Inside a Cockerel's Boot

Writer's Block: Looking Forward

Tue, 01 Jan 2008 19:23:53 GMT

What are you looking forward to in 2008?

A new year begins, and I rediscover livejournal. Something akin to finding an old school book and flicking through thinking "What the hell was I on about?". But in a fond way. Something like that, anyway.

So, over the next 12 months I am looking forward to;

*   Finishing another year of uni
*   The new theatre opening in Kingston
*   Possibly getting to perform there, fingers crossed (!)
*   All the hijinks of summer, whether going on holiday or going to Edinburgh Fringe or whatever ends up happening.
*   Mighty Boosh November 1st!! YES!!
*   Hopefully moving into a proper house and away from the flat, yay

I shall also endeavour to:

*   Not leave work til the very last minute
*   Learn how to use the slow cooker my parents got me for Christmas
*   Learn to play the flute! Damn it!

Or that's the plan, anyhow.

Fri, 06 Oct 2006 23:14:47 GMT

Sooooo............ I've been here at universitoire for 3 whole weeks! Three weeks. Three Weeks... reminds me of the festival newspaper in Edinburgh during the month of August, and that lovely reviewer Kate Graham..... reminds me of that wonderful show, 'Acts of Depravity' that I read about in that paper: what was it now... oh yes, "These are four extremely talented actors who make it work well..." "hilarious - well worth a look." She always speaks such sense that Kate Graham :)

Shameless shameless plug. Anyway. Yes. Universitoire and all that. It's alright really. My room's quite nice, though I'll be glad to get a house next year I think, I like to have a bit more space to mope about in. It's weird being away from everyone, especially as I've spent the last year doing nothing but hang out and rehearse and things, and now I'm pretty much by myself or with my flatmate Laura a lot of the time. Not in a 'bah humbug' sort of way! Just at night and things, you know. I don't mind it, but I do miss everyone. I miss being with people who know me completely, and I don't have to explain things, explain myself to. I miss rehearsing, and getting told off for being 'silly', and all those mad things!

I'm helping with lights/backstage stuff in a 2nd years production of the Dumb Waiter by Harold Pinter in November, sorted it out today. Auditioned for a rehearsed reading of some short plays this week too, and went to a workshop on Titus Andronicus which I think is going to lead to a performance at some point. And two more auditions next week - I'm trying to 'throw myself' into everything as it were!

Strange Obsessions this week:
* Ben Fogle. Nice, nice, lovely Ben Fogle. If only I could be lost in the jungle or up Kilimanjaro or trekking across the tundra with his reassuring poshness to comfort me...!! Yes, Extreme Dreams, Animal Park, and now Cash in the Attic are on my viewing list...... Don't Judge Me!

* Mitchell and Webb. Or, more precisely, Mr Robert Webb - as much as I love and respect their comedy genius (to the point where I turn down offers of nights out to stay in and watch them), there's something so lovely about Mr Webb that I just can't stop obsessing about. Don't Judge Me!

* Baths. The urge for a bath was so overwhelming today I almost wept. Well, that's not strictly true. But I did nearly go and knock on local doors to see if they would let me use their bath in exchange for chores around the house/walking the dog/looking after the children etc. The reasoning behind this strange obsession is the ashtanga (sp?) yoga class I put myself through last night, accompanied by the pilates on Tuesday... free sessions at the new fitness centre at the main campus... needless to say my muscles do not share my new found enthusiasm for stretching...!

* Waiting in avid anticipation for the new Robin Hood series on the BBC - even if it's rubbish, it'll still be good! Oh yes, work that one out! Go on! I'll give you a clue - look at the face on the sides of the buses...

Anyway, I'm going to retire and watch a film... not sure what yet... possibly something terribly English and very Jane Austen...... but yes, I'm off. Big gay dad is coming down to visit me tomorrow, yay!! And I'm coming home next weekend, woop woop.

Night, Hx

Boredom Scribblings

Sat, 24 Jun 2006 22:41:02 GMT

Yes, I had another of those weird trances where I realise it's 3am and I'm still at the computer writing, night before last. Last night I had to go and do a buffet at work because the chef cut his hand and had to go to casualty... but anyway. Since I have no idea what else to do with it, and I'm thoroughly bored and can't sleep, I thought I'd post it on here. Not that anyone ever looks on here, but it's something to do, isn't it?
It's quite long. I just started tapping away in notepad again. Heigh ho!

You see all types in here. Waiting on tables, cleaning up ketchup and jam and used serviettes. Giving a cheery smile no matter how grey the day and how much your head is pounding. You see 'em all. The builders with their bacon at 8:50 sharp, stares lingering a little too long, the same pathetic jokes they think you haven't heard a thousand times before but still require a vain attempt at a chuckle to keep them happy. The old ladies with their tea and scones. The suited business 'lunches' with an extra shot of espresso. Students and their carefully counted pennies. And him. Every day the same. 2:15, or thereabouts, and in he walks. Sits by the window. Orders a coffee. Black, one sugar. I offer him a refill and he nods, but says nothing. Every day. He’s tall, taller than me. His dark hair is long and wavy and unkempt, and he dresses plainly in jeans and a shirt. He drinks his coffee. And says nothing.

Today is just another day. I look up at the clock above the counter. 2:14. I'm serving an old couple jacket potatoes. The bell above the door rings, and before I turn around I already know it’s him. I feel his presence take his usual seat. Give the old couple their cutlery, and don't even bother taking out my notebook as I cross to him and ask,

'Coffee?' He nods in reply and I'm already on my way to fetch it, auto-pilot switches on and I don't remember anything until I'm almost back to his table, cup in hand. Set it down in front of him and start off to the next table to collect plates when suddenly he's looking at me. He stares for a moment, and says, simply, 'Thank you.'. I don't remember ever hearing his voice before... although I must have at one time... and I'm dumbstruck and as silent as he ever was, completely taken off-guard. 'No problem' I stutter, and move away to get lost in the safety of the repetition of cleaning. Why am I so unsettled? He comes in every day, why shouldn't he say 'thank you.'? I stack the plates and take them to the kitchen. By the time I get back, he's gone. Pound coin on the table, and presence in the air. I feel shaken. Weirdly so.

Get through the rest of the day on auto. Nothing of note happens. Nothing ever does. Outside the windows the cars roll by in the same steady flow of movement that once I'm at home lulls me to sleep. I dream of coffee, and a pound coin, and eyes. Brown like the coffee but deeper, heavier, and with an ever-present meaning that I can’t seem to work out. Morning breaks and the cycle starts again.

Days go by. The pattern of 'thank you's continue, an addition to our respective daily routines that although unusual (for him) are not unwelcome. One day he comes in at 2:18 (I wonder why I log his movements so, but luckily am too busy to ponder such things for long), drinks his coffee, and leaves whilst I’m busy serving cappuccinos to a group of students with hemp tank tops and rucksacks. Sufficient amounts of froth later I go to collect his cup and his pound coin, and find the latter resting on top of a napkin. I almost grab the whole thing up in an automatic clearing-up action, but stop myself in time as I realise that the napkin has writing on it. Three words. Three words written in a clear but somehow awkward hand.

"Thank You - Julian."

My stomach makes a break for my mouth as I read and re-read the note. Again I wonder why I am so utterly... bothered by this character. We have other regulars of course. Mr McMoony and his poached egg on toast every morning. Mrs Widderson and her two granddaughters with their tea and scones after school. Derek, the site manager from the construction site just down the street and his 'elevenses', as he insists on calling them, every day. A whole collection of odds and sods. But him... Julian...? I began to worry for my sanity. Tell myself to stop being so ridiculous and get back to the real world. There's people to be served, tables to be cleaned, milk to be frothed. This isn't a film. I get back to work.

It's the next day and I start to get anxious around 2:10. I try and convince myself that I'm not watching the clock because of him, merely timing how long it takes to... do whatever I'm doing. I'm merely... working out how many hours I have left on shift. Yes, exactly. So when the bell rings to signal someone's entrance and I come almost running from the kitchen, that’s just a coincidence. Just doing my job.

It's him.

He's standing in the doorway, gives me a glance before taking his seat. Without a word, I bring him his coffee. He looks up. Just another customer. Just another 'thank you'. I repeat this as my mantra and await the inevitable. Curse myself for being so...so... I don't even know what. I realise we have been staring at each other for what feels like at least a good few days. He is silent. I flash a smile, and turn to leave. I feel suffocated, like my heart really is in my throat and stopping me breathing...

"Thanks,"

Instinctively I turn around to face him,

"You make a mean cup of coffee."

“You would too if you made as many as I do in a day…”

I congratulate myself on being this nonchalant. Inside I’m melting into the floor.

“Maybe.” Breaking his gaze, I smile and make for the kitchen, blood throbbing in my ears.

He gets up to leave as I’m clearing another table. As he reaches the door I look up and meet with those eyes again. Just like the dream. Dark pools of…

“Bye.”

“Thanks, bye.” I automatically give my staple reply, the cheery ‘come back soon’ farewell all the customers get… find myself wishing I could’ve said something else. No matter. As I go to clear his table I realise a whole new load of words have been added to our repertoire. Unconsciously smile at the thought of it.

The anticipation as I head to the place he’d been sitting, where he always sat, was unbelievable. It didn’t seem strange that I now considered it ‘his’ table; that if anyone else dared sit there and disturb his aura I would feel ridiculously outraged… there was no message. No friendly napkin. An empty cup, and a pound coin. I finished my shift.

Friday. Oh Friday. The day of glorious uplifting relief. Well, hardly. But still it felt good to get out. Life seems to revolve around routines. Work Home Eat Sleep. Repeat. Tonight though, was Friday. And so I went out.

You’d think coffee would get tiring, wouldn’t you? But no. Once you escape the four badly-decorated-greasy-walls-of-doom, there is a world outside where other people make you coffee. More specifically, at O’Malley’s. This is where I hide. Apron discarded, hair down. The waitress goes to sleep, and I am allowed to roam free for a while.

I sink into the brown sofa, macchiato at my elbow, and enjoy the sensation of just being. This is my place. Nothing exists but this worn out suede, the caffeine coursing through my veins, and me. Strains of the house jazz band tuning up drift over from the stage at the back of the room. Polly, the resident singer, clears her throat, and introduces the band. I barely listen. I have my corner and my sofa all to me, and the band provides a background noise to drown out my thoughts and allow me to let go. Yes, this is my place.

“Why must I, feel so blue? I ain’t got time to cry over you…”

She did have a gorgeous voice, I contemplated, eyes closed. A presence stirs me from my reverie, forcing my eyes open to investigate the source of the movement.

It’s him.

“Hello.” Work brain, work… send a message to my face and tell it stop looking so stupid. And while you’re at it get your mouth to SAY SOMETHING!

“Oh, hi…” Well done. Nicely recovered…

“Is this seat taken?”

“No, no, go ahead.” Nonchalant remember. Non – cha – lant.

“I’ve, never seen you here before…?” Tell me he’s not a stalker, please God don’t let him have followed me here hiding behind bins, don’t let me go home and find my best bra missing…

“I’m usually here in the week. For the poetry.” Inward sigh of relief. Add ‘Don’t be neurotic’ to mental ‘things to do’ list.

“Oh right, cool.” Topic exhausted. Shitbags. No, wait!

“A friend of mine performs her poetry here quite often, Lorna Elizabeth…?” I'm so cool.

“Oh yeah, yeah. Angsty, sort of, girly poems - ”

“Yeah, that’s her.” We share a smile. I’ve never seen him smile properly before. How can you simultaneously feel so horribly unnerved and yet also so comfortable at the same time? I came here to escape all this…

“I always mean to come down and see her, but I can’t too often because of work,”

“Ah, the café”
“Yeah…” I half chuckle. What a great place to be associated with…

Over on the stage, Polly introduces the next number. We sit in silence. I start to feel more content, calm, even. Our auras seem to relax and merge and (thankfully) there seems no need for words anymore.

“The way you wear your hat
The way you sip your tea
The memory of all that
No, no they can’t take that away from me…”

I sip my drink and absorb my strange acquaintance for a moment. Curious, how I’ve never really looked at him before. Obviously I’ve looked at him, but I haven’t, analysed him like this before. That’s the wrong word. He’s not a scientific study. Sitting there on the sofa, brown leather jacket over a linen shirt, surprisingly smart and more handsome than I’d given him credit for, regarding the singer and band onstage with an exacting attention, he seemed relaxed and laid-back, much more so than all the times I’d seen him in the café.

Tucking my legs underneath me as I made myself comfortable on the sofa, I had a strange kind of epiphany. It was as if I was hearing this song for the first time…

“The way your smile just beams
The way you sing off key
The way you haunt my dreams
No, no they can’t take that away from me…”

Of course, I’d known all along that I loved him. It had just taken my conscious mind a bit longer to catch up. He must’ve felt me looking at him because he turned to me, and, needing something to say to cover myself, I asked,

“Why do you come to the café every day? Do you work nearby?”

“I, work from home actually. Or, well, wherever I happen to be. I’m a writer. Well, I will be if someone will publish my book…” He paused for a moment, before continuing, “I like to walk, by the river. There’s a bench there, where I sit and write. It’s out of the way, and peaceful.”

“And you walk back past the café?”

“Yes. Well, not really, not directly, but I go that way round.” He turns to look at me and I’m lost in those eyes again, as rich a brown as the coffee I serve him every day.

“Because, well…”

“Because of the top class service and warm welcome from our friendly staff…?”

“Yes,” he laughs, “And, I…” He pauses here and looks as though he’s lost his thread. Seems to bolster himself, and continues, “…I just, need to see your face.”

I’m frozen and completely numb. My eyes can barely focus anymore as I attempt to convince my mouth to think of something to say… he continues:

“Don’t think I’m a crazy stalker or something, going to come round and go through your bins,” I laugh nervously – is he psychic, too?! “But, you’re sort of, my muse. I was going through a pretty awful patch, and I came into that café totally on an off-chance to get out of the rain, and I saw you there, slaving away, putting up with all those rude and semi-insane people still with a smile on your face… just, waltzing through like a, like a beam of light and, and I started writing. Since then I haven’t stopped, I’ve got two different books on the go, and one already completed, as well as loads of poetry and bits of miscellaneous stuff that I haven’t found a structure for yet… I just…”

“I don’t think you’re crazy…” I interject, “well, not that crazy…” his expression relaxes at the sight of my grin, and as he laughs softly with relief I realise that there’s so much about him I don’t know, that I want to find out... And he doesn’t even know my name, for Christ’s sake!

“What are your books about?”

“Well, there’s this… it’s quite complicated really… I could lend you a copy, if you like? Save you trying to decipher my poorly thought-out synopsis…?”

“Yeah, yeah that would be cool.”

“If you’re going the same way as me, I could drop in and get one on the way back?”

“Well, I’ll be going toward Fenchurch Street.”

“Perfect, I live just off Grasmere.”

“Perfect.”

When we finally reach Fenchurch Street, it’s as if we’ve been here a lifetime.

“Can I tempt you to a, and I quote, “mean” coffee, sir?”

“Madam, how could I refuse so rare and precious a gift?!”

Time slows, and comes to a stop. It’s strange, how things turn out. Life really is a series of coincidences. One day’s stroke of good luck, can be another’s downfall. One day’s blessing another day’s curse. One day’s stranger, can be another day’s friend.

I smile, and so does he. We drink our coffee. And say nothing.

So yes. There we are. Rehearsal tomorrow. Looking forward to it.

My Edinburgh Shows:
Abby, Vera and Sue, an original musical. Greenside, Aug 21 - 26th.

Acts of Depravity, a hilarious sketchshow written by Lorna and our 'dad' Jonathan. ClubWest, Aug 20 - 26th.

Hxx

My biro

Fri, 26 May 2006 23:02:38 GMT

I find myself increasingly catching the last bus home, after various cultural endeavours with Lorna across the city (unemployment fuels creativity! Employment? Servitude?! Yet another concept invented by a bloody man to exert his authority over the fairer sex!), and whilst I was sitting there last night waiting, I got bored and started doodling (my new favourite word) in the back of my diary (yes, I have a diary now, get me!)

Blue and yellow lines dictate my life
As the spaces shift in the hub between the
dots on a line, I check the time
again as the hands move so excruciatingly slow
And I'm finding it harder and harder to know
If the man on that bench, is in fact deceased,
Or sleeping, unaware that in his midst I sit
and wonder if I exist
On this thought train to nowhere, on this metal seat,
freezing my back, and my burning feet find no solace on the grimy brick floor
I find a rhythm in the electric doors and wonder how often people sit here and draw
as much from their surroundings as I'm doing now,
Noticing the several unidentified stains
The guy on the next bench taking the pains to
attempt to destroy a polystyrene tray,
Using only a fork from the chip shop
And as they collide for the umpteenth time
I feel the urge to ask him "WHY...?!"

But isn't it just a displacement activity?
Like me, and this pen, and my augmented reality
The demented totality of all that I see...?
At the bus station, close to midnight.

OK so it wasn't exactly that close to midnight... but 7 minutes past 11 didn't seem quite right somehow.

I'm bored, can you tell? Who are you anyway?!

Lorna and I debuted some sketches from our Edinburgh Fringe show 'Acts of Depravity' last night at 'Emergency' at the Y Theatre in Leicester, and it went down a treat! They loved it, the slags! We're now uber-confident (as if we weren't bad enough before...) and ready to take on the world.... and finally seduce the Mighty Boosh... but that's a story for another time :)

xx

AAAAAAAAAARRRRRRRRRRGGGGGGGGGHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Sat, 08 Apr 2006 21:17:37 GMT

OH MY GOD I ACTUALLY SAW THEM!!!! OK so I'm still a little excited from last night's wondrous festivites involving THE MIGHTY BOOSH LIVE and also Robots in Disguise, the 'electro-girls' band.

THE MIGHTY BOOSH! It was even better than I could've anticipated, so much goodness I can barely type... Julian... pink hot pants... jesus, I almost had an aneurysm. The second Ju came onstage I had a mini-fit and probably looked a right mong but I didn't care, because right there in front of me was Julian Barratt and Noel Fielding, being right funny buggers, and it was cooler than anything in the world ever. Ever ever ever. Ever.

I literally laughed so much it HURT... my face felt like it was going to explode (I kid you not!)!

O Julian, I'd get in your wheelbarrow anytime... ;)

Oh my God Lorna (the only person likely to read this), they're real!! AAARRRGGGGHHHHH!!!

I'm going to go and calm down now, I think I'm making myself ill...

One more before I go: AAAAAAAAAAAAAARRRRRRRRRRGGGGGGGGHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

H xXx

A little nonsense now and then is cherished by the wisest man...

Mon, 03 Apr 2006 18:29:23 GMT

Well. Here I am. Unemployed and bored, taking a gap year and filling it *not* with helping little orphan children in Bolivia or digging wells in Chile or building schools in Africa, but sitting around watching The Mighty Boosh and tapping away at the computer all day, and occasionally rehearsing for shows.

I'm in a Shakespeare play at the moment with the New Quorndon Shakespeare Company, Much Ado About Nothing. I'm playing Beatrice, who basically wanders about being 'witty' and quite annoying until she gets tricked into realising she's actually in love with her sparring partner in all things wit, Benedick. Then her cousin gets accused of adultery and things go a bit pear-shaped, but this is a Shakespearian comedy so you can guess how it all turns out. Yay. Go go lightning plot synopsis...

I'm also in two shows going to Edinburgh fringe. Dig me. One is a musical we performed in February with the Shakespeare company called Vera, Andrea, Holly and Sue (Thelma and Louise Too), which is set around a group of mothers and the things they have to deal with, and some rather more unusual situations... I play a young pregnant mother who's a bit wet and confused about everything. It's really rather funny you know!

The other show has been written by my lovely friends Lorna and Jonathan, and is called 'Acts of Depravity'. Yes... we are the Unneccessarily Offensive Theatre Company, and we are not afraid to molest and deform classics of film, television and literature with crude humour and a frightening lack of subtley. It's in a sketch-show format, with amongst other things parodies of Brief Encounter, Anton Checkov and russian theatre, Alan Bennett monologues and Tennessee Williams' works, plus sketches involving chavs, people with OCD, air hostesses, angry orange farmers, and more! Good grief!

We're going up for the last week of the Fringe, should be a jolly good laugh, what ho, top hole old fruit, and all that. So yeah, that's pretty much all that's in my life at the moment, Mighty Boosh and rehearsing. Oh, and learning to drive, which is fun fun fun, I just wish I could get it over and done with sooner!

Yeah, so, there's not that much point in me writing a journal really, because I don't do anything! But there you go. So. I've posted Mighty Boosh related writings on booshslashhaven and mrspellam, some fanfic (I'm working on more at the moment) and an 'ode' to Howard Moon, my moustachioed Maverick :) I've never really written anything that I've shown to anyone before, quite enjoy it though. The levels of my and Lorna's Boosh obsession know no bounds!!

Right then, I'll go and try and memorise some lines, and take some Echinacea to get rid of this cold before going to see The Boosh on Friday in Birmingham (had to get one more mention in, hehe).

Hxx

PS - ARGH I can't believe I'm going to see Noel and Julian in the flesh!!!!!!!!!!!!
[/swoon]