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

As Time Goes By...

Once again it's happening and I cant control a bloody thing! Yes, I'm another year older.
Anyone who knows me will know I like to have just a little bit of control over events, and this year was certainly NOT going to be an exception! My birthday this year was/is spanning over three days. Friday, Saturday (my actual birthday) and then sunday. Friday was oddly fantastic. We, as in me and Director Boy, woke late morning and had yogurt and fruit with a nice cup-o-tea*, Twinnings to be precise. Or pedantic, which ever you choose. Then headed out to Oxford street to spend, spend, spend!! Oxford Street was good as I got to shop and spend lots of someone else's money as I changed him (Director Boy) to how I want him. This would be a good point to mention I decorated and 'de-cluttered' his room the previous afternoon.
After a few hours of shaking my head anytime he picked up something hideous, I started to panic as this was also the evening I was meeting the parents. Not just meeting them, but having a 3 course meal with them. Father: who's a writer and happened to be the writer of one of my favourite children's programme's of my youth, 'Grotbags'. And Mother: who has 5 BAFTA's lined up on the mantle piece. This was enough to send me into a frenzy! Walking through Pimlico I was the epitome of elegance after Oxford St. however, on the inside I felt like I was heading for the guillotine. I was in way over my head. I can fake elegance and can fake knowledge, but this time I was certainly going to be caught out. A house where within holds Writer's, Producer's for the beeb**, Director boy's and Dean, sitting on antique furniture, eating from silver older than my gran, and all while these dreadfully off putting BAFTA's look on with their one normal eye and one lame eye.
We were greeted at the door by a very lovely looking woman, mid-forties*** dressed all in black with brilliant hair. Fiery Red, we found out later it was provided by Clairol as they ceased to make her old-faithful. Welcomed into the house, met the writer, Late fifties, definitely an English gent. Said hello, shook hands, so far so good. All is going well. And then Director Boy points it out- a birthday cake made by mum...

SORRY FOLKS, WILL HAVE TO FINISH IT ANOTHER TIME!








* Implements Yorkshire accent
** BBC, it's an insider thing :-)
*** Turns out she late fifties

A moment of religious reflecton

Last Night I went to church. I walked up through the churchyard, pulled open the large wooden doors and sat at the back. The nave was full, which completely surprised me. I'm not religious, although I wear a crucifix. I was given one by my mum when I first moved to London, it was stolen from my suitcase on a train back to Leeds so I've subsequently replaced it. Also, very surprisingly, I feel a sense of duty to my grandfather. I never had the pleasure of his company except a couple of times when I was about 7 of which I dont really remember, he died when I was about 15 and that has been the only funeral i've been to, but it's had a huge impact on me. My grandfather was a very deep, devout Catholic.
The church itself had fanastic architecture and the atmosphere was serene and mystical. The service was the one for Lent, a rather moving service with some genuinely good advice and politics. Everytime I've graced a church, it always makes me feel something spiritual and in within 10 minutes of being there I can completely see how and why these people devote themselves to an order beyond our understanding.

BUT: I also couldn't help but note that to me, it was all just a fantastic act in a very beautiful theatre.

The service was choreographed and over rehearsed, if I could ever say that! The principal was well trained. Deliverance deserved an Olivier. It was on a stage, they had parcans* for Christ's sake, pun intended. The relevant props were in place, similarly relevant set pieces were on rigs, ready to be flown in when needed. I.E. The font. This is south London, less than 5 mins walk from Arts Ed.** I couldn't help but wonder whether or not the Alter servers and Choristers were all undergraduates? How ever I feel when I'm in a church, whatever the service and however beautiful, I never fail to see past the theatricals. Maybe I'm just ignorant.
I'm never offended by people with such strong faiths, more jealous. I know the Catholic church isn't for me, but I also know that every so often in my life I'll find myself sitting at the back of one asking for forgiveness.

I'm thanking my grandfather for allowing me to be serviced to God, but sadly my Jesus will always be Glenn Carter, my church will always be an actual theatre and my Holy Book will always be Vogue.

This is just an early morning rant, I hope no-one is offended.

* A type of stage light. They're the big ones used at gigs.
** A theatre school trying to re-live 'Fame'. LITERALLY! But thats a whole new rant/blog.

A Crying Shame

"Come on, Pearl* cries at everything! She even cries at 'Neighbours'"
"HA HA** She cried for an hour and a half during 'Titanic'"
"WHAT! Is that a joke? I wouldn't cry for an hour and a half if my mum died!"***


* Name changed to protect the identity of the real Wonder Woman****
** Impliments laughing
*** In reality I probably would cry, but no-one needs to hear that.
**** Not really :-)

Nik work's in a bank...

"Woolworths got ram-raided"
"My dad's bank got ram-raided once"
"My mum was ram-raided in a bank.... by a motorised scooter"

Wake up, it's a beautiful mornin'

I drew the heavy drapes back to be hit forcefully in the face by blinding, astonishing light. I pushed up the sash window and took a beep breath. A moment of realisation, life is great. Pearl* WE ARE GREAT! It's the second month into 2007AD and all seems to have a direction. I feel like I've somehow managed to almost banish what negative situations I haled to in '06 and stepped, most literally, into the light.

Back in september, after a summer of fun, it all seemed to go completely wrong. Through bankruptcy**, divorce*** and homelessness**** I struggled and cried and spent hours on a sofa whilest the psychiatrist***** listened, gave advice but never passed judgement. There were moments I couldn't see past leaving that sofa. But it's morning's like this morning that come out of the night like a phoenix out of the flames, that make you reaslise how each day brings new challenges. Each day is different to the last. Yesterday's problems will seem trivial almost, there will be light where there was once only darkness. Today will be an adventure and tomorrow will never come.

Live for now, this moment, this minute, this life. Time passes quickly and before you know it, you will be old and bald. In my case not in that order, damn it!! I know I'm ranting bollocks like ever other self-indulgent wise man wannabe. But, its how I'm feeling, what I'm thinking, and isn't that what a blog's about??


* Pearl: you know who you are, and to everyone else she's wonder woman.
** I had earned a fair amount of money, then spent it on cashmere and lunch.
*** Although I was never actually married, being with a long term partner has it's strains so when it end's it's divorce.
**** I really was homeless!
***** O.K. The sofa was in The Slug, Psychiatrist was Pearl (see above).

Loves Laydee's Lost

The flowers start to bloom, the birds begin to show themselves and sing much louder than before. Singing songs of joy, rebirth, love. The sun seems to shine brighter. Winter is on its way out. Long gone are the days of tinsel and reindeer socks, and then we hear it. See it. In our faces wherever we look. The words that start rational people on the road to neuroses, 'Valentines Day'.

On the whole people seem and react in a normal manner, but deep inside its utter terror. From the panic of which card to send, of not recieving a card, what present to get, whether to get a present, how many presents to get?? It's mania. I'm laughing at the thought but I remember the terror of not recieving a valentines card, and worse the terror of recieving one I hated! And I'm in a serious relationship, just look at the psychotic annalysis, imagine what its like for singletons everywhere that are already on the verge of a breakdown?!

So, this year I went on a mission.

I was spending the evening not with my Director, but with 2 fantastic, single, girlfriends of mine. The girls were getting together to watch 'The Brit's' music awards and invited me. "Starts at 8pm sharp". "O.K. I'm at work at Flora* all day but finish at 5 so I'll go home and come straight to yours, say 7.30?".
The next day before work I decided with what little cash graced my wallet, as its never any decent amount at the moment, to buy my fantastic laydee's a little thankyou gift for the evening**. I called into a shop that suited my budget and bought a big bag of sweets, ye olde fashioned kind that we had as children, and a bag of chocolate coins. I knew these would go down a treat and be would be appreciated. I was set. But as I headed for the curse of not driving A.K.A. public transport, I passed a bakery, and in the window proudly displayed was 2 heart shapped cookies with red icing. I love my friends dearly and spent the last £1 I had at my disposal for the rest of the week on the gifts of edible love.
Later that day the two laydee's in question payed me a visit to Flora and whilest I had them at my command, in my territory, and on a piece of furniture that i'd managed to make them fall head over heals with, now only to apply this to the actual customers, I presented them with the hearts. The look I recieved was priceless, beyond gratitude. Beyond caring. For that split second I was the only man alive. The only straight man alive.

Bollocks to cards, bollocks to the worry of several gifts. One gift from a person who genuinely cares, who isn't in search for displays of affection on a day thats dictated, one gift that makes you feel like the only person in the world is how everyone should feel. Regardless of status. Someone somewhere will always love you. And the scary but most beautiful thing is that generally, its always someone who''ll surprise you. And more often than not, it's generally your friends.

Partners come and go, but friends are for life.

NOTE: To my darling Director Boy, I feel that this is all still valid as our Valentines Day was the 17th and that I love you beyond the horror of the day and into eternity.
* 'Flora' A.K.A. Laura Ashley
** I'm a gentleman and believe in not turning upto a house empty handed, whatever your budget

Love After Love

The time will come
when, with elation.
you will greet yourself arriving
at your own door, in your own mirror,
and each will smile at the other's welcome,

and say, sit here. Eat.
You will love again the stranger who was your self.
Give wine. Give bread. Give back your heart
to itself, to the stranger that has loved you

all your life, whom you ignored
for another,who knows you by heart.
Take down the love letters from the bookshelf,

the photographs, the desperate notes,
peel your own image from the mirror.
Sit. Feast on your life.

-Derek Walcott

Once More Into The Beechams Dear Friend...

When one is ill, I am the last to admit it. When others are badly, I am the first to find it amusing. My theory is that this is karma, bad bad karma, A.K.A. Bloody good revenge!

Why is it that when you are ill all thoughts are strained, all verse is distorted and all actions are cursed?! I struggle at the best of times to produce an accurate sentence whilest fighting attention deficit, let alone being ill. And guess who's ill now?! My eyes are hardly enabled, my head feels like it is squashed in a vice and I'm sneezing at rate that the female chav produces children! Or animals, or whaterever it is that they're spitting out these days due to the rate of global warming. It's at this point I start to ponder religion. Is there a god? Is it because I'm not particularly religous that I am inflicted with disease? Please refrain from laughing, he say's as "In the Navy" by the Village People starts playing in the background.

This is descrimination! I can fight for my rights, but in retrospect me being ill is just bad luck. Lets face it. Being ill is down to the weather and my imune system, not god trying to punish me. I mean, first there was Exhibitionists Adam and Eve. Then the incestial Cain and Able. What happened next?? Did Cain sleep with his mum or his brother? because as I work it out there werent any other humans, or at least thats what we are told. Was Eve a slut? Sleeping with everything and anything, plural children collecting Family Credit?? Did Adam have secret women that even god didn't know about?? or were they of the homosexual variety? To this, who knows. I'm all for being converted but please give me some accurate consruction rather than 'immaculate conception' bollocks. AAAARGH

I HATE BEING ILL, AND RANTING!