Where have I been?

I've had a few messages from readers asking why I'd stopped adding to my blog? Sadly I've been really busy and not able to contribute but will look forward to adding more entries as soon as I get time. I'm away from a PC for quite a lot of the time, but will update soon with news of my recent Italian holiday and snippets of tour shenanigans

Johnny Depp and the Escaped Parrot

When I look out of my office window on a sunny Monday morning in Stoke on Trent, the last thing I expect to see looking back at me is an African grey parrot. The odd pigeon passes by as does the occasional pied wagtail, but today we have a parrot; he’s obviously escaped from someone’s home: (that’s assuming the parrot is a he.) I call the RSPCA and am given a telephone number for a man who has reported his bird missing, 24 hours previously. Within minutes the man; dressed in rather loud shorts and tee shirt is here with his wife and son, and we learn that a) the parrot is a boy, just 4 years old, and b) his name is Joop. The problem we have is that Joop is sat in a tree and although is happy enough to whistle and call ‘Peter’, he has no intentions of coming down, which is slightly worrying as a handful of magpies are fluttering around menacingly, not happy with this exotic intruder. After a barrage of frantic name calling by it’s owner (female) including a verse or two of ‘If You’re Happy And You Know It Nod Your Head’, Joop decides to fly up a little higher in the tree: Who can blame him, the singing worries me too. Someone arrives with a ladder and the parrot decides he’s having too much fun and flies away over the top of our offices towards the wasteland recently vacated by the travellers. The search now centres on this area and I go back to the office. Approximately 4 hours pass and I look out of the window and what do I see again? Yes you guessed it, an African grey parrot, now as they’re not so common in Staffordshire, I assume it’s Joop. I call the owner, who as quickly as the parrot flew away is here once again. This time the exhausted bird is sat on a narrow roof extension beneath the office windows, after several attempts to get him to climb onto a vacuum cleaner attachment, the owner is about to give up hope, when Rachel comes to the rescue. Despite warnings from the owner that she may get bitten, she promptly climbs out of the window, shins across the roof and picks up Joop before passing him to his owner. Hands are clapped and congratulations bounce off the walls as the man strolls down the corridor with the parrot on his shoulder, looking like a portly pirate dressed in Hawaiian shorts.

The following day passes by without any animal rescue operations, I joke about seeing herds of zebra and wildebeest on the land behind the offices. Today I walk from the office up into town for an eye test, the afternoon is hot and sunny as I traipse uphill for one mile, Nancy Sinatra starts to sing, ‘These Boots Are Made For Walking’ as I begin to think, these boots are bloody killing me. The eye test goes okay and the result is they change my prescription back to how it was two years ago, telling me they really shouldn’t have altered it back in 2007, oh joy more expense.

On Wednesday I’m driving to work listening to TLC sing ‘Over Me’ when a Mini pulls in front of me, the number plate reads ‘Girl X’. At a junction in stationery traffic I seize the photo opportunity, the young girl driving the car smiles at me in her rear view mirror as my camera flashes, then the traffic lights change and she waves and speeds off into the distance. The day passes without very much really happening, I work out a schedule of activities for the summer school in July, and we get posters designed and printed for the final performance. Gary, from the printers next door brings us an enormous poster featuring Johnny Depp, and asks if we’d like it. The poster is put above the office door and takes up the complete wall, we now work with Captain Jack Sparrow looking menacingly down upon us. The parrot owners pop in with chocolates and a thank you card from Joop. Wednesday evening is spent in the garden, thinning out radishes and removing a large lupin that’s past its best. Thursday is a pain in the ass in the office as BT have accidentally disconnected our broadband, and despite a plethora of calls can’t seem to understand why they’ve done it and when questioned about it being reinstated they don’t seem to have a clue. Today marks the arrival of the tenth edition of the channel four show Big Brother, I decide to watch, just to see who they have chosen to take part this year. I’m not really a fan of the show, and don’t follow it. The contestants, or rather the fame hungry exhibitionists are quite dull I find, there must be more interesting people in the UK, this said I suppose more interesting people wouldn’t be interested in taking part. The week ends with me being alone in the office, I continue working on the summer school agenda, Barbra Streisand finishes singing ‘My Honey’s Loving Arms, from her first album, to be replaced by Siouxsie and the Banshees singing their cover of the Beatles song ‘Helter Skelter’. We still have no broadband and many more calls to BT still haven’t resolved the issue, I am talking to BT when I hear a whining sound, I ignore it and continue to talk to their technical department when I look up and notice a great column of smoke billowing angrily past the window. I joke with the technician that the building is on fire; I look up and assume it’s the derelict building opposite that’s burning. I mutter something about kids starting fires for fun and then get back to trying to get our internet connections up and running again. After a while the BT technician rings off promising to call back as soon as she can figure out the next move. Once my attention is diverted from the telephone, I realise the whining sound is our building’s fire alarm. I lock up and casually stroll to join the crowd of office workers outside the gates. I turns out that the fire is between the two buildings and has been quite fierce and the fire fighters are having a problem dousing it. Turns out everyone else had been at the evacuation point for over an hour before I joined them. The fire finally extinguished we return to our respective offices, I collect the iPod and set off for home with Depeche Mode playing ‘Jezebel’ from their new and superb album, ‘Sounds Of The Universe’.

Exploding Cars and Has Britain Got Talent?

iPod holder for just £2

Another bank holiday weekend is upon us so we decide to use the day effectively and rise early and take a drive out to the garden centre to purchase bedding plants and some veggies to grow. I got a fantastic bargain at HMV recently, an in car iPod holder for just £2, so we test drive that as we head off, with the Libertine’s playing ‘Can’t Stand Me Now’. Now I know I’m always banging on about Italy, and how beautiful it is in Abruzzo, well don’t think I don’t appreciate what we have here in the UK. Just a few minutes drive from my house and I’m in the beautiful Staffordshire countryside, and as we pootle along we take in the landscape that rolls out before us. The weather is good and as we’ve set out early we miss the bank holiday rush. With an assortment of bedding plants we leave the garden centre as queues begin to form in the country lanes, hot cars full of frustrated people warmed by the sun. Back home I plant up my courgette, peas and tomato plants as Gary Numan plays ‘She’s Got Claws’, the pod now shuffling in it’s speaker deck.

After a day in the garden, I decide it’s time to water in the new arrivals, however we’re left wondering where the spray gun off the end of the hosepipe has gone, it looks like it’s been taken off and stolen away, but who’d creep into someone’s back garden just to steal a spray gun attachment? We look around to find the rose off the watering can has also vanished. We are pondering this dilemma when the couple who live at the back of us start to have an argument, which in turns develops into an all out fist fight, which their children have to break up.

Well the travellers have left, gone as quickly as they arrived, the only clue to their having been here is an abandoned and very dented car, which at lunchtime bursts into flames choking out black smoke, someone at the offices assumes the car is being burnt out after possibly being used for nefarious activities, I couldn’t care less I just see it as a photo opportunity.

After cooking a chicken curry as James Morrison plays in the background I sit down to watch Britain’s Got Talent, it’s the third semi final and I can only assume they put all of the rubbish acts into this episode, what are these people thinking, a man who is convinced he sounds like a saxophone and a woman warbling as a man arranges flowers, and there’s something rather disturbing about watching a 12 year old overweight boy of Greek parentage, flashing his prematurely hairy armpits before the watershed…. It’s just wrong, nearly made me want to turn over to watch Springwatch. And finally, am I the only person in the UK that thinks Susan Boyle is overrated? Yes she can carry a tune but she’s not that good.

Wednesday, I got up to discover that the snails have had it away with one of the leaves off Colin, my courgette plant, the buggers. It’s raining as I drive to work listening to ‘Loveboat’, from Kylie’s come-back album ‘Light Speed’, the uptempo tune does little to brighten the day. As it’s half term the roads are quiet, but that doesn’t stop a dick-head in a black Range Rover, with blacked out windows from hogging the outside lane and travelling at just 20 MPH, oh well at least there’s a lunch date to look forward to today.

Diana Ross sings ‘Top Of The World’ as we stumble back into the office from the Chinese ‘eat your body weight in food’ buffet up town, it was nice to catch up with friends and eat good food too, there’s something comfortable about long lunches as opposed to evening dinner, which can be too formal.

We have an Italian market in town and on Thursday we left the office to have a nose ‘rind; as we say in these parts; the stall holders are all from Sicily and are bringing a little Dolce Vita to up ‘anley duck. As suspected it’s cheeses, olive oils, bread and salami, I buy a large tub of olives stuffed with garlic which no doubt wont last the day out. I watch another instalment of Britain’s Got Talent, and have to say with the exception of a talented saxophonist named Julian Smith; Britain certainly didn’t have talent tonight. There’s something a little creepy about watching a 12 year old girl singing ‘Somewhere Out There’ from An American Tale with a 76 year old man, even if he is her granddad, there dreadful woman who just blundered about the stage with enormous flashing breasts was gratuitous and to be honest embarrassing as was the 73 year old grandfather attempting to break-dance to Basshunter. And what’s with people bringing on dancing dogs, the dog tonight didn’t so much dance as just wander in and out of its owners legs as six men tap danced on the stairs; for goodness sake give it the ball it’s so desperate to play with and let it make up it’s own fun.

Friday is a good day and I drive to work with the windows down and Linkin Park playing ‘Lying From You’, it’s nice to have some sunshine, and predictions for this year are for a good summer. I do hope so, last year was disappointing and the year before that I missed summer as I spent it in New Zealand, when they had the worst weather they’d had in years. I wander around taking some photos of the local area where redevelopment is about to take place, it’s run down but the council have promised the regeneration will look good. We have another incident with one of our actors, this time he wants us to cancel 2 shows so he can go for an audition, I’m glad we’re opening a new business to eventually stop producing theatre; the attitudes of new actors nowadays is so poor, whatever happened to ‘the show must go on’ attitude? I was speaking to a director a few days ago and she says it’s a changed business, and wonders what drama schools teach them now about commitment and professionalism? I sit seething as Operator Please play ‘Yes, Yes’ and decide to upload this weeks blog.

Travellers, Chocolate Spread and the Random Photographs

Saturday 16.05.09 – Today I feel really popular as I have an invite to three parties this evening, can it get any better, yes it can because I win a tenner on the lottery. So which party did I decide to go to? Well I decide to go to two of them; the first is ex wifey’s house warming, it was chance to catch up with all of the ex-in laws: I just realised how weird this may seem, hob knobbing with the exes. A couple of glasses of wine and a bowl of wifey’s homemade curry later I go to make my farewells and head off to party number two, which is an 18th birthday bash. I am halfway through the obligatory hug and a squeeze as I exit, when a small child wants a hug too, I bend down allow said child to hug me and say goodbye, I stand up and notice small child has left a huge chocolate imprint on the front of my shirt. So I nip home to change the shirt, just as the Eurovision votes are being reeled in, upshot being I watch them and completely forget party number 2. As predicted Norway win with 387 votes setting a new record for the most votes ever in the history of the contest. The UK get fifth place, which most people seem happy with; I can’t for the life of me figure out why Azerbaijan came third. I’m pleased for Estonia getting sixth, but what happened to Greece? Poor Sakis, seventh place, and that ranking came only towards the end of the voting as early on the voters overlooked the Greek entry.

Sunday 17.05.09 – Not much happens today at first, I download a few songs and add them to my iPod, I’m in a painting mood so set up my easel and look through my ideas book, I sketched a scene whilst I was last in Italy, it’s just random houses and so I decide to use this sketch as the basis of my new painting. Now considering that I usually paint abstracts rather than landscapes it’s an unusual subject choice for me. I sketch out the buildings randomly, part imagination and part memory, my aim is to have something that encapsulates the region rather than is a direct copy. Everything is going swimmingly, the pods belching out tunes and the sun is streaming in through the window, only one thing lets down this perfect moment, I run out of white paint, so I have to make a trip to the local supermarket to purchase some more. The queue to get into the car park stretches for about 400 yards; rows of cars full of eager occupants all ready to worship at the temple that is Tesco. To pray to the gods of ‘buy one get one free’. Sunday when traditionally the churches should be filled with the pious, are now different as the congregation’s head out for cut price groceries and reward points. Maybe this is what the church should do to attract more people, give reward points that can be redeemed in heaven, maybe even extra points for all prayers that are recycled. Sunday evening is a relaxing affair with a couple of glasses of red wine and more catching up on Dynasty episodes. Yes, camp but who cares?

Monday 18.05.09 – How quickly the start of the weeks comes around again, the first task of the day in the office is a dissection of Saturday’s Eurovision, we all agree that Greece should have come higher, then we promptly download the album and have it playing, the only problem is every track begs the question: ‘Which one is this?’ or ‘is this so and so?’ Coming to work today I decided to come via a different route for a change, I was listening to Rose Royce sing ‘I’m In Love (And I Love The Feeling)’ as I watched a cyclist on his way to wherever he’s headed. Now here comes the Monday moan, what is with cyclist’s who think they don’t have to observe the Highway Code? This particular one rides through a red light with no regard for the traffic coming towards him, he then turns right into a street clearly marked as a ‘no right turn,’ and oblivious to everyone around him he cycles the wrong way up a one way street. Lunacy, moan over. Wednesday 20.05.09 – I’m listening to the Arctic Monkeys play ‘Mardy Bum’, sat wondering what’s holding up the traffic today, then as the track fades and the Dead Kennedy’s begin to play ‘Police Truck’, I see the reason for the delay, it’s a police truck, or rather two of them full of officers. As I come around the corner I see the reason for the police, we have on the spare land adjacent to our office a camp of travellers. They must have forced the gates and settled last night.

Today I briefly considered joining Twitter, however with my O.C.D. I decided it probably wouldn’t be a good thing, what with this blog, Abruzzolutely and Facebook to keep updated I think I’ve enough to cope with.

There’s been some activity with the travellers, the police arrived, walked up and down for a while and left, and a small child dressed in pink fell off her bike; yes I did laugh, mind you I was paid back for laughing, by having to check the fax numbers for every primary school in Essex. Mind numbingly boring, but has to be done. Later in the day as Strawberry Switchblade sing ‘Beautiful Day’, we watched the traveller’s children running amok, throwing rubbish all over the place, no wonder these people get such a bad press. Today in the office we were perplexed as my inbox contained an email with 4 photographs of the interior of what looks like an antique shop, with the message “Hi, some pics of the shop, M x”, Rachel got me to e mail the sender back asking them who they are as my work email address is quite specific, so watch this space. Tomorrow is Rachel’s birthday and she’s having the day off, so being a caring boss I gave her, her gifts today, and being a good person one of them was something she can enjoy with her boyfriend, you guessed it, yes, chocolate willy spread, hours of fun.

Thursday 21.05.09 – I spend the day alone in the office doing tedious jobs with music in the background. I escape early only to be stuck in traffic as the A500 is snarled up. I divert into the Tesco to purchase 2 courgettes and a jar of mustard, whilst waiting at the checkout I find myself staring at the back of the head of the man in front. The penny drops and I realise I’ve been transfixed by a badly fitting toupee. The rug is a chestnut colour but doesn’t match the greying real hair around the edges; it’s too small which makes me wonder if it was someone else’s rug first. “Do you need help with your packing?” the checkout operator asks me, bringing me back into the real world; I just hope I wasn’t smiling like a moron; more than likely I was. I watch as she scans my jar of mustard and the 2 courgettes, she looks up at me and smiles, and at once I assume she thinks I’ve purchased the vegetables for unspeakable acts. Friday 22.05.09 – As I drive into work for the last day of this week Gloria Estefan finishes singing ‘Si Voy A Perderte’ and is replaced by Enrique Iglesias with ‘Dimelo’, and I realise for the first time that I have quite a lot of foreign language music on my iPod, most of it is Italian featuring artists like Tiziano Ferro and Gianna Nannini, who’s voice I fell in love with back in September 1988, some Spanish and of course odd tracks from Eurovision over the past few years; particularly the Bulgarian entry from 2007 and the Ukraine entry from 2004. I think it doesn’t matter if you can’t fully understand what’s being said; the act of listening to someone sing in a different language can evoke many emotional responses.

I look out of the window at our traveller friends who are still camped on the derelict land opposite, I see two ladies walking along in what appears to be black shoes, a closer look proves that these are not shoes, but both are barefoot, their feet are coal black with dirt as they trudge through broken glass and dog excrement. Oh well another bank holiday weekend looms, so as the shuffle brings forth Gwen Stefani with ‘Cool’ I’ll upload this week’s entry and shuffle off home.

Prospero and it's all Black and White

Wednesday 13.05.09 – Today the journey into work was a step back in time as the iPod played ‘New Kid In Town’ by the Eagles followed by eighties rock classic, ‘Heat Of The Moment’ from Asia and the Beach boys, ‘Little Deuce Coup’. Once in the office we have to deal with the ongoing saga of our actors in the field neglecting to purchase tickets for the London ‘Congestion Charge’. Today one of their agents rang asking why they had to pay the fine: SIMPLE, because they didn’t buy a bloody ticket. I sometimes wonder what planet these agents are on? (Mine included sometimes, but that’s a different story altogether)

Now having a life on shuffle does have it’s drawbacks, an obvious one being that readers of this blog get to discover the embarrassing songs on my iPod; yes there is the greatest hits of The Nolan Sisters. The other downside is having to sit through songs that are seasonal, out of season. An example is today as ‘Boredom’ by the Buzzcocks faded away Barbra Streisand singing ‘Have Yourself A Merry Little Christmas’ replaced it; oddly enough no one in the office attempted to move the track on. This indicates that we are used to the shuffle principle or just bone-idle. Thursday 14.05.09 – Woke up today with Kate Bush; steady on....... if that had literally happened I’m sure I’d just as surprised as Ms Bush, what I meant to say was, I used my iPod as an alarm clock today and my slumber was broken by ‘Blow Away (For Bill) from the superb Never For Ever album, strange how a song about dying should be the one that causes me to rise. I lie there just listening, not stirring. The dogs have heard the alarm and are making a noise downstairs, but I just ignore it and listen as the song fades out.

Here it is, the second semi final of the Eurovision Song Contest, I pour a glass of red and sat on the sofa with the dogs we watch as the two hosts, Mr Porn Star and the model with a mouth so wide she could fit a meat pie inside without breaking the crust, crack inane jokes and try to look like they like each other. We get a run down of who is through by default, Russia because they won last year, France, UK and Germany, because they put the most money into the contest. We’re then given a quick recap of who went through on Tuesday and it’s straight into the show. So here’s my review of tonight’s proceedings. Croatia: Opened the show with a strong look, a handsome man with smouldering eyes, were told he wanted to once be a priest, but chose singing instead. Dressed in black with calf length black boots he looks as macho as possible without spilling testosterone across the stage, then he opened his mouth and this weak, almost whispering voice came out. Andrea, a willowy girl dressed in white; then joins him, (that’s original, white and black). Her voice is stronger than his and overpowers him, then at one point they are howling like cats in oestrus, Andrea is so out of tune it becomes difficult to listen to. I come to the conclusion there are so many long notes in this song because they couldn’t come up with many words for the piece. This one wont do well methinks. Ireland: The most competitive country in my opinion, having won it the most times. This year the offering is an all girl rock group singing a monotonous song called ‘Et Cetera’, sadly it’s all a little too much Hannah Montana than indie-chick. They come out of the middle eight with a key change a la Westlife, not very original. I find myself watching the singer wondering how long it took her to get those slashed tights on and smiling every time we catch a glimpse of the bass player who is the spitting image of Bridget Nielsen. Latvia: sing a song called Probka, meaning traffic jam, it’s an awful song with very little melody and the staging looks messy. The singer obviously took dancing lessons from Madness front man, Suggs, not so much ants in the pants as armadillo in the boxers, the highlight/funniest bit being his crotch grabbing homage to Mr Jackson. The girl’s dresses look like they’ve been made from sheets of A4 paper stapled together, and at one point they become a screen for a projected image that is completely indiscernible. The whole thing smacks of desperation. Serbia: An accordion player who looks like the lovechild of Alvin Stardust and Steve Strange opens the routine, then a rotund gentleman with a huge blonde afro who looks like he’s been dressed by a blind shop assistant lumbers on, to begin singing; I use the term sing loosely, a song about a shoe. 3 bald guys prance around him and a girl with enormous breasts in a white tutu does the splits and stays there staring at the audience like a demented doll. Part of me thinks they are taking the proverbial. Poland: A pretty girl sings a song called ‘I Don’t Want To Leave’; part of me wants to shout out, ‘well you’re the only one love’, as we’ve a thriving Polish community here. The song’s a bit shouty, but not strong enough I think to make it through. Norway: The favourite to win comes on, Alexander Rybak, a young guy who can open his mouth really wide, he plays a violin, and then starts to sing, it’s not unpleasant and quite catchy. He’s not handsome, but is enigmatic and has also gone for the black and white theme; I can see him gaining quite a following from young teenage girls. The three male dancers from Frikar Dance Company are a tad distracting and at one point it looks like one of them has kicked the singer. The audience liked this one very much, and I think is a contender easily for the top three in the final. Cyprus: My first thought is that the singer should be at home studying for her exams instead of balancing precariously on top of a white light box. The song’s a plinky plonky annoying jangle about a firefly, it’s drab with no substance or meat on its bones. At one point I’m willing the singer to put me out of my misery by leaping off the white box. I’d sell my soul to get these three minutes of my life back. Slovakia: Starts simple with a man at the piano and another on a cello, the female singer is doing a fine job when suddenly she’s joined on stage by an unshaven scruffy looking bloke; the theme being black and white again, the cellists stands and plays his instrument like a frenzied viola player. The song begins to fall to pieces, there’s no sex appeal between the two singers, in fact it looks like they’re both arguing over the last bottle of vodka in the off licence, suddenly the girl emits a note so high only dogs can hear it and the whole thing falls apart from thereon. Denmark: A song co-written by Boyzone singer Ronan Keating, now I don’t want to make any comparisons to Mr Keating, as many have already been made, but sadly the singer does sound similar, in fact I did think at one point I was watching a tribute act. The song was okay and stood its ground, but sadly the final note was off key and the vibrato wavered a little too much. I don’t think this song a serious contender. The singer Niels Brinck is a nice looking young man, but his jeans were so tight I hope he’s not planning starting a family in the near future. Slovenia: This was for me the oddest performance, the performers are behind screens that look like blinds tacked to some two x four from B&Q, the introduction starts and plays on an on and on and on (a third of the song is just the introduction). The musicians appear from behind the blinds, all handsome, hot looking men but the singer remains behind her blind warbling away, then with just 45 seconds of song left she appears and all I think is OMG it’s Lady Gaga’s mother. Get back behind that screen love. A rather indulgent offering that deserves to be confined to the back of the Eurovision cupboard. Hungary: Begins sounding rather like a Pet Shop Boys track, the acts are dressed in…. wait for it black and white, the rather pointless arty beginning ends and they all rip clothes of each other and the three girls and one man are dressed in colourful if not figure hugging attire. His green trousers are so tight at times I think he’s smuggling plums. Rather than a dance routine the performance looks rather like a workout video cum soft-core sex show. The guy, exfoliated beyond belief would not have looked out of place in a Euro-gay porn video. Azerbaijan: The music starts and all I can think of is Mutiny on the Bounty meets Moulin Rouge. Aysel and Arash sing ‘Always’ and at the start are an odd coupling, she’s very Hollyoaks whereas he’s more Holyhead. It’s a repetitious song well below par and instantly forgettable. I pondered why she only had one leg clothed by a gold stocking; perhaps she didn’t have time to put the other one on? Sadly this got through to the final. Greece: Sakis Rouvas, dressed in white with his backing dancers in, you guessed it, black looks rather like a young Nick Knowles. The presentation is slick, the dancing in perfect synchronisation, with plenty of shots of the Rouvas torso as his shirt lifts with his arm movements. The performance is at times melodramatic but has lots of energy and is actually a good song called, ‘This Is Our Night’, and I think it could well be. By far the best performance of the evening and in closing all I can say is Sakis, I’d like to have your babies. Lithuania: Sasha Son a young man at a piano sings ‘Love’ a simple song from a young man with a nice voice. He’s also chosen the black and white option and topped with a trilby, whilst at the piano he looks good, but as soon as he stands and walks around the stage it’s all a bit reminiscent ‘Singing in the Rain’, all we need is Eric Morcambe dressed as a policeman. It’s a proper song and lacking in gimmicks, apart from the trilby homage to Justin Timberlake. It got through to the final, but I feel will need to have more impact to win, may I suggest three nuns dressed in tin foil? Moldova: This is a traditional costume entry, the song has a rustic feel to it and the shouting, leaping dancers give it a feel of one of those meals complete with entertainment you get conned into going to on holiday, by a rep named Susan from High Wycombe. Oddly the singer looks just like the Polish entry but in a red wig. It gets through to the final much amazement of the audience, but come on let’s face it, it’s Eurovision and the men are so camp it’ll fit in just nicely. Albania: This can be described only as the most bizarre entry, A young girl with a sinister smile, that indicates she enjoys pulling the legs off spiders is dancing with a man in a green lycra body suit complete with sequinned gimp mask, it’s a little bit reminiscent of the 1978 Dee D Jackson video for her single ‘Automatic Lover’, complete with silver robot; only here this manic looking singer has a green one. The backing dancers look like two painted dwarves, and the spinning on their heads lends little to the performance, how this got through to the final is a beyond me, it’s like a nightmare set to music. Ukraine: Pole dancing and male strippers, rotating wheels and Centurions, what looks like a medieval torture device coupled with a centrifuge, is the best way to describe this spectacle. This wouldn’t be out of place if Amanda Lear, French, disco chanteuse was fronting it. It’s a crazy song with a mad woman singing then playing the drums before the beefcake gladiators throw her around the stage. OTT and fabulous, this will be a huge hit on the night. What was it called? I don’t know I was distracted. Estonia: Louise Brookes meets Betty Blue, wow the most beautiful girl of the night, beguiling blue eyes beneath a black bob. Sung in her native language it’s a wee bit Enya without the multi-tracking, but none the less it’s as easy on the ears as she is on the eye. There’s a brief moment of chaotic violin, but it soon calms down again. I like this one but don’t think it’s strong enough compared to the bolder performances. Netherlands: The final act of the night is Toppers, and my revue will be as brief as my interest in this performance. Three overweight men in their late thirties dressed in sequinned suits that look like a massacre in a mirror ball and a very large lady dressed in white with what looks like a life support machine strapped to her midriff. An awful song and dance routines that looked like someone’s dad dancing at Carly and Ryan’s wedding down the Dog and Feathers.

Thursday is wound up with my doing some work on the Tempest, I’m worried about how we’re going to get an ageing Prospero out of an eleven year old, with dance routines and song bouncing around my head I find it difficult to sleep, just as I’m dropping off the rain comes, like stair-rods it’s lashing down outside, looks like the tempest is outside already, oh well it could be worse, I could be sat in the office with Rachel using my head for target practice.

I upload this installment as Kanye West sings 'Touch The Sky' and Rachel is getting busy with a padded envelope and lots of sellotape.

Dynasty, Disco and the Eurovision

Had a chilled out weekend, watching some TV, and catching up on a couple of episodes of the 80’s soap/drama ‘Dynasty’, I remember every Friday night getting ready to go clubbing, watching this program, the shoulder pads, big hair and outrageous storylines were brilliant for getting you in the mood to go out and party. I downloaded some new music and added it to my iPod taking the total tracks up to 14,562. The ex wife took me out for lunch to say thanks for helping out recently, we went to a nice country pub called the Hollybush at Denford, It’s a nice looking pub, that used to be a corn mill back in the 17 century. It’s in a picturesque setting beside the canal, with a handful of barges moored as we arrive. Upon entering the pub I’m struck by the amount of young lads that are there, each with the modern day accessory of a bull terrier on a lead. There’s a couple sat in the corner with a cloud hanging over them, she looks angry whilst he just looks morose, I’m guessing they’ve had an argument. This is confirmed when she stands and curtly asks him “You coming or what?” He says nothing, just gets to his feet and walks out following her like a lost dog. Our food arrives, it’s nothing special, pub grub but sadly just average, I watch as a group of what look like travellers enter the car park in a blue Ford Cortina with a flat tyre. Dreadlocks and facial piercings and a small terrier padding behind completes the picture as they leave the car and sit on a wall hand rolling cigarettes. I drive home with Dan Hartman Summer singing the disco classic, ‘Instant Replay’, and an idea begins to emerge. Monday saw us having disco all day in the office, Donna Summer, Sylvester and Edwin Starr to name a few artists that boogied on down at Black Cat. We’ve decided that for the summer workshops this year were going to do The Tempest with the kids, and that Prospero’s island shall be a 70’s discothèque called ‘Island 54’ Tuesday started with my being stopped by every single set of traffic lights on the way to work, that was 9 red lights, mind you I had Bauhaus on the iPod to keep me company with ‘Swing The Heartache’ and ‘Too Much 21st Century’. As I arrived at the offices I saw a van which intrigued me, it was obviously a butchers van but the livery read, ‘chicken, beef, lamb and sheep’ very odd indeed. I have been working on our action project workshops again today; the action project brings kids together and develops confidence whilst teaching them new skills. I’ve been editing the script for the Tempest, thinking what songs to put in and devising dance routines in my head to songs like ‘Le Freak’ by Chic and Ottowan’s, ‘Hands Up, Give Me Your Heart’. The project is great fun and it’s very rewarding when you see a shy child shine on stage. After six hours of non-stop disco music, we are all completely disco-ed out, and pod changes back to shuffle and we get The Killers with ‘Sams Town’, what a relief. Back home and I make a risotto with spicy meatballs that’s inspired by my last visit to Abruzzo and some tasty spicy sausages I had there. I made a decision to write up the recipe and post it on the forum I’m a member of, for my Abruzzolutely friends to try. Last night was the first semi finals of the Eurovision Song Contest 2009, and I watched the proceedings firstly because there was bugger all else on the TV and secondly, because I wanted to see how bad a song has to be to not get through. I have to say I found it all very amusing, and here’s the verdict of the Stoke jury, namely Baz. (In no particular order). Belarus: Singer looked like he was wearing a helmet until the close up revealed it to be his blonde hair lacquered within an inch of its life, the singer also could obtain gainful employment as a Heather Mills look-alike. A white suit is not a good look for a pasty blonde. Song dull.

Czech Republic: Fronted by a short man dressed in a red cat suit cum child’s superhero costume, the musicians look like they’ve all escaped from a home for hobo’s, there is really very little point to this song or act. Belgium: Got the biggest laugh out of me, a lumbering giant of a man dressed like a second rate Elvis; he fiddled with his microphone as two women in awful synthetic pink wigs sang backing. The words came over slurred, but his gold lame jacket sparkled magnificently, sadly his performance didn’t. Bulgaria: A real contender for the ‘Who Said this Guy Could Sing Award’, an odd looking chap dressed in what looks like chain mail, his voice ranges from feeble to an odd falsetto as two stilt walkers prance about behind him. To his right stands a woman with nails like talons and upon close inspection could possibly be his mother in a fright wig. A definite contender for nil points. Turkey: Now I liked this at the start, a nice looking girl but not the best of singers, good costume and dance routine and a catchy hook line to the song, then it all went pear shaped. Why did the odd bloke in a green skirt have to come on and do weird dance moves with her? It was distracting and he looked a complete tit. Iceland: Another pretty girl, just 18 with a nice but instantly forgettable song, however her dress made her look like one of those dolls people use to cover the loo roll. I think this will do well, however if it wins how will Iceland find the money to host the show next year, can’t see many people rushing to invest over there…. Again. FYR Macedonia: Two boys, twins in fact, only comment is, they’ve seen far too many Bon Jovi videos, this will sink without a trace. Andorra: This country keeps entering but never get in, why? Well in the past I guess it’s because their songs have been dreadful, but this it’s by far the best of the evening. Sung by a girl who could be the love child of Belinda Carlisle and Geri Halliwell, the song bounces along nicely, it's upbeat and poppy with all the elements of what is required for the contest. Sadly once again Andorra didn’t get into the final. Romania: Was the most jaw achingly funny entry, it started off with a fake stone chair and women draped over it, looking like a scene from The Lost World, I half expected a dinosaur to appear, however as soon as the singing and dancing started I couldn’t control myself, not only was the song pants the dancing was the worst of the night, particularly the blonde girl who at one point looked like she had a particularly virulent form of Parkinson’s disease. Finland: An ageing rapper and squawking female singers with fire jugglers, why didn’t they put that fire to better use and burn the sheet music. (For the hard of hearing, yes I did say sheet). This sounded like two separate songs joined together to make one, a musical cut and shut so to speak. Portugal: Never won, but keeps trying. This year they have a traditional looking routine and folky song, not very memorable, as it looked more like an advert for the Portuguese tourist industry. The man on the drums looked like he was enjoying it too much, I’m amazed that the skinny girl in the background has the strength to lift the accordion, let alone open and close it. Malta: Now don’t get me started here, sung by Chiara who came third in 1998 and then second in 2005, it’s Malta’s attempt at third time lucky. Once again she sings a dull ballad, all I can say is, give it up girl and get a job in a charity shop. Bosnia & Herzegovina: The group look like they’ve stepped out of a production of Les Miserables, or a dreary Merchant Ivory movie, my comment about the song is, WHY? It’s as pallid as their cream coloured costumes and no amount of flag waving could make it interesting. Montenegro: A sassy looking brunette sings a song telling a willowy man to go away as he dances like a demented python about the stage, every trace of body hair has been removed and he glistens as he gyrates and gesticulates until the song ends and she changes her mind and instead of saying ‘go away’ says ‘stay’. Utterly pointless. Switzerland: Performed by a band called Lovebugs, a popular Swiss rock band the songs a good one but sadly it’s sung terribly, the singer was recruited apparently from a newspaper advert, if he got the job what must the others have sounded like? The Swiss may have cuckoo clocks and chocolate but they didn’t have a hope in hells chance with this song. Sweden: A belter of a song performed by a blonde diva that looks uncannily like she could have been Ulrika Jonnson’s mother, not for me but I think will score highly in the final. Armenia: Looking like a pair of demonic Cossacks, Anush and Inga sing ‘Jan Jan’, it’s over the top and funny to watch the mix of traditional costume married with enough bling to keep a horde of New York rappers happy. The industrial looking pipe players make this one a sure fire contender for the top spot. Israel: Introduced to the audience as a sentimental song delivered by an Israeli Arab and a Jew. It fails to hit the mark with me. I understand the sentiment behind it as these two women hold hands, but as a song it’s just boring, as is the staging. Sadly it did get into the final. Bring back Dana International. Hosted by two inept Russians, the man looked like a porn star, you know the kind, (He) ‘Hello miss, I’ve come to mend your washing machine’ (She) Oh dear look all my clothes have fallen off. The second host is a model with an extremely wide but uninterested smile, she looked bored throughout and uncomfortable with the constant pawing by her co-host, just one word of advice, asylum seekers cross borders, however jokes find it more difficult. Thursday night is the second semi final…………….. Bring it on.

The Congestion Charge And The Unexpected Pregnancy

'Up 'anley duck'

04.05.09 – Bank holiday Monday, the day starts off okay then Dutch says, “Let’s go up town,” I groan then agree. We have breakfast in a café then wander around from store to store, buying nothing and not looking for anything particular. Considering it’s a holiday, the town centre is very quiet. One thing about bank holidays that always puzzles me is, okay the banks are closed but why are most of the ATM’s out of order, is it a conspiracy by the banks to prevent the masses getting their hands on their own money? We take a trip to the local museum, there’s a wall being made up of pottery back stamps that is a celebration of our heritage. For more info go to We take in an exhibition of new artworks, in my opinion all designed to shock rather than anything else, it’s such a shame when people make a blatant decision to push boundaries rather than let it come naturally. It’s like when character on TV swears for effect. I take a handful of photos on my phone of buildings around town and two of which have to be the ugliest I’ve seen in a long time.

05.05.09. – What an excellent shuffle into the office today, first it was Kate Bush, ‘Running Up That Hill, (A Deal With God)’, then Placebo with ‘Pierrot The Clown’, Marilyn Manson, ‘Angel With Scabbed Wings’ and as I pull onto the car park Snow Patrol finish off ‘Black And Blue’. I didn’t even care that the A500 was congested today. The day is running smoothly, nothing major to talk about until my friend Jane calls me to tell me she’s pregnant, I ask her when is it due and she tells me next Thursday. She thought she was on the menopause she tells me and in 25 years of marriage has never used any contraception, as she thought she was unable to have kids. Turns out she thought she had IBS, went to the doctor last week and he told her she was eight and a half months gone. Did she call expecting sympathy from me? No she knew I’d laugh, and laugh and laugh even harder. What makes it funny is she has never wanted kids and now has just two weeks to get her head around having one.

Like many actors I do a variety of other jobs, one is as a mystery shopper, which can be fun if you get a good assignment, just lately the ones I’ve had have been for fast food establishments, but today I had to do a mystery shop at a well known mobile phone company. I entered the store and was approached by Neville: (Not his real name, but he looked like a Neville to me). I asked him to show me a telephone and asked about the features and benefits, it was difficult to do the shop as Neville had a personal odour problem, and kept exhaling coffee breath over me as he made little jokes and observations about the handset. I thanked Neville for his time and left the store, colliding with an old lady in my haste to escape, I apologised and she muttered something about me being a blind little shit. Back home I fill in my shop evaluation form as Tiziano Ferro sings ‘Ed Ero Contentissimo’. Now it’s time for a glass of red I say as I press send and the evaluation makes its way electronically to the mystery shopper HQ.

08.05.09 – Driving to work with Sigue Sigue Sputnik, playing ‘Frankenstein Cha Cha Cha’. (Bloody hell there’s a blast from the past). I watch as a woman driving a white mini bus containing disabled children sits in the inside lane, I’m in the outside as I’m exiting at the third exit and a lorry is behind me, in the middle lane sits a youth in a Saxo. The traffic lights change and said woman in mini bus passes the first and second exits, then causes the lorry behind me to brake sharply as she pulls in front of him, the deafening horn telling her exactly how he feels. Why is that there are people driving that don’t understand which lane to be in at a roundabout? It annoys the hell out of me. In the office today we are making preparations for our school holiday workshops, we will be hosting drama activities for around 50 children aged 6 to 14, we’ve hosted five now and they prove to be great fun for both the kids and for us. The weeks culminate with a public performance for the children’s families. Today I had to deal with an irate actor arguing because she chose not to purchase a ticket to drive into central London and the congestion charge zone, she expects me to foot the bill for her error. Honestly some days dealing with actors is like hand holding small children. ‘Fantasy’ by Earth Wind And Fire starts playing as I upload this portion of text to my blog.

Finally, today we tried the KFC Panini, hoping for a taste of Italy in the office, what we got however was very little taste and a dire excuse for an Italian sandwich.

Stolen Cheese, Gay Tunes & The Ex Wife

01.05.09 – So May has arrived and with it the hint of a good summer to come, the air is clean and the sun begins to warm the morning. I didn’t welcome the month in by saying ‘White Rabbits’ as superstition would have me do, instead I bring the fifth month in with My Chemical Romance playing ‘Welcome To The Black Parade. I drive to work wondering why the roads are so quiet today, at the roundabout by the Britannia stadium; the home of Stoke City FC, I sit watching a man in a Lexus next to me picking his nose, he’s oblivious to the world around him as he, just as the lights change he looks in my direction and I mouth the word ‘nice’ before pulling away. This time of year is relatively quiet as many schools prepare for examinations, so are not really looking for visiting theatre. As I pull onto the office car park Siouxsie And The Banshees begin playing ‘Throw Them To The Lions’, I smile as the lads from the community action project jump into flat bed trailers and drive away, as they pass me I mutter ‘I wish somebody bloody would’. These are lads that are too cool for school, streetwise little shits with too much attitude but not enough common sense, who have been through the judicial system and are now paying their dues with community service. My inbox has a treat for me, as a valued customer of a music download site I am told that I can have 500 free downloads this month, like a red rag to a bull, that’s it I’m off. 247 downloads later I lock up, I look at my iPod today it’s shuffled 89 songs, some that have been ignored, some that have become nothing more than background music, the odd ones that have caused some sort of response like a singing along or at its worst dancing in the office, ‘Single Ladies’ by Beyoncé being the biggest culprit for initiating random daytime dancing. I switch off the engine back at home as Keane finish with, ‘This Is The Last Time’, and trying my best not to trip over an excited Jack Russell, I close my door against the first day of May, and the start of the long Bank Holiday weekend.

02.05.09 – Another fine day, so nice that it inspires us to splash out and buy two reclining chairs for outside on the patio, Dutch, my OH says these are nice and this price are ideal, besides when we move to Italy we can take them with us. Funny how so much of our desire to leave these shores for the land of la dolce vita enters our normal daily routine. It’s now been nearly a whole month since the recent earthquake struck L’Aquila, and we are still in the dark about the condition of our house in Fossa. I guess we just need to be patient, these things take time and I’m sure there are more important things to deal with. The day passes by with a visit to my parents, I sneakily cut myself some of that nice Abruzzese Pecorino I recently brought back for dad and scoff it in the kitchen, like a ravenous hound. “Oi, are you eating that bloody cheese?” Dad calls, “ Err, no just making a cuppa.” I lie.

Back home and thinking is it time for a glass of red and my mobile rings, it’s my ex wife, she tells me she’s been unwell for a few days and today has one swollen leg. I try to be sympathetic, but my response is to ask if she has ‘swine flu’. Indignant laughter ends before she asks me if I can take her to the emergency walk in hospital, as she can’t drive. I agree and set off to pick her up, pod installed and with Kirsty MacColl singing, ‘Here’s Comes That Man Again’ I drive over. A brief discussion with ex mother in law, on the merits of the staff at the walk in hospital; she has past experience. We set off, I say we; it’s myself with the ex and her two children from a second marriage. (It’s complicated don’t ask). The pod blurts out ‘Mama Mia’ by Abba and the youngest; (daughter) asks for it to be turned up. We arrive at the walk in hospital just as ‘Smalltown Boy’ by Bronski Beat begins to fade. I pay £2 to park and if adding insult to injury the woman behind the counter assumes I’m the husband and father, and ex laughs as she says, “No he’s not my husband he’s my partner”. The oldest child, (son) laughs and I smile sarcastically. To cut a long story short, walk in hospital tell me to take her to A&E, giving us a letter telling us we wont have to wait. So after just ten minutes we set off for another NHS establishment. We arrive at A&E and it’s packed to the rafters with people sat down with ice packs and bandages on one outstretched leg, one girl sits with her right leg bent at the knee and the left straight out in front of her wrapped with what looks like a kitchen towel wrapped around it, her boyfriend fetches her a coffee and they both sit staring into space with a countenance that indicates they’ve been here for quite a while. Ex wife is at the counter, she hands over her letter as I purchase some crisps for hungry daughter. A young man hobbles into the reception, his face not doing a convincing job of hiding the pain, he sits down and raises his left leg, his girlfriend goes to take off his trainer, but he just says curtly “Leave it.” Looking around at all these people with leg injuries I begin to wonder if something has gone wrong at a national hopping on one leg competition that must have been held near by. Another story trimmed for ease of reading is, the doctor takes us through to another department, he says to me, “Don’t worry your wife is in good hands,” before I can say anything, her offspring titter and she’s whisked off into a side room. To pass the time I bet the daughter £2 if she’ll sit in a wheelchair and pretend she’s Andy Pitkin off ‘Little Britain’, which she does. Ex re-appears and tells me she has something I can’t pronounce and we head off with a green slip of paper to get her prescription. On the way we have Liza Minnelli and a song from ‘Cabaret’ I move the track on only for it to be replaced by Man 2 Man, ‘Male Stripper', I groan and say, “Looks like my iPod is playing all the gay tunes today” We all` laugh as we arrive at the pharmacy and Bette Midler begins to sing.

Now suffice to say I’m a giving kind of person and don’t mind helping anyone out in his or her hour of need, but as I’ve just been relieved of £14.50 in charges and sit looking at a display of nit combs and family treatment packs for threadworm I begin to ponder the whole point of being the ex; and this said I’m ex number one, why can’t ex number two be sat here wondering which genius first thought of testing the properties of a pregnant mares urine as a possible treatment for the menopause. Drugs collected we set off for the home of the ex, we’re halfway there when the youngest asks, “Are we having a Macdonald’s?” I ask “Why?” and her response is to indicate the fact that because we’ve been travelling from hospital to hospital to pharmacy she’s missed her dinner. I try to point out that the food isn’t really nutritional but lose that battle, and before I know it I’m sat in, (heaven forbid it ever happens again) a ‘Drive Thru’, processed food paid for, another £4.85 out of my wallet, we take the invalid home; who by now looks like an escapee from a home for the bewildered. I make her scrambled egg on toast before I leave; I climb into the car and Ian Gillan starts to rock out with ‘No Laughing In Heaven’, I sigh and say “Too late mate”.

27 - 30 April 2009 (It's all about kings and tits)

Monday. – Well here it is my first week back to normality (if my life can ever be thought of as normal) after my ten days in the beautiful Abruzzo region of central Italy. It’s a damp, dreary day and one where my O.C.D. has risen with me, first it was a chore to choose a shirt, trying on three or four before making a decision, then just about to leave the house something inside me says it’s the wrong one and I have to change it again. I plug my iPod into the car and set off to the office, The Scars play ‘All About You’ and the track bounces along nicely as I drive to the petrol station. I fill up with petrol, nothing unusual there until I come to pay for it. I’ve taken a £20 note out of my wallet in readiness, I’m just about to hand it to the cashier when a little voice inside tells me if I give her this one it’ll be bad luck, so at the last minute I open my wallet and give her another one. I drive away as Sophie Ellis Bextor sings ‘Final Move’. I’m driving along when I suddenly decide for no reason to change lanes, as I do a woman in a blue Renault; chatting on her mobile, swerves into the space I’ve just vacated, thus giving credence to my O.C.D. Tuesday. – It’s raining and I have to drive to a Shropshire school today to help facilitate Shakespeare workshops. The rain doesn’t bother me as I drive along the lanes with music playing to keep me company, Sinead O’Connor sings ‘Three Babies’ and I sing along. I come around a bend and am met by a tractor towing a trailer full of hay bales, I trundle along slowly as the tops of the bales hit branches overhanging the road, and showers of dried grass hit my windscreen. I arrive at the school and look at the front of my car, which has so much hay stuck to the wet body it looks almost as if it has been made of wool. My colleague Gloria takes one look at the knitted Berlingo and bursts out laughing. The school has had a recent performance of Titanic in their studio theatre and the stage has been transformed into the ship. I joke with some girls that I’d love to climb on board and do a Kate Winslett, a tall blonde girl urges me to do it, so she takes a photo as I stand arms outstretched shouting, ‘I’m king of the world.’ The morning workshops go well, the group we had were the top sets, and some had too much attitude. The school provide lunch and then the afternoon sessions are for the lower ability students, always my favourite group as they are less reticent about joining in. One group of boys are developing a scene from Romeo and Juliet, they ask me what the Nurse says in the scene, I tell them she’s telling Lady Capulet that she knows how old Juliet is because it’s eleven years since she was weaned. The resulting scene by the boys went like this. Boy 1: Walks on tells us he is Juliet and sits down. Boy 2: Walks on and tells us he’s Lady Capulet and stands next to Juliet. Boy 3: Walks on and tells us he is the Nurse and stands looking at Juliet, then says: "Eleven years Juliet since you’ve been on this tit and now look at the state of you.” Rapturous applause erupts and I find myself laughing like a drain, job done we pack up and leave, I drive home with ‘No Pressure’ by Lemar playing, loudly.

Wednesday. – Was pretty uneventful really, the most exciting thing was seeing a five car shunt on the way to work, this shunt held up the traffic, but to be honest I didn’t care, well how can you when the sun is shining and Luciano Pavarotti is belting out ‘E Lucevan le Stelle’?

Thursday. – Was a day of stress, dealing with actors that seem unable to self manage themselves out in the field, honestly for adults some of them need hand holding from the moment their contract starts to its finish. I make a mental note to relax this evening with a couple of gin and tonics. The office iPod shuffles through an eclectic mix of genres, punk swaps with disco, and rock trades places with R&B. The working day closes with Placebo and the anthemic ‘Pure Morning’. I’ve been back in the UK now for 8 days and given the opportunity would jump back on an aeroplane and head back to Abruzzo, it’s like I leave part of me behind every time I leave Italy. I can’t wait until I’m living there lock, stock and proverbial barrel.

Wednesday 22 April 2009

We leave early for the airport in Rome, making sure we’ll have enough time to relax before the flight. The journey seems to take forever; Smart car’s not being the most comfortable mode of transport. We see very little traffic en route this early in the morning, and I take several snaps of us travelling through the many tunnels that are carved into the mountains. We pass the sign that reads Abruzzo with a diagonal line through it, and our hearts fall as we leave the region and enter into Lazio and onwards towards Roma. The journey is marred by the fact that the final 4 km into Rome take an hour, with inconsiderate drives weaving in and out of lanes at random only to merge back into the one they came from originally.

We are processed fairly quickly at the airport, my treasured cargo takes our case over the allotted 15kg to 16.9, the girl behind the desk smiles and I say “Olive oil”, she smiles back, a knowing curl of the mouth and sends the suitcase on its way through without a word. We join the throng of travellers all queuing like cattle ready to be disrobed and de-belted and scanned. My tray of odds and ends is x rayed without cause for concern, however my hand luggage is passed through again then searched, the offending item being a round of pecorino cheese, which is placed back inside and passed without concern. We eat some sandwiches we’d prepared earlier and have a look around the shops. Ciampino airport doesn’t have a plethora of shops to waste… sorry pass the time in so before long we’re sat at gate number two waiting as fellow travellers join us. I find myself unable to stop looking at a girl sat opposite who has a very big face but small features, giving the impression that there’s a lot of visage surplus to requirements. Her friend on the other hand has an enormous mouth, so large that if she laughed I’m sure she’d have a flip top head. I switch on my iPod to distract me; Kate Nash pops up singing ‘Dickhead’, as I watch one in the distance annoying his girlfriend by waving his boarding pass in her face, over and over again. I start to play my counting game, which I play quite often as I walk around Tesco when I’m doing the shopping. The objective of the game is to count how many people that you see that you’d sleep with, I’m up to seven when a short man wearing built up shoes sits next to me, I become distracted and hear myself thinking, ‘I didn’t think they still made those for short arses’.

Boarding begins and people who have stood for an hour in hope of being the first on the plane are suddenly caught up in the stampede as the mass of people who have been sat down jump to their feet and push into the queue. We are ferried to the blue and yellow aeroplane and are held up by a man who can’t seem to fit his case into the overhead locker. The stewardess sighs noticeably and takes the case and stows it away six rows back from the man, who now looks visibly distressed to be separated from his luggage. We take off and the seat belt sign pings telling me it’s now okay to switch on the pod, the disembodied sound of an electronic drum machine announces ‘Pink Orange Red’ by the Cocteau Twins, Elizabeth Fraser’s vocals hover above the jangle of guitars, perfect as we float above the clouds too. Before long we’re landing and people begin to clap, almost as if they didn’t really expect the pilot to get us down and in one piece. This clapping on aeroplanes annoys the hell out me, when did the local bus driver get a round of applause for delivering a load of pensioners into the town centre?

Back home, the oil is released from it’s confines and the washer filled with laundry as two excited Jack Russell’s bounce around welcoming us home, and a steaming cup of Yorkshire tea is being stirred.

Tuesday 21 April 2009

06.50. The rain has been continuous all night, earlier the drops were sporadic, tapping against the windows like fingers, now however these fingers have become fists that beat against the glass like some beast seeking salvation from the deluge. The guttering bravely attempts to deal with the torrent and spills it’s cargo nosily as it rushes down to earth. We suddenly realise that the rain has managed to find its way into the bedroom, and pools of water sit upon the tiled floor. (Thank goodness we’re not back in the UK with our carpeted bedrooms). It looks like the main entry point is beneath the balcony doors; I look out and the rain is coming down at an unusual angle, more horizontal than vertical. The main body of water is easily brushed back out through the doors and over the edge of the balcony, sloshing upon the tarpaulin covering a parked piaggio. There’s a small river that has travelled from under the window frame, there’s no obvious entry point and the wall remains dry, this trickle of water has flowed around the room, clinging to the walls until it has come to rest under the bed. We move the bed and place old newspapers down to soak up the excess, before retiring downstairs for a welcome cup of tea.

08.15. The day is hushed, no birds can be heard, and even the workmen in the valley who have been noisy in the endeavours all week are silent, the rain putting an end to their toil. The only sound being the chug chug of water spilling out of drainpipes, creating rivers that meander through the streets. The downpour has now dissipated and we have that fine veil of rain that clings to everything, soaking into the surrounding houses like thin soup into a crouton, turning the ochre coloured bricks brown. The exposed side of the house has borne the brunt of the storm, its stucco in places changed from a pale grey to a malevolent black. As water boils upon the stove for another cup of tea, Morrissey laments in the kitchen about how we hate it when our friends become successful. The breakfast dishes are cleared away to the Spear of Destiny’s, ‘Never take Me Alive’ as the sun begins to show its face. Several solitary fat raindrops fall down the chimney plopping lazily into the empty fireplace. I pack the suitcase in readiness for tomorrows departure, making sure my 5 litres of ‘Fonte Monache’ extra virgin olive oil is sandwiched between jeans, socks and shirts; packaged safely to withstand both Ciampino and East Midlands package handlers. We spend an hour taking a drive to the coast, a completely pointless exercise on such a miserable day; a gloomy coastline does nothing to stir the spirit. On the way back we stop off at a supermarket where I buy a vac-pack of fat green Italian olives, and contemplate purchasing a t-shirt with the logo ‘BAZ’ emblazoned across the chest; I decide not to bother.

Back home, within seconds the olives are ripped open and several disappear with relish. A homemade mushroom soup simmers on the hob; Ida Maria finishes singing ‘Morning Light’, making way for Stevie Nicks to ask us to stop draggin’ her heart around. Lunch is the soup with chunks of bread and slices of mortadella and the delicious fat olives. I’ve made far too much soup for just two people, but today who cares about excess, as the rain continues outside the soup inside is good for the soul? Echo and the Bunnymen perpetuate the sombre mood with 'No Dark Things'; I think it may be time for a walk, perhaps a trip to the cemetery will liven things up? Deciding against a walk I spend the afternoon reading, Italian Neighbours by Tim Park, I find it amusing and at times informative but sadly in some parts quite dated.

Dinner over, we double check everything is as it should be, the rain has come in under the balcony door again, nothing too serious and it’s easily dealt with. I block the gap with a large yellow towel, hoping that Helen wont mind when she finds it; still I’m sure a smelly towel is better than a wet bedroom. As we have an early start tomorrow, I put our suitcase in the back of the car, meaning one less task in the early hours. I walk back to the house and I can hear the melodious tones of Toyah as ‘Out Of The Blue’ from the Dreamland album, (re-issued as The Phoenix) drifts out into the evening, floating through the piazza like a whisper, I smile knowing this is how I will remember leaving Ari. With just the recycling to sort out the Montepulciano is cracked open.

Monday 20 April 2009

Despite waking several times in the night I rise feeling quite refreshed; Maybe it’s my body getting used to this pace of life. I shower, shave and the other ‘sh’ word then head off to buy some chicken from the supermarket. Earphones inserted, I stride off into the distance as Funkadelic play ‘Icka prick’. The girl behind the meat counter deftly slices the chicken breast for me, turning it into paper-thin slices; I purchase a courgette to go with the chicken for tonight’s dinner, and with Roxette singing ‘It Must have Been Love’ I head off back to the house. It’s another damp day, with a sky full of lazy clouds that refuse to move obscuring the sun, who must be waiting for a breeze to release her from this fluffy prison. We entertain ourselves with a drive to Pescara to visit the hypermarket, ‘Auchan’. We spend a couple of hours there: ‘Avin a good nose rind’ as we’d say back home ‘int potteries’. We compare the prices here with the ones back home in Tesco and Auchan wins, not just on price but also on the larger amount of produce 'way'd buy hayer tha way conna get back at wom’ (Not sure why this pottery dialect has popped up today?) I deliberate over some steaks for tomorrow evening’s dinner, I want to try the filleted horsemeat, however that idea is shot down as soon as I mention it, and we opt (or rather OH opts for beef steak). ‘Thay shoulda kept thee trap shut’ I hear my little Stokie conscience say.

We pack our shopping into the meagre space that Pamela Pram affords us and head off to the Zona Commerciale, (shopping centre) and with hot panino con porchetta purchased earlier we sit in the car park eating as the sun finally breaks through. I don’t know if it’s the produce or the pace of life, but I tend to eat so much better when I’m in Italy. Back in the UK my fruit consumption is virtually nil, however here I eat loads of it. Maybe I just feel it’s better for me as it’s odd shaped and natural looking, rather than the uniformed EU shape restricted produce back home. I purchase a handful of gifts for people back home, then we set off back to Ari via Francavilla, or as I now affectionately call it, ‘shit hole.’ Back home and as Janet Jackson sings ‘Let’s Wait A While’ I enjoy a cup of tea, it’s Lipton’s not Yorkshire, but it’ll do. I spend an hour sat on the roof terrace enjoying a gin and tonic and just looking out over the landscape, it may sound silly, but it would really take a lot to get bored with the views in Abruzzo. X-Ray Spex belt out ‘Let’s Submerge’ as I get everything ready for dinner, it looks like I’m all set up in a TV studio with everything laid out precisely, all we need is a camera crew. “Ciao e benvenuto al mio italiano di cucina.” ‘Pack it in thee daft apath, thee wunna shut up will thee.” Maybe that gin and tonic wasn’t such a good idea, I’m now getting told off by my own conscience. Dinner is chicken stuffed with cream cheese and courgette with pasta. I sit back as OH does the dishes and sink another large G and T. Post dinner is a stroll around the Palazzo Baronale Nolli into the piazza, Alice Martineau sings ‘The Sunlight Song’, her voice a lost treasure to the music industry, Alice was born with cystic fibrosis and died in 2003 at the age of just 30. Her one album, ‘Daydreams’ a wonderful legacy to leave behind. Ironically as Alice sings of sunlight: ‘So baby lets fly into the sunlight’, we watch as mist falls all around us, it descends upon the town rapidly, quite un-nerving, wrapping its arms around everything, holding it in a grey embrace. Walking in the mist is quite an ethereal experience; the air hangs like tiny droplets of suspended water and visibility is reduced to just a few metres. A breeze catches the flag in the piazza and the slapping of damp fabric against the flagpole can be heard; disjointed and unseen. A white Fiat 500 drives up, barely discernable, its headlights peering into the gloom as it passes by and descends down the slope before driving up into town, its red tail lights glaring like a malevolent beast. A car in the distance sounds its horn, indicating its presence to others that may be driving along the bends that in daylight can be heart stopping. Echoing the horn is the morose howl of a cat cutting through the shadows

This small Italian town could at this moment be the perfect set for a horror movie, a car with just one headlight working turns into the square, it stops briefly before exiting, as a window upstairs in the palazzo is illuminated casting on orange glow onto the courtyard below. The Cyclops reappears, stopping briefly again before leaving, its one eye cutting through the grey.

Back at the house, leaving the creepiness locked outside I dance in the kitchen to The Selector hit, ‘On My Radio’; a little bit of Coventry based ska from 1979 is interrupted as another G and T is offered to me a way of saying, ‘I ‘ope thee onna gonna be dancin’ rind like a tit ow nayt?’

Sunday 19 April 2009

A damp start to the day, Ari has an eerie silence hanging over it, the morning mist reduces visibility as it shrouds the houses at the end of the street, making them invisible. Down below, the trees are almost hidden under a soft white blanket of fog. Water hangs in the air as church bells in the distance begin to toll. Italy on a Sunday can only be described, as ‘closed’ shops remain closed with the only doors open today belonging to the church. We drive into Pescara and take a nosey around the airport there, wondering how big it is. Answer: Not very. Steps explode onto the iPod attached to Pamela Pram, ‘Summer Of Love’; a cheery, cheesy tune to sing along to as we slosh our way through the lanes on the way home. We pull up outside La Baracca, a restaurant we’ve passed several times and look to see if there are any signs of life. Suddenly the door bursts open and a short guy of around 22 and dressed in a blue tracksuit shoots outside shouting, “Aperto, aperto”. I’m tempted to shout back “Calm down, calm down”, a la Harry Enfield, but think better of it as he may just be the chef.

The restaurant interior is a mish mash of colours and styles, panels of artex rub shoulders with rag rolled walls and stencilling, peaches and lilacs clash with pinks and greens, it looks like an interior designers nightmare. I order a first course of gnocchi with ragu, sadly it’s not homemade but it tastes good none the less, second course is a mixed salad with arrosticini, an Abruzzo speciality of lamb skewers. Lunch is followed by coffee and although basic fare it was good food and good portion sizes too. Back home the likelihood of any sunshine brightening up the day is zero, this mood is echoed by the sound of Red Lorry, Yellow Lorry playing ‘Heaven’, the muted guitars and sombre vocals particularly suited to today’s weather. The sound of a cork being released from a bottle catches my attention and the sunshine returns in the shape of a glass of crisp white Trebbiano d’Abruzzo. A ten-minute power nap turns into a full on seventy-minute snooze, I open my eyes and am welcomed by the return of the rain, indigo skies threaten the land below and an ugly grey cloud sneers at us. I take the speakers into the kitchen and prepare dinner; Bow Wow Wow play ‘Don’t You Wanna Hold Me? Annabella Lwin’s voice cutting through the chopping of tomatoes and peppers as I sit at the kitchen table. I wonder where she is now? I remember Malcolm McLaren claimed to have discovered her singing in a dry cleaners shop in Kilburn. According to Annabella, one of McLaren’s assistants came into the shop and asked she fancied auditioning for a new band.

Dinner tonight is a foccacia with a vegetable and mozzarella frittata, washed down with the remainder of the Trebbiano d’Abruzzo. Dishes are washed and put away to Billy Joel singing, ‘She’s Always A Woman’, then it’s a stroll around town to work of dinner. The sindaco di Ari (the mayor), Renato D’Alessandro is proud of Ari and has had hundreds of terracotta bowls filled with geraniums placed around the town. We watch swallows tending to their young safe in nests attached to the eaves of the commune office, before returning home to watch ‘Comedy Blue’ and laughing at outrageous but filthy jokes on my iTouch.