Radiotopia

I have always loved the radio.  Some of my earliest and happiest memories are of listening to the BBC Home Service on a Sunday lunchtime upstairs with my Nana in her little two room flat at the top of our old family home.  I would take my Sunday lunch up to eat with her and we sat in religious silence for an hour and a half, both sitting riveted to the old valve wireless set laughing out loud to the Navy Lark, Hancock’s Half Hour and Around the Horne, broadcast one after the other to blast the Sunday lunchtime blues of the recovering post war Nation.

And then came the Goon Show and that changed everything. The surrealistic plots, the crazy characterisations of Harry Secombe, Peter Sellers, Michael Bentine and the unforgettable and extraordinary genius of Spike Milligan.  My life was never quite the same again.  Sunday lunchtime became a fabulous flowering of virtuosity flowing from that mysterious magic miracle box.  If you are too young to remember the Goons, do search them out. All the series are available on Amazon, remastered and with some great ‘bonus features’.  I hadn’t listened since the 1950s and I wasn’t sure I wanted to.  Maybe they would now be dated and unfunny and I didn’t want that perfect memory of innocence, shared hilarity and wonder spoiled by my 21^st century cynicism.  But as I had some Audible credits to play with I went for a 26 hour compendium. It was/is as wonderful as I remembered. The dated parts were beautifully nostalgic and the music interludes reminded me of the time when music was such a central and important feature of popular and serious broadcasting.  Not just an extract but a full track. The almost total lack of music from stations such as Radio 4 is a huge loss.  The sound effects are genius too from the early burgeoning Radiophonics workshop.  And the cast all corpse so often in the sheer enjoyable, exuberant eccentricity of it all. Wonderful.

Radio has changed again and I love the revolution.  Podcasting is the new radio, and there’s one station I’d like to flag as an example of the very best of the new media. If you thought my title to this blog was my own invention, I wish it had been but no, www.radiotopia.fm is a collection (they call it a collective) of the very best.  Mostly American but not exclusively so. Visit their site and click on ‘Listen’ it will scroll you randomly through all the contributors’ episodes, and if you ignore the ads at the top and bottom of each (and even some of these are presented a little differently), you will arrive at the pith of the podcast and you will see, or rather hear what I mean.  I have my favourites (The Allusionist, Strangers, Heart and 99% Invisible) but they are all good, and if one episode doesn’t appeal (although there is sometimes a surprise outcome to even the most mundane beginning) you can just skip forward to the next random choice.  I love the directness, the honesty and the closeness of the style.  I found the background music in some of them annoying at first (Americans seem to have to fill every nanosecond with something) but I think their use of non-verbal sound is work in progress and there are some effects which are stunning in their virtuosity, a little like the Radiophonics Workshop additions, but adapted to the new age. They are mostly serious documentary subjects, but often brimming with ‘comedie humaine’ and heart-warming tales of people, places and things. Above all there is a dedication, a seriousness of purpose and a real love of the audio form. 

I heard somewhere that the sense of hearing is the last to fade in a dying person.  Certainly the 21st century seems to have annexed hearing in favour of the apparently more immediate senses of sight and touch.  For me though my hearing is a direct motorway to my imagination and triggers responses that I find expansive and hugely evocative. As someone said (sorry I couldn’t attribute the quote) ‘The colours are brighter on the radio.’

And so to Ilfracombe… with the Goon Show playing in the lorry cab.

All the best from a road near you,

Mr Alexander

To tweet or not to tweet, that is the question

I have been contemplating Twitter. You cannot escape it, that rather annoying, yet somehow tantalising hashtag pops up everywhere, but should I join in?  Am I a tweeter?  What’s it really like in the birdbath?  From the edge of the pool it looks cold and pointless, just a lot of birds splashing about following their own tails doing things they could easily do in other ways.  But then quite respectable people tweet too.  There’s a pool of people I almost admire who belong and flaunt their feathers like peacocks for all to follow.

I’ve done a little research and there’s a few good introductory online courses.  The one I like the sound of  (https://www.udemy.com/twitter-course/) is £42 but seems, from the free introduction, to be comprehensive and sceptical which is what I need.  I’m not convinced Twitter (would I really want to belong to anything that began with those four letters?) is right for me but I would like to examine all the pros and cons.  If there’s anyone among my viral readership who can advise I would be most grateful.  Just email, Facebook message, Whatsapp, phone or even (here’s a shout for the old fashioned ways), speak to me.  There may be something I am missing and there may be some unique and original way I can use it as part of the show, or even as an essential element to my life, that’s obvious to someone out there but to which I am innocently oblivious.  I look forward to hearing from you.

And so to Ilfracombe Victorian Celebration. I am taking a few days over half term next week to take the lorry and the dogs for a little early spring seaside break in Devon.  Well actually to spend some time meeting people and furthering the cause of Celebration.  I have not been idle since somewhat rashly offering to be the event’s Artistic Director last June.  It badly needed something.  Whether I am its panacea has yet to be revealed but at least I’m pumping its ailing heart and singing ‘Stayin’ Alive’ at the top of my voice.  There’s some evidence of a response but also a lot of people just standing by, shaking their heads, sucking their teeth and declaring, ‘I think we should call it.’  We will see.  The gala weekend is shaping nicely (June 17^th -19^th) and there are some very encouraging responses to my pleas for help from individuals and groups in the local community.  Next week I’m going live with a Kickstarter bid for it and will tell you more about that then. 

For now, if you’ve not been to Devon for a while, or have never visited Ilfracombe, why not plan a few days away in early summer (June 11^th – 19^th) in a beautiful classic Victorian seaside resort and join in the Celebration.  You will be made to feel as welcome as I have these last few years and will be supporting an event which was once and will be again a highlight of local community life. Dance, parades, music, theatre and art all with a slight Victorian twist, coming together for a ten days of joy and revelry.  Who could resist that? From ceilidh dances to ukulele workshops via Victorian Kitchen garden tasters.  And of course Mr Alexander’s Travelling Show with special guest appearances.  Watch this space for more information.

And for those curious about Llandudno Victorian Extravaganza, I am sorry to relate that no-one picked up my press release and that my demise from the event will be likely to go unmarked until my fans turn up to Bog Island to find I am not there.  I will miss them too.  I’ve had a good stand there over the years but this is show business and things always have to move on.  At this point it looks as though I will not be able to fill the gap in my calendar which, had the committee responded to my email a year ago, might be different, but heigh ho.  If anyone knows of a good early spring Bank Holiday event I can approach for next year please let me know. Just email, Facebook message, Whatsapp, phone or even (here’s another shout for the old fashioned ways), speak to me.  Or even tweet me, if I decide, like John Milton in his introduction to Comus, to ‘stretch my wings’ and fly with the birds.

All the best from a flightpath near you,

Mr Alexander

Press release - Llandudno Victorian Extravaganza (updated)

It is with great sadness that I have to announce that Mr Alexander’s Travelling Show, a much loved traditional element of the Llandudno Victorian Extravaganza, will not be invited to attend this year.

Over the years, many thousands of people have enjoyed Mr Alexander’s traditional Victorian Variety Show presented on what has affectionately been named Bog Island on Mostyn Street, and in previous years outside the Yorkshire Building Society.   His much-loved show of magic, juggling, unicycling, balance and illusion will not be seen in Llandudno as a result of a decision made by the committee at the last minute.

‘I have had the Extravaganza on my calendar since last year and the Extravaganza website is still advertising that I will be there, ‘ said Mr Alexander. ‘I wrote to the committee after last year asking to talk about the 2016 event but heard nothing. I finally was asked a week ago to attend but it seems, in the middle of negotiations, they have suddenly changed their minds.  I’m really upset, not just because it will now be too late for me to find another engagement, but also because of the hundreds of people who are expecting me there this year.’

Mr Alexander’s Travelling Show has performed at the Extravaganza since the 1980s when the event was conceived by the late Margaret Lloyd.  Originally it was presented on the side of an old BMC lorry but his unique vintage stage has more recently been converted into a trailer and a few years ago moved from its original site to the current location.

‘It was the first thing people saw as they came into Llandudno, and it gave a real Victorian flavour to the event.  Perhaps I’m just too old now and they want younger blood.  Anyway I wish the event all the best for the future and I hope my many fans wont be too disappointed,’ said Mr Alexander. ‘They will see me at other events and can read my blog about my interesting life on the road’

Press release ends.

I thought I'd better add a perspective to the above.  I've sent it to all the North Wales newspapers so we will see how the story develops.  I will keep you all informed.

It is a great shame as the Extravaganza was a favourite venue of mine.  But I need to earn a living and I have always reduced my prices for events like Llandudno which I enjoy.  A review was needed and the fact that nobody bothered to come back to me after I wrote to them last year on the subject is an indication of the situation.  It is now too late to find another booking for a very popular weekend for events, so their incompetence has cost me.

However I am, as you all know, a man of principle.  I am not prepared to sacrifice my art for idiots or for people who can't be bothered to do things correctly and properly.

All the best from a road near you,

Mr Alexander

Living in a lorry (revisited)

I can honestly say that my life in my lorry is lovely.  I am amazed why I don’t meet more people who have left bricks and mortar behind a to join the freedom trail.  In this blog I’m going to re-examine the basics.

The first great pleasure is the simplicity of the life. Reducing the possessions to the absolutely essential is challenging but wonderfully purging.  We live with so much STUFF in the West.  It’s a mark of success in life.  More, larger, bigger…. But personal success surely should be an internal spiritual not an external commercial quest.  We’ll all be there, reviewing our lives on our deathbeds and what will give us the most meaningful memories?  Our possessions or our achievements? What we earned or what we gave?

I also love the cosy, reduced environment of a tiny living space.  Everything I need to live, survive and enjoy is within three paces of where I am sitting now. For the real essentials it’s one pace.  Being in control of all things in and out. It is a cell and yes I do feel like a monk and occasionally a prisoner. But mostly I am hugely happy with the decision I made four years ago and I wouldn’t go back.

I am occasionally overwhelmed and even overjoyed when I step into my friends’ palatial places.  Three bedrooms.  A kitchen AND a living room.  But then I think of the costs of lighting, heating, rent and mortgage, community charges and bills. The burdens. And of the vast collection of STUFF they have.  Parkinson’s law translated into space (C. Northcote Parkinson 1955 – do read the fascinating Wikipedia article).  Would I swap? Definitely not.

And I love the fact that my place has wheels.  I know it’s diesel and a cause for concern (even with my expensive catalytic exhaust system) and I really need to work out some offsetting strategies (can anyone advise?) But in summer to move from Ilfracombe to Wallingford and on and on and see the changing favourite vistas from my living and driving room window is such a great pleasure.  To visit favourite friends in all the places and then to move on before I become a hindrance.

It is a very solitary life.  I’m never sure whether this is just because I have fashioned mine like that. I have made the occasional attempt to adapt it to relationships, but without much success and with some notable humdinger failures. I’m not going to detail those here or the reasons for failure. Some people do adapt friend and family life to travelling, but I don’t think it’s at all easy and many fail as I have.  So I shall stay solitary from now on and cope with the occasional pangs of loneliness. Would I swap?  Probably not.

And then there’s my roots. I really miss a garden.  A garden of my own.  The one at the yard never fully materialised because it rather depended on others’ input and for various reasons they didn’t share my ways of doing things. Also spiritual roots, as part of a community.  I do miss those.  Friends who are there all the time, day in day out.  Crossing paths on the Kinecroft of life. Walking dogs, meeting and nodding acquaintances, close friends to turn to in an emergency.  Swapping gossip. Would I swap? Possibly not.

After all we’re all closer now.  The electronic Kinecroft is there for us to cross daily and how wonderful is that?

All the best from a road near you,

Mr Alexander

Wild weather in Portsmouth

I have been lucky with the weather the last two or three years at the Portsmouth Victorian Christmas Festival so I suppose it was tempting fate that there would be another late November calm and sunny winter weekend.  It was certainly the worst weather of the last few years and my usual wild camping site in the D Day Museum carpark in Southsea was certainly a wild three-night stay.  It was like being on board ship as the wind and rain slammed into the lorry and I was kept awake with worrying how the stage would be faring in the 50 and 60 mph winds.

I needn’t have worried as when I arrived every morning the stage was still there and stalwartly resisting all the weather being thrown at it.  It seemed to say to me, “Haven’t you any faith in your own design?” Actually of course I have, but I’m an eternal worrier.  Always have been and probably always will be.  The worst time is 3.00 am.  The witching hour.  I can only seem to sleep through it if I’ve taken a Nytol.  Podcasts help but mostly they are a distraction rather than a therapy, with the possible exception of Garrison Keilor’s Prairie Home Companion News from Lake Wobegon series which always lulls me to sleep with a smile on my face. I also like The Skeptic’s (sic) Guide to the Universe.  It often takes a few playings overnight before I manage to have heard them through to the end.

So November has been vile for weather.  Darkest and wettest for a while.  As I write this a few days later the rain and wind are again buffeting the lorry despite the shelter afforded by the wall of the workshop.

I’m back in Chester for a few days and have been presenting the latest Cat’s Paw Theatre piece in schools in North Wales.  As you know we present a forum theatre presentation about rape and sexual consent for Year 9s across North Wales. I had a letter from a key worker at the local Sexual Assault Referral Centre that brought tears to my eyes so I will copy it here:

Hi both,

Hope all well, just thought you might like to hear about something that happened last week.

I was supporting a young woman on a rape trial in Crown Court.  I’ve been working with her for a while but had never heard the detail of the assault or what happened.  She had very bravely decided to give her evidence in court, with screens and asked me to go in with her and just sit behind her to be supportive.

It came out in her evidence that she had been at school watching a play about sexual violence and during the play the group was told that if you change your mind half way through sex, even if it started out as consensual, but you change your mind, it’s still rape.  This young person had been in this situation with the boyfriend - had consented to sex, but then he got rough and unpleasant, she asked him to stop and he wouldn’t.  The young person had no idea that this was rape, so obviously this was a bit of a lightbulb moment for her.  She still found it very difficult to process what had happened to her but she started to view her (abusive) relationship differently.  The boyfriend went onto rape her again and she found the courage to go to the police.

The young man was found guilty on one of the three counts of rape and sentenced to 30 months.

I went out to see her yesterday and asked her a bit about the play she had seen – my ears had pricked up a bit when it was mentioned in court, and sure enough, it was one of your productions.  I told her I know you and a bit about the work we have been doing together and she said I could share her story with you.  So, well done, because Cats Paw were a big part of the process of realising what had happened and being able to seek help and ultimately getting justice.

I guess we couldn’t ask for a stronger validation of the important work we do and I am grateful to and proud of the other members of Cat’s Paw and thanks to the Welsh Assembly Government for continuing to sponsor this initiative.

All the best from a road near you,

Mr Alexander