Theatre time again.

Last year I was invited to film a series of schools plays at the Central Library Theatre in Manchester as part of the Manchester Arts Education Initiative.  I really enjoyed carrying these jobs out and gained a lot of experience from them.  Not only that I thought the plays were put together really well and on the whole, the kids performances were fantastic.  Many of these schools were situated in inner city locations and  most probably the kids (from 11 to 16) get a whole load of unwarranted flak in these times of 'danger kids' (there are admittedly a minority of unsavoury bunch out there mind).  It's a fairly large theatre (it is used for many larger theatre productions throughout the year) and I felt a little intimidated by the whole process myself – and I wasn't the one up there in front of a large audience and lit to high heaven.  But the kids handled any pressure really well, any shyness buried deep in their junior period costumes.  I was there to do a job but it was hard not to get drawn into the performances rather than concentrating on the camera and sound (I was a one man band on these occasions).  If you've ever written the majority of kids off as 'this', 'that' and 'the other' then you should stop by events like this.  I bet it does wonders for their confidence for there are few constraints holding people back as strong as a lack of self belief.  Of course, I joined in the rapturous applause at the end of the performances and felt a whole lot better about the world then before I went in.  Not only were there really good, young actors and actresses but also the 'orchestra'  were a bunch of kids too.

By the final performance and even though I'd watched some of the same plays several times over ('The Weaver's Tale' and 'Marie Antoinette') I was perhaps a little sad it had to come to an end.  I'd filmed quite a few performances and it felt like a routine: I'd go there every other night over the space of a couple of weeks and got to know the crew at the theatre as well as some of the directors and production staff.  

I sometimes wished that a few parents who turned up late and in the middle of the performances, perhaps should have realised that I was filming and maybe it was best not to walk in front of my camera...that's what editing is for I guess?!

When all was said and done, the final stage was to edit all the performances and create DVD's for the schools and families (the brochure artwork/DVD covers created by a friend of mine.  I hope they were all pleased with what they saw.  I felt we did a good job creating a lasting archive for the parents and children to view for many years.

This  years dates have just been released and I'm back doing them again.  My first one is this Friday evening and I must say I'm rather looking forward to it.

Our Cabbage Patch Tales

I say 'our' but it's not really mine in any way, I've just been drafted in by the missus to build the darned thing.  Don't get me wrong I quite enjoy a spot of gardening, especially in the warm (well, occasionally) summer months.  This is right up there with the getting back to nature activities one can carry out when it suits (mud wrestling with traffic wardens is another suitable organic past time).  Yes – I'm building and 'designing' (it's a small, square patch of land with a mini Vic Reeves'esque picket fence as it's boundary for crying out loud!) the thing but will hand over responsibility following the 'topping out' ceremony sometime this week.  Luckily we've had one of those compost bins for the past couple of years and as such, a healthy amount of good looking soil (if soil can ever be considered good looking).

It's almost complete as of writing.  I just need to rake and level the ground, pick out a few remaining sods of grass and then add the funny picket fence.  Then I guess the fun starts.  Staple vegetables will be the main clientèle for 'Good Life Island' as I've just this second named it...actually perhaps I can create a 'Welcome to....' sign as the icing on the cake.  I like that idea.  Thanks.

I'm personally up for a bit of Mediterranean veg growing: hot chilli's; peppers; courgettes; tomatoes etc.  I guess that requires some kind of greenhouse activity however.  I have spotted some mini tent like greenhouses in the local hardware/garden centres, so I may (even though I've vowed not to get involved bar the building of the thing) look into this.  Sat next to my herb patch (coriander, oregano, olive, bay and kiwi plants) I'd hope to reap some fine ingredients for a healthy, tasty and cost effective 'mealstyle'.

Can't guarantee this will work as we hope, but plenty of friends run successful plots on nearby allotments, something we could perhaps 'upgrade' to soon enough.

It's a long process so I'll be reporting back here on how it's going, hopefully providing tips, titbits, pit stops and pots and organic pips.

Tennisbledon.

The sport of tennis has been thwacked into the middle of our eyes and ears from a 160mph racket shot.  Yes...it's Wimbletelly time again.  Now don't get me wrong, I love tennis – always have done hitting my first junior balls all those years ago.  We were quite luck where I grew up as we had local tennis courts which didn't cost an arm and a leg to play.  So I used to play a heck of a lot, getting to the stage where I had county coaching – my summer memories are part filled with running ragged around a tarmac tennis court till my little legs felt like rubber jam jars.  Not a bad way to spend the occasional bored evening in the week, much better than dog fighting or setting fire to buses whilst  clubbing the local police force with  umbrellas.  Just writing about it evokes such a strong feeling of time and setting I can feel the thudded twang of the tennis balls hitting my stringed sport instrument.

If I wasn't playing on courts with mates I'd be belting ten shades out of my outside wall at home, with a chalked line signifying the net.  My hero back then was firstly Bjorn Borg then later Ivan Lendl (a serene, robot like figure who it has to be noted never won Wimbledon).  I'm not sure why I took to Lendl – on the hard court he was virtually unstoppable but grass dominance ultimately eluded him.  He had the best adidas kits (I still own the headband – see pic) and an Eastern European austerity...perhaps I felt he was sad.  I think nowadays he plays golf but is pretty much out of the public eye (not so popular with the population it transpires).

A young Boris Becker came along, another who I greatly admired but by this stage I suspect I'd grown out of that adulation and worship you have for your heroes at a certain time of your life.

By the time Stephen Edberg quietly hit the scene, I'd all but given up enjoying tennis.  After nearly 8 years of playing I finally put the racket down around the same time I was leaving school.  I then left home for collage and didn't play again for about 10 years.  I gave it up again.  And then, late last year I dug up an old racket and found a friend in Manchester who enjoyed playing.  We found really good indoor courts (it was winter after all) at the National Tennis Centre at Sportscity (next to the City of Manchester stadium).  It's a wonderful way to keep fit and a really enjoyable game to play, requiring the usual skill, fitness and strategy like all great sports.

I'll get a game over the next week or so, although with the Tennis tournament playing out across our telly screen you can be sure of a few difficulties when attempting to book a court with an inspired nation rushing to attempt an Andy Roddick flash serve or a Venus Williams grunt shot.

My money's on Rafael Nadal this year (I feel he will just nudge out Federer)...a breath of fresh air in the game which has been sadly empty of characters for so long.

Front Lawn HIghway

I have accrued a huge 'to do' list (in scale of job and quantity) of the front end of my fridge.  These jobs (should I get round to tackling all of them) will fill out spare Sundays for the remainder of the summer.  In the main they are the a*se numbing, laborious type of 'To Do': for example, this summer I have to varnish/stain the fence which separates our garden from the neighbour's.  In fact this is the fence I fitted in nearly two years ago, a job of which I'm still rather proud of (although trying to manoeuvre 8 foot high concrete poles might be more efficient with someone along to help you).  I know this is one of those I'm bets to get up early one weekend morning and spend the best part of a day carrying out.  It might be an idea to stick my iPod over my brain and take out a days worth of Irish Coffee in a flask – actually come to think of it, that might not be such a bad thing.  Actually, I've come to realise that such tasks do wonders for you mental well being: they're almost cathartic and meditative once you get cracking.  Your mind starts a little journey, sings to itself, creates parallel universes and at 'close of play' generally much better off that we you started: all the cobwebs and knots have been 'down-dumped' and sent to perma-trash.  Not unlike when you're body is tired from lack of harsh exercise and once you take it back into this environment and nearly cough your viscera through your tear ducts it soon enough becomes re-energised and tingly from it's  brush with reality (you can't fool your lungs or lactic acid).

Anyway...the weekend just passed I ticked another box on the to do list titled : 'Kerb the drive'.  Sounds like a new HBO series, but rather mundanely it meant I have to fit kerb stones around the driveway which were ripped out when I put the fence in.  Thing is I enjoyed this job.  It entailed me using a whole gamut of tools: spirit level; plumb line; rubber mallet; Timmy mallet (who happened to be in Manchester at the time); wheelbarrow; concrete ingredients (1 part cement – 2 parts sand – 3 parts gravel!) and other bits and bobs.  To complete the 'builders' look I took the belt from my faded jeans and proudly displayed by 'builders derrière' to all and sundry.

Surprisingly, I managed to get a straight line (vertically and horizontally) down one side of the garden and god forbid it looks quite professional.  The concrete set solidly and the kerb was as firm as something really firm  - I'd created a mini Berlin Wall on my drive.

This has inspired me...following on from this I'm looking into building a small highway in my garden – an American highway or Thelwall viaduct right up to my front door.  It will be a tourist attraction one day, rather like the Watts towers in Los Angeles.

Demons on Celluloid Street

A few days back I finally got round to attending a meeting for a short film (*well, more high tech video) project I'm hoping to start in September.  Initially I thought this to be a short 10 minute project  but it now turns out it will run for at least one hour.  This has been in the pipeline for a year or so but since I've been asked on board, it's grown legs and is itching to dance one off. 

I think at the very least this will be a great experience, whatever obstacles and cul de sacs fate throws in it's general direction. 

I'll personally be involved in the technical side on this occasion: camera work, 'cinematography' (by no means am I an expert, but I'm surfing them learning curves); editing (which I rather enjoy); and the Music, like the scarecrow in the Wizard of Oz, I like you best of all.

A bit to take on admittedly but I reckon it'll be a whole load of fun.  We had a meeting last week to discuss, with a friend of mine, to discuss actors/actresses we will need.  My friend is a writer and has started directing small theatre plays and as such as whole host of talent for us to tap into.  He may also direct for us which would be a bonus – he's good to get along with and a talented fella.

The story is based on an Middle Eastern demon known as a Jinn, what we know as Genie (I had to Google it to be fair having not know the story and history behind it).  The writer and the guy behind it has expressed his views that this should be a dark psychological horror, with intent rather than full on 'fangoria' (cheaper props then).  Think Dark Water & Grudge rather than SAW et al.

I'm really hoping we can get our act together and get this rolling.  These type of projects (i.e. making any kind of film) are notoriously difficult to pull off successfully.  The more it's talked about (rather than acted upon) then the more diluted it becomes, to the point where it remains a pipe dream.  We're a few meetings in now however so there's a chance this may take off.  Between us all we should have the kit to make it work (lights, cameras, post prod gear) so all that stands in our way is a lack of determination and inspiration.  If we can get it looking absolutely 'mint' then it's a plan of the producer to take it around distributors and hopefully local independent cinema/film nights in the city.

I'll be updating this blog with news (and I'm hoping there is some and this doesn't fall back to the earth from whence it came...) and hopefully pictures.

Barca ahoy.

So...the Cornwall visit isn't happening and we've finally hit all the correct buttons in order to facilitate our holiday this summer.  And the winner is...Barcelona.

Now I last visited the city around 8 years a go sans family (visiting a friend who moved to the Catalan area to teach English to kids).  But now it's time to show the rest of my clan the wonderful delights of the Catalan Capital.  I'm sure they're going to love it.  

My only concern is the heat – I don't personally mind it but I can guarantee at least one of the kids will be mithered by the sun (which hits a peak round about the time we go...hmm).

We got an ok deal with a budget airline (Easyjet) and although we won't depart from Manchester (instead we fly from Liverpool)  the flight actually lands in Barcelona rather than a tenuously linked 'Barcelona' airport like Milan or Tunisia...

Best of all we found a site advertising apartments ('ownersdirect' – worth checking out folks) that people rent out during the summer months (some in fact are all year).  After a very minor piece of haggling (read: asking politely if any discounts were available) we secured this rather nice apartment for the week at a very good price.  In fact the next cheapest option would've been to choose a 2 star budget hotel situated around 20miles from the city itself.

As you're literally dealing with 'owners directly' there is always room for manouvre when it comes to the price...I couldn't quite see the same thing happening at a major hotel chain (last minute, expedia et al couldn't get anywhere near the price we paid).

The apartment is located in the 'Zona Alta' or 'High Zone' district of Barcelona: I'm led to believe this is where all the really posh flats and mansions are based (well look at us!).  I may have to scrub up a little before I go.  In reality this is probably a quieter area then the more vibrant areas you would associate with the city.  No bother – it's literally five minutes from the Gracia district and an area renown for it's party like atmosphere and bohemian sensibilities (again I'm going off what I've read and been advised).

Luckily we've chosen the week the Gracia festival commences (mid August for one week).  

Apparently this is one of Barcelona's largest street party festival and looking at previous years photographs is looks like a whole load of riotous fun.

We started to learn Spanish a few years back (for about a year) until our teacher fell pregnant.  This led us to drop it, sadly, after that.  However I'm hoping a quick scan of our old notes will bring me up to scratch just that little.  I think it's important to at least make the effort when visiting foreign climbs, although I've had the most trouble being understood in America:

Me to a lady selling deli products near San Francisco Bay: “Are you open on Tuesdays” 

Her: “Cheese days?”

Me: “Erm, no – Tuesdays.”

Her: “Cheese....days?”

Me: “NO....are you open on Tuesdays!”

Her: “Sorry....I don't understand – Tues-days”....which went on a while longer before we gently sauntered off none the wiser.

Any road...we're all paid up and set to go.  Might step up the exercise routines over the next couple of months just in case I venture out in my post modern speedos.  The travel itinerary is all sorted in my head (via underground Metro online maps), the time out and rough guides are in hand and the next few weeks we'll have to curb our spending whilst we fill the holiday piggy bank read for Euro exchange.

No sublime Cornland this year.

We've almost booked our summer holiday for 2008.  Surprising for us we've managed to pretty much sort this out several weeks before we plan to go...it's usually last minute for us and it's generally a cottage in Cornwall we find via ebay.  

This year however our options for Cornwall have run dry.  Cottages are very expensive down there, although for the most part worth it – I absolutely adore Cornwall.  It seems like a far flung land removed from England (the arduous journey down qualifies that).  There is a magical quality to the place, perhaps due to be situated on magnetic ley lines or something, although it's virtually an island with the sea surrounding it's 'three' sides.  

Devon of course is lovely but doesn't quite hit the bulls eye like it's Cornish cousin.

With petrol prices so enormously pumped up at the moment (and there unlikely to reduce now if not permanently), so it's with disappointment that we we'll be heading elsewhere this year.  How I'll miss the sun falling down on beautiful St. Ives, quite possibly the only British seaside resort not in decline (and quite the opposite).  I've found a stunning  fisherman's 'cottage' overlooking St Ives, a place I covet as my pad for my 'silver' years.  It resembles a wooden sea shanty cabin built on stilts, the kind of thing Steven Spielberg would set one of his characters in should he have made a film set in St Ives.  

From there I could wander down to one of St Ives three beaches and attempt 'surfing procedures' whatever my age (there's a fella in his 80's who surfs regularly in Newquay).  Although I haven't as yet tried full on surfing, myself and my elder daughter hired body boards last year – and what joy!

The hand of nature wilfully toying with you in return for a little respect.  God knows what speed I was doing when I 'caught a wave' but I bet it would be illegal on some residential streets.  At one stage I nearly careered into the full body of a rather large, hirsute but congenial looking gentleman...I finished this dazzling move off with my face almost buried in the front end of the beach.  

Enough of this frivolity I thought...the Tate Gallery St Ives beckoned me, it's architecturally pleasing strucutre  placed perfectly above Porthmeor Beach.

I remember this being a blazingly hot day (especially for Britain) and the gallery was currently showing a Brian Wilson inspired exhibition.  With pieces by various artists dedicated to the spirit of the beach boys founder or pieces inspired by 60's Californian summers everything in my environment melted into perfect  harmony.  To complete this vivid sensation I had a local beer on the outdoor beer garden on the roof of the Tate.  With the wide-screen open sea (which St Ives is famous for) in front of me and Beach Boys piped over the sound system I can barely register many more magical moments in my time.

Right...onto completing the booking for this years holiday...

Garden Chefery.

We organised our first barbecue of the year last weekend, a practice run a day before ensured all would run smoothly.  Not wishing to buy a trolley load of stuff from Iceland (I can't be the only one who sees those adverts and feels immediately nauseous?) we instead hit the local butchers, bakers and fishmongers: money saved and quality more so guaranteed.

I think we planned to have one a week last summer but in the end, we ended up having ½ of one.

What usually happens is that you get a run of good weather during the week so you mark a BBQ spot in your diary for the weekend.  Of course cometh Saturday/Sunday the heavens open up...I think we can safely say God was an Aussie.

This time around everything fell into places nicely: the weather was spot on; we and guests get on (it helps when all parties have kids); fridge was rotund with wine and ale and food.

The 'barbie' was soon firing up but the we realised we didn't have enough coals/briquettes and with guests over within the next 15 minutes there was only one thing we could do....why – ask the guests to stop off at a garage and pick you some up!  So that's the 'gone wrong part 1' out of the way.

Next, given a few beers (and I was driving the BBQ from B&Q) you tend to gab whilst wuth your eyes are off the ball, or in the this case off the lamb steaks and sausages.  I certainly looked like I knew what I was doing – occasionally turning the meats, poking it, shifting it around etc but without really concentrating on the sizzling morsels.  When the ladies voiced expressions over where the bloody 'ell the food was, I realised that Cusquena had  somewhat taken over my faculties and had sufficiently neglected the cooking food to warrant burial.  

I tried to rescue the crispy slabs of charcoal (their burnt demeanour long giving up on the chance of guessing which animal they originated from) with some nice bread and salad (I wasn't in charge of that 'section' thankfully).  

For the boys drinking and gabbing I'm not so sure there was much concern in the air.  To the ladies just gabbing, hunger pangs not all satiated by the embers of sausages past isn't conducive to being in their good books.

The chicken I had put on in the meanwhile wasn't at all bad however.  A dash of lemon, seasoning and extra virgin olive oil created such smoke at one stage the back garden resembled an old Black Sabbath video.

Perhaps next time I'll drink less before being seconded to the cooking duties, although this has never been a problem when cooking indoors.  I like tapping into that primal space lodged in between iPodery and scratching  untethered parts of the anatomy.