"I hope you get your dreams. Girl go ahead, let your hair down"

When you have someone you love dearly and they live some 200 miles away, what do you do??

I am of course, talking about the dearest friend I could ever hope to encounter, but sadly me and said friend are somewhat distanced, and its taking its toll.
When in Leeds and I had free time, and even when I didn't, it was filled with the laughter, conversation and joy of said friend. Much time was spent discussing future ventures, current adventures, problems and plans, clothes and Vogue. All with a cup of tea in hand and generally some dessert of sorts gracing our taste buds. This was time well spent and sometimes mis-spent, I recall moments that we both really should have been using our time elsewhere and to something constructive, and yet we couldn't tear ourselves away from sitting in a tea shop, leisurely perusing books of possible future purchases and some we just liked to look at.
Time spent 'dress shopping' when there are already several dresses not yet in circulation. Because as every self-respecting female (and gay) knows, there is no better remedy than dress or shoe shopping. I say remedy but sometimes there was no problem to be solved or discussed, it was just the sheer pleasure of being with someone who's intelligence, charm and wit was always entertaining, even educational.

There too, was times of upset. Emotional car wrecks and baggage to be broken and sorted, each time with said friend holding the hand that held cake not days before. Sifting through the debris and always finding the solutions and words of encouragement. Likewise, I was there with more tea and cake, and a shopping trip for an umbrella, that seems to be the symbol for both hope and guilt.

Hand holding and hugs are always available for this said friend.
And tea.
And Bingo!!

So hurry up, said friend, I need you here!!!!

Elegance

I awake, china cup in hand, sitting by the window. Cat on my right, the sun on my left.

The telephone rings...
"Hello" say I,
"Is that Mr. Burke?" replies the voice.
"It is. May I ask who's calling"
"It's Earnest Jones in Chelsea. We're just ringing to inform you that your Diamond signet has arrived"
"Oh brilliant" say's I.

And with that I leave the house. As I get to the front door I notice a Parcel clearly marked for a 'Mr T. Hescott', but I know that this is truly for me. Cashmere.

What more could one want than a delivery of Cashmere and Diamonds??

A musical no-one has ever heard of...

"Ooh, ooh, I know this one!!"
"Yes Dean, it was sung in the first act"
"Oh..."

'To be, or not to be? That is the question.'

When faced with the prospect of being in a West End show do you jump or do you wait to be pushed??

This morning I awoke from a dream I could only hope to forget, only to find it was on the path to reality. When I finally got out of bed, trying to prolong the forthcoming audition, nerves start fly to areas of my body I forgot existed. I grunted through morning conversation with Director Boy hoping to disguise the fact I was actually fully alert and coherent and completely petrified.

I haven't felt this nervous since the day I came out, realising the trust in what was placed in my mother was now public knowledge. I stand up and walk into the bathroom, clutching my stomach only to empty the contents quicker than should be humanly possible. Director Boy leaves for work with words of encouragement, and I sit there with only the thought that I was going to make a fool of myself in front him later in the day. After everything he's done to get me the aution the last thing I wanted to do was be unveiled as a theatrical fraud.

Time passes very slowly as I try and psyche myself up for the moment. Re-reading the scene I know is coming up and running imaginary conversations in my head, over and over. But all I can think about is how much my stomach still hurts, All in all I end up throwing up three times, each more painful than the last.

The moment finally comes and I approach stage door. A text arrives from Director Boy with yet more words, but I can barely read them, I need to concentrate on whats to come.

The audition itself was over in a matter of minutes. I read better than I thought I would but equally I felt relieved. My stomach felt settled and I felt great. I left the theatre after my first West End casting feeling proud of myself for just getting through it and not feeling like the world had collapsed.

Needless to say I didn't get the part, but I did get excellent feed back. There's no more I could ask for. Director Boy was proud of me and although I will never admit it, that was the only thing I wanted to achieve. When someone loves you as much as much as he does, there is nothing in the world I would do to disappoint or embarrass.

Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix

URGENT: All person's must visit Le Cinema and watch H.P.

Said film is amazing! It's my favourite book, after 'Half Blood Prince', and at present it is my favourite film in the series.

Enough!!

Go see film!!

Hand's That Do Dishes

When the home is dirty, and not in the bedroom, its time to clean! Hands and knees are sore, and not from the bedroom, from scrubbing the floor. The polish comes out, furniture is moved, the hoover makes an appearance, The kitchen sink is filled with hot soapy loveliness that rejuvinates your hands better than any beauty cream ever could. It also wrinkles them so I'm not really revelling in that image. Also, I'm not really washing up, Director Boy is. Also, I'm not really hoovering, it is out but its crap so I literally am on my hands and knees like some Victorian scullery maid, complete with knittting and baking skills...

Once again my friends, I am going insane!!

The only thing that seems to bring me back to earth is re-arranging Vogue into alphabetical order and catagorise my some 300+ DVD's into sections, sub-sections and then having the insanity to alphbetise them. Pearl would be proud.

Can't wait to see her, my stylish and beautiful best friend. She arrives in a week and to be completely truthful I'm finding it both wierd and hard without her near. The international 'Get Pearl a job agency' is working around the clock to bring her to London. Hopefully all will be in order and the Home Office will allow the Visa application.

The Life of The W.A.G.

Just when you think you can visit a theatre as a normal human being, I.E. no press, stars, dressing room run's or bloody stairs. And after the success of 'Avenue Q.' I honestly thought the delightful visit to 'The Drowsy Chaperone' was going to be another of those nights.

I was wrong.

The show was indeed delightful. Very funny and cute. Those words, I might add, do not apply to the "star", and I use the term loosely. Very very loosely. Funny songs, good choreography, great sets and costumes. What more could you want, than Director Boy announcing he knows two people in the cast and were going backstage.

We didn't just go backstage, we gate crashed the leaving party. Filled with champagne, cocktails and Elaine Paige!

Jesus... Pass me the Musket!

Shakespeare Sunday??

What a way to spend sunday: wake at noon to a delicious breakfast made by Director Boy. The new edition of Vogue to peruse. We made a Gingerbread house, and at 4:00pm treated to some open air Shakespeare in the rookery on Streatham Common.

I am ashamed to say we left at the interval. The second show this year I have walked out of. My defense to the first is that I was drunk. My defense to the second, that I still have both sanity and integrity. I am appalled to say that it was the worse production I have seen this year!! So bad that I am prepared to retract my previous opinions, and announce to the world that 'Beauty and the Beast' was amazing* and that Northern Broadsides are the best Shakespeare company that could ever tread the boards**.

I have no more to say on the subject.

Only that to emphasise how bad it was, it was Director Boy who decided we should leave.



* It was not.
** It most certainly isn't!

Lists, Lists, Lists

I look over to the bedside table, open the sleek draw to find my diary sitting under a copy of 'I Capture the Castle'. "Aha" I exclaim, gleefully lifting the heavy flock cover to reveal a scrawled list of theatre events. Here it is, my list of live theatre that I've seen in 2007 so far.

Reading down the list I realise that after the 7th April there are no more entries for theatre, and even then, the other entries are Director Boy's movements on tour.

So I search deep into the draw that seems bottomless, as I find more items that haven't seen daylight in a couple of months.

Making mental notes on missing theatre trips I start to BlogLog* them in chronological order. Reminiscing over each one as I carefully type in the date, production and place. From Opera to Ballet, Shakespeare to Eric Idle, they all speak to me with such beautiful language. Quotes and scenes flood back to my memory like a dam wall bursting with the rapids only having one direction home.

I type, remember, and cling to savouring feelings that each production left me with. Whether good or bad, nothing can compare to live theatre. Not even Vogue!




* To 'BlogLog', lists specifically on a blog page. I.E. Theatre, Other Blogs, Events, E.T.C...

Eyes on the Prize

Today, I am pleased to say, I am feeling much better. Inanimate objects are no longer seeming so friendly, in fact I think I've done full circle and almost become 'straight man'. I.E. wouldn't dare to even think about cleaning, or putting down a toilet seat.

Well, at least I'm slightly full circle, more semi- circle. Basically, I couldn't tear myself away from running to sainsbury's with the task of doing a full weeks shopping on a budget of £40. Best thing was there was an added bonus, A PRIZE!! If I came in under budget I got a gift. And guess who should be female and came in under budget?? C'est moi!!

I then came home and made lunch for myself and Director boy, who was working from home today. Then I slept while he went swimming. I'm currently making dinner, home made shepherd's pie.

Such a supportive house wife.... Oh dear... I don't think any circles were drawn and no manly thoughts ever entered my head.

But, still, I came under budget. What straight guy knows such pleasures?

Now, I wonder what my prize is??

Sanitary, or Sanity??

Once in a while I feel domestic, today is another one of those moments. So, I started cleaning windows, bathrooms, doing the washing and ironing. Then still found the time to cook, knit AND watch Jeremy Kyle on ITV2, also known as the repeat. Oh, and the time to write this blog.

Domestic life I've realised is rather entertaining! From feeling the self satisfaction of finally being able to see a perfect reflection in the toothpaste and hair product stained mirror. To the limescale clad shower attachment which you spray and scrub until Mr. Muscle feels ashamed. To the smell of freshly baked bread. The feeling of soft cashmere/cotton blend between your thumb and fore finger as you knit one, purl one, knit one... And the fantastic feeling of self importance while laughing at others misfortunes on the T.V. Terrible I know but it can't be helped.

Then you start to realise that the scouring pad that your hand knows so well, is starting to become your best friend. The eco-friendly cleaning spray is becoming the most important item on your christmas wish list...

I AM GOING INSANE!!!

Kept Man Household: Day 5

Day 5 in the kept man household:

Dean awoke at 9:26AM,
Blogged,
Watched Jeremy Kyle,
Had a bath,


Coming up after the break:

The Mountview showcase and Avenue Q perform live!!

Note: More Bloody Stairs!

It is safe to assume that it doesn't matter whether or not you are at a theatre as a general punter or there as a guest at a press night, there will always be a dressing room run with lots and lots of stairs!!

Kept Man Household: Day 4

Day 4 in the kept man household:

Dean awoke at 11:48am,
Blogged,
Watched the repeat of Jeremy Kyle,
Had a bath,


Still to come after the break:

Shopping at John Lewis and dress circle seats for 'Spamalot'.

The First of Many... Oh Dear...

West End Press Nights will mostly include:

1, Saying 'Hello' to thousands of people you've never met.
2, Being stuck in a 'Sleeping Sandwich', Director Boy dropping off on one side and a Critic on the other!
3, Being introuduced to the real Julia Flyte*
4, Spotting other members of 'Brideshead Revisited'**
5, Having a certain Doctor*** doing his best Ralph Fiennes impression****
6, Reaching altitudes that could give Ben Nevis a run for its money*****
7, Then being boiled to death by insessant heat
8, Feeling your famous by leaving out of a secret exit with Lauren Bacall, and being snaped by the paps!!
9, And finally, saying 'Hello' to thousand's more people that you didn't say hello to the first time round. Also some you did.


* Sorry Coza, the wig was brillaint but...
** A certain Jeremy Irons.
*** Well it wasn't Simon Shepherd so WHO???
**** A.K.A. Pulling your baseball cap over your eyes so as not to draw attention to yourself. The converse gave him away.
***** A.K.A. The impossible stairs on the dressing room run. These stairs just keep on going. The average age of the cast is around 60 and I was having difficulty! Where was Dame Thora when you need her?

The Morning After The Night Before The Rest Of My Life...

The new orientation of the bed gives me an uneasy nights sleep, not to mention the alcohol content from the leaving cocktails, which certainly were leaving their mark. I check the time, 7:26, “O.K.” I think to myself, “time to get up, it’s time to go”.
Today is the day I leave for London. Again. Last time was somewhat eventful. This time will be equally as eventful but this time I’m setting up home with my fiancée.

The morning flies by with boxes and bags stacked high, too high, then being re-stacked in an attempt not to kill myself before I’ve even left. Then boxes and bags being carried downstairs and dropped with such aplomb that a suitcase full of vogue* would be proud of. Needless to say that the suitcase itself is an event, ergo backing up my theory that this time round would be eventful. After moving my worldly possessions from what was my bedroom to what was my living room, I need a bath, and drugs. Lots of drugs.

Before Man-with-a-van turns up, I rush out to buy cat supplies for her new living arrangements. By ‘supplies’ I mean Evian as this is one snobby cat. And by ‘new living arrangements’ I mean with Director Boy and me.

I return home from Angry Fence’s** to find HE WHO SHALL NOT BE NAMED, sorry J.K., glaring at me with eye’s only he can give. With a face as red as skin rash and veins the size of hose pipe’s popping out of most surface area’s, HE WHO SHALL NOT BE NAMED bellows like Brian Blessed in panto and stamps his foot. All I want to give him is E5 cream to calm the redness. And I, as usual when this fiend appears, am the cause of every possible problem on the planet, from him losing his keys, cracks in ceilings, cracks in tiles- behind sinks that are boxed in so are naturally my fault, to the starving in Africa!*** Today I am determined not to be stressed out, also the drugs are kicking in and I’m somewhat sedate, so I laugh at him to piss him off further. Just as I hear the thermometer burst, Man-with-a-van turns up.

This might be a good point to mention that all the advice given by mother’s and police everywhere has gone out of the window, as a man I’ve never met is about to transport me in a white Transit van on a journey that inevitably takes 6 hours. I can hear the NSPCC gathering their petitions and pickets.

Tea is made, HE WHO SHALL NOT BE NAMED leaves, the van is loaded and off we go!!

Conversation is surprisingly relaxed and easy in the front of the van-with-a-man, mostly revolving around theatre and singing two part harmonies accapella from the ‘Wicked” soundtrack.

Six hours later we arrive in the capital to be alerted that security levels have risen.

Now who told the Home Office about my arrival??





*The suitcase in question is a very large silver, plastic one, that contains only two years supply of vogue, and ironically all my clothes are in black bags.

**A.K.A. Cross Gates Shopping Centre.

***Not really, although it would be if he actually cared about real issues