Teaching and Interviewing

I’m going to New York the week after next where I’m going to combine some lecturing on Advertising Planning (something which is filling me with so much dread it is only really now that I am confronting the fact that I am doing it – SHITTING HELL!) with an interview at another agency.

It’s a more famous agency than the one that I currently work at, but no better (worse in many areas); and the money is a lot better, but I am almost certain that I don’t want to work there. My work situation at the moment is pretty perfect: I’ve been promoted to the Board, given a pay rise to go with it, and they are really good about my home situation (basically letting me work from home as and when I need to in order to accommodate the children) – so I don’t really know why I’d leave. On the other hand, Old Friend at Work is right when she says that I may as well turn up, specifically if I don’t want the job (which is when I tend to perform at my best), and see it as ego-stroking and practice if nothing else.

Anyway: that’s half the gig. The bulk of it is this lecturing that I am doing (largely in the spirit of “Run towards what makes you scared – and given that, as I run towards this, I can almost feel myself shitting myself, I think I’m embracing the spirit of that dictum pretty well), and that’s three days of lecturing, leading workshops, Q&As and all that stuff that makes me feel like self-harming. The other speakers are all from different areas (screenwriters, film producers, TV executives, journalists) and we’re all speaking on the theme of “Engagement through Story-Telling”, so I am under no illusion that my slot will be the point at which people make their phone calls and grapple with their iPads.

Ah well: “What doesn’t kill me, makes me stronger” as terrifying, proto-Nazi Nietzsche coined it. We shall see.

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John Gabriel Borkman

My first emotion was exhilaration.

Virtual Friend and Theatre Twin alerted me to the fact that Fiona Shaw was going to be appearing alongside Lindsay Duncan and Alan Rickman in Ibsen’s “John Gabriel Borkman”. She is something of a theatre insider and so this knowledge was shared way before it became public knowledge – so my excitement was very real, tempered only by the desire to get on and book some tickets. “Where would it play?”, I wondered. A cast like that has got Almeida, West End or National Theatre possibilities – but which? Could it be that the brilliant Nick Hytner was going to use this production to follow the flawless Paul Schofield, Eileen Atkins and Vanessa Redgrave “Borkman” of some years previous (a production I can still remember, almost minute by minute – can you even imagine how brilliant it was: well CAN YOU?)? WHERE?

Ireland.

And then New York.

Bollocks.

This was going to be difficult: I had to get to see it. It was Fiona Shaw in Ibsen (and her “Hedda Gabler” is still the greatest thing I have ever seen in a theatre) – and the rest of the cast weren’t exactly slouches either. It was designed by Tom Pye, whose brilliant work on “Medea” and “Happy Days” had been so impressive, Finally, Virtual Friend and Theatre Twin got herself off to Ireland and gorged on it. Ireland would have been cheaper and easier – so I went to New York to see it.

Now, I am a Fiona Shaw enthusiast – but I am not a blind disciple. I, for example, found her performance in “Black Dahlia” (loved by many) to be so embarrassing that I could scarcely keep my eyes open – so I am capable of seeing where she has strayed from brave to ludicrous. That said, this performance was miraculous. It was up there with Hedda and Medea, largely because her danger zone (letting rip in quivering tones and going the FUCK FOR IT) was so well reined in that the audience could feel the pressure in her. And when she finally did let rip, it was like a glacier exploding: it was absolutely spellbinding, and most crucial of all, it felt like the result of years lived in torment and quiet fury, not like the outburst born of a couple of hours of theatrical adrenaline.

Lindsay Duncan was also magnificent. A much warmer presence than Shaw, and with a voluptuous quality that has served her throughout her career and is as much a mark of her interpretation as it is of her physical presence, they were magnificently paired. It’s always good to see two actors absolutely matched, but with contrasting qualities and styles (think of Brando and Leigh in “A Streetcar Named Desire”) and with this script it was very heaven.

I have to confess that the disappointment for me was Rickman. Maybe it’s because I saw Schofield in the role (and I truly can’t imagine it being done better), but I also think that Rickman was too slight a character to scale the part and to crash down into its depths: it felt as though he was picking round the edges of the part a little, rather than immersing himself in it. It is a mountain of a part and perhaps it was simply too much but (on the night that I saw it, at least) he was subdued, rather than destroyed; miffed, rather than devastated – though I should add that plenty of people disagree with me as violently as it’s possible to do without falling over.

It was a trip worth taking in every way – and I cannot but hope (though Virtual Friend and Theatre Twin thinks it highly unlikely) that there may be a London transfer at some point this year. I would gladly go again, and again, and again.

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The Disco Break

There are some things that I would do almost anything to avoid. Chief amongst these would be seeing “Cyrano de Bergerac” performed by amateurs under the age of 15, trying to learn how to fill in SAP time sheets, or doing my “I think you’ve really found the beginning of something brilliant here” face for more than five minutes at a stretch. All of these things, however, I HAVE done – but there is one thing that I have not done (and to be fair, was not invited to do): a “Disco Break” in the gay bars of Manhattan for six days.

Wife, however, could not have been happier at the prospect, and so she flew over to see Talented Photographer for six days and nights in Manhattan, while I took the week off work to look after the children. Were I to record all of Wife’s exploits here, they’d be hard to credit: the night where the cabaret consisted of a woman dressed as a vagina, rubbing a glitter-speckled plastic tongue up the length of “her” labia; the mid-op transsexual who sodomised himself with a bottle of Jack Daniel’s (as Jude Law inter alia looked on); the pool party to which the wearing of a gold bikini and an Afro wig was (apparently) “de rigueur” – these are but the tip of the iceberg. But – fuck me: childcare is hard work!

Thankfully, Wife (who vanished in a flurry of tears and luggage late on Friday) had left me notes of such regimented precision that there was no way that I could slip up. But I (who had, naively been anticipating a slacking off in the pace of the workplace) was absolutely staggered at the amount of effort, energy and organisation it takes to get three children to school, after school clubs, playdates and then bed, without forgetting to wash and iron their clothes, or buy and cook them food. No wonder Wife is as thin as she is: I can’t imagine when she gets time to eat…

Any full-time carers reading this will no doubt be rolling their eyes and shouting “Well…DUHHHH!” at their screens: but this isn’t a tale of “Professional Guy Takes On The Childcare And Through A Series Of Hilarious Fuck Ups Learns Real Life Lessons” – I did a sterling job, with the children on time, on best manners and well turned out wherever they had to be – but it was a real eye-opener in what should be a mainstay of my professional skills: the ability to walk a mile in someone very different’s shoes (even if the person in question was my wife and the mother of my children).

Anyway: she’s back now, thank God – utterly exhausted and Disco’ed out, needing a holiday to get over her holiday – and so life will resume its usual pattern: and I, for one, will be glad of the rest.

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Farewells – One Fond, One Not So Fond

I am loathe to use the term “Annus Horribilis” – primarily because  I always try to avoid using terms popularised by in-bred, German midget bigots, but also because it has become such a cliche – but, I will be so glad to see the end of this year. With the exception of Sister’s and Best Friend’s pregnancies (both of which come to term in 2009), it’s been pretty terrible for me – and for most of my family, and a number of my friends. It may well be that the enthusiasm to see the end of the year is (in part) what’s making this Christmas feel so exciting: I am really, really enjoying it – but I think it’s also excitement about next year.

Sister (and her new, expanded family) comes home in March; Best Friend will have her first baby; my Parents won’t have their family split between New York and London – and I think things are going to go from good to great with Wife and the children, thanks to a new perspective, a new balance, and an almighty fucking shock four months ago.

Work is also looking up. The Big Win, that eventually gave way to The Enormous Win should presage some hefty financial remuneration for the Agency (and eventually for me), and now that I have had The Conversation (Mark III) with Travesty Of All Things Gay – which went well – I am actually quite hopeful of our making it work (professionally – neither of us is under any illusion about it working out well personally).

Christmas is going to be relatively quiet this year: we have Wife’s best friend, Impossibly Tall and Funny Redhead; and Account Manager About Whom I Have Changed My Mind, as well as Father-in-Law this year: and the plan is very relaxed – and very local – friends and neighbours lined up for drinks and meals, and then we’re going to play it by ear afterwards. I can’t wait for Christmas this year – and I can’t wait for it to be over as well.

The other farewell that I said today was to my parents, as they fly off to New York to see Sister, whose baby is due very soon, and could certainly do with the help with the very lovely, and very energetic Nephew. As I drove back, I got a call from them, saying that they had been up-graded: I can’t think of a nicer way for them to begin their six week sojourn. She’s back in March, so it will probably be their last time out there, and I hope that this time they take as much advantage as possible of the chance to do something, and see something, of New York – as well as help with the new, ever-expanding family.

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New York’s Never Been Better

This is Acclaimed Photographer Friend’s view of the weather in New York at the moment. Wife and I are off there next weekend, and so were keen to understand just how relevant the mutterings of “100% humidity” proved to be – and it sounds like we’re going to be in for the kind of weather that we have been craving (and missing) in London this summer.

We’re both very excited: there are friends and family in New York (most particularly, Sister, who returns there today after a five week stay over here with Nephew) and the dollar is still weak enough (though strengthening slowly) to leave Wife with sleepless nights about the amount of shopping that it’s going to be possible to cram into the 200 hours that we are there for.

We’re back in The London – which is equidistant from everyone that we want to see, and opposite MoMA (which somehow, I always think I want to visit, and am, somehow always disappointed by) – but which (most splendidly) has suites instead of rooms, and so there is room for Nephew to come and run around, and for Wife to do catwalk style parading in whatever new wares she has purchased that day.

I find it such an exciting city to visit, no matter how many times I go back, when we drive in from the airport and see that clustered skyline of buildings jockeying for position, I get a feeling in my stomach comparable to the one when the lights go down in a theatre… I can’t wait.

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A Trip To New York

Wife and I have been given carte blanche by my parents to inflict the children on them for a week, so that Wife can find something she has not yet bought, and I can go and see my sister.

This enables me to use the free ticket that Virgin Atlantic compensated me with when they bumped me into Premium Economy (which was pretty fantastic) from Upper Class, as well as to try and understand how my Virgin Air Miles work: so the plan is to go there in late August or early September, if that’s feasible, and if New York isn’t too repulsive at that time of year. I shall ‘phone and check…

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“Is Kate Moss Pregnant?”

The first time that Wife became pregnant, we invited our parents, Sister and Brother in Law around to the house for “drinks” (I daresay some of them had guessed why they had been invited). Apparently, Brother in Law had not guessed.

Wife (in an atypically oblique way) made her announcement by asking our guests: “What have Kate Moss, Angelina Jolie and I got in common?” to a genuinely uncomprehending crowd, so adding “I’m pregnant.” Amidst the whoops and the tears of joy, was Brother-in-Law’s surprised question “Is Kate Moss pregnant?”

Anyway: his wife, my sister is now pregnant for the second time, which is fantastic – so there will be a companion to my three year-old nephew born in February/March. This has necessitated a move of quarters: they have now moved two whole floors up in their Manhattan apartment block, to get themselves four bedrooms, all of which was done by their apartment staff, without the hideousness of removal men. They are now echoing around in this big space, waiting for their beautiful new arrival.

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A Sad Day

Friday, 6th April, 2007

My sister leaves today to go to New York for two years.

Her husband’s job is taking him there for a while, and as their beautiful son is only two at the moment, the timing is perfect: they’ll return just as he needs to go to school. Had a similar opportunity arisen for us when we had only one child, I’m sure we’d have done the same – I think it will be hugely exciting.

Nevertheless, all of us left here will miss them terribly. Although I hardly ever saw her when she was living a mere five roads away, there was a comfort in knowing that she was nearby and occasionally bumping into the family as they moved down Chiswick High Road (ie: from coffee shop to coffee shop, mobile phone retailer to mobile phone retailer).

I think that business is going to take me to New York for a few days in May – so I may go with Wife and book a couple of extra days’ holiday. We were going to go in two weeks’ time – but the time isn’t great with the impending move to Big New House almost upon us.

But it’s not all misery: tomorrow Eldest Son and I are going to see “Scooby Doo Live On Stage”…

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Wife. A Tale of Ordinary Madness

Saturday, 26th May 2007

Yes. Yes. The dollar IS weak right now.

How does that translate itself into a shopping trip that made me gasp, though? How did phrases such as “Cartier bracelet”, “Cartier rings” (note the plural, please m’lud), Dolce E Gabbana snakeskin heels and “Most of Ralph Lauren” become part (hell, most of) Wife’s vocabulary as she announced what she had done when I had been in the first day of my conference at Soho House, New York (a shit-hole, by the way…)?

We arrived back from New York this morning. We had flown out with one and a half bags. We returned with three bags (one of which, truly is the size of Wife and rendered the driver almost tearful with exertion as he lifted it into the boot) and a ridiculous amount of stuff. 

I can’t pretend that I have come out of this Mammon Frenzy badly. I am ACTUALLY too ashamed of what I have got (most of it as gifts from Wife) to record it here. let me just say that the watch I had been dropping heavy hints about as a possible 40th birthday present, is now mine for no other reason than Wife thought I deserved it). I am going to have to introduce the spoils gradually, rather than deck myself out like a Chav on a Romford Estate going down Cinderella’s for a night of lovebites and fighting.

And it’s not just one new watch I’ve got. No. No it isn’t.

I think a spot of penance wouldn’t go amiss: I’ll rinse that hair shirt through…

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Doe, A Deer, A Transexual Deer

Saturday, 26th May 2007

Monday night in NYC was fairly special. Not just because we spent it with our great friends Acclaimed Photographer and Syndicated Gossip Columnist (who are just the BEST company imaginable), but because instead of swapping awkward inconsequences with colleagues from around the world over dinner, we went to a gay bar in Chelsea, where we saw the above-pictured artiste.

This woman looks like Nadja Auermann: incredible legs, slender hands, astounding face and tits: one of those very rare examples when you see a transsexual whose appearance defies the fact that she ever had a glancing relationship with masculinity. The pictures above make her look very artificial – but from a distance of a couple of feet, she looked like the very real deal.

Great stand-up, but the highlight of the evening had to be the audience participation number. This being New York, seven would-be Von Trapp children readily bounded out of the audience and onto the stage in order to join in the hilarious, break-neck speed rendition of “Doe, a deer” from “The Sound of Music”. And for those of you who may be having problems imagining why that may be funny, cast your mind back to the end of the number where Maria points in rapid succession at the various children in order to mix up the notes and produce lyrics such as “Ray Far La, La Tee Tee” and imagine it performed with super-serious enthusiasm by the glamourpuss above and her hyper crew of twenty-something Von Trapps.

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