"Journalism is a sexy profession full of ugly people. And reporting is basically making mischief. A bunch of people who don't like authority metaphorically sniffing around dustbins getting the shit on people."
The slow death of traditional media and the press is made all the more poignant at today's media call for the National Theatre of Scotland's latest production Enquirer. As dozens of photographers and a TV crew whiz around taking pictures from various angles, I stand sheepishly at the back with my iPhone - taking a few snaps and recording the audio from the preview scenes we're shown. It's an acknowledgement of the increased importance of social media by the NTS to invite people like me along to these events, organised chiefly for the "big boy" press. I'm in no way saying that what I do is of anywhere near the standard and quality produced by the traditional press - in fact I'm firmly situated in the camp which says that social/new media can only be adjoint to the traditional press, and that without it we could be a much poorer society - but to be invited is a real treat is symbolic of the ever-increasing role of social media in attracting theatre audiences.
This looks to be an impeccably timed and vitally important production - and in suitably NTS style it departs from the conventional theatre and occupies instead the top floor of a media office block in Glasgow's Pacific Quay. The long, sleek and modern space boasts a semiotically-charged view, alongside the Finneston Crane stands the BBC, STV, the Daily Record offices... It looks like the backdrop to the six O'Clock news, especially when John Bett and Billy Riddoch discuss the outrageous pay of BBC executives in full view of the beeb's Scottish home.
"We decided we wanted to hear journalists talk about journalists" - it's a pretty faithful verbatim piece, according to co-director john Tiffany. 50 hours of interviews have been edited into a strong "lament" over the death of the newspaper industry. Far from the traditional "row of microphones" as actor James Pearson had predicted, Enquirer is a highly theatrical and constantly changing piece. As the Leveson enquiry develops, the piece is constantly evolving - having just received an e-mail with new information during the media call, John Tiffany predicts that some editing will be required before opening night.
Timing is everything, and this could hardly be better positioned - as the TV screens in the performance space beam live rolling news footage of Jeremy Hunt running from the press, the actors discuss the changing morality of the newspaper industry. The creation of the piece has been a legal minefield, but in a rewarding and important way says Tiffany - using direct quotes from journalists necessitates accuracy and speedy responses to changes in the political climate. On that note, co-director Vicky Featherstone was keen that we "social media types" point out the things that the traditonal press couln't or wouldn't - for example how the professional photographers wanted to make sure the numerous newspapers which pepper the set had their titles covered up. As freelancers, they knew that selling a photograph to The Guardian with a copy of The Sun in it would be difficult.
But this is not just about the death of the press and the unstoppable rise of user-generated content, more about how important one is to the other. Billy Boyd's character quips that "Every day now we'll have some kid who'll give as a ten minute tutorial on something to do with the internet. Which can be, you know, really annoying." Every interview featured in some way reflects on social media and its role in building a modern press, but most are also quick to point out that without traditional journalism and robust fact-checking, accountability will become a lost concept.
ENQUIRER runs at THE HUB, Pacific Quay, Glasgow from the 26th of April to the 12th of May at 8PM. Tickets and more information at www.nationaltheatrescotland.com
Wednesday, 25 April 2012
Monday, 16 April 2012
Twits...
The inevitable sneers and sniggers often associated with going to musicals over "proper" theatre have always grated on me. Popular shows are often popular for good reason (don't get me wrong, Mamma Mia still perplexes me), so why shouldn't we indulge that side in us which longs for variety, music, emotion, comedy... (A Good Night Out, anyone?)
That's what I did on Thursday. Only one night in London to see a show - what shall I see? The world was my oyster (card), from Cate Blanctett in "Big and Small" at the Barbican, the last few nights of The King's Speech, She Stoops to Conquer at the National..? I'm not often down in London (much as I'd like to be), so this kind of tough call doesn't rear its head too often. On this occasion, I took in the show so lauded in the press and in the public perception that it has established itself in just a few short months as one of the best British musicals of all time after a frantic search for a ticket.
Matilda the Musical at the Cambridge theatre is really nothing but an absolute joy-fest. From the tingling anticipation on first sight of Rob Howell's incredible scrabble-board set as you take your seat, to the squeals of delight as the Trunchbull spins a pig-tailed girl around by her hair, launching her into the auditorium - this is confident and assured new musical, which reflects so much of the spirit of Dahl's masterpiece.
The score by Tim Minchin is tongue-twistingly adjective-laiden, reflecting again on Dahl's wit, and the book is good enough to make you think that the mastermind of children's fiction must have written it himself. I know most of the reviews on this blog tend to be over-archingly positive (I tend to write about something when I've truly loved it), I really can't heap enough praise on this show. The cast is incredible, Bertie Carvel as the Trunch steals the show, especially in the hilarious phys-ed scene, complete with diving-rolls and the "trampettes" you remember from school. What really sets this show apart as something awe inspiring is the skill of the young cast members, none more so than the protagonist, on my visit the sensational Kerry Ingram on her last night as Matilda (she's going on thirteen, hopefully not retiring from the stage altogether). The beautiful singing and impeccable comic timing make you forget how young the cast are, their zestful energy is infecting and lifts the entire piece. Much is to be said for the Wormwoods (Paul Kaye and Josie Walker), and to the entire adult "support" - but Matilda is rightly the true focus.
What didn't I like about this show? Nothing. When theatre leaves you wishing you could re-wind time and experience the same feelings again, it has worked. This doesn't mean just seeing a show a further time - the joy is in the surprise - so you've essentially just experienced a once-in-a-lifetime event. By gum it was a good one (7 x Olivier awards good, apparently). See it before Bertie Carvel leaves in July (or after, it'll still be great...)
That's what I did on Thursday. Only one night in London to see a show - what shall I see? The world was my oyster (card), from Cate Blanctett in "Big and Small" at the Barbican, the last few nights of The King's Speech, She Stoops to Conquer at the National..? I'm not often down in London (much as I'd like to be), so this kind of tough call doesn't rear its head too often. On this occasion, I took in the show so lauded in the press and in the public perception that it has established itself in just a few short months as one of the best British musicals of all time after a frantic search for a ticket.
Matilda the Musical at the Cambridge theatre is really nothing but an absolute joy-fest. From the tingling anticipation on first sight of Rob Howell's incredible scrabble-board set as you take your seat, to the squeals of delight as the Trunchbull spins a pig-tailed girl around by her hair, launching her into the auditorium - this is confident and assured new musical, which reflects so much of the spirit of Dahl's masterpiece.
The score by Tim Minchin is tongue-twistingly adjective-laiden, reflecting again on Dahl's wit, and the book is good enough to make you think that the mastermind of children's fiction must have written it himself. I know most of the reviews on this blog tend to be over-archingly positive (I tend to write about something when I've truly loved it), I really can't heap enough praise on this show. The cast is incredible, Bertie Carvel as the Trunch steals the show, especially in the hilarious phys-ed scene, complete with diving-rolls and the "trampettes" you remember from school. What really sets this show apart as something awe inspiring is the skill of the young cast members, none more so than the protagonist, on my visit the sensational Kerry Ingram on her last night as Matilda (she's going on thirteen, hopefully not retiring from the stage altogether). The beautiful singing and impeccable comic timing make you forget how young the cast are, their zestful energy is infecting and lifts the entire piece. Much is to be said for the Wormwoods (Paul Kaye and Josie Walker), and to the entire adult "support" - but Matilda is rightly the true focus.
What didn't I like about this show? Nothing. When theatre leaves you wishing you could re-wind time and experience the same feelings again, it has worked. This doesn't mean just seeing a show a further time - the joy is in the surprise - so you've essentially just experienced a once-in-a-lifetime event. By gum it was a good one (7 x Olivier awards good, apparently). See it before Bertie Carvel leaves in July (or after, it'll still be great...)
Thursday, 9 February 2012
"My Margaret"
Frantic Assembly are good at emotion. Very good. More and more I find myself more emotionally involved and attached to a piece when it contains some kind of physicality - it feels like something else to grab on to, something somehow more tactile than just words. Music often makes me feel the same. Lovesong does both, and so much more, better than most.
A young and old version of the same couple recount their lives together - the search for happiness, success, love and marriage. Effortlessly and fluidly switching between the two, punctuated by beautifully crafted moments of physical theatre where young and old meet. It's not about the story, it's about the journey - a journey which has lasted a whole lifetime, as Maggie comes to the end of the road, leaving William to finish the life that somehow got away from them.
It's this interaction which is at the core - the most touching moments come when young and old meet, and the frantic physical dancing expresses more emotion than a simple dialogue would, much more tastefully and nuanced. To not be swept up by the emotion of this piece is almost unthinkable - it's the ethereal feeling of the physical theatre juxtaposed against the frightening reality and near-futility of real life which makes Lovesong so beautifully moving.
Lovesong is at the Glasgow Citizens until the 11th, then at the Sherman Theatre, Cardiff from the 15th - 18th February 2012.
A young and old version of the same couple recount their lives together - the search for happiness, success, love and marriage. Effortlessly and fluidly switching between the two, punctuated by beautifully crafted moments of physical theatre where young and old meet. It's not about the story, it's about the journey - a journey which has lasted a whole lifetime, as Maggie comes to the end of the road, leaving William to finish the life that somehow got away from them.
It's this interaction which is at the core - the most touching moments come when young and old meet, and the frantic physical dancing expresses more emotion than a simple dialogue would, much more tastefully and nuanced. To not be swept up by the emotion of this piece is almost unthinkable - it's the ethereal feeling of the physical theatre juxtaposed against the frightening reality and near-futility of real life which makes Lovesong so beautifully moving.
Lovesong is at the Glasgow Citizens until the 11th, then at the Sherman Theatre, Cardiff from the 15th - 18th February 2012.
Sunday, 4 December 2011
Look Upon me and Know me Better Sir!
It’s a new venture for the National Theatre of Scotland, but not an alien one. 5 years in the pipeline, Graham McLaren’s adaptation of Dickens’ A Christmas Carol is the 5-year old company’s first attempt at a Christmas show. Note the term, Christmas show – this is definitely a not a pantomime…
I managed to sneak along to a press call for this new production, and had the chance to speak with the cast and creative team. “The genesis for this was a conversation with Vicky Featherstone and John Tiffany about 4 or 5 years ago, when we discussed the possibility of a Christmas show. They said that NTS probably wouldn’t do that, as we’re a company without a home. How would we make a show which wasn’t poaching audiences from other shows?” says Graham McLaren, associate Director of NTS. The solution has been to create an intimate studio for just 90 spectators inside the Govan Town Hall, now known as “Film City”. It’s a high tech space with hidden speakers, state of the art yet subtle lighting systems, all disguised by an exquisite set – before they even start you can tell that this is a Christmas show with real class, as suited to adults as it is to children.
We are treated to a glimpse at a few scenes, the appearance of some of Gavin Glover’s incredible puppets being highlights. “Apart from a love of Dickens, I had no real intention to make this show. It was more about a problem solving exercise, but it did give me the opportunity to work with Gavin, who I’ve been headhunting for a while.” Says McLaren, who fresh from the success of his recent production of Ena Lamont Stewart’s “Men Should Weep” exudes an air of confidence and good humour. Clearly this cast and creative team, featuring Benny Young in the role of Scrooge, have gelled well together – with those citing themselves as puppeteers working effortlessly with those who proudly state that they are “actors”. This is a piece, however, where that boundary is extremely blurred. No attempt is made to hide the actor/puppeteers as they operate these life-size, gaunt looking marionettes, which appear from nooks and crannies in Scrooge’s mahogany office as if my magic. In full Victorian garb, Puppeteer Josh Elwell tells me “You have to push it, and see how much you can get away with when operating the puppet without being distracting”.
As the ghost of Christmas past zooms around the room and into the audience, its head illuminated by warm, incandescent light there is a notable chill in the air. You aren’t imagining it, the entire studio is temperature controlled. Someone else remarks that the room even smells old: McLaren quips that Benny Young, his senior, is responsible for that before admitting that there is no technological alchemy at work – it’s just the smell of the old furniture. Some might cry that a Christmas show, especially an adaptation of such a well-loved tale, is yet another safe bet by the National Theatre. After the sell-out tour of Higher Drama favourite “Men Should Weep”, and repeated success of Burke and Tiffany’s “Black Watch” it might be said that success with such shows in nearly guaranteed – they might be right, at the time of writing the show is nearly entirely sold out. Despite that, though, this still feels totally worthwhile – a spooky and beautifully crafted take on this classic work of literature, and a fitting introduction to the National theatre for those children (and adults) who might feel too old for a traditional pantomime (oh no they’re not…).
I managed to sneak along to a press call for this new production, and had the chance to speak with the cast and creative team. “The genesis for this was a conversation with Vicky Featherstone and John Tiffany about 4 or 5 years ago, when we discussed the possibility of a Christmas show. They said that NTS probably wouldn’t do that, as we’re a company without a home. How would we make a show which wasn’t poaching audiences from other shows?” says Graham McLaren, associate Director of NTS. The solution has been to create an intimate studio for just 90 spectators inside the Govan Town Hall, now known as “Film City”. It’s a high tech space with hidden speakers, state of the art yet subtle lighting systems, all disguised by an exquisite set – before they even start you can tell that this is a Christmas show with real class, as suited to adults as it is to children.
We are treated to a glimpse at a few scenes, the appearance of some of Gavin Glover’s incredible puppets being highlights. “Apart from a love of Dickens, I had no real intention to make this show. It was more about a problem solving exercise, but it did give me the opportunity to work with Gavin, who I’ve been headhunting for a while.” Says McLaren, who fresh from the success of his recent production of Ena Lamont Stewart’s “Men Should Weep” exudes an air of confidence and good humour. Clearly this cast and creative team, featuring Benny Young in the role of Scrooge, have gelled well together – with those citing themselves as puppeteers working effortlessly with those who proudly state that they are “actors”. This is a piece, however, where that boundary is extremely blurred. No attempt is made to hide the actor/puppeteers as they operate these life-size, gaunt looking marionettes, which appear from nooks and crannies in Scrooge’s mahogany office as if my magic. In full Victorian garb, Puppeteer Josh Elwell tells me “You have to push it, and see how much you can get away with when operating the puppet without being distracting”.
As the ghost of Christmas past zooms around the room and into the audience, its head illuminated by warm, incandescent light there is a notable chill in the air. You aren’t imagining it, the entire studio is temperature controlled. Someone else remarks that the room even smells old: McLaren quips that Benny Young, his senior, is responsible for that before admitting that there is no technological alchemy at work – it’s just the smell of the old furniture. Some might cry that a Christmas show, especially an adaptation of such a well-loved tale, is yet another safe bet by the National Theatre. After the sell-out tour of Higher Drama favourite “Men Should Weep”, and repeated success of Burke and Tiffany’s “Black Watch” it might be said that success with such shows in nearly guaranteed – they might be right, at the time of writing the show is nearly entirely sold out. Despite that, though, this still feels totally worthwhile – a spooky and beautifully crafted take on this classic work of literature, and a fitting introduction to the National theatre for those children (and adults) who might feel too old for a traditional pantomime (oh no they’re not…).
Friday, 14 October 2011
Inside-Out.
Saturday Night
by Vanishing Point Theatre Co.
Sometimes I think they hold the doors of the theatre till the very last minute, just to build suspense. It feels like that a lot at the Tramway (the real reason is so that when actors are on stage when the audience enter, they don't get too tired or bored. Either that or things went very wrong, very last-minute.) Saturday Night, Vanishing Point's quasi-sequel to the much applauded Interiors subjected me to that tense pace around the foyer on Wednesday night. Walking into Tramway 1, you can't help but be excited, intrigued and curious as to what is going to happen on Kai Fischer's stunning two-story set.
For those of us who saw Interiors, we have a rough idea. The early-20th Century notion of Naturalism and Voyeurism taken to literal extremes, the audience acting as gawkers to a private event in someone's home. No words, just actions - but then again they say more than words ever could. This powerful company transfixes the audience's gaze for an hour and a half of pure voyeurism. This time, it's much darker, surreal even. When you can successfully couple naturalistic voyeurism and moments of complete surreality, you can appreciate the skill and craft of this entire company even more.
Sometimes that surrealism goes too far - one feels perhaps that there is no need. But this all just adds to the haunting semi-reality created by Matthew Lenton's style. It looks real, and one almost feels oneself being dragged into the world of the silent characters, but then every now and again, a costumed gorilla (don't ask) comes along to snap you back to the world of the Tramway, with almost Brechtian effect.
It's not to everyone's taste, but it's a unique theatrical experience, and for those of you who hate to be interacted with on a night at the theatre, the fourth wall really does exist on this most unique Saturday Night.
by Vanishing Point Theatre Co.
Sometimes I think they hold the doors of the theatre till the very last minute, just to build suspense. It feels like that a lot at the Tramway (the real reason is so that when actors are on stage when the audience enter, they don't get too tired or bored. Either that or things went very wrong, very last-minute.) Saturday Night, Vanishing Point's quasi-sequel to the much applauded Interiors subjected me to that tense pace around the foyer on Wednesday night. Walking into Tramway 1, you can't help but be excited, intrigued and curious as to what is going to happen on Kai Fischer's stunning two-story set.
For those of us who saw Interiors, we have a rough idea. The early-20th Century notion of Naturalism and Voyeurism taken to literal extremes, the audience acting as gawkers to a private event in someone's home. No words, just actions - but then again they say more than words ever could. This powerful company transfixes the audience's gaze for an hour and a half of pure voyeurism. This time, it's much darker, surreal even. When you can successfully couple naturalistic voyeurism and moments of complete surreality, you can appreciate the skill and craft of this entire company even more.
Sometimes that surrealism goes too far - one feels perhaps that there is no need. But this all just adds to the haunting semi-reality created by Matthew Lenton's style. It looks real, and one almost feels oneself being dragged into the world of the silent characters, but then every now and again, a costumed gorilla (don't ask) comes along to snap you back to the world of the Tramway, with almost Brechtian effect.
It's not to everyone's taste, but it's a unique theatrical experience, and for those of you who hate to be interacted with on a night at the theatre, the fourth wall really does exist on this most unique Saturday Night.
Elegies for Angels, Punks and Raging Queens
Elegies for Angels, Punks and Raging Queens.
Insideout Productions in association with Upstage theatre Productions
27th September – 1st October
The Changeling House, Tron Theatre.
The shadow of AIDS is, somehow, less threatening than it once was. It shouldn’t be – even though instances have decreased in the west since the pandemic period of the 80s and 90s New York, the disease still claims lives with terrifying frequency. Like the disease itself “Elegies for Angels, Punks and Raging Queens” at the Tron this week, an 80s off-Broadway hit, has this sense of being placed in the past, despite this production’s valiant efforts to modernise and localise its content. In 2011 Russell and Hood’s “Musical Play” reminds us of the disease’s horrifying nature, and often relationship-strengthening consequences in an age where AIDS can feel distant and less pressing than it perhaps should.
“Elegies” moves with pace from person to person, tale to tale. The concept of a show where every character is dead from some form of contact with AIDS seems morbid, and it occasionally is, but it’s equally celebratory and jubilant in nature. More than this, however, it’s a series of monologues and uplifting musical numbers constructed to showcase beauty buried behind a debilitating disease. In this production, that beauty shines through not in the occasionally clichéd monologues but in the wall of harmonious sound created by this enormous cast. It’s more of a showcase for the incredible level of musical theatre talent out and working in the West of Scotland than anything. Full of recent graduates and a handful of familiar faces – “Elegies” is, perhaps surprisingly, an uplifting pleasure to behold.
These are musical theatre actors. Like it or not, there is almost always a division between those who act and can sing a bit, and those who can sing and act a bit too. The dilemma facing producers and directors of shows of Elegies’ nature (it’s billed as a “musical play”) is whether to cast a group of singing actors, or acting singers. The latter is, broadly speaking, the case in this production. Whilst that occasionally shows during the sometimes drawn-out monologues, littered with amateurish techniques for portraying anguish and sadness, it is more than made up for when these chanteurs and chanteuses belt their incredible numbers. They are all clearly more comfortable when they sing, and the audience cannot help but be carried along with them – whether that’s to uplifting euphoria or cathartic tragedy, it feels like we go between these extremes several times during the 2 hour show. Note must go to David Kristopher-Brown, Natalie Toyne and Gayle Telfer-Stevens, who sing with such skill, tenderness and power that one can’t help but be lead to wherever they’re going. The joy of Elegies is the ability of the incredible cast to explain their emotional patch in the quilt through song, tenderly, sensitively and utterly naturally. When faced with voices like these it’s impossible not to go along with them.
Insideout Productions in association with Upstage theatre Productions
27th September – 1st October
The Changeling House, Tron Theatre.
The shadow of AIDS is, somehow, less threatening than it once was. It shouldn’t be – even though instances have decreased in the west since the pandemic period of the 80s and 90s New York, the disease still claims lives with terrifying frequency. Like the disease itself “Elegies for Angels, Punks and Raging Queens” at the Tron this week, an 80s off-Broadway hit, has this sense of being placed in the past, despite this production’s valiant efforts to modernise and localise its content. In 2011 Russell and Hood’s “Musical Play” reminds us of the disease’s horrifying nature, and often relationship-strengthening consequences in an age where AIDS can feel distant and less pressing than it perhaps should.
“Elegies” moves with pace from person to person, tale to tale. The concept of a show where every character is dead from some form of contact with AIDS seems morbid, and it occasionally is, but it’s equally celebratory and jubilant in nature. More than this, however, it’s a series of monologues and uplifting musical numbers constructed to showcase beauty buried behind a debilitating disease. In this production, that beauty shines through not in the occasionally clichéd monologues but in the wall of harmonious sound created by this enormous cast. It’s more of a showcase for the incredible level of musical theatre talent out and working in the West of Scotland than anything. Full of recent graduates and a handful of familiar faces – “Elegies” is, perhaps surprisingly, an uplifting pleasure to behold.
These are musical theatre actors. Like it or not, there is almost always a division between those who act and can sing a bit, and those who can sing and act a bit too. The dilemma facing producers and directors of shows of Elegies’ nature (it’s billed as a “musical play”) is whether to cast a group of singing actors, or acting singers. The latter is, broadly speaking, the case in this production. Whilst that occasionally shows during the sometimes drawn-out monologues, littered with amateurish techniques for portraying anguish and sadness, it is more than made up for when these chanteurs and chanteuses belt their incredible numbers. They are all clearly more comfortable when they sing, and the audience cannot help but be carried along with them – whether that’s to uplifting euphoria or cathartic tragedy, it feels like we go between these extremes several times during the 2 hour show. Note must go to David Kristopher-Brown, Natalie Toyne and Gayle Telfer-Stevens, who sing with such skill, tenderness and power that one can’t help but be lead to wherever they’re going. The joy of Elegies is the ability of the incredible cast to explain their emotional patch in the quilt through song, tenderly, sensitively and utterly naturally. When faced with voices like these it’s impossible not to go along with them.
Thursday, 14 April 2011
That was the year that was.
Coming up on a year since the last post, it's time for another.
I'm now drawing to the close of my juniour honours year at Glasgow Uni, which has been challenging but in a good way. After the year abroad and a further summer away at Disney, I was keen to get back to uni life, get back into the books and take it head on. I did, to an extent, and one class I particularly enjoyed in the first semester was Performance Theory and Analysis with Katie Gough. I was warned and worried about this class - a whole semester of three hour classes on the "hows" and "whys" of theatre - theoritical crap I had never really gotten to grips with, but my solution for that was a radical one - I did the reading.
That's right, I did what I was told and let me tell you, it helped. I ended up loving the class, which was full of exchiting debate and discussion about various aspects of performance studies, ably led by Katie Gough, one of the smartest people I've ever met, despite her unfortunate affliction of being American.
I also started classes in Contemporary French Theatre and Bande Dessinée along with the usual French Language classes. Band Dessinée (Francophone comics), or BD, had been a class I had looked forward to since my first intorduction to the study of tintin in second year. Once again, led by the incredible Billy Grove, referred to as the "Don" of BD. Enriching, rewarding (and fun) this class has let me study exactly what I wanted with no limits or restrictions - my essay/research project was finally on experimental narratology in Bande Dessinée, looking at ways stories are constructed in populist and post modern comics, drawing on long forgotten knowledge from level one film and TV.
That semseter also saw Kevin Carr, Michale Egan and myself start a project we had talked about for a long time, our own radio show on Glasgow University's Subcity Radio. We went on the air in October with "The All Day Cheeky Breakfast", a weekly mix of "cheeky tunes and cheeky chat" from 10-12 on Fridays (find all our shows online at www.subcity.org/shows/cheekybreakfast). Whilst hauling myself out of bed for 10 on a Friday is occasionally challenging, the show has been immense fun, and has ended up pretty successful, never dropping out of the top ten shows, despite this being our first year, and there being over 100 shows on Subcity.
After Disney, which was by the way, incredible - this summer I worked in the World of Disney - the largest character merchandise store on earth, I came home and looked for a new job. Thankfully dad had taken up a new position with the old manager of Rogano and belligerent Restauranteur Gordon Yuill. He's known around the Glasgow restaurant scene for one thing - being a dick. He didn't disappoint too much. I started work as a waiter in August at the Merrylee Road Bar and Grill, which was an OK job. I felt the need not to go back to the Golf Club, despite good times and great friends made there, and after Disney and a year abroad the timing felt right to try something else. Eventually, one of the other waiters Nikhil left to go back to Rogano, and "proccured" me a job as well. I started working in Glasgow's oldest restaurant in November, and it has been great. Excellent tips, nice people and a real landmark for Glasgow. The shine might have come off her a bit, but she is still Glasgow's favourite restaurant. Café Rogano, where I work, is laid back enough and yet maintains a lot of the formality and service that I love about Restaurants.
November also saw a jaunt for us to Paris and Lyon to visit our buddies MC and Euan, doing their year abroad as law students in France's Gastronomic capital. The short time spent living la vie francaise made me pine a bit for my year abroad, and all the fun and adventure that came with it. Ansleigh is still out in Paris, and seeing her live her life in the capital with a great job as a language tutor just showed me that the world is my oyster with a language degree.
Christmas came and went, after pretty intense snowfall, and Semester 2 started in earnest. My new classes were Space, place and Peformance with Minty Donald and Modern German Theatre with Anselm Heinrich. Both have been superb, Anselm's enthusiasm has once again made it a pleasure to be taught by him, and Space, Place and Performance (Splace to you and I) has allowed me to take on projects I wouldn't have otherwise. My final project was a piece at the Lighthosuse in Glasgow, on the 6th floor viewing gallery involving interviews with Glaswegians on acetates attached to the windows. Visitors have been invited to leave their own messages to add to the piece. Intended as a one-day piece for my class, the manager of the Lighthouse was excited by the project and invited me to exhibit it for a month. We are now drawing to the end, and responses have been varied, to say the least, yet all have made me smile.
All this romanticising of my degree made it all the more hurtful when question marks were drawn over the future of numerous courses at the University, under the stewardship of economics professor Anton Muscatelli, the principal. An occupation of the Theatre studies building in December was the start of a string of protests anddemonstraations by students attempting to save their university from radical change and undemocratic decision making. I have been involved in some of the protests and organising, having met with the "consultation panels" charged with deciding on a future for the school of modern languages and cultures. Fitiing it in with uni work has been challenging, but it looks like we are making progress, as decisions look to be less radical and have been postponed to allow more time.
Looking forward I have a few essays to finish before the start of a long holiday, my last from uni. Friends are graduating who left me behind after the year abroad, but this just means I have had the chance to meet lots of new people. After that, I have pending applications with lots of theatre companies in the united states, hoping for one of their very competitve internships this summer. Time will tell what happens, but as per usual, it's all go.
I'm now drawing to the close of my juniour honours year at Glasgow Uni, which has been challenging but in a good way. After the year abroad and a further summer away at Disney, I was keen to get back to uni life, get back into the books and take it head on. I did, to an extent, and one class I particularly enjoyed in the first semester was Performance Theory and Analysis with Katie Gough. I was warned and worried about this class - a whole semester of three hour classes on the "hows" and "whys" of theatre - theoritical crap I had never really gotten to grips with, but my solution for that was a radical one - I did the reading.
That's right, I did what I was told and let me tell you, it helped. I ended up loving the class, which was full of exchiting debate and discussion about various aspects of performance studies, ably led by Katie Gough, one of the smartest people I've ever met, despite her unfortunate affliction of being American.
I also started classes in Contemporary French Theatre and Bande Dessinée along with the usual French Language classes. Band Dessinée (Francophone comics), or BD, had been a class I had looked forward to since my first intorduction to the study of tintin in second year. Once again, led by the incredible Billy Grove, referred to as the "Don" of BD. Enriching, rewarding (and fun) this class has let me study exactly what I wanted with no limits or restrictions - my essay/research project was finally on experimental narratology in Bande Dessinée, looking at ways stories are constructed in populist and post modern comics, drawing on long forgotten knowledge from level one film and TV.
That semseter also saw Kevin Carr, Michale Egan and myself start a project we had talked about for a long time, our own radio show on Glasgow University's Subcity Radio. We went on the air in October with "The All Day Cheeky Breakfast", a weekly mix of "cheeky tunes and cheeky chat" from 10-12 on Fridays (find all our shows online at www.subcity.org/shows/cheekybreakfast). Whilst hauling myself out of bed for 10 on a Friday is occasionally challenging, the show has been immense fun, and has ended up pretty successful, never dropping out of the top ten shows, despite this being our first year, and there being over 100 shows on Subcity.
After Disney, which was by the way, incredible - this summer I worked in the World of Disney - the largest character merchandise store on earth, I came home and looked for a new job. Thankfully dad had taken up a new position with the old manager of Rogano and belligerent Restauranteur Gordon Yuill. He's known around the Glasgow restaurant scene for one thing - being a dick. He didn't disappoint too much. I started work as a waiter in August at the Merrylee Road Bar and Grill, which was an OK job. I felt the need not to go back to the Golf Club, despite good times and great friends made there, and after Disney and a year abroad the timing felt right to try something else. Eventually, one of the other waiters Nikhil left to go back to Rogano, and "proccured" me a job as well. I started working in Glasgow's oldest restaurant in November, and it has been great. Excellent tips, nice people and a real landmark for Glasgow. The shine might have come off her a bit, but she is still Glasgow's favourite restaurant. Café Rogano, where I work, is laid back enough and yet maintains a lot of the formality and service that I love about Restaurants.
November also saw a jaunt for us to Paris and Lyon to visit our buddies MC and Euan, doing their year abroad as law students in France's Gastronomic capital. The short time spent living la vie francaise made me pine a bit for my year abroad, and all the fun and adventure that came with it. Ansleigh is still out in Paris, and seeing her live her life in the capital with a great job as a language tutor just showed me that the world is my oyster with a language degree.
Christmas came and went, after pretty intense snowfall, and Semester 2 started in earnest. My new classes were Space, place and Peformance with Minty Donald and Modern German Theatre with Anselm Heinrich. Both have been superb, Anselm's enthusiasm has once again made it a pleasure to be taught by him, and Space, Place and Performance (Splace to you and I) has allowed me to take on projects I wouldn't have otherwise. My final project was a piece at the Lighthosuse in Glasgow, on the 6th floor viewing gallery involving interviews with Glaswegians on acetates attached to the windows. Visitors have been invited to leave their own messages to add to the piece. Intended as a one-day piece for my class, the manager of the Lighthouse was excited by the project and invited me to exhibit it for a month. We are now drawing to the end, and responses have been varied, to say the least, yet all have made me smile.
All this romanticising of my degree made it all the more hurtful when question marks were drawn over the future of numerous courses at the University, under the stewardship of economics professor Anton Muscatelli, the principal. An occupation of the Theatre studies building in December was the start of a string of protests anddemonstraations by students attempting to save their university from radical change and undemocratic decision making. I have been involved in some of the protests and organising, having met with the "consultation panels" charged with deciding on a future for the school of modern languages and cultures. Fitiing it in with uni work has been challenging, but it looks like we are making progress, as decisions look to be less radical and have been postponed to allow more time.
Looking forward I have a few essays to finish before the start of a long holiday, my last from uni. Friends are graduating who left me behind after the year abroad, but this just means I have had the chance to meet lots of new people. After that, I have pending applications with lots of theatre companies in the united states, hoping for one of their very competitve internships this summer. Time will tell what happens, but as per usual, it's all go.
Monday, 3 May 2010
Check...
Hard to believe another big part of my life is over. It's never easy to say goodbye to something, and this has been as hard as I expected.
Before I left, I made the grand and confident proclamation that I would probably hate it when I arrived, things would get better in the middle and by the end I would be loving it and unwilling to leave. This was based on hearsay from past assistants as well as my own predictions. I also knew that a few weeks knowing no one would make things a million times worse.
When I arrived at this airport seven months ago, I was completely overwhelmed. It was a beautiful day, and I stepped off the plane onto the top stair and looked around me. There was nothing. Nothing. One runway, one plane (the one I had been on) and very few people. It was unlike no airport I had ever been to - completely silent. I went along with it, thinking this could be good. The airport itself is a nice little place and when I arrived it was still being finished off. Stepping into the arrivals hall there were no walls, just a big room with those fabric "lines" you see in post offices to keep you from escaping the passport check. I had bags to collect, so waited by the baggage belt for it to spring into life. I waited, and waited, until eventually the double doors at the back of the hall opened, and three men with trolleys piled high with baggage walked through the hall shouting "Trouver vos baggages". Confused, amused and scared I heaved my bags from the pile.
This parallel universe was quelled a bit after my collection by my "responsable" teacher Jacqueline Marcheix. We had been in contact via e-mail during the summer, trying to organise things from Orlando. She had managed to convince Monsieur de la Burgade to take me in for the year, and had told me she would collect me at the airport "holding a brightly coloured umbrella" so I could find her. The sight of someone who, admittedly, I didn't know, but who I had had contact with was somehow comforting. The kindness Jacqueline showed me in the first few days (and indeed the whole 7 months) - showing me round, welcoming me, dinner - made everything a bit easier. The first week of this life of solitude (I hadn't started working yet) was not easy. It was incredibly difficult to see how this experience could get better, what could possibly make it bearable for 7 months.
But it did. Ups and downs, highs and lows were a running theme of the first months. I can't hide the fact from anyone that I wasn't exactly happy in Limoges. The pace of life seemed so slow, I had so little to do, and until I met Ansleigh, Jon and Alex at the first training day I was miserable. Even after that I wasn't exactly thrilled to be spending my pre-emptively romanticised year abroad in Limoges, miserable and bored.
It wasn't the best start, but in hindsight I had too many expectations - living alone was a hinderance to friend making, but thankfully that came in time. And living with Monsieur was a better insight into France than I had thought it would be, though we spoke English most of the time, he was a great living dictionary, and very culturally aware. Friends came in time, bigger in number but those I had already made became much closer as time went by.
Time also brought more appreciation for the pace of life - despite the fact we are just an hour over "la manche" from France the cultural differences are immense. As I started to go the market every saturday, found my favourite places around the small yet charming city and settled in at school life got progressively better. This continued, quite exponentially, and our travels around France were always a lot of fun.
Now I sit here in the airport once more, about to end it and go home it doesn't feel quite right. Though I have been fully aware this was coming, the fact that it is now here seems somehow wrong, and I am genuinely upset to be leaving this all behind. I wouldn't claim that I enjoyed my life here more than I do back in Glasgow, which is somehow different to many other assistants, especially Americans. I, unlike many, am not disillusioned with my hometown, with the UK or with Glasgow, I love them all - there is a lot to love. I also love France, but life in the city you were born an raised in will, for me, always have an unfair advantage.
In despite of that I'm awfully glad to have done this, and to have done what I set out to do. My goals were to learn some French, travel at bit, make lots of friends and to experience the "real" French culture. As I leave Limoges and my year abroad behind I'm proud, happy and above all relived to say that I did all of the above. In many ways, that is the measure of a successful year abroad.
Before I left, I made the grand and confident proclamation that I would probably hate it when I arrived, things would get better in the middle and by the end I would be loving it and unwilling to leave. This was based on hearsay from past assistants as well as my own predictions. I also knew that a few weeks knowing no one would make things a million times worse.
When I arrived at this airport seven months ago, I was completely overwhelmed. It was a beautiful day, and I stepped off the plane onto the top stair and looked around me. There was nothing. Nothing. One runway, one plane (the one I had been on) and very few people. It was unlike no airport I had ever been to - completely silent. I went along with it, thinking this could be good. The airport itself is a nice little place and when I arrived it was still being finished off. Stepping into the arrivals hall there were no walls, just a big room with those fabric "lines" you see in post offices to keep you from escaping the passport check. I had bags to collect, so waited by the baggage belt for it to spring into life. I waited, and waited, until eventually the double doors at the back of the hall opened, and three men with trolleys piled high with baggage walked through the hall shouting "Trouver vos baggages". Confused, amused and scared I heaved my bags from the pile.
This parallel universe was quelled a bit after my collection by my "responsable" teacher Jacqueline Marcheix. We had been in contact via e-mail during the summer, trying to organise things from Orlando. She had managed to convince Monsieur de la Burgade to take me in for the year, and had told me she would collect me at the airport "holding a brightly coloured umbrella" so I could find her. The sight of someone who, admittedly, I didn't know, but who I had had contact with was somehow comforting. The kindness Jacqueline showed me in the first few days (and indeed the whole 7 months) - showing me round, welcoming me, dinner - made everything a bit easier. The first week of this life of solitude (I hadn't started working yet) was not easy. It was incredibly difficult to see how this experience could get better, what could possibly make it bearable for 7 months.
But it did. Ups and downs, highs and lows were a running theme of the first months. I can't hide the fact from anyone that I wasn't exactly happy in Limoges. The pace of life seemed so slow, I had so little to do, and until I met Ansleigh, Jon and Alex at the first training day I was miserable. Even after that I wasn't exactly thrilled to be spending my pre-emptively romanticised year abroad in Limoges, miserable and bored.
It wasn't the best start, but in hindsight I had too many expectations - living alone was a hinderance to friend making, but thankfully that came in time. And living with Monsieur was a better insight into France than I had thought it would be, though we spoke English most of the time, he was a great living dictionary, and very culturally aware. Friends came in time, bigger in number but those I had already made became much closer as time went by.
Time also brought more appreciation for the pace of life - despite the fact we are just an hour over "la manche" from France the cultural differences are immense. As I started to go the market every saturday, found my favourite places around the small yet charming city and settled in at school life got progressively better. This continued, quite exponentially, and our travels around France were always a lot of fun.
Now I sit here in the airport once more, about to end it and go home it doesn't feel quite right. Though I have been fully aware this was coming, the fact that it is now here seems somehow wrong, and I am genuinely upset to be leaving this all behind. I wouldn't claim that I enjoyed my life here more than I do back in Glasgow, which is somehow different to many other assistants, especially Americans. I, unlike many, am not disillusioned with my hometown, with the UK or with Glasgow, I love them all - there is a lot to love. I also love France, but life in the city you were born an raised in will, for me, always have an unfair advantage.
In despite of that I'm awfully glad to have done this, and to have done what I set out to do. My goals were to learn some French, travel at bit, make lots of friends and to experience the "real" French culture. As I leave Limoges and my year abroad behind I'm proud, happy and above all relived to say that I did all of the above. In many ways, that is the measure of a successful year abroad.
Saturday, 24 April 2010
Right you were...
Well, the past few weeks have yet again flown in, and it has been a long time since the last post. Needless to say it was taken up mostly by the Easter Break - I was very excited at the prospect of some travelling, but it ended up that everyone had their own plans or at the very least had no cash/time to come out. So, I decided after seeing mum and dad out here for the weekend that a few days at the flat on the beach would be lovely. So I set out for Malaga, got there and it was windy and cold... Eventually it brightened up, and I got too excited - ran outside without any lotion and got burnt. Nevertheless a nice relaxing few days.
So, I went back to the dear green place, rather reluctantly. I had wanted to travel, and knew I was coming home for good but the way things worked out that didn't come to pass. A few good nights came and went - we were also blessed with amazing weather for the first week. A great chance to enjoy Glasgow with people that had the time/money to come out. It seems that everyone is obsessing over this exam diet, and fair enough. A year without academia has been a welcome break, and I in no way envy those going into exams within the next few days.
So the days passed, and I had planned to go back to France on the Thursday, pick up a rental car and drive around for a while (alone or with whoever I could find...). Something got in the way. A massive cloud of apparently deadly volcanic ash sweeped over the UK, and the travel plans were scarpered. My gran had phoned, saying "I don't think you'll get away, there's been a volcano". We are starting to think she's going a a bit mad, so this suggestion was almost ignored. Right she was, the air was closed for business.
I used the extra days to do a bit more of what I wanted, and went to the Tramway to see some of the Glasgow International festival of Visual arts. This festival is getting better and better every 2 years, and the exhibits at the tramway this year were something else. Absolutely haunting, terrifying, immersive and challenging - few could see the Christoph Büchel work and not leave it having felt a great deal of emotion. I highly recommend it to you whether you are interested in art or not.
I re booked and re booked, and eventually thought it would go ahead on Wednesday. Got to the airport at 7AM to find that my flight to Paris was the only one cancelled. Never mind - a few more days could hardly hurt any more than it already had.
I had missed a whole week of classes, and more than that I had missed the last day with half of my classes. I was beginning to get anxious and annoyed, but finally got back to Limoges on Friday night, followed by a nice meal at la vache au plafond (curried mussels, slow cooked lamb and ice cream filled profiteroles, tasty) and drinks at le duc etienne. This morning, a few goods at the marché and now in the house, pottering and getting ready for my last week of lessons. It's almost over, and I will be very sad to leave Limoges and this life. It has changed from being a pleasure to a nightmare almost as often as the weather, but I have been extremely fortunate to meet the people I have, work with those I have and do what I have done. Early worries that my French wouldn't improve were ousted by encouragement from friends and teachers.
Before my year abroad, even before uni, I had a very romanticised vision of what this year would be like - I imagined a huge city, lots of French, my own apartment and a lot of other idealised images. Looking back I am almost glad I had little of that - I have been lucky enough to make a small group of very close friends and to live in a beautiful house with a great old chap who has shown me endless kindness. Limoges has also been a blessing in disguise - it's small enough to walk around, but big enough to find new things all the time. Despite near constant joking and moaning, overall I have loved this, and have once again struck it lucky on this adventure.
I'm very glad to check another item off my list of "stuff to do before you die".
So, I went back to the dear green place, rather reluctantly. I had wanted to travel, and knew I was coming home for good but the way things worked out that didn't come to pass. A few good nights came and went - we were also blessed with amazing weather for the first week. A great chance to enjoy Glasgow with people that had the time/money to come out. It seems that everyone is obsessing over this exam diet, and fair enough. A year without academia has been a welcome break, and I in no way envy those going into exams within the next few days.
So the days passed, and I had planned to go back to France on the Thursday, pick up a rental car and drive around for a while (alone or with whoever I could find...). Something got in the way. A massive cloud of apparently deadly volcanic ash sweeped over the UK, and the travel plans were scarpered. My gran had phoned, saying "I don't think you'll get away, there's been a volcano". We are starting to think she's going a a bit mad, so this suggestion was almost ignored. Right she was, the air was closed for business.
I used the extra days to do a bit more of what I wanted, and went to the Tramway to see some of the Glasgow International festival of Visual arts. This festival is getting better and better every 2 years, and the exhibits at the tramway this year were something else. Absolutely haunting, terrifying, immersive and challenging - few could see the Christoph Büchel work and not leave it having felt a great deal of emotion. I highly recommend it to you whether you are interested in art or not.
I re booked and re booked, and eventually thought it would go ahead on Wednesday. Got to the airport at 7AM to find that my flight to Paris was the only one cancelled. Never mind - a few more days could hardly hurt any more than it already had.
I had missed a whole week of classes, and more than that I had missed the last day with half of my classes. I was beginning to get anxious and annoyed, but finally got back to Limoges on Friday night, followed by a nice meal at la vache au plafond (curried mussels, slow cooked lamb and ice cream filled profiteroles, tasty) and drinks at le duc etienne. This morning, a few goods at the marché and now in the house, pottering and getting ready for my last week of lessons. It's almost over, and I will be very sad to leave Limoges and this life. It has changed from being a pleasure to a nightmare almost as often as the weather, but I have been extremely fortunate to meet the people I have, work with those I have and do what I have done. Early worries that my French wouldn't improve were ousted by encouragement from friends and teachers.
Before my year abroad, even before uni, I had a very romanticised vision of what this year would be like - I imagined a huge city, lots of French, my own apartment and a lot of other idealised images. Looking back I am almost glad I had little of that - I have been lucky enough to make a small group of very close friends and to live in a beautiful house with a great old chap who has shown me endless kindness. Limoges has also been a blessing in disguise - it's small enough to walk around, but big enough to find new things all the time. Despite near constant joking and moaning, overall I have loved this, and have once again struck it lucky on this adventure.
I'm very glad to check another item off my list of "stuff to do before you die".
Monday, 8 March 2010
"I have to go pi pi"
It's been two short weeks since I got back to France, everything has moved very very quickly. First week I plodded along, saw people and got settled back in to life. Monsieur and I had lunch one Sunday and we drove out to Solignac and Châlucet for a little visit - he seems very determined for me to see as much as possible. Solignac is a little village about 20 mins from Limoges and is what you are imagining in your head is probably justified - very quaint, cobbled streets on steep hills and beautiful stone everywhere. The sun was splitting the sky and it all looked great. He let me know that all the English retirees come here and buy houses or build hideous new buildings. We saw a few of these awful structures that look like they belong in the south of Spain or in Florida.
We walked around the church, which for a village is really quite impressive.
20 minutes away is the ruins of "le Château de Châlucet". This hidden gem is like a big trail through the ruins of a medieval fortress which was scarcely used, until the hundred years war, at which time it was taken over and served pretty much it's opposite purpose.
The ruins are amazing, and the way it is set out makes everything quite accessible, if a little difficult to climb when the mud is wet. There is a big lookout tower which was sadly closed, but great views from everywhere and a great location on the river.
Classes have been good too. A few hiccups, but the main thing has been that one of my teachers is off on an extended basis. Whilst this was great for the first two weeks (less 8AM starts) its starting to cause a few issues, but he's off for a good reason. I've offered to take on whatever other classes are required, and the school (eventually) managed to find a replacement, but only for 3 days a week... Ah, France.
Have spent a lot of time with everyone, John is away for the weekend, but we had a party to say goodbye to Andrea, a Romanian girl we met a while back. Her internship is over, so true to fashion we had a cross dressing party, with messy results. Sad to think that soon we will all be saying "à bientôt"...
Last week we all saw the Martin Scorcesse film "Shutter Island", which was a headfuck but still very well done. Great stylistically, I really appreciated the whole aesthetic of it but just thought it was a little too long and perhaps too hard to follow, surprisingly good lead from Leo Dicaprio.
This weekend didn't forsee too much - had planned to do the big shop like a true housewife with Anaïs and Ansleigh. Did that and went off to Anne's for coffee with two guests from the UK. Was promised one of them was Scottish, but she was in fact ancestrally so. Interesting folk who had sailed the world for 10 years, but I felt somewhat of a cultural philistine compared to them...
Saturday night Alex had invited us for some Ice Cream in the true Limoges party style. Ended up I turned up and was confronted with a (somewhat underwhelming) "SURPRISE!". The real secret to surprising someone is having the party 3 weeks after your birthday.
We stayed around Alex's for a bit and then went off to Limoges' hottest nightspot "Le Speakeasy". It has to be the smallest club I've ever been to, and also one of the worst. In despite of this, we had a great wee night, and I'm really grateful to everyone who organised and attended, thanks guys! Thanks also to Alex for a tasty cake.
So that excitement over, the thrills kept coming. Sunday was Carnival in Limoges, so we headed out for the cultural event of the season.... Turned out to be quite enjoyable, in despite of my cynicism, with a nice wee parade and lots of confetti. The floats might have looked like they were made by an autistic child with a thing for cubism, but nonetheless we had fun. The only drawback was the cold, it was freezing and there was a really strong wind. Fittingly, the theme of the parade was "Limoges dans le vent", fronted by a windmill float. Coffee chez Lacey and Lizandro and back to the homestead. Folk came over to abuse the internet (Anaïs, Ansleigh and John's internet has been out for 2 weeks thanks to French laissez-faire philosophy) and a re-watching of one of my favorite films for the benefit of Goodfellas virgin Anaïs.
What a film.
We walked around the church, which for a village is really quite impressive.
20 minutes away is the ruins of "le Château de Châlucet". This hidden gem is like a big trail through the ruins of a medieval fortress which was scarcely used, until the hundred years war, at which time it was taken over and served pretty much it's opposite purpose.
The ruins are amazing, and the way it is set out makes everything quite accessible, if a little difficult to climb when the mud is wet. There is a big lookout tower which was sadly closed, but great views from everywhere and a great location on the river.
Classes have been good too. A few hiccups, but the main thing has been that one of my teachers is off on an extended basis. Whilst this was great for the first two weeks (less 8AM starts) its starting to cause a few issues, but he's off for a good reason. I've offered to take on whatever other classes are required, and the school (eventually) managed to find a replacement, but only for 3 days a week... Ah, France.
Have spent a lot of time with everyone, John is away for the weekend, but we had a party to say goodbye to Andrea, a Romanian girl we met a while back. Her internship is over, so true to fashion we had a cross dressing party, with messy results. Sad to think that soon we will all be saying "à bientôt"...
Last week we all saw the Martin Scorcesse film "Shutter Island", which was a headfuck but still very well done. Great stylistically, I really appreciated the whole aesthetic of it but just thought it was a little too long and perhaps too hard to follow, surprisingly good lead from Leo Dicaprio.
This weekend didn't forsee too much - had planned to do the big shop like a true housewife with Anaïs and Ansleigh. Did that and went off to Anne's for coffee with two guests from the UK. Was promised one of them was Scottish, but she was in fact ancestrally so. Interesting folk who had sailed the world for 10 years, but I felt somewhat of a cultural philistine compared to them...
Saturday night Alex had invited us for some Ice Cream in the true Limoges party style. Ended up I turned up and was confronted with a (somewhat underwhelming) "SURPRISE!". The real secret to surprising someone is having the party 3 weeks after your birthday.
We stayed around Alex's for a bit and then went off to Limoges' hottest nightspot "Le Speakeasy". It has to be the smallest club I've ever been to, and also one of the worst. In despite of this, we had a great wee night, and I'm really grateful to everyone who organised and attended, thanks guys! Thanks also to Alex for a tasty cake.
So that excitement over, the thrills kept coming. Sunday was Carnival in Limoges, so we headed out for the cultural event of the season.... Turned out to be quite enjoyable, in despite of my cynicism, with a nice wee parade and lots of confetti. The floats might have looked like they were made by an autistic child with a thing for cubism, but nonetheless we had fun. The only drawback was the cold, it was freezing and there was a really strong wind. Fittingly, the theme of the parade was "Limoges dans le vent", fronted by a windmill float. Coffee chez Lacey and Lizandro and back to the homestead. Folk came over to abuse the internet (Anaïs, Ansleigh and John's internet has been out for 2 weeks thanks to French laissez-faire philosophy) and a re-watching of one of my favorite films for the benefit of Goodfellas virgin Anaïs.
What a film.
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