Behold! The Mighty Onion

Auld Lang Syne Choral Text

2010-04-08T09:57:00.000-07:00

A friend here on the island asked me to render Burn's poem Auld Lang Syne as a beat style poem for an event at which she and three others are performing.

This odd little number is my variation on that theme...

Auld Lang Syne

A Choral Text For 4 Voices

Key: Bold = Indicates stress
- = Mark the beat
/ = Follow on immediately, almost overlapping.
[p] = Softly

Notes: I think it likely that standing still in a particular configuration, perhaps like pins in a bowling alley, may help the audience’s interpretation of this piece. The final part of the last section, H, should possibly be said in a very straight way, as if returning to normality.

[Prologue]

1: Forgot.

2: Forgot.

All 4: Forgot.

2: Wandered

3: Wandered

4: Forgot.

4: Forgot

1: Forgot

All 4: - - - Seas.

2: Acquaintance

1: Wandered

3: - - - Forgot.

[A]

1: Should old acquaintance

2: Be for-got

3: And

4: Never

All 4: Brought- to- mind

2: Should

1&4: Auld – Acquaintance

3: Be - - - forgot

4: And - - -

1: Auld/

2: Lang/

3: Syne.

[B]

1&3: Tak a cup o’/ Tak a cup o’/ Tak a cup’o/ Tak a cup o’

2: For auld lang syne,
my jo,

4: For auld- lang -syne,
we’ll

All 4: Tak a cup o’ kindness - yet

1: - - - For

2: Auld/

3: Lang/

1: Syne - - -

[C]

2: We twa hae run/

1 & 3: Aboot the braes

4: And pu’d the gowans/

1 & 3: Fine

2: But - - -

3: We’ve wander’d mony a weary/

1: Foot,

4: - - - Sin auld lang syne - - -

[D]

2&3: Tak a cup o’/

1&4: Kind

2&3: Tak a cup o’/

1&4: Kind

2&3: Tak a cup o’/

1&4: Kind

2&3: Tak a cup o’/

1&4: Kind

1: For auld lang syne,
my jo,

2&3: For auld- lang -syne,

4: We’ll

All 4: Tak a cup o’ – kindness - yet

3: For

1: Auld/

2: Lang/

3: Syne.

[E]

4: We twa hae paidl’d

1&3: I' the burn,

2: Frae morning sun

2&4: Till dine

3: But seas between us braid

1: Hae

All4: Roar’d

1 & 3: [p] - - - Sin auld lang syne.

[F]

2&3: Tak a cup o’/

1&4: Kind/

2&3: Ness/

1&4: Tak a cup o’/

2&3: Kind/

1&4: Ness/

2&3: Tak a cup o’/

1&4: Kind/

2&3: Ness/

1&3&4: For auld lang syne,

2: My jo,

1&3: For auld- lang -syne,

2: We’ll

All 4: Tak a cup o’ – kindness – yet

3: For

1&2: Auld Lang/

4: Syne.

[G]

3: And there’s a hand, my trusty fiere!

1&2&4: And gie's a hand o’ thine !

1: And we’ll tak a right gude-willy waught/

2: And we’ll tak a right gude-willy waught/

3: And we’ll tak a right gude-willy waught/

4: And we’ll tak a right gude-willy waught

1: [p] For auld lang syne.

[H]

2&3: Tak a cup o’/

1&4: Kind/

2&3: Ness/

1: Yet

1&4: Tak a cup o’/

2&3: Kind/

1&4: Ness/

3: Yet

2&3: Tak a cup o’/

1&4: Kind/

2&3: Ness/

4: For auld lang syne,

2: My jo,

3: [p] For auld- lang -syne,

1: We’ll

All 4: Tak a cup o’ kindness yet

2: - - - For

All 4: Auld Lang Syne.

Explosions in the Night

2010-03-24T06:30:00.000-07:00

Tinkering around with a few wee ideas....

It was in the night that we first heard the explosions.

Lying there, eyes closed, on the verge of sleep.

At first I thought it was a door that had been left open, flapping in the wind.

When they started to get louder, and more frequent, we opened up the blind and looked down the sound.

In the distance we could see a dim light that pulsed intermittently, and as it pulsed, grew brighter at each turn.

The banging grew louder and louder, the light grew brighter and brighter.

It looked like the city over the hill, down the sound, some thirty miles away, was on fire.

As a child I remembered hearing tales about when the sugar factories were hit in the 2^nd world war, and how they lit up the sky with a pink and orange glow.

And so it was here and now. The glow from the explosions filled the sky, like a sunrise, creeping up from the south east, silhouetting a radio mast against the changing colours.

Then we saw the flames. Like you would nurture the fire in the grate until it became a roaring blaze, the flames licked over the brow of the hill, small ones at first, then great leaping towers of orange and yellow, dancing like dervishes, displaced from home.

We looked at each other, and spoke for the first time, barely able to hear each other under the explosions.

“Oh my God.”

“Oh sweet Jesus”

The explosions were now so loud that the whole earth seemed to thud and move with them. The flames beat their pulse, becoming more and more in snyc the closer they got to us.

“What - What is it?”

Bang, thud, crump.

The windows in the house started to balloon in and out almost in time with the explosions.

We could feel the pressure in our ears mirror the movements of the windows.

“Under the bed!”

I followed her.

Thump.

Crump.

Thump.

We scrambled under the bed, compacting old bags, sleeping bags and yoga mats in to a heap in the middle in our haste to get to shelter.

Louder. Louder. Louder.

I held my head in my hands, I couldn’t bear it – the pain was too much – the explosions were now inside me. My breath taken from me with each new blast.

The whole room shook. Shook again.

I couldn’t hear anything at all now, too afraid to open my eyes I could only feel the heat coming from her, as I pressed in beside her.

The house jolted from side to side. There was nothing to hold on to.

And then it stopped.

It just stopped.

Where the Wild Things Are

2009-03-29T05:43:00.001-07:00

I'm very, very excited by the prospect of this film.
For me, it's pretty much the best book ever written.

Dave Eggers & Spike Jonze have scriopted it, so it could be very interesting indeed.

Dance in the moonlight Max, and let the wild rumpus begin!

The embedding from youtube hasn't come through, so have a look at the following link.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2NOkQ4dYVaM

The Fountain

2009-03-23T08:40:00.000-07:00

When I first moved to the island of Mull I started listening to the radio in earnest.

One of the first programmes I remember hearing was something along the lines of Front Row or Saturday Review on Radio 4. In it the reviewers talked about Darren Aronofsky's film, The Fountain.

It seemed to divide the reviewers, some thought it utter tosh, while others thought it well worth a look.

It sounded like a mad conceit – two characters spread out through three eras, on the quest for eternal life.

The only other thing I'd heard that had divided the reviewers in such a way was Jonathon Strange and Mr Norell, by Sussanah Clark. It so happened that I got a hold of said book not long after the programme and fell totally in love with it.

So I thought The Fountain may, perhaps, be worth a gander.

For a couple of years now, while it's been out on DVD, I've heard friends talk about it in shocked tones, not quite knowing what they make of it, loving it or hating it. Some fell for it totally, others were not so keen.

The Fountain finally arrived via my love film account a few days ago, and last night Georgia and I sat down to watch it.

Firstly I must say that it is flawed. There are some moments of it that are just a touch too sentimental, too over played. But it is brilliantly flawed. Those moments pale in to insignificance beside the sweeping majesty and sheer joyful nonsense of the tale.

It feels like a very personal musing on love and obsession to me, much like Soderbergh's superb remake of Solaris (which I much prefer to the original, as it leaves so much to your imagination).

Hugh Jackman is just brilliant as an the threefold man Tom (possibly four fold if you consider what he's revealed to be). He must have had a great, crazy time making this film. He's always good value for money, but boy is he suoperb in this. He completely enters in to the madness and obsession of the character.

Rachel Weisz is ethereal, enigmatic and stunningly beautiful in this. She captures a great tenderness in the threefold character (possibly fourfold too), sparkling as Izzi in the modern day section. It's from her side that you really feel the relationship between the two characters. Where Jackman is focused and obsessed, she floats realistically at his side, driving him on subtly by her wonderful presence.

The music of The Fountain is totally intoxicating. It gives the images so much space to breath, it's quite brilliant. I've listened to the soundtrack twice today already. I bow down before Clint Mansell and doff my cap at his toes.

But what is it about?

God knows.

If you sup of the tree do you become at one through several points of time – and also the others who, too, supped? From the creator of the tree all the way to the end of the star?

Is God, an ecumenical sort, the absent character in the piece?

Or is it there all along?

It quite clearly states there is something bigger than all of us put together going on.

But what?

The images of this film will stay with me for ever. The macro photographed scenes of petri dish based outer space blew my mind.

The ending as the ship arrives at Xibalba and the attending silence made me whoop and cheer.

How that ties in to everything else is quite simply superb.

I'm not going to rant on about this film any more, but bloomin heck, I'm going to be digesting it for a long time to come.

Superb.

The Future of Drama Training?

2009-02-21T13:25:00.000-08:00

Some rambling thoughts on the future of drama training.

Please excuse me if I'm talking from a performance based perspective, and don't mention the technical and production based sides of the industry in depth, but I think that the broad ideas of what I'm talking about here apply across the board.

It seems that the conservatoire approach to actor training is very much under threat these days. Look at the storm that the RSAMD recently weathered, and the desperately sad path that QM is following.

What is the future for the potential drama students of 5 or 10 years time (perhaps less)?

How will they be able to start to learn their craft?

Where can they go to get that first foot in the door, to feel empowered and enabled enough to start to explore their creative selves?

I think that some of the most important aspects of a training environment are space, time, security and exposure.

What I mean by these words, if you'll excuse my slightly esoteric ramblings, is:

Space – An actual space to play in and work, a space to learn how things work, a dedicated space that is for theatre training, not a classroom that the computers have to be moved around to get enough room to do anything.

A great space can be just as valuable to the student as the teacher. A space will ask things of you, talk to you, demand that you justify your presence there.

Time – That you get a set block of time, be that years, months, days or whatever that are specifically dedicated to the growth of your craft. Psychologically that's very important for the student actor. Do what you can to survive outside the hours of training, but when you're in the training environment you're there for that purpose, and you better bloomin' well justify your presence there.

Security – The security to fail. Possibly the most important aspect of this train of thought, for me. If you've got dedicated time and space set out to your training, you can then start to apply yourself to it, and to really learn, and, unless you're some sort of phenomenon, you're going to fail and fail again, for other reasosn as your learning progresses. Building on from those failures in a safe environment can give you such a massive frame of reference for the outside world.

Exposure - Exposure to an audience. It's the very essence of the performer's craft. It's where the greatest amount of learning takes place. In a solid establishment the frameworks that you need in place for a performance to happen are there, the student doesn't have to worry about marketing, front of house or anything like that, they rehearse and then they perform. The lucky things.

Take drama training out of such a secure environment, and the suddenly the pressures on the student surely become much greater, and the likelihood of exposure to an audience lessens considerably.

So what is the future for drama training?

Are there other models out there for how a student actor may start to learn their trade?

Do we go down the route of apprenticeships?

There's a lot of governmental talk about apprenticeships these days, but can that be applied to theatre? That would require a reshaping of the funding environment to see such a thing brought out across the board.

There's the oriental model for such a training, and, broadly similar the medieval route. But what would be a good approach for Scotland, now?

A centralised apprenticeship agency or two, providing groundwork classes and then sending apprentices off to study with companies?

Do we see the rise of private theatre schools, following the Lecoq / Gaulier style model, where the students pay large fees and are worked solidly for half the day, then go off for the rest of the day to earn their crust? Mind you, the paying of large fees seems to be a universal thing these days.

Perhaps a school on wheels? A roving set of foundation and skills workshops that travel the country from town to town, meeting for month long bursts of time in village and town halls?

Do theatre companies create short schools?

Does Berty the Magic Theatre Banana go and tap people on the head an make them in to performers?

The one thing that definitely needs to be in place for what ever the future may be is a system of quality approval. The training needs to be of high quality, and the more fractured that the training environment becomes, the harder it may be to assure such quality.

Performance Poyum

2007-10-18T04:01:00.001-07:00

Enough is enough, thank you.

No, honestly, I couldn’t.

Not at all.

No, really.

Honest.

Well…

I shouldn’t really…

You know how it is…

But, I can’t say that I haven’t –

Go on then.

Just a wee bit.

Just dip it in the sauce.

Lovely.

Oh that’s good.

Oh that’s very good.

Why didn’t I try that one earlier?

Oh I like that one.

But this one’s my favourite.

Oh, yum.

Yum.

Yum, yum, yum.

I do like that one.

But, what about that one, the first one.

Oh it’s tasty.

I’ll just try one of these in there, in that first one.

Oh now, that’s just the ticket.

Will it taste the same with one of these in that sauce?

Oh!

Goodness!

I like that, oh I do like that.

What happens if you mix the two together?

Oh yes, I like that too!

Mhmmm.

There’s not much of it left, I may as well finish it off.

Ach what harm will it do?

It’s just a wee bitty.

There.

Just like that.

And that.

And… that…

Now…

Aw.

There’s none left.

Aw.

I don’t feel well.

Bachelorhood

2007-08-31T07:18:00.000-07:00

I guess I kind of set it as a marker of sadness, or perhaps just simple singularity of masculinity.
I always thought that those kind of people who buy Star Trek series on video or DVD are standing out as archetypal bachelors.

Well.

I've just ordered the 1st Season of Star Trek The Next Generation on DVD.
In my defence it was cheap-ish, and it's been at least 10 years since I've seen any of it.

But does this mean that I'm a sad bachelor pushing 30?

Oh jings....

A Lively Fellow

2007-05-15T07:32:00.000-07:00

I took a trip from Tobermory to Colonsay, and back round the west coast of Mull on the Waverley last weekend.
It was astonishing how beautiful the journey was.

Whilst on the boat I met Alasdair Gray - a genuine all time hero of mine.

After having written quite about about my dead heroes on this page, I think I'll now give some thoughts over to a living one.

I must remember to update this blog soon...

More soon.

A

RIP Kurt Vonnegut

2007-04-12T07:13:00.000-07:00

Kurt Vonnegut, an author who I admire above most others is no more.

http://www.kurtvonnegut.com/

A master of fiction his works were accessible and profound.
Many people seemed not to really rate as his work as they found it to lack layers.
I think his work was radically the opposite.

His work speaks to you in plain terms, as one critic commented "like a demented Uncle".
In a way he's everything that I aspire to as a writer.
His work seduced you, sucked you in and got a hold of you on straight forward terms, and then took you for a roller coaster ride around modern life.
He was a great commentator.
I think it's safe to say his work will live on. He captured something so essential about how people interact, how people are. He spoke of not just aspects of the "American experience" but even broader of a realistic, fantastic 'Human experience'.

His death at the ripe old age of 84 proves that there's not only one way out if you're a great american novelist.

Memories of NYC & Spalding Gray

2007-03-08T14:00:00.000-08:00

I'm slowly settling in to my new life on Mull, and appreciating the simple pleasures of having a clean kitchen, the art of hoovering (with my vacuum "Henry") and the secrets of starting a good fire.

A few weeks ago I ordered Morning, Noon & Night by Spalding Gray off of Amazon, and was delighted when it turned up at the Mull Theatre office.
Spalding Gray has long been a hero of mine. He was an American monologuist based, for the most part, in New York.

He wrote with such sincerity about his life, growing up and trying to fit in to the world as a sort of adult. Far from confessional, his work was comic and reflective.
Swimming to Cambodia is probably his best known work, concerning his experiences whilst filming The Killing Fields. This monolgue was turned in to a film with Jonathon Demme.

Another monologue, Gray's Anatomy, was filmed by Steven Soderbergh. This was my first introduction to his work, I think I recorded it off the telly when I was a student.
There was just something about him, so simple, honest and sincere in his presentation, that compelled you to watch him.

Well, as with all things that you read and come to love, I have a very personal attachment to the work of Spalding Gray. So much so, that if ever I own a cat I want to call it Spud, in honour of him. (His family nick name for him.)
Mind you if ever I have a dog, it's going to have to be called Django.

Spalding had always talked about suicide in his work, as various relatives of his had passed away in such a way. He seemed to muse on whether or not it was a gene that ran in the family.

Spalding was injured in a car crash during a family holiday in Ireland, receiving serious head wounds. This caused him immense pain and problems, and as time went by, after his return to the US it just got worse.
In the end he decided to jump off of a ferry in New York, in to the Hudson.
A tragic end to such a brilliant man.

Well. A year or so ago, I found myself in New York, after having visited my girlfriend of the time in Syracuse.
I was staying with my mate Courtney, who is the finest clown you could wish to see, and we were looking through an events guide for things to do.
It so happened that there was an evening tribute to Spalding and his work on at the Bowery Poetry Club. We leapt at the chance.
Courtney also invited two friends, Maia and H.R, who's also a monologuist of great skill.

It was a night I'll never forget.

A panel of readers sat on the stage, a mixture of men & women.
The format of the evening was simple, but brilliant. They each read small excerpts from Gray's work, all roughly tying in with each other.
Here were all of my favourite moments from his work being shared on stage.
All those moments that I'd privately laughed at, reading alone in bed in Dunoon, were now being celebrated by a theatre full of New Yorkers.

The excerpts came from work throughout his career, even from a monologue that was, at that time unpublished.
It didn't shy away from Spalding's musings on suicide from early in his life or indeed towards the end of his life, but found a perfect balance between all of the periods of his work.

The final moment of the presentation was from Morning, Noon and Night, where Spalding describes a moment with his family.
His wife and he are sitting in their kitchen talking, when suddenly they hear their children through in the other room listening to the radio loudly.
"Tub Thumping" by Chumbawumba blasts through the stereo.
Surprised, he and Cathy, his wife, head through to the other room.
The children are dancing around to the music, and so Spalding and Cathy join them.
The whole family are dancing to Chumbawumba.

And with that theatre was filled with the sound of "I get knocked down, but I get up again!" and the panel all got up and started to dance.
The whole panel were dancing to Chumbawumba.

It was such a simple, yet powerful moment.

So when I was lying in bed in Tobermory the other night, reading Morning, Noon and Night all on my own, I was suddenly transported back to a crowded New York theatre celebrating the life of a great man.

Here's to Spalding Gray.

Hong Kong - Home Dec 19th - 22nd '06

2006-12-22T03:40:00.000-08:00

Well.

That's it. It's all over and done.

So I find myself back in Scotland, in the cold, grey neon arms of Christmastime.

I shall now relate unto thee the events that preceded my sitting here at this desk in Hunters Quay, surrounded by books, a cup of green rice tea at my side and a cat asleep on my bed.

After the show finished a few of us popped out to Felix’s bar in the Peninsula hotel, just along from the Cultural Centre.

Felix’s is a well known spot, due to its situation on the 28^th floor of the hotel, where it looks out on to the waterfront, and Hong Kong across the other side.

A popular place of the nineties it now feels slightly demoded, which was fine by me as I’m not really one of those smarmy bar types.

As you approached the 28^th floor in the lift the lights changed colour as if to slip you in to the clandestine atmosphere of the bar.

It’s all very nice actually, but with a slight feeling of Miami Vice about it.

It wasn’t designed for comfort though, I’ll say that, as I kept slipping off of the perch ledge seats along the back wall of the bar. In the end I just stayed standing up, where I closer access to the Walkers plain salted crisps.

The beverage I supped, whilst at the counter was called a Red Rain, and it contained Vodka, Cranberry juice and some other things that I can’t recall.

All in all the prices at the bar were quite reasonable really, and it had a nice, relaxed atmosphere. Definitely worth a wee investigate, should you find yourself in Hong Kong / Kowloon.

Descending in the lift, back to the plebeian world, Sean hinted about fart noises, a la Peter Sellers in the Pink Panther Strikes Back. Standing in front of us in the lift was a tall, very serious looking business type.

And so the chorus of hand farts and, indeed, one real, squeaky fart, started.

The poor fellow couldn’t wait to get out of the lift. We all tittered like school children.

From Felix’s we went on to an Irish bar, and had ourselves a pint of Kilkenny. That went down well.

And then came the meal. Chinese style Hot Pot.

My esteem’d friend Mr Euan Davidson informs me that the Japanese have something similar called Shabu Shabu.

Hot Pot in this case, is not a dish of meats and sausages cooked in an oven till tender and juicy, but a communal feast that all can enjoy.

In the centre of table there is a hot plate, and on to this hot plate there is placed a pot of water and herbs that is brought to the boil. In to this boiling pot of water you then throw in all manner of vegetables, meat and fish that you have ordered.

The rule is: Once it floats you may eat it.

A simple way of eating, but oh so very tasty. And really communal. Every one is leaning over, prodding things and dipping things in to the pan. It’s a great thing for all the family.

I particularly liked the tender beef strips that you dipped in, until they were cooked. Lovely. I remember my Gran talking about Boiled Beef, but I’m sure it was nothing like this.

One of the really neat things about the hot pot is the fact that you get to concoct your own sauce to dip your objects in to. Oh yeah! Sesame and soy with garlic and spring onion and chilli and all sorts of goodies-tastic.

It’s a lovely thing to do with a group, and I really felt that it rounded off of our time working together so well.

Then it was out to the island for my last night and bed.

The next morning I had a walk out to Sai Wan, and a nice coconut pudding thing, with the wee ginger cat on my lap, enjoying the sun. Then that was it, I was off to central, luggage and all.

On the boat I listened to the last episode of the Hitch Hikers Guide to The Galaxy, which I’d been holding on to for some days.

After a Feldenkrais session with Sean, we went out to dinner with Bonni and Ming (a friend of Bonnie and Sean who had been helping out in production week). We went to a Chinese vegetarian restaurant, which was lovely, so light and delicate, and yet filling. Not to mention the brown rice cake, which was in no way light or delicate, just bloomin’ tasty!

Then it was tatty bye to Sean and Bonnie, and off to stay with Lawrence, the company production manager, his 3 dogs and 4 puppies in Causeway Bay.

I had a very pleasant evening in the company of dogs and puppies, and then slept fitfully in the temple to Mickey Mouse that Lawrence keeps as a bedroom. He’s a really cool guy, a happening man about town, but with a penchant for Mickey Mouse that has to be seen to be believed. He’s great.

Anyway. I was awoken by the strains of the mickey mouse alarm clock screaming at me in some unknown language. After footering around with it for some time I finally managed to get it switched off. And then I noticed that the dogs were howling too – scrabbling to get in to the room.

I opened the door and there they were, all three grown up dogs, Soda, Cola and Fanta. They were smiling away and wagging their tails like nobodies business.

Lovely dogs.

Then I looked a bit closer.

One had my dental floss box in its mouth, another my comb. Strewn across the floor were various items from my toilet bag, all chewed, my toilet bag, also chewed and a turd, not chewed.

Bugger.

So I had to try and get them back in to the bag and out of harms way, which I just about managed, although one of the dogs did decide to eat my soap dish and soap around that time.

That too was eventually wrestled from their gums.

Lawrence’s partner came down to see that I was up, it being half five, and he having jet lag.

Lawrence was fast asleep in a lazy boy recliner, completely oblivious to the whole affair.

While Lawrence’s partner kept and eye on the dogs I dived in to the shower for a quick wash, and turned it on, only to have it be very high powered and soak the entire bathroom with one burst of water that went skywards.

Eventually I managed to get a taxi with the help of Lawrence’s man and that was it, I was off to the airport.

Luggage – over weight.

Bugger!

Spoke very nicely to the lady behind the desk, and she gave me another bag to split my affairs in to so as to balance out the weight.

Fab.

Got the plane, no probs.

The captain announced the various places that we’ll be travelling over, including the Soviet Union. So I guess it’s not just a jet, but a time machine too.

13 ½ hours, no worries. Slept 6 hours, watched Little Miss Sunshine and Scoop.

Scoop is not one of Woddy Allen’s best, sadly. I really don’t like Scarlett Johansen’s acting style, especially when it’s mixed in with the over blown Woody acting impostions.

Fly in to Heathrow, on the descent see the ground suddenly appear as if out of no where. The fog was so heavy, you could barely see the wing of the plane. Descending, descending, descending, then Whheeeeech! We’re back up into the air like nobody’s business and the 747 is behaving like a fighter plane.

Quite exciting really.

Then a voice comes over the tannoy and says:

“Sorry about that, we had an aborted landing, there was another plane on the runway. We should be back on radar in a minute or two, when we’ll try to get you on the ground in seven or eight minutes.”

The next landing was fine, and lefty me with barely enough time to catch my connection, which I just managed, just and no more. Thank god, because the next flights were full and then the next day all flights were pretty much cancelled due to fog.

Got in to Glasgow in the evening, Mum & Dad there to meet me, all is well.

It takes another day for my luggage to turn up. The turnaround in London was too tight for my bags.

So now here I am once more.

Thoughts turning from HK to Newcastle and Mull.

Without a doubt working for Theatre Du Pif in Hong Kong was the best professional experience I’ve ever had. Bonni is with out a shadow of a doubt the best director I’ve had the privilege of working with. I’m really pleased with the whole experience, it was absolutely fabulous.

If you have a chance to go to HK do grab it with both hands, I believe that Oasis, a charter line, now do flights for £250 return from London – which is amazing.

But make sure if you do go that you go and stay on one of the islands to get a contrast to the hustle and non stop bustle of Hong Kong.

I leave you now with the imagined sound of Airline cabin music playing in a loop, and wish you all a very merry holly berry and a happy new year.

Awrabest

Hong Kong - Dec 16th 06

2006-12-15T18:52:00.000-08:00

So.

The show has started, and all is well.

The set up of theatres here seems to be pretty much the same as at home.
With some crucial differences that I find a bit odd.

The technical crew do not wear shorts in the Hong Kong Theatre.

In Britain it is well known that all technicians (mostly the male of the species) tend to wear shorts no matter what the weather, when working in the theatre.
I was thrown by this, I admit, but I will survive.

The Sound and Lighting designers during the tech did not lounge about and read The Sun or The FT when they weren't required, they practiced Tai Chi.

Now that, to my mind, is pretty cool.

The theatre is built on the site of the old railway station that linked Kowloon to the rest of China. It's a massive building, with three auditoriums, and totally with out windows. It's on the sea front, so there was a bit of a missed opportunity for a nice theatre cafe there, selling buns and other such interval goodies.

Finished reading Gravity's Rainbow. All very silly. I liked it a lot, but boy was it silly. That's probably why I liked it.
I'm now reading a few of Murakami's short stories.
I've got the first Jeeves and Wooster book to read for the plane home, but it's so thin I'll probably have read it by the time we taxi off...

So all is well.
Today we have two more shows, and then on Sunday, one more and that's it. Job finished.
Coal all spent.
Awwwww.

Hong Kong - Dec 7th 06

2006-12-07T07:38:00.000-08:00

I went out for Thai food in HK tonight. I went with Yasmin, the musician who's working on the show with us. Whilst at the wee food providing establishment we randomly met some one she knew from an island that she used to live on. This chap, from England, called Survinder, had lived in Orkney for 7 years. He was George Mackay Brown's personal secretary. So we had an interesting talk about Scottish literature and how neither of us really liked Andrew Greig's writing that much, and couldn't understand what all the hype was about. All very odd.

After eating, I went to go and browse in a local HMV. Standing at the traffic lights I noticed that a lady was pointing at me in mute horror.
"Calm down dear, I'm only a white boy from Hunters Quay" thought I.
Then another of her friends pointed as well. And another.
I thought, "What the Jimminy Cricket?"

I currently have a beard, to make me look older for the show.

I felt my beard twitch slightly.

I put my hand on my neck and felt something on it. Something solid and odd.
I brushed it away, making a noise that doesn't type well, but sounds a bit like "uuuuuuugggjjjjaaaagagagagagkq", but uttered in one burst.

The ladies were still pointing at me.

The What-Ever-It-Was, was still there.

Again brushed my neck, slightly more frantically this time, and bumped in to a chap behind me.
Satisfyingly I felt the What-Ever-It-Was falling from my neck and going Somewhere Else.

The Somewhere Else in question happened to be the face of the lady next to me. Who was on a mobile phone and didn't really seem too bothered.
And then she noticed people looking at her, as a large cockroach tried to untangle its self from her hair.
She "urghed" and jiggled it out of her hair. Jiggle, in this case, doesn't do the motion quite the justice the action deserves, but there we are.

It landed on the ground with a thud and the car - light - pedestrian interface attendees all stared in disgust at the beastie.

It was large enough to feed a small family for a week.
In another life I think it very well may have been a prop in Indiana Jones and The Temple of Doom, from the banqueting sequence.

Then the lights changed and we all calmly crossed the road.

How it got on to my neck, I'll never know, and what I would've done if the ladies hadn't stood, pointed and gawped, I'll likewise never know.
It may have been ended up as an inadvertently tasty after dinner snack?
Seeing as I'm here for a production of Kafka's work, including the Metamorphosis, it seems vaguely appropriate.

To lighten the mood a little, here are some photos from my recent light capturing endeavours.

A couple sitting on the beach at the end of the street here, looking out on to HK.

The IFC 1 tower. In a terribly ponsy shot. This, trully is AR(se)T. I think a new movement should be pioneered called AR(se)T, where all shots are taken in such a manner, and worse.

Fishing boats in the harbour behind the typhoon shelter along the causeway to Sai Wan on Cheung Chau.
I love the fishing boats here, they're like giant Japanese Spider crabs.

As always if you want to see a larger copy of the images, please double click on them.

4th December ‘06 Hong Kong

2006-12-03T18:31:00.000-08:00

Other People’s Stories

I - Mike’s Shoe Tale

Travelling back and forth between CC & HK I frequently meet a chap called Mike, who is an actor, director, and to make a living, a teacher.

He came out here over twenty years ago to join an English language theatre co.

He’s got some great stories, and perhaps my favourite involves an instant of mistranslation.

It was told to him by a friend, who, if my memory serves me right, had been in the police force here.

If you’re of western origin and you want to join the HK police force, you have to take a X week long immersion course in Cantonese, where you speak nothing but, well, Cantonese.

At this chap’s passing out parade the gentleman who was assessing the graduates on parade was an Anglophile by origin, and supposedly spoke good Cantonese, as he was high up in the force.

So, the Hi Heid Yin is wandering about lording it over the graduates, flicking the odd lapel and so on.

He comes past a young lady, and then he stops, stares down at her shoes and says very loudly, so that the whole audience of families, dignitaries and so on, can hear:

“My dear lady your shoe is dirty”.

At least that’s what he thought he said.

What with the tonal differences in certain words here, one sound can mean many things, with slight tonal variations, making it mean other things.

What he actually said was:

“My dear lady your [exceptionally offensive word for a lady’s front bottom, favoured by Derek & Clive, that sounds a lot like King Kanute] is dirty”

Oh dear.

II – Sean & Bonnie’s Old Man Tale

Sean and Bonnie (who run the company) were working in Berlin earlier in the year, and one night they went looking for some food, and were told by a restaurant, which was full, that the bar around the corner did good food.

So they went along to the bar.

Sitting down at a table, Bonnie picked up a place mat and looked at it for a moment. There was a face on it that she recognised.

A craggedy faced old Chinese man.

She showed it to Sean and they figured out that it was an old chap from Cheung Chau who they frequently see wandering around, and indeed, who we saw last night, whilst currying.

This fellow is an old loner, who only has one arm and a really interesting, craggy face.

It turned out that the owner of the bar had been in HK for one day, on his way back from somewhere else, and decided to take a trip to CC, when he espied the gentleman on the ferry. He surreptitiously took a couple of snaps of the old man from a low level.

And now the image of the old man’s face is the brand image of the café, it adorns the front of the shop, it’s on their coasters and bottles of Vodka.

Of course the bar owner didn’t ask the old man’s permission, so he is totally unaware, that on another continent, there is a bar festooned with his visage.

How very, very odd.

Just imagine that it was you…

It reminds me of the Hitchhikers Guide to the Galaxy, when Arthur Dent finds a huge statue of himself on a far distant planet, after a dispute with a tea making machine.

2006-12-03T06:57:00.000-08:00

Don't really have very much to say at the moment, just enjoying a day off. Reading, walking, swimming in the sea, eating curry, the usual.

I did think that it was vital that I share this image though... Especially for Mr G Fagan...

Please note that the flavour is "Chickenator"...

Oh dear.

Hong Kong 1st December 06

2006-12-01T06:56:00.000-08:00

I don't really have much to say today, so I thought I'd put up some photos of Cheung Chau and other things. If you want to see a bigger image of them, double click on them and they'll open up in a new window.

This is a wee ginger cat that lives in the shop beside the B&B. It's really friendly and loves sitting in that cardboard box.

This is a rocky outcrop from a bay I discovered round the other side of the island.

And this is a tune what I wrote for the show.

Hong Kong - Nov 30th 06

2006-11-29T18:15:00.000-08:00

Hong Kong 30^th Nov 06

A few days absence from the blogface, I’m sorry.

Sunday and Monday were days off. Perfect days off!

Can you imagine a lovely summer’s day in November? Well that was what we had! It was great. I spent Sunday variously walking around the island, eating or reading the end of Royal Flash and starting Thomas Pynchon’s Gravity’s Rainbow on the beach.

Walking round the island was magic, there are so many bits to it that are tricky to find. The cemetery here is massive – and it even has a pack of friendly wild dogs that run about in it.

Apparently you only get a ten year lease on a plot in the cemetery here. Then you have to be dug up, packed in to something smaller, I guess like a big urn, and then taken elsewhere.

I had the most perfect broccoli I’ve ever had here on Sunday night. Steamed, and then lightly fried in ginger and garlic. Oh yeah!

The restaurant across from the B&B here is so worth checking out if ever you find yourself in Cheung Chau. It’s called the East Lake and it’s just great. The staff are so friendly.

On Monday we went back for dinner, and had a pudding from the place beside the B&B. My goodness. What puddings.

A black sesame soup (yum), a pumpkin and sago soup like pudding (yum!), several little rice flour balls filled with peanut butter (yum yum!) and a coconut, filled with hot coconut milk in which parcels of black sesame floated (yum yum yum!!!).

I’m going to go back for more pudding next week!

Work continues on a pace, and I’m really loving it. It’s hard work, but boy is it good fun. It’s very sweaty. Lots of running on the spot frantically waving ones arms around in a physical stylee.

The only thing I don’t like about the island of Cheung Chau are Hong Kongians who come across with their dogs in little prams! Let the buggers walk! That’s what they want to do! Grrr!

[Photo of an nice beach to follow soon]

Hong Kong - Nov 24th 06 part 2

2006-11-24T06:33:00.000-08:00

Sitting up here on the roof terrace of an evening is a very fine thing to do.

A warm wind blows in off the sea, from the Hong Kong direction.

The sound of potted palms, rustling in the wind competes with a very bad compilation CD from the 90’s which pours out of tinny speakers. “Whatever you do, I will be right here waiting for you” rustle rustle “Near, far, where ever you are…” and so on. It’s the sort of CD that will greet the doomed in hell, much like that Rowan Atkinson sketch from years ago.

Talking of which...

I had diner at a supermarket in Hong Kong this evening (a nice beef curry). It was a bit difficult to find a seat, so I enquired of a very old looking white man if it was alright to sit opposite him. He said “of course” and continued eating a blueberry Danish with jittery veiny hands.

Trying to cut meat with a fork and a spoon is not one of my skills, although I am improving, so I asked him if he’d mind looking after my fiddle and bag for an instant as I went off to locate a knife.

When I returned he asked me if I was Scottish. I replied that indeed, I was. It turns out that he was from Yorkshire and had been living out here in Hong Kong for 27 years or so. He had been a civil engineer in years gone by.

He then mumbled something about missionary work.

I asked him if he had a grasp of Cantonese, he replied that he didn’t but he did speak Indonesian.

I then enquired, if he didn’t mind, did he have family out here at all?

He replied that no, he didn’t, but he was getting married in December.

At this his face lit up and his wee beady eyes glowed from behind his gold rimmed specs.

Now I don’t know if any of you have ever read the graphic novel “The League Of Extraordinary Gentlemen”… There’s a character in there, Moriarty, taken from Connan Doyle’s Sherlock Holmes novels. In TLOEG Moriarty is seriously ancient and all gnarled and wrinkly, with a rather odd twinkle in his eye. Well. For the life of me, that’s what poor Albert looked like.

It seems that the wedding is going to take place in Indonesia, where he has done some missionary work. He also said that he’s starting to need help with looking after himself.

He then went on to enquire if I had a wife, and I replied that I didn’t, but I had a girlfriend back at home in the uk.

The conversation then took a very odd turn.

He started to tell me that the end of days was coming, and that God was soon going to wipe out those who didn’t follow the ‘righteous’ path, in a similar manner to that which had previously happened with the great flood of Noah’s era.

He started on about how certain choices have to be made in life.

And then his eyes really stared unblinkingly at me and he said that “there will be no death” that the righteous (my word) shall never die.

The look on his face was one of utter conviction. He really, desperately believed this, as if his life was hanging on to it.

It was very obvious that this was a thought that was very much playing on his mind recently.

Of course he then went on to say how “those people, the Jehovah’s Witnesses” were worth listening to. “It doesn’t cost anything to listen, does it?”

Hmmm.

I decided against buying the Danish pastry opposite our table that I had been quietly eyeing up, and made my polite excuses and headed off for the ferry.

Before I went, though, I shook his hand and introduced myself. A bit backwards, I know.

He gave me a very strong grip and stared me straight in the eye, smiled and gave me his name.

“Albert. Albert.”

Hong Kong - Nov 24th 06 part 1

2006-11-23T18:52:00.000-08:00

Just been for a dip in the sea. There was a trawler thing in the swimming enclosure taking away the diving platforms and shark nets. Apparently there’s no need for shark platforms at this time of year, as the water is too cold for them (the sharks that is).

Went for a foot massage with some of the folks from work last night. Reflexology a beauty. It was great. Very sore around the stomach area of the foot – I just thought I had a fart brewing, but there you go.
I held on to it don’t worry.

I got a taxi back to the ferry terminal after a bite to eat, as time was a bit short.

Taxis here are great, so cheap, but very crazy. This driver seemed to have some sort of claxon based Tourettes.

Had our first run through of the show so far yesterday too. I’m so happy with it, it’s great fun. I think it might be a bit hard for the audience, as it’s not really a very light subject matter, but oh boy is it fun to be on stage with those chaps and chapessess! I think the more practice we get at it the tighter it will become. It’s not going to be easy, but oh I do love working like this.

Hong Kong - Nov 21st 06

2006-11-21T08:09:00.000-08:00

I write from my all white B&B room in Cheung Chau.

CC is so radically different from HK (oooh, get me).

Even within one day of being here people were saying hello to me on the street, recognising me, and knowing me as a friend of Sean & Bonnie’s.

Across the street there is a very good restaurant ran by a charming older lady called Jenny. It’s so good, I even tried some fish. Just don’t tell anyone. It looked so tasty in its lovely fluffy batter, I, well, I… kind of liked it. But sh! I’m a die hard non-piscatarian!

Beside the B&B is a Japanese Tea room, ran by an eccentric old Japanese lady, who seems to have a bit of a vendetta against the restaurant and the B&B, but who’s tea is very tasty. We’ve already had a stinted conversation about Japanese literature.

The street is populated by various stray cats and dogs, who are all exceptionally friendly.

Within 24 hours of having got here, I’d swam in the sea twice, walked a couple of miles and played badminton for an hour. It’s a great place!

Returning to HK is a bit of a sad contrast to the calm pace of life here.

The boat ride is rather enjoyable though, and it gives me a chance to read and learn lines and so on.

Talking of reading I’ve moved from Flashman on to Edward Said’s Orientalism. I think that kind of balances things out a bit. (But I’m still racing away with the second Flashy book – Royal Flash, oh he’s such a rogue!)

Weather today has been the worst since I got here. Thunder and lightening (well cool!) since the start of the afternoon, and rain pretty much all day in a fairly dramatic fashion.

During a hiatus I went out for a stroll, and on my travels encountered a funeral. It was a very simple affair, with a coffin at the back of an open stall like space, and a crowd of mourners assembled, dressed in white, with white hoods, whilst a man played on a chanter, direct into the reed.

I’ve also come across my nightmare beasties here – Horseshoe Crabs! Oh God! I’ve been terrified of them ever since I saw them on the telly as a wee boy. And now I’ve seen them in the flesh, in a local fish shop. Argh!!!! A couple were lying on the ground, almost like they had escaped, but had fallen on to their backs. The poor things, by an evolutionary flaw, can’t turn over when on their backs, so there they lay for ages. What happened after that I don’t know, nor want to know.

Right, well I’m off to bed. I’m going to try and sleep, but who knows how I’ll get on, as Thor (or his Cantonese counterpart) continues to hammer his anvil right above the B&B.

Hong Kong - Nov 19th 06

2006-11-18T20:09:00.000-08:00

Rehearsals carry on apace, and today I’m moving to the island of Cheung Chau. No more noisy Wan Chai (for a couple of weeks at least) and hello seaside and swims!

I’m going to miss this little apartment, without a shadow of a doubt, especially now as the cooking facilities have recently improved. Ach well. I’m looking forward to the change.

Went to see a show called Geisha last night with Amanda & Giles it was a load of

The sort of pretentious theatre that makes me very, very angry. The lights were fab though, and it had the nicest cyc I’ve seen on stage for a very long time. That says a lot, no?

In all fairness to it, the music was excellent, an evolving soundscape that performers interacted with composed and performed by Toru Yamanaka. There was also a Samisen player on stage, who sang in an old Japanese style. A bloke danced the dances of various geishas too. That was very skilled. Aye, all that was great, it’s just a shame about the rest of it. It all hung together like a fart from the bottom of a not very well individual.

Not far from here in Wan Chai, on the way to the excellent White Noise records, there is a motorway / road over pass, where old ladies congregate with small shrines and a collection of paper tigers.

Beatrix, my landlady asked me if I was aware of what the old ladies do? I wasn’t, so she explained that they are kind of like Wise Women, who you go to if you have had a run of bad luck recently. The ladies will work out why you’ve been having bad luck, usually it is connected to some one near you who has ‘bad energy’. They then transfer the negative energy to the paper tiger there in front of them, by repeating certain incantations. Next they take off one of their flip flops and smack it several times, crushing it flat.

Thus your luck should change.

Ach well. I’m off to pack my bags and head off to the island.

Heigh ho.

Hong Kong - Nov 17th 06

2006-11-16T17:35:00.000-08:00

It becomes increasingly difficult to write about somewhere, the more time you spend there it seems. Though I do have the suspicion that Hong Kong will continually find ways of making me go “eh?!”.

The last few days have been very much rehearsal centric, which is great.
I really like Bonni’s way of directing. I really feel that she’s in control of what she wants to get from us, and yet is really open to other suggestions too. Magic.

I’ve even written a piece on the fiddle for when Gregor dies. At the moment it’s called “Death of a Samsa”, but we’re not sure whether to call it “Mort d’un Samsa” or what ever the German or Czech might be. Oh how I love to relish pretension… It’s an odd little tune, I think it may be in D Minor and 6/8, but I’m not really sure as understanding music theory has never been my strongest point, but I like how it sounds.

It’s a very overcast day here, although I’m not sure what is over cast cloud cover or pollution. Nice.

The trade in VCD’s (video CD’s) here is ridiculous. They’re literally everywhere you turn, and only cost a pound or two for a movie.

I indulged myself by buying Mel Brook’s “Silent Movie”, which my mate George has always lead me to believe is a classic. Apparently it features Marcel Marceau in one instant as the only speaking character in the movie. And all he says is “Non!”.

It also features the talents of that great British export, Marty Feldman. What a shame he didn’t live for longer. The guy was bloody brilliant. So funny.

The trade in DVD’s and CD’s is also rather good here. I managed to pick up a copy of the first series of Deadwood for a few quid, and also the Who’s new album for tupence halfpenny. How do they get them so cheap? I have no idea?... (Innocent, beatified look)

Well, when I got back last night the flat was in complete disarray, as a decorator had come to paint my room and the living room. Superb. Just what you need after a hard day. Grrrr.

The odd thing was that the painter wasn’t there at all when I got back, he arrived again this morning when I was in the shower. All I heard was the building supervisor, Mr Wong, saying “Hello everybody?” as he obviously opened up the door. I shouted back that I was in the shower. That though is the limit of his English. The building supervisor is great, the poor man just has to sit downstairs at the door all day long, or patrol the building for security reasons at all hours of the night. A very odd existence. I try to say hello to him every day and have a cheerful mimed conversation when possible.

My Cantonese is very poor, but I am trying.

I discovered that just by a certain vocal inflection the word for “toast” becomes “nosy”. I love these sort of random facts about life here.

Like the word for the “dog” and “nine” is the same, but if you change the tonality very slightly it becomes a swearword.

Apparently Kowloon actually means “nine dragons”. So there you go.

Last night I went for a cup of tea in a tea shop opposite the capitalist behemoth that is Times Square. Up two flights of stairs it’s called the People’s Bookstore, and it’s a communist bookstore, with a four month old kitten as part of the staff. It’s a great place.

The menus are clipped in to pages of chairman Mao’s little red book.

Oh, this silly city.

Hong Kong - Nov 13th 06

2006-11-12T18:37:00.000-08:00

I must apologise for a couple of days absence, I’ve been deeply ensconced in the land of the busy, and too tired to catch up with the blog in the mornings.

Super markets here are very informative places. I was wondering around our local the other night whilst two voices over the speaker system told me how to remove fishy and onion aromas from my hands by washing them with a lemon or a stainless steel spoon. All in perfect English: “Hello this is Susan here, and I’d like to share with you some tips I’ve come across…”

Then it’d switch in to Cantonese, and they’d just repeat numbers at each other endlessly. Very odd.

Well. Friday night was spent in a very pleasant style in the company of Giles and Amanda and two of their friends, round at their apartment in Gold Coast, near Tuen Mun. It was so nice to finally eat some food that totally agreed with my taste buds. Lovely. Giles had crafted a cold watercress, garlic and ginger soup to start with and then we proceeded on to roasted potatoes, roasted meat, and all sorts of lovely salad things. Oh yeah!

This lovely evening of tasty food and good company was in total contrast to Saturday night. I tried to cook here in the flat in our grossly unequipped kitchen. Argh. I don’t think I’ve sworn as much as that in a long time. It’s funny how all your frustrations at a place can become vented on to a rubbish chicken stir-fry.

Another factor that’s a bit odd here, is that all the work surfaces are a wee bit lower than where you’d expect them to be.

So imagine me, hunched over a quickly blackening frying pan like thing, swearing whilst brutally prodding the worst cut of chicken you’ve ever seen with a bamboo spoon.

Of course that didn’t work a jot so I went out to get a microwave meal.

On returning I found out that the microwave was a big pile of poo.

So the curry took ages to cook properly, on both sides…

Cue the ice cream. What can go wrong with the ultimate comfort food? Not much. Unless of course, you have a freezer that’s not that good and a fridge door that refuses to shut properly (unbeknownst to you).

That’s right. I had chocolate soup for pudding. Oh well.

After that I just sat on the couch and watched the third episode of the fantastic “Blackpool” serial that I’d brought with me from home. It’s a really original piece. There’s a superb moment when a lad gets lifted by the police, whilst they all perform a dance routine based around the Smith’s Boy With The Thorn In His Side.

And boy oh boy is David Tennant a good actor. He’s really amazing in this, but then so are all the cast. A cracking show.

So. Sunday. Stanley Market.

What a place. So much tacky rubbish. And some really good deals. After much scrabbling around I finally managed to get two pairs of linen trousers, much as what I’d been searching for, for ages. I also managed to get a small pair of binoculars for the car back home, which should come in handy as I traverse the highlands in the coming year.

There were so many shops that I could see my Mum and Aunty Kate and Ileen digging around in admiring the shoes and so on a few years before. I did laugh.

I managed to get a few wee knickknacks for people back home there too, buts shall definitely be making a return trip before too long for more presents from HK.

[The first Human - Dog Tongue Transplant, as seen at the Stanley Market]

I managed to pick up an interesting mask from Tibet there too, a happiness demon, whose name I don’t know. It’s strangely charming.

After Stanley, Amanda, Giles and I headed up to our roof where we had a few drinks and watched the city go by, above and below.

A very fine way to spend an evening.

It’s amazing how much pollution hangs in the sky here. You can really see it when there’s a neon light blazing its message across the sky.

Last night I ended up helping Beatrix, my land lady, move a monitor for her computer across the city. During which I got to meet several cats, one called Sau Mau – Silly Cat.

We then went out to dinner at a local Japanese eatery. Very pleasant, but I shall spare you the foody descriptions – enough for one blog already.

On Saturday night the Star Ferry terminal closed down, and Bea was there to protest.

As many of you will know the Star Ferry is an iconic image in Hong Kong. It’s one of those things that you have to do when you’re here, to take the ferry across from the HK terminal to Kowloon side.

Well, the city decided to close it down, and move it on to a new terminal down by the other ferry terminals to Macau, Chung Chau and so on.

That all seems fair enough, but then when you view it in line with the rest of the city, it does start to show a worrying trend.

Everything has to behave like clockwork here, it all has to fit in to the machine that is Hong Kong. Everything it seems has to be together. All the ferries in a row. As Bea pointed out, that’s what is going to make Hong Kong loose its character. It’s just going to become a giant functional place, without any character. The tatty old Star Ferry pier was perfectly functional, and had lots of character, but now there’s a shiny new one not far away with lots of chances to buy your favourite souvenirs. More so than at the old pier.

It’s funny because you can see that in a way being a real mind set here. If you don’t function in line with every other cog of the machine here, there’s no place for you. Either adapt or go away.

Interestingly, yesterday was the first day that I noticed any disabled people on the streets.

[pollution in HK as seen from the roof]

Hong Kong - Nov 10th 06

2006-11-09T19:35:00.000-08:00

I’m not having a lot of time for adventures at the moment, as my existence is pretty much rehearsal focused. Which is a very good thing.

I think the show could be very interesting indeed. The designer arrived from Korea the other day, and has now replaced Tobaran as my flat mate. His designs are amazing. He just sits at the back of the rehearsal room scribbling away coming up with wondrous designs around ladders and platforms.

I find it all very exciting. It’s going to be one heck of a sweaty show, though. It starts with Justine performing beautiful balletic action, and then Sean, Kar Fai and I start running across the stage, shouting and cursing and getting in to fights. It’s going to be quite a contrast. And then the short story The Vulture starts, whilst K & I wrestle each other to the ground many times.

The dynamic in the company is great, we’re all listening to each other on stage, and it really feels like we’re pulling together. Oh I do enjoy working like this.

Dinner last night was with Kar Fai and Yun Su, the designer, down a side alleyway, where we had fried rice and sweet sausage. It was very tasty indeed. Kar Fai used to live around here, and that was his favourite place to eat. The food was very cheap and really tasty. Rice bound together by sticky friedness, and glutinous soy sauce. A family business to boot too. It’s so different to Europe, just sitting down a dirty side alley under plastic tarpaulins, sat upon plastic stools eating from picnic tables. It’s just great.

It can be a very depressing place though, the thought of rush hour in the MTR still fills me with dread. There’s just so much negativity, thousands of people feeling miserable, and crunching like meat into a sausage machine as they plough up the escalators. Every time I’m in that situation I find myself whistling the first few bars of Chaplin’s Modern Times theme, as it’s exactly the same situation he depicts in that film, with the sheep racing through pens, contrasted with people coming out of the underground.

There are a lot of depressed Europeans here. At that party the other night, so many of them seemed to be of a negative bent. Yet they were on about how much money they were making. Aye…

I’m off to a dinner gathering at Giles and Amanda’s tonight, so that should be a good laugh. I’m really getting to see a lot of this strange place.

Hong Kong - Nov 9th 06

2006-11-08T19:48:00.000-08:00

Our water in the flat has turned brown for no reason that I know of… Not that we’re passing brown water, it’s just it’s issuing out of the taps in a brown watery fashion. I’m not sure what that’s all aobut.

According to Tobaran Franz has either grown quite sizably in the last day or two, or he’s brought his older, more butch brother to the party.

All he saw was a big tail sliding away behind the cutlery.

Oh lordy.

I was thinking if it’s a second lizard we should really call it “Mr Lizard”, in honour of Chris Morris.

I just had to run to see what was happening there in the kitchen, as Tobaran just shouted out “aaaah!”. I thought our friendly lizard had come back, but no, some how the kitchen was spraying hot water at him and out on to the hall. All fixed now.

A strange day for liquids in the flat!

2006-11-07T18:56:00.000-08:00

Food is still somewhat of a mysterious odyssey here, from my perspective.

Last night I went out for a bite to eat at the ‘giant foot restaurant’ (each day I spell that bloomin word wrong!) not far from here. Having previously enjoyed a breakfast success there, I reckoned it would be worth a shot for dinner. So… In I went, sat down and ordered the chicken with celery carrots and cashews. As part of the deal you got a bowl of Chinese soup, some rice and a drink of your choice.

The first thing to arrive was the soup. I’ve previously tried the soup that comes with meals here and found it not too bad, but sadly this wasn’t to my picky tastes… I’m not really sure what was in it, but I think it was either a really weird vegetable or bone with the marrow melted from it. I tried a few mouthfuls and left it just as the main course arrived, which indeed had a lot of celery, huge chunks of it, carrot, yes indeed, cashews, oh yeah and… some cuts of chicken that I’ve never seen before in my life, and ones that didn’t really taste like poultry at that, but heigh ho. What I found really strange though were the bits that looked like a meat that was mixed in to the noodles at the previous night’s restaurant. This was sea cucumber… Not really my cup of tea. I hate to be ignorant of things when I’m away from home, but of all Hong Kong’s craziness I find it is the food that’s the biggest culture shock to me.

Who knows. Perhaps by the time I get home it’ll be dried seahorse and puffer fish soup for Christmas dinner.

Last night Tobaran, my flat mate, had a wee gathering of his friends and those who have helped him over here, round at our flat.

It was an interesting mix of folks. A curt Belgian woman and her depressed husband, a lovely transgenderal chap/ess called Kim who seems to be a fine visual artist, a Dramaturg turned German teacher, and Beatrix our adorable landlady and a friend.

So at this there were plenty of bits of food to be eaten, and I subtly tucked in here and there, enjoying some Malaysian bread, vegetarian rice balls and fantastic children’s corn snacks. These corn snacks, oh god they’re so tasty…

Reading this, it seems that all I think about is food!

As I returned to the flat from work last night I experienced a slightly different Hong Kong, and one that’s more of a reality for the people here.

Rush hour in the MTR (underground system).

It’s so busy you can’t quite believe it. And hardly anyone seems to be smiling or even happy looking.

But that’s the same all over the world in railway stations and subway passages day in day out.

There’s not much you can really say about such things. It’s just a fact of modern living.

As I walked to work from the MTR to the studio I pass by a theatre. I was amazed to notice that they have banners out side the theatre with quotes from the cannon of the great theatre directors, critics and writers. Meyerhold, Brook and so on. Brilliant, a lovely idea. (As seen at the top of this entry)

If anything it seems to be getting a bit hotter here too. I had the air conditioning on for the first time last night. It sure makes a difference.

Thank god for the wonders of Skype too! It’s great to be able to talk to your loved ones back home with out paying through the nose for it in some way or another!

Oh well.

Hong Kong - Nov 7th 06

2006-11-06T19:02:00.000-08:00

I entirely forgot to mention the other day that as I was wandering about in Wan Chai I bumped into a gentleman with his small Scotty Dog. Bloomin gorgeous wee thing. What is it about Scotties, that when you’re abroad you feel that you have the right to speak to them, because at one point in their genetic history they pertained to your home nation? It’s perhaps just because they’re just lovely little schnuffily dogs.

After work last night we went to a restaurant not far from our rehearsal space on the Kowloon side of the water.

I tried something called (excuse my phonetic spelling here) “Seelon Bau”. Apparently it comes from the colder parts of China, where they have a greater need of bulky foods to keep warm.

It’s basically a small parcel of meat wrapped in a lovely rice pastry that is steamed. As it steams it gives off a soup liquid inside the parcel, so that when you bite in to it, it runs down your chin and ruins your t shirt. Oh and it tastes absolutely delicious. Yum!

There was a similar style of thing that was baked which wasn’t too bad either.

Sean was saying that he’d often thought a fine idea would be to set up a stall in Edinburgh offering Seelon Bau to the drunks of a winter’s evening. I think he’d make a packet.

(See also Italo Cavino’s “If on a winters night… a pissed person…”)

Hong Kong - Nov 6th 06

2006-11-05T18:19:00.000-08:00

Sunday is the day off for the Filipino maids of the rich of Hong Kong.

Where ever you go down by the Star Ferry terminal you’ll see hundreds of women picnicking together.

I passed by that way yesterday on my way to Lama Island with Amanda & Giles.

Lama Island is a fab wee place to the south west of HK. There are no cars, only strange boxy trolley like affairs that the locals putter about the place on.

We spent the day walking around the island, catching one ferry at the north, and then another back at the south.

Lunch was in a great wee place, a vegetarian restaurant called The Bookworm Café. I had eggs Benedict on bagels. Oh boy was it rich, but very fine. Oh and lovely home made chips.

Great stuff.

It was a relief to wander around in the calm and quiet of Lama, after the constant traffic noise of HK.

On our journey south we stopped in at a little place called the herb garden in search of tea to wash down the greasiness of the chips…

The name says it all… It was a large herb garden sized place that sold teas made of the different herbs on offer.

I had cinnamon basil tea. It was great. Just a few basil leafs in boiling water. Lovely. A very calm place. It even had a pink parrot and a ginger pussy cat that loved having a fuss made of it. And boy did that cat talk. A constant meowing issued from its mouth. Very cute.

The southern ferry terminal was surrounded by fish restaurants, where various beasts of the sea struggled in glass tanks and polystyrene boxes for your eating pleasure.

We did find a temple before we got to the terminal though that had a lovely fish pool outside with carp and terrapins swimming about merrily together in it. No one was eating them. At least I hope not.

Inside the temple was a huge preserved fish called something like an oak fish, it was massive, one of the biggest fish I’ve ever seen.

Heading back to the flat in HK, along the quayside, the Filipino ladies were still in abundance. Only now they weren’t picnicking , they were playing at cards.

It’s very interesting to see how a community, when it transplants itself from one to another will assert itself in new ways in the new home land.

Sean was saying how the maids of rich families very often have a tough time of it from the kids that they work with. It seems that parents can have a certain wilful degree of absence with their offspring, while the maid fills the gaps, taking them to school and so on, but are not given any respect by the kids for it. Basically all the down sides of parenting.

No wonder that Sundays are such important days for them.

And now as I finish tapping this a constant banging has started in the flat. Someone, somewhere down below, is doing some work on their place… Time to nip out for a coffee methinks…

I’m loving the Flashman book I’m reading. What a well adjusted individual he is…

Hong Kong - Nov 5th 06

2006-11-04T18:52:00.000-08:00

I find my self being increasingly excited by the prospect of the new bond movie. It looks absolutely cracking, Daniel Craig will be excellent, I’m sure. I’ve always been a bit of a fan of his since Our Friends In the North, back in the ‘90s. What a great programme that was, and look at the cast, Gina McKee, Christopher Ecclestone, Mark Strong and Mr Craig. It was just brilliant.

Only one problem. It’s released on the 17^th of Nov in the UK, the 21^st of December in Hong Kong. Poo! I’m going to miss the cinematic release! Ach well.

Hong Kong becomes increasingly more ridiculous the more I come to know of it.

It’s such a gaudily capitalist city, but yet so charming at the same time!

It really rubs your face in how showy it is. Cities like New York are really very glitzy too, but more often than not there’s a practical functionality to the buildings there, but here! My god! It’s just like, look at me!!! I’m the biggest, shiniest building in the world!

Times Square is a building here that is a shopping mall like no other. It’s a vertically packed sausage of shops from the west. And it goes on for miles and miles in to the sky!

Though on the positive side, I can go and buy new pants there from Marks and Spencers…

See! The bloody place has got me, seduced me into thinking like it wants me to! Grrrrrrrrr

Hong Kong does seem to have a consciousness of its own, which is quite unusual.

Last night I went on a cruise with Amanda & Giles out in to the harbour, where boats race back and forward like nobody’s business. Crossing from HK to Kowloon is like running gleefully across a motor way whilst flapping your arms at your side and shouting “Hehehehehe!” in the style of a little girl.

A strange coincidence was that I saw an ocean liner here that I had previously seen on the Clyde, at home!

Anyway, as I was saying, this city has a consciousness. It seems to be like an extremely gifted child that knows it and wants to show off a bit so that you’ll pay it more attention.

I say this because, when we were out on the cruise, the buildings on the HK side of the river started to show off. Together.

We weren’t sure at first, as every now and then you’d notice a bit of a flash out of the corner of your eye and then you’d turn round and nothing would have changed. And then, but by bit it all kicked in.

To begin with it seemed like the odd building was changing colours, just as something it did to look a bit nice and out of the ordinary. And then another started doing it too… then another and another until the whole city was flashing with lights of all colours and shapes. The Bank of China building had a light chase going around it, while others softened and hardened their hue, and to cap it all two sky scrapers started ejaculating lasers across the sky.

This display went on for ages, it seemed to start on the hour at eight, and then go on and on.

As you looked over the other side of the boat you noticed that Kowloon, too was showing off a bit, though not as much as it’s more gregarious sibling.

Perhaps it was a courtship display between the two sides of the city state?

But to me it definitely seemed like a child who you’re quite fond of, showing off for a bit too long. “What a clever boy. Oh that’s very good. Look at you. Ok. Thank you dear, that’s enough now. Enough I say. Will you, stop now, please… Look! I said, stop it! Oh sod it, just ignore him, maybe he’ll go away. Now, what’s happening in Albert Square?”

After the cruise, which was very pleasant indeed we made our way to a bar by the name of the Feather Boa. A unique little corner of Central that recalls past glories of old Europe. It’s as camp as a row of tents. A lovely bar, where they sell the best Coaiperinia I’ve tasted. Oh they taste so good…

So after that we made our way down hill, past wonderful quiet little shrines with masses of incense and I was shown on to a tram, which juddered through the streets to Wan Chai, my area. Ah, to feel the evening breeze in your face from the top floor front window of a tram on a balmy Hong Kong night whilst slightly tipsy. That’s the stuff that life’s all about. I’ve no idea where I am, I’ve never been here before, but I know I’m heading home in that direction.

Lovely.

Hong Kong - Nov 4th 06

2006-11-03T17:04:00.000-08:00

Been up since seven this morning, so my body clock is starting to normalise a little bit more.

Hopefully tomorrow it’ll be eight, or even nine that I get up.

Yesterday was a fairly straight forward day, nothing too unusual.

Made it up to the roof terrace, which is ridiculously high up, to my vertigo struck knees.

I prized the big metal door open carefully, unsure of what I was going to find on the other side. I had to really heave it open, and was afraid that on the other side there would be a sheer drop of several hundred feet. Of course that was just irrational, as there happened to be the building I was standing in between me and the ground…

The door eventually swings open in a melodramatic style and out in front of me stands a terrace, roasting in the sun light.

I step out on the terrace, unsure of my footing – even though the floor is perfectly level, and very large. Bloomin’ vertigo, haven’t really had it in a while. The back of my knees felt like they’d gone out and got drunk while I wasn’t looking.

I started to walk around a little bit, feeling a bit like a duckling in moon boots.

The view from the roof is amazing. You can’t really see anything but buildings from the roof, but boy are they interesting. It’s an awesome cityscape. There’s even a big billboard style advertisement not far from our building, the sort of massive neon sign that you expect to stutter, with it’s Chinese characters all glowing and red. I can almost imagine a Woody Allen story taking place up here.

I had a lovely sense of the freedom that you get when you travel yesterday. I was walking around, not far from our building, looking for a place to get a coffee, when it suddenly struck me, “Hold on… I’m in Hong Kong…” and everything seemed suddenly a bit ridiculous, as only a few days previous I’d been at home, staring out of the window on the view from my bedroom. I couldn’t help but beam a big smile out.

I was introduced to the MTR, the underground system here, by Sean yesterday. It’s really quite something, very smooth and clean. I even managed to navigate my way back home on it last night. Which is a useful thing.

Food still daunts me slightly. I went in to a place last night and ordered what looked like a simple chicken breast from the menu. But when it arrived it was a bit more than that, bones and different bits still attached. Fair enough. But I was determined to eat with chopsticks. How the heck do you de bone chicken using only two blunt knitting needle like items? I tried, believe me, I tried, but I had to ask for a knife and fork. I hung my head in shame. Bloody “whitey”, with his empirical ways.

I finished reading The Prestige yesterday, and thoroughly enjoyed it, even if it is a bit silly at the end. Looks like I’m going to try and catch it in the cinema tomorrow with Giles and his good lady Amanda, with whom I’m also going on a cruise this eventide.

I’ve now started in to the first Flashman book, by George MacDonald Fraser. It’s very enjoyable already, full of caddery and bounderism. There was a gentleman who knew how to behave when abroad…

Well, I now must be off to get a shower and explore a bit more.

Hong Kong - Nov 3rd 06

2006-11-02T17:13:00.000-08:00

My first full day in Hong Kong. Yet once more I’m awake at 6 am my mind whizzing about all over the place. Already the traffic outside is heaving. I can even hear the continual clicking of the pedestrian crossing from my fourteenth floor window, very faintly, there below.

So. I went out for breakfast yesterday morning to a local eatery called the Big Foot Restaurant. After standing out side the door for several minutes perusing their glossy menu, a waitress popped her head round the door and pointed me in the direction of their breakfast menu.

I could have chosen many dishes to start the day with, including traditional western style eggs and toast, which I may yet have… Instead I decided to try the Cantonese version of porridge (without the optional Abalone), which is very thin, but tasty. I was presented with the sugar by the old man sat across from me as I ate the porridge, which was fine, but to my Albanach taste buds, it just needed a touch of salt in it. I didn’t want to cause some sort of international breakfast incident by adding salt though, so I thanked him for the sugar and gobbled the rest of it up.

Another part of the breakfast for $20 deal (that’s about £1.50) was a sandwich and a coffee. The sandwich came on springy white bread with the crusts cut off, and a craft cheese slice in the centre. Tasted fine by me.

Along with this came a coffee, made with UHT milk and served in a metal flagon. It tasted just like I remember coffee tasting when I was a wee boy away with my Dad on trips at sea. (Although I can’t really recall drinking that much coffee as an eight year old, but that was the first thing it brought back to me…)

My quest for everyday items lead me to a shop on our corner which sells all sorts of shampooey – make upy things. It’s called something oddly bland like “Roger Turner’s”. Anyway, it seems that you can’t buy shower gel or shampoo in travel sized bottles in this place, only industrial sized, family of eight, type affairs. So my hair is going to be very clean. For a very long time.

Whilst in “Roger Turner’s” I noticed they also sold savoury snacks. Yum. Japanese rice crackers, oh I love them, the sort with peanuts cased in rice pellets. Lovely. Eat too many and your stomach feels like it’s going to burst. Perfect!
So I buys a packet, along with my gargantuan cleansing products, and makes my way home.

Sitting down at the desk in my room I gleefully rip open the packet of Japanese rice crackers and pour an ample helping in to my hand.
Only to discover that there’s a little desiccated fish sticking head first out of the ricy mound in my palm!

A quiet moment passes while I contemplate Sammy, sat calmly and dead in my hand.

In a flash the calm passes and I shout “Ugh!” and drop the crackers on to my desk. Sammy though decides that he’s going to bounce off my desk and head it back to the floor.

I pop the poor fellow in to the bin and try one of the rice crackers.

They taste distinctly more fishy than usual.

The packet goes in the bin.

But before I discard it I have a closer look at the picture on the front. Indeed. There are hundreds of dead little fish, nesting amongst those appetising rice crackers in the picture.

Jobbies.

The ingredients on the back even say, “contains rice, corn flour, seaweed and baby sardines”. Not for me, thank you.
I know certain epicureans who would delight in such a delicacy, but sadly, not I.

After my fishy incident I made my way through to the kitchen where my flatmate, Torvach, from Canada, was making his breakfast.
We were chatting away when he popped a dish in the sink. We both stopped and noticed something odd about the sink.
There was a bit of some unnamed matter stuck to it, or so it seemed.

On closer inspection it turned out that it was the cutest little lizard you’ve ever seen. It was just sat there calmly minding its own business.

I think we should call him Franz.
I’ll see if I can get a photo of him/ her at some point.

I met the very fine Mr Giles Burton, of Prague Fringe fame, for lunch and coffee yesterday. That was just great. We went out to a strange, hyper clean coffee shop that served coffee from seemingly scientific apparatus. When we left the staff all drilled “Thank you bye bye” as we walked past them in an automitous fashion. Very odd…

Later on in the afternoon I went out to see another flat for a few weeks hence in the visit. It was way too small for my large frame, and anyway, it was only one option, the other being to go out to an island, Chung Chao, for a few weeks. I think I’ll opt for the island. By then I’ll have had my fill of city life!

The lady who showed me around the flat / bedroom thing was Filipino and had beautifully accented English. She asked me where I was from as I was leaving, and I said Scotland. She replied:

“Scotland! Oh I love the trumpet!” and proceeded to mime a trumpet.

Since then we’ve had our first rehearsal. Very enjoyable, and dynamic. This is going to be a sweaty show.

I’ve even been to a local super market for orange juice, mangoes, yoghurt and breakfast goodies. So I now feel a little more calm and installed. Sating your capitalist gland will do that to a boy.

Today’s adventures include making our way up on to the roof of this building… And who knows what else…

Hong Kong - Nov 2nd 06

2006-11-01T15:49:00.000-08:00

Hong Kong, for me, has always been somewhere replete with exotitude (a new word that I’ve just made up). A notion, perhaps, maybe more so than a real place that I ever thought I’d get to see. Yet here I am.

My Mum has been here on a couple of trips, my Dad has dropped in from time to time on that high seas and my cousin Donald was high up in the tourist board here when it was a bastion of Britishness, a legacy from the Opium Wars hundred’s of years before. The same wars in which, much as we now sanction countries in our own way when we disagree with them, the Chinese Emperor of the time put an embargo on rhubarb from China to the UK. Rhubarb being a powerful, natural, laxative was very important to the bottoms of the British citizen. Imagine his council of war…

“Mighty emperor, son of the son, greatest ruler of all, I have an idea!”

“Pray tell what may that be, my noble minister of war?”

[Ned voice] “Hows about we stop the rhubarb trade and that way they cannae shite and stuff, and they’re all bloated and sore like and when they come tae fighting us they’re like – Naw Man! Cannae fight! Need tae shite!”

“Truly you are a philosopher of war as wise as Sun Tzu. That is what we shall do”.

In a way they could’ve been called the Rhubarb, or Laxative, Wars.

Anyway, here I am sat cross legged on a nice hard bed in a tiny tangerine coloured bedroom. Moisture has made much of the paint peel in the room, so there is a large painting propped up against the wall to try and make it seem somewhat more dignified.

I’m not bothered actually. When I got in yesterday I was so tired and pooped, I was just glad to see a bed. It’s actually a rather nice wee flat, with a mysterious room up through some stairs in to the kitchen and beyond, near the roof. That needs to be explored later. When I’m not just in my pants.

Flying here was a doddle. Air New Zealand are great, exceptionally tasty food, very fine wine and a movie choice system like you’ve never seen before. Judging by the majority of the movies you could chose from there seem to be a lot of older ladies who watch channel five of an afternoon that go to New Zealand… But there were many great films on there too. I was tempted to watch all three Lord Of The Rings movies in one go, but in the end plumped for X Men –Last Stand and flailing around trying to sleep on the row of seats that I had all to myself.

The train to the city is faster than almost anything I’ve been on before, and so smooth. Just imagine travelling between Gourock and Glasgow on a bullet train. “This is Bishopton. The next stop is Port Glasgow. Hoad on tae yer horses. Here we go.” ZOOOOOoooooooOOOOOOooooOOOooooooOooom!

Bonnie and Sean, with whom I’m going to be working, met me at the train station. Taxis here are great. You see them speeding about all over the place with their boots half open, stuffed with suitcases. Of course, the taxi driver that took us to this residence started to talk (in Cantonese) about how nice the Scots were, how they aren’t afraid of hard work, and that they weren’t feart of Communism, not like the Londoners. A top man.

The scaffolding here has to be seen to be believed. It’s all bamboo! Hundreds of meters of vertically inclined bamboo. Apparently the builders just dot about it like nobody’s business, not wearing a harness or anything. No wonder they don’t need laxatives here.

As you walk the streets you see all sorts of sites, it’s a bit like Blade Runner without the rain.

All sorts of meats hang from hooks in exotic looking fast food restaurants, I saw tripe just dangling from a hook above a hot steaming wok, and that’s the least out of the ordinary thing.

After Bonnie, Sean and I had dined last night in a local Vietnamese establishment, I nipped back to the flat, changed and went for a stroll around the neighbourhood. It’s all very high rise and fast paced, even at ten or eleven at night. Oh I’m still a country boy at heart.

A warm wind blew through the streets, smelling sweetly of noodles and I found myself the only western looking individual within eyeshot. That was a first for me. How British I looked, with a pinky orange smart t shirt, shorts and trainers with no socks on. I thought “Hello whitey”.

Not fitting in and then finding ways to fit in is one of the true joys of travelling.

After that I visited one of the many 7 – 11’s here and got some bottled water, toilet roll and a fancy packet of Cadbury’s nut cluster things. Foreign sweeties, so very exciting. I’ll never forget playing Russian Roulette with a packet of salty liquorice in Sweden.

And then back to the flat. The other gentlemen who stays here seems to be a video artist of some sort, and has left a project digitising on his apple mac over night. He seems very pleasant and has a slightly motherly attitude.

Today we’ll start to get stuck in to the work. It already seems so appropriate that we should working on a Kafka piece in this environment. I can imagine only too well Gregor Samsa trapped in a tiny room turning in to an insect in one of the high rises facing me!

But first the challenge for me will be – where do I find shower gel and, more importantly, what do I have for breakfast?

The view from my bedroom.

In the last three weeks

2006-10-06T15:43:00.000-07:00

In the last three weeks I've been

Up in Caithness
Down in Somerset, in Taunton, even on the south coast at Lyme Regis
On the Island of Mull (soon to be my new home)

And in the next few weeks I shall be

Back on the Island of Mull
In Edinburgh
In Glasgow
In Newcastle
On the Island of Hong Kong (hopefully also getting to spend a bit of time in the People's Republic of China)

And all that after having spent blooming ages at home in Dunoon.

And now, as an experiment, I'm going to see if I can slot an image in to this blog...
Here we go... Hold your breath...

Ah ha! It worked.
Farewell!

Whistling Dissent

2006-08-08T04:19:00.000-07:00

It seems to me that my generation are pretty fed up with the way that the government feels no attachment to them.
Sure, there are certain individuals in the government who listen to the populace, perhaps only for their own advancement, perhaps for more noble reasons. But the over all thing that pisses us all off is how our great and noble christian prime minister ignores the voice of the country.
Just look at the protests over the war in Iraq, and Israel's jollies in the Lebanon. Yet dear Uncle Tony just follows the lead of the puppet Bush across the pond. It's tragic.

Here's my theory.

I think that if you feel fed up with the way the country is being run, that the government is ignoring our voices and that democracy should refocus in on the people, there should be some subtle way of making your voice heard.
Badges are too easy. How about something slightly more abstract.

A conspiracy of whistling is what I propose.

If you feel that the government no longer has any connection to you and your voice, I propose that you whistle a short refrain to show your dissent.
Now what tune should it be? It has to be something very well known. Zippedee Doo Dah? No... To annoying...
The first two lines of Singing in the Rain? Now that seems vaguely appropriate to me. Everyone knows it, and it's easy to whistle.

So...
When you find yourself in a crowded place whistle the first two lines of singing in the rain once or twice.
If you hear some one whistling singing in the rain, I propose that you join in, as an echo of your own dissent.

Imagine that you get off the train or the underground one morning and you start to whistle the refrain. Anyone else knowing the refrain then whistles along with you.
Imagine in a few months time that many people may know of dissent by whistling.
Imagine a whole train station of people whistling singing in the rain.
Imagine a whole high street...

"I'm singing in the rain, just singing in the rain, what a glorius feeling, I'm happy again"...

The Night of 7 Herons

2006-07-21T17:39:00.000-07:00

One should never type random thing in to the internet when slightly merry, but heigh ho.

As I wandered slowly home tonight, along the prom, I counted seven herrons on the mile and a half stretch that seperates home from town.
Seven herrons! I can never remeber seeing that many before.
And pretty much every one of them was crawing like hell. It was very odd. They're very teritorial beasts. Perhaps it was mating season. I don't really know what was going on.
Far from being their normal selves, the silent sentinels of the shore, they were shouting out for all to hear.

It also occured to me on the way home that of all the cartoon characters that I identify with from the recesses of my mind, I think that it has to be Brain from Pinky and the Brain that identify most with.
I really do love how he thinks he's so clever but is thwarted in everything he does in his attempts to take over the world. Oh how I wish he would succeed.
And you just know he's going to look after pinky.
Perhaps there's a bit of Ren in him too - you know that Stimpy's going to always fall on his feet in the end.

More power to The Brain! That's what I say.

Tantric Trampolene

2006-07-20T15:49:00.000-07:00

It's got so hot over the last couple of nights I'm waking up with sweaty back of the knee syndrome.

Summer Is A Coming In

2006-07-05T16:27:00.000-07:00

Flip flops.

Sunshine.

Total Recall.