Some of the positive and negative factors likely to affect Thespian's performance in 2008...

I am slim, fit and healthy, despite one or two slight creaks and a fondness for irish whiskey.
I am nice to children and animals, except when they get in my way and make lots of noise and mess.
I am patient and tolerant, except when I go out in the car or shopping in a busy town.
I am improving myself through education, but only as long as i keep getting good marks from the Open University.
I am extending myself through writing, but I'm going to be very upset if I don't earn more than that Rowling person.
I am being very diligent about my acting, but the next time Mister Over Actor over-acts, I'll probably brain him.
I look OK, though I am having to work at it a bit harder.

So the overall rating for Thespian for 2008 is......

Best wishes to you for a happy and healthy new year.
In the end, nothing else matters.

Got measured up by the costume department on Thursday night.
They chose not to do my inside leg, which was quite disappointing.
My vital statistics are:
 height 6 ft 1 inch
 chest   40
 outside leg 45
 shoe size  9.5

I forget the rest.
The worrying part was being told I would have to let my hair grow and I may have to wear breeches instead of
full length trousers.

I don't know which is worse - the long hair or the breeches.
I guess it has to be the breeches:  we open in about six weeks and my hair will not be growing too much in that time.
But I will look a prat in breeches and may have to throw a luvvie's tantrum to get out of wearing them.

My friend in the Over Acting Club did it again on Thursday.  I think he must have been annoyed he only has one line in one of the acts, and he decided to make those three words last as long as possible.
This time, the director was not amused (though the rest of us were).

Next stop, Wednesday, when we are concentrating on Act 2 and I shall be operating without any visible means of support
(no I don't mean breeches - I will be doing my lines from memory and leaving my script behind. Definitely. Probably).

I think it's time we had a code for dog owners, and they have to pass a test before being allowed out with their mutts.
The last couple of days has been a good illustration of the problem.

Time after time, dog owner will be trudging along the path or pavement with the dog off the lead - even on a main road.
I think we're meant to be impressed by the docility of their animals but I think it is selfish and irresponsible.

There is no attempt to control it, so when I walk past with Ruby - the nutcase border collie - all hell will break loose unless
I make sure she's back on the lead. She's a very nervous dog because she was attacked by another dog when she was a puppy.

The stress this causes is obvious, but dog owner seems oblivious - just trudges past as his or her mutt confronts Ruby, and Ruby snarls and growls, as I hang on desperately.

It gets to me in the same way as road rage...I set off with good intentions, then think "The next smug git who comes along with a labrador off a lead..."
Because the other thing worth noting is that Ruby is a very good fighter, and if I did let her off, Mister Smug Git might be wishing he had brought a lead, too.

And another thing - I bet those very same Smug Git Mutt-owners never clear up their dogs' crap either. 

Hence the need for the Dogway Code.  Either that or a bit of understanding and thoughtfulness from your fellow human beings.
Now that would be a nice change, wouldn't it?

Ronald Harwood wrote this play, set in the dressing room of a small provincial theatre in England in the early 1940s.
Popular opinion was that he based it on the legendary luvvie Sir Donald Wolfitt, for whom Harwood was his real life dresser.
He admits that much of the play is based on his experiences, naturally enough, but that the play does not describe their own relationship.

The play is interesting because it is really based on the now-defunct concept of the Actor Manager. 
These people were few and far between, but they would perform from one end of the country to the other, up till the 1930s, taking their repertoire to the people.  Their stamping ground was the provinces, and they rarely reached London.
They would endure long train journeys to unromantic towns, motivated by their love of Shakespeare and driven by the desire to bring his work to the masses.

I was reading about this the other day and wondered whether it could ever happen again.
I hope so - it seems to me to be a perfect and poetic example of people being driven by love of art.

Maybe I should save up for a railway season ticket and start practicing for a one-man performance of King Lear...the world premiere of which might be the end of the pier at Blackpool.

What do you think?  Would you come and watch?!

We are now getting to the loose bowel stage.

Bit by bit we are all trying to let go of our copies of the script, forcing ourselves to remember our lines, and exactly
when we say them, and our movements on the stage.
Rehearsing Act 3 on Friday night, it was clear we have a bit of work to do.

I was supposed to sit down on a bench at one point, only to find someone else had taken my place.
Most of us forgot where the exits were and the director patiently pointed out that we had just walked through walls.
But after a couple of hours, it felt a lot better.
At one point, the stage was so crowded some wag at the back shouted 'The train now standing at platform three...'

It is quite a leap to go from the cosy warmth of one of the back rooms at the theatre, and out onto the big wide and very cold stage.
Everything seems different - voices, movement, distance. 
You feel like you are learning your part all over again.

We're doing a full run of the whole play next Thursday and we are all looking forward to it.
I have decided to wear my ski socks, a thermal vest and a fleece that is normally reserved for January in the Alps.  I shall have to pretend to ignore the young girls in the cast who skip around in t shirts while I shiver in a woolly jumper.

I have also decided I am going to put my script in my back pocket so I can't take sneaky looks at it.
But I have been known to change my mind.

It happens to us all.
I don't know about you but I have become happier as I have aged.
If it carries on like this, medical science will be cloning me.
I feel better about myself, think better of others, and have much more confidence.

But for lots of people growing old must seem like some sort of punishment.

Almost one million people over the age of 50 - which is very young, relatively speaking -
want a job.
Three million people over the age of 50 provide care to someone who is sick, frail or disabled.

Not far off two million pensioners are officially living in poverty. Yet more than £4 billion of income related
benefits go unclaimed by older people. Meanwhile, around seven million people are not saving enough for their retirement.

More than two million older households live in homes which are deemed to be unfit, and an estimated 45,000 people
over the age of 50 are homeless.

It is worth remembering that it is nobody's fault that people are living to a ripe old age. It is a tribute to advances in health
care.
But who's fault is it that, today in this fine country of ours, so many are being treated so shabbily?
And can our health services now cope with the very problem that their talent and ingenuity has created?

Of course, the myth now is that everyone aged over 50 is on a nice fat pension, playing golf and buying up property to stave
off boredom.  And there are many people like that.
It just pays to remember that so many more are living from hand to mouth, often living alone, in draughty homes they can't afford to heat properly, and
without the support to claim the benefits they need.

By 2021, there will be 1.5 million more people aged 50 to 69 than there are now. And there will one million less aged
16 to 49.

I just hope I (and you, of course) stay healthy,  happy and loved long enough to avoid becoming a depressing statistic.

I'd really love to know if you've got any strong opinions on this.
And thanks for listening!

I love travel and often think I'd like to sell the house and buy a big boat and go see the world with GoodWife and Dog. Given the chance, and if I was alone, I'd also be happy to volunteer for a one way space flight to explore the Universe (as long as I got a decent packed lunch).

But living on planet Earth gives us enough to think about. 
For example...

Bangladesh was the first country to  ban plastic bags.

Ireland is the second richest country, just behind Japan.

Life expectancy in the Middle East and north Africa has shot up almost 50 per cent in the last 40 years.

A quarter of American workers in the private sector do  not get paid holidays.

Transport for London employs 232 people on more than £100,00 a year - five times more than the Home Office.

Deutsche Bank employs more people in London than in Frankfurt.

Some newspapers were encouraged about the results of a survey of children under the age of 10.
It showed that they felt that 'being happy' was the most important thing in life.
That's nice.
But I was more interested in the fact that 'being famous' came second, ahead of 'being healthy'.
It just shows how much influence TV and the media are having on children of such an impressionable age.
It also demonstrates (to me, at least) that we should be really, really worried about the amount of time children
spend planted in front of TV screens.
My three children are grown up now, so it's too late for me to do anything about them now.  But when they were young, we played with toys and read books, and ran around in the fresh air.
Only later, after the evening meal, would we have some cuddling up by the fire and the TV time.

I know it's a sign of ageing and I probably sound like a typical middle aged bloke who is out of touch...I'd like to think that's not true, but even if it was, maybe that's not such a bad thing?

All I know is, that when I look through my telescope and try to see the future, I see today's children hardening into cynical, sophisticated adults too early.

Please feel free to tell me I'm wrong.

Ruby is a lovely looking dog, and everyone we meet just dotes on her.
She's got big girly eyes and looks so meek and mild.
But like most border collies, she can be a complete nutter.
Like this morning...
A lovely soppy labrador ambled up towards her and immediately struck the submissive pose - lying on her side, ears back.
So Ruby went for its throat like a rabid tiger.

We adopted her a few years ago to save her from being put down.
She was bullied when she was young, and attacked by another dog.
She's never forgotten it, unfortunately.

We try to be understanding most of the time.
But today - please forgive me - I just wanted to kick her up the arse.

This can be a tough time of year.
The combination of cold, grey weather and crazy christmas is a recipe for depression, for some.

I'm happy, and positive and enjoying life.
But I have bad days, too.

When that happens, I always head for the sea.
Doesn't matter what the weather is like or how bad I feel.
If I can be beside the seaside for just an hour, I know I will feel better.

If I can't get there for any reason, I always have a selection of my own pictures - some of which
I keep on my phone.  Like this one...

Hope it helps you, too!

I can't name names for obvious reasons, but I think I encounted the worst over-actor in the world last night..
We were rehearsing Act One, in which he has a relatively minor role.
But he strode around, shouting, talking too slowly, imbuing even the simplest line with such deep meaning that you'd
think he was the star.

The rest of us were cracking up.
I hope the director has a quiet word with him soon.

But he might be afraid to do that, in case he over-REacts (sorry, that was a bad play on words).

As for me, I am going great guns on learning my lines, but not so good at getting my cues right.
I twice interrupted a fellow actor in mid-speech, which didn't go down too well.

But I'm pleased with progress.
And next week, at last, we actually get onto the stage for rehearsals and get a real idea of the space we have to work in.

Can't wait.

Paid the price for my smugness the other day.
Was so pleased to finish Christmas shopping, clean forget about Christmas cards.

So had to write those in the wee small hours this morning.
Then realised I was a bit short of cards and had to make a BIG decision -
  to whom should I send the slightly stained, slightly tacky card left over from last year?

Tricky one, that.

Can't send it to my posh sisters and their families.
Can't send it to any of our smart friends.

So, after a bit of dabbing with a damp tissue, it's gone into its creased and faded envelope and is about to be pushed through a neighbour's letterbox.

I hope he's not reading this.

Me, out in the garden at around 11 last night.
My breath forming clouds in the cold clear air.

Above me, amazingly bright stars in a pitch black sky.

And, in the distance, the sound of the sea as it  dragged and heaved shingle on the beach.

No people, no traffic noise...

I just closed my eyes and breathed it all in, and realised what an amazing world we live in.

...i've done my christmas shopping!

I ran across the finishing line after a gruelling race round the shopping centre today, pausing only for coffee and cakes( twice) and a garlic drenched
calzone pizza.

I don't know about you, but i need calories...if i don't eat, i don't perform at my best.

And you need to be in peak condition if you are going to survive the ultimate test...
and now, it only remains for me to sit and wait for the final mail order deliveries to arrive, and for me to write my Christmas cards.

Strange how the phrase "the Joy of Christmas' has taken on a new meaning.

I now take it to refer to that moment when you know you don't have to brave the High Street - at least for a few days.

just finished reading this.
it's a fantastic story, told with beautiful language.
but you do sometimes need patience.

thought i'd annoy mary shelley by summing it up in glib blog fashion... just in case you don't fancy reading it.

clever bloke creates human from various body parts and gives it life by plugging it into some batteries.
the creature is so hideous, though, that he runs off.

the creature is pretty mad that his creator did this, and takes revenge by killing his little brother.
they meet in an ice cave up in a glacier near mont blanc and agree that, to stop the bloodshed, clever bloke will
make a female to keep ugly bloke company.

he hides away in the orkneys to build the creature.  but rips it to shreds when he realises he is just compounding the evil.
the creature is horrified, and warns the creator that he will now make his life even worse.

he then kills clever bloke's best friend, and just when he's recovered from that shock, the creature kills his wife on their wedding night.

clever bloke spends the rest of his days a ruined man, driven only by the desire to destroy what he himself created.
he dies on a ship trapped in the ice floes and the creature vows he will now build his own funeral pyre and burn himself to ashes...

the end

apparently, mary shelley wrote this after a night of sharing ghost stories with lord byron, percy shelley, and others.  they all promised they
would write their stories down, but she was the only one who actually did it.  amazing that such a young girl could come up with such an amazing
idea for a story, right at the start of the 19th century.

click here, follow the instructions, and prepare to be amazed...

http://www.milaadesign.com/wizardy.html

if you know how it works, please tell me (privately!).
i have done it three times so far, and it has always been right...magic?

why don't men ask if their bums look too big?

rehearsals for act two went very well last night.
by the end of a long night, i was able to get through it, hesitating only once to check my script.

there are one or two quite complicated stage movements to remember, and i dread to think what act one will be like.
the stage will be pretty crowded.

i have this mental vision of me having to jump up and down a bit, just so the audience realises someone else has walked on.

it's a powerful play, but i can't help wondering if arthur miller could have told the same story using fewer characters!

got a break now till next wednesday, when we will be having a go at act one.  better start learning lines, quick.

but so far, so good...and i feel i am learning a lot, which is the most important thing for me.

i just hope wifelady can survive my occasional lapses into character, especially when the rehearsal pace steps up after christmas.

that's how i approach my life.

get up in the morning.
have tea, and lots of toast and honey.
walk the dog and smile as she sniffs and waits in vain beside a mole hill.
the theory is that, unlikely as it may seem, mister mole will eventually pop his head out.

i use the time to decide my three targets for the day.

so, today -
    finish editing the article i had to write for the local paper and send it off
   learn my lines for act two of the crucible
   and clean up my home office

do you set targets, or am i just sad?

i'm interested in images, and especially why marketing people choose specific ones.
i'm also keen on photography and how you can communicate so much without using a single word.

take these for example...
all from a single retail website aimed at gifts for women.
what is it about these images that is more likely to persuade a woman to buy something for herself or a friend, or a man to buy for a woman?

is the key that they are attractive and accessible, without being intimidating?
if you're a woman, would any of these images encourage you to buy?
any help, opinion, advice - gratefully received.

the plan is that britain builds lots of new houses, and makes sure a percentage of them can be afforded by first time buyers.
sounds ok.
but in my part of the world, the average wage is about £20, 000 a year.
the average house price is £182,000 a year, and rising.
there are 4,000 people in official housing need.
and the council reckons it might be able to work with developers to provide about 180 affordable homes every year.

meanwhile, the number of people in housing need will continue to grow faster than that, and the problem will actually never go away.

wouldn't it make more sense to be honest?
let developers build the nice new homes, if they can sell them.

instead of grovelling around hoping to scrape together a few 'affordable homes', because it makes a headline,
why not clamp down big time on second home owners, tax them to the absolute hilt, and put the money into providing good quality homes at
subsidised rent for those who need them.

otherwise, all the government will achieve will be very rich housebuilders, estate agents, and solicitors.

and decent people wondering where their chance of a decent home went.

we're stoking up big trouble, and as usual, the government is playing around the edges of the problem instead of facing it and doing something brave and forward looking.

you often hear of famous last words.
spike milligan's tombstone is a good example - 'i told you i was ill'.

but i wonder what a real life last word would be.
i remember when i came off my motorbike a long time ago.
i yelled 'shit!' and was still yelling it while i lay on the tarmac.
ridiculous.
why couldn't i have said something deep and meaningful to the crowd that gathered round me.
like - 'i go to a far better place, where car drivers can actually see a motorbike a hundred yards away with its headlights on.'

when i went in for major ten hour surgery three years ago, i'm sure i said something to my distraught wife, like
'see you later'.

so i conclude i will never get into a book of quotations.

but at least i didn't say 'kiss me hardy'...that's even worse than 'shit'.

my father in law's 80th turned out to be a great weekend.
we took over the village pub, to the landlord's great delight (normally, it's empty on a saturday lunchtime).
the usual suspects had too much to drink.
the kids had a great time playing darts and making obscene objects out of clay/play putty, whatever you call it.

and i met some remote relatives i'd not had the chance to talk to ever before.

the sweetest moment for me was watching father in law as he viewed the dvd i made for him out of old photos and more recent video clips.
a sort of 'this is your life' but with an ending that suggested there was plenty more scope for a sequel.

but the day ended with him throwing his trivial pursuit counter into the box and going up to bed in disgust because he was struggling to answer questions from the childrens edition...

still, the weekend had a nice atmosphere, he enjoyed himself,  and i'm glad i was part of it.

and just to prove that it doesn't matter how old you are, maturity is but a distant dream - here's the birthday card that he liked the most...
subtle, or what?   i think you'll need to double click the image to see it full size.

people always used to call me a dark horse.
i think my quietness is unnerving for some.

they assume i'm aloof while in fact i'm just someone who likes to think and observe and bide his time before speaking.

i suppose i am pretty self contained.  but i am more than capable of having a good time.

this subject interests me - the idea that we give a certain impression to other people.
we all take snap decisions, form instant dislikes, and fail in love when all logic says you're bonkers.

makes you think we might be missing out on so much simply because we misunderstand the person standing in front of us.

what impression do you think you give to others?

all answers treated in the strictest confidence!!

... corner shops would be compulsory.

i needed a can of chopped tomatoes (these things are important, which is why i'm telling you about it).
so i walked to the corner shop.

the two cheerful assistants were stacking shelves and humming songs.
both of them called out a welcome.
i found what i wanted, and added a can of murphys for good measure.

one of them came over and chatted while she took my money.
and i walked home, cheered by the whole experience, and thanking my lucky stars i have a corner shop close by.

the corner shop must rank quite high on any quality of life indicator.
i wonder if there's any evidence to demonstrate its positive effect on people.

(apart from me blogging about it, i mean).

i'm slowly learning my lines and getting in character.

interestingly, i think i have got a speech word perfect, then read it again and realise i have changed something.
not much, just a phrase or even just a word.

usually, i like my version better - which would annoy the playwright no end i'm sure.

so anyway, i used the drive to devon for father in law's 80th to go through the script (while my wife was doing her share of the driving, naturally).

quite a nice way to speed up a journey - talking with great purpose to the car in front.

now, i find i can do a whole scene while brewing tea and slicing toast.

at this rate, i'll be able to do the whole play all by myself.

a new career beckons!