Ah August in Scotland; minus 12, hurricane, inflatable cows, money replaced by ticket stubs, blood replaced by Iron Bru/Guinness/warm crap wine in plastic cups, where would we be without the wonderful ridiculous onslaught that is the Edinburgh Festival Fringe eh?
I'm gonna bang on about it for a little bit now so feel free to skip down...
Sadly but largely for my own good I was only up for a couple of days but managed to see some fantastic new theatre; for anyone heading up don't miss Dream Pill, an amazingly funny and devastating new play from Clean Break about child sex trafficking. Truly breathtaking physical theatre came in the shape of Man of Valour and Shutterland by newcomers Rhum and Clay. When a single actor can create an action film alone on stage without props that has to make you re-think your stage directions, after you've picked your jaw up from the floor that is.
I also accidentally discovered that children's theatre can be a cracking way to soothe a hangover; Hal Chambers' brilliantly innovative Tucked In are doing Tim and Light at the Pleasance which has been getting 4 star reviews all over the shop and bloody lovely it was too.
My absolute favourite show however, has to be the incredible Mission Drift by the TEAM; bold, exciting, surprising, clever, witty, tender, epic, human. Dazzling.
Alright, I've finished now.
Armed with a fat pile of scripts and my brain all on fire I have returned to be locked in my study and would have already finished the first complete draft of And Then Come The Nightjars, were I not fannying about updating my blog, hmmm.
Things are also gathering speed on new Cadbury's/Quaker/Kraft project The Plant with the first interviews to start in September, economics books piling up, a new website on the way and perhaps even a little scratch performance to get the ball rolling! I can feel already I'm going to regret saying this come November...Ah well if people never plunged feet first into things they wouldn't break their ankles. Oh. I wonder what ever happened to my mister man duvet, I may want to hide under it later.
P.S. Scroll down to the bottom of the page if you want to see the toy audience I thoughtfully seated aged 5. That is respect for audience and your craft. That or loneliness. Full house though eh?
Friday 19 August 2011
Thursday 21 July 2011
All Proud And That
Evening blogettes and nice to see you, I must admit I've been a long way away but I've come back to you...
Alright don't groan, you must allow me a little Coward seepage, I've been immersed for months. But what a few months it has been, culminating in a sell out performance of The Darkling Plain at the Tobacco Factory as part of the glorious Pride Bristol 2011! I've never made over 200 people giggle before, well not at the same time anyway.
I'll admit it's been bloody hard work - why did I write a play with loads of characters requiring that I manage a company of 17 and then suggest also doing a vintage fair with pre-show and intervaltainment to boot? You may well ask but I tell you as I frantically hurtled through the Saturday streets of Bristol being very late and sweating into my rainbow headband, I rounded the corner to see an enormous vibrant parade of joyous people; drag queens draped on a fire engine, couples holding hands, waving flags and banners, whistling and samba drums ringing out bringing Broadmead to a standstill and at the front of the procession I joined some amazing, brave and dedicated people who had all made it happen.
And do you know what? I felt Proud. Extremely proud and privileged to have been a part of such a fantastic festival. Then I went and got my face painted and jumped up and down. As a treat you know.
Oooh and I got to speak at a WI meeting, not bad for a couple of months work eh? You can find out all about it, should you care to at www.thedarklingplainplay.blogspot.com
Flinging myself headlong into the next sleep impairing project schedule, I'm very excited to be working with the marvellous Anna Farthing of Harvest Heritage Arts and Media on my Keynsham project, newly titled, The Plant. I'm going to be delving into over a 100 years of Bristol history to make a live documentary on the transformation from Quakers to Kraft. Can capitalism ever really be principled and can a Plant survive when you sever its roots?
But I haven't forgotten my new play, And Then Come The Nightjars, I shall be finishing my first draft this summer and decorating the study to celebrate.
Right I'm off to get myself a dictaphone and some paint. Ta-ra x
Alright don't groan, you must allow me a little Coward seepage, I've been immersed for months. But what a few months it has been, culminating in a sell out performance of The Darkling Plain at the Tobacco Factory as part of the glorious Pride Bristol 2011! I've never made over 200 people giggle before, well not at the same time anyway.
I'll admit it's been bloody hard work - why did I write a play with loads of characters requiring that I manage a company of 17 and then suggest also doing a vintage fair with pre-show and intervaltainment to boot? You may well ask but I tell you as I frantically hurtled through the Saturday streets of Bristol being very late and sweating into my rainbow headband, I rounded the corner to see an enormous vibrant parade of joyous people; drag queens draped on a fire engine, couples holding hands, waving flags and banners, whistling and samba drums ringing out bringing Broadmead to a standstill and at the front of the procession I joined some amazing, brave and dedicated people who had all made it happen.
And do you know what? I felt Proud. Extremely proud and privileged to have been a part of such a fantastic festival. Then I went and got my face painted and jumped up and down. As a treat you know.
Oooh and I got to speak at a WI meeting, not bad for a couple of months work eh? You can find out all about it, should you care to at www.thedarklingplainplay.blogspot.com
Flinging myself headlong into the next sleep impairing project schedule, I'm very excited to be working with the marvellous Anna Farthing of Harvest Heritage Arts and Media on my Keynsham project, newly titled, The Plant. I'm going to be delving into over a 100 years of Bristol history to make a live documentary on the transformation from Quakers to Kraft. Can capitalism ever really be principled and can a Plant survive when you sever its roots?
But I haven't forgotten my new play, And Then Come The Nightjars, I shall be finishing my first draft this summer and decorating the study to celebrate.
Right I'm off to get myself a dictaphone and some paint. Ta-ra x
Thursday 2 June 2011
Writer / Dinosaur / Dream Weaver
Well for goodness sake; June has snuck up on me good and proper. It seems only minutes ago it was spring and now we're ankle deep in summer, using the term loosely of course as I do live in Bristol and have yet to be cardigan-less.
All this haring about is largely due to the lovely Pride Bristol who are reviving my 2008 play, The Darkling Plain, at the Tobacco Factory. It's like a strangely enjoyable deja vu to be working on it again and golly, one does slip into the patter terribly quickly! We have a fabulous young cast and crew who I am indoctrinating into the cult of Coward and it really is an honour to be part of Pride. Obviously I trust you'll all be scrambling over each other for tickets so for that and any other queries dearies please visit www.thedarklingplainplay.blogspot.com
Other activities over the past few months have included:
- arriving late, lost and - well, 'harassed' would be the polite term but let's be honest - sweaty for a BBC Writersroom workshop last week. It is hard to look writerly and debonair whilst covertly checking you don't smell too much but naturally, I pulled it off.
-Pootling away on the Keynsham project, going to Cadbury World for vital research purposes, feeling a little queasy afterwards.
-Buying some goldfish for my desk.
-Staring at said goldfish for hours whilst working on And Then Come The Nightjars. So far, they have yet to come up with any useful scene ideas, slatterns.
-Pretending to be a T-Rex.
And my nan said 'drama' wasn't a proper degree.
All this haring about is largely due to the lovely Pride Bristol who are reviving my 2008 play, The Darkling Plain, at the Tobacco Factory. It's like a strangely enjoyable deja vu to be working on it again and golly, one does slip into the patter terribly quickly! We have a fabulous young cast and crew who I am indoctrinating into the cult of Coward and it really is an honour to be part of Pride. Obviously I trust you'll all be scrambling over each other for tickets so for that and any other queries dearies please visit www.thedarklingplainplay.blogspot.com
Other activities over the past few months have included:
- arriving late, lost and - well, 'harassed' would be the polite term but let's be honest - sweaty for a BBC Writersroom workshop last week. It is hard to look writerly and debonair whilst covertly checking you don't smell too much but naturally, I pulled it off.
-Pootling away on the Keynsham project, going to Cadbury World for vital research purposes, feeling a little queasy afterwards.
-Buying some goldfish for my desk.
-Staring at said goldfish for hours whilst working on And Then Come The Nightjars. So far, they have yet to come up with any useful scene ideas, slatterns.
-Pretending to be a T-Rex.
And my nan said 'drama' wasn't a proper degree.
Tuesday 1 March 2011
"Why, what's the matter that you have such a February face?"
I've always felt there was something of a guff around February, it's cold and dour with Valentines day flung in the middle like an aging aunt with lipstick on her teeth desperately waggling a balloon in your face trying to force you to cheer up and it's hard to spell. Well little did I know, all along there was an expression for just this feeling "February face", marvellous and now what with it being the first day of March meaning spring should be spronging about imminently I hereby intend to cast off my February face and embrace all things vernal (whilst retaining the right to wear a jumper for the next 3 months) Isn't that a cracking word, 'vernal'? Maybe if I had a dog I could call it vernal, "Come here Vernal! No, Vernal, dirty Vernal, back in your bed!" Hmm.
Anyway, just as tidgy little daffodil shoots are having a peep through the topsoil to see if it's warm enough yet so there are projects budding...in the greenhouse of...my work? My study? You get the picture and you can have a peek when they're not quite so green and sprouty looking. However, I will tell you now that down there in the damp dark loam lurks some Nightjars, a proud revival and a blood soaked village hall. Odd. Oop, afraid I have to go now, Vernal's just run off and is worrying the sheep.
P.S. Those of a Bristol persuasion should do their utmost to get down to the Bristol Old Vic and catch the incredible production of Faith Healer showing until April, I even gave it a standing ovation and I don't ovate easily. Although, as my friend Nick was quick to point out, the power of a standing ovation is generally undermined when already seated on a high stool...
P.P.S. Yes that is me in the picture, I think you'll find the word you're looking for is 'cherubic'.
Anyway, just as tidgy little daffodil shoots are having a peep through the topsoil to see if it's warm enough yet so there are projects budding...in the greenhouse of...my work? My study? You get the picture and you can have a peek when they're not quite so green and sprouty looking. However, I will tell you now that down there in the damp dark loam lurks some Nightjars, a proud revival and a blood soaked village hall. Odd. Oop, afraid I have to go now, Vernal's just run off and is worrying the sheep.
P.S. Those of a Bristol persuasion should do their utmost to get down to the Bristol Old Vic and catch the incredible production of Faith Healer showing until April, I even gave it a standing ovation and I don't ovate easily. Although, as my friend Nick was quick to point out, the power of a standing ovation is generally undermined when already seated on a high stool...
P.P.S. Yes that is me in the picture, I think you'll find the word you're looking for is 'cherubic'.
Monday 10 January 2011
2011, let's get cracking
I'm not sure at what point saying "Happy New year" becomes a redundant phrase, merely serving to irritate everyone who ground wearily back to work on about the 3rd January, reminding them of glorious holidays in which one is actively encouraged to lounge about eating and drinking and demanding to be entertained like Louis 16th crossed with a slug, but anyway, Happy New Year, cheer up.
My new year is starting with a whiteboard of writing deadlines (some of which I have done in RED pen) but in blythe delusional January tradition, I am regarding them not with fear but as a little armada of exciting projects bobbing about on the horizon. And I should know something about defeating armadas, I am from Plymouth after all.
So for starters, I am most pleased to be kicking off 2011 with the second year of my residency at the lovely Canal Cafe Theatre in London with a spring monologue project, details to follow.
And after much staring at things and oceans of tea, I now have a working title for my latest full length piece, And Then Come The Nightjars. With the subline 'Nobody likes a tourist', the play will be a satire about what happens to one family coming to the countryside in pursuit of the good life set against a time of crisis based on the devastating Foot and Mouth epidemic of 2001.
I read recently that the theme of a play should be invisible from the outside but running through the core like the words written in a stick of rock and just before Christmas I was lucky enough to catch a play which exemplified this, the fantastic Bea at the Soho Theatre.
No I didn't go because it was called 'Bea', I went because I had free tickets but what an astounding piece; funny, poignant, dark, honest, gripping with an extremely strong and committed cast. Company On Theatre produce work devised from a theme, in this case 'empathy' and I'm not sure I've ever seen a theme so cannily and intricately woven into every aspect of each scene, had my brain chewing on that one for weeks later, what more can you ask for?
And coming up I am all anticipation and that for John Donnelly's The Knowledge at the Bush, Bristol Old Vic's Ferment and the Bristol Storytelling festival, my mate Anna in Half a Sixpence. Oh and Frankenstein at the National, if I can ever get a bloody ticket.
Right well back to the whiteboard armada, for England and for the Queen! Or stirring words to that effect.
My new year is starting with a whiteboard of writing deadlines (some of which I have done in RED pen) but in blythe delusional January tradition, I am regarding them not with fear but as a little armada of exciting projects bobbing about on the horizon. And I should know something about defeating armadas, I am from Plymouth after all.
So for starters, I am most pleased to be kicking off 2011 with the second year of my residency at the lovely Canal Cafe Theatre in London with a spring monologue project, details to follow.
And after much staring at things and oceans of tea, I now have a working title for my latest full length piece, And Then Come The Nightjars. With the subline 'Nobody likes a tourist', the play will be a satire about what happens to one family coming to the countryside in pursuit of the good life set against a time of crisis based on the devastating Foot and Mouth epidemic of 2001.
I read recently that the theme of a play should be invisible from the outside but running through the core like the words written in a stick of rock and just before Christmas I was lucky enough to catch a play which exemplified this, the fantastic Bea at the Soho Theatre.
No I didn't go because it was called 'Bea', I went because I had free tickets but what an astounding piece; funny, poignant, dark, honest, gripping with an extremely strong and committed cast. Company On Theatre produce work devised from a theme, in this case 'empathy' and I'm not sure I've ever seen a theme so cannily and intricately woven into every aspect of each scene, had my brain chewing on that one for weeks later, what more can you ask for?
And coming up I am all anticipation and that for John Donnelly's The Knowledge at the Bush, Bristol Old Vic's Ferment and the Bristol Storytelling festival, my mate Anna in Half a Sixpence. Oh and Frankenstein at the National, if I can ever get a bloody ticket.
Right well back to the whiteboard armada, for England and for the Queen! Or stirring words to that effect.
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