Packing, it occurs to me, would likely be significantly easier if I remembered to launder and - in some cases - unearth the items I wish to pack prior to the actual event.
Particularly when I am packing the night before an early morning trip, because I am not a morning person and I am even less of a morning person when I have to pack instead of drinking coffee and choosing shoes.
Having spent my evening having an entirely enjoyable meal with my friend Margaret in town, which may just possibly have involved us splitting a bottle of red and giggling like lunatics, I am even less inclined to pack, launder, unearth or generally do anything other than lounge around watching TV and "writing" (which this week involves a pattern of rather elegant but not altogether constructive flowers and an interesting Celtic knot design).
As of first thing tomorrow I shall be heading to Stratford Upon Avon with my friend & colleague Helen in a getting-away-from-everything last minute trip where we will likely shop, eat and get very merry.
And, if I can manage to form words rather than pictograms, I shall be spending some of the trip writing. This is why I am taking a bottle of ink and ... five notebooks.
In my defence one of those notebooks is a date-diary and I have already taken one from my bag, on the theory that six is just ridiculous, but five is eminently reasonable.
The First Step might be admitting you have a problem, but I believe the Second Step might well be to care.
(Step the Second is actually to put faith in a 'higher power', whatever that might be. This likely makes life difficult for those attempting to recover from megalomania).
It should probably be noted that none of this is actually helping me pack. I should join Procrastinators Anonymous.
And I will ... one of these days.
Thursday, 26 February 2009
Wednesday, 18 February 2009
Writing Workshop at the Churchill.
The 'Write a Play in a Day' Workshop at the Churchill went extremely well. I had set my expectations deliberately low (based on an utter lack of information), but even if I had gone into it with high hopes I'd have been pleasantly surprised at the outcome.
The mixture of quick-fire questions and hypothetical situations with little time to self-edit worked extremely well and although I cannot claim that I have an entire play I have an opening, fleshed characters, a skeleton plot & structure and a large springboard to push it into full draft.
I had an idea what direction I would write in when I stepped into the room (vague situational mock-ups and pithy one-liners in case of imagination failure); it wasn't until I was finishing the opening that I realised these had fallen completely by the wayside. It was nice to walk into the room with a blank notebook and leave some six/seven hours later with pages of new work, particularly as it flowed so easily.
My concerns for continuing it (because naturally I cannot but be plagued with doubt and uncertainty and curses at the permanency of ink) are threefold - my characters could easily fall to archetypes, the plot could quickly turn trite and formulaic and lastly - and unexpectedly - it has a streak of autobiographical leaning that alarms me.
Points the first and second are easily remediable (for a given definition of the word 'easily', but the last gives me pause for thought. It's not autobiographical in the situation and certainly not a self-insertion, but it has managed to stir up far too much in my head and I'm still trying to work out if I can work around that to complete it.
Intention currently is to finish up my notes for the day then set it aside for a few weeks and see how I feel then. Right now I am enthused about completing it, but I am somewhat loathe to actually do so.
Then again, Script Frenzy commences in April and - while the last thing I need is another writing challenge having barely recovered from November's NaNoWriMo - it would be nice to have some structure to work to again.
And by 'structure' I do apparently mean 'superlatively ridiculous deadlines to rush toward within a 30-day period before passing out’, if past performance is to be taken into account.
The mixture of quick-fire questions and hypothetical situations with little time to self-edit worked extremely well and although I cannot claim that I have an entire play I have an opening, fleshed characters, a skeleton plot & structure and a large springboard to push it into full draft.
I had an idea what direction I would write in when I stepped into the room (vague situational mock-ups and pithy one-liners in case of imagination failure); it wasn't until I was finishing the opening that I realised these had fallen completely by the wayside. It was nice to walk into the room with a blank notebook and leave some six/seven hours later with pages of new work, particularly as it flowed so easily.
My concerns for continuing it (because naturally I cannot but be plagued with doubt and uncertainty and curses at the permanency of ink) are threefold - my characters could easily fall to archetypes, the plot could quickly turn trite and formulaic and lastly - and unexpectedly - it has a streak of autobiographical leaning that alarms me.
Points the first and second are easily remediable (for a given definition of the word 'easily', but the last gives me pause for thought. It's not autobiographical in the situation and certainly not a self-insertion, but it has managed to stir up far too much in my head and I'm still trying to work out if I can work around that to complete it.
Intention currently is to finish up my notes for the day then set it aside for a few weeks and see how I feel then. Right now I am enthused about completing it, but I am somewhat loathe to actually do so.
Then again, Script Frenzy commences in April and - while the last thing I need is another writing challenge having barely recovered from November's NaNoWriMo - it would be nice to have some structure to work to again.
And by 'structure' I do apparently mean 'superlatively ridiculous deadlines to rush toward within a 30-day period before passing out’, if past performance is to be taken into account.
Thursday, 12 February 2009
Don't Feed The Plants!
Went to see Little Shop of Horrors at the Churchill Theatre yesterday, which was fabulous but then I expected nothing less. I took my nearly-fourteen year old sister as a pre-birthday treat which seemed to go down quite well, although let it be known that a) Bromley is not always the easiest place to get to and b) SatNav lies.
Very glad I got to see it on tour as I'd missed its run at Menier Chocolate Factory (the usual combination of poverty and procrastination) and had spent the last year seething. I have always loved Little Shop, it was - to my knowledge - the first musical I ever saw (age five or maybe six) and I think it still ranks as my favourite (although The Last Five Years does prevent it from being an unchallenged victor).
Next week I'll be back at the Churchill for a writing workshop - not quite sure what to expect from it, but even worst case scenario I take a day out to concentrate on pen-to-paper and hide in a corner doing so. My main concern is that, as part of the A Night Less Ordinary 'theatre for the Under 26s' promotion and running during half term it will be used as sneaky daycare and be filled with ten year olds.
Not that I have anything against children per se, just that I like to think - LIKE mind - that my writing has developed since I hit double figures and I'd prefer to move forward on that assumption.
Tonight I shall be having dinner in my favourite restaurant, but tomorrow should be quiet, after which I have the entirity of the weekend to write. Except for Sunday where I shall be in Covent Garden drinking Mojitos.
All things considered things are on the up. If only the wordcount would follow suite I'd be golden.
Very glad I got to see it on tour as I'd missed its run at Menier Chocolate Factory (the usual combination of poverty and procrastination) and had spent the last year seething. I have always loved Little Shop, it was - to my knowledge - the first musical I ever saw (age five or maybe six) and I think it still ranks as my favourite (although The Last Five Years does prevent it from being an unchallenged victor).
Next week I'll be back at the Churchill for a writing workshop - not quite sure what to expect from it, but even worst case scenario I take a day out to concentrate on pen-to-paper and hide in a corner doing so. My main concern is that, as part of the A Night Less Ordinary 'theatre for the Under 26s' promotion and running during half term it will be used as sneaky daycare and be filled with ten year olds.
Not that I have anything against children per se, just that I like to think - LIKE mind - that my writing has developed since I hit double figures and I'd prefer to move forward on that assumption.
Tonight I shall be having dinner in my favourite restaurant, but tomorrow should be quiet, after which I have the entirity of the weekend to write. Except for Sunday where I shall be in Covent Garden drinking Mojitos.
All things considered things are on the up. If only the wordcount would follow suite I'd be golden.
Monday, 2 February 2009
Snowy Apocalypse
It started snowing last night in a fairly impressive fashion, yet being the diligent type that I am (with no comments from the peanut gallery, por favor), I schlepped out to the station last night to pick up my period train ticket.
Which I cannot now use as there are no trains.
My back up route is via bus ... and they've cancelled the buses, bar an alleged three routes within central London which I cannot get to because - as mentioned - there are no trains or buses into or out of the city centre.
The Apocalypse is a lot colder than I was expecting.
I will make another attempt to get into town in a few hours, otherwise I have meeting notes to type up and drafts to write and various DVD box sets that need ... love. They need love.
Meanwhile I am keeping an eye out for the four horsemen that, by legend, should be accompanying said Snowy Apocalypse. I can only assume that these too have been cancelled by Network Rail. Due to 'Inclement Weather'.
And, according to my friend Helen - who did managed to make it in by sneakily approaching from the North - Kings Cross is still running the standard 'Inclement Weather' disclaimer-cum-announcement.
If the weather continues in this fashion there is a very real risk that they will have to raise it to 'Beastly'.
Which I cannot now use as there are no trains.
My back up route is via bus ... and they've cancelled the buses, bar an alleged three routes within central London which I cannot get to because - as mentioned - there are no trains or buses into or out of the city centre.
The Apocalypse is a lot colder than I was expecting.
I will make another attempt to get into town in a few hours, otherwise I have meeting notes to type up and drafts to write and various DVD box sets that need ... love. They need love.
Meanwhile I am keeping an eye out for the four horsemen that, by legend, should be accompanying said Snowy Apocalypse. I can only assume that these too have been cancelled by Network Rail. Due to 'Inclement Weather'.
And, according to my friend Helen - who did managed to make it in by sneakily approaching from the North - Kings Cross is still running the standard 'Inclement Weather' disclaimer-cum-announcement.
If the weather continues in this fashion there is a very real risk that they will have to raise it to 'Beastly'.
Monday, 19 January 2009
Weekend in Birmingham
I spent the weekend in Birmingham with my friend Liz, tickets to see John Barrowman in pantomime and a burning desire to escape London a while.
I love London; j'adore Londres! But sometimes I need time away from the City and I am fairly certain that the City feels the same way. This was my first visit to Birmingham and I found it pleasantly laid back and relaxing. Which, considering it is the second biggest city in the UK, might seem like an odd epithet but I have found that coming from the actual biggest city in the UK throws everything else into sharp relief. And I mean 'relief': Take me away from the capital and the stress seems to melt away, evaporate and leave me pliant and (mostly) agreeable.
The pantomime was unsurprisingly fabulous, rather more shocking was the realisation that the show was being subtly but resolutely stolen by a hot ventriloquist (I know, I didn't think I'd ever form a sentence like that either) called Paul Zerdin, although in the interests of full disclosure he was playing Will Scarlet who has always been my favourite character, since I was five and had Robin Hood as a bedtime story. Robin himself I could take or leave (the will-they-won't-they fait accompli with the Maid Marion left me cold to the point of freezing even then), but I have always adored Will.
Liz & I threw, nay flung, ourselves whole-heartedly into the suspension-of-pretension panto spirit and yelled the set pieces like professionals - there are never enough times you can yell "He's behind you!" with pure abandon. I haven't been to the panto in far too long, so I am glad I had the chance to this weekend - I had intended to go to several shows over Christmas, a plan nixed rather throughly by the Plague of Death from last month.
That said, I doubt that Birmingham's Hippodrome extravaganza is anywhere close to the current mean average, the undeniably high spec experience owes (likely figuratively & literally) to a weighty list of corporate sponsors, who fall over themselves to support the arts when it will hit headline news and Lloyds appears to be funding anything with a letterhead at the moment, not that I am complaining per se, merely cynical and bitchy.
Or maybe it's just Monday? I attempted to retain the newfound Zen-like attitude upon arrival into Victoria Station yesterday, but by the time I stepped off the tube (taken to avoid the rail replacement bus) I was tense as ever. Birmingham was fantastic, but I should really take an actual vacation - haven't had more than three nights away from home in ... I actually cannot remember.
Unfortunately as I tend to spend my down time writing, spending money to go away and do ... pretty much what I'd do at home anyway seems a little flamboyant. Excessive. Wasteful.
Necessary? Then again a couple of early nights would likely have an equally uplifting effect. Having lost my weekend lie-in I am utterly knackered.
Worth it though.
I love London; j'adore Londres! But sometimes I need time away from the City and I am fairly certain that the City feels the same way. This was my first visit to Birmingham and I found it pleasantly laid back and relaxing. Which, considering it is the second biggest city in the UK, might seem like an odd epithet but I have found that coming from the actual biggest city in the UK throws everything else into sharp relief. And I mean 'relief': Take me away from the capital and the stress seems to melt away, evaporate and leave me pliant and (mostly) agreeable.
The pantomime was unsurprisingly fabulous, rather more shocking was the realisation that the show was being subtly but resolutely stolen by a hot ventriloquist (I know, I didn't think I'd ever form a sentence like that either) called Paul Zerdin, although in the interests of full disclosure he was playing Will Scarlet who has always been my favourite character, since I was five and had Robin Hood as a bedtime story. Robin himself I could take or leave (the will-they-won't-they fait accompli with the Maid Marion left me cold to the point of freezing even then), but I have always adored Will.
Liz & I threw, nay flung, ourselves whole-heartedly into the suspension-of-pretension panto spirit and yelled the set pieces like professionals - there are never enough times you can yell "He's behind you!" with pure abandon. I haven't been to the panto in far too long, so I am glad I had the chance to this weekend - I had intended to go to several shows over Christmas, a plan nixed rather throughly by the Plague of Death from last month.
That said, I doubt that Birmingham's Hippodrome extravaganza is anywhere close to the current mean average, the undeniably high spec experience owes (likely figuratively & literally) to a weighty list of corporate sponsors, who fall over themselves to support the arts when it will hit headline news and Lloyds appears to be funding anything with a letterhead at the moment, not that I am complaining per se, merely cynical and bitchy.
Or maybe it's just Monday? I attempted to retain the newfound Zen-like attitude upon arrival into Victoria Station yesterday, but by the time I stepped off the tube (taken to avoid the rail replacement bus) I was tense as ever. Birmingham was fantastic, but I should really take an actual vacation - haven't had more than three nights away from home in ... I actually cannot remember.
Unfortunately as I tend to spend my down time writing, spending money to go away and do ... pretty much what I'd do at home anyway seems a little flamboyant. Excessive. Wasteful.
Necessary? Then again a couple of early nights would likely have an equally uplifting effect. Having lost my weekend lie-in I am utterly knackered.
Worth it though.
Thursday, 15 January 2009
Happy Birthday to the BM
250th Birthday of The British Museum today. Or rather it's the 250th Anniversary, as January 15th 1759 was the date the museum first opened its doors to the public and is not to be confused its last 250 year birthday back in 2003 (and again every year since).
It is like the perennial 49 year old, every year - same age. "And how old are you this year The British Museum? 250? Again? Congratulations!"
It isn't that I blame it for wanting to make its birthday last as long as possible, most people have this urge. It's just that most people outgrow it by the time they're in double digits. There are, after all, other years - better years maybe - that are being overlooked. 251, for example, might have been a nice one to celebrate, or the pallendromic 252. 253, 254 & 255 - all perfectly good years, passing utterly unremarked under the headline of '250th Anniversary'.
I shall be attending the Director's Lecture in the BP lecture hall tonight "250 years on: What Does It Mean To Be A World Museum?" and there will be an audio file posted online after the event.
Promises to be good, even if we are being a little interpretive regarding the numbers.
It is like the perennial 49 year old, every year - same age. "And how old are you this year The British Museum? 250? Again? Congratulations!"
It isn't that I blame it for wanting to make its birthday last as long as possible, most people have this urge. It's just that most people outgrow it by the time they're in double digits. There are, after all, other years - better years maybe - that are being overlooked. 251, for example, might have been a nice one to celebrate, or the pallendromic 252. 253, 254 & 255 - all perfectly good years, passing utterly unremarked under the headline of '250th Anniversary'.
I shall be attending the Director's Lecture in the BP lecture hall tonight "250 years on: What Does It Mean To Be A World Museum?" and there will be an audio file posted online after the event.
Promises to be good, even if we are being a little interpretive regarding the numbers.
Saturday, 3 January 2009
And onward to 2009...
The strangest, most haphazard, but pleasant Christmas passed and 2008 shunned after a unanimous vote, at which point 2009 was welcomed into the building with open arms.
Am yet to make New Year Resolutions as am not starting the "New Year" until back at work on Monday. I plan to scribble them down in the back of my diary sometime Sunday evening and take it from there.
One of these Resolutions will likely be procrastinate less. Ironically.
Am yet to make New Year Resolutions as am not starting the "New Year" until back at work on Monday. I plan to scribble them down in the back of my diary sometime Sunday evening and take it from there.
One of these Resolutions will likely be procrastinate less. Ironically.
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