A night of endless dreaming

As the man lay there, all the thoughts of days previous seem to linger like the smell of mothers cooking… seemingly for hours yet somehow managing to escape before fully savouring each moment. Without lighting the room he drew back the bed clothes, knowing as he did so thoughts that plagued him would be removed. Each naked foot hit by a sudden wall of coldness. Each bare leg engulfed in the feeling of power, as though brought out of retirement. Each vertebrae aligning themselves as only memory would allow. The hands, wrists and arms all gracing, and savouring each gesture of performing this one last time, with only the sheer darkness as an audience.

The man walked out of the dark room, through the passages of his home and into a realm full of light. The light felt so warm, as warm as any bosom owned by a new sleeping babe. The light was bright and yet somehow remained so soft. The room was full of objects of his memory, a bed that his mother slept in, a basket he used to fill with blackberries. A picture of a girl and her dog, his Grandmother kept in her hall. The cream woollen rug he used to fall asleep on in front of the fireplace, after coming home from school. A pair of dancing shoes he had never returned after a school show. The same shoes that had once started him on the road that would eventually fulfil every hope and emotion he would ever face.

He reached his hand forward and picked up the shoes. For a moment he held them, still, motionless. Too afraid to move as all the energy once belonging to them slowly started filling the space around him. He raised his arm, and allowed his head to second the motion. Before he knew what had happened, the once silent room was filled with the sound of music. The shoes had managed to possess the thoughts and feelings of the man that had once owned them. He started remembering the ways in which he would dance while wearing the shoes. Remembering the ways in which he would feel during every step he’d take. He replaced the shoes onto his feet, allowing them to return to their rightful place. And, with the music that had been summoned by his thoughts, he started to dance.

He swayed and tilted. Turned and glided. Leaped and swooped. Each time feeling all the strength of his heart, urging the feet to press onward. Reminding the feet of how they used to be the epicentre of the body’s power. On hearing the sound of the overture, he instinctively started to dance the steps of his greatest role. The passion and intrigue of his character instantly filled his every limb. Each bar of music instructed an order of movement, the role was his once more. As he moved through each sequence the more he started to feel the abandonment of a soul full of desire. The desire to take forth and fly as high as he could with the wings he had been given. The light formed once more into darkness, but the music continued playing, and the body continued to listen. The feet still owned the power of movement. The head still owned the glimmer of passion. And the heart started to rekindle its love affair with desire.

As time wore onward, the shoes kept dancing, the heart kept urging, the head still reminisced. The music slowly reached for its dramatic climax, and, encouraging the forces, they continued to climb together. They continued the journey through time, through memory of movement. The man continued to dance through the darkened space, trusting the music and his soul. The music slowly started to fade, in the same way as the light. The shoes started to squeeze his feet outward, through the tops of the canvas. As if they couldn’t take any more. They wanted to return to the spot they had been found. The man struggled in the darkness to keep his balance as the feet and shoes feuded against one another. Each trying to omit control. The sides of his head also started to squeeze. Pushing the temples as far as they could inwards, towards the point the memories had started. The music started up again, this time much louder and crass. The light returned but was no longer soft as before. Each fragment no longer worked happily side by side, but struggled to find the power of control.

The man’s body could remain upright and he dropped to the ground instantly. As he did so the pain stopped. The light vanished and the music ceased. The moment was silent. Nothing stirred. The man lay there in the darkness, feeling nothing, seeing nothing, hearing nothing. Alone as he had started, with only the thoughts of the days previous…

'Driving around in an automobile...'

It has officially been seven weeks since I started rehearsals for S.I.T.S. And so far it has been eventful. Although officially only five weeks of performances ,but we have already covered 18 venues, 3 countries and a total of 99 hours in a van. That is a lot of traveling while being cooped up into a space 1.5 meters x 1.5 meters. 

In short this week off is mostly spent releasing any trapped frustration. Mostly by baking, walking in the opposite direction, knitting the odd stitch, smashing the odd plate and making lemonade.

Overall the shows are going well, I suppose. Except when you've driven 8 hours to west Scotland, done a get in, performed a show, done the get out, then spent the next 9 hours traveling to south Wales to find yourself up a hill, in the middle of nowhere, out of petrol. Stopping for the night in a service station Travel Lodge, driven another hour to the venue, done a get in to be told you have an audience of 4!!

And breathe.

The only solice I found in these troubled times were the knowing the weekend was being spent in my home town with family and friends. And the knowledge that the four performances in Harrogate actually had an audience. 

"It's harder getting a ticket for 'Sword in the Stone', than it is to see David Tennant".

Needless to say the two days after the welsh debacle were spent with humans and alcohol. Although I've realised one small problem with this tour.... 

I REALLY DON'T LIKE CHILDREN.

But I have to admit that it's rather fun playing an autistic 12 year old.