Bournemouth and beyond

If I’m in Queen’s Park I know it must be autumn.  Kilburn is now my only annual sojourn into the smoke of the metropolis, but it is always a pleasurable one.  It is quite easy to access from the end of the M1 so I don’t spend hours snailing through the slow streets, and the park itself is a delight as are many such in London.  Very well maintained by park keepers with ‘Good Morning’s and whistles and a terraced café where the big house used to be.  They have an ambitious programme of events including theatre and open air cinema and of course the lovely Queen’s Park Day which is where I have my September Sunday spot.

This year I arrived a few days early as I had been tempted to a gig in Bournemouth on the day before with the offer of transport, a hotel and a fee into the bargain.  I am very grateful to Helen who kindly agreed to babysit my lorry overnight. I had met Chris of the superb 'Just Shutters' Company at Shrewsbury Flower Show and he invited me to perform at the company's 10^th Anniversary in Southbourne, the posh end of Bournemouth.  Bournemouth has changed unrecognisably since I was there in the 1970s (but then probably everywhere has).  No longer the playground of the retired, the town is vibrant, young and colourful.  My wonderful Libyan driver gave me a whistestop tour of the town before leaving me at a great hotel.  Very nice with bath ensuite so I could wallow in a hot tub which I had not had the joy of experiencing for some while.  Hamick (or I hope that was his name) was Libyan and we had some great conversations about the life and times of being in and seeing this country from his perspective.  It made for a fascinating journey. as we travelled south through the autumn countryside. As was the next day meeting and performing for Just Shutters staff and friends.  Chris is one of those rare businessmen whose warmth and generosity of spirit makes everyone adore him and consequently his business is thriving. 

The hoverboard and steam punk costume was probably overused that day but it made the day much less tiring for me drifting up and down, performing close up magic in the High Street, entertaining and advertising free cake at Chris’ shop.  I slept most of the way back to Kilburn.

Next day’s shows at Queen’s Park were well attended and the hats were generous.  (I am aware that new readers of this blog might find that sentence peculiar as if the residents of Kilburn had a penchant for magnificent millinery).  In fact one striking audience member did have and she and her boyfriend came over as I was packing up.  They had missed the shows but were fascinated by the lorry and trailer set up.  Laura looked amazing – her costume (though her boyfriend Oscar was quick to let me know she always dressed like that) is best described as 1920’s meets steampunk, complete with headdress, jacket and waistcoat of many colours.   It probably could only happen in London. They wanted to see inside the lorry so had the grand tour.  Laura is a costume designer so I was quick to take her contact details and yes of course she is to design and make me a new costume for next year.  Farewell the austere black and white…. Well, watch out, the new Mr Alexander shall be sartorially sensational in 2017.  I can’t wait. It’s been coming for a while, with the third show and the street work, including Verity, moving in that direction.

It was also wonderful to meet up with Tim Francis again.  Tim was my first apprentice. I met him when he was 6, his mum bringing him to my every show at his insistence.  He learned to juggle and unicycle almost without trying and soon accompanied me in the 1980s up onto the chairs as well as in a number of great routines I have only in memory.  Tim is now a commercial film producer in London and is expecting his first baby (a girl) with his lovely partner Jen.  How life paces on…

All the best from a road near you,

Mr Alexander

Malpas Yesteryear Rally

I love hearing and reading well-written reviews.  Please do let me have them. I will even share them if they are critical.  Here’s a lovely one from George who was at Malpas last weekend.

‘Good to see Mr Alexander again at Malpas on Sunday. I really liked the new tall hat and greatcoat in the opening scene, overtones of "Steam Punk" I thought. A great show as usual of course but Mr A. suffering a little from wind and unpredictable children. Wind yes, but not the after effects of some Indian takeaway but a hot afternoon with the warm wind gusting a little from the south. If juggling an umbrella, ball and a feather duster wasn't difficult enough, factor in the variable wind gusting across the stage, I have to take my hat off to him. And yes the unpredictability of children too. Mr Alexander moved on to his finger guillotine illusion and his initially enthusiastic participant, a young lad called Charlie was becoming less so by the minute at the thought of losing one of his fingers, the build up to the climax was pure magic as usual but by the time a little girl had been briefed on her role as finger catcher complete with huge red rubber gloves poor Charlie was convinced the little guillotine was about to slice off his finger and so at the 11th hour, 59th minute and 59th second Charlie simply withdrew his finger from the device! A new boy stepped in and the guillotine was triggered, everybody sighed with relief as the blade some how appeared to but didn't remove the boys finger. I really enjoyed the show, some new material and scenarios, new atmospheric back ground music, excellent!’

Oh dear poor Charlie.  (Actually I think it was Corrie but I had to ask his name a couple of times.)

There have been a few ‘Charlies’ in the history of my presentation of this routine, and a few who have copped out at the very last minute.  By far the worst several years ago now was the one who wet himself in fear half way through the routine. I often worry about that little boy, now a young adult nursing an abject fear and anger directed towards all live performers and me in particular. Perhaps one day I shall be on top of the chairs and there he will be raising his sights on me…

It is part of the whole process of choosing the right child.  Too blasé and confident and the effect loses vulnerability and tension. Too nervous and the audience and the child become worried, too worried.  It ties neatly and beautifully into the ‘Benign..violation’ theory of comedy which was explained and demonstrated in the recent Horizon on Comedy hosted by Jimmy Carr (and really well worth a look, despite some slightly simplistic pseudo science from time to time). Pick the right boy (somehow never works quite as well with a girl – any clues as to why?) and the knife-edge balance of hopeful and assumed benignity and possible dreadful violation produces huge laughter reaction in the audience.  The sharper I can hone that knife edge in the process the better but it does risk the kind of last-minute cop out described above.

I haven’t done that routine so much this year. It was lovely to meet up with it again.  Like Ken Dodd’s jokes, my routines are my best friends and it’s great to meet and re-meet them again, sometimes after some years of hiding in some case or box in bowels of my trailer.

There have been a few of those revivals this year and the third show of the day has become their home. Another such was the Zombie routine.  But more about that another time.

Meanwhile all the best from a very autumnal road near you,

Mr Alexander

Wallingford and the petal flutterer

It was an epic Wallingford Bunkfest this year. It’s always amongst the best events of the year but this one was special.  The weather wasn’t perfect but only one Saturday show and film night curtailed, with Sunday turning warm and kind thus allowing people to forget the tempestuous Saturday night. Huge crowds as ever, generous hats and all my extended family in attendance. We all jigged on Saturday night to the compelling and infectious Demon Barbers on the main stage as the rain pelted down.  Their dancers were superb bringing ‘some of the UK’s most exciting young Clog, Sword, Hip Hop & Break dancers onto the concert stage to create the live folk music & dance spectacular of the year.’ Certainly was.

And just as their show finished, as if it wasn’t wet enough, the rains really came down in a torrential storm and a wonderful divine exclamation mark of a lightning flash and roll of thunder finished it all off.  In the lorry soon afterwards there were twelve drenched mammals (two of them four legged ones) sharing towels, tea and laughter and a fire to dry everyone and everything off. A splendid night was enjoyed by all.

The hoverboard really came into its own there this year, as it had at Havenstreet. The lawn-like Kinecroft (the central green in this lovely old town once providing free animal grazing for its medieval inhabitants and preserved today as a community resource) and its criss-cross paths made perfect surfaces for it. I used the hoverboard for shopping into town, for water collection and for breakfast sorties. What a relief for old battered knees.  All you do is think and lean and it takes you there.  I try to imagine myself as a twelve-year-old thinking about this strange and addictive form of transport.  It would have seemed like magic. I always had a fascination for carts and bikes of all sorts, inventing and making soap box carts from old prams with string pulled steering systems.  I’ve always tinkered with bikes and, later, cars. Travelling has always fascinated me and the hoverboard continues the fascination.  Put me down for a driverless car, a personal jet backpack or a Star trek Transporter.

At Wallingford, old friends of all ages venture onto the Kinecroft during the setup and it is wonderful to catch up on their news and see the warmth with which I am held there.  It’s a very special place and my shade will always wander there.

My good friends Ralph and Helen were well and as ever.  Ralph had finished a wonderful prop for the show, with his imaginative expertise with all things electronic.  I have spoken of a new 1914-18 war tribute, using Noel Coward’s evocative ‘I’ll see you again’.  Ralph has created a device which can only be described as a petal flutterer.  It is a device which automatically flutters red (poppy) petals down in front of the moon and back drop on the stage at the end of the routine.  It works completely by remote control too.  I have a little button in my pocket and it just happens.  Genius.

The rest of the routine has been suggested by my good friend and brother in exile, Greg Chapman of Condensed Histories. Google him. Greg worked on the stage alongside during the Isle of Wight Steam Show and we (just about) managed to pass juggle fire clubs during the third show of the day as a climax to the fire routine.  Greg suggested a moving idea which I will work on during the winter for the first part of the 1941-18 tribute routine. Watch this space, but I am hoping it will be rather different from most of the other routines.

So all in all a lovely end to the summer season.  With a few back end fairs left before autumn really sets in, there’s still time for the new routines to become bedded in and some good ideas to work on in winter.

All the best from a road near you,

Mr Alexander

Life-changing happenings

I have previously had one life-changing happening.  I was in my late twenties and at that time lived in Commer Walkthrough lorry with a wonderful Perkins 4203 diesel engine.  It was before my days of trailers and loads of props. I was parked up for the winter close to a pub in Suffolk which was let to some friends of mine and I was using an upstairs room to rehearse.  (Something I remember doing more of when I was young).  I was sitting in the bar enjoying a quiet evening pint when a man rushed into the pub and told me my lorry was on fire.  I quickly reassured him that I had a wood burner inside it and the smoke was from that. ‘I think it’s more serious than that,’ was his terse reply.

The Commer was a raging conflagration by the time I rushed out to it.  Nothing could be done to save it apart from call the fire brigade and watch the spectacle with a terrible sense that my life had just changed irrevocably.  By the time the brigade arrived my home had gone, along with everything I owned apart from the clothes I stood in and the few props I had been rehearsing with.

The following day with a horrific hangover from the whisky I had been plied with I sifted through the charred remains.  The ironies of fire leftovers must be legion across the history of humanity.  For me, a book ‘How to Repair and Restore Practically Anything’, a porcelain ocherina charred from it’s third firing, blackened but still playable. And my birth certificate, slightly singed but readable and which I kept for years until it was eventually lost by VOSA.  That same afternoon the pitiful remains were towed away to the scrap yard, leaving a burnt patch on the ground which was almost immediately covered by the first fall of Suffolk snow that year.  It was time to move on. Which is what I did, to Edinburgh and another major chapter of my life.

It was exactly the same sense that my life would never be the same again which hit me hard in the abdomen as I came out of my lorry yesterday to discover my theatre trailer had been stolen.  I cannot describe the process and the physical pain I went through as I desperately looked around in the various places in the vicinity it might have been moved to, all of course without any sense of logic or possibility.  It was gone.  My theatre, my life, all my props and costumes, everything I do, gone forever.

What one does at these moments is significant.  I had no sense of what to do.  I phoned Hilary who is always there for me at these desperate times and of course she said calmly that I should report the theft immediately to the police.  I was half way through the call (I was later told off for dialing 999 rather than 101) but to me it was an emergency.  I had the feeling that squads of Police cars, Batman and Superman should be deployed without delay and the felon might be caught fleeing down the motorway with my life hitched on the back of a battered white transit van.

So half way through the call my neighbour at the yard, a quietly-spoken sanguine joiner and maker of replacement windows said he had seen the trailer being hooked up not half an hour previously by a man with a black Suburu pickup.  He also said the man had nodded to him and hadn’t looked as though he was doing anything wrong.

The penny dropped. The clang was one of such gigantic proportion the sound could probably have travelled miles had the penny been real. The effect on me was palpable. I doubled up with the pain of relief.  I apologised to the police for the wasted call and immediately phoned my trailer service agent who twice before had picked up the trailer from my yard for its annual service.  Yes they had picked up the trailer this morning.  An apparent misunderstanding in their office had led to them collecting it.  I had spoken to them the day before and told them I would be bringing it myself but the message had been misunderstood.  I phoned Hilary again to admit my stupidity.

The memory of those few minutes will stay with me a long time.  Yes of course I will change my habits of security (I admit to being far too trusting of my fellow humans).  But more than that, I will try to detach myself from things in general (as we must all do sooner or later) and remember that when the chips are down it’s the people we turn to who matter far more than the things to which we attach ourselves.

And the show will now go on.

All the best from a road near you,

Mr Alexander

Hello Lincoln, Goodbye Monmouth

As the summer season draws to a close at the start of the back end fairs I can look back at 2016’s gigs. The weather has been a bit unkind to me this summer.  I haven’t had a single gig with no rain, although Shrewsbury Flower Show came close. But despite that the season has been enjoyable and challenging.  Just how I like it really. 

I’ve learned finally that two separate bookings in one weekend is now impossible for me, which has been a lesson I should have learned some time ago.  The Witney/Southwell Racecourse weekend in July was very uncomfortable and meant I couldn’t spend as much time as I would have liked with my friend Pedro at our annual meeting in Witney. 

It was almost as difficult going from Monmouth’s one day show last week to the Isle of Wight.  The rain started towards the end of the pack down at Monmouth which delayed my planned exit from the showground by fifteen minutes and I was convinced I wouldn’t make the last ferry.  I arrived at Portsmouth as they were loading it and they let me on, but it was a very close thing.  The poor dogs were crossing their legs as we hadn’t stopped at all and they had been inside for most of the damp pack up too.  However we arrived at Havenstreet in time for last orders at the beer tent and a lovely welcome from the folk there. The dogs could have a well-earned walk somewhere they have come to know well.  The reorganisation of the rally field has meant the stage is more visible and after some jiggling with sound levels between me and the arena it was all good.  The stage now faces the afternoon sun which means the audiences aren’t squinting and I have great natural lighting.  Four days of great shows and good attendances.  It’s one of my favourite places.

It will be the last Monmouth Show I can attend though as they have decided to move it from and August Thursday to the first Saturday of July and I couldn’t let Hollowell Steam down.  It is a one day affair too, and I am trying not to take on any more of those.  Shows come and go though and it is great now to have started at Lincoln.  I played there twice this summer, the first at the Castle and then at the Museum of Linconshire Life, an attractive and free-to-enter museum in an old barracks.  Lots to see there and despite a first day of bad weather the second was warm and allowed the organisers to see the stage.  Small but very appreciative audiences.  I got to know the city a little and it is well worth a visit, the cathedral and the castle being wonderfully imposing and the little narrow streets full of interesting shops.  Before visiting Lincoln I assumed it was very flat, but was surprised to find it is built on steep hills.  In fact there is one street which is called Steep Hill and it certainly lives up to its name with helpful handrails to ease the climb and descent.

I took advantage of the flat tarmac of the barracks at Lincoln to hone my hoverboard skills and I am now reasonably confident I can manage over most surfaces, bumps and curbs.  The great thing about it is the saving of my poor over-worn knees as travelling on it only involves standing and leaning slightly one way or the other.  I would thoroughly recommend it as a form of travel for older people though I’m not sure they will take up my suggestion as they seem to be the envy of the young and probably the occasional early fall as you master it might put most older people off.  I have made the box that hides the board for the Toulouse Lautrec walkabout character and my wonderful scene painter friend will paint it to look like a paint-spattered trunk on which the diminutive artist will stand.  Watch this space for developments.  I now need to find a suitable costume, wig and hat for him.

Verity emerged briefly one more time at Havenstreet, but I still need the courage to come out in her more often, if that's the right expression. I also need a dresser to do up the costume but I think that may just be an excuse....

And so to Wallingford, the first and favourite of the back end fairs. Next week’s blog and I will almost be caught up…

All the best from a road near you,

Mr Alexander