Bookshop

There is a whole section within the book department in WHSmith called "tragic life stories".

This morning I found a picture I took over Summer in the Botanical Gardens. Everything seems to be in season now and once again, despite starting the year with my own patch of land to grow things on, I end the year without it. This will not happen again! All contributions of wellingtons and other containers will be greatfully received and this time my garden will be portable.




Another play last night - outdoors in Fife in October. Some would say this was foolhardy but it turned out to be a very good idea indeed. Two short plays by Alan Ayckbourn meaning minimal set was required and the audience just about escaped hypothermia. The piece was funny and the outdoor garden setting meant it was all about the dialogue, which as usual with Ayckbourn was witty and comic but above all realistic. Acting was excellent and understated. In fact all in all the production has been quiet and quick in being set up - 3 weeks from audition to performance and hardly any fuss. Well executed, well acted, well done.

Taken

To the cinema! I saw Taken, a film with Liam Neeson last night. It was very bad. I spend this morning listening to 70's Bowie to counteract the rubbish.



Oh and the name for the festival has been solved. St Andrews is On the Rocks (and it won't know what's hit it).

Big shoes. Small town.

A cobbler refused to fix my shoes because I had got them reheeled somewhere else. Apparently the inferior shoe repair man shouldn't call himself a "master cobbler" if he can't fix all damage to shoes. There is only one master cobbler in this small town.

I persuaded him with an understanding nod and a five pound note.

Create your own festival

Five plays and 1 concert in a week. Some people would suggest this constitutes a festival in itself. This morning discussions about staging an actual official arts festival. A plan which seems to mainly rest on finding a name for the venture. Just as difficult as it sounds.

Main theme running through all performances this week is communication when words fail us. In Something Wicked a technician counter balances the flying swooping witch so his movements are slightly ahead of hers and in the opposite direction. He watches her closely and intently; she trusts him completely. There is no shadow of fear as she flies headlong towards the floor and only soars skyward again at the last possible moment. It is the most fascinating part of the whole show. The story I find trite and contradictory, M agrees. There is no conviction in the ending - we'll fight evil, violence and misery with laughter and love, but just for good measure we'll also use guns. I am trying to ignore anti-Americanism but this seems to reflect the general attitude to violence, death and retribution exemplified by selling guns in supermarkets and refusing to let go of the death penalty. It would seem I am almost alone in this - it is universally applauded in the press, although M was also bored and unimpressed.

Cherry Blossom with C at the Traverse, Edinburgh. The play is performed in two languages - Polish and English. Sometimes, but crucially not always, there are subtitles projected onto the stark and puzzle like set. The most moving parts of the play are found in the absence of translation. Movement, tone and expression communicate emotion and plot. It forces the audience to observe, watch and focus closely. This is no time to sit back and let the plot wash over you. It seems more of a Brechtian call to arms than Mother Courage, which I saw only a few weeks ago at the rep. C is less than impressed - hunger gets the better of him.

Friends are spending the day watching work in progress at the Byre. The outside world has sidled in and I'm suddenly aware how much I am out of the loop. I don't make theatre anymore. Not even obliquely.