The Bright Side

The month ends with me paying for car insurance and road tax and torturing myself in the gym immediately afterwards. And how fortunate I am to be able to do any of this: to be able to afford the bills and be fit enough to keep going for my 45 minutes of misery.

Other Stuff

Now contemplating the books I'm supposed to be reading at the moment. (I say supposed since I got side-tracked after work today by an issue that needed to be dealt with and, thus, haven't managed even a page so far.) The pile comprises: Gilbert White's The Natural History of Selborne; the second in Joseph Campbell's The Masks of God series - Oriental Mythology; the Collected Poems of James Merrill; Gerard Genette's Palimpsests - Literature in the Second Degree; and Connections 2014 in the National Theatre's annual collection based on their youth theatre festival.

Not a dud amongst them, but nothing utterly unputdownable either. At least, that's my excuse for something approaching neglect in the one area of human experience I think of as almost defining me.

Culture And Society And Stuff

It's with some relief that I record here that I've just finished Raymond Williams's Culture and Society 1780- 1950. The relief stems from the fact that this means I've actually got some serious reading done after a period of something close to complete turpitude on that front. I didn't really read much in June, when I was relatively free from the Toad, work, and I've been so busy since that I've only managed a page here, a page there from the books I'm supposed to be engaged in. In fact, I started this reading of Culture and Society back in June, it being one of my 'KL books'.

It's a book that I've often dipped into over the years, since acquiring it back in my university days when it was sort of regarded as a text that everyone should read. Since it features in part a series of chapters on individual writers (e.g., Carlyle, Lawrence, Orwell) it certainly lends itself to dipping and I suppose at one time I would have claimed to have actually read it, but it takes a sequential read-through in its entirety to appreciate the breadth of Williams's conception of culture and its relation to society. 

Many segments, especially those on the twentieth century, now seem dated in the terms used by the writer and the understandable innocence regarding developments in modes of communication that make his conception of mass communication seem distinctly quaint. But I felt I gained much from Williams, not least an understanding of the historical seriousness of his concerns.

Radiance

Noi has gone off to Melaka until Sunday with Fuad & Rozita and I'm indulging in a little late night Elgar: Introduction & Allegro, Serenade in E minor and Symphony No. 2. The music matches the hour, radiantly subdued. It doesn't get much better than this, unless it happens to be RVW, whom I over-dosed on this afternoon to gloriously somnolent effect.

Quite A Finish

 

 

 

Tonight saw the final performance of Black Comedy, and we concluded in appropriately storming style, with a most satisfying mess upon the stage. Of course, it takes real skill to create a good mess, and ours was very good indeed. Plus we cleared it up and dismantled a bed before 10.30.

And now I’m pretty much finished myself, so goodnight all.

Good Taste

Just ate a bowl of spaghetti with mushroom sauce with bits of salmon mixed in, as prepared by the inimitable Missus. As a kid there was no way I could have even looked at such a dish. Thank goodness for changing tastes.

Interesting Times

I've been trying of late to keep up-to-date with the latest events of a political nature in the UK and US. But such is the strange intensity of all that's going on in those far places that I'm finding it almost impossible to do so. The fact that I have no understanding at all of what quite large segments of the populations in those nations might be thinking doesn't help.

I don't believe this is happening, I keep thinking. But it is.

Out Of Place

Found myself wearing a jacket today for the first time since 1988, in this country at least. I suppose I might have borrowed one for funerals in the UK over that period. Anyway, I was consorting with the Great and the Good this morning and, frankly, that's not my natural element. It was a bit of a relief to get back onto territory with which I'm familiar and return the jacket to the Cheeky Chappy to whom it belongs. Of course it no longer fits Peter, but I didn't have the effrontery to ask him for it. And considering the effort I'll put into avoiding any possibility of having to wear a jacket again for some years to come, it would be a pretty pointless request.

A Crimson Moment - 2

The first time I heard Waiting Man in the version from Beat  I didn't think all that much of it. After a while I sort of grew to like it. But then I heard and saw the version that opens Live in Frejus. A reminder that Crimso have always been the band for a hot date, and that what really counts is what happens in performance.

Over The Years

Nice surprise at yesterday's performance of Black Comedy when three of the original team, Reuben, Luke and Jordan, dropped by to see the show. Reuben and Luke had graced the stage eleven years ago as Harold and Selva (the philosopher-electrician, who morphed into Wang this time around) but in my mind it was as if that production was almost as freshly minted as the on-going one. For a little while I'd stepped out of time again. I felt caught between echoes in the most satisfactory manner imaginable.

Question to myself: What is it about the intensity of stage time that connects it to that sense of forever-ness that attends upon each and every production?

Memorable Lines

I sometimes think the most memorable lines uttered during the run of a show never actually make it onto the stage. In our 'dressing-room' before this evening's show, the puzzled: Are your brows naturally that unaligned? Followed soon after by the reflective: His brows are a conundrum. Almost Shakespearian in their resonance, I reckon.

Drained

A close, humidly damp day. Sweated in the morning, sweated in the afternoon, sweated in the evening. Sweated during Prayers. Now got nothing left, as evidenced by my struggling to go up and down the stairs in the last twenty minutes. Strangely, this is the kind of tiredness that feels good.

Sweet Sounds

A long day. A sad day. Good to hear some laughter as it approached its end.

There, Again

One of the strange things about being involved in dramatic activities in school is the way that each and every production lodges somewhere in memory, such that it's entirely unproblematic to recall the feelings of elation that follow successful performances. I have something close to complete recall of those feelings following our production of Black Comedy back in March 2007, and am experiencing the same elation after tonight's revisiting of Shaffer's farce. Nice!

Working Together

There was a time when I found clichés concerning the virtues of teamwork rather irritating. It was, sadly, all too frequently obvious that the people one worked alongside (or, rather, some of them) displayed a limited capacity for the quality. But over time I've come to appreciate that, given our natural and understandable tendencies towards selfishness, a better way to look at things was to celebrate and enjoy those occasions when genuine teamwork was manifested.

In fact, it's easy to pick out a lot of individuals in all walks of life who don't need to be exposed to the clichés. They just do it, often amazingly unselfishly. I tend to spot the selfishness partly because it's so irritating, and partly because I'm more than a little inclined that way myself, unless I keep it in check.

And also it turns out that over time I've had the enormous good fortune to work in genuine teams now and again; indeed, with surprising frequency with the young people I come into contact with, especially in this part of the world. It's happening to me at the moment as we are striving to get something on stage worth our collective efforts - and it feels good. Very.

All Over

Great World Cup Final, for a change. It had everything - except the best team winning.

Relief

I've had various cheeses on the mind of late. This evening will see the unburdening of those cheeses in the course of the 2 Cheeky Chappies' first and last performance. Trust me, that will be a relief, despite all the many chuckles in the course of preparing said cheeses.

Going Back

Was reminded today in a happy-sad way of a wonderful book and a lesson I taught some time in the early 1980s that I reckon was the best half-hour's work I ever did in a classroom. The sadness came from reading about the death of Clive King, the writer of the children's classic Stig of the Dump; the happiness came from how reading the article ignited so many memories - of the novel itself, of some other great novels for kids I've had the good fortune to read, and sometimes teach, and of how much sheer fun those texts generated in the classrooms of a comprehensive in South Yorkshire.

In case you're thinking I'm deluding myself using the word fun here, let me tell you that the lesson I'm referring to above, which featured a reading of the chapter about Stig and Barney's encounter with the Snargets, ended in something approaching chaos with at least three kids actually rolling laughing on the classroom floor and me unable to complete a number of sentences as I was cracking up in the middle of them to the point that I couldn't see clearly through the tears of my own laughter.

Sometimes books are referred to as magical in a clichéd kind of way. It's no cliché with regard to Mr King's Stig. I must read it again soon, and become young again.

Panic

At 07.35 today I experienced five minutes of utter blind panic, made even more intense somehow by the fact that I had to sit still alongside my class as assembly proceeded. The trigger for this little episode was my sudden realisation that my phone had gone completely dead for no logical reason. I'd taken it out to record the attendance for the day on the SNAC app forced upon us for that purpose and it just didn't work at all.

How I have come to be so utterly dependent on the device I do not know, but the realisation that at a time of maximum busy-ness I simply couldn't cope without it was extremely powerful and horribly salutary.

What I do know is that the panic was dissipated as suddenly as it had descended upon me when it occurred to me that in putting the phone into my pocket, just four minutes earlier, I had somehow switched it off. When the Apple logo cheerfully reappeared after I held down the appropriate button the relief flooding in was as physiologically powerful as the hot whips of panic I'd just been lashed by. (I think the hot whips bit is from Gatsby, as applied to Tom when he feels his life is falling apart.)

And here's the really odd thing. At 07.40 I actually found I'd cheered up considerably on a morning that on the whole had seemed bleak & cheerless in the extreme in its initial stages. (I don't intend to go into too much detail as to the reasons for that mood, but I suspect most Englishmen would have felt pretty much the same.)

Indecision

Feeling absolutely exhausted. Facing a demanding day tomorrow. There's no way I can even think of getting up at 2.00 am to watch the semi-final. But I am. Thinking of it, that is. And thinking how stupid it would be. But still thinking.

And worrying I'll wake early without meaning to, and that I'll end up watching it anyway. Which would be stupid. And potentially devastating (considering the unthinkability of an exit when it was so, so close.) But potentially wonderful, assuming all goes well. But you just can't assume anything in the beautiful game.

Oh, the humanity!!!

A Question Of Packaging

Just ate an excellent salad, purchased in a plastic bowl. It was tasty and, I'm guessing, surpassingly healthy. So it's all good. Except for the bowl. It looks to me as if this is the only use that will ever be made of that piece of plastic, and I don't know where it will end up. I suspect it won't be somewhere that does the world any good.

It's strange to feel guilty, I suppose, especially after eating so well. But I do. Just wish I knew anything that could be done about this - the wasted plastic, that is, not the guilt.

A Crimson Moment - 1

Spent eleven minutes today in the company of the Crimson King, the seven-headed version of the beast. I saw one of the early manifestations of Crimso, the Islands-band, play 21st Century Schizoid Man at the Free Trade Hall Manchester on two occasions in the very early 70s and it fried my teenaged brain. The version to which I listened today is even more ferocious than the ones that I experienced live, but this is a contained, mature fury. More darkly deceptive and dangerous I think.

The Green Stuff

Was involved in some fruitful discussion regarding issues of land, property and inheritance early this evening. Fortunately the discussions took place among sensible like-minded people sharing the same objectives. I can see the possibility of what we were talking about doing some real good.

This got me thinking of what an incredibly powerful thing money is, and how easily that power turns out to be destructive. I like the stuff, and enjoy having it, but have the good luck never to have had quite as much of it as I want.

Daring To Believe

23.34

It's 2 - 0 against Sweden and I just want to get this over with so I can sing Football's Coming Home. The trouble is I just thought of Mexico 1970 and being 2 - 0 up against the then West Germany in the quarter final when Sir Alf took Bobby Charlton off, to rest him for the semi that never happened. That still hurts, by the way.

23.53

Yes! Yes! Oh, YES!!!

Humoresque

I keep getting all sorts of invitations to so-called 'training' seminars and the like through my work email. Today one arrived related to Humour at Work. It threatened to ignite my sense of passion and fun. I deleted it in double-quick time, as I do with all the invitations, but enjoyed reflecting for a minute or two on just how dreadfully funny the whole thing was likely to be. Unintentionally so, I'm afraid.

Actually I reckon I suffer from too much humour at work, now I come to think of it.

In Memory

My memory isn't what it used to be, I'm afraid. I've been trying to memorise some lines lately and the process has been super-slow, compared to what I was capable of years ago. Somehow I managed to memorise the Henry Higgins's role from My Fair Lady, songs and all, before we even started rehearsals back in the early 80s. Now I doubt if I could manage a single song with real confidence.

Having said that though, it's been interesting revisiting the process of committing chunks to memory. I'd forgotten just how immersive it all gets. Just now I was running lines whilst doing my stint in the gym and completely forgot to feel tired. In fact, I thought I had a further ten minutes to go at the point I'd actually finished my scheduled forty-five.

It's strangely pleasant to get so lost in someone else's words.

A Day And A Half

In Manchester and environs a day and a half doesn't mean 36 hours. It's a statement of a day being both packed and delightfully fulfilling.
 
I've just experienced one. It began, of course, with a certain victory in Russia 2018 that wasn't at all certain until the final kick, resulting in various moments of mindless celebration on my part in the course of the hours following. It then encompassed a great deal of idiot giggling in a rehearsal for the 2 Cheeky Chappies (of which I'm likely to have more to say as the next week and a half go by.) A meeting with old chum and comrade-in-arms Deepak, the first for over eleven years, made for a memorable afternoon of non-stop conversation in which we had so much to say we somehow astonishingly forgot to discuss Man U's fortunes over that period. And the day's to be rounded off by the return of the Missus, which means that Mak must be bearing up, at least for now.

It doesn't get much better. Though it might if England continue to make progress, eh?!

Silly Selfies

 

Feeling at a bit of a loss this evening without the Missus around, I took myself off to Holland Village just now, to stretch my legs, and do some thinking and drinking (about tonight's footy and of tea.)

On the way back I thought it might be a good wheeze to take the selfie above - the first of its kind to appear in this Far Place - as a way of recording my support for the nation I'm rooting for in tonight's big game. I'm still trying to decide, by the way, whether to stay up and watch the game (kick-off in the very early hours of the morning in these climes, despite what I said about tonight's game.)

It would crazy to stay up (or wake-up after three hours kip) but that's what I would have done in my mad youth. Now the thought of facing bitter disappointment in the early hours is a bit much (as reflected in the rather glum shot above.) But, who knows, some joy might just be on the way:

A Trying Time

Noi and I were making plans just before noon to head up to Holland Village in the late afternoon for a cup of tea and some aimless loitering - today being a most welcome break from work for Youth Day - when news came in of Mak's condition having deteriorated somewhat after being admitted to Alor Gajah hospital over the weekend. It seems she's developed an infection on her lung and is very weak. The prognosis doesn't look good and there have been suggestions for the children to gather. So Noi has driven up there, taking Rozita and Hakim with her.

We hope for the best, but fear the worst. Mind you, this time last year things looked very bad for Mak and she pulled through that.

The family might well have difficult decisions to make, and in a big family that isn't necessarily easy, even when everyone wants what's for the best. I'm praying for Mak and for all the family - that all will be for the best, for Mak and for everyone.

A Fine Time

 

 

 

 

 

Yesterday we opened our doors to various guests, and I think it's safe to say a fine time was had by all - precipitated by the comestibles prepared by the Missus, of course. I was there to provide the quick wit and ready repartee, but I suspect this was not anything like as effective as the grub.

Oh, and then followed the deeply satisfactory elimination of Argentina from Russia 2018. How jolly!