#6

#7

#8

NEWS FLASH!

Aside


If you want to hear some life-affirming stuff- and who doesn't on a grey Bank Holiday Sunday - click on Apprentice on my side bar, and hear Randy Pausch's last lecture. It is quite long, so allow yourself time and you may not make it to the end without the aid of a Kleenex, but it is full of wisdom, wit, honesty and courage and even though much of it is out of my orbit I was glued to my computer.

The sun rises bright in France.

Story contd.

Julia, my friend and mentor, decided she would do a public production of ‘Sweeney Todd.’ And as her productions were always events, most of us were eager to take part. The town was twinned with Le Puy en Velay and the committee decided that we would take the production over to France, provided the play was a success. I had read for the younger female lead – which was really just a pretty face so was excited when Julia asked me to read for the young boy apprentice – Tobias. She explained that I would have to de- glam: wear scruffy clothes, a dark, sprutty wig and a dirt- smudged face, which made a pleasant change.

Somehow we had to get over the language barrier so the French would appreciate the full horror of this Victorian melodrama - about a barber who murdered his customers with a cut- throat razor (straight razor in US) and the victims would be made into pies by Sweeney’s neighbour, Mrs Lovett. Tobias was ’a rather dim boy’ – taken in by Mrs Lovett after Sweeney had murdered his previous guardian. We needn’t have worried; we acted our hearts out and one of the cast - an undergrad with excellent French, came on stage before each act, like an ancient town crier. He thumped a heavy staff on the ground to signal silence and then gave the audience a précis of what was going to happen. The French really got it and entered into the spirit of the play. It was great to hear them murmur:

‘Oh la pauvre!’ every time I was mistreated.

We were billeted in the hotel and were all deeply interested in what rooms we would have and with whom we would be sharing. I was with two teenage girls and I was never quite sure who was chaperoning who. The French were very welcoming; each morning, as we were having breakfast the mayor would appear and, whilst drinking, what looked suspiciously like vin rouge would regale us with tales which would be translated for us. One morning there was a roar of laughter and everyone seemed to be staring at me. Monsieur le Mayor had said that when he saw me as Tobias on stage, he thought about becoming homosexual. He really was an outrageous scallywag.

I made friends with the boy who was playing the other apprentice. We were usually waiting in the wings together and it became a ritual for him to make my face dirty and smudgy. We had perfect weather – neither of us liked crowds so we went for walks and climbed up the rock of Chapelle St Michel d’Auguille. We longed to explore the beautiful countryside and one day, when the alternative was a coach trip we explored the area between Le Puy and Clermont Ferrand. We had a picnic of bread and goat’s cheese with only the sound of bees buzzing; it was the start of a love affair with France.

On the way home a few of us stopped off in Paris and we visited all the places associated with Hemingway, Gertrude Stein et al - being especially captivated by Pere Lachaise cemetery and the beautiful museum Jeu de Paume which I think no longer exists. The whole trip was one of those experiences one relishes for ever. One day after my return, I was listening to Desert Island discs and heard music which immediately transported me to that French countryside. I wrote to the presenter – the original who devised the programme: Roy Plomley, and asked him what the music was. He very sweetly sent a handwritten post card telling me it was ‘Chants d’Auvergne’. The Auvergne is the area that includes Le Puy. Do listen if you have time.

Early morning call

Aside

I meant to have a lie in this morning but before 6am I was awakened from a nightmare. In my dream half a dozen hostages, including two women, were huddled in a shelter and were being stoned by an angry mob. I could still hear the thud of the stones and the menacing drumbeat - even though I was wide awake. Then I realised it was the first of May and the dreaded Minehead Hobby Horse was at large.

There are photos on the web site but all seem to be copyright

www.minehead-online.co.uk/hobbyhorse.htm Look here if you are curious. It was started to frighten off Viking invaders and to represent King of the May. The aim is to collect money for charity and anyone who refuses to cough up is ‘mock menaced’ by this slightly spooky apparition. The loud beating of the drum and squeeze- box intensifies the feeling of intimidation. One of these days I’ll get up at crack of dawn, brave the monster and take photos. Maybe next year.

Yesterday I saw the girls and they were sympathetic about our aborted week-end. Jackie is on her own with the cats whilst her daughter and SIL are away and is being driven dotty by the cats bringing in rabbits to keep her company. We planned our next day out in June. As we all have new bus passes we are going to go along the coast to Lynton – quite a hairy drive by car. It’s an open top bus so it could be wet and windy over the moor but we are not wimps.

Progress Report.

Aside

It still feels presumptuous to talk about ‘the book I am writing’ but what the hell! I now am up to date, in that all the episodes of ‘Past Imperfect’ are on one document and I have done some preliminary editing – for example - deleting headings which are episodic (what a nice word that is) instead of chapter headings. I have done some revision and find – to my delight - I rather enjoy it. I am fumbling with chapters - where, how long, how many? My total word count so far is 97,000 but how many pages is that? I know - if I count the words on a page of the autobiography I have just finished reading and multiply by the number of pages… but then there are lots of half pages which affect the calculation. Bother!

It was a comfort to read in The DT’s Review that when , after writing two successful books about the death of her husband and then her daughter, Joan Didion on being asked to write a play said, ‘I did not want to write a play. I had never wanted to write a play. I did not know how to write play.’

On meeting David Hare, who was to direct it she asked him how ‘long’ a play should be. ‘He did a word count on his own Via Dolorosa: 15,000 give or take.’

The point being that even someone as gifted as she is, feels uncertain when tackling something new.

Vanessa Redgrave is to play the lead and I’m sure – as she did in ‘Atonement’ – will shine like the candescent star she can be. ‘The Year of Magical Thinking’ opens at the National on April 25^th.

Back to the book, it’s clear I have a lot of work to do with regard to continuation and cohesion, to say nothing of coherence, conciseness and clarity. I need to read the manuscript from beginning to where I’m up to. I’m not done yet, so possibly there will have to be massive cuts. That’s much less daunting than having to pad it out. Onward and upward! I have a theory that post natal depression sets in after publication – I can comfort myself with that if nought comes of it. Meanwhile agents and publishers please form an orderly queue.

Vanessa Redgrave