Review: Treasure Island

Serious business; Panto.

Lots of different elements to carefully co-ordinate and bring together without ever letting the audience know that all of these elements have been carefully co-ordinated and brought together.

Fortunately, BATS veteran; Gordon Lawson has a wealth of experience to draw on and is adept at orchestrating chaos. His slick and inventive take on Treasure Island went down a storm with the matinee audience at The Bryce.

We were introduced to the story by Ron Milnes’ Billy Skillet narrating Red Rum’s (Sue Cook) story over a projected montage - a clever technique of getting a sense of story over to a young audience without losing them -and before long Adam Carruthers gamely stepped up to the oversize bra of dame; Scantillick Ladd (say it out loud….there you go) and quite literally threw himself into a deceptively difficult role with his madcap, energetic performance, ad libs “Lucky charm” and facial tics. 

On principle boy duties, Tracey Howson made a great BATS Panto debut with her Jim Ladd bouncing off Jen Armitstead’s Nancy/Fancy. Louise Bell followed up her impressive 1984 BATS debut with a laudable, Captain Smellit and hamming up a scratched finger as the brilliantly named, Doctor Liversausage was Zaeed Mohammed. Helen Townson channelled her inner Mrs Overall with her turn as Brenn Gunn and Martin Cash delved into his expanding bag of bumbling toffs and came up with a purple faced Squire, prone to mood swings, what what.

The always brilliant band of BATS juniors enjoyed their roles as pirates and were ably choreographed in the fun dance routines by Helen Fothergill whose neon UV lit skeleton dance number was particularly effective. 

The stand out though was John Dodds in the role of Long John Silver, delivering a performance that was almost too good for pantomime. Garth-ing and Argh-ing for all he was worth with pithy come backs to the audiences jeers such as “I’ve had more boos at my AA meetings” soaring over the heads of the younger audience members, but landing nicely with those accompanying them.

Such is the repeatedly high standard of BATS costumiers Fran Milnes and Liz Archer that their work is often overlooked. Once again their designs (most of which are handmade with only specialist items bought in) made the eyes pop.

It would be remiss not to mention the incredible sets, expertly lit by Joe Hacker, built by the director himself and lovingly painted and dressed by Stewart Williams, Allyson Harkness and Sue Cook. They would not have looked out of place on any West End stage. The attention to detail was extraordinary, in particular the ramshackle Admiral Bimbo Inn which looked like it could have fallen down at any moment and Treasure Island itself, a dense undergrowth coupled with a backlit waterfall projection (courtesy of Effects Designer; Nigel Crook) which was incredibly striking. 

The pace never lagged, even with some tricky scene changes to negotiate, proving once again that BATS not only have a strong team in front of the curtain, but behind it too.

"Once he's finished you won't be able to see it" - Should you get a vasectomy?

I was pretty tense anyway, but the nurse’s comforting tone as she calmly stated “Don’t worry, once he’s finished you won’t be able to see it” did nothing to stop the jangling of my nerves and made me question once more: should I really get a vasectomy?

This was back at the start of 2015 on the other side of some lengthy discussions with my Hutch and being a fairly open person and generally able to see the funny side of most situations, I discussed my forthcoming procedure with friends, family and colleagues. There were a couple of rather interesting anecdotes from the ladies in the office whose partners/husbands had been considering the same procedure but, like me, were a little wary.

“What if something goes wrong and you’re no longer able to get an erection?” According to my source, this was not a comment from a concerned would-be patient, but a DOCTOR responding to the would-be patient’s query about whether he should get it done. The Doctor finished up by stating that he “wouldn’t get it done”. Bloody quacks, stop sitting on the fence and make a recommendation… 

There were also the usual stories involving a penis being caught between two bricks (Cock and a Hard Place - anyone? Anyone?), but it was the positive story of one who’d had it done and suffered no ill-effects that I latched onto and so decided to proceed.

To set the ball rolling I spoke to my local GP and gave my story…I have three beautiful children, who I love dearly, but the thought of having another one fills me with the same sense of despair I get every time David Cameron tries to appear sincere. Furthermore, we don’t have the financial means to support anyone else and we definitely don’t have the room at home as I believe keeping a child in a loft is still pretty much frowned upon. My GP convinced, I received an email a few weeks later telling me who to contact, which I subsequently did and booked my appointment in at another local surgery (not a hospital - apparently the snippers come to you or nearer you.)

Leading up to the date, I was nervous, but I covered this expertly by being grumpy, mercilessly taking the piss out of my colleagues and generally making the lives of those around me thoroughly miserable. Despite this (and in a true show of how much she loves me) Hutch still agreed to come to the Doctor’s with me and sit by my side.

There was an initial consultation with the Doctor where I was reminded the procedure should be considered irreversible and until I was told otherwise I would still be fertile and no, it wasn’t at all likely that I would be left with any superpowers after the work was done.

Up on the bed, tackle out (shut up, it was a cold day), iodine applied and brave face on whilst local anaesthetic is applied to either side of the scrotum. There are some instances when one injures oneself and can apply a simile “It was a burning sensation.” “It was liked being licked by kittens” etc. Having a needle shoved in your balls feels EXACTLY like having a needle shoved in your balls. Fortunately, this is a brief and minor discomfort and aside from a moment when the Doctor accidentally nicked a part of me that hadn’t been anaesthetised (I responded in a thoroughly British fashion and apologised for pain he’d caused me), I couldn’t feel a thing for the rest of the procedure.

Meat and two veg numbed, the doctor feels around your scrotum for the relevant tubes under the skin. Once located a small clamp is applied and using an instrument called a “hyfrecator” a single, small incision is made. The same instrument gently stretches an opening to allow the tubes to be reached. The tubes are then “inactivated and interrupted using the hyfrecator”. I wasn’t looking as I was trying not to panic when the nurse told me that the following day I “won’t even know it’s there” (turns out she was talking about the scar), but I could smell burning and although I couldn’t feel it, I had a sense of heat being applied. It seemed like the medical equivalent of soldering. That done, nut sack sealed up (without the need of stitches), a pat on the back (well, it would’ve been nice) and I was free to go. 

In the days after there was some mild discomfort down below, which would probably have been easily managed without pain relief, but as a delicate soul, I popped a couple paracetamol to be on the safe side. I didn’t walk too far as although there was only a tiny scar (scar size not directly related to genital size says….science), there was a little chafing tone found. I also lived in fear of one of my darling offspring accidentally kicking, head butting or punching me in the plums, but aside from that I was absolutely fine and already wanting to tell other men warily circling the procedure that there is nothing to worry about.

There is some post-procedure stuff to consider, you are technically still fertile until the sample you provide four months after the event comes back negative. Further hardship is be endured with the forty (minimum) ejaculations required before popping a sample IN THE POST to the jizz lab for analysis by someone who has heard all of the semen jokes on the planet. 

“Good luck!” I scoffed as I posted my sample. “You think the mere tying of some tubes will stop my boys?  No chance.”

Two weeks later I receive a letter confirming that I will never have children ever again. There is however a one in two thousand chance that the tubes could reattach. Even as an appalling amateur gambler, I know that I can live with those odds.

People seem to go nuts for lists at the moment, so here’s five things to be aware of when considering a vasectomy:

1) It was and is practically painless. I’m the world’s biggest wimp and can admit that to….well, the world, so there’s no stoicism here. 

2) I have no scarring and can ride a bike, which has nothing to do with anything, but I’m really proud of myself for learning to ride a bike.

3) The erection thing, I did get a little concerned a couple of hours after the procedure as there wasn’t much (anything) happening to make little D sit up and take notice. By the end of the day though, familiar stirrings had returned and we were back into double entendre territory eg. The light is green. Up periscope. Release the hounds etc. 

4) If you’re looking for an easy way to remember 3) -  the procedure concerns the veg, not the meat.

5) No bricks were present. 

*Google images does you know favours here. Just leave it.

Blog on the Dog in the Bog

It's quite cathartic to put some thoughts down about a project following its completion.

With the benefit of hindsight you can look back to where it all started, how it ended up and the trials and tribulations you faced in between.

I've been looking back further over everything I've done on the amateur stage since my debut as Bob Cratchitt at the tender age of 11 and as an actor, I can recall no greater challenge than taking on the role of Sherlock Holmes.

It's a double-edged sword, you see. He's one of the most famous literary characters ever, so there's endless source material and frames of reference for a character who – in on-screen portrayals - has undergone more regenerations than The Doctor. So, there's loads to draw from.

However, he's one of the most famous literary characters ever and anyone who has had any contact with the numerous books, films or TV series will have an opinion on Holmes and how he should be played.

For me this brought a lot of pressure as I hate seeing portrayals of my favourite characters from books being played atrociously or totally out of keeping with my vision of said character. So, I read a few of the Holmes stories, watched the Jeremy Brett version of The Hound, (I'd already borne witness to the incoherent mumbling of Robert Downey Jnr), closely followed by the excellent Benedict Cumberbund (sic) version, before finally consulting with an old chum and fellow board treader who just happens to be one of, if not THE definitive voices amongst the many Holmesian societies; Roger Johnson. I heartily recommend his book: The SherlockHolmes Miscellany, which he co-authored with Jean Upton.

However, ours was a period piece and so I tried to play Holmes of the time with an authoritarian manner, but tempered with elegance, hints of mischief and driven by the desire to solve the puzzle whatever the cost. Whether I achieved that or not is not for me to judge...

Regardless, it's been a fantastic experience and as I've previously said: hard work, but ultimately rewarding.

From day one, our director; Gordon Lawson, had a clear vision of what he wanted to achieve and I loved the fact that he would turn up to rehearsal with books, graphic novels and other paraphernalia relating to Holmes or the Hound of the Baskervilles. From this the cast and crew were all pulling in the same direction and working hard in their respective areas to make everything the best it could possibly be.

I've really enjoyed working on a straight play with the likes of Martin Cash (Dr Mortimer) and John Dodds (Sir Henry), when before we've only ever really played silly buggers in panto. The scene that was re-written to include Holmes in the interrogation of Laura Lyons was also a personal favourite as I really got into the psychological warfare with Jackie O'Sullivan who played the part of Mrs Lyons.

One of the highlights for me though has been sharing the stage with Simon Yaxley for the first time. He is an experienced campaigner, a true gentleman, a total professional and a very giving actor. For those who might not know what I mean by this: in performing his own role, he gives you things to react to and work from. Whether it be a facial expression, body language or tone of voice it may all sound quite simple (elementary?), but is in reality quite a hard thing to master. He does it naturally and I felt that I was able to learn a lot from him.

The five months of intense line-learning (reading the script at least once a day), rehearsal and three nights of performance, were as ever over in a flash. On the final night after the performance, I actually felt quite flat – possibly because I felt we had another show in us – and didn't stay too long at the after-show shindig, choosing instead to try and get an early-ish night so I could enjoy the following day with my new and recently neglected wife and our son.

I've had some lovely feedback from friends and colleagues who came to see the show as well as complete strangers who have come up to me after to tell me they really enjoyed it and were impressed with the effects and so forth. It's great to hear and is a nice reward for everyone who has put so much into making the show happen.

We're now two days after the finish and already I can feel my brain starting to relax with the realisation that it doesn't have to retain lines any longer. Little by little it is already starting to let them slip away – I just hope that I do not lose anything important in the process!

Thanks to all the cast and crew for the fun and laughter along the way and in particular thanks to Gordon for giving me the opportunity to play The Worlds Greatest Detective.

I'm now going to take a bit of an am-dram sabbatical to ensure that I spend some quality time with my family in a bid to nail the greatest challenge of all: being a good husband and father.

Derek the Divider

Ricky Gervais' Derek finished last week and there's been a bit of discussion about it since that time.

For one reason or another, it's stayed with me and I've been thinking about it a lot. Originally, I wanted to get some thoughts down sooner, but as with everything these days it takes a little longer.

The programme seems to have been as divisive as Mrs Brown Boys, with some deeply affected and moved by it to those who were angered and left feeling uncomfortable at Gervais' portrayal of Derek Noakes with his drooping jaw, slightly twee way of speaking and his odd shuffling walk. Furthermore (shock, horror etc.) Coldplay were used to soundtrack a couple of montages over the series, surely the death knell for any programme?

Gervais has been derided by many who feel he is gaining comic mileage out of those with genuine behavioural problems or psychological issues and there was a degree of truth in this in the pilot episode where Derek accidentally falls into a pond. That did make for uncomfortable viewing as we were being asked to laugh at Derek as opposed to with him. However, when the series started lessons were learned from this and we weren't asked to laugh at him again. We were asked to find him caring and kind-hearted.

Derek was an attempt by Gervais to break out of the furrow he's dug for himself. He's often been criticised for playing the same character in each of his roles, which in truth does carry some weight as there's not been an awful lot of variety in that regard.

But Derek is a huge step change and a risky one at that - as anyone who has seen Robert Downey Jnr's speech in Tropic Thunder will testify to (also considered by some to be offensive – you were warned). It would have been interesting to see the impact of an unknown actor playing the role. Would it have had more gravitas and been considered less offensive? Would it have created half the fuss, Twitter-rows, general discussion and publicity?

Arguably, Gervais' biggest crime with the writing of Derek is that he is guilty of loving his creation a too much which results in some of the supporting characters being thinly drawn (maybe to come into their own in the second series?), some clunky dialogue in places clunking and supposed “twists” being telegraphed well in advance.

But despite all this, tears of both laughter and sadness (surely the ultimate show of hitting the mark) have been teased out of the watching audience for half an hour each week and that it is no mean feat.

Like it's eponymous hero Derek was inoffensive and had its heart in the right place. The only underlying message that came out from it all, was not “let's have a laugh at those who are different to us” it was simply: wouldn't the world be a better place if we were all a little kinder and showed each other (and ourselves) just a little more respect?

In an increasingly cynical world full of snarky sketch shows and God-awful sitcoms with embedded laughter tracks (just in case you forget that what you are watching is supposed to be funny), Derek is overly sentimental, uncool and completely misunderstood by a lot of people.

I loved it.

Lines from a Boat House

First day of Autumn, belatedly blessed with Summer sun

Four friends together for belated fishing fun
Confessions, in a boat made
Peals of laughter and jokes replayed.

Late to bed, early to rise

And to mist covered Coniston in search of a prize
Lines baited, we waited…and waited.
Alleviating tedium and temptation to bore
Three friends converse by the shore

But what of friend the fourth, the missing lad?

He floats in his boat, there’s fish to be had!
The morning wears on, but no fish for this bunch
To the pub to regroup (and to lunch).

Unseasonal sun sends the quarry to sleep

Frustrated, one of the four wades in, knee deep.
To hope was said a premature good bye
Because, look at this! A perch on the fly!

Confidence restored, no longer bored

From their task they do not slacken
They cast and recast and dream of the Kracken.

Behind the hills the sun slips away

Shadows fall on a fruitless day
Maniacal minnows speckle the water
Fleeing from predators, just like they oughta.

From the boating angler, a soupcon of success

No such luck from the shore where they tidy their mess.
So to the pub, to review and a final post-mortem
To discuss the ways they should’ve caught ‘em.

Olympic-sized Pride

Forgive this blog. It’s probably not the first and almost certainly not the last that will proceed to gush forth about last night’s heroics at the Olympics.   

However, it’s Sunday morning and I’m up and about having slept incredibly poorly as I was still too pumped and excited following the evening’s events.

Those who know me and work with me will provide first-hand evidence that up until Danny Boyle’s superb opening ceremony, I was not a fan of the ‘lympics. More than that, I probably could have been considered anti-Olympics. The thought of braving the driving rain to see someone jogging with a candle left me cold. I was also annoyed that the games were being heralded as “good for Britain”, maybe “good for London” said I, puffed up with the righteous indignation so readily worn by the what’s-in-it-for-me brigade.

I won’t comment on the economics of the games, beyond reports I’ve read saying that Japanese tourism was down in the Lakes, but also that West End London was a ghost town as a result of people staying away because of the games. Just this morning Jeremy Clarkson has tweeted: “Off to America today. Trip planned months ago to get away from the Olympics. Thought it’d be dull. Mistake. Big mistake.”

Like many people I changed my tune around the moment when the beautiful and brilliant Olympic Cauldron was lit by the athletes of tomorrow. It really was the crowning moment of a glorious ceremony. Yes, Britain has its fair share of problems at present that will have to be dealt with in due course, but showing those problems in front of a global audience isn’t really going to make for a joyful opening ceremony is it?

Through his creative tour de force and reminders of what this country should be proud of (NHS, I’m looking at you), Boyle’s great accomplishment was not only showing the world what we can do and have done, but also in moving us to feel proud of our little country. I’ll say that again: proud of our little country. Be honest, before the Olympics, when was the last time any of you felt that?

It was a feeling that has been bubbling near the surface for most of the week as the medals flowed freely and the nation got behind the home athletes. It was a feeling that reached boiling point last night when after an already fruitful day at the rowing and the <voiceover man voice> Velodrome, Jessica Ennis blew away the competition in the 800 metres to win the Heptathlon by a country mile, closely followed by Greg Rutherford who jumped 8.31m to win gold, leaving only Mo Farah to try and complete hat-trick in the 10,000m, which - as we all know now - he did in the most dramatic fashion.

Our cup runneth over and I finally realised just how wrong I had been about the Games. Britain has been depressed, run down by a media gorging itself on the ill-advised actions of a powerful few, but the games have reminded us that as nation we are more than lying politicians, vampiric bankers and megalomaniacal media moguls.

They’ve reminded us, that the vast majority of British people are a decent, hard-working bunch and whilst most of us channel this into funding our day to day lives, there are some among us who channel it into becoming the very best in their chosen field. They work day and night, suffering setbacks and crisis of confidence, but ultimately never losing sight of the endgame.

Last night all that graft came to fruition and sporting examples of the very best of us showed us in spectacular fashion that if you truly want something enough, it is within your power to go and get it!

National pride has been restored. That athlete with the gold medal round their neck? “Yep, that’s one of ours and stone me, did they earn it!”

Thank you to all members of Team GB for lifting us out of the doldrums (however fleetingly it may be) and for reminding us of what can be accomplished if we are willing to work hard enough for it.

Now that’s good for Britain.

Catered Cottage

We returned yesterday from a brief sojurn to Derbyshire for the purposes of celebrating my mother's 60th Birthday.

The cottage pictured is where we stayed. It was very nice (if a little cool, but that might be more to do with the weather) and comfortably housed the seven of us.

The slight twist with the break was that is was catered accommodation and aside from a few stays in a hotel, I'd never experienced this before. I was therefore a little trepidatious about this interloper into our family holiday, but as ever my fears were assuaged by food.

We arrived late, but the chef/proprietor/owner; Susan had kindly kept a three course meal back for us. We opened with a delicious Potato Tortilla followed by Lamb Moussaka and Couscous, which was perfectly cooked and after a long-ish drive tasted at least 14% better. Dessert came in the form of Sticky Toffee Pudding (with a sprinkling of nuts) and ice cream which is making my mouth water as I recall it.

The following morning we woke quite early and Susan was in at about 7.30am to get a full english fry-up under way. If there is a finer smell to wake up to than bacon, eggs and sausage sizzling away, I don't wanna know about it.

It was a little odd getting showered up and coming to with Susan bustling around, but it's amazing how quickly you adapt when someone is cooking you your favourite stuff!

We spent the majority of the day in Matlock Bath and took the cable car to the Heights of Abraham (named after a famous battle) where there are caves to explore, fossils to examine and glorious views to enjoy. If you've got children, there's also playgrounds to enjoy and lots for them to do.

I must make special mention of our cavern guide "John" whose sarcastic delivery and dry, laconic observations helped make a potentially dull, dark tour great fun.

We finished up there around mid afternoon and made our way to Cromwall Canal and enjoyed some birthday cake and drinks in the much appreciated sunshine.

Aaahhh, the birthday cake. Note to prospective users of catered accommodation: they do NOT like you bringing your own food! My sister had quite a heated discussion with Susan when she brought the cake in. Fortunately, they were able to put it behind them, but it was a bit of a sticky moment apparently (I'm glad I wasn't there to see the confrontation first hand).

We made our way back to the cottage and had a bit of a games afternoon before Susan announced she was ready to serve. We opened with quiche and a courgette/lettuce salad. Chicken and bacon with roast potatoes and mushroom sauce followed and was rounded off by a Paris (we're sending Mum to Paris for a weekend) themed sponge cake.

With tums a-full of good eating we went to bed and swore never to eat again.

The following morning, Susan served bagels lashed with cream cheese and smoked salmon which rendered the previous nights statement both ridiculous and obsolete.

As Sunday was our last day, we had to clear out by 11am. We went back to Cromford Canal and had a lovely walk for about an hour and a half, followed by yet more cake before we made our merry way back home.

I've never been to that area before, but heartily recommend it to anyone. Matlock Bath in particular has a lot to offer and also appeared to popular with the biking fraternity.

The accommodation itself gave you everything you needed and was only a short drive from where the "action" was. It's in a rural location overlooking rolling hills and after dinnertime a few of the neighbouring cows had a wander over to demolish the leftovers from Susan's cooking. I couldn't fault the food, it really was excellent and lovingly prepared.

Recommended!

http://www.cateredcottage.com/