Weddings, Bar Mitzvahs and Funerals

We’re stepping back a while now but I’ve had this title for a chapter sitting on my laptop and in my mind for ages and I want to complete it. 

I’ve researched the phrase which many of you will recognise but I can’t find a definitive source.  Not that it matters.  But if anyone does know where it comes from it would be good to know.  It refers of course to the cry of the Everyman Entertainer as to where he or she is prepared to perform.  I suspect very few actually have the opportunity to play at funerals although perhaps if you are a singer, a musician, then one could see situations where your services could be required.  But a juggling, unicycling magician? Perhaps in New Orleans, but rural Shropshire?

A couple of months ago I had a call from a woman who had a close friend who had recently passed. (I quite like that expression, better, I think, than most of the others.  ‘Passed away’ seems a bit distant and none of the others really work for me.  Of course ‘died’ is accurate but too cold and final for me, even though death is of course cold and final).  Anyway Mr C. (everyone just knew him as Mr C.) though his name was Michael Cartwright, had been a big jovial man who even in his later years loved going to the circus.  If there was a circus locally, he had to go. There was some circus blood in him, having grown up in and around Chipperfields where his father had worked.  The lovely woman who phoned me had worked for Gandy’s Circus, with her horses, so there were circus connections.

Would I be able to perform at Mr C.’s funeral?  Or perhaps more accurately at the celebration of his life at the village pub afterwards? Of course a gig is a gig so I said I would be honoured to do so, which was true.  When I put the phone down I started to worry.  I’m a born worrier.  I was worried about what to do, I was worried whether those present would find the intrusion of an entertainer on moments of personal grief, minutes after they had seen Mr C. laid in the earth, too much or even an unwanted intrusion.  I gave what I should do a great deal of thought.

Firstly, I thought that working outside the pub would be better than inside.  At least then if people didn’t like what I was doing they didn’t need to take part.  Then, I went through my music to find the most appropriate tracks.  ‘March of the Gladiators’ seemed OK.  It seemed appropriate.  He had been a gladiator of a man, tall and broad in mind and body.  As luck or fate would have it the day was sunny and dry.  One of those autumn days in mid-October when the sun still had some warmth.  The front of the pub in the little Shropshire village faced South so the day’s sunshine bathed the entrance and me in light. I set up the few props I had brought alongside my sign board and wrote ‘A celebration of the life of Mr C. (who loved circus)’ (see the photo on Instagram –mralexander1234) and played ‘The March of the Gladiators’ and juggled as the guests walked back to the pub from the cemetery just down the road. There were many in tears, but, being someone who can gauge reactions pretty quickly, I really only noticed one or two who found my presence there upsetting or out of place.

I worked outside the pub all afternoon.  People drifted in and out.  There were a handful of children.  The small Welsh border town was one of those places where children were sheltered from life’s difficult moments like funerals, but some came later after school and some older and younger children were there throughout, so I had a few children to play to along with the adults.  Children are great ice-breakers in any social situation, including the odd one of an entertainer and an audience. Even more so on occasions like this when the span of life is so tangible.

I heard various stories about Mr C. during the afternoon.  How when he was told he had a terminal illness by the Doctor, he stood up, shook him by the hand, thanked him and said he’d had ‘a wonderful life’.

How on his birthday a month or so later, when he was too ill to get out of bed, he had organised a party for his friends and family complete with a live strolling Mexican band who had played around the house all evening.

I felt I had got to know him by the end of the afternoon and as people had mellowed with a few drinks, various key people in his life, his daughter, his wife and others drifted out to catch some of the show.  They all thanked me and said how good and appropriate what I had done had been.

So now I feel OK with using the well-known phrase ‘Weddings, Bar Mitzvahs and Funerals’.  I have performed at many weddings, a few Bar Mitzvahs and one memorable funeral.

Rest in Peace (or perhaps with the echoes of ‘The March of the Gladiators’), Mr C.

All the best from a road near you,

Mr Alexander

Living in a lorry Tour 1

For those who are new to my blog (and there are quite a few new readers lately I am very pleased to say), I am going to take you on a brief tour of my lovely lorry which will be accompanied with a photo series on Instagram (mralexander1234).

My fulltime home is a Ford Iveco 1069 lorry made in 1985 during the redoubtable Good Old British Industry Thatcher era.  I will talk engines in a later chapter but I will talk first about the space it gives me to live in.

The actual internal box is 5.7 metres long by 2.3 metres wide by 2.1 metres high.  The actual living space (not including the workshop/store) is an almost perfect double cube.  Classical proportions. The box was already divided into three when I bought it.  It was originally an NHS screening vehicle with a wheelchair lift built in (subsequently removed to reduce front axle weight). I have kept the basic divisions it was built with.  The largest is the living space with a door through to the toolstore/storage/porch/dog feeding area. From here there is a crawl through to the lorry cab, the passenger seat of which is converted to a large dog bed where my two little ones sleep and travel. The third area is the bathroom which takes up one corner of the living space.

The rest of the living space itself consists of three different areas, although in reality it is only one space.  Living, kitchen and bedroom.

Living room.  I have a sofa, a chair, a desk, a small dining table for myself and a large one (seating up to 5 people comfortably).  The chair, desk and the dining table have been designed and made for me by Suzanne Hodgson (www.suzannehodgson.co.uk). She also made the cupboard doors.  I have built the sofa as a wedge shape as when I’m stretched out on it my feet don’t need the same width as my shoulders. There are various cupboards and store spaces.  Every space is used for something. Under the sofa is a large log store for the most essential piece of equipment I have; my lovely woodburning stove. It’s from www.windysmithy.co.uk  and the model is called Wendy.  2 Kw output keeps the living space toasting in the coldest of snowy nights. It burns smokeless fuel and logs.

Kitchen. The hob is a small two ring unit which I have found perfectly adequate for all cooking requirements set into a worktop with a small sink at the other end. There is an oven above the wardrobe with a cupboard above that for toaster, blender and various larger kitchen items. There is a microwave above the hob and two ceiling cupboards for food.  I have a large fridge/freezer under the hob which automatically switches between gas/mains and 12 volts. There are two cupboards under the worktop for saucepans and plates etc.  A drawer unit for kfs and oddments. There are another couple of shelves, including one behind the oven.  Again, every cubic inch of space is used for something.

Bedroom. The same wedge principle that is my sofa also applies to the bed. I had a specialist mattress made to fit (www.shipshapebedding.co.uk).  It is extremely comfortable.  Above the bed is a book shelf and a gooseneck clip for my iPhone so I can listen to podcasts at night.  My TV is at the foot of the bed on a swivel bracket so I can also view it from the sofa. Under the TV is the DVD player, hard drive and Freesat box, linked to the automatic satellite finder on the roof.  I have Chromecast so I can watch catchup TV and Netflix when I am near wifi.

Utilities.  I have a 100 litre water tank slung underneath which feeds the kitchen sink, the bathroom sink and shower and an external shower (hot and cold) fitting for hosing the dogs and filling buckets outside.  There are two hot water sources: a caravan water heater which heats about 10 litres of water at a time and is gas or mains electric driven.  It supplies the kitchen sink. A second water heater which is an on-demand gas driven Burco boiler which feeds the shower, bathroom and external shower.  This means I can have as long a hot shower as there is water in the tank.  Lovely. The bathroom is a wetroom with basin and a cassette toilet.

I have an air conditioning unit on the roof for the very hot days.  It keeps the living space just right, especially when I am working shows in the height of summer.

There are both 240volt and a 12volt supplies wired throughout the lorry.  The 240volt circuit starts with a Consumer unit with trips under the worktop.  On tour the system is driven by my trusty Honda 3Kv electric start generator (with a remote start for turning it off at night from my bed).  The generator tours in the step well of the lorry so I don’t have far to lift it. The 12volt system is driven by three leisure batteries charged from a solar panel on the roof and by two in-built trickle chargers.  The 12volt system runs the water pump, lights and small battery chargers.

The gas is fed from a 100litre LPG tank slung under the body.  I fill it at LPG stations on the road. A tankful coats about £20 and lasts several weeks.  I can also connect a Propane Gas bottle if it runs out.

Design features, ambience and art.  The inside of the living space is lined with wood.  Mostly cedar as it is very light and has a lovely patina and colour.  I suppose the style is gypsy/showman/ethnic.  I have a few pictures and some small sculpture, mostly originals which have significance for me. I have quite a few photos and a lot of objects of all sorts; a lot of wooden things.  I love wood.  If I find something a really like I will try to adapt it for a use in the space, but as it is small I have to be very careful.  Things must be useful or beautiful and preferably both. And lightweight.

So there you have it.  To finish with I have to say I love the space it provides for me.  It suits my work and lifestyle perfectly. Once a year, usually in winter I go through all the objects in the space.  If I haven’t used it or appreciated it at least once in the previous year it goes out. There just isn’t room for things that I don’t use or appreciate often.  And the bare minimum of things.  Just one teaspoon.  But a very nice Sheffield silver plated one.

If you’d like a proper tour ever do ask at an event.  I’ll be very happy to give you the grand tour for real.

All the best from a road near you,

Mr Alexander

Best laid plans

I had everything ready.  The new stage legs adapted so they didn’t wobble in their poorly crafted sockets, a few things given a ‘cat’s lick and a promise’ of black paint, trailer packed and double idiot checked that nothing was forgotten.  (How did I become such a proppy performer?)  I had moved the lorry so I could use my car to engineer the trailer out of the workshop.  All ready.  Back into the lorry to hitch up and go.  Turn the key.  Nothing but the ominous click of a stuck solenoid. It had happened a couple of times earlier in the year but had then become magically, mysteriously, or probably just fortuitously unstuck and allowed me to carry on, foolishly ignoring the obvious need for further investigation, remedy and repair. This time it didn’t unstick.

I called Autohome, my commercial equivalent of the AA only to find that the soonest anyone could come would be two hours.  I had previously waited five for them so I couldn’t wait that long.  A six hour drive in prospect and a long day the following day setting up.  I called my doughty guy.  The wonderful Paul unfazed by anything Travis.  From NPC Commercials in Llay who do my servicing and MOTs.  He was there within half an hour, tapped a few things, started it, showed me how to short circuit it from underneath it if it happened again (“Make sure it’s not in gear and be careful of the radiator fan”) and he was gone.  It’s people like that I want on my side.

The uneventful but long drive got me to Portsmouth and my overnight stay of choice - the D Day Museum carpark on the front  in Southsea. A usually quiet and deserted car park at night.

I whiled away the hours listening to Philip Pullman’s The Ruby in the Smoke, with a finely crafted performance by Anton Lesser.  Phillip Pullman is a man of my generation (he’s 71) and also grew up on Dan Dare and Boy’s Own.  His stories have a tension and immediacy about them with chapters like an episode from the front page of The Eagle. The Ruby in the Smoke is a short read by Audible standards, but I didn’t mind splashing out a whole Audible credit on the six and a half hours of solid gold.  Reminiscent occasionally of the world of Dickens’ or of Mayhew’s London, the story took me from seedy opium dens in Wapping to the peaceful charm of the Oxford spires. His characters are either endearing or evil with very little in between, in the everlasting traditions of Dan Dare and the Mekon. I occasionally felt we were about to enter the other world of His Dark Materials, Pullman’s superb saga, but this one remained firmly in the world of Victorian reality. I loved it and it took me completely away from the boredom of the long road to Portsmouth and the worry about starting the lorry the following day.

The nights were particularly cold.  My lovely wood burner had to be kept full of logs and coal and after a while it began to feel at least comfortable.  By 3.00 am on Thursday morning though, the fire was completely burned out and the cold was coming through.  I’ve perfected the art of lighting the fire.  I reckon I can have it done and back in bed under three minutes.  Back to bed enjoying the growing warm as the lorry heats up warm and toasty.

The next morning of course the lorry wouldn’t start so under I went, as warned, out of gear and avoiding the radiator fan, and with pyrotechnic panache it burst into action and I arrived at the dockyard ready for set up day, the first time out for the new stage legs which worked fine despite my reservations about their fabrication. Back to the carpark (this time it started on the key) via Lidl for nosh and an early night.

Just after I fell asleep, it must have been about 1.00, I was woken by a car doing the screechy tires thing around my quiet Southsea carpark.  Testing the testosterone. Bloody idiot. But nothing by comparison with what was to take place the following night.

The first day came and went, always a quiet dress rehearsal sort of day but because I’d been up very early to finish the set up I came back to the lorry pretty exhausted and ready for a great night’s sleep.

I thought it was odd to see the refreshment van set up in the corner of the carpark. Ominous.  I had a meal in the lorry and settled down for a relaxing evening by the fire.  Then it happened.

I have spoken and written a great deal about the romance of living on the road, of the enormous pleasure I derive form living comfortably but simply wherever I find myself.  This was a night to remind myself that it can also be anything but.

With half an hour of 7.30 the carpark was full of cars.  There must have been three hundred of them.  And their occupants had not come to enjoy a pleasant stroll along Southsea Promenade.  No they had come to rev their engines, do screech starts and back fire as loudly as they could to the exuberant encouragement and approbation of all those present. The louder the bangs the more they cheered.   It went on until after midnight.  It was obviously a clandestine meeting of those young petrol heads, but it was also obviously very well organised. I really could have done without it.  Eventually I took a sleeping pill, put in earplugs and tried to pretend, unsuccessfully, that I couldn’t hear it.

The romance of the road.  Hmmm.

All the best from a road near you,

Mr Alexander