Archives: Random

Those of you who follow my Twitter feed will know that this week I made the fatal shopping error of trying on the coat before you check the price tag. I therefore ended up in a large debate with myself about whether I could really stretch beyond my original price. Luckily for the shop in question’s sales, they had a 15% student discount that handily made my decision for me. So I now own this coat:

Looks even better on

But the main point of this blog isn’t to show up my frivolous tendencies, but rather to draw a distinction between musicians and buskers, if there is one.

Coming out of the 4th store of my magical mystery tour of the men’s outfitters of Liverpool town centre, I came across an interesting fellow at the side of the street. At first glance he was your ordinary busker, standing in front of a recession-closed store, guitar slung over his shoulder with the case open in front of him in the usual “not begging: entertaining” kind of way.

I should say at this point that I love the buskers in Liverpool. They’re all brilliant and they really liven up the town and help to give it its vibrant feel as you stroll down Bold Street to an assortment of musical melodies that never seem to intrude on each other.

This guy, though, was something else. As I looked again at him as he chatted to a friend before starting up his set, I noticed he had his acoustic guitar plugged into an amp. I don’t know what you call those kinds of guitars – not really acoustic, since their amplified, but not really electric because they still sound like they did before – but he had one of them. Seeing a guitarist with an amp isn’t unusual, either, in fact it’s more frequent that I’d have thought before I came up here.

Then I noticed that in front of him stood a microphone stand with, appropriately, a microphone in it. As I walked past and got a better angle on his set-up I realised he not only had all of the above, but also a large car-type battery plugged up to the amp and a mini-mixer for his two inputs. He even had a wheeled-trolley to carry it all on.

Now, I don’t want to put the guy down at all, but with the best will in the world, that’s not busking, is it? That’s gigging without a fee.

Busking is all well and good but when you stop just short of bringing your own staging on to the street to perform then, for me, that’s kind of going against the grain. Don’t you think?

For most people who know me and have ever had any kind of a discussion of musicals with me, you’ll be well aware, no doubt, of my “issues” with Joseph and his Amazing Technicolour Dreamcoat (which, apparently, is a registered trademark, according to the writing on the back wall of the set…).

I think the best description of my attitude towards Joseph is “jaded”.  Having worked at Milton Keynes Theatre – one of the country’s biggest receiving houses – for nearly seven years, on and off, I have seen Joseph pass through, in one incarnation or another, five or six times.  It’s a great, vibrant, fun show, but after the third or fourth year, having seen the comings and goings, the shabby sets and sometimes dodgy backing performers, you can get a little tired of it.

Which is why sitting in the audience of the Adelphi on the Strand last night I felt a tremor of fear rippling through me.  Lee Mead was a classmate of my cousin’s at a local drama school in Southend way back in the day, so they have been following his progress carefully since he first popped up on the BBC’s show about the show’s lead.  I have to say he was always a clear winner of that, so I figured that the show must be worth going to see to find out if I was right or not.

In addition (and probably more importantly), K is possibly the only person in the world who loves Joseph so much she not only knows it word for word, but when we was still single-figured in age she managed to wear out the tape of the original London cast recording with Jason Donovan, and yet has NEVER actually seen the show.  To say she was excited is like saying people think Michael Jackson is a little on the odd side.

The show itself was outstanding, I must admit.  It’s got an absolutely fantastic cast who are all consummate professionals to a man, woman and child.  The quality of the singing and dancing was fantastic.  Having read the notices when the show first opened, it appear to suggest that they had simply jazzed up the sets from the touring production, but this was like nothing I’ve seen on the tour – they’ve re-imagined it (to steal a pseudo intellectual arty-farty term from the movies) and come up with something very similar in concept by with many more modern flourishes.

I’m told that the whole production is based on the 90s Palladium version, starring first Jason Donovan and then the slightly left-field but equally acclaimed Philip Schofield. It certainly has a much bigger feel to it than the touring version and is a lot busier with set moves and scene changes.

The whole thing is technically remarkable, very much akin to the proverbial duck on the water – the staging is incredibly simplistic and the technical side appears incredibly simple.  But sitting and watching the vast variety of pieces coming to and fro around the two revolves centre-stage, it is easy to imagine the manically-paddling feet of the technicians backstage.

Talking to one of the cast after the show (which I’ll come to later), he was explaining how the technicians are almost as precisely choreographed as the performers on stage, such are the quick-change demands of the props and set dressings that are almost constantly on the move.

As is my wont at most theatre I go to now, with several friends working in the theatre and knowing some of their friends, I tend to scan the programme for names I may recognise in passing.  Imagine my surprise when, glancing down the cast list, I came across the name of a good friend of mine from my early days working the bars at MKT.  A friend who ran away from MK and his “cosy” box office job to enroll and subsequently take by storm the Guildford School of Acting.

Not having had his number for some years, I legged it around to stage door during the interval (not as simple in Town as it is in MK or Northampton, it must be said) and dropped him a note with my number on it to see if he wanted to catch up.  I was a mite nervous of meeting him as I was informed by K that she had been horrible to him when she knew him before.  That was before I realised she had meant when they were 8.  I figured he’d probably got over it by now.

So after the show we ambled round to stage door, dodging the throngs at the front of the theatre waiting for Mr Mead, and met up with JS and headed to a quiet little bar just around the corner for a drink and a catch up.

JS is one of my friends I’m most proud of – he’s gone out and done what he’s always wanted to do.  So many people who work front of house in theatres spend a lot of time talking about how they want to be on the stage singing, dancing, acting and everything else.  JS actually got off his arse and went and did it.

He auditioned like mad, got into a great drama school, did three years of hard graft and came out at the top of his class.  After jobbing for a year or so post-graduation, he joined the original cast of the new Joseph from the start and opened the show in the West End, where he’s now done a full 18 months and still has 6 months on his contract.  Not only that but, as a Swing, he has the hardest performing job in the West End.

Not many people know what a Swing is, other than it being a name at the end of the list of characters in most musical programmes.  A Swing is, in essence, a cover-player.  They are there to fill in the gaps when anyone is off sick or injured.  There are two types of swing – an on-stage swing or an off-stage swing.  An off-stage swing is essentially an understudy for a lot of roles, an on-stage swing is basically a performer in the show who plays whoever he’s needed to play.

In Joseph, for example, that means that JS has to know the part of every male character in the show, bar Joseph, Jacob and the Pharaoh – all three of which have their own understudies. That equates to 11 different roles that he has to know inside-out and be able to play at the drop of a hat.  And he rarely plays the same role more than a week at a time and often changes role every night.

Next time you’re in the Theatre and glancing down the first few names on the cast list, take a look down the bottom and spare a thought for the hardest working performers in the Theatre – eight shows a week of they-know-not-what, but rarely put a foot wrong.

All in all, it was an awesome night – a great show (albeit with a few slightly odd stylistic decisions – the less said about the random psychedelic 60s sequence the better) and a great time catching up with an old friend.  Who could ask for more.  I want to say a big thanks to my Ma and Pa for getting the tickets for us as a first 2nd birthday present – it couldn’t have been better.

From a song lyrics website, in reply to a question about where the lead singer of The Feeling comes from:

“‘He’s from England… United Kingdom to be exact.”

I know, I know, I know – it’s been WAY too long since I last updated, but trust me, I’ve been busy.

I will endeavour to find some time over the weekend to give a full and proper account of the, frankly, crazy-busy and pretty momentous events of the last couple of weeks, but I just had to jump on for the last 5 minutes my brain is operating today to shout about Live Life Then Give Life, the award winning charity.

I’ve been somewhat remiss in not talking on here about our recent nomination for a Charity Times Award for Campaigning Team of the Year.  The Charity Times Awards is a prestigious charity-sector awards ceremony that recognises the best in not-for-profit work and those who support chartiable organisations.

Five of our six trustees managed to make it down to the Lancaster Hotel in London last night for the Black Tie dinner at which we were all shocked and delighted to be announced as winners in our catagory.

The judges said in their citation, “This was an outstanding campaign made up of many effective and innovative strands and appraoches, achieveing great sucess.”

We were all amazed to be thought of as the campaigning team of the year, although according to the sponsor there was only ever one winner, which is overwhelming and a great boost for all of us.

We had happily resigned ourselves to making the most of the PR opportunity that being nominated for such a renowned award in only our first year as a charity, so we were all overcome with emotion when we headed up to the stage to collect our awards.

The appalause and good will from the other charities at the ceremony made us realise how well thought of (and how much more well known than we had suspected) Live Life Then Give Life is.

To see Emily, Hal and Jen’s faces as our name was announced (and it’s a picture, let me tell you), check out the video here.

We partied long and hard into the night (although mostly alcohol-free) and came away buzzing.  We have all invested so much personally into this charity since we first got involved with Emily and Emma’s campaign back in 2006 and it’s indescribable what this recognition means to each and every one of us.  We are so aware of all the help we get from our supporters and our advocates, who go out there and tell their stories and help to increase awareness of our desperate need for more donors in this country.

Rest assured, though, we will not be sitting back and feeling chuffed that we’ve done our job now we’ve got an award – if anything, this has motivated each and every one of us to keep ploughing onwards.  In the words of friend, top blogger and independent filmmaking guru, Chris Jones, “Onwards and Upwards”.

Everyone at Live Life Then Give Life is bouncing with excitement at the moment as we’re going to be taking part in this year’s Great British Duck Race along with hundreds of other UK charities – and you can, too.

The idea is a bit mental, but brilliant at the same time.  People (that’s you) can adopt a small rubber duck for £3 each (£2 going to the Duck Race and it’s official charities and £1 to Live Life Then Give Life), which is then set free down the Thames on Sunday 31 August over a 1km course from Molesey Dock near Hampton Court Palace.  The first duck to complete the course wins £10,000 for its adoptive parent, with another 30 top prizes to pick up if you lead the field home.

It’s a great, fun way of supporting us as a charity as well as running a chance of winning big.  This year the duck race is aiming to beat it’s own world record of 180,000 ducks floated on the Thames by hitting the 250,000 mark – a quarter of a million ducks all swimming at once.

Supporting us couldn’t be easier – simply go here (http://www.thegreatbritishduckrace.co.uk/charitypage.php?charity=543) and click through to our purchase page.

We’d love to have your support and love it even more if you managed to win the race and raise our profile.  Go get a duck and have some fun!

Full details of the weekend’s My Friend Oli adventures in Durham.  Stay tuned…

Am I the only person in the world who’s immune to Amy Winehouse? Don’t give a chuff what’s going on in her personal life, couldn ‘t care less whether she takes one drugs, no drugs or enough cocaine to fill the Xscape’s snow slope, don’t wanna see pictures of her falling out of a nightclub off her head on whatever cocktail she’s been into next.

She’s got a pretty voice, yes, but when she sings live she just looks like she really needs a wee and it’s really off-putting. She’s on the Brits right now and I can’t bare to be in the same room – I’ve already sat through her desperate toilet-need alongside Mark Ronson, I can’t go through it all again for her solo…

Bring on the Oscars – at least there everyone goes to the toilet before they come on stage.

Without doubt the last 7 days have been the busiest I’ve had in a very long time – pre- or post-transplant.

It’s been a whirlwind of trips here, there and everywhere that’s taken up the entire week without either K or I having time to properly draw breath.  We are both shattered.  I don’t know about her, but I feel shattered in a wonderful, sense-of-achievement kind of way.  K may just be shattered from trying to slow me down all week! (Not in a bad, I-don’t-want-you-to-have-fun kind of way, more a whoa-there-boy-you’re-new-lungs-are-only-three-months-old kind of way…)

I must apologise for the distinct quietness of the blog – I have attempted to redress the balance with a few days’ updates all at once this evening, because I feel terribly guilty for having neglected it all this week, although the truth is when I haven’t been either working or sleeping, I’ve been out and about this week.

Since Monday we’ve been to Stoke Mandeville, Oxford, Harrow, Olney, Deanshanger and Willen, not to mention the shopping trips, gym-visits, cups of tea and various odd-jobs which have taken us all over Milton Keynes.

Next week is looking like it might be mildly more sedate, although being half-term there is the chance to spend some time with my Godsons for the first time since my op, which I’m looking forward to more than just about anything I’ve had the chance to experience so far in the 13 weeks since I have my blowers swapped out for a shiny new pair.

I dearly hope the next week will bring a) more regular blog updates b) more pages completed on the new script (19 down, but none written over the weekend) and c) more firsts for the book of wonderment.

Anyone who knows me knows that I’m am rather pointedly against Valentine’s day. Tipping point this year undoubtedly came when I read an article in TIME Magazine talking about “the holiday” and all that comes with it.

Far be it from me to deprive the un-romantics of this world from their one day when they manage to muster up enough retail-fed creativity to find a gift that won’t make their girlfriend sigh with disaffection, but when we start to call Valentine’s day a “holiday” you know things have gone too far – and too commerical.

As if diluting the true meaning of Christmas and Easter down to a pair of jolly, junk-food inspired cartoon characters (or near enough) wasn’t bad enough, it is now apparent that we have to encourage our kids that February 14th means sending over-priced, over-valued, empty-sentiment cards and gifts to the people we love. I say people because I’m reliably informed that in some schools it’s now no longer possible to send a valentine to the one you kinda fancy, but instead it’s a requirement to send them to EVERYONE in your class. Gosh, if only the real world were that loved up we’d have no war, no poverty, no famine – we’d all be happy little cherubs floating around on clouds of marshmellows.

Personally, I don’t need anyone to tell me – Tesco, Asda, Clinton’s, Homebase – on which day of the year I love my girlfriend. I’m incredibly lucky to have the most wonderful other half (and she very much is my mirror image – only with her own lungs and not someone elses) who loves me to pieces and whom I love just as much. But we love each other this much every day of the year, not just when someone decides we should in order to sell more tat.

My plan for Valentine’s day had been to avoid it all together and not worry about it, but as it happens a friend of K’s had to pull out of going to the Theatre this evening to watch Matthew Bourne’s Nutcracker, which left a ticket going begging and a very doe-eyed K looking at me plaintively.

So – grudgingly – along I went, feeling very much like most men look when they go to the ballet: slightly bored, slightly put-upon and wishing they were sitting at home watching Bruce Willis blow something up at Christmas.

So it pains me terribly to say it, but I loved it. Having worked in theatre for most of the last 8 years, I’m only too well aware of Bourne’s reputation as a choreographer and theatre-maker (for his is quite definitely both), but all I’d seen of his work was his Edward Scissorhands of a couple of years ago, which I’m reliably informed is by far his weakest piece. I’d managed to let his Nutcracker, all-male Swan Lake and reportedly spectacular Play Without Words pass me by. And boy to I regret not taking them in when I had the chance now.

His Nutcracker was remarkable – vivid, colourful, soulful and emotive, a real feast of visual theatre that at times strayed about as far from ballet as it’s possible to go without bursting into song. As we arrived at the Theatre, an old colleague of mine commented that at times you forgot you were watching dance and that it wasn’t simply one of the best choreographed musicals you’d ever seen, and I now know precisely what she means.

Humble me it did, and also made me remember my old maxim from the olden days that it’s always worth giving a show a go, even if you think it’s going to be the worst thing you can possibly imagine plonking yourself in front of for two hours of a perfectly good evening.

I resolved to keep that at the fore-front of my mind from here on out and to embrace the new challenges that the Theatre may throw at me now I’m able to pop to Town and take in some of the Fringe theatre around London and more of the delights that visit MK. All judgements will now be reserved until at least the interval. If you haven’t caught my attention by then, mind, you might well see my seat empty during the second act…