find the why for all these albums. It’ll take me years to get through the list and by the time I’m done there’ll be better albums written. I’ll have to start another project. But I’ll have a better basis in the sounds that passed me by the first time.

By the feel of this Kendrick Lamarr it’ll take me a few listens to crack it. My focus isn’t really on it and its wordy. I’m gonna get an early early bed tonight here as gotta smash it up for rehearsal tomorrow. I’ve booked a parking space for the day in Brixton. There’s an autofeeder for the cats but you don’t want to prime it too far in advance so I’ll be yoyoing the next few days.

It’s dark and completely silent here in the winter woods. Me, Kendrick, the cats and Melancholy Jacques…

Saturday night in London. I’ve done nothing to warrant being this tired. Madness.

Rehearsal today as we are trying to catch time when we have it to build this thing together. There’s about to be a big long gap for Christmas. We are gonna have to hit the ground running the new year. I’m not concerned at the moment though, the group is working well together.

We were looking at early shapes around some of the tricky short scenes where Benjy is gonna have to argue with himself. Some of the doubling is very tricky, which is always the case. Benjy has to have a scene with himself as Oliver and Frederick. It will come good – I remember Kaffe paying himself three times as Orsino and Feste and it was an absolute joy once we worked it out.

After rehearsal I just went home and stopped. I’d be asleep already if I hadn’t suddenly realised no scribblings. I’ve been slowly shutting down my head, section by section, with the help of the cats.

Lou has just finished work and she’s three hours ahead of me but I’m done for the week. Happy there’s a day offish tomorrow even if I’m now having to drive to rye and then back early doors Monday. Got cats to look after.

Ah I’m just not here for the scribbling tonight. I feel wiped out.

Yeah sorry can’t do it today. Nothing left in my head I’ve already shut those bits down.