tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7893245715582504152024-03-08T11:02:59.328-08:00Updated occasionallyNothing's There!http://www.blogger.com/profile/17624678434547566026noreply@blogger.comBlogger11125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-789324571558250415.post-54009199909902676242015-03-16T16:48:00.000-07:002015-03-16T16:48:10.108-07:00Shakespeare Week!Let joy be unconfined, this week is Shakespeare Week! The Shakespeare Birthplace Trust is co-ordinating events and schemes all across the country to introduce Shakespeare to primary school age children in a fun and engaging way. This is, for the avoidance of doubt, a Very Good Thing.<br />
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My own little celebration of Shakespeare Week will be to write a Shakespeare themed blog each day for the duration (16th-22nd). Does anyone have any suggestions of topics they'd like me to write about? I've a few ideas kicking around but I'm always welcome to new suggestions!<br />
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To learn more about Shakespeare week, please visit:<br />
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http://shakespeareweek.org.ukNothing's There!http://www.blogger.com/profile/17624678434547566026noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-789324571558250415.post-5984118241723294802015-02-17T09:33:00.000-08:002015-03-18T15:35:50.955-07:00As You Like It: An appreciationRecently I offered my thoughts on As You Like It for 1623 Theatre Company to accompany their forthcoming Shakespeare night, which this month is framed around that play. I focussed on the fact that I think that the supporting characters are very well written. This may seem like a pre-requisite but there are many instances in Shakespeare (and beyond) where some minor parts are there purely to provide exposition, with no other discernible character traits. With As You Like It, there is a rich supply of fun character parts; Corin the humble shepherd, Charles the arrogant wrestler, William the buffoonish would-be suitor of Audrey, and several others, which all add to the joyous atmosphere that the play creates.<br />
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Since recording that snippet I've been thinking more about what makes AYLI so successful and if you'll indulge me I'd like to share a couple of other thoughts with you, if you're still reading this. Thanks, by the way!<br />
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First, a bit of history about my association with it. It was the play in which I made my professional Shakespearian debut (along with A Midsummer Night's Dream in a UK tour) so I have something of an emotional attachment. I played the parts of Adam, (Orlando's faithful old servant), Touchstone (The fool of the piece) and Jacques De Boys, who delivers the most wonderfully tacked on ending to a play I've ever experienced, (more on that later on). More recently I revisited the part of Touchstone for 1623 in their compilation piece, Stand-Up Shakespeare.<br />
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During the tour I did a radio interview to promote one of our performances and I was asked why people should come and see it. I still remember my response. It took the form of a clumsy simile but it sort of works so bear with me! I compared it to a 'greatest hits' album in that it had all the aspects one might expect from a Shakespearian comedy, (Girl dresses as boy, romantic confusion, big happy ending) alongside parts that, although one might know they were Shakespearian, they might not know from what play, such as the Seven Ages of Man speech.....<br />
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On reflection it's a rubbish simile. Perhaps it's best to refer to it as a great play to start with if one is new to Shakespeare. Alongside the aforementioned reasons it has a very straightforward plot and not much in the way of 'B stories' to detract from the main event. Yes there's the subplot of Touchstone's pursuit of Audrey but for me it serves as an accompaniment to Rosalind and Orlando's story rather than an additional thread to follow.<br />
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Another of the play's strengths is something some commentators see as a detriment. While the characters are well written, some events in the play are seemingly plucked out of thin air, and contrivances & coincidences happening even more frequently than usual for a comedy. For me, (and I'm something of an idiot so this may well be completely wrong), this is Shakespeare just having fun and letting the Forest of Arden take on an almost mystical quality. If you haven't seen the play, let me outline a few of the instances where I think Shakespeare is just having fun with his world and not giving two hoots about logic!<br />
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First off, aside from the opening couple of scenes, the entire play takes place in the Forest of Arden where the exiled Duke Senior, his court, and latterly his Daughter, her best friend and the court Fool reside. That a seemingly huge forest, large enough to hide exiled dukes and contain at least one lioness. (yes, lioness. We'll come to that shortly) is also small enough for the characters to all find each other with some ease has always amused me. Perhaps it isn't so unlikely and small forrest communities were common in Elizabethan England but to me it's more likely that Shakespeare is having his pastoral cake and eating it.<br />
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The lion. So, Oliver, Orlando's brother, hates his sibling. Why he despises Orlando so much is down to nothing more than jealousy of his brother's popularity. Unlike Iago's sly, manipulative ways of exploring his envy, Oliver just arranges a wrestling match between Orlando and Charles, wanting the latter to break the former's neck. When that doesn't work and Orlando escapes to the forest, Oliver gives chase but gets himself into a pickle when first a snake, then A BLOODY LIONESS attacks him, Orlando scaring both away. First of all, It's very fortunate that his brother was around in the exact same part of the forest to help him escape. A forest, that we have established, is large enough to house a Duke and his retinue. Second, IT HAS A LIONESS IN IT! Was there an Arden Zoo that had a bunch of escapees? I've read that the inclusion of a serpent and lioness (who it seems has a litter, MORE LIONS!) is to reflect the nature of killing for necessity versus killing for fun (much like Jacques mourning the killing of a deer) which sort of makes sense, but why a Lioness? It just seems fantastical.<br />
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Last of all (though there are other fun contrivances along the way) the ending. Rosalind marries Orlando, Oliver Marries Celia (another little knot tied for seemingly the hell of it!), Touchstone marries Audrey and Silvius Marries Phoebe. Then, out of nowhere, a hitherto unmentioned third brother of Orlando and Oliver, Jacques appears. Why didn't Orlando go and stay with him instead of dragging a pensioner around a forest?<br />
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'Hey Orlando, Oliver plans to set fire to you as you sleep'<br />
'Oh God, what can we do, Adam?'<br />
'Well, Jacques lives in the next town over'<br />
'Nah, let's use your life savings and go on the run'<br />
'But....'<br />
'Less talky, more walky, old man'.<br />
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Jacques then goes on to explain that the previously evil Duke Frederick, who had been complicit in the plot to kill Orlando, who had banished his brother and niece out of pure spite, who seems basically to exist to be as much of a despot as possible had a religious conversion while on the hunt for his brother.<br />
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<em style="box-sizing: border-box; color: #222222; font-family: Roboto, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 20px;">Duke Frederick, hearing how that every day</em><br />
<em style="box-sizing: border-box; color: #222222; font-family: Roboto, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 20px;">Men of great worth resorted to this forest,</em><em style="box-sizing: border-box; color: #222222; font-family: Roboto, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 20px;">Address'd a mighty power; which were on foot,</em><em style="box-sizing: border-box; color: #222222; font-family: Roboto, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 20px;">In his own conduct, purposely to take</em><em style="box-sizing: border-box; color: #222222; font-family: Roboto, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 20px;">His brother here and put him to the sword:</em><em style="box-sizing: border-box; color: #222222; font-family: Roboto, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 20px;">And to the skirts of this wild wood he came;</em><em style="box-sizing: border-box; color: #222222; font-family: Roboto, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 20px;">Where meeting with an old religious man,</em><em style="box-sizing: border-box; color: #222222; font-family: Roboto, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 20px;">After some question with him, was converted</em><em style="box-sizing: border-box; color: #222222; font-family: Roboto, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 20px;">Both from his enterprise and from the world,</em><em style="box-sizing: border-box; color: #222222; font-family: Roboto, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 20px;">His crown bequeathing to his banish'd brother,</em><em style="box-sizing: border-box; color: #222222; font-family: Roboto, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 20px;">And all their lands restored to them again</em><em style="box-sizing: border-box; color: #222222; font-family: Roboto, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 20px;">That were with him exiled. This to be true,</em><em style="box-sizing: border-box; color: #222222; font-family: Roboto, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 20px;">I do engage my life.</em><span style="background-color: #faf8f5; color: #222222; font-family: Roboto, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 20px;"> (5.4.1)</span><br />
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<span style="background-color: #faf8f5; color: #222222; font-family: Roboto, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 20px;"><br /></span>
<span style="background-color: #faf8f5;"><span style="color: #222222; font-family: Roboto, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 14px; line-height: 20px;">Right. So there's this bloody great forest where the exiled Duke is but it's taken all this time for him to decide to go hunting for him, and though everyone else in the dukedom can find Senior with ease, Frederick bumps into a hermit (who must be mightily hacked off that his once empty contemplative space is now busier than Elsinore) first!</span></span></span><br />
<span style="background-color: #faf8f5;"><span style="color: #222222; font-family: Roboto, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 14px; line-height: 20px;"><br /></span></span></span>
<span style="background-color: #faf8f5;"><span style="color: #222222; font-family: Roboto, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 14px; line-height: 20px;">It seems like I'm dismissing the contrivances as poor writing but to me Shakespeare is more concerned with the world inside the forest where anything can happen, including the most magical of things: falling in love, </span></span></span><span style="color: #222222; font-family: Roboto, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 14px; line-height: 20px;">than he is with events in the cold, calculating court. Once Frederick steps inside he too is subject to the magical spell seemingly at work. That Duke Senior and the rest of the exiles (excluding Jacques) choose to return to the court is, strangely, the only thing that doesn't make sense to me in this topsy-turvy world. </span></span><br />
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To sum up, As You Like It isn't Shakespeare's best and yes, there are points where it wavers into the absurd (one last time, LIONS! Is it just me?) but these moments can be seen as huge advantages in just letting the story flow and result in a thoroughly entertaining play.Nothing's There!http://www.blogger.com/profile/17624678434547566026noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-789324571558250415.post-60770808380175582082014-09-13T15:22:00.003-07:002014-09-13T15:22:40.020-07:00For @teddy_red and Bonny Mo<span style="background-color: white;"><span style="color: #292f33; font-family: Helvetica Neue, Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif;"><span style="line-height: 22px; white-space: pre-wrap;">I started noticing something was odd the first time I met your parents. They were pleasant enough, if a little quiet, but there was something.....clinical about them. Everything they did from opening the door for us to waving us goodbye had an air of rehearsed precision.</span></span></span><br />
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<span style="background-color: white;"><span style="color: #292f33; font-family: Helvetica Neue, Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif;"><span style="line-height: 22px; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></span></span>
<span style="background-color: white;"><span style="color: #292f33; font-family: Helvetica Neue, Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif;"><span style="line-height: 22px; white-space: pre-wrap;"> A</span></span></span><span style="background-color: white; color: #292f33; font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; line-height: 22px; white-space: pre-wrap;">fter seeing the practically robotic way your father sliced the Sunday roast and placed each perfectly sheared slabs of perfectly cooked beef onto the perfectly warmed plates I started seeing everything you did in a new, eerie light</span><span style="background-color: white;"><span style="color: #292f33; font-family: Helvetica Neue, Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif;"><span style="line-height: 22px; white-space: pre-wrap;">. Things I'd passed off as coincidence or just habit became red flags. For instance, every time you woke up, your hair was already perfect. No need to wash, brush or straighten your already tamed locks. No girlfriend before you, and there'd been a few, ever left the house without at least a cursory comb through. but there you were, bounding out of bed at 6.47 (always 6.47, something else I'd noticed) and tossing your hair back over your left shoulder before blowing me a kiss and leaving for work. You always left the room naked, but came back from work in your jeans & blouse, hair perfect as ever. </span></span></span><br />
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<span style="background-color: white;"><span style="color: #292f33; font-family: Helvetica Neue, Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif;"><span style="line-height: 22px; white-space: pre-wrap;">Where did you get dressed?</span></span></span><br />
<span style="background-color: white;"><span style="color: #292f33; font-family: Helvetica Neue, Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif;"><span style="line-height: 22px; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></span></span>
<span style="background-color: white;"><span style="color: #292f33; font-family: Helvetica Neue, Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif;"><span style="line-height: 22px; white-space: pre-wrap;">For weeks (I think) I tried to convince myself that I was being stupid, but it wasn't just your perfection that made me uneasy. Seeing the broken plate in the kitchen, the one resting on the sideboard by itself, was making me feel ill. Fine, I'll throw it away. The same thought every day. Why didn't I get rid of it? Come to think of it, besides seeing you and the plate what else did I do with my days? </span></span></span><br />
<span style="background-color: white;"><span style="color: #292f33; font-family: Helvetica Neue, Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif;"><span style="line-height: 22px; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></span></span>
<span style="background-color: white;"><span style="color: #292f33; font-family: Helvetica Neue, Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif;"><span style="line-height: 22px; white-space: pre-wrap;">I tried to make a list, naming all the things I did the previous day. I could remember nothing. Not even going to the toilet. I woke, kissed you goodbye, you came home, we made love, we slept. What was I doing without you around?</span></span></span><br />
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<span style="color: #292f33; font-family: Helvetica Neue, Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif;"><span style="line-height: 22px; white-space: pre-wrap;">Things changed after I wrote the list. My days were more varied but not enough for me to stop being suspicious. I would get letters </span></span><span style="color: #292f33; font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; line-height: 22px; white-space: pre-wrap;">but no bills.</span><span style="color: #292f33; font-family: Helvetica Neue, Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif;"><span style="line-height: 22px; white-space: pre-wrap;">. </span></span><span style="color: #292f33; font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; line-height: 22px; white-space: pre-wrap;">Letters from friends long forgotten but now keen to get back in touch, written with bold promises of amazing days out once they had the time to visit. No-one visited.</span><span style="color: #292f33; font-family: Helvetica Neue, Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif;"><span style="line-height: 22px; white-space: pre-wrap;"> In fact, aside from you and your Stepfordian parents I hadn't seen anyone else.</span></span><br />
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<span style="color: #292f33; font-family: Helvetica Neue, Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif;"><span style="line-height: 22px; white-space: pre-wrap;">Yesterday (I think), I tried to leave the house on my own.</span></span><br />
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<span style="color: #292f33; font-family: Helvetica Neue, Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif;"><span style="line-height: 22px; white-space: pre-wrap;">A searing pain to my temples.</span></span><br />
<span style="color: #292f33; font-family: Helvetica Neue, Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif;"><span style="line-height: 22px; white-space: pre-wrap;">Screaming.</span></span><br />
<span style="color: #292f33; font-family: Helvetica Neue, Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif;"><span style="line-height: 22px; white-space: pre-wrap;">A sense of loss.</span></span><br />
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<span style="color: #292f33; font-family: Helvetica Neue, Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif;"><span style="line-height: 22px; white-space: pre-wrap;">I remember.</span></span><br />
<span style="color: #292f33; font-family: Helvetica Neue, Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif;"><span style="line-height: 22px; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="color: #292f33; font-family: Helvetica Neue, Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif;"><span style="line-height: 22px; white-space: pre-wrap;">We had argued, again. My excuses and borrowed time had run out and the kitchen became a battleground. I ducked as the plate was thrown at my head but it struck sharp and true. </span></span><br />
<span style="color: #292f33; font-family: Helvetica Neue, Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif;"><span style="line-height: 22px; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="color: #292f33; font-family: Helvetica Neue, Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif;"><span style="line-height: 22px; white-space: pre-wrap;">I can hear my parents now, and the Doctor. It is 6.47.</span></span><br />
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<span style="color: #292f33; font-family: Helvetica Neue, Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif;"><span style="line-height: 22px; white-space: pre-wrap;">Time to wake up.</span></span><br />
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<span style="background-color: white;"><span style="color: #292f33; font-family: Helvetica Neue, Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif;"><span style="line-height: 22px; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></span></span>Nothing's There!http://www.blogger.com/profile/17624678434547566026noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-789324571558250415.post-57089561048506234462014-09-12T14:42:00.001-07:002014-09-12T14:45:17.575-07:00For @wonderwaffThink of a filthy creature<br />
Like a pigeon or a rat,<br />
With deep set eyes<br />
And claws the size<br />
Of Andrew Flintoff's hat.<br />
<br />
It scuttles round the garden<br />
Or flaps around the square<br />
It freaks you out<br />
And makes you shout<br />
While pulling on your hair.<br />
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Now picture how you look to it<br />
All large and loud and strange.<br />
With screaming fits<br />
I'm not sure it's<br />
How you'd want to engage.<br />
<br />
The beast could be called Ingrid,<br />
Or Joy or Phil or May<br />
And have a house<br />
Next to a Louse<br />
Who calls him everyday.<br />
<br />
The beasts aren't really Vermin,<br />
It's just a point of view.<br />
Remember this:<br />
With prejudice<br />
The vermin's likely you.<br />
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<br />Nothing's There!http://www.blogger.com/profile/17624678434547566026noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-789324571558250415.post-54867696591157256682014-09-12T03:57:00.000-07:002014-09-12T03:57:59.329-07:00For @y_t__ part one!Being a spy was meant to be exciting. Flights to Hong Kong or The Bahamas, wooing sexy contacts by vast, ornate swimming pools. Keeping the world safe with a sharp suit and a sharper wit.<br />
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Sitting outside a flat in Rochdale night after night to see if the occupant had any pets was not what Jeremy had signed up for. True, he wasn't a spy per se, more of a private investigator with a flat above a chip shop with slightly disturbing hygiene standards, but he'd been at it for eight months and this was his most interesting case yet, ranking just above the Case of the Unfaithful Wife which turned out to have been more a case of the Stupid Husband who didn't realise his wife was going to the library because she couldn't stand his droning.<br />
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This was his fourth night sat in his 1988 Skoda, clock radio by his side as his car's radio preferred the sound of silence, glumly looking at Flat 36b and waiting for any sign of animal activity. He was being paid (surprisingly well) by the night and had planned to string it out for at least another week but the tedium was beginning to have an effect on his sanity. Earlier in the evening he 'saw' Santa in Bermuda shorts ambling down the street, and just now he saw a pair of large Siamese cats being brought into 36b.....<br />
<br />
<br />
SHIT!<br />
<br />
This was it. An actual result! He fumbled for his camera to shoot the incriminating evidence but by the time he'd flicked the lens cap off the door had been opened and the cats were swept inside. He'd have to get inside.<br />
<br />
Quite why these cats were so important to Ms Campbell he wasn't sure, but he had been told in her fax that it was of VITAL IMPORTANCE that he provided evidence of animals being brought into the flat. Without thinking of a plan he found himself at the door and knocking. Instinct, what little he had, was kicking in.<br />
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No answer.<br />
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The next thing to happen was the single most ridiculous thing Jeremy had ever done. It was a stupid idea, inspired by a stupid thing, and pretty much guaranteed not to work.<br />
<br />
"HO HO HO! IT'S SANTA HERE, LET ME IN!"<br />
<br />
<br />
The door opened wide.<br />
<br />
Jeremy bowled in, camera ready, and took a photo instantly before running off. The flash stunned the first assassin and the second was expecting Santa in Bermuda shorts, their contact. Someone so wildly out of place he'd be assumed crazy and no one would bother him. Instead there was a fat guy with a camera legging it to a knackered old car.....<br />
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<br />
Ok YT, MORE WORDS TO FINISH THIS STORY!<br />
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<br />Nothing's There!http://www.blogger.com/profile/17624678434547566026noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-789324571558250415.post-4057751908160927522014-09-11T08:08:00.001-07:002014-09-11T08:08:33.342-07:00For @teddy_redI'm scared.<br />
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The lights above me are bright and warm. My doctor is kind and the nurses gentle but I am afraid.<br />
They talk to me but I hear only fragments. Far, far too soon the platform is raised and the machine lowers and I am still afraid. The lights above me burn brighter now. I am shivering in the sun.<br />
<br />
I am afraid. <br />
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Which means I am alive.Nothing's There!http://www.blogger.com/profile/17624678434547566026noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-789324571558250415.post-74080853056325305812014-09-11T07:52:00.000-07:002014-09-11T07:52:12.999-07:00For @waywardlou'Laboratories for the study of genetic manipulation are no place for house pets'. <div>
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This is a fact that should not even merit the briefest of mentions in a health and safety manual, and if it did, it should share a page with 'Do not throw Sulphuric Acid at each other', and 'When in doubt, consult your physician over glowing body parts'. However, Howard was typing the amended edition of the H&S booklet with the offending caveat because of his own stupidity so he couldn't complain.</div>
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He glanced over at Frederick, his cat, and shuddered at the thought of what could have happened. Frederick lazily curled up in his bed, falling asleep in seconds. Wishing he had the same alacrity for sleep, he went back to his typing. As well as amending the H&S documents he had to write a full report on the events of the past few days. It didn't show Howard in entirely the best of lights. </div>
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'I was late for work on Thursday 11th April 2030, and as such did not have time to feed my cat. With hindsight, I would not have brought my household pet into work with me. Carrying him in a case labeled 'experimental stock' (breaking rule 12, para 3, ss 4 on correct labelling of equipment) I let him loose in my workstation, assuming he would be safe. I had stayed late the previous night and left modified canine claw samples in an open Petrie dish and serum 234X, (contravening rule 4 on safe workplace management) on the edge of my desk. While I was pouring cat food into Frederick's (my cat) dish I knocked the samples into his food. Before I could stop him he had eaten the resulting soup. The combination of the serum and the dog's toenails have caused a reaction in Frederick's gut. While the long term effects are not yet known, I now have a cat that barks rather than miaows'. </div>
Nothing's There!http://www.blogger.com/profile/17624678434547566026noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-789324571558250415.post-62882753848572240822014-09-11T07:24:00.001-07:002014-09-11T07:24:49.351-07:00For @dawbesMildred was ready to murder someone.<br />
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Not literally you understand: though the means, motive and opportunity presented themselves nicely, she was far too polite to bump someone off. How terribly vulgar. She did however feel incredibly angry over the fact her plum pudding was deemed 'inedible' by her brute of a husband. Forty years they had been married, and for Thirty-Six of those Malcolm had not once raised even the tiniest grumble about her cooking.<br />
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Then THAT programme started.<br />
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They'd watched the first few episodes together, and Malcolm gobbled up all the terminology and marvelled at all the contestants baking skills until he was the foremost armchair critic of his day.<br />
All of a sudden he was an expert on all things sweet, and his knowledge of the savoury was second to none.<br />
"Bit salty this pasty"<br />
"Have you proved this bread dough long enough?"<br />
"I can't stomach this cake, far too heavy"<br />
For four, long years he had taken every opportunity to pass on his 'expertise' without once setting foot in the bloody kitchen. It wouldn't be so hard to take but previously his favourite ingredient had been glacé cherries. Such a sophisticate! At first Mildred was pleased he was at least taking an interest in her favourite past time, and one that she felt she had a reasonable amount of skill in, but after a few weeks without so much as a smile it began to grate, and four years on something snapped in her.<br />
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He had put himself forward as a judge on the W.I's cake baking competition and the silly old crones made him head taster due to his use of the phrase 'soggy bottom'. Clearly, he knew exactly what he was talking about.<br />
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The tent was flooded with the warm aromas of freshly baked cakes, tarts, pies and bread. Mildred had gone for a simple sponge, packed with glacé cherries, which in days gone by had been Malcolm's favourite. She smiled sweetly as he strode up to the table, eager to impart more sage advice to his wife and (more importantly) impress the gaggle of W.I judges hanging on the every word of this Cake Colossus.<br />
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A slice was already prepared. The cherries gleamed an enticing scarlet glow, and Malcolm commended his wife's efforts on making the cherries look 'ok'. He took a massive bite, as his teeth sunk into the soft, yielding sponge....and smashed against the impossibly hard cherries. Shards of yellowing teeth cascaded from his mouth as Mildred looked on, impassive, painting her nails with the Ruby nail varnish she'd bought that morning, along with the bag of marbles from the local toy shop.<br />
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If he hated her cakes, he'd learn to love her soups.<br />
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<br />Nothing's There!http://www.blogger.com/profile/17624678434547566026noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-789324571558250415.post-16702958333095478092013-09-02T13:52:00.000-07:002014-09-11T06:30:40.385-07:00Embarrassing Anecdote 1I'm not exactly what you'd call 'a looker'. At the moment I look like Danny Baker after a particularly harsh night out, which will make this next statement come sharply into focus:
I'm better looking now than I was ten years ago.
Yes, Quasimodo's ugly brother looked even worse a decade ago. There aren't any photos of me from the age of 16-24 as once they were developed the image of my face caused the developers to instantly burn the pictures and join the nearest monastery. I didn't have my first kiss til 17, and the thought of asking someone out was terrifying as who'd want to be arm in arm with the blob?
So what possessed me to chat someone up in Jabez Clegg that night? It was doomed to hideous, embarrassing, cringe-making failure. Here's my story.<br />
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When I was at college, I had a small but close group of friends. A mix of genders, ethnicities and interests. One of the girls from our group was dating a guy from another group, and as such both groups would go out clubbing together. Our club of choice/necessity was Jabez Clegg.
Jabez was, to be honest, a bit of a flea pit. It was hot, crowded and the floors were sticky but it was also cheap and the staff had a somewhat laissez-faire attitude to the licensing laws as far as underage drinking went. It also was somewhat of a cattle market. Guys and girls getting off with each other left, right and centre. Apart from me, the fat wallflower.<br />
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This night was different.<br />
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I'd ended up with the guys from the other group, so maybe my inhibitions were down and I wasn't too worried about what my friends would think after seeing me crash and burn. Maybe I just wanted to get the sting of rejection out of the way. Whatever it was I decided tonight would be the night I chatted someone up.
We were dancing close to a couple of girls. I caught the eye of one and walked over. At this point my brain decided to pop out for some milk or something and I was left with my mouth in charge. Not a good idea. I reached the girl, leaned over and said:<br />
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"Is there any point in me trying?"<br />
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Well done Aaron you fucking idiot. What in my head had sounded like an offbeat, funny line came out as a pathetic, self pitying dribble.<br />
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"What?"<br />
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Brilliant. She hasn't heard. I decided to check out, cut my losses. Sadly my brain was only just coming back from the shops (he'd picked up some cheese and biscuits so was late) so the message didn't reach my mouth. I repeated the shit line.
I. Repeated. The. Line.
By now the guys had seen I was talking to the girl and I was aware of the six pairs of eyes glancing over. Jesus, what was I doing? My role was to make the other chaps look good in comparison, not to strike out on my own. There was no way of getting out of this with any sort of dignity. I had to plough on.<br />
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"You know, to chat you up." (Cringe).<br />
"Ah, my boyfriend is at the bar."<br />
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A way out. Out of nowhere a lifeline. I could head back to the guys, tell them she was attached. No shame in not getting off a girl with a boyfriend. Again, my mouth was the spanner in the works.<br />
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"I won't tell if you won't"<br />
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What the actual fuck? Now I'd turned all creepy and weird. I'd become a sleaze. Everything I'd wanted to avoid. I was ready to walk off when....<br />
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"Are you sure you won't tell?"
Whether it was pity, alcohol, or she was genuinely impressed by my tenacity I'll never know but her arms were round my neck and we were snogging. I'D MANAGED TO CHAT SOMEONE UP! Her friend looked appalled, the guys cheered, I felt ALIVE! We broke apart and I walked off, proud and elated. It was worth it. I'd avoided embarrassment.
Then I did a victory fist pump. Oh God.
When I look back, it's not the cringeworthy way I chatted her up that makes me wince, it's the juvenile, laddy, dickish celebration.
I never chatted a woman up in a club again. Probably for the best. Nothing's There!http://www.blogger.com/profile/17624678434547566026noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-789324571558250415.post-87992562701805824752013-08-27T07:23:00.000-07:002013-08-27T07:23:03.184-07:00Shakesfear.Before I begin, I'd like to apologise for the terrible pun that is the title of this entry. I am ashamed of myself.<br />
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Anyway, this blog entry is about what puts people off seeing Shakespeare plays. Anyone who knows me knows about my love of Shakespeare. Ever since I saw a production of Julius Caesar at the Royal Exchange in Manchester in 1993 I've been hooked. I love the excitement and passion in his words, I love the depth of the characters and the richness of the worlds he creates. So when people say they don't like Shakespeare, or have never been to a play for whatever reason, it baffles me. Especially as some of the reasons are grounded in fears about not understanding it, or that it's too 'highbrow'.<br />
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I asked this question on Twitter 'What, if anything, puts you off seeing a Shakespeare play'. What I'd like to do here is a quick examination of the two main reasons and my responses to them.<br />
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'<b>Being made to study it at school put me off'</b><br />
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I totally understand this. At school I had to study Lord of the Flies and I ended my GCSE years hating that book because of the seemingly endless picking over of minutiae. It must be even worse when studying plays, which were never meant to be studied. All I can say on this is the experience of seeing a play live beats reading it a thousandfold. Seems obvious, but seeing a play helps the language come to life. I've done a lot of work in schools for 1623 Theatre Company, helping break down the barriers between the text and the understanding of it and you can almost hear the penny drop with kids who've previously taken one look at a soliloquy and ran for the hills.<br />
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Maybe Shakespeare should be taken off the English Syllabus and replaced by sessions in which companies are invited in to perform Shakespeare (or any other drama come to think of it). Something should be done, as thousands of people are turned off from this amazing body of work before they even reach adulthood.<br />
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<b>'It's too highbrow/difficult to understand'</b><br />
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Shakespeare's plays were the popular entertainment of his time. Yes he wrote for royalty and gentry, but also for the common man. A common way to make plays enjoyable for all is to put jokes about sex in them. Yeah, Shakespeare loved a nob gag. Even Hamlet, the pinnacle of English Literature (it is. No arguments) has jokes about cunnilingus in. They aren't even that sophisticated or hard to spot. The plays are amazingly well written, with fully rounded characters and an endless supply of<br />
universal truths. Doesn't mean they are highbrow, just means they are quality.<br />
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The fear of the language being too hard to understand is a common one, but again it can be overcome easily by watching the plays! If a production is well acted and well staged, there shouldn't be too many problems in figuring out what's happening. And besides, the plays were wrote *in English!* Yes, some words have changed meanings over the past 400 years, or disappeared altogether, but the majority of Shakespeare's language survived today, mainly because he invented (or at least put into popular use) several words, phrases and idioms we use today. <span id="goog_1627159137"></span><span id="goog_1627159138"></span><a href="http://www.blogger.com/"></a><br />
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<span style="-webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(175, 192, 227, 0.230469); -webkit-composition-frame-color: rgba(77, 128, 180, 0.230469); -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.296875); font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 15px; line-height: 19px; white-space: nowrap;">http://m.youtube.com/watch?v=65Cy4-rfd24</span><br />
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Not a complete examination of course. And there are many other reasons people are scared of Shakespeare, but hopefully, maybe, this might help with people exploring a 'Brave new world'.<br />
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Nothing's There!http://www.blogger.com/profile/17624678434547566026noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-789324571558250415.post-22260360789795969102013-08-22T10:15:00.000-07:002013-08-22T10:15:12.795-07:00Jokey jokes. I haven't been keeping in touch with the Bradley (Now Chelsea) Manning story as much as I probably should have, but one thing about the resulting media coverage has struck me, and it's not to do with the leaking of documents or the rights and wrongs of Internet surveillance. It's to do with her identification as female (apologies if I've used insensitive terms, I appreciate that terminology is important) and the resulting, inevitable jokes.<br />
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Twitter allows users to respond to news instantly, and topical humour is a reason I find it so entertaining. The jokes around Chelsea Manning however make me feel a bit uneasy, especially as a lot of the people making these jokes would be amongst the first to call out any homophobic, sexist or racist 'humour'. It's making me wonder where the lines should be drawn. If Jim Davidson cracked a joke about a black man he'd be taken to task about it, why should it then be ok to make a joke about another section of society?<br />
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Humour *should* have leeway to be offensive, and different people have different boundaries of taste but are we in danger of making trans* people the bottom of the comedian's food chain?Nothing's There!http://www.blogger.com/profile/17624678434547566026noreply@blogger.com0