Me & My Girl

7:30pm Friday October 24: I began the 48 hour Showtime Challenge, rehearsing and mounting Me & My Girl at the London Palladium in two days with a cast of 127! Tiring, but rewarding.

Admittedly, my part was rather small -- I was in one number as a member of the Cockney ensemble. But I played it to the hilt nonetheless. The show went beautifully; even I was amazed at how well it turned out with so little group rehearsal. My adoring public (Brianne, cousin Emily who made it to town, our friend Ed and our new flatmate Matt) enjoyed the show very much, despite the bad seats I managed to procure for them. Please find below a few pics from the rehearsal. I actually didn't get a chance to really know people during the whole process, as there just wasn't time. I snapped pics here of costumes I found entertaining!

The Return of the Beast

I realise that I have not written up about my last leg of adventure on the Beastie – I would like to say that it is because I am still recovering, but in all honesty it is because auditions recently have been doing rather well. (Yeah!)
Flashback to September 8th: I met my driver Sean over at the AYS unit around 10 in the morning, with the Beastie unfortunately still fully intact. (Damn my luck!)We were about to embark on a four day driving tour of Cornwall and Devon to once more show off how wonderful whiskey and cheese go together. Sometimes I still can’t believe I get paid for this.
Cornwall is approximately a five or so hour drive away from London – but readers might remember that the Beastie is only able to do 55 mph at the best of times, and that the air flow comes directly up through the vehicle onto my face. So in fact it took us much closer to 8 hours to get to our destination of Penzance, Cornwall. (Que music and Gilbert & Sullivan!) It’s a little seaside town where the industry resolves around the sister of Mont Saint Michael in Brittany, France: Saint Michael’s Mount is what it is named over here and I was able to see it from the coast line. Sean and I were put up in a lovely little Bed and Breakfast place called The Corner House that was right across the street from the Ocean. Here’s the best part: Sean and I were put up in separate rooms and I got the Ocean view room with a large queen sized bed all to myself. The only thing Sean had that I didn`t was a bathtub – and he let me use it! It didn`t have a plug so I used one of my socks to plug the drain and then filled up the tub. Ladies and Gentlemen this was my first bath in five months and I loved every single second of it.
The next day we woke up to have breakfast (home made) downstairs with all the other renters and headed out to Bayswater near Newquay. There I saw something that nearly had me jumping up in down. Tanya probably will know what I am talking about. Years ago Jim Henson made a film with Angelica Houston called The Witches and over in Newquay is the hotel that they filmed in the movie. It is so massive and set apart from everything else that you cannot miss it – especially since it`s out on a rock, almost on the brink of the sea.
That afternoon we spent on the Bayswater beach, trying to convince surfers to try some whiskey to warm them up. I was standing right under Jamie Olivers restaurant and talked to a few Canadians. (Canadians, from Saskatchewan, surfing here! Isn`t California a lot closer and ummmm WARMER)
Then drove over to Mousehole (it lives up to it`s name) to find an address that doesn`t exist. When we actually did find the address that were supposed to be at, it was close to 9 p.m. and we did a quick tasting for 8 people.
You know those moments where you realise that you have said something inappropriate and want to crawl into a hole in the earth but there is no exit in sight. I had one of those. I was speaking to a young german girl about wines, whiskeys and other types of alcohol. She said that she enjoyed sweet wines and I replied by suggesting some jewish vintages. Did you see it, the moment that I fudged up? I could hear my inner studio audience just groaning at my suggestion. Why, oh why, could I not have thought of Ice wine first?

So onto day two: with three stops in total. First was Falmouth where the tall ships were being displayed. I would have to say this is where we had the best turn out for people willing to try the whiskey. Then onto Hail – not much to say there as there is nothing in Hail and I doubt very much I would ever return. We finished the night back in Mousehole with a party of pirates who were all ready and willing to try Arrrrdbeg! (According to their hired butler the group had gone through a week’s worth of booze in one day – it showed.)

The one stop on our third day (after an amazing breakfast with homemade sausages) was the town of Dartmouth – extremely pretty little seaside town with some of the nicest people I have met in Britain.

During our many hours of being on the road my driver, Sean, and I came up with The Ardbeg Drinking Game. It’s a very simple game that revolved around the idea of if we could drink while driving or if there were secret cameras inside the Beastie then the viewing audience would have to drink whenever we did the following: (It would not take long to get extremely sauced.)
Every time we have to turn around as we missed a turn or an exit
Every time that I blame Sean for the smell of the animal pastures that we are passing
Every time I swore
Every time The Beastie stalled while in the middle of a street, a turn, or an intersection
Every time we had to fill up the gas tank
Every time we were passed by a driver and then passed them five minutes later (with one guy this happened at least five times on the same highway)
Every time we were honked at for going too slowly

It’s a very simple game – but I am sure it would be fun.
The little topper of the trip was on the drive home. Sean knew that I hadn’t seen Stonehenge yet – so on the way back we took a little detour. The site was closed for the day, so we pulled over on the side of the road and walked up to the fence that surrounds is. In some ways it was better for me, as there was no one walking around the site I didn’t have to worry about having strangers in my pictures. It was a lovely end to my little getaway.

White Men Can't Sway

This past weekend Andrew and his group from Me and My Girl performed in Covent Garden to gather interest in their show on the 26th of October. (Yes, I have tickets as well as a date.And I promise I will try to sneak a camera in there to get some photography of Andrew playing a Cockney.)

They had two sets of twenty minutes to perform songs from other musicals, otherwise it would be considered cheating. Below I have video from one of the more popular songs - and if you can't hear what I am trying to narrate - I had something like "How do you like that, Tanya?"

In reference to the title: I Can't say White Men Can't Jump because I know my husband plays basketball rather well and would like to play it more often. (Incidentally: One day while passing a basketball court he expresse an interest in teaching me how to play. Very cute honey - hell hasn't quite frozen over - we shall see where the credit crunch leaves us.)

However; as per usual, choir directors feel that they must come up with some sort of choreography for their group to make it interesting for the viewer. This inevitably leads to the most common of choreo: the sway and step: repeat as necessary or until music changes.

I try to rack my brains for something else that might be a little more imaginative but just as simple and I`m afraid all I can come up with are moves that would remind everyone of the Thriller dance. Any suggestions are welcome.

Onto other news: It appears that Andrew may be leaving to go back to Canada earlier than anticipated. He has been offered a role with a company that he worked for 2 years ago and should he accept and it is reasonably priced to fly back early, he may be back as soon as November 8th. I don`t want to say much more until the details are finalised as I may very well be counting chickens before they hatch. Either way I should be enjoying a decent omelette.

As for now, I shall leave you with the video clip and a photo that shows my husband has the talent (unlike myself) to be caught - even while singing - with his mouth closed. I need to take a leaf off of his branch and learn his secret.

Various Musings

This title sounds a little more poetic than "Random Thoughts," figured I'd give it a try.

During the half-marathon this past Sunday, while pointing the multitude of runners (apparently nearly 12,000 of them) in the right direction, I noticed a few of the participants conspicuously standing out from the throng by wearing very odd costumes. I saw quite a few silly wigs, ranging from black Afro to rainbow clown to tinsel mullet. I saw two Supergirl outfits and two banana costumes, as well as a giant beer bottle ensemble. There were Woody and Buzz Lightyear from Toy Story. The pinacle, however, were a pair of men wearing the infamous green "slingshot-style" bikini of the movie character Borat. Google this image if you dare. In the words of Douglas Adams, it " . . . has to be seen to be believed, but if you don't have any particular need to believe it, then don't go and look because you won't enjoy it."

Both Brianne and I continue to battle our colds. We managed to find our secret weapon for sore throats -- Oil of Oregano -- but the formula here doesn't seem as potent at back home. We've been having lots of soup, tea, and the mixture we call "Gollum Juice," which is a concoction of hot water, lemon juice, ginger root and honey. I got this recipe from a director at Randolph, and later learned that the actor who played Gollum in The Lord of the Rings trilogy used the same stuff to ease his throat from using that raspy voice (a voice he modelled after the sound his cats made when expelling hairballs).

I've been formulating odd lists in my head.

List of Bands with Proper Place Names:
America, Europe, Asia, Africa, Alabama, Chicago, Boston

List of Actresses with Distinctly Low Voices:
Mercedes Rheul, Bea Arthur, Kathleen Turner

Any thoughts on additions to these, please post a comment.

George Carlin passed away a few months ago. He has always been one of my favourite comedians. I felt he was a true genius in the way that he examined the English language, confronted heavy issues along with silly trivialities, and really made you think about the big things and little things in life. His points of view were often controversial, even I didn't agree with all of them, but the fact is he made me consider them even if I disagreed. He is noted as a major influence on every new generation of stand-up comic, and his legendary Seven Words You Can't Say on Television bit is a part of U.S. free-speech history. He will be missed.

Swearing in the Rain

We have new flatmates living next door to us in our house on Stapleton Hall Road. Colleen and Melissa are another BUNAC pair from Montreal. Yay Canadians! Brianne helped them get into AYS. It's great having nice neighbours with a common activity.

The four of us worked a job together yesterday, Colleen and Melissa's second gig overall. We were driven down to the Greenwich area to help out with half-marathon called Run to the Beat.

Sound fun? It WASN'T.

It was raining from the moment we woke up that day and didn't stop once. The four of us were picked up at the house at 7am and driven down to the race site. We learned we were to be Marshalls for the race, pointing runners in the right direction and making sure the barricaded roads were maintained and the spectators kept back from the runners.

Brianne and I -- in fact, ALL the AYS staff -- sustained more verbal abuse during this shift than a soccer riot. Motorists constantly complaining of the road closures and the supposed lack of notice of the event, barking at us to let us through. I derived some satisfaction that Brianne told off one of the offending motorists something fierce.

One the flipside of the abuse, I did have a really nice thing happen to me. A little old lady strolled by while I was setting up, and we chatted briefly about the day's event. On her way back from the market, she surprised me with a box of chocolate biscuits she'd bought for me, just to brighten my day in the rain!

After the drenching slog was done, the four of us returned home to dry socks and our heated room to nibble pizza and slug back whiskey shots (purely medicinal) and commiserated over the memorable day.

The Bard's Yard

Brianne and I made it out to The Globe Theatre, the old stomping grounds of Shakespeare himself, to catch a performance of The Merry Wives of Windsor. A truly British experience . . . partly because it rained during the show! The Globe is an open-roofed building and we went for the 5 pound standing-room-only "Groundling" tickets like the peasants of yore. Luckily, it was only a fine drizzle for a few minutes.

We had lunch before the show at The Swan, a lovely little brasserie that Uncle Bill treated us to when he was here a few months ago. We had been so taken with the soup, we knew we had to try it agin. Very tasty, with a side of bread and a lemon cake for afters.

The Globe is a beautiful structure, and I feel it sort of represents what theatre's about: drawing together loads of all different people -- cram 'em in, sitting or standing -- to tell them really neat things they don't know yet. And it's right in your face. We were literally leaning on the extended stage.

The show was hilarious, very farcical. It reminded me of commedia dell'arte in that by the way the character dressed, talked and moved you could tell exactly what archetype they were: The Fool, The Fop, The Doctor, The Ingenue. To assist in this they had live musicians play little interludes which informed the action, almost like a Bugs Bunny cartoon. These musicians were also a warm-up act of sorts, playing lively jig music before the show started.

A wonderful time at the theatre, but alas we had to leave at intermission. Why? Brianne and I are ill with cold and sore throat. We bundled up and braved the elements for a while -- and it was well worth it -- but we both knew we shouldn't push ourselves too far. Leaving did not diminish the great time we had. Plus, we picked up some mead (fermented honey wine) from the Globe gift shop, which is both delicious and soothing to the throat.

Across the Room from Greatness

I've been saying for some time now that I'm bored with Royalty. That is the novelty of saying that you've served members of the British aristocracy has sort of worn off, I'm bored of it now. It's actually surprising how many people have Lord, Lady, or Baron on the placecards we put on the tables at AYS events; it rather dilutes the effect over time.

That is why I'm pleased to say I was just twenty-five feet away from the table of Sir Michael Caine and Kevin Spacey the other night at the Pride of Britain awards! Two of my favourite actors, sitting side by side at an awards night honouring the common Briton, from the young child who called 999 (the British 911) to the soldier who thew himself on a grenade to save his fellows and survived.

Sadly I was not in a position to get any closer to Caine and Spacey, as my job for the night was heading up the Dinner Bar . . . meaning providing all the wine and water to the table waiters from a station at the back of the kitchen (!)

This plum role is a hallmark of a curse which afflicts both me and Brianne -- the curse of RESPONSIBILITY. We've both made such a good impression on the managers we work for that they know they can give us the important tasks and we'll handle it with ease. It's a load off their minds, but it does irk us every now and again, knowing that other perfectly-nice-yet-less-keen servers are getting to brush elbows with the greats! Phooey.

A little story about Michael Caine. His real name is Maurice Micklewhite, and in fact that's what his official knighthood states and he does use it legally to this day. As a young actor he had been using the stage name "Michael Scott" - which is kind of weird-sounding to anyone out there who is a fan of the The Office - but his agent told him that there was another actor named "Michael Scott" and that Micklewhite had to choose a different pseudonym immediately. Micklewhite was on a payphone at the time, so he looked up the street he was on and saw a cinema marquee advertising the film The Caine Mutiny. That's how "Michael Caine" came to be. Caine would later joke that if he'd looked down the street the other way and saw another cinema, his name might have been "Michael 101 Dalmations."