Monday, 17 October 2016
The joy of the cold truth
The white Walls seemed to sink in around her
Sparse and clinical and dazzling in their blandness
Ear drums thudding to a beat, as yet undetermined
She sat as the waves beat the grains of sand into the shore of her very being
A girl without purpose or reason
Just an animated cadaver to fill a space on the production line
Eyes baring the truth, seen by no other
Fists clenched in angst and longing
Wanton need pouring from her chest; brazenly seeking out solace
She was the girl that got sent by mistake
The accidental one, commuting to a world where she didn't belong
Her glazed blue peepers leading her into every cul-de-sac
And then back again
A spider with no web to return to
A misunderstood fragment of what might have been
If she had been a complete. A unit. A whole.
Rather than the forgotten jigsaw piece that slipped down into the dark
Rather than the abhorrent creature that the mirrors confirmed
She was the child that hid under the table when the comfort never came
A lost foghorn in the sea of never ending questions
And her mantra rings out, submergent in its urgency
Why did you send her world?
She wasn't needed here.
Monday, 12 September 2016
Play Nicely
It has always been my natural tendency to trust anyone and everyone implicitly, sometimes even after that decision was proven to be foolish. I seek nothing more than to spend my life enjoying time spent with people and not concerning myself with ulterior motives or hidden agendas. Sadly, an abundance of peculiar events this year have tarnished my view of this approach somewhat. See the thing is, I've learnt recently that people really don't care who they hurt or how at times. Of course this is a generic statement, but I currently seem to be swamped by dishonesty and injustice and I can neither understand why, nor how to protect myself from the harm it causes.
It's fair to say that I'm no saint; I've made mistakes like everyone else and I certainly don't think I'm better than anyone: yet the one thing I will say about myself is that I'm honest. If I make a mistake, I own up to it...if I hurt someone accidentally, I apologise. My absolute last purpose in life is to hurt anyone, I simply can't bear the thought of being the cause of anyone else's pain.
But I'm suffering inside, because I can't stand how powerless and helpless I am in the grand scheme of things; people do get hurt and they do cause hurt, and I find that tremendously difficult to cope with. So I just want to say this...
STOP
STOP AND THINK, is it worth it? Do you need to do what you're about to do?
When you had that affair that broke your husband's heart, did you even pause to consider that there would be a catalogue of hurt that fanned out through the whole network of friends, children and family? that every memory you made with loved ones would be the last of its kind because you put a stranger before them.
When you used that woman who you described as sub standard, just because you had nobody else, did you even think for one minute about how awful you would feel if the shoe were on the other foot?
When you took the words of a private conversation you overheard and 'repeated' the enhanced version to official ears in a bid to cause trouble, did you give the slightest bit of a hoot? Did you relish the conflict you initiated through untruths? Did you sleep well that night in spite of the anguish you caused?
When you raised your hand, your fist....when you used your mouth to inflict the most serious of pain, did you get a kick out of it that outweighed any feelings of remorse? Did you enjoy seeing the fear in the eyes of someone else?
When you passed on that fictional story about someone because you didn't want them to be happy, did you even contemplate that the person in question might need support from others and not criticism? Did you continue blissfully while someone else's anxiety overwhelmed them off the back of your actions?
When you used your drunken agression to try to exert control over someone who dared to contest your opinion, did you really need to go to such a length to have your say? Is it worth jeopardising a friendship because you can't accept the views of another?
When you cheated so frequently on your partner that he had to just accept it and became just a whisper of his magnificent self, did it make you feel good inside? Are you proud that you've got all that you wanted at no cost to yourself, while you have tarnished his trust of others and given him a cynicism he probably once never felt?
Why did you get in bed with that woman while the one you were supposed to love stood crying in the rain?
Why did you lie about being home safe when you were out spinning your web of adultery?
Why did you say that someone was fat? Ugly?
Why?
Just, why?
I urge you all to put love before everything else. It's not some soap box ideology, it's a perfectly achievable goal. I argued with my friend the other week, nothing major, and he said to me 'well I assume that's it for our friendship' and it just blew me away. It didn't even enter my head to terminate any friendship off the back of an argument. As I explained to him, that's why we are friends, because we can be ourselves, the love doesn't end where the disagreement starts. I've lost so many precious people in my life and, as a result, I hold dear those around me. Our time here is short; why spend it bathing in malice and deceit; doesn't it feel so beautiful to see a smile on the face of someone you care about? Doesn't your heart absolutely wrench in pain if a friend tells you they are hurting?
Well mine does.
Put down the knives, take off the blinkers and open your arms to seal them tightly around the nearest person who holds even the smallest thread of importance to you. Society silently tells us to be polite and reserved and to nurse and restrict our outpourings of love for our children or partners. I've never really been a special someone or a priority to one person, Therefore I don't believe we should stifle how we feel. Hug the postman, tell the doctor you love what she's wearing, be the person that admits that your heart swells when it's the happy bus driver who takes you to work. Love people, love and nurture them like you want to be nurtured yourself.
When the sun goes down at the end of the day and I'm on my own, I find solace in knowing that I care about people so much. It doesn't matter if people care about me, it matters that I'm letting myself admit that I need them and don't want to hurt them. You see at one point in my life I was so abused that I didn't even have anyone around me to hurt if I'd been that way inclined. dont let that vicious circle sink it's teeth in, reach out and hold someone's hand, it feels much better!
Stop hurting each other!
Friday, 8 July 2016
King sized reality
I recently met a group of friends who merged with some of my existing ones and have been my absolute rocks for the last few months. How they went from being strangers to the people I see the most, I will never know. I'm eternally grateful.
I've got you
And you, in turn, have me
For each of us holding onto the other
There is no certainty.
We spend our time in disarray
Sharing smiles and tears
Offering reassurance
And hopes to null each other's fears.
Each planned event, each new day wakened
We take for granted our unity
Nervous about the worlds intent
But certain of the bond of you and me.
Convention is not within our script
We defy the rules, for our own self peace
Our narrative is governed by a shared love of life
And within this sect the problems cease.
For we found each other in a moment sudden
Stumbled upon strangers and held them close
And the people who once we walked right by
Are suddenly some that we love the most.
We connect like steps that have cracked and crumbled
We must fill in the gaps to make our way
As we climb in our journey now linked together
We will ascend in solidarity
With a mutual love of work and play.
We are friends of the highest order
Each one different with flaws to embrace
Finding our feet at each other's doorsteps
Warming, welcoming, happy to be there
Knowing that our home is also their place.
Future's decisions are blurred and undefined
So we amble forth with each other in mind
Passing days in Smiles and song
Evenings of happiness, making memories strong.
Mornings of waking with arms to embrace
Nights out of chaos, keeping up with the pace
Exchanges of anguish when feelings bubble
The friendly cloak of protection
In the face of trouble.
Yes you've got me, and I have you
And how it came to be
We have no clue
Life gave to me this blessing so precious
We don't need to explain ourselves
My darlings, we are us
................................
For Donna, Jim, Mark, Mick, Alex, Neil, Julie, Simon and Thomas.
Tuesday, 26 April 2016
The Second Stage Identity
When I step onto stage, what am I? In truth, I wish I knew the answer. From the first age I remember, stepping onto stage was an outlet for emotion and, I suppose, a therapy of sorts. However, the one thing I recall from childhood, which has proven to be everlasting, is that sense of self. Always there in the background is that niggling reminder that we can be knee deep in our portrayal of any character, but we will always have the conscience and soul that belong to ourselves. For me that's both a blessing and a problem: a blessing in that I can perform in different guises in spite of myself and a problem in that I sometimes wish my inner channel would just back off!
I mean, it's not a lot to ask right? When poised to deliver an emotionally charged monologue about War and suffering, the last thing you need is an eternal conversation asking 'did I turn the straighteners off?, am I really 35 and still single? Should I have had that extra glass of wine on Wednesday?' It really is most distracting! Yet somehow all performers such as myself manage to have that conversation with themselves with any spectator absolutely oblivious! It's the same in an audition situation where nerves present themselves but must be covered...your face is smiling and you're saying the right things, but your mind appears to have turned into quivering mashed potato with no recollection of any preparation for the moment upon you.
Actors and performers are like un-medicated schizophrenics with unspoken permission to be different from other professions in society and class themselves aside from other career paths..'Different, weird and special' are not uncommon words I've had thrown at me when I'm describing my artistic practises. WE ARE NOT WEIRD, nor even eclectic in my opinion. We are just in some kind of minority who have the mental capacity to accept that no two jobs will be alike and that our work colleagues are a breed of their own: we embrace our idiosyncrasies (if that's what they are) and we use them to our advantage!
It has often been put to me that being any form of Artist is a waste of time or is not a reputable form of occupation, which riles me to volcanic proportions! Do people in 'normal' jobs not watch TV or listen to music? Do they not admire a humble street performer or a voice over in an advertisement? People are so blinkered to how diverse the term 'Art' can be that they are missing the very things around them that they love. I absolutely urge people all the time to give new experiences a try and see how it makes them feel! Sometimes the right form of Art taps into our emotions at exactly the right time and makes us understand things we could never comprehend previously.
Recently, I did a performance in London. The performance involved some graphic violence between a man and a woman; it was the culmination of 8 months' hard work and based on the autobiographies of myself and my gay best friend. The piece of work touched on social expectation about relationships and how to place yourself socially if you cannot belong to the expected norm. It was about how love takes many forms and how my love for my best friend is absolutely unbreakable, yet me having a partner was not something I had wanted when the work was made.
In the end, my partner of 3 months attended my performance and watched as another man hit me brutally around the face. The audience were shocked, aghast, almost moved to tears - we had a queue of people waiting to speak to us. Their conclusion was that our piece of work was brave and had connotations of men abusing women. None of these messages had been considered within our intent when making the piece, and we were fascinated by the interpretation. My partner who watched, was proud and understood the piece and never felt angry or upset about seeing me so hurt. Three months later that man hit me. Two months after that I was in a musical. I stood on stage singing and dancing with a big cheesy smile and nobody could have ever known that my entire life is like a performance. If I repeated my London performance now, it would mean something totally different to me!
Such is the beauty of The Arts. Art mutates before your eyes; it cleanses and purifies, it disturbs and disconnects and it awakens things inside us which we weren't aware existed. We as performers are not irrelevant or conceited for wanting to use our minds and bodies in our careers - we are brave souls who strip ourselves to the very bone for others to scrutinise! When I am on stage, I'm not the scared little fool I am in real life, I'm not the woman who works in two jobs, runs a business, works for charity and raises 4 children - I'm a strong person, because I'm giving myself to the audience. Admittedly it is easy for the 'performance' to spill over into home life as it becomes so normal to have to play for an audience.
I'm not a Drama Queen, or a mental case, or a waste of space. I'm a wave in a big ocean of people who do the same as me every day and fight for their right to be an Artist! If your house is burning down, you call the fire brigade, if you're sick you ring the Doctor... So what do you do when you're happy, looking for entertainment, looking for solace??? You look at, listen to and breathe in something beautiful of course! Just imagine a world without music for one thing; musicians are like the epicentre of our world in such a technology fuelled society. Who makes those little noises when you press remote controls on a button or log onto websites? All these things are designed by 'weirdos' like me and my friends.
'Get a real job' I was always told! Well guess what? I did!
outcryarts@gmail.co.uk
Tristesse James
Lady Gargoyle
Outcry Arts
I mean, it's not a lot to ask right? When poised to deliver an emotionally charged monologue about War and suffering, the last thing you need is an eternal conversation asking 'did I turn the straighteners off?, am I really 35 and still single? Should I have had that extra glass of wine on Wednesday?' It really is most distracting! Yet somehow all performers such as myself manage to have that conversation with themselves with any spectator absolutely oblivious! It's the same in an audition situation where nerves present themselves but must be covered...your face is smiling and you're saying the right things, but your mind appears to have turned into quivering mashed potato with no recollection of any preparation for the moment upon you.
Actors and performers are like un-medicated schizophrenics with unspoken permission to be different from other professions in society and class themselves aside from other career paths..'Different, weird and special' are not uncommon words I've had thrown at me when I'm describing my artistic practises. WE ARE NOT WEIRD, nor even eclectic in my opinion. We are just in some kind of minority who have the mental capacity to accept that no two jobs will be alike and that our work colleagues are a breed of their own: we embrace our idiosyncrasies (if that's what they are) and we use them to our advantage!
It has often been put to me that being any form of Artist is a waste of time or is not a reputable form of occupation, which riles me to volcanic proportions! Do people in 'normal' jobs not watch TV or listen to music? Do they not admire a humble street performer or a voice over in an advertisement? People are so blinkered to how diverse the term 'Art' can be that they are missing the very things around them that they love. I absolutely urge people all the time to give new experiences a try and see how it makes them feel! Sometimes the right form of Art taps into our emotions at exactly the right time and makes us understand things we could never comprehend previously.
Recently, I did a performance in London. The performance involved some graphic violence between a man and a woman; it was the culmination of 8 months' hard work and based on the autobiographies of myself and my gay best friend. The piece of work touched on social expectation about relationships and how to place yourself socially if you cannot belong to the expected norm. It was about how love takes many forms and how my love for my best friend is absolutely unbreakable, yet me having a partner was not something I had wanted when the work was made.
In the end, my partner of 3 months attended my performance and watched as another man hit me brutally around the face. The audience were shocked, aghast, almost moved to tears - we had a queue of people waiting to speak to us. Their conclusion was that our piece of work was brave and had connotations of men abusing women. None of these messages had been considered within our intent when making the piece, and we were fascinated by the interpretation. My partner who watched, was proud and understood the piece and never felt angry or upset about seeing me so hurt. Three months later that man hit me. Two months after that I was in a musical. I stood on stage singing and dancing with a big cheesy smile and nobody could have ever known that my entire life is like a performance. If I repeated my London performance now, it would mean something totally different to me!
Such is the beauty of The Arts. Art mutates before your eyes; it cleanses and purifies, it disturbs and disconnects and it awakens things inside us which we weren't aware existed. We as performers are not irrelevant or conceited for wanting to use our minds and bodies in our careers - we are brave souls who strip ourselves to the very bone for others to scrutinise! When I am on stage, I'm not the scared little fool I am in real life, I'm not the woman who works in two jobs, runs a business, works for charity and raises 4 children - I'm a strong person, because I'm giving myself to the audience. Admittedly it is easy for the 'performance' to spill over into home life as it becomes so normal to have to play for an audience.
I'm not a Drama Queen, or a mental case, or a waste of space. I'm a wave in a big ocean of people who do the same as me every day and fight for their right to be an Artist! If your house is burning down, you call the fire brigade, if you're sick you ring the Doctor... So what do you do when you're happy, looking for entertainment, looking for solace??? You look at, listen to and breathe in something beautiful of course! Just imagine a world without music for one thing; musicians are like the epicentre of our world in such a technology fuelled society. Who makes those little noises when you press remote controls on a button or log onto websites? All these things are designed by 'weirdos' like me and my friends.
'Get a real job' I was always told! Well guess what? I did!
outcryarts@gmail.co.uk
Tristesse James
Lady Gargoyle
Outcry Arts
Sunday, 24 April 2016
The Cucumber Incident
It was all set: the pass-the-parcels were lined up, the props were ready, the drinks were on hand and the music was suitably cheesy. Let me just give you a little insight into the characters present...
M - The big director extraordinaire! Swings from serious business to immensely camp and drunk in 2 wines! Is the big Daddy of the family and loved by all
J - Handsome, distinguished sort of chap, good person to have an intellectual chat with but prone to making peculiar jokes and innuendos at the funniest of moments
MG - One of the loudest people in the group with a laugh you can hear 3 streets away. Enjoys performing all day long and is a perpetrator of smut, especially when in close proximity to T.
MJ - Best friend of T, guest at this party and not familiar with many others. Is gay but fancied by women a lot and will happily play along with flirting unless it involves T.
D - Quiet type, not inclined to drink copious amounts or be lowered to the level of the other idiots, but is still a massive laugh. In a relationship with K.
K - A good sport and plenty of fun but is happy to rein it in a bit because she is perfectly content with D.
T - The trouble maker of the group and the one most likely to be loud and sweary and start the nudity, yet would never hurt a fly.
E - Fun and flirty with a burning desire to get her hands on T's breasts. Glamorous looking and ready to join in all the fun.
DB- A rather quiet sort with a dry sense of humour. Approximately 12 feet taller than the rest of the group but is a gentle giant.
H - Similar reckless personality to T. Likes to turn everything into silliness or naughtiness and is the person most likely to be seen staggering around drunk, plotting with T.
AD - A newer addition to the group with a very pretty face, so prone to getting lots of attention. Looks and appears to be sensible.....ISN'T!
A - Angelic looking with a filthy sense of humour and a willingness to share cleavage with other girls. Not consuming alcohol on this night, but you'd never have known it.
AG - Tee total and disgusted at the scandalous behaviour that goes on at these parties, yet can't quite resist joining in somehow. The most sensible person in the group by a clear mile!
B - Nervous about his first drinking session with the group. Quiet chap who suddenly becomes hilariously entertaining after a few beers!
So it starts off nice and placid, sharing anecdotes and memories of the show. Everyone is in good spirits and up for a laugh, which is encouraging. The shots are passed round, shared from the solitary suitable glass (a medicine cup) and it seems a given that this will be a night to remember. M is in fine form, sitting regally on his swivel chair, sipping expensive wine and making an effort not to down it. T announces that she is 'going to the garden to look at her bush' and half the group join her for a cigarette, spouting innuendos like there's no tomorrow.
A small while later the first past the parcel is started. Even that, in true performing arts style, has to be a fiasco. There is nobody to operate the music so J takes charge of a timer, until the group realise that this can easily be rigged and everyone falls about laughing at their own stupidity. So the decision is made to take turns with the timer, which is effectively pointless because there was no set time limit and people were making their own rules up. The dares start tame....dance to the person on your left, wear a silly hat, hold hands with the person opposite...
It doesn't take long until the effects of the alcohol become apparent and the dares get more challenging. T is knelt on the floor as E pours shots between her boobs and licks it out, spilling it all down T's belly button and causing a glue for her leather dungarees to stick to. Cameras flash like the paparazzi and the act is met with rapturous applause and approval as AD jokes about needing to go upstairs for a minute after watching it. MG begins to lap dance M to the stripper theme tune, jiggling his bottom up and down and thoroughly enjoying it. A mounts AD and rides him grand national style with a whip provided by T. The group are in hysterics!
Parcel 2 makes an appearance and two of the group members suddenly disappear, sparking discussion about what they are up to. T wanders upstairs to the bathroom and bumps into J and they stand at the top of the stairs discussing whether or not they are too drunk. DB interrupts and mistakes their conversation as some kind of intimate moment and the three stand awkwardly, not quite understanding what is going on. Downstairs, MG has made a hat for K out of streamers and newspaper, and she has had a dare to hold the crotch of D for the remainder of the game.
A few rounds on and E is tied to a rope between T's legs. DB has his hand in A's pocket and MG has to apply lipstick to A using his mouth only. H is wandering around drunkenly and B seems to be continually topless, especially when having cheese eaten off him by M. It is all spiralling into ridiculousness.
At approximately 2am, E suggests ordering pizza, which unravels an hour long saga about who wants what and how much it is. As she rings said pizza, B is demonstrating sexual positions on T, who now doesn't have anything but a bra on because her top has been dropped in a muddy puddle of beer and soggy tissue paper. A round of spin the bottle commences and evolves into some kind of LGBT conference, with most outcomes seeing men swapping saliva with each other and women sharing tongues while the men appreciatively look on aghast. T was delighted about J's snog with A and the group had a very positive reaction to E's snog with T, which was probably just a little too over zealous. Most of the group had kissed most of the group by this point and, exhausted, our minds turned to pizza....an hour had passed, Hot topic in the room - where is the pizza? E had rung it an hour ago, so she was given the annoying job of chasing it up. The pizzas, it seemed, had been delivered once and missed. The group were in uproar: 'missed pizza, we've been here all the time', 'he's lying nobody has been', 'what time do you call this for pizza?' Neglecting to remember the noise levels and the probability that we had actually missed it, we lodged a complaint!
PIZZA TIME! With the last parcel sitting with just one layer left, the group tuck into their assortment of pizzas in delight. They pass around each variety to make sure nobody is left out. 15 minutes pass before the group realise that all but one of the pizzas are in fact the same, and none of those were actually our correct order. A pepperoni query breaks out and MG decides that the sensible thing is to carry on the game. At some point, MJ decides to give himself a dare. He rings a local taxi rank and requests 'I'd like to order an armpit please'. The group collapse in hysterics as MJ manages a few minutes of loudspeaker conversation about needing a smelly armpit delivered and, in further good spirits, the group continue their game with a discussion about the last time they each watched porn and what it was.
Things were going downhill rapidly, so, in a bid to continue the debauchery, B suggests a game of improvisation. At this prime part of the evening, things go wild. M is slapping MG round the face, E is trying to speak in a Scottish accent, MG is being a human photocopier, T is Dopey from the seven dwarves, M is shouted at a cheating lover, who is B, betrayed by J. H is trying to join the improve but is only just capable of remembering her own name. The living room has turned into a thick fog of cigarette smoke and there is no existing floor, simply a layer of party favours, paper, alcohol, streamers and pizza! Some of the group decide to leave...
Reflecting on he evening's events, H, M, MG, DB and MJ pour another drink and wait for taxis. MG mutters incoherently laid on the sofa. B falls over as he leaves the house, ice skating on a river of wine and floppy tissue paper. MG stands up and announces his departure like an angry drunk and T and MJ's taxi turns up. En route home, T realises she is still only wearing a bra and that she has a mammoth martini headache. A messages T to tell her that he has arrived safely from his 2 hour walk home alone and is fine. T and MJ get into bed at 5.15am with the sun coming up and a bird tweeting on a tree outside. T looks down and sees a penis drawn on her chest by A in an earlier game.
It hurt that night. They had a bloody great time!
M - The big director extraordinaire! Swings from serious business to immensely camp and drunk in 2 wines! Is the big Daddy of the family and loved by all
J - Handsome, distinguished sort of chap, good person to have an intellectual chat with but prone to making peculiar jokes and innuendos at the funniest of moments
MG - One of the loudest people in the group with a laugh you can hear 3 streets away. Enjoys performing all day long and is a perpetrator of smut, especially when in close proximity to T.
MJ - Best friend of T, guest at this party and not familiar with many others. Is gay but fancied by women a lot and will happily play along with flirting unless it involves T.
D - Quiet type, not inclined to drink copious amounts or be lowered to the level of the other idiots, but is still a massive laugh. In a relationship with K.
K - A good sport and plenty of fun but is happy to rein it in a bit because she is perfectly content with D.
T - The trouble maker of the group and the one most likely to be loud and sweary and start the nudity, yet would never hurt a fly.
E - Fun and flirty with a burning desire to get her hands on T's breasts. Glamorous looking and ready to join in all the fun.
DB- A rather quiet sort with a dry sense of humour. Approximately 12 feet taller than the rest of the group but is a gentle giant.
H - Similar reckless personality to T. Likes to turn everything into silliness or naughtiness and is the person most likely to be seen staggering around drunk, plotting with T.
AD - A newer addition to the group with a very pretty face, so prone to getting lots of attention. Looks and appears to be sensible.....ISN'T!
A - Angelic looking with a filthy sense of humour and a willingness to share cleavage with other girls. Not consuming alcohol on this night, but you'd never have known it.
AG - Tee total and disgusted at the scandalous behaviour that goes on at these parties, yet can't quite resist joining in somehow. The most sensible person in the group by a clear mile!
B - Nervous about his first drinking session with the group. Quiet chap who suddenly becomes hilariously entertaining after a few beers!
So it starts off nice and placid, sharing anecdotes and memories of the show. Everyone is in good spirits and up for a laugh, which is encouraging. The shots are passed round, shared from the solitary suitable glass (a medicine cup) and it seems a given that this will be a night to remember. M is in fine form, sitting regally on his swivel chair, sipping expensive wine and making an effort not to down it. T announces that she is 'going to the garden to look at her bush' and half the group join her for a cigarette, spouting innuendos like there's no tomorrow.
A small while later the first past the parcel is started. Even that, in true performing arts style, has to be a fiasco. There is nobody to operate the music so J takes charge of a timer, until the group realise that this can easily be rigged and everyone falls about laughing at their own stupidity. So the decision is made to take turns with the timer, which is effectively pointless because there was no set time limit and people were making their own rules up. The dares start tame....dance to the person on your left, wear a silly hat, hold hands with the person opposite...
It doesn't take long until the effects of the alcohol become apparent and the dares get more challenging. T is knelt on the floor as E pours shots between her boobs and licks it out, spilling it all down T's belly button and causing a glue for her leather dungarees to stick to. Cameras flash like the paparazzi and the act is met with rapturous applause and approval as AD jokes about needing to go upstairs for a minute after watching it. MG begins to lap dance M to the stripper theme tune, jiggling his bottom up and down and thoroughly enjoying it. A mounts AD and rides him grand national style with a whip provided by T. The group are in hysterics!
Parcel 2 makes an appearance and two of the group members suddenly disappear, sparking discussion about what they are up to. T wanders upstairs to the bathroom and bumps into J and they stand at the top of the stairs discussing whether or not they are too drunk. DB interrupts and mistakes their conversation as some kind of intimate moment and the three stand awkwardly, not quite understanding what is going on. Downstairs, MG has made a hat for K out of streamers and newspaper, and she has had a dare to hold the crotch of D for the remainder of the game.
A few rounds on and E is tied to a rope between T's legs. DB has his hand in A's pocket and MG has to apply lipstick to A using his mouth only. H is wandering around drunkenly and B seems to be continually topless, especially when having cheese eaten off him by M. It is all spiralling into ridiculousness.
At approximately 2am, E suggests ordering pizza, which unravels an hour long saga about who wants what and how much it is. As she rings said pizza, B is demonstrating sexual positions on T, who now doesn't have anything but a bra on because her top has been dropped in a muddy puddle of beer and soggy tissue paper. A round of spin the bottle commences and evolves into some kind of LGBT conference, with most outcomes seeing men swapping saliva with each other and women sharing tongues while the men appreciatively look on aghast. T was delighted about J's snog with A and the group had a very positive reaction to E's snog with T, which was probably just a little too over zealous. Most of the group had kissed most of the group by this point and, exhausted, our minds turned to pizza....an hour had passed, Hot topic in the room - where is the pizza? E had rung it an hour ago, so she was given the annoying job of chasing it up. The pizzas, it seemed, had been delivered once and missed. The group were in uproar: 'missed pizza, we've been here all the time', 'he's lying nobody has been', 'what time do you call this for pizza?' Neglecting to remember the noise levels and the probability that we had actually missed it, we lodged a complaint!
PIZZA TIME! With the last parcel sitting with just one layer left, the group tuck into their assortment of pizzas in delight. They pass around each variety to make sure nobody is left out. 15 minutes pass before the group realise that all but one of the pizzas are in fact the same, and none of those were actually our correct order. A pepperoni query breaks out and MG decides that the sensible thing is to carry on the game. At some point, MJ decides to give himself a dare. He rings a local taxi rank and requests 'I'd like to order an armpit please'. The group collapse in hysterics as MJ manages a few minutes of loudspeaker conversation about needing a smelly armpit delivered and, in further good spirits, the group continue their game with a discussion about the last time they each watched porn and what it was.
Things were going downhill rapidly, so, in a bid to continue the debauchery, B suggests a game of improvisation. At this prime part of the evening, things go wild. M is slapping MG round the face, E is trying to speak in a Scottish accent, MG is being a human photocopier, T is Dopey from the seven dwarves, M is shouted at a cheating lover, who is B, betrayed by J. H is trying to join the improve but is only just capable of remembering her own name. The living room has turned into a thick fog of cigarette smoke and there is no existing floor, simply a layer of party favours, paper, alcohol, streamers and pizza! Some of the group decide to leave...
Reflecting on he evening's events, H, M, MG, DB and MJ pour another drink and wait for taxis. MG mutters incoherently laid on the sofa. B falls over as he leaves the house, ice skating on a river of wine and floppy tissue paper. MG stands up and announces his departure like an angry drunk and T and MJ's taxi turns up. En route home, T realises she is still only wearing a bra and that she has a mammoth martini headache. A messages T to tell her that he has arrived safely from his 2 hour walk home alone and is fine. T and MJ get into bed at 5.15am with the sun coming up and a bird tweeting on a tree outside. T looks down and sees a penis drawn on her chest by A in an earlier game.
It hurt that night. They had a bloody great time!
Tightly Knitted Cloth
I couldn't do it no matter how hard I tried. With every fibre of my being I wanted to disappear into the floor and not have to face people. Turning up to rehearsals was essential, but in my fragile state of being it was unbearable that people would have to look at me, see my black eye and all my other bruises, and for my sake carry on like normal. I felt like a freak and a failure and I wanted to run away there and then and let them replace me in the show for someone who could do better.
I've had a fear of singing since I was about 14, after a comment from a school bully caused me to stop singing altogether, despite having sung all my life until then. After 5 years at this theatre group, I gave in to the pressure from my director to audition for a musical and I got the part. The fear never got any easier, though I challenged myself to push on and face up to it rather than run away: it takes the tiniest of setbacks to hurtle me into rewind and resurface all my doubts about my ability to sing, and this was one of those moments. I had been attacked. I had hand prints on my chest, arms and legs and finger marks in my hips and calves and neck. My face was a black and blue mess and my ear was black also. I was in an insufferable amount of pain and that was nothing compared to the crippling anxiety that swamped me at the thought of having to be out in public, particularly on stage. During the attack, I had screamed: it seems that this single moment, coupled with vocal chord nodules and having had hands round my neck, had caused me to lose my voice. I was practically mute. Not only had I been robbed of my self respect, but I now had no voice to sing with or the nerve to see it through. In that moment, I was very much broken.
Then there came the bad news that our band for the show would no longer be able to do it, as one of them was responsible for my suffering...and my heart was just snapping in two at the feeling of responsibility for all this trouble. I thought it would be better if I wasn't there letting everyone down.
A stand in was employed to sing my part at every rehearsal after that, because the doctor had said my outlook was bleak. I watched as my cast mates sang in my numbers and evolved as characters, while I walked through the motions - silent and useless. I was so 'mute' that I couldn't even speak my lines and it was as if everything had been taken away from me. It might sound dramatic, but when your whole life revolves around performing arts, it's a very dark world to face that you might have to rethink your destiny. I didn't take it very well. On the first week I turned up to rehearsals I just trembled and cried and hid in a corner until I had to go on stage. On the second week, I cried. On the third week, I turned up drunk and just in time to hear the very kind stand in sing my parts for the first time...and I cried the whole way through until it was easier just to go home. Six weeks later I had started speaking again but still hadn't sung. On this week there was happy news for me - a band had been found! Not just any old band, but a group of super talented musicians who were hard working and lovely and a great addition to the team. It was a weight off my mind! It gave me some determination to not give up on the idea of singing altogether.
Dress rehearsal came and I was in my seventh week of not singing and feeling really frustrated. However, I had started to feel a little more like my old self thanks to the love and support of my brilliant cast and crew mates. Their love and support was unwavering, and they did everything they could to convince me that everything would be ok and that I could do it! I stood on stage in my costume and made the decision to try singing again. At the end of the dress rehearsal I had managed through all my solos and ensemble numbers without a hitch, and the decision was made that I could now play my part again, which I was thrilled about!
We called this the cursed show; because most of the cast who started off in relationships had ended the show single...but in actual fact, in many ways the show saved some of us. We developed such a tight bond with each other and the crew ( who are often like a separate entity) and over the course of weeks our tears turned to smiles, which in turn became big belly laughs at the moments we were supposed to be quiet backstage. People opened up to each other and were met with understanding - any nerves were quashed by the mutual holding of hands!
Amateur Theatre Companies are often met with criticism but our company isn't just a bunch of wannabes who bond over a love of Shakespeare and mutual understanding of Stanislavsky - it's a life force! Our company is an amalgamation of professional and amateur actors, musicians, dancers, writers, technicians and producers! We are backed by a strong and capable committee who try to look forward and encompass new ideas and encourage more talent to join our entourage. Whatever doubt I have about my capabilities, in this little theatrical bubble I feel safe, protected and respected and am encouraged to be whoever I want to be.
As the curtain opened on the final night of the show, my heart swelled with pride in what we had achieved. I glanced from side to side in awe, soaking up the lights and sounds and ensuring that the whole picture was imprinted in my mind. The stunning voices of my cast mates rang out across a captivated audience who laughed in shock and horror and stayed silence in disbelief. At the moment following the finale there were speeches made about the show. Some of the words were to say that we had a lot to overcome during the making of this show, and my old guilt resurfaced thinking that I was to blame for much of the difficulty...but of course nobody said that! As the tears pricked my eyes for the last encore, we were blown away by an almighty snyth volume error, and my tears were forced away by absolute hilarity. I belong in this place, this place is where good people do good things to make other people happy.
My heart hurts today now it's all over, but I'll never stop being thankful for the little treasures that got me through the worst 2 months of my life, and helped me get back my voice.
LITTLE SHOP OF HORRORS 2016
I've had a fear of singing since I was about 14, after a comment from a school bully caused me to stop singing altogether, despite having sung all my life until then. After 5 years at this theatre group, I gave in to the pressure from my director to audition for a musical and I got the part. The fear never got any easier, though I challenged myself to push on and face up to it rather than run away: it takes the tiniest of setbacks to hurtle me into rewind and resurface all my doubts about my ability to sing, and this was one of those moments. I had been attacked. I had hand prints on my chest, arms and legs and finger marks in my hips and calves and neck. My face was a black and blue mess and my ear was black also. I was in an insufferable amount of pain and that was nothing compared to the crippling anxiety that swamped me at the thought of having to be out in public, particularly on stage. During the attack, I had screamed: it seems that this single moment, coupled with vocal chord nodules and having had hands round my neck, had caused me to lose my voice. I was practically mute. Not only had I been robbed of my self respect, but I now had no voice to sing with or the nerve to see it through. In that moment, I was very much broken.
Then there came the bad news that our band for the show would no longer be able to do it, as one of them was responsible for my suffering...and my heart was just snapping in two at the feeling of responsibility for all this trouble. I thought it would be better if I wasn't there letting everyone down.
A stand in was employed to sing my part at every rehearsal after that, because the doctor had said my outlook was bleak. I watched as my cast mates sang in my numbers and evolved as characters, while I walked through the motions - silent and useless. I was so 'mute' that I couldn't even speak my lines and it was as if everything had been taken away from me. It might sound dramatic, but when your whole life revolves around performing arts, it's a very dark world to face that you might have to rethink your destiny. I didn't take it very well. On the first week I turned up to rehearsals I just trembled and cried and hid in a corner until I had to go on stage. On the second week, I cried. On the third week, I turned up drunk and just in time to hear the very kind stand in sing my parts for the first time...and I cried the whole way through until it was easier just to go home. Six weeks later I had started speaking again but still hadn't sung. On this week there was happy news for me - a band had been found! Not just any old band, but a group of super talented musicians who were hard working and lovely and a great addition to the team. It was a weight off my mind! It gave me some determination to not give up on the idea of singing altogether.
Dress rehearsal came and I was in my seventh week of not singing and feeling really frustrated. However, I had started to feel a little more like my old self thanks to the love and support of my brilliant cast and crew mates. Their love and support was unwavering, and they did everything they could to convince me that everything would be ok and that I could do it! I stood on stage in my costume and made the decision to try singing again. At the end of the dress rehearsal I had managed through all my solos and ensemble numbers without a hitch, and the decision was made that I could now play my part again, which I was thrilled about!
We called this the cursed show; because most of the cast who started off in relationships had ended the show single...but in actual fact, in many ways the show saved some of us. We developed such a tight bond with each other and the crew ( who are often like a separate entity) and over the course of weeks our tears turned to smiles, which in turn became big belly laughs at the moments we were supposed to be quiet backstage. People opened up to each other and were met with understanding - any nerves were quashed by the mutual holding of hands!
Amateur Theatre Companies are often met with criticism but our company isn't just a bunch of wannabes who bond over a love of Shakespeare and mutual understanding of Stanislavsky - it's a life force! Our company is an amalgamation of professional and amateur actors, musicians, dancers, writers, technicians and producers! We are backed by a strong and capable committee who try to look forward and encompass new ideas and encourage more talent to join our entourage. Whatever doubt I have about my capabilities, in this little theatrical bubble I feel safe, protected and respected and am encouraged to be whoever I want to be.
As the curtain opened on the final night of the show, my heart swelled with pride in what we had achieved. I glanced from side to side in awe, soaking up the lights and sounds and ensuring that the whole picture was imprinted in my mind. The stunning voices of my cast mates rang out across a captivated audience who laughed in shock and horror and stayed silence in disbelief. At the moment following the finale there were speeches made about the show. Some of the words were to say that we had a lot to overcome during the making of this show, and my old guilt resurfaced thinking that I was to blame for much of the difficulty...but of course nobody said that! As the tears pricked my eyes for the last encore, we were blown away by an almighty snyth volume error, and my tears were forced away by absolute hilarity. I belong in this place, this place is where good people do good things to make other people happy.
My heart hurts today now it's all over, but I'll never stop being thankful for the little treasures that got me through the worst 2 months of my life, and helped me get back my voice.
LITTLE SHOP OF HORRORS 2016
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