Alan B's Blog

Jamie's 30 Minute Meal

2011-01-23T02:37:00.000-08:00

To try to cheer myself up in the depths of this dark winter, I bought Jamie Oliver's "30 Minute Meals". I imagined myself nipping up to Sainsbury's on my Vespa just like Jamie, and then having a joke or two with the man at the fishcounter.

"Hello Alan B."

"Hello Fishmonger."

"You'll never guess what happened earlier?"

"Is it a whimsical fish related anecdote?

"It is sir yes."
"Go on - tell me."

"Well, a woman came in earlier and though the red snapper was a trout..."

And then me and the fish man would laugh uproriously in a way that men who know about fish often do. After that I would hop back on the vespa, a bag of langoustines and French bread slung jauntily over my shoulder. I would wave at local "charatacters" on the way home.

I imagined that Jamie's book would make life better, More like Jamie's. I thought it'd be nice to set the table and serve up a steaming bowl of pasta to the family, and then we could talk about our busy metropolitan days. It would bring us together,. It would make us happy.

Plus, and this was the clincher when I bought the book, Jamie promises that a whole meal can be completed in half an hour. Half an hour - Jamie enthuses - and you can be serving up dishes you never imagined you had time for. "Jamie" I thought, "You are the man for my busy life".

What Jamie neglects to mention is that, if you attempt one of his recipes in half an hour, you will leave your kitchen looking like the CIA have turned the place upside down looking for Jason Bourne. In thirty minutes I managed to somehow use every utensil in the house. I also contrived to break the food processor, and pebble dash part of the kitchen with liquidised anchovy. It is not a decorative feature that is likely to catch on. Except with cats maybe.

The pasta was lovely, but I do think Jamie's "30 Minute Meals" should be re-titled "Jamie's 90 Minute Tidy Up."

Numbers

2011-01-19T12:53:00.000-08:00

My Blackberry problems have still not been resolved. I phoned the IT guys today to see how they were getting on. This met with a lot of tutting, and words that sounded a bit like "Oh... incompatibility... problem... have to phone the boys in Delhi... very expensive". When I hung up I am sure I heard some laughter and the popping of a champagne cork.

My head seems to be full of bees and feathers just now. This morning I forgot the code to get into my office - we have one of those security dooors with the code. I've only been using it for about 6 years, so it's still not very clear in my head. My memory is so bad, I once forgot where I parked my car for 2 days.On once occasion I forgot where I lived. Although it was after a very very good office party.

As I stood there on the stairs, it struck me how many numbers we now have to remember. Used to be, the only number I had to remember was my phone number. Not a big long mobile number, but a landline. With 5 digits. That was it. The only number in the whole world I had to commit to memory.

But now, the world has become infinitely more complex. Off the top of my head, I now have to remember my home phone number, my mobile number, my home alarm code, the office alarm code, the security door code that stumped me this morning, debit card pin number, credit card pin number... The list goes and and that's not to mention the usernames and passwords I have to remember for every website in the whole world.

I am a digital man. My head is a string of numbers. They live where memories should.

Cackberry and The First Law of Computing

2011-01-17T13:00:00.000-08:00

My Significant Other is a bit of a technology junkie. She can often be found, her little nose pressed to the shop window of Currie's, drooling over a display of Freeview boxes. Sometimes, to tempt her in from the street, I leave a little trail of mobile phone adverts torn from the Sunday supplements.

She has, for some time been coveting an iPhone 4. I could tell she wanted one from the little comments she made like: "I'd kill my own mother for an iPhone 4" and "Do you think if I sold one of your kidneys, it'd cover the tariff?".

She succumbed recently and bought one. However, she felt so guilty that she bought me a Blackberry. I don't really get the buzz out of gadgets that other people do, but I like the Blackberry. (It doesn't look anything like a Blackberry incidentally, but I think the more accurate name of "Mobile Phone That is Much the Same as Many Other Mobile Phones" was felt to be less appealling by some of the focus groups).

The Blackberry prides itself as being a business machine - a piece of wizardry designed to make your life more efficient. A little personal assistant in your pocket. So, seduced by promises of instant organisation, I recently made the mistake of trying to synch the Blackberry with my diary at work. This involves plugging the phone into the computer. That is where I went wrong. I forgot Alan B's First Law of Computing which is:

"Do Not Plug Any Other Item Into Your Computer."

If you break Alan B's First Law of Computing you are letting yourself in for a world of heartache. But I did . And the Blackberry ate all of the recurring appointments in my diary. It didn't destroy them mind you. It just ate them, so that the recurring appointments now appear only in my Blackberry and not the computer.

You can only imagine how this has simplified my life. Now, instead of having the really complex task of having to consult only one diary when I want to know my schedule, I now have the infintely easier task of having to cross-reference two diaries! Whenever someone phones for an appointment now, all I have to do is look at the computer and then run to fetch my diary from my coat pocket (usually handily located in another room - and sometimes my car - for easy access).

It really is that simple!

Do the Shake n Vac and Put the Freshness Back

2011-01-16T01:01:00.000-08:00

Mrs B is off pampering herself this weekend at the lovely Stobo Castle. She tells me that this involves mud packs and steam treatments and such. However, as she is away with one of her mates, I have a sneaking suspicion that Chordonay and gossip may play a pivotol role in proceedings.

As she is away, it is just me and the kids here. It is now Sunday morning, and Mrs B is due to return late this afternoon. I am not sure that there is enough time to tidy up. It is amazing how much damage two under fives can cause if left unattended for a day and a half.

I have conducted a prelimenary damage assessment this morning. So far I have discovered a boiled egg in the bath, an enormous pile of assorted jigsaw pieces (from different puzzles) in the hall and something called "Mr Minerva's Bath Goo" in the middle of the kitchen floor.So. Not too bad then.

I reckon, if I spend the rest of the day cleaning (rather than providing you lot with highly entertaining blog entries) I might just about manage to make the place presentable. The whole process reminds me a bit of those teenage parties you used to have when you had an "empty" - when your parents had gone away for a night or two without you. Thbis, of course, was licence for all your friends to come over and drink their own body weight in cheap cider then throw it up behind the chaise longue. The following day was generally taken up fixing a hole in the bathroom wall with some blue tac and a Dulux Match Pot and desperately doing the Shake n Vac to put the freshness back.

Righto. I can't talk to you all morning, no matter how much I love you. I am off to engage in domestic chores.

Curry and Beer: A Love Affair

2011-01-15T01:12:00.000-08:00

I had a lovely curry with a couple of mates last night at the Mother India in Glasgow.

This is my first curry during "no alcohol January" (my annual period of abstinence, imposed in the vain belief that it will help me live until the age of 143, thus allowing me to achieve all of the things I could have achieved if I hadn't spent the first 43 years of my life eating cheese and spending too much time on the internet).

The first curry in January is a significant test of will power, for - just as peaches love cream and as surely as Torville needs Dean - there is nothing like a lager to go with a curry. As a man who likes a beer, I can heartily confirm, that the best beer in the world is the first pint of lager at a curry house. It is, in fact, the platonic ideal of beer. There, in its sensuous cold loveliness, beads of condensation running down the smooth surface of the glass. Irresistable.

Almost irresistable. Except to a man of iron will. Like myself. I had a diet coke.

A diet coke.

A diet coke. Whilst every other selfish curry guzzling glutton gulped down pint after pint of Cobra. Smiling. Like they were enjoying it.

I had a diet coke. Did I mention that?

Final Destination?

2011-01-13T15:16:00.001-08:00

I am watching Final Destination 2 just now and it is really annoying me. Not because of the film itself. It's quite a diverting little horror flick.

No. What is concerning me is the name of the film. Surely the fact that there is a film called Final Destination 2 means that the final destination in Final Destination 1 was not as final a final destination as we were hitherto led to believe. If the filmakers had been honest, they should have called it Penultimate Destination. Or Final Destination For the Moment. Or Not the Final Destination. Or in fact anything except Final Destnation which is just a lie. A damned lie. Damn you makers of Final Destination you have made a fool of me.

And actually, now that I think of it they couldn't have called Final Destination 1 'Penultimate Destination' because now we have Final Destination 3, the latest in a line of increasingly ill-named films.

I have to stop now. I am feeling annoyed.

Glamour

2011-01-12T13:34:00.000-08:00

Greetings from a guest house somewhere near Lochgilphead.

I have seen the rest of you on Facebook, waxing lyrical about the glamour of your jobs. I've seen the photos of your conference in Berlin. I have heard you talking about your trips to London and how you spend your lunch hours in the National Gallery. I hate you. I hate you all, with your lefestyle choices and work/life balance.

What do I get? I get a room for one at the end of a musty corridor, a microwaved steak pie and a telly that only seems to be able to tune into an old episode of "Minder" from 1982. This is not what I was born for. Where are the jet skis? Where are the roulette tables? Where are the women in evening dress?

And most of all where is my valet???? I cannot believe that I am 43 years old, and I haven't even got my own butler yet. Here I am in a strange guesthouse, and I have nobody to press my shirt for the morning, or to fetch me my morning copy of the Times.

Here In My Car

2011-01-10T14:38:00.000-08:00

Driving has lost its charm. In spite of what all those adverts tell you, car ownership is not about speeding through the Tuscan Hills towards some sultry brunette, who positively melts with satisfaction as you glide up the ribbon of her inviting and immaculately manicured driveway.

Nor is it funky. You are not cool if you drive. Everyone drives. It doesn't matter that the adverts suggest that by getting behind the wheel, you are suddenly a moving, shaking twenty first century boy. Putting on a pair of sunglasses out the Jet garage, and slipping behind the wheel of your Honda Ciivic doesn't mean you have entered the Matrix.

Driving is crap. It involves roadworks and crawling queues at ungodly hours of the morning. And no matter how much you try to approach the rush hour with a zenlike attitude - this is an opportunity to learn patience and appreciate the beauty of breathing - it dooes not stop the pounding of your arteries and the throbbing of your temple.

Give up your cars ladies and gentlemen. Take the train. Walk, But for pity's sake, leave the roads to me.

Studying

2011-01-09T12:54:00.000-08:00

This weekend, has mostly been spent studying for an exam I have on Tuesday. Although I regularly need to do research for my work, it has now been well over twenty years since I sat any sort of exam.

It is very hard to study now. I suspect that this is probably due to the fact that most of my neural pathways have now been taken up with (a) thinking about cheese, (b) trying to remember where I put my keys, and (c) devising strategies to keep the kids out of my bed until after 6am on a Sunday morning. I think there is simply no more room in my rapidly-decaying brain for me to retain any more information.

I can also confirm that studying around work commitments and two small pre-schoolers is not the ideal academic environment. I suspect that if Isaac Newton had been placed in a similar position during his annus mirabilis, he would not have come up with important theories about gravity. Instead he would have had a nice kip under the apple tree if he happened to manage to get the kids to settle in front of C Beebies for more than twenty minutes. If an apple fell on his head, he'd probably have blamed the kids and put them on the naughty spot.

Essential Parental Phrases

2011-01-08T01:20:00.000-08:00

One of the nice things about being a pparent is that it enriches your language skills. Phrases that you never used in the years before the round-faced people arrived suddenly become common currency. I thought I might give you a brief guide.

You'd better do it before I count to 3. 1...2... That's a good boy... This is a high risk phrase of course, since it is rarely used with the foresight of knowing what will happen when you get to three. The days of locking them in a cupboard until they learn right from wrong have long since gone.

Do you want to sit on the naughty spot? Useful when dealing with under-5s who do not yet appreciate the term "rhetoorical".

Who wants to tidy up! This has to be delivered in a bright and upbeat voice which is designed to suggest that tidying up is every bit as exciting as meeeting Santa Claus and all his helpers in Disneyland on Christmas Eve while bathing in a vat of chocoolate.

diet tips

2011-01-06T15:49:00.001-08:00

I have been watching a programme on the telly tonight about scientific tips on dieting. I thought I'd share my own oersonal theories with you.

1 Do not eat a whole packet of digestives before bedtime.

2 A chocolate orange is not one of your five a day.

3 Cheese is the fatty food of the devil. He will tempt you with it in his cheesy way.

4 A whole box of Quality Street is more fattening than a nectarine.

5 Hob Nobs are not a breakfast food.

6 Step away from the korma.

7 Yoda was right when he said: "Butter fatty it is."

8 Newcastle Brown is not a "malt smoothy".

Hope that helped.

New Years Resolutions

2011-01-04T14:01:00.000-08:00

New Years' Resolutions? Do you rate them?

Broadly speaking, I am in favour. I am a great believer in having yardsticks available by which I can measure my failures. Without defined goals, how else will I be able to beat myself about the head for the remainder of 2011, for failing to live up to the great expectations that I had whilst sipping a glass of cherry brandy on January the First?

So - when you see me next December - a few pounds heavier; struggling financially; and hated by all my family for failing to spend any quality time with them - don't judge me too harshly, for I will be doing that myself. And planning to remedy it all in 2012 of course.

Christmas Casualty

2011-01-03T11:28:00.001-08:00

The number of small unnecessary plastic objects in my house has increased exponentially since Santa visited. We have lego, toy cars, dolls and every other conceivable piece of tat. They cover every inch of floor space. They tunble out of every cupboard. Spiky objects lie with malicious intent under the duvet.

And on the stairs, in the darkness this morning, a little blue truck lay on the 7th stair from the bottom. It lay there with intent. With evil thoughts. With intent. It lay waiting for my foot to find it.

When I fell I'm sure I'm sure I heard it laughing softly. I on the other hand was squealing like a stuffed pig.

Happy New Year

2011-01-02T04:14:00.000-08:00

Hello again from the rather quiet land that has been this blog in recent months. I expect that 2010 has been a much poorer year for you because of my infrequent posts. I will try to do better, if only to brighten up your lacklustre lives.

The 2nd of January marks the beginning of my annual 30 Days Without alcohol campaign. This is the fourth year that I have done it. I have now been off the beer for 12 hours and already I am feeling the benefiit. The main benefit, of course, is being able to say to your friends: "Yes - yes - I've given up drinking for now and I feel so much better for it." It is fun to watch their little faces try to look encouraging whilst their Inner Voice is clearly telling them:

"You drink too much. You drink too much. Take Alan's example. He is a paragon of sobriety. Look at him heading towards a successful life, and high political office."

So, I wiish you all a happy New Year. Even if you are all weak-willed drunkards wasting your lives away in some sleazy gin den.

13th November, 2009 - Headless Men Have No Bladder Control

2010-03-28T09:42:00.000-07:00

I was in at Ralph Slaters in Glasgow today buying a new suit for work. (It seems that even my lesure time these days is devoted to work-related activities).

I took my Significant Other and the Small Round-Faced People with me. I thought that it would be quality family time for us all. Personally, I can't imagine a more fun activity for developing young minds than hanging around in a gentleman's outfitters for an hour while their dad gets his inside leg measured repeatedly.

However, I was appalled to overhear a conversation between my Significant Other and SRFP#2. SRFP#2 spotted a tailor's dummy and asked: "Why does that man have no head?" To which my Significant Other (an educationalist mark you) replied: "Because he wet his pants."

SRFP#2 looked horrified at the dummy; clung tightly to his mother and said desperately: "I have dry pants."

12th November, 2009 - Real Men Don't Wear Sequins

2010-03-26T13:26:00.000-07:00

I afraid I have been listing on e-bay again.This evening I have been selling (a) a red sequined cockney style hat, and (b) a gold coloured hula skirt.

I know. I know. You are thinking that these were two impulse buys that a pudgy man in his forties should have resisted. You are thinking that these are not accessories which a straight-laced professional is not going to look good in at the monthly rotary meeting. You are thinking red sequins are not right for my colouring.

You would be right about all these things. That is why these items are on eBay.

11th November, 2009 - Shameless Plug

2010-03-26T09:40:00.000-07:00

My theatre company - Practical Magic - is hosting a quiz night on Friday 30th of Apil 2010 at the St Brides Chapel Hall in Bothwell. The doors will be open from 7.30pm with a view to start promptly at 7.45pm.

The entry fee is £5 per person (remember it is a fundraiser!) and we're looking for teams of 4. Come along in a group or on your own and we can slot you into a team with other people. It will be a great night of friendly competition, cheap drink and a great way of helping out to make this years Fringe happen.

There will also be a raffle with prizes including free tickets to some of Scotland's leading visitor attractions, an artists painting of Bono and an Ipod Shuffle.

Give me a shout if you fancy coming along.

10th November, 2009 - eBay Habit

2010-03-24T14:55:00.000-07:00

I am developing an eBay habit.

It started out gently enough. A bit of experimentation really. All the big boys were doing it and it seemed kind of - well - cool. So, I had a look in the loft, and there were one or two bits and bobs that I wasn't using them. And I kind of dipped my toe in the water.

I listed something.

It was a Scalextric set. It was unopened. I think I got it for my 30th birthday (and in spite of my youthful good looks that, alas, wasn't yesterday). I've never used it. So, I thought it might be something that would sell. It seemed safe enough. What harm could one sale do?

So I listed it.

It felt good.

It felt real.

It felt right.

But soon, I found myself checking the bids. Regularly. Several times an hour regularly. Late at night regularly. I felt like Alan Sugar - with my little Scalextric sales empire. "You're fired" I would sometimes yell at my bemused 2 year old as I paced my little office watching the minutes tick away towards the end of the auction.

And oh... The sweet sweet hit when it sold. The endorphin surge. I was hooked. I have been listing ever since.

9th November, 2009

2010-03-23T15:23:00.000-07:00

I mentioned yesterday that I am just back from Crieff with a bunch of my mates. As expected, my Significant Other has bombarded me with questions like: "What's the gossip?" and "What did you talk about?"

This, of course, completely misses the point. We get away largely to ensure that we don't have to get involved in gossip, and so that we don't have to talk about anything (at least anything emotional - cars, football, gadgets and the relative merits of the Girls of FHM are permitted topics of conversation, as long as it doesn't get too heavy).

We are men. We are proud. We are strong.

8th November, 2009 - Crieff

2010-03-22T10:02:00.000-07:00

I have just returned from our annual pilgrimage to Crieff. I go there with a group of mates every year. Once, when we were young, we stayed up all night drinking and debating important issues, like religion, women and ambtion.

These days we are older. The days of hot debates seem to be behind us now. It appears that what we like to do nowadays is read the paper, watch the football and discuss the best technique for making a cheese omelette.

7th November, 2009 - Little Plays About The Law #1

2010-01-05T13:56:00.000-08:00

Dramatis Personae

GLYL - Good-looking Young Lawyer. Very handsome. Looks like a young Brad Pitt, only more intellectual.

CCO - Call Centre Operative(from a large lending institution)

WE ARE IN THE OFFICE OF THE GLYL. HE IS ON THE PHONE. HE HAS BEEN ON HOLD FOR SOME HOURS. SUDDENLY HE GETS THROUGH.

GLYL Hello. This is Mr Lawyer. I’m phoning about my clients the Smiths. Their mortgage account number is YP87654. Their transaction is due to settle today and I haven’t received their loan funds yet.

CCO Could I have your name please?

GLYL I just told you that. Mr Lawyer.

CCO And your clients’ name?

GLYL I told you that as well. Smith.

CCO And the mortgage account number?

GLYL (SHORT PAUSE. HINT OF EXASPERATED SIGH) YP87654.

CCO And for security could you tell me the answer to your secret question: “What is my favourite type of meat pie?”

GLYL Lancashire Hotpot.

CCO Excellent. How can I help you?

GLYL When are the loan funds going to be transferred. They were supposed to be here yesterday.

CCO I’ll just check the system.

(THERE IS AN INTERLUDE OF 22 MINUTES WHILST VIVALDI’S FOUR SEASONS PLAYED ON KAZOO SOOTHES THE HYL)

CCO I’m afraid we haven’t received a request for the funds.

GLYL That can’t be right. I faxed it to you 4 times. To all the numbers your colleague gave me including the one to your Top Secret Loan Bunker.

CCO Did you mark it with the secret symbol?

GLYL Yes.

CCO Well. We haven’t got it.

GLYL (EXASPERATED) But you acknowledged it last Tuesday.

CCO Not according to the system.

GLYL But I have a letter from you here on my file.

CCO Are you calling me a liar? Because, these calls are recorded so we can sue you for bullying.

6th Noovember, 2009 - Ouch

2009-12-25T03:04:00.000-08:00

As a small post-script to yesterday's entry, you will recall that I mentioned that, one of the irritating things about Christmas, is that kids leave small sharp plastic objects in places designed to cause maximum pain to adults when they step on them.

I hadn't actually stood on anything when I made that comment. It was designed as a witty observation, of a type designed to make the reader nod sagely in a moment of recognition. It was, in a way, a little symbol about the wastefulness of Christmas - where toys which you hoped would be treasured, actually become a discarded nuisance only minutes after the parcel has been opened. A metaphor I suppose for the consumer society. It was not really meant entiirely literally.

However, I suspect that it will please you yo know that, about 4 minutes after I posted the last entry, I stood on a small woooden rhino. Those horns are sharp.

5th November, 2009 - It's Chriiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiistmaaaaaaaaaaaaas!

2009-12-25T02:38:00.000-08:00

In spite of the date in the heading, iit is Christmas day in the real world, and not Guy Fawkes Day (which it is in the odd world of my blog). It is good to be celebrating two holidays simultaneously. Later today I shall be setting fire to an effigy of Santa while singing a rousing chorus of "God Rest Ye Merry Arsonists". It will be no end of fun.

We have just completed the annual orgy of unwrapping, and the children are now happily engaged in breaking many of the new shiny plastic objects which are scattered throughout the house, generally in places designed to cause maximum pain to adults who tread carelessly. There is nothing like a toy dumper truck to make your instep sing with agony.

Highlight of the morning, so far, was my son appearing in the kitchen with an entire Chocolate Orange in his mout. He looked like a small and tasty stuffed pig. I am considering making him the centrepiece of the diinner table for our Christmas feast.

4th November, 2009 - Rage Against The Machine For Number 1

2009-12-16T09:07:00.000-08:00

I thought I would lend the (not inconsiderable weight) of my blog to the Facebook Campaign which is trying to secure a Christmas Number 1 for Rage Against the Machine - the aim being to topple the dominance of the X Factor winner.

I have seen quite a lot of tosh about this in the press: suggesting that the campaign is a blow for democracy in the fight against Simon Cowell's empire; and that it is a fight against synthetic pop acts. This, of course, is a lot of old tripe. But you know that already. The fact that you read this blog marks you out as person of superior intelligence and taste. And I also like what you've done with your hair today - it really suits you.

No. The reason for downloading the RATM track is obvious: it is a bit of a laugh. If they get the Number 1 spot it will be amusing to see the X Factor judges hide their irritation. It will be amusing to hear some old rock track blasting over the radio. It will make us all smile in twenty years time when we are listening to some run down of the Top 50 Christmas Number 1s.

So - download it! You can get it on i-Tunes for 29p.

3rd November, 2009 - Remember? Remember? The 5th Of November?

2009-12-15T13:39:00.000-08:00

In case you have not been following the blog recently (and who could blame you) I will remind you that I have been on a desperate catch up mission to bring the blog dates into line with real life dates. Currentl, here in cyberspace, I am getting ready for Guy Fawkes night. I shall be letting off Catherine Wheels all over Facebook very soon indeed.

But I am catching up. Slowly. Steadily. There were those who said it couldn't be done; there were those who said I was a fool even to try; there were those who said they didn't really care much and would rather be eating cheese instead of reading this drivel.

But I have ignored them all, and now I have crashed into November, which is only one calendar month behind the real world month of December. Suddenly it seems doable. I can almost taste the champagne, and feel the podium beneath my feet.

Cheer me on fellas. I'm doing this for you guys; for Scotland. Hell - I'm doing it for world peace.

Just say no kids.

2nd November, 2009 - Always The Cliches - But Nevertheless

2009-12-14T13:35:00.000-08:00

I went to see Marillion at the Renfrew Ferry last night with my pal The Advisor. Marillion are a band from my youth, and there was a point in my life where I largely lived for them. I could tell you every lyric. I knew the background of all the musicians. I pored over the artwork on their albums.

Over the years they changed their singer, and I suppose that I grew up. There became less room in my life to lie on my bedroom floor, glorying in the band’s angst-ridden tales of fist love and lost love. And it was with some trepidation that I returned to see them last night. And in some ways, the trepidation was not misjudged. In 1987, the band were distant and slightly God-like. They were only to be glimpsed in the pages of rock magazines, and from the middle of huge concert halls. But last night, they had become human. In a crowded but small venue, they were close enough to talk to. They had middle-aged paunches and dyed hair, and they looked a bit like you and me.

They clearly have a good and loyal fan-base (made up almost exclusively of 40something men who work in IT and do not take regular exercise it would appear) and the whole gig had a rather pleasant family-feel with audience and band sharing in-jokes and rather enjoying each other’s company. However, I missed the days when I was able to elevate them to a position where they seemed more than normal, more than musicians. I miss the days when I felt that they were almost unbearably important.

Mostly this was not their fault. It is my fault for getting older. But – and maybe I am wrong about this too – it seemed to me to be more of a cottage industry than a rock gig. But then, they have got older too. They have families to support and mortgages to pay I daresay. Rock and roll is no longer the preserve of the young and the footloose.

1st November, 2009 - S.A.D.

2009-12-14T13:33:00.001-08:00

There is no doubt about it: the unrelenting rain and darkness is affecting my mood. People suggest that this sort of thing is S.A.D. Syndrome. This, to my mind, is another statement of the bleeding obvious. Of course we are liable to feel a bit down when it has rained consecutively for 542 days and our neighbour has started shepherding pairs of animals into that oddly boat-shaped shed he has constructed at the bottom of the garden. And naturally, we will feel a bit blue when we haven’t seen the sun since April 2008.

The Scandinavians deal with this sort of thing by retreating into a world of “cosiness” – fireside chats, and warming drinks and the conviviality of good friends. And I tend to agree with them. I do not need a S.A.D. lamp. I need a snowball fight with the kids, and a few pints with my mates at the local, before putting scarf and gloves on and then watching my breath dissolve into the frosty universe.

31sr October, 2009 - What A Bunch Of Bankers

2009-12-13T17:02:00.001-08:00

I was off seeing the Bank Manager today about business matters. It is clear that banking has changed. A couple of years ago, it seems to me that the Bankers strode about like young Gods. Well – they were as much like young Gods as fat middle aged men with paunches can be, but you know what I mean. There was a confidence, even in my little corner of Lanarkshire, that the world was shiny, bright and the streets of Whifflet were paved were gold.

It didn’t turn out that way of course. When I visit the bank these days, the (much-reduced) staff look a bit harried, and they use words like “risk” and “security” and “no, we are not lending you the money you charlatan – begone with your requests for capital.”

30th October, 2009 - Survival Of The Fittest

2009-12-13T17:00:00.000-08:00

I am currently fumbling around for an idea for a new show to write for Edinburgh next year. It is a bit of an odd feeling. I have about half a dozen ideas in my head just now, none of which has completely taken over yet. It is a bit like natural selection I think. They have to fight for space in my head, and eventually the idea that is fittest will triumph, surviving to evolve into a fully fledged play. The other ideas will not have been strong enough to survive the dangerous environment between my ears, and they will be filed away like fossils.

29th October, 2009 - Bessie

2009-12-12T11:30:00.000-08:00

Shirley’s gran has died. I guess she passed away in the way that most of us would pick for our loved ones if we had a choice – after a long, happy and healthy life. But it is still sad. She was an enormous character, and one of Scotland’s leading psychics. In truth, I was always a bit afraid to visit her, in case she could see my innermost thoughts (which as most of you know are almost entirely focussed on bikini models and biscuits – if you ever want to lead me astray, send a good looking brunette with a caramel wafer).

So, my thoughts are with Bessy and her family today. If she was correct about the spirit world, she will currently be living it up with her family and a variety of old acquaintances. If she isn’t correct, and I am, then she is having a nice long sleep, after a happy life with a terrific family.

amil

28th October, 2009 - Marry Me!

2009-12-12T11:26:00.000-08:00

A few weeks ago, I pointed out that I didn’t know how my mum and dad had got engaged. I have now found out. This is courtesy of my sister's encyclopaedic knowledge of family history. While I have been cramming my head with important stuff (like when to re-raise out of position when you're holding a pair of sixes) she has been idling her time away paying attention to family history. No good will come of it.

Apparently, after mum and dad had been courting for a few years, my mum said to my dad, “Don’t you think it’s about time we got engaged.” My dad – ever the romantic – mulled this over for a while, and eventually agreed that she had a point.

27th October, 2009 - My Friend's Electric

2009-12-11T16:59:00.000-08:00

I am just back from seeing Gary Numan at the ABC in Glasgow with my mate The Laughing Boy. It was excellent. I have never seen him before (Numan, not Laughing Boy – it would be odd if he was mate and I had never seen him before. Actually, now that I think of it, I have seen Gary Numan before as well, but only on the telly and on album covers, so that doesn’t really count, but I digress).

I have never really got into Gary Numan’s stuff, not because I don’t like it, but it’s never really crossed my radar. But I liked his music when I was a kid, and I’ve heard on a number of ooccasions that he does a great live show. So, I thought I’d tag along with The Laughing Boy who is a big fan (of Numan, not me – I haven’t really got any fans as far as I know, unless there are some very odd groupies who get excited at the thought of a man drafting a Minute of Extension of Lease).

I digress again. It was a great gig – a mix of early material, and his more modern industrial stuff. Not a lot of laughs mind you. You never really expect the pale white demon to break into a rousing cover of “Snooker Loopy” by Chas and Dave.

26th October, 2009 - Help. I am Trapped In A Lift With All These Ladies

2009-12-11T16:57:00.000-08:00

I am into double figures with my series of 42 Home Improvements. Those of you who are avid, and slightly deranged regular followers of this blog already know that I am trying to complete 42 small improvements to my life, thus turning this blog into a powerful engine for self-improvement, rather than a way to kill time.

The tenth in the series was tidying up the garden for the winter. I actually rather like gardening when I get down to doing it. Oddly, I often don’t like the thought of gardening. Somehow, the effort of putting on gardening togs, and going out to the wet and muddy world beyond the back door doesn’t seem enormously appealing from the safety of the kitchen, with a warm coffee in your hands. However, when you actually get into the garden, it’s usually ok. I mean, it’s not ok in a “Being Trapped In A Lift With 10 Bikini Models” sort of way. But it’s kind of therapeutic.

I had a dream about being trapped in a lift with 10 bikini models once. Frustratingly, it has not been a recurring dream.

25th October, 2009 - Disappointments 4

2009-12-10T14:30:00.000-08:00

The fourth in this series of my disappointments is the crapppy review I got for my own play this year. I have to say that this was balanced with a brilliant review, and to be honest I’d rather pick up reviews at the extremes than get 3 stars all the way. However, I cannot tell a lie – it sucks big time to get criticised.

When you think about it, in your adult life – or certainly in mine – it is fairly rare to get criticised. Maybe in a job appraisal, if you have one of these newfangled management structures. In my line of work, where I am my own boss, the closest you get to it is if you get a complaint from a client I guess.

But you don’t generally get criticised for your hobbies. I mean, if you took a yoga class, you wouldn’t like it if someone from the Guardian came in and gave you two stars in Monday’s paper and said “Her costume was reasonably pleasing, but I’m afraid she’s about as flexible as a brick, and frankly less agreeable to the eye.” You would be particularly unhappy if you learned that the critic had never ever done yoga, but had spent many hours watching yoga videos whilst sitting on their fat arse eating fish suppers.

24th October, 2009 - An Early Christmas Present!

2009-12-10T09:28:00.000-08:00

I am just back from my health check at the doctors. I go for a medical check up every two years or so. I figure that I get my car MOTd regularly, so I really should do the same for myself.

Frankly, it is a bit of a depressing experience (except for the prostate examination which is strangely thrilling). The worst bit is that it compares your results for the various tests you had a couple of years ago. What this means is that you cannot hide from the statistics, that essentially tell you that you are getting older, fatter and less fit. The graph is on a downward curve, and with every passing year, the line of best fit approaches the number zero on the Y axis. I do not much like the thought of getting to that point.

On the positive side they discovered that I have another hernia! I didn't even know about this one, so it feels like a bit like Fate has slipped me a surprise early Christmas present. "There you go son - I know you weren't expecting anything - but there's a wee hernia for you - I know how much you enjoyed the last one."

Thanks fate. that's brilliant. It really is.

23rd October, 2009 - Omelettes

2009-12-09T12:49:00.000-08:00

The third of my disappointments is my absolute inability to make omelettes. This is an odd thing to be disappointed about. It is not really up there with "Failing to ensure world peace" or "Not Curing Cancer". But it really rankles.

I am no Jamie Oliver (I don't dribble as much as he does) but I am not too bad in the kitchen. I have spent a bit of time living alone in my adult life (I blame the chronic foot odour), and I have always been able to rustle up a decent dinner. I can even bake. Scones and pancakes hold no fears for me. I do a mean chocolate mousse. But the humble omelette... well... it is a mystery to me.

My mate the couch Potato always makes me an omelette for the meal that he loosely terms “breakfast” during our visits to Crieff each year. It is called “breakfast” because it is the first meal of the day, but it is usually taken at around 4pm, just as the sting of the Saturday hangover is beginning to wear off.

CP makes it look easy: light, fluffy, nicely seasoned. My omelettes are pale yellow blobs of undercooked mush. No matter how many times I try it, they are disastrous. In the world of the omelette the Couch Potato is king.

22nd October, 2009 - 42 Home Improvements #9

2009-12-09T12:45:00.000-08:00

I have completed another of my 42 Home Improvements. Thus, I am now nine forty seconds of the way to creating a New Utopia here at Bayley Mansions.

Tonight, I put a bit of string on an old number plate and hung it on the bathroom wall. I appreciate that to many of you, this will not seem like much of an improvement. In fact, I have a feeling that when my wife next visits the little girl’s room she may share the same view. I may well be “for it”. And in this context, “it” is not a nice cup of tea, and a piece of battenburg cake.

But – see – it is a sentimental number plate, and it will make me smile during my quiet moments of contemplation. So, it is an improvement for me.

21st October, 2009 - Disappointments 2

2009-12-08T12:55:00.000-08:00

The second of my disappointments goes right back to school. Our team lost in the final of the Scottish Schools’ Volleyball tournament. It is my only really significant sporting achievement to reach that final. In all honesty, I was kind of lucky to make it into that team at all. We had a number of guys who were playing at county level and I think even in the Scotland squad. I was strictly school team material – easily the worst regular in the team; easily the least gifted athletically.

But I loved volleyball. For maybe 5 years of my life it was a ritual. Training two or three times a week. A game or a tournament every week. Trips in the school minibus to other schools. Me, seriously uncool, amongst the cool boys, the athletes. That is how I secretly felt. It was my foot in the other camp – my own camp being the world of wargames and the debating club and the school magazine committee.

I remember the feeling of defeat as I type this. Those of you who know me, know that I have a disastrously competitive streak. I detest losing. Not in the way that I think most people do. It feels like personal failure to me. Defeat feels like a failure to be able to bend the world to my will. I see that this is not a logical feeling, of course. I see that it is futile to expect light to bend around you, and to feel the forces of the universe flowing through your fingers. But it still makes me mad that I can’t.

As I get older, I think I am a bit better at hiding these feelings. But any time I lose, it still feels like the dressing room after that game in 1984.

20th October, 2009 - Disappointments 1

2009-12-08T12:52:00.000-08:00

Dungeons and dragons has been cancelled at short notice this evening, because two of our regular players are ill. This is tremendously disappointing news, since our regular game is the highlight of my fortnight. Obviously, it is good to see my children and observe their first words and steps, but it is all a very pale second pace to battling orcs and goblins in the Mystical Mines Beneath the Huruk’ba Mountains.

As I have a free evening, and as I still have numerous blog entries to catch up on, I thought I would reflect on other disappointments in my life, which rival the cancellation of the Dungeons and Dragons Game. I thought I might list a few of my past disappointments.

My first disappointment, or regret I suppose, is that I don’t have the musical talent to play in a proper band. When I was in my late teens/early twenties, I played in a wee rock band with my mates, but in spite of great endeavour, I think we all recognised that we were unlikely to secure a deal with EMI. For some reason, the major labels did not send droves of A&R men to see our gigs (which generally took place in the pub just down the road from my house). I think that the main reason was that we were not very good.

Also, we were not particulary good-looking. And we didn't write very good songs. Or wear fashionable clothes. And one of us had a tight curly perm reminiscent of Julie Walters in the early 80s. And I didn't always play in exactly the same key as the others.

Other than that, we were the Next Big Thing.

19th October, 2009 - My Trousers Are Wet

2009-12-07T11:27:00.000-08:00

All of my sensible trousers in the wash, and I have had to wear a big pair of baggy, trendy things that I bought a couple of years ago during one of my many mid-life crises. They are one of those pairs that have flairs that are designed to graze the ground. Clearly, they were dreamed up by someone in California, or some such place where when wet weather comes along, it is regarded as a novelty, and people run romantically through the streets in the light Summer drizzle, laughing before they run into a surf shack and towel each other's bronzed bodies down while singing Jack Johnston tunes.

Here in the West of Scotland however, it is not like that. Rain is not a novelty. Rain is part of the landscape. And I can testify that my trendy trousers are not sensible wear for a rainy November day in Glasgow. Rather than looking trendy, my trousers have actually absorbed mud by osmosis.Now they are more mud than trouser. I look as if I am wearing two soggy hollow tree trunks. They weigh about the same as that too.

From now on, I shall exclusively wear plus fours.

18th October, 2009 - Witches Abroad

2009-12-07T11:04:00.000-08:00

My daughter thinks that my mother was a witch. This is because we have a model witch which we hang at our back door. I am sentimentally attached to it, because my mum gave it to me not long before she died, and it is exactly the sort of whimsical object that delighted both her and me. If I had my way, the whole house would be filled with all manner of such objects and the garden would be full of gnomes. Regrettably, what I view as quaint and whimsical is viewed by my Significant Other as "another piece of old tat" which "you are not keeping in my house".

Back to the witch. The Roundfaced Girl, having been told that this is Grandma Meg’s witch, is now of the belief that Grandma Meg is actually a witch. As far as I know this is not true. However, I now look twice at the model witch. Sometimes I even talk to her. It I mean. Sometimes I even talk to it.

17th October, 2009 - Photogenic

2009-12-06T11:49:00.000-08:00

My son is annoyingly photogenic. He has just returned from the playgroup’s photo session, clutching a little bundle of proofs that make him look like the cover boy of “Mother and Perfectly Cherubic Two Year Old Magazine”. He is beaming up from the page, looking the picture of health and happiness. And yet, whenever I have control over him, his face is generally covered in jam, and he has a piece of bacon sticking to his hair.

Me on the other hand? I do not take a good photo. I am six feet tall, wear the same clothes from the same chain stores as everyone else, and I rarely have bacon in my hair, and yet, when I am captured on celluloid, I look like the less-good-looking of the two Modo brothers (Quasi, I think, would have been embarrassed to take me to bell ringing classes).

I am in a bad mood.

16th October, 2009 - Embrace Change (But Don't Slip the Tongue)

2009-12-06T11:47:00.000-08:00

We have been going through a small period of minor upheaval at work after a period of reasonable stability. We have had one member of staff leave, and several other of the ladies in the office are due to take maternity leave. If they all the babies have webbed feet like the man from the stationary company, then questons will be asked, although I expect that we may be able to demand a discount on Post Its.

All of thiss has all led us into a period of trying to re-shuffle things to manage all the changes and absences.I don’t think that anyone particularly likes change at work (unless the change is a big promotion, less responsibility, and your own executive retreat in the Cayman Islands). But I take the view that it is inevitable, and if you don’t roll your sleeves up and try to get through the choppy waters, then the storm is likely to claim you.

Stability in the workplace is much undervalued. I suspect that Man Utd would not have been as successful if they had chopped and changed their manager. Now, my firm is clearly not Man Utd (we don't have a big enough squad for a start, and to be honest, we are lacking pace on the left wing), but, if we can get through this next spell, we have a shot at having a fair run in the League Cup.

15th October, 2009 - The Wizard of Boz

2009-12-06T01:00:00.000-08:00

I recently went to a Halloween party as the Lion from the Wizard of Oz. I was supposed to be going as the Tin Man, but the outfit acquired for me by my Significant Other left something to be desired. The roblem was that I think that it had been made for the 7-11 age group. The sheer trousers, I have to say, rode up to an almost pornographic extent, leaving little to the imagination (and I use the word “little” advisedly in this context).

Unfortunately the sight of me in my crotch hugging silver lame was not really the look that was likely to win me a lot of friends at a Halloween party where a number of chikdren were to be in attendance. So, I was hurriedly re-cast as the Lion.

14th October, 2009 - Nature vs Nurture

2009-12-06T00:56:00.000-08:00

I was talking to my mate the advocate about the “nature versus nurture” debate the other night. We both have young kids, and our conversation frequently gets around to parenting, remedies for sleep-deprivation and the price of baby wipes. If you run into us in the pub, we are best avoided.

However, it is all interesting stuff for us. I think we both regard our kids as an interesting experiment, a bit like growing bulbs was back in primary school. The Advocate frightened me a bit though by saying that he’s been reading stuff that suggests that upbringing is far more important that genetics in determining the future happiness and success of your kids.

This is hugely worrying for me. Until now I have been staunchly on the side of genetic determination (ie your kids are likely to reach their potential in spite of environmental factors). The news from the Advocate means I will now need to consider reading to them, and praising their efforts with the stickle bricks.

13th October, 2009 - Pizza Face

2009-12-04T13:27:00.000-08:00

I have a zit on the back of my neck.

I am 42 years old. I should no longer be burdened with acne. Particularly, I should not be burdened with the hugely irritating kind of plook that you know is going to be a “biggy”, but is not quite ripe enough to burst. So you have to squirm for a couple of days with your shirt collar chafing it, and aggravating it into a one tenth scale model of Mount Vesuvias, before it erupts in an oozing column of pus at some important meeting, where everyone else are real, proper grown ups, whereas I will be revealed to be a hormone-addled teenager who somehow saved up enough money for a suit from Ralf Slaters.

I should have left all this behind me when I left my teenage years. I served my time. I was a spotty adolescent. In fact, I was probably the spottiest adolescent in my year at school, earning the hilarious nickname “pizza face” for a period of at least 18 months. At a time when I should have been turning young girls’ heads, my only serious relationship was with the pharmacist on the minor ailments counter at Boots, who clearly saw my repeat-prescription of Clearasil as a meal ticket for life.

Righto. I am off to give this thing a squeeze.

12th October, 2009 - Granny!

2009-12-04T13:26:00.000-08:00

I am very lucky to have my in-laws. My Significant Other and I live near to her parents, and they provide all of the child-care we could ever want. I am eternally grateful to them - it’s the best arrangement for our kids that we could possibly want.

I am particularly fond of my father-in-law’s sense of humour which is now creeping into my children’s psyche. For example, recently when reading a book about a gorilla who goes to bed with a zookeeper (Children’s books are weird!), both of the round-faced people started giggling uncontrollably as they pointed to the gorilla and said through hysterical laughter: “Granny!!! Granny!!!”

11th October, 2009 - I Was Nearly Posh

2009-12-03T15:16:00.000-08:00

I nearly went to private school. The reason for this was that I was struggling a bit academically just towards the end of primary and beginning of secondary. I had missed a ton of classes on account of my tonsils. My tonsils had been bullying me, and I was afraid to go to school, because they were waiting for me outside Mr Todd’s house, ready to steal my packed lunch.

No. Wait. That’s not right. I had tonsillitis a lot. That was it.

Anyhow, my folks admitted to me some years later that my name was down to sit an exam to see if I’d get a bursary, but I couldn’t make it along because of – you guessed it – the tonsils. I sometimes wonder how life would have turned out if I’d gone down that path. Everything would have been different. I’d have had completely different friends. I wouldn’t have got into dram (at least by the route that I did which was through a former pupils club from my school). My girlfriends would have been different.

Our lives are peculiar sequences of chance. There are billions upon billions of possible “me’s” out there in the set of all possible universes. What an odd thought.

10th October, 2009 - We Don't Pander To Kids Here

2009-12-03T15:15:00.000-08:00

It is a mistake to take the kids to anywhere that resembles an adult cafe. If you take the kids to places that are for kids, like soft play areas and the like, the laws of supply and demand have brought the prices down to a sensible level. The owners realise that a hot chocolate for kids only needs to be small, and at any event, as a parent, you grudge paying more than a quid for anything that is going to be largely dribbled down your child’s t shirt, rather than being consumed.

Adult-orientated facilities do not appreciate this. When you go to such a coffee shop, as I did today, and ask for two kids’ hot chocolates, they just stare at you blankly. Then you relent and ask for two regular hot chocolates, which inevitably arrive – enormous, steaming, and served at the temperature of the surface of the sun.

And they cost £2.50 each. Do I look like I wanted to take out a second mortgage to pay for a light mid-morning treat for my weans? It is the soft play area from now on.

9th October, 2009 - Haw Sexy!

2009-12-02T04:39:00.000-08:00

I will tell you today of one of my most embarrassing experiences. I was walking from my office to the town, when I saw my sister in front of me. She was maybe fifty yards in front, and striding purposefully towards the town centre. So, I thought I would give her a little surprise. So, I sneaked up behind her, until I was only a few paces behind, and then, in my best impression of a building contractor bellowed “HAW SEXY!!!” at her.

She turned, somewhat startled.

But not as startled as I was.

Because it wasn’t actually my sister. Just a lady that looked remarkably like her.

I tried an apology: “Oh – I thought you were my sister...”

She gave me a look that managed to express fear, disgust and puzzlement simultaneously.

“Oh – not that I think my sister’s sexy. Well – I suppose she is, but I don;t think so, seeing as I’m her brother. It’d just be weird if I found her sexually attractive.”

I then crossed the road, put my head down and strode off down the road at some pace.

8th October, 2009 - Decorate My Lapels You Rotters

2009-12-02T04:37:00.000-08:00

I have not won any medals since I was 17. This seems to me to be hugely disappointing. Before I was 19 I won medals all the time. I have medals from the cub scout swimming gala. I have a medal from the gymnastic club for being able to do a forward roll unassisted. I have a medal from the school, for being good at remembering stuff about Thomas Hardy.

But, since the onset of adulthood, my haul has dwindled. Now, the only prizes I seem to pick up are from the Reader’s Digest. This is all a bit disappointing. I think I’m much better at some stuff now than I ever was at gymnastics. For example, I can draft a mean deduction of title clause in a Contract of Excambion. I suspect that I am one of the best lawyers in my street at that. But do they give out medals for it the way they used to for gymnastics? No – they don’t. And the world is the worse for it.

I want to be able to go to work with my lapels dripping with decorations.

7th October, 2009 - Ooo Arr Ooo Arr Ay

2009-12-01T11:37:00.001-08:00

My mention of the children’s song “Old MacDonald” in yesterday’s entry reminds me that the Union of Farm Workers and Agricultural Contractors is the E.I.E.I.O..

6th October, 2009 - Culture!

2009-12-01T11:36:00.001-08:00

I took the children to the Hunterian Art Gallery today. The visit was not a riproaring success. I suspect that they found the exhibition “The Collectors’ Room – An Exclusive Viewing of Drawings From Private Collectors” a little bit beyond them. They did enjoy sitting on the big bench in the middle of the room though. And also singing “Old MacDonald” in a very very loud voice to a number of art lovers. The art lovers smiled at me through clenched teeth, but I know they were thinking “Take your children hence, for this is my sanctuary, and you have spoiled it.”

We left and had muffins and hot chocolate. That was more successful.

5th October, 2009 - 42 Home Improvements #9

2009-11-30T15:48:00.000-08:00

I have completed the ninth of my 42 Home Improvements. All of you regular readers will know that, in an effort to make the process of blogging constructive, and not just another device for procrastination, I am turning the blog into a powerful tool for self-improvement. I am using it rto report on 42 small improvements to my life. Thus, if I fail, I will be forever the object of your derision.

This improvement was to buy some new phones. Our old phones have been mistreated somewhat by the Small Bald People. The little plastic buttons, the buzzing noise and the dulcet tones of the lady who does the speaking clock in New South Wales seem to be an unbearable temptation to them.

Modern phones do not seem to me to have a particularly high build quality. When I was young, phones were made out of Bakelite which had the strength of tempered steel. When I was a kid youn could easily crack open a sibling’s skull with a phone. Nowadays, a single blow to the temple will leave the handset in ruins, and your sister happily smiling.

So, we have new phones for now. But they will not last.

4th October, 2009 - Klutz!

2009-11-30T15:46:00.000-08:00

In a spate of my trademark clumsiness, I have just spilled a whole glass of red wine all over the kitchen. This is the sort of thing that hugely annoys me when the children do it, and yet, when it comes to The Klutz Factor, there is no doubt that Simon, Louis, Danii and that stick insect one would give me four yeses without hesitation. I would be sent off to Clumsy Bootcamp, where, no doubt, I would set off the fire alarm by accident.

I didn’t just spill it on our tile floor either. That would be far too easily cleaned. No. I managed to send the glass four yards through the air at precisely the correct angle to splatter our newly painted kitchen wall.

What a fanny I am.

3rd October, 2009 - The Moment!

2009-11-29T11:23:00.001-08:00

We spend so much time worrying about the future and the past. I spend my whole life it seems, planning for the future or thinking about things that went on in the past.

Today, for example, I spent three hours in work because I’m concerned I might not be in the office this week. I spent a lot of time thinking wistfully about my band (which split up about 20 years ago). I sent out e-mails about shows that might or might not happen in 6 months time. I thought about the day I proposed to my Significant Other. And so on and so forth.

My mind seems to restlessly move between yesterday and tomorrow, resting so rarely on “now”. I clearly have too much time on my hands. I need a hobby.

2nd October, 2009 - The Non Hitcher

2009-11-29T11:21:00.001-08:00

I kind of regret that I have never had the guts to go hitchhiking. It seems to me to be just about the epitome of adventure and freedom. The absolute thrill of travel without the need for your own vehicle, or even for a ticket for the bus.

Of course, the trade off – as Hollywood reminds us – is that you stand a significant chance of being picked up by someone in faded dungarees with a banjo in the passenger seat, who will offer you a nice warm bed in his shack deep in the forest, where we are unlikely to be disturbed. For this reason I have avoided sticking my thumb out thus far.

1st October, 2009 - Ghost

2009-11-28T13:03:00.001-08:00

GHOST: Apparently, I am dead. Which is odd, because I don’t believe in ghosts. Didn’t believe in them I mean. I can hardly deny the evidence of my own experience can I? I haunt therefore I am I suppose. What I can’t work out – is why I’m here. I mean aren’t ghosts to have some purpose? Patrick Swayzee had to make that clay pot didn’t he? Before he got to leave? The thing is, I donn’t really think I have any unfinished business. I mean, there was a nice piece of Red Leicester in the fridge and a can of Foster’s... It’d have been nice to finish them off. But it doesn’t seem reason enough to haunt the new inhabitants of the flat.

30th September, 2009 - A Right Good Drink

2009-11-28T13:02:00.000-08:00

I still enjoy a good drink. Here I use the term “good drink” in its traditional West of Scotland sense, of getting intoxicated, as opposed to the Scottish Government’s definition which seems to be to have a light shandy once a year provided you do it strapped to a bed in a room where there are no sharp objects.

I am aware that, in enjoying (occasionally these days) the feeling of getting a bit tipsy, I am probably a victim of my environment, after all, we in Scotland undoubtedly have an appalling record in relation to our drinking habits. There is no doubt that, from a public health perspective, that we need to get the figures down. But from my own selfish perspective, there is something hugely convivial about a few too many pints with a good pal.

Pubs are nice places. People chat. People are generally in a good mood. There is laughter and life and friendship. It’s be rude not to have one more pint before I catch the bus.

29th September, 2009 - Wee Willie Winky

2009-11-28T00:48:00.001-08:00

Wee Willie Winky

Runs through the toon

Upstairs and downstairs

In his night goon

Rappin at the windows

Cryin through the locks

Pursued by Strathclyde constabulary

Who want him in the dock.

28th September, 2009 - Ba Ba Black Sheep

2009-11-28T00:47:00.000-08:00

Ba ba black sheep

Have you any wool?

We only have synthetics now

You crazy luddite fool.

27th September, 2009

2009-11-26T14:51:00.000-08:00

The best set we ever had I think was for “Shirley Valentine”, the brilliant play by Willy Russell. In the first act, we had a working kitchen, which was used during the course of the show to actually cook some egg and chips.

The only problem with this was that the set was so realistic, and the smell of the egg and chips so inviting that it actually upstaged the action of the play.

“Are they actually cooking the chips.”

“Oooh yes. I can smell them.”

“So can I.”

“Look – there’s steam coming of the chip pan.”

“Oooh. I feel a bit hungry.”

“I could fair go some egg and chips.”

It never happens in Hamlet.

26th September, 2009 - 10 Theatrical anecdotes #9

2009-11-26T14:49:00.000-08:00

The most peculiar things that I can remember happening in one of our shows was when one of our actors totally dried. She forgot her lines completely. It was in our production of Liz Lochhead’s “Perfect Days” which is set in a posh flat in Glasgow.

I saw that she had lost it. She was on-stage with one other actor who was fairly inexperienced, and I could see the panic flitting over his eyes. When this sort of thing happens most actors will go into a kind of self-preservation mode where they ramble away about anything until they stumble onto what they were supposed to be saying. It is a fairly tried and tested technique and it usually works without the audience noticing that anything is awry.

What most actors do not normally do, is to say “I’m away to make a cup of tea” and then walk through the bedroom door leaving their inexperienced co-star alone on the stage.

A hairy moment.

25th September, 2009 - Beer - The Robber of Foresight

2009-11-24T11:41:00.000-08:00

I am waiting for my mate The Advocate to phone me. He is playing chess just down the road from me, and when he finishes, we are going to eat curry and drink beer. It will be nice. I will eat too much. I will drink more than the amount that the Scottish Government recommend in their hectoring adverts. Afterwards I will feel full and a bit drunk. In the morning I will not feel very well. Which will be a bit bad. But it will be worth it. And anyway, I am not thinking about that now. I am thinking about the beer.

24th September, 2009 - Watch This Space!

2009-11-24T11:40:00.000-08:00

I have just finished reading “The 39 Steps” and a right rollicking boys own read it is too (if a little too crammed full of the “I’m-trapped- in-this-cellar-however-will-I escape-oh-look-there’s-some-high-explosive- and-a-lighter type). It has left me with a thirst for adventure. I am planning a new project. Watch this space. As soon as I have caught up on these blog entries, I will need your help folks.

23rd September, 2009 - 10 Theatrical Anecdotes #8

2009-11-23T14:17:00.000-08:00

Once we did a show called “Sparky’s Wizards School”. Some might say that it was a blatant attempt to cash in on the Harry Potter Zeitgeist. Some might say that it was a cheap piece of commercialism. Some might say that it was an attempt to fleece the parents of impressionable young children.

Well, they can say it all they like. It packed them in, and the kids left the theatre happy after an hour of knockabout fun.

Well. Most of them did.

The show resulted in the only time that we have ever been asked for a refund. And it all arose out of a misunderstanding. You see, to publicise the show, we sent various members of the cast and crew out onto the streets of Edinburgh in costume. On this particular day, our steadfast set-builder, a bespectacled man in his middle years, took to the High Street in an outsized chicken outfit. One of the few families with young children who didn’t run screaming from him looked at the flyer and asked him, “Is this a magic show then?”

Our trusty man from Lanarkshire replied: “Aye – it’s totally magic.”

(For foreign readers and those who live more than ten miles from Tannochside, I should explain that in the Lanarkshire vernacular, “magic” is a term used to denote excellence. It does not necessarily imply the presence of David Copperfield).

At any event the family bought a ticket, but left after about twenty minutes and then volubly demanded their money back on the basis that they had been sold a pup. “Where were the tricks?” they demanded of the front of house team.

We refused them, and happily the story ended up in the diary section of The Herald. Where it gave us more publicity and sold us more tickets.

22nd September, 2009 - A Man Called Horse

2009-11-23T14:14:00.000-08:00

I did not have the most relaxing start to the day. For once I woke up before the kids. There were a few minutes of peaceful bliss. A few minutes, where it was like the old days. The days when, after you awoke, you had the luxury of a decision. A decision about whether to slip back off to sleep, or maybe read for an hour, or maybe slip out of bed, make a coffee and return to the cool sheets before getting up to face the day.

But that is not a decision that I have available to me any more. By 7.30 am, both children were in the bedroom. One of them had turned on the radio, de-tuned it, and turned the volume right up, so that we had an accompaniment of deafening white noise. One child was complaining bitterly about having lost her “blue and white princess dress” (she does not have a blue and white princess dress, but she dreams about it from time to time, and then complains bitterly when it cannot be found). The other child was sitting astride me, pretending to be a small, but remarkably heavy jocky.

I chose to get up.

21st September, 2009 - 10 Theatrical Anecdotes #7

2009-11-22T12:41:00.000-08:00

One of the oddest experiences I ever had in a theatre, was when one of the actors in one of our kids shows came down with laryngitis. This is the sort of thing that you dread when you put on shows. We’ve had a couple of occasions in the past ten years of running shows when actors have fallen ill or injured themselves. Don’t get me wrong, I don’t really care about the actors (or as my mate The Crew calls them “Talking Props”), but the thought of having to return box office takings turns me white with fear.

On this occasion, rather than cancel the show, my Significant Other had to step into the role. This involved her dressing up in a bright blue clown wig, and yellow dungarees decorated with tropical fruit. It spoiled our physical relationship for some months.

20th September, 2009 - 10 Theatrical Anecdotes #6

2009-11-22T12:16:00.000-08:00

I think my most tense moment as a director came during a run in Edinburgh of my own show “Sex Lies and an Eighties Tribute Band”. I came in to see the cast just before the house opened one night. I am not generally one for pep talks, but I think it’s good to show face. However, on this occasion I came in to discover an enormous argument going on between two of the principals.

Not an ordinary argument. A proper toe to toe, nose to nose argument. The type of argument that often presages traded punches and police intervention. Swear words and serious threats were being traded.

The other actors in the play were looking on a bit fretfully. I suspect the thought of having to take to the stage with two players set on homicide was not an entirely enticing prospect. One of them tried to intervene. It was my mate, The Advisor, who tried to take on the role of peacemaker. Unfortunately, he was at the time wearing a skin tight red leotard, which (for reasons that escape me now) was essential to a cheap laugh in the opening scene.

There is a reason that the UN peacekeeping force in Palestine does not wear red lycra cat suits. It does not create the proper degree of dignity.

19th September, 2009 - 10 Theatrical Anecdotes #5

2009-11-22T12:14:00.001-08:00

Q: What do you not want to find under the stage?

A: A three day old bottle of piss from a weak bladdered actor.

You know who you are.

18th September, 2009 - 10 Theatrical Anecdotes #4

2009-11-22T12:12:00.001-08:00

Our least professional moment probably came during our run of “Flash McNash and the Hamsters From Mars.” This was a children’s show, which involved a small Scottish child travelling to Mars and defeating some evil hamsters. The script may have been influences by non-prescription drugs.

Our moment of shame came when, with about two minutes before curtain up, one of the actors noticed that none of the stage crew were there. A quick phone call revealed that this was because they were still in the flat about a mile away. Most of the were in their beds, and our senior technician was “having a nice hot shower”.

Even some nice ad libs about the crew being “unavoidably held up in the asteroid belt” and quite a large distribution of free sweeties could not keep the restive three year olds completely at bay.

17th September, 2009 - 10 Theatrical Anecdotes #3

2009-11-22T12:11:00.001-08:00

Here is my third theatrical anecdote, in a series of ten, which is a thinly disguised effort to get this blog dragged into the month of October at least.

Here is a thing not to do in a listed building shortly before a production of the Scottish Play. Do not – I repeat – do not allow the Second Witch and Fleance to put all of the remaining smoke pellets for the “Caldron Bubble” bit, into said cauldron and then set fire to them in an unventilated corridor with a smoke alarm.

If you do, then you may expect the theatre, the adjoining bar, and the restaurant upstairs to be evacuated whilst some rather irritated firemen lecture you about health and safety.

16th September, 2009 - 10 Theatrical Anecdotes #2

2009-11-22T12:08:00.001-08:00

Here’s my second theatrical anecdote. The best ad lib I heard on stage at one of our shows was to a very drunk audience member: “This is the sad bit now love. You’d better settle down.” I do believe there was a faint ripple of applause from the other audience members.

15th September, 2009 - 10 Theatrical Anecdotes #1

2009-11-22T12:07:00.000-08:00

We are approaching the 10 year anniversary of our little theatre company, and I thought I might take this opportunity to write about 1o anecdotes from various shows that we’ve performed. The astute amongst you, may pick up on the fact that this is an incredibly easy way to get 10 blog entries, in the great catch up drive. Well. You are cynical beyond measure.

Before we did the Scottish Play, I dismissed the stories about the play being cursed as so much old codswallop – a kind of fun dressing room tradition. However, as I was getting ready to stage the show, I began to get an uneasy feeling. Part of this can undoubtedly be put down to the very dark mood of the play – dark plays are often not enormous fun to rehearse – they get under your skin. But it was more than that. As I travelled round the suppliers, the sense of unease increased. Everyone I came across – costumiers; lighting technicians; stage managers – they all seemed to have a story about something going wrong in a previous production.

Our production was staged in modern battledress, and we’d hired some replica guns from a local armourer. The guy who ran it was formerly in the SAS – he was fit as a flea, and his face was scarred and weary. He had the look of a man who had seen it all. And when I told him about what play the guns were for, he said this: “There’s something bad about that play man. I don’t know what it is, but there’s something bad about it.” Then, as he handed me the guns, he said “Be careful with these.”

14th September, 2009 - Act Local, Drink Local

2009-11-22T00:35:00.001-08:00

It was good to be out with friends the other day after the football. I was saying to them, that the only thing I really miss about moving away from my old home town of Hamilton, is the fact that I don’t really have a local pub any more. The time was when I could walk into The Montrose almost any night of the week, and pretty much guarantee that I would find a few pals there. Now that I am away from the old town, that is no longer there.

Of course, this is a bit of an illusion. The reality is that, even if I lived in Hamilton now, I wouldn’t have that, because all my mates have moved away. Generally they have got married and they have found homes that are handier for work, or have better amenities, or are more affordable and so on and so forth. But only a couple of my closest pals still stay in the old town now.

What I am missing really is a time in my life, rather than a place I think. And I wouldn’t go back. Except once every couple of months with my mates, after the football.

13th September, 2009 - I Am Become Fat, An Eater Of Dips

2009-11-22T00:33:00.000-08:00

I have eaten a bit too much humous tonight. I have not checked the packaging closely, but I suspect that the label “Reduced Fat” does not permit you to eat two whole tubs of the stuff along with a whole packet of water biscuits, a bunch of grapes, and three caramel Quality Streets.

I caught my Significant Other looking at me with a look of thinly disguised disgust; a look that said “I did not want to spend the rest of my life with a man who appears to have a goatee made from reduced fat humous”. I fear that she will leave me because of my weak will and bulging waistline. And then I will really go to seed, because there will be no-one there to make me feel guilty about stuff. That is what women are for – to make you feel guilty about eating too much humous.

I have to go now. I feel a bit sick.

12th September, 2009 - I Know How To Please A Lady

2009-11-20T11:30:00.000-08:00

I have yet to try Viagra, in spite of the repeated e-mails in my in box, tempting me to a land where I can “Please My Lady” and “Make Her Scream Again.” So far, I have resisted these bold claims reasoning that I already know how to Please My Lady – a bag of chips and a hot water bottle do the trick nicely thank you. I can also Make Her Scream, simply by leaving the butter out overnight.

11th September, 2009 - Do You Wanna Be in my Gang? Eh... not really

2009-11-20T11:29:00.000-08:00

Did you catch that mockumentary about the execution of Gary Glitter? Fairly compelling I thought in spite of my initial protestations about it being a ridiculous concept.

I am against the death penalty. I think you’ll probably find that most lawyers are. I’ve done a few criminal trials earlier in my career. It was all very low level stuff, but the thing that struck me was the level of doubt in my own mind about people’s guilt. At ay trial there seems to be some level of confusion about what the truth is. People remember different things. They have different emphases. And good though the jury system is, it seems to me that it would be a very odd human institution if there were no mistakes made ever.

The reality is that people are wrongly convicted from time to time. That is just the truth. It shouldn’t happen, but it does. And it appears to me that, if you admit that fundamental fact, itis wrong to impose a sentence that cannot be undone.

But you may say – what about the really certain cases – the cast iron “caught on CCTV and witnessed by a crowd of a hundred people cases?” Well, I say, it is still wrong. Because it is impossible to properly see into someone’s mind. I suspect that many homicides are carried out by perfectly rational, sane, and pre-meditated individuals. But, I suspect that just a few that look that way at first glance were not. And if there is a sliver of a chance that you kill someone who was mentally ill rather than just plain bad, then we should not take the risk.

10th September, 2009 - A Small Sherry Johston!

2009-11-19T14:56:00.000-08:00

Sadly, I am not a member of a gentleman’s club. The idea is becoming more appealing these days. I think that I have reached the stage in life when I would get immense pleasure from membership.

It would be good, on the way home from work, to take a stroll to a rather grand building somewhere near to the office. There, I’d be greeted by the doorman – Charles we’ll call him – and he would smile at me; “How are you this evening sir?” He might even doff his cap. Yes. Let’s say he doffs his cap.

And once inside I’d order a little supper – a roast beef sandwhich sir? That’s perfect Johnston. (Johnston is the chef. I’ve decided.) And then I’d take my usual seat, under the reading lamp and I’d bring out the Time or The FT and I’d sip a glass of port. And the only noise would be the gentle hum of conversation, and perhaps the odd chink of glasses.

And Eastenders and Corrie and River City would be nowhere to be heard. In fact, no-one in here would know what a Soap Opera was.

9th September, 2009 - How Did They Do It?

2009-11-19T14:55:00.000-08:00

I have just realised that I don’t know how my parents got engaged. You would have thought that after 42 and a bit years on the planet that I would know that. I will need to ask my old man next time I see him. Of course, if it involves any stories about sex then I don’t want to know about it. I hope that involves a picnic or something wholesome. Maybe a day at the Sunday School outing in Troon, over a double wafer? That would do.

8th September, 2009 - Procrastination. Wo oh procrastination's what you need.

2009-11-18T12:24:00.000-08:00

I am desperate to catch up with this bloody blog! The Fringe put paid to regular blogging this year for a good couple of months, because of the ridiculously intensive rehearsal/writing schedule. The problem now is that the blog has become an excuse for putting off other stuff. (I’ll get round to that once the blog is caught up). So – instead of the blog being a power for good – it has become a powerful procrastination engine. Even my series of 42 Home Improvements is not enough to salvage the endless waste of time in front of the screen.

I am resolved to be more active. I am resolved to live up to my potential. Once, of course, I’ve caught up on the blog.

7th September, 2009 - Ideas About Directing #14

2009-11-18T12:22:00.000-08:00

Idea 14 – Make Sure that Decisions Are Made

It appears to me that it is usually obvious when an actor is hedging their bets. By this, I mean that it is quite easy to deliver lines in a dramatic way, in just the right accent, but to have failed to make a decision about what it means. For example, in MacBeth’s “Tomorrow and Tomorrow and tomorrow” speech, is he saying the lines as a kind of eulogy for the Mrs, or is it a tired and jaded speech where he is railing against the pointlessness of life. There are probably shades of both in the lines, and both readings are possible, but the point I think is important is, that every time there is a dilemma like this in the play, you have to make sure that decisions are made. If they are not, then I think the words often come out unconvincingly.

So – don’t leave things hazy. Make sure things are concrete in the actors’ minds. Things will feel more solid as a result.

6th September, 2009 - Ideas About Directing #13

2009-11-17T13:19:00.000-08:00

Idea 13 – Do Not Neglect Business

Bums on seats luvvie. Bums on seats.

It is no good at all to stage the best play in the world if you don’t have anyone to watch it. If an actor falls in a forest and there is no-one there to hear her, does she actually make any noise? The answer to this is yes obviously since all actors make an inordinate amount of noise all the time (usually about biscuits and dressing room facilities in my experience). But, the thing is nobody will care.

It is your job – like it or not – to get the tickets sold. To get the play talked about. To speak to the press. To e-mail your buddies. To be the guy that everybody hates getting an e-mail from.

And you are not alone, for this job is everyone in the company’s job too. If the circus comes to town and the Big Top is half empty then some ageing acrobat is going to be leaving the show before you hit the road. And it’s such a good show too – and the acrobats are daring and wonderful. Really. You should get a ticket. Wait a minute, I’ve got a leaflet here somewhere.

5th Septemebr, 2009 - Ideas About Directing #12

2009-11-17T13:18:00.000-08:00

Idea 12 – Variety is the Spice of Life

The audience is doing something unnatural. It is expected to sit in the dark for over an hour, in circumstances where all the normal stimuli of conversation and interaction are removed. It is often warm, and it is usually in the early evening.

They will fall asleep unless you keep them engaged.

And there are tricks to keeping engagement. And one of the tricks is to change things. Even subtle changes in lighting seem to jolt the audience awake, or a change in pace. But keep looking for movement in the play and the lights and the volume. It is these dynamics that create interest, and keep the audience awake.

4th September, 2009 - Ideas About Directing #11

2009-11-16T13:27:00.000-08:00

Idea 11 – Create Moments of Magic

It seems to me that theatre can do one thing better than other media, and that is to create little moments of magic. If you get it right in the theatre, you have the opportunity to make people’s hair stand on end, or to make them jump in horror, or to make them see things in a new way. But you need to work hard to create these moments, and for my money, a play ain’t a good play unless you try to find these moments.

If you don’t do this, then you might as well be making a film or (worse) taping a radio production. All the sparkling dialogue and clever relationships are fine and dandy, but there should be a trick or two in the magic trunk to create something wonderful.

You won’t always manage it of course, but you should try.

3rd September, 2009 - 42 Home Improvements #8

2009-11-16T13:26:00.000-08:00

I know that you have all been on tenterhooks awaiting the eighth Home Improvement in my quest to reach 42 (ine for every year of my life). Well – you shall not be disappointed, for tonight I hung a picture in the bathroom.

This was a bit of a lazy Home Improvement, given that the picture hook was already in situ (the previous picture having fallen off and smashed). So, in a way, you could argue that this Home Improvement really only involved in me fetching a picture from the next room and hanging it on a hook. That would certainly be one way of looking at it.

But the picture looks nice. And the home has been improved. So it counts. Especially cos I am making the rules of the quest.

2nd September, 2009 - 42 Home Improvements #7

2009-11-16T04:12:00.000-08:00

Those of you in the know, have been eagerly following this series of entries, as I try to improve my household in 42 ways (one for every year of my life). Number 7 was completed this evening when I re-hung a mirror. This is not the same mirror that I hung earlier in this series. It was a different mirror.

It had fallen off the wall, and fortunately had not broken (therefore if I now experience 7 years bad luck it is entirely down to God, and not the supernatural forces of the mirror demons). I am strangely superstitious about matters such as this, which is odd, given my pretty rigidly rationalist views of the universe. But something about mirrors breaking, and the number 13, and saying the name of The Scottish Play in theatres fills me with an irritating dread. For me these things are doubly irritating, because I know the fear to be completely stupid. And yet... and yet...

1st September, 2009 - Ideas about Directing #10

2009-11-16T04:11:00.000-08:00

Idea 10 – Pace is (Almost) Everything

If there is one Big Thing to look out for, then it is the pace of the dialogue. There is a huge temptation for the actors and the director to over-analyse everything to the point where delivery of dialogue because you’ve reached a point where you feel that every line, and every pause is invested in some kind of important meaning. If you’ve spent time finding these meanings buried in the dialogue, then you want to make sure that the audience recognises your cleverness, and as a result the play slows and stutters.

It is..

..it’s far more...

..well – important...

.. to keep things moving at times...

Yeah... to keep things moving...

... because... well.. that’s what keeps the audience...umm...

Interested?

Yeah. Interested!

31st August, 2009 - Ideas About Directing #9

2009-11-15T07:50:00.000-08:00

Idea 9 – Look At Things From Different Angles

For years I directed while sitting at a table positioned right in the middle of where the front row of the audience would be. This was wrong, because his is where only one member of the audience sits. And you have to remember that (if the show sells well) people will be sitting in much more extreme positions in the auditorium, where masking problems and sight lines are much more awkward.

So, that is why I pace around in rehearsals. I look at how the thing looks from different points of view. It reminds you that variety of positioning on the stage is important, because if one actor is behind another, a small shift in where she stands, will bring her into the view of different people.

This rule is really important in unconventional spaces where the audience are sitting in odd places, like side on to the stage.

30th August, 2009 - Ideas About Directing #8

2009-11-15T07:49:00.000-08:00

Idea 8 – The Pub Is Important

There is no doubt in my mind is that the best shows are almost always ones where the cast develop some sort of team spirit. The sum total is greater than the integers that you are adding up.

There is no sure fire way of creating this rather elusive thing, but you can provide conditions where it is more likely to happen. I use the word pub here as a metaphor for all the stuff that isn’t really about rehearing per se – like a cup of coffee before you start; like a habit of bringing biscuits to rehearsals; like talking things over in the kitchen. This stuff isn’t rehearsals, but it is about teamwork, and if you don’t work out how to do that for each and every team that you work with, then you are in the wrong job. (And the word “job” here is also a metaphor – this time for “unpaid hobby that you do in smelly old church halls while normal people are watching the football.”)

29th August, 2009 - Ideas About Directing #7

2009-11-14T07:06:00.001-08:00

Rule 7 – Measure the Stage

There is no excuse for rehearsing in a space that is different from the space of the theatre you are about to work in. If you get this wrong, then you will wind up having to make emergency corrections to the blocking at the dress rehearsal, and you will have to make compromises that you don’t think through properly. This is avoidable, by careful use of a tape measure and a piece of chalk. Buy these and put them in the posey man bag that, as a director, you will have undoubtedly purchased along with your trendy hat, and a jacket that is marginally too young for you.

28th August, 2009

2009-11-14T07:05:00.000-08:00

Idea 6 – Runs Are Good

Running big sections of the play is A Good Thing. There is something about letting sections of the action unfold that is infinitely useful. It gives you a feel for the pace and shape of the play. It lets you see how sections link and work together. If you get too involved in stopping and starting the play, you can easily lose sight of the bigger picture, which is the creation of a story, with its own rhythm.

The idea here is to remember that big things are just as important as little things when obeying Rule 3 (Don’t Let Anything Go), and to look at the big things you need to observe big chunks of action. So – for example – your heroine may be doing a beautiful job of the comedy in scene 1 and the pathos in scene 2 when you look at these in isolation, but you may not have got the segue right to carry one into the other. And if that jars, then things are no good.

27th August, 2009 - Ideas About Directing #5

2009-11-13T13:35:00.000-08:00

Idea 5 – Pay As Much Attention to the Second Half of the Play as You do to the First

This is something I consistently got wrong for ages. Because of Rule 3 (correct everything you don’t like), I had a tendency to break down the opening scenes of a play to a huge extent, and then realise with about two weeks of rehearsals that I was going to have to skim through the remainder. Invariably, the end of the show suffered.

This was a big mistake. After all, the end of the play is the most important. It is what the audience goes out of the auditoriul talking about. You either leave them feeling as if they’ve had a good night or you don’t. So the end deserves your full attention.

I suppose that if you’re disciplined you could follow a rigid timetable, but that doesn’t really work for me. You invariably find that there are areas of the play that need much more time than you thought (usually anything involving sword fights or kissing in my experience) and therefore, you can’t be too rigid in the timetable. What I tend to do is to alternate rehearsals between Act 1 and Act 2 where I can. This is probably a bit annoying for the actors, who generally feel happier building chronologically through the play, but on the other hand it does give you a feeling of progress and comfort that all bases are being covered.

However you do it, look closely at the end of the play.

26th August, 2009 - Ideas About Directing #4

2009-11-13T13:33:00.000-08:00

Idea 4 – There is a Time to Let Go

Be aware that, as the time approaches for the show to go up, there is a tim to stop picking fault. There is a trade off here. Some stuff that is not in your view quite right, may slip through, but the pay off for this is that the show needs to run. There are lots of reasons for this, but the main one is that the actors need to feel the shape of the show, and to develop confidence that they can get through the whole thing without stopping. If you don’t do this, then potential disaster awaits.

Of course, this rule doesn’t stop you taking some notes and then finessing some stuff that needs attention, but don’t get too picky as the opening night approaches, or confidence will be wrecked. And you run the risk of being tied up with fly ropes and left for dead outside the stage door.

25th august, 2009 - Some Ideas About Directing #3

2009-11-12T14:18:00.000-08:00

Idea 3 – Do Not Let Anything Go If It Bugs You

There is a temptation (particularly if you are a believer in Rule 2) to take hands off to an extreme, and to sacrifice occasional intervention, for the sake of letting the rehearsal flow. I think this is a mistake.

When you are directing shows, if you have any sort of role at all, then it is to stand outside the action and spot what is and isn’t working. And, if you are to add something, then it is your job to sort out what is not working. And by that, I mean everything that is not working.

Everything.

Let me repeat that. Sort out everything you can. Without exception.

If there is an awkward delivery of a single word (and you are satisfied that it wasn’t a one-off slip) then sort it. If an actor slouches and it’s not right, then tell them. If lines are dragging then work on it until the pace is right. There is no excuse for not sorting stuff. It is your job. You might think that you are annoying the actors, but you are not. They do not want to look like diddies when the limelight starts to burn. If they look like diddies, make sure that it isn’t your fault.

There is an exception to this rule. See Rule 4.

24th August, 2009 - Some Ideas About Directing #2

2009-11-12T14:15:00.001-08:00

Idea 2 – Leave As Much As You Possibly Can To The Actors

Generally speaking the actors know a lot more than you do about what will work on a stage. They – after all – are the ones who will be putting their thespian derrieres on the line when the curtain comes up. When the rotten tomatoes start flying, it is they who be covered in red goo, whilst you are revving the Mercedes Sprinter in the car park.

There is a ton of stuff that you do not know as a director. You do not always recognise that a beautiful line on the page, is clumsy to say. You do not always recognise that the bottle of wine takes thirty seconds to open. And – if all the planets are aligned – you have very little to do with the subtle magic that is created in the very best shows, where two or three or more of the cast have created a special spark.

So – hands off whenever you can. Let them find what they need to find.

23rd August 2009 - Some Ideas About Directing Shows #1

2009-11-11T11:43:00.000-08:00

Idea Number 1 – Don’t Cast Against Type

This is one of my main rules. If you have someone who is 21 and they are playing someone who is meant to be 40, it doesn’t matter how brilliant your interpretation of the text is, or how brilliant a lighting plot you have, the play is not going to work.This is not the actor's fault wither; it is yours.

The problem is that the audience cannot get over the hurdle of suspension of disbelief. The best you can possibly hope for are comments of the “That was fantastic – and didn’t that young boy do well.” The subtext of this is, of course, “I couldn’t stop thinking about how young that bloke was.”

It’s a mistake I’ve made regularly myself – often because in the world of amateur theatricals there are constraints on the pool of actors that you have. But it is better to cast your net wider. I think that you are better having a cast of actors who look right in the roles than you are having top flight A1 actors who just aren’t quite right. Somehow, you can make the “world” of the play a real one; a world that – with a following wind – you can hopefully lose the audience in for a little while.

There are exceptions to this rule permitted for school and college shows.

22nd August, 2009 - Singstar!

2009-11-11T11:39:00.000-08:00

I had my first game of Singstar on the Playstation the other night. It was at my mate The Advisor’s House after the football, and obviously after a fair number of beers. (I am from the West of Scotland after all - singing and saying affectionate stuff to your mates is only permitted after 14 units).

And it was brilliant!

The beauty of Singstar (and Rock Band and Guitar Hero for that matter) is that they are not really computer games at all. Oh yes – they nominally have a scoring system, and they have high scores and so on, but they are not really about competition any more than a game of charades is a competition. These are party games. They are a return to Victorian traditions of an after dinner game.

These are modern versions of Ludo and Concentration and Snakes and Ladders. They are about fun and conviviality. And listening to my pal Parcelforce Pete, doing a very passable Errol Brown imitation to “I Believe in Miracles”. Who knew a white man from Lanarkshire could be so convincing whilst crooning “You sexy thing....”

21st August, 2009 - Mon the Accies!

2009-11-10T13:21:00.000-08:00

I had a cracking day at the football on Saturday. It was the local derby between Hamilton and Motherwell, and a few mates and myself generally go along to these games and have a few pints afterwards. It was a particularly good match, ending in a 2-2 draw. It is a long time since I have been at the football and experienced the flip-flop of emotion as a game see-saws between success and failure. For a few glorious minutes it looked as if we were going to emmerge triumphant. This would have secured three valuable points, but - far more importantly would have ensured that we on the red and white side of the terraces wouod have had bragging rights for the night. Sadly it was not to be, foollowing a wholly undeserved equaliser with three minutes to go.

It was also cold, and I tend to think that football is best watched from under a woolly hat with a polystyrene cup full of peppered Bovril. There is something simple about it. Something right about the cold air in your lungs. It makes the warmth of the pub afterwards feel right, and somehow the chat seems warmer too.

20th August, 2009 - The Curious Incident of the Dog in the Night-Time

2009-11-10T13:17:00.000-08:00

I have just finished reading “The Curious Incident of the Dog in the Night-Time” by Mark Haddon, and it is utterly brilliant. I read it in two days, and I can’t remember the last time that I did that. (obviously, I don't mean that I can't remember the last time I read "The Curious Incident of the Dog in the Night-Time" in 2 days, bacuase I have never read it before. I mean any book. Stop being so literal minded.) It is a mesmerising story told from the point of view of a narrator with autism. We are catapulted into a world seen through the eyes of someone who has an utterly different way of processing information.

The book is sad and funny and rather wise. It questions the way we perceive the world and points out that much of our experience is illusion. I also like the bit where the narrator reminds us that our crazy thirst for travel is illogical, pointing out that there are so many things in one suburban house that are strange and wonderful, that it would take a lifetime to think about them all. How does de-icer work? Why do glasses reach a resonant frequency if you run a wet finger around the rim.

There are strange and beautiful journeys to be had if you don’t ever step over the front doorstep.