always waiting

When one enters into the acting world, there are the compulsory genres and forms that one learns about; Shakespeare, Method Acting, Brecht, Realism, the list is endless.

Then there are the plays and well known productions that will be around forever and themselves will aim to be in one day; 'Romeo & Juliet', 'Phantom of the Opera', 'Wicked' and 'Away'... just to name a few.

By this stage, the actor is already feeling overwhelmed and doubtful in themselves, insecure within their own skin. To complicate matters further, they then come across something called 'Absurdism' - and the infamous text of 'Waiting for Godot'. The play's title is misleading (as the man never actually arrives), so when it comes to the content... don't even get me started. It is acclaimed to be a play that is moving and quite emotional - exploring the monotony of life, or simply confusing with language that doesn't make any sense. Regardless, if you don't know it, you clearly aren't serious about 'The Theatre'.

Needless to say, when I first saw the poster for 'Waiting for Godot' here in London, I thought it was a rite of passage to go as a fellow actor. Trouble was, I saw the poster in January, and here we were, April with no show. SO - the end of the season was near approaching, and with no real plans over Easter, I indulged and bought a ticket. Too excited for words (yes me!)

From the moment the lights came up on the abstract stage, I was mesmerised. The well known 'bow not break' tree in the centre of the stage only emphasised the bleakness of the rest of the set. Ian McKellen's entrance immediately got me giggling and the quick pace of the dialogue ensured my cheeks did not stop grinning. The actors delivered the muddled dialogue in a seemingly effortless way, almost as if it was natural. Despite the laughter, the deeper meaning still rang true - the confusion and helplessness we feel when getting trapped in a boring loop of life.

Two hours later and I was utterly content. The play made sense, I enjoyed it more then ever and I admired the actors who were in it. What I loved the most was the well known actor, Ian McKellen's performance. Some may know him for his role in 'Harry Potter' as the replacement Dumbledore, or his grimacing role in 'X-Men' & 'Lord of the Rings' so clearly his talent and passion for acting is evident. But there he was, getting back to the groundings of acting. Up there on the stage, one chance to get it right, to make the audience understand, to make the audience emotionally connected and moved. Failure to do so - there is no second chance with the stage - they walk out the door and make their judgement. Despite his experience with film, he was still challenging himself and determined on leaving such a lasting impression on the audience. Such brilliance, such talent. What a blessing it was to see him perform in such a moving way.

Thank goodness ... for Godot!

excitement next door

On an exhausting Wednesday evening, I slumped into my soothing bed - well and truly passed by bed time. Already I dreaded the sound of my alarm the following morning, ordering me to go and 'dominate the brats'.

Sleep quickly came and my mind was consumed by crazy snippets; dreams with a meaning or a creative collection of thoughts? I was somewhere between Neverland and Wonderland when an obtrusive noise hammered into my mind.

Disgruntled, yet intrigued, I rolled over to the window.

Flashing lights, florescent suits, officers and one bloody huge hammer were at the soup kitchen next door. The 3am glow of the time made me wonder what all the damn fuss was about?!

The dark, agitated figure inside the soup kitchen, peering out like a frightened animal was clearly the answer.

I watched resistantly, my recently moulded pillow screaming out to my heavy head, yet my quest for drama made me linger on the window sill.

Almost comically, the team continued to smash the heavy black door, trying to defuse the break in situation. They were locked out, unable to destruct the tamper proof lock, and the hungry intruder was helping himself to all the treats that he could find inside.

Ladders and crow bars were bought into the situation to no real avail -

and so the deafening banging continued.

Annoyed, I lay back down in bed.

Leave the poor bugger alone, he's only hungry... OR... HURRY UP! So I can go back to sleep!

What seemed like hours later, I heard the triumph from the team as the door smashed.

Giving into the excitement in my heart, I sat up again to watch the next segment unfold.

The officer and negotiator crept into the kitchen, made easier by the key produced from the local priest next door.

I watched as the looming figure darted about the space,

like a frantic animal he was unsure which way to go.

Cornered and arrested, or a getaway out the back with potential injuries pending his large physical condition. He chose to give in and was handcuffed.

The discussion inside was quite laborious, and so I lay back down to sleep.

The murmuring of assertive voices and the concerned priest did not stir me from my warm blankets.

The car drove away and the lights faded - the street was left quiet once again.

Minutes after, still lying there, my thoughts began to cloud.

That feeling of sleep dragging you under came again, less with ease this time.

And instead of creative thoughts and hopeful dreams, I thought of a man.

A man who was so hungry that he broke into a soup kitchen.

A man who was so lonely, he wanted to get arrested by police for company?

A man that was so odd, that he threw potatoes all over the backyard?

A man that was alone on the streets with no-one to care for him.

My sleep and bed was appreciated more then ever that night...

so much so, that I didn't even mind my alarm.

A tribute to 'ze knees' - Thanks :)

After 3 months of being on sturdy ground, my owner has decided to mix it up a bit.

Within hours, I am shoved into the most uncomfortable attire and placed on two long planks.

The new "design" of shoe strains and twists my ever gentle self into a ludicrous and burning position. If the stance isn't enough, she now subjects me to never ending bumps and turns -

constantly changing the direction.

When my intolerance is about to topple, she loosens the grip around me and I have a chance to breathe. After half and hour or so, I begin to feel like myself again, un-cramped and grounded.

Then... the warden does it again, if nothing else, much worse.

I am now facing some of the biggest 'bumps' of my life and holding my breath to just to keep up.

The jarring, the bouncing, the twisting... is she trying to kill me?

What's worse, is the speed - flying past, border line out of control,

I think I am going to be sick.

The burn permeates my muscles and I force her to stop.

Please... just stop you mad woman!

She listen, leans forwards and I, again, falsely feel the release.

Seconds, maybe a minute passes by -

then we begin again.

The rest of the day is a wild ride, complete with mountain, boulders and inclines.

I hold on for dear life, trying to stay in one piece.

She's kind though and treats me with a warm bath at the end of the day.

The pain subsides as she doses me up with anti-inflammatories and strong liquor.

I don't mind her today,

but we will have to wait and see what she throws at me tomorrow to see if I can keep it together.

Hello dear friend.

There is a turtle in the fish tank at my school,

who swims around aimlessly looking quite cool.

He shows his head every once and a while,

forming some weird shape on his lips that almost resembles a smile.

The kids tap the side and shove their eyes to the glass,

I am sure he knows that they're all 'bunking' class.

He looks at me some days knowing I am a fool,

because one of the few good things is that there is a turtle at my school!

That feeling.

The thrill of the chase, of getting noticed.

The pulse racing when the stage lights come up.

Your heart beating so loud through your head as your walk out of the curtain.

The sound of your voice, unnatural in delivery,

yet so familiar in your dreams.

The rumble of the applause at the end of your scene.

The magic of silence when you move the audience.

The feeling of elation when you're done,

when trying to remember exactly how you went.

The comfort of the stage,

to become something bigger than you...

I miss it,

yearn for it,

most importantly...

want it.

Worse than animals

They circle the helpless pray and eye him from a distance.

Intimidation and fear consume him.

The pack swarm about like the plague,

and people cower or fall as they pass.

The playground is a terrifying jungle,

cussing and fights arise whilst the animals run wild.

Each with their own 'stripes' and with their tribe -

they are all out to get one another.

Survival is their game - which group will fall first?

They are worse then animals,

the only equivalent would be a pack of piranha's -

devouring and consuming each other whole.

Last Days of Winter?

Despite the gloom of a Monday morning, the sun decided to pay us a visit.

You notice the difference on the peoples' faces, the pace in which they walk

and even (god forbid) the slightest crack of a smile in the corner of their lips.

Hesitantly, I march myself to school and hope that it doesn't dampen my lifted spirits.The events of the day were certainly interesting, but my mind was set -

a calming walk around the park immersing myself in the sun.

Decked out in my lighter winter wollens, I set out on the path.

Animated children, released from the grips of the school day,

are running haphazardly around the park,

innocently thankful that the rain has not yet started.

The dogs, off the leash and under the watchful eye of their owner,

are behaving as if they have never seen such an animal that looks the same as them.

Smelling and wandering the park, they are pushing the boundaries of the runners jogging past,

always managing to dance in between and out of their steady legs.

Newly inducted mothers groups parade their designer prams around the playground.

They flaunt their children winter 'fashion accessories', sickly enough which seem to match their own.

I vow to never do that myself.

My fastened pace and need for Vitamin D means I am marching along the outskirts of the grass,

fortunate enough for some firmer, less muddy ground.

To my heightened and squealing delight, I turn a corner and am greeted by some fragile flowers.

By this - I mean they are literally sprouting in a strange circle and out of the muddied and mulchy ground.

The grin could not have spread more quickly or widely on my face.

I stop and admire them, small white, yellow and purple flowers alike standing in the sun.

What type they are, I have no idea, regardless I feel they are perfect for this afternoon.

I stand in awe for around 10 minutes, copping strange looks from passes by.

Clearly, they don't get excited by something so simple.

I set off on a jog, newly energised and feeling positive, that maybe,

just maybe we have seen the worst of the winter rain -

now we might have more then just one hour of sunshine followed by the flood.

Maybe I have seen the last days of a London Winter?