Back in Frome, sweet landing...

Say what you like about grey clouds and drizzle ~ as I do ~ but Frome is spectacularly good at making the most of the stub of the year.  Even before the festive season is launched with our annual
Extravaganza, Silk Mill has a Flea Circus offering an amazing array of creations ranging from previously loved to uniquely inspired. Stalls of exquisitely crafted jewellery and lip-smacking comestibles cluster with vintage coats & curios and the brilliant graphic imagery of BoswellArt.

And as compensation for those evening strolls in Spanish plazas there's a murder-mystery at the Merlin. For a good old-fashioned who-dunnit it has to be Agatha Christie, the best-selling crime writer of all time.  Frome Drama Club chose Witness for the Prosecution for a 22-strong cast production and followed the vibe of the 1950s era to the buttonhole in this 3-Act investigation of a brutal murder and the trial of its principal suspect. FDC has a massive amount of talent among the company and the principle roles were particularly impressive, as Laurie Parnell & Alan Burgess struggle to save Aynsley Minty from the cunning of his cold-hearted wife, the ever-excellent Keely Beresford. Clever set designs enhance the performance, especially when Chambers morphs into Courtroom in the gloom of an Act 3 intermission. There's a double twist in the final scene which I didn't see coming although, having just read Jon Ronson's book The Psychopath Test, I probably should have...

Also scoring on the Bob Hare check-list for psychopathic behaviour would be Finn, highly trained in surveillance skills which he's using obsessively on his family. Philip Perry is mesmerising in solo, a new play by Samuel E Taylor for the Theatre West autumn season, and Bristol Old Vic Basement provides a non-comfortable proximity that works really well for this powerful monologue of pent-up emotions.  A gripping study in the dangers of invasive intimate knowledge, with two moments of reveal so startling I literally gasped aloud. Director Sita Calvert-Ennals and the performer are both also credited with co-devising, what a fantastic project that must have been for the writer.

Also interesting from a writerly perspective,  at Black Swan gallery Jim Whitty was talking about the process involved in his current exhibition Flux which explores the question 'when is a painting finished?' (Renoir, apparently, settled this as 'when my wife calls me for dinner.') Jim's two big canvases depict the old quarry in Vallis Vale, by night with fire and by day with detritus, and each one represents weeks of 'lost' paintings ~ previous versions, altered by persistence.  "I love complexity and texture" he says. Here's the daytime quarry, which is famous in geological circles as the 'De La Beche' unconformity, for its visibly different stone stratas.  Jim's fascinated too by 'particles moving in space ~ stars, swarms, snow.'

Then on Sunday the Chocolate Festival at Cheese&Grain celebrated everything lip-smacking from choccy tattoos for children to a Cocktail Bar ("ladylike but brutal"), with luscious-looking cakes, truffles and bars as well as chox camera-shaped and hurdy-gurdy-coloured. I reckon I nibbled nearly my body-weight in samples at this convivial event, and am now fully arrived back in Frome.

"The future is there, looking back on us."

Frome Poetry Cafe on Monday: a dreich night illuminated by two fabulous guest poets and some delightful readings from the floor.
Stephen Boyce and Rosie Jackson both shared some newer poems as well as reading from their published work. Rosie's newly published collection what the ground holds is full of intimate observational moments ~ the indigo scar of coal dust lovingly caressed, the long one-breath kiss of airport reunion ~and paired beautifully with Stephen's anthologies: Desire Lines and The Sisyphus Dog, which also craft small personal moments, small and vivid as the dab of red his father pointed out to him in Constable's Haywain, to take us directly into the awesome landscape of private life. Appreciation to our open-mic readers, too, for a delightfully varied contributions, including Norman Andrews' moving memory of a childhood harvest in the blitz when a burning spitfire spiralled into the field and he saw that the pilot whose uniform still smouldered on the stubble/ wore a woollen jumper sent to him/ by one of the million women who knitted/ so that our boys would always die warmly. 

Bulgaria. It's that place that 'sounds like it's part of Russia, but it's bloody Paradise ~ the sun, the beach, and if you're not bollocksed by lunchtime you're not on proper holiday.' Or maybe it's the place where everyone is lazy and officials aren't supposed to make decisions, they're supposed to take bribes. Tom Philip's absorbing panoramic play Coastal Defences acknowledges both clichés, the Brit tourist and the jaundiced Bulgarian, and explores an aspect most of us know less about ~ the months of peaceful protests in 2013 and 2014 against a coalition government which allows poverty and corruption to keep everyone in 'a space that floats between East and West.' Tom is clearly fascinated by this land and its people, but there's enough distance from the issues to maintain the drama of the central stories of longing, hopes and fears, of the diverse characters we meet, all vividly evoked by Jill Rutland, Nic McQuillan, and Chris Bianchi. A superbly sparse set by Rosanna Vize sets the scene with roses and a dominant emblem of corporate power.  There's plenty of humour, but with a situation this close to reality inevitably pain and loss too, although ~ the writer suggests ~ maybe more understanding can bring respect for the natural beauty of the Black Sea coast and appreciation of the ancient culture of Sofia. On at the Brewery in Bristol till Saturday 18th as part of the autumn season of new writing from Theatre West, worth seeing.

Update from Athens, poised half-way in journey time between end-of-summer on the island of Skyros, half sultry, half stormy, and a staid English autumn. The 'Writers Lab', as the brochure calls our loose impulsive gatherings at Maria's taverna by the shore, has been a challenge and a delight. The challenge, which was purely logistical ~ 16 writers is about twice my usual number ~ created the solution: we met twice a day, in the morning with frappés as the fishermen mended their nets (this is not the simple darning I'd always imagined, by the way, it involves slicing floats out of old nets and threading them into the new ones) and then again as the sky paled and the sun dropped below a fringe of pine into a sapphire sea. Nets are sunflower yellow, floats are terracotta red, and local wine is pink... To confirm what may be already evident, this was an amazing session for venue, sunshine, and participants combining enthusiasm, goodwill, and talent. I'd love to list & praise everyone but this isn't the place so I'll just say: Go forth and prosper ~ I know you will.

"Frome's premiere pub theatre team will be bringing lively new drama to the town when Loose Tongues start wagging at The Cornerhouse" promises This is Somerset, anticipating "a powerful play produced by Nevertheless Productions, run by Rosie Finnegan and Crysse Morrison, in association with Inkling Productions, on Thursday, September 27 and Friday September 28 at 8pm." There's more, so do check out the link and don't be deterred by the accompanying picture in which I look like a deranged nonagenarian and Rosie looks like my carer.

And I'm also looking forward bigtime to Theatre West autumn season of plays with Bristol settings, starting next week at the Alma Tavern Theatre: Steve's play Sleep Lane promises to be a cracking opening to the A-Z theme, and I'm thrilled that my shortie Park & Ride is to be curtain-raiser for the following production, David Lane's Rush.

Ann Stiddard and Alison Comley who founded and lead Theatre West, launched their 2012/13 'new writing' project on a blustry Bank Holiday Monday at The Hen & Chickens with conviviality and pizza as well as complex instructions involving a big map of Bristol and much A-Z grid referencing. All the writers - there are thirty of us - drew random coordinates to find our dramatic locations and then dashed off in pairs to find inspiration and make videos of the area. I drew just off Portway next to the motorway, a largely-deserted street of unimpressive modern houses. And a rook, flapping low and slow over wet grass. "It can be anything from a specific siting to a feeling of emptiness" Alison says. Hm. I'm currently pondering outsiders... strangers... I'm-leaving-home-bye-bye.... Then a very jolly feedback session as everyone shared their impressions and pledged to get started on their script submission, due in just over a month... eek!

Rehearsals for Mascara are now underway and I'm absolutely delighted to watch as Ollie and Livi breathe life into my characters. "Possibly the best first read-through of any show I've ever been involved with," says director Steve. And from then on it just gets better.
Participating in rehearsals is an amazing learning process for any writer, so I'll be driving into Bristol as often as I can until we preview in Frome on May 25th before opening night at the Alma on Tuesday 29th!

Not a footnote but a grand finale for this week's posting: even though both performance and music are prime passions for me, I've never fancied going to an opera. And I wouldn't have seen one now if I hadn't been treated to the revival of Anthony Minghella's production of Madam Butterfly, a spectacularly sumptuous visual extravaganza immaculately performed by ENO. I say ENO in this casually familiar way but actually I was so unaware of the role of English National Opera that my initial response to the barman's logo was to think how nice that a posh place like this could let an ambient music fan wear his own teeshirt... But no-one, not even the most recalcitrant culture-vulture, could fail to be moved by how exquisitely the story is revealed, especially by the delicate creation of the child-puppet for the final scenes. The emotion lingers long after the final chords, and I woke next day with music in my head ~ not Puccini actually but Sonheim saying much the same thing: when love comes so strong, there is no right or wrong, your love is your life...
..

The night I went to see Frankenspine at Bristol Old Vic studio someone in the audience fainted and had to be carried out, apparently, but I never noticed: I was so utterly gripped by the performance.
“I’d like to tell you a story” begins Tristan Sturrock disarmingly, stepping on a sparsely-set stage wearing trousers with braces and slightly Buster Keaton make-up. The story is extraordinary and true: Seven years ago on Mayday in Padstow he fell ten feet on his head, breaking his neck and paralysing himself, it seemed at first, for life. His fall, rescue, operation, and recovery are related with high theatricality and a multiplicity of characters: as well as gothic voices from the shadows, in the 'real' world there's fast-talking northern Russ "I’m your ambulance man for tonight" and Mr Germon the surgeon "I have my off days - any questions, no? Good." Tristan learns his options are halo brace or 'intervention', which he chooses - a long and dangerous operation which merges with the creation of Frankenstein, as characters from Mary Shelley's story crowd in to the room and operatic music rises to crescendo.
"How fragile we all are. Some of us are lucky, some of us are not." Tristan reflects at the end, and thanks with red roses all who contributed to his total recovery.
It's an incredible production, by turns moving and hilarious, cleverly scripted, well-directed with atmospheric lighting and music, and brilliantly performed. Tristan Sturrock is a superbly talented actor: he was outstanding in BOV's Juliet and her Romeo and in Far Away last year, he's a regular with Kneehigh, and this one-man self-written show is simply awesome - it's on till the end of the month, go see if you possibly can.

Exciting though it is, I wasn't going to mention the launch of Theatre West's competition for the Alma Tavern autumn season, because - though I'm thrilled to have been invited - it's a bit scarily X-factor. Fifty writers, five finalists...
But there's no point in being coy now the photos are out on facebook. We've each got a picture to work from: mine's a fountain in Germany. And as soon as I get over this bloody annoying chest infection, I'll be diving in...

You know you're in a rather special place when the mission statement on the wall reminds guests:
• the 'deity' is in all of us.
• community is an essential expression of, and ground for, it.
• the total environment is also part of this whole and therefore sacred.
So when the taxi for Malaga airport arrived this morning I felt like I'd inadvertently munched Eve's sacred apple and been ejected from Eden. I've just spent a week at Cortijo Romero in the foothills of the Sierra Nevada, the perfect writing retreat: tranquil workrooms, exotic gardens, pool as blue as the Spanish summer sky, staff who offer not just help but friendship, all of us basking in what my friend Grace calls groundhog-sunshine days.

Slightly fulsome? Wait till I get started on my writing group - the Notable Nine, self-supportive, rapid-responsive, vastly varied, witty, wonderful wordsmiths - a simply unforgettable week.
Add to the recipe: fantastic food, river walks, night dancing, and you see why the long face when I left this morning... except that I took with me their card full of messages, far too personal and generous in praise for me to keep my promise to post on this blog, and though last night it made me cry, it will always make me smile now.

And smiling leads neatly to my Number One reason to be cheerful on re-entering rainy Bristol: an email from Theatre West to say my play Consulting with Chekhov is on their short-list of four under consideration for production in their autumn season.... the readthrough, and I presume the final verdict, will be on Monday. So I'm treading on eggs - or will be when I get my head around the fact there'll be no more of Eda's amazing suppers and I'd better do some shopping....
..