Gosh, well this site has gone a bit quiet. Where are you all? Have to liven this up a bit. And the CADS Christmas Party only just round the corner too. I wanted to do 'King John's Christmas' - you know that ditty that goes 'King John was not a Good Man, he had his little ways' though it remains to be seen whether I shall be allowed. It seems doubtful. Anyway I shall be in London that day on UNESCO duty so whether I get home at all will be a bit in the lap of the gods. Maybe the second half. Anyway, in case you are interested in something remotely theatrical here is something that (as it were) I wrote earlier.
I was reminded this week, as scandal after scandal rocked the leaky boat of government, of a wonderful sketch written by Peter Cook and performed as part of the ‘Pete and Dud’ series. Peter is explaining, or trying to explain, acupuncture to his dirty rain-coated colleague. “Let’s say you’ve got a pain in your head,” says Peter. “Well this acupuncturist comes along and sticks a needle in your arm, so you forget about the pain in your head and worry instead about the pain in your arm. So the acupuncturist then sticks a needle in your bum – so you forget about the pain in your arm and concentrate on the new pain.
“In the bum,” says Dud. “In the bum,” says Peter – or words anyway to that effect. And with it he creates the splendid illusion of the acupuncturist breathlessly chasing all over the body sticking needles hither and thither to keep one step ahead of the developing pain.
This prompts me to suggest that maybe the reason child benefit discs went missing was to take our minds of the wreckage of Northern Rock. And by the same token - or rather needle - the latest party funding scandal may have been created to take our minds off worrying about the security of our bank accounts. The only problem is that sooner or later the acupuncturist is bound to run out of needles, leaving a bruised and battered patient unable to sit down behind him. Equally, sooner or later the government will run out of scandals, too, I suppose.
Still everything is relative. Tomorrow is World Aids Day. 40 million people now carry the virus apparently. It's a sobering thought.
Friday 30 November 2007
Tuesday 27 November 2007
Hobson's Choice
Just wondered if anyone went to see the recent production at New Theatre Cardiff?
And, if so, were you as dissapointed as I was in the whole production. The set was quite drab compared with the CADS production, and as much as I admire actors moving across from television to the stage, I do wish they would realise that there is an audience out there. In this production most of the major speeches were delivered to the backcloth.
And, if so, were you as dissapointed as I was in the whole production. The set was quite drab compared with the CADS production, and as much as I admire actors moving across from television to the stage, I do wish they would realise that there is an audience out there. In this production most of the major speeches were delivered to the backcloth.
A Boring Bit of Business
Sorry to be boring but I think we should construct a CADS electronic mailing list - or perhaps two such lists so that people could opt-in or out. One list would just contain notices of productions etc. The second would be this plus details of play readings etc.
CADS and Friends of CADS, perhaps. The problem at the moment is that we all have our own lists so there is both duplication and omission and some people get bothered by stuff they have no interest in.
Somebody - the publicity officer perhaps - should circulate a regular email containing the blog address and the website address as a footer and perhaps a contact name and number and and unsubscribe link. Perhaps the committee could email each other with the lists they hold so that a definitive list or lists could be produced.
CADS and Friends of CADS, perhaps. The problem at the moment is that we all have our own lists so there is both duplication and omission and some people get bothered by stuff they have no interest in.
Somebody - the publicity officer perhaps - should circulate a regular email containing the blog address and the website address as a footer and perhaps a contact name and number and and unsubscribe link. Perhaps the committee could email each other with the lists they hold so that a definitive list or lists could be produced.
A Question for You
Now here is a question for the erudite Upstager and my other 'learned friends.'
I was doing the ironing the other night and, as one does, half watching Cranford at the same time when I found myself asking a Deep and Philosophical Question. This was not, why is it that carriages in costume dramas (or vintage cars for that matter) are never defaced, whatever the weather or however far they have come, by as much of a single speck of mud. Nor was it that other question I always feel prompted to ask when a film script calls for wet weather - which is why is it that film makers have yet to invent a machine that produces drizzle? For whoever it is that plays 'rain' in films is always prone to gross overacting. Have you noticed? Rain comes in one strength - deluge - and that's it. No subtlety about rain even in the most expensive shows.
So it wasn't these questions I pondered as I beavered away at the collars and cuffs; it was this: why do women in eighteenth and nineteenth century costume dramas wear those silly little cowl things over their hair (and under their hats) when they are not wearing mob caps? What was the purpose of them? Was it hygiene - to keep the nits at bay? Was it modesty (the same function as the Muslim headscarf)? Was it fashion? Or was it that shampoo (an Indian word, surely?) hadn't yet made it's appearance and that if you had to wash your hair in carbolic soap, you, too, might have wanted to keep it under wraps while half of it fell out and we all waited not so much for the coming of the railway but the arrival of Messrs Proctor and Gamble. Any ideas?
I was doing the ironing the other night and, as one does, half watching Cranford at the same time when I found myself asking a Deep and Philosophical Question. This was not, why is it that carriages in costume dramas (or vintage cars for that matter) are never defaced, whatever the weather or however far they have come, by as much of a single speck of mud. Nor was it that other question I always feel prompted to ask when a film script calls for wet weather - which is why is it that film makers have yet to invent a machine that produces drizzle? For whoever it is that plays 'rain' in films is always prone to gross overacting. Have you noticed? Rain comes in one strength - deluge - and that's it. No subtlety about rain even in the most expensive shows.
So it wasn't these questions I pondered as I beavered away at the collars and cuffs; it was this: why do women in eighteenth and nineteenth century costume dramas wear those silly little cowl things over their hair (and under their hats) when they are not wearing mob caps? What was the purpose of them? Was it hygiene - to keep the nits at bay? Was it modesty (the same function as the Muslim headscarf)? Was it fashion? Or was it that shampoo (an Indian word, surely?) hadn't yet made it's appearance and that if you had to wash your hair in carbolic soap, you, too, might have wanted to keep it under wraps while half of it fell out and we all waited not so much for the coming of the railway but the arrival of Messrs Proctor and Gamble. Any ideas?
Monday 26 November 2007
Future Event
Although Opera Mint have unfortunately had to cancel their involvment with our proposed Christmas entertainment please be re-assured that the evening will still run with contributions from a roll-call of talented and enthusiastic members. Mulled wine , mince pies and a happy start to the Christmas season.
See you there Friday 7th December 7.30p.m.
Henslowe
See you there Friday 7th December 7.30p.m.
Henslowe
Spring Production
Arms & the Man, a seriously funny anti-war play by George Bernard Shaw, has become a candidate for our spring production in 2008. Jim Grove offers to direct it and Ber has grabbed the onerous task of making costumes. If the committee does not kick it into touch, casting may take place before Christmas with a view to staging it immediately before or just after Easter depending on the sorts of things that these things depend upon. There is a serious gap to be filled: a handsome young hussar capable of winning the hearts of all the ladies in the audience (but not necessarily of the men) would get to strut up and down in spurs. Do you know such a person? Do you know somebody who has such a person hidden at home? Contact: Jim Grove phone 771645 or jimgrove81@mac.com.
This was PSLB’s idea but I have stolen it.
Zebskid
This was PSLB’s idea but I have stolen it.
Zebskid
Sunday 25 November 2007
Rest and Unrest
I've just been to see 'our' Christmas tree in Holy Cross church - and what a wonderful little gem it is. Being as how I always get hold of the wrong end of the stick, I had expected to see life size props - the golden shoe from Sleuth - or even the one arm bandit - and talking of bandits, the 'cuffs from Gaslight hung on something that had already made a serious contribution to alleviating the carbon problem. Silly me! Nevermind, the 'patio'sized tree is just so well done that it ought to win a prize and congrats to Upstager for all her effort and creative ability. Do go and see it before it's too late. We are resolved to enter a EuropaWorld tree of a labels tree next year, though I fear we shall be upstaged by...er....Upstager.
Now, on the 12th Night thingy. I asked whether Lloyd was going to be writing the scripts and seeing as people (well one person) have commented favorably on my Saki blog and even suggested 'The Unrest Cure' as a title for the next episode, I was wondering whether Lloyd might be persuaded to dip into Saki for inspiration for the 12th night scripts? The Quest is my all time favourite and I think that could be turned into a script as indeed could the Unrest Cure - though that story, though very funny, either teeters vicariously but happily on the brink of political incorrectness or falls into a Wagnerian chasm of unmentionability depending on your sensitivities.
Did anyone take photos of last year's 12th night, by the way?
Now, on the 12th Night thingy. I asked whether Lloyd was going to be writing the scripts and seeing as people (well one person) have commented favorably on my Saki blog and even suggested 'The Unrest Cure' as a title for the next episode, I was wondering whether Lloyd might be persuaded to dip into Saki for inspiration for the 12th night scripts? The Quest is my all time favourite and I think that could be turned into a script as indeed could the Unrest Cure - though that story, though very funny, either teeters vicariously but happily on the brink of political incorrectness or falls into a Wagnerian chasm of unmentionability depending on your sensitivities.
Did anyone take photos of last year's 12th night, by the way?
Saturday 24 November 2007
'What the Dickens'
19th January at the Market Theatre Lloyd Lee will reprise his one-man Dicken's show but with new materal. All those who have previously seen this performance will know what a tour de force it is. Please come and support him. Tickets £5.00 on the door.
Twelfth Night
On Twelfth Night - January 6th - a Sunday, there will be a party for any CADS Members, Patrons and friends at 81 Eastgate. The format will be the same as last year when Lloyd prepared some scripts of scenes from the works of Charles Dickens which were acted out in an impromptu style with minimal costume. It was great fun and everyone present took part. Members contributed to the food and CADS supplied a bar.
If you would like to attend this event please either comment on this blog or contact Brenda 772731 or Lloyd 02920537820
If you would like to attend this event please either comment on this blog or contact Brenda 772731 or Lloyd 02920537820
Wednesday 21 November 2007
Petition - stagecoach
Many of you will have seen in the Stage Newspaper in the last few weeks that Stagecoach are heading up a campaign to change the way Children's Performance licences are raised. Our aim to create a national standard and a greatly simplified process. At the moment too many children are losing out on work because the current laws have become so distorted across the country. At the heart of all this is of course child safety within the industry. With less time spent on unnecessary paperwork LEAs will be able to regulate more productions, thus ensuring the safety and good working practice for children.
If you would like to read and sign this petition, please go to: www.stagecoach.co.uk
If you would like to read and sign this petition, please go to: www.stagecoach.co.uk
Christmas Tree Festival Holy Cross Church
Well, the tree is done and is on display in the church near the choir stalls. I used an old fake fir I found in the workshop and bent the branches back into some kind of tree shape and decorated it. The theme is 'Props' and I used facsimiles of objects employed as props in various past productions such as the ruby necklace in 'Sleuth' and - well, go and see for yourself.
The trees are on display from 23rd November to 6th January and I believe that there will be 51!
There are still a few spaces on ours so if anyone has any further ideas let us hear from you.
Posted by Upstager at 11:03 AM 1 comments
Tuesday 20 November 2007
HOW I ACQUIRED THE STATUS OF BLENKINTHROPE'S AUNT
Some of the hardier souls among a blogging community to which I have stumbled are beavering away over their keyboards, even as we speak, trying to write a novel in 50,000 words and within the confined space of the month of November - an impossible task, I would have thought, unless you are Georges Simenon, who used to write a novel in three weeks most months of the year. But then he was Belgian and for that nation, excellence seems to be distributed like lumpy custard. Very few have it but those that do have a surfeit.
Yet even the great Simenon might have found the task impossible had he also been faced with the daily round of autumnal tasks: stewing the last of the windfalls, raking the leaves from the lawn and securing the hollyhocks against the sou'westers now sweeping up the Channel.
Personally, I find it hard to write fiction at all, regardless of the season. I have no difficulty in inventing characters - it's just that my characters never seem to do anything much when they are invented. They don't go around murdering each other, or seeing visions, or even having salacious and torrid affairs with other characters no better than they ought to be.
So I can empathise with Blenkinthrope - a poor commuter of a character - who appears in 'The Seventh Pullet' - one of Saki's inimitable Edwardian stories. Blenkinthrope complains of lack of respect from his fellow commuters on the morning Waterloo-bound express. They are in the habit of recounting anecdotes, but little in Blenkinthrope's grey and dismal life comes anywhere near making story fodder. "Nothing of a remarkable nature ever happens to me," he wails.
"Invent something," says his friend Goworth, who, having won a prize for Scriptural knowledge, says Saki, is now licensed to be unscrupulous. Thus does Blenkinthrope begin his journey into the land of make-believe.
After a few tales in which he teases his companions' interest with stories of pullets mesmerised by snakes that have invaded the poultry run, he feels he has to up the ante. His next anecdote begins nonchalantly…….
"Curious thing happened to my aunt, the one who lives in Paris. She was sitting on a seat in the Bois, after lunching at the Romanian legation……….."
Of course, Saki comments, "whatever the story gained in picturesqueness from the dragging in of diplomatic 'atmosphere,' it ceased from that moment to command any acceptance as a record of current events." Romanian legations are the trade-mark of fictions and alas Blenkinthrope is relegated immediately to the status of a Munchausen - destined never to be believed again.
Ever since reading that tale I have longed to be able to retail a true story about how I lunched at the Romanian legation, even if I didn't afterwards sit digesting my fodder in the Bois de Boulogne. Well, this week I achieved my goal - or came as close to it as I expect I ever shall. You will forgive me if I mention no names. Internet spiders these days crawl over everything and I have no desire to embarrass my hostess.
Let us just say therefore that last night I dined at the legation of one of the newer arrivals to the European Union having been invited there by that country's acting Ambassador. Actually, that isn't quite true, for the event took place in Cardiff in a setting that couldn't exactly be called a legation. Neither did I exactly dine, for reasons that will become apparent in a moment. Even so, I feel that I have now acquired the proper status of a Blenkinthrope aunt.
The diplomatic event marked the induction of the country's honorary consul in Wales. Quite why so many people - there must have been 150 - had been invited I do not know. My own invitation came, I suppose, because I am known to do 'European' things and also perhaps because I have possibly the unique distinction of having taught the Ambassador Welsh.
I had met her last Christmas, again at a reception in Cardiff, to mark her country's accession to the European Union. She was a little nervous about having to make a speech, not quite sure of the protocols of Wales, and wondering how to be welcoming without being stuffy. Say something in Welsh, I said, much in the manner of Blenkinthrope's chum. "So, teach me!" she gamely replied.
I have to confess to a certain effrontery here. My knowledge of Welsh is sadly deficient. Though perhaps deficiency is an advantage when it comes to imparting a couple of useful phrases while holding a glass of wine in one hand, a plate in the other and trying to spell 'croeso' on a paper napkin at the same time. Whether your origins lie in Western Europe or in the east, it is impossible to do this without giggling.
Indeed so much did we giggle that I wondered afterwards whether I might have been guilty of the sin of lèse-majesté if not towards the Ambassador then certainly towards the Welsh language, which, of course is taken most seriously in these parts. But her speech was excellent and my Welsh phrases drew gasps of admiration from the guests. So when I arrived at the present reception, I was greeted like a long lost friend.
I suspect we would again have retreated into a corner to enjoy some of the Romanian wine while discussing autumnal fruit preservation and the leaf fall in Transylvania had her more formal diplomatic duties not intervened. For despite the wine the throng of guests was becoming impatient. Stretching out on long loaded tables, but taped off just in case, was a finger buffet that beckoned appetisingly to rumbling stomachs.
Unfortunately, as in most of these cases there can be no supper without the singing, or rather speeches, and where was the Minister who would open the proceedings? The Ambassador looked anxiously at the clock.
I had other duties in the shape of a dress rehearsal later that evening and so sadly had to cut rapidly away before the speeches finished. Nevertheless, I was pleased to see that my hostess' appetite for the Welsh language had not abated. I thus never got to 'dine' exactly at the legation, or even to offer my formal thanks, but I came as close as gazing on the food. And I think that counts. Don't you?
Yet even the great Simenon might have found the task impossible had he also been faced with the daily round of autumnal tasks: stewing the last of the windfalls, raking the leaves from the lawn and securing the hollyhocks against the sou'westers now sweeping up the Channel.
Personally, I find it hard to write fiction at all, regardless of the season. I have no difficulty in inventing characters - it's just that my characters never seem to do anything much when they are invented. They don't go around murdering each other, or seeing visions, or even having salacious and torrid affairs with other characters no better than they ought to be.
So I can empathise with Blenkinthrope - a poor commuter of a character - who appears in 'The Seventh Pullet' - one of Saki's inimitable Edwardian stories. Blenkinthrope complains of lack of respect from his fellow commuters on the morning Waterloo-bound express. They are in the habit of recounting anecdotes, but little in Blenkinthrope's grey and dismal life comes anywhere near making story fodder. "Nothing of a remarkable nature ever happens to me," he wails.
"Invent something," says his friend Goworth, who, having won a prize for Scriptural knowledge, says Saki, is now licensed to be unscrupulous. Thus does Blenkinthrope begin his journey into the land of make-believe.
After a few tales in which he teases his companions' interest with stories of pullets mesmerised by snakes that have invaded the poultry run, he feels he has to up the ante. His next anecdote begins nonchalantly…….
"Curious thing happened to my aunt, the one who lives in Paris. She was sitting on a seat in the Bois, after lunching at the Romanian legation……….."
Of course, Saki comments, "whatever the story gained in picturesqueness from the dragging in of diplomatic 'atmosphere,' it ceased from that moment to command any acceptance as a record of current events." Romanian legations are the trade-mark of fictions and alas Blenkinthrope is relegated immediately to the status of a Munchausen - destined never to be believed again.
Ever since reading that tale I have longed to be able to retail a true story about how I lunched at the Romanian legation, even if I didn't afterwards sit digesting my fodder in the Bois de Boulogne. Well, this week I achieved my goal - or came as close to it as I expect I ever shall. You will forgive me if I mention no names. Internet spiders these days crawl over everything and I have no desire to embarrass my hostess.
Let us just say therefore that last night I dined at the legation of one of the newer arrivals to the European Union having been invited there by that country's acting Ambassador. Actually, that isn't quite true, for the event took place in Cardiff in a setting that couldn't exactly be called a legation. Neither did I exactly dine, for reasons that will become apparent in a moment. Even so, I feel that I have now acquired the proper status of a Blenkinthrope aunt.
The diplomatic event marked the induction of the country's honorary consul in Wales. Quite why so many people - there must have been 150 - had been invited I do not know. My own invitation came, I suppose, because I am known to do 'European' things and also perhaps because I have possibly the unique distinction of having taught the Ambassador Welsh.
I had met her last Christmas, again at a reception in Cardiff, to mark her country's accession to the European Union. She was a little nervous about having to make a speech, not quite sure of the protocols of Wales, and wondering how to be welcoming without being stuffy. Say something in Welsh, I said, much in the manner of Blenkinthrope's chum. "So, teach me!" she gamely replied.
I have to confess to a certain effrontery here. My knowledge of Welsh is sadly deficient. Though perhaps deficiency is an advantage when it comes to imparting a couple of useful phrases while holding a glass of wine in one hand, a plate in the other and trying to spell 'croeso' on a paper napkin at the same time. Whether your origins lie in Western Europe or in the east, it is impossible to do this without giggling.
Indeed so much did we giggle that I wondered afterwards whether I might have been guilty of the sin of lèse-majesté if not towards the Ambassador then certainly towards the Welsh language, which, of course is taken most seriously in these parts. But her speech was excellent and my Welsh phrases drew gasps of admiration from the guests. So when I arrived at the present reception, I was greeted like a long lost friend.
I suspect we would again have retreated into a corner to enjoy some of the Romanian wine while discussing autumnal fruit preservation and the leaf fall in Transylvania had her more formal diplomatic duties not intervened. For despite the wine the throng of guests was becoming impatient. Stretching out on long loaded tables, but taped off just in case, was a finger buffet that beckoned appetisingly to rumbling stomachs.
Unfortunately, as in most of these cases there can be no supper without the singing, or rather speeches, and where was the Minister who would open the proceedings? The Ambassador looked anxiously at the clock.
I had other duties in the shape of a dress rehearsal later that evening and so sadly had to cut rapidly away before the speeches finished. Nevertheless, I was pleased to see that my hostess' appetite for the Welsh language had not abated. I thus never got to 'dine' exactly at the legation, or even to offer my formal thanks, but I came as close as gazing on the food. And I think that counts. Don't you?
Sunday 18 November 2007
Rotary Quiz
Well, your two teams: the Upstagers and the Luvvies did not win any laurels but neither were they carried back on their shields. Team 1 came 11th and team 2 16th, but we are not sure which was which. I am not, anyway. It was a fun night and we had a lot of laughs, but just to show how hard it was can you answer these questions without 'phoning a friend'? The teams got them right!
What name is given to a fruit tree trained alongside a wall with a vertical stem & tiers of horizonatal branches?
What was the first vegetable to be canned?
What is the title of the latest Harry Potter novel?
I won't mention all the easy ones we got wrong because we spent too long arguing.
What name is given to a fruit tree trained alongside a wall with a vertical stem & tiers of horizonatal branches?
What was the first vegetable to be canned?
What is the title of the latest Harry Potter novel?
I won't mention all the easy ones we got wrong because we spent too long arguing.
Friday 16 November 2007
Opera Mint
This event is now cancelled due to a mix-up over the booking. To be re-scheduled in the New Year
New Authors Wanted!
If you feel you have something to contribute to CADSblog (other than a comment) let me know and you can be signed up as an author! See your thoughts in print!
Thursday 15 November 2007
INSTRUCTIONS FOR POSTING
In order to post a message you will need a Google Account (no charge). Click on 'sign in'. You will have to give your email address and choose a password. When signed in and 'Dashboard' appears click on 'view blog' then New Post in righthand corner.
Write your comments in the box
Then click on PUBLISH POST below box
Good luck! Brenda
Write your comments in the box
Then click on PUBLISH POST below box
Good luck! Brenda
Gaslight
Great play, terrific acting, superb set, atmospheric lighting and lovely costumes.
The Cowbridge Critic
Who is the Cowbridge critic?
Upstager
The Cowbridge Critic
Who is the Cowbridge critic?
Upstager
Tuesday 13 November 2007
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