Sunday 20 June 2010

Rude Mechanicals On The Road

The sun has come out, in more ways than one.

I'll be honest. I found the first few shows a trial. We were under-rehearsed, a condition forced upon us by financial constraints. I was still floundering, lost in an unfamiliar theatrical genre. There was grumpiness as people wrestled with the tent, the van, the script, their own performance insecurities. Every time I came off stage I'll swear that Bones, a Rude Mechanical stalwart, rolled his eyes in despair. My wonderful vintage 1950s dresses were ripping at the seams as I attempted to go from from Janet to Lola in under 10 seconds. And the fricking white face fricking make-up? It gets everywhere. As I came off stage after playing the trombone in one of the earlier numbers, I noticed that my perfectly drawn lips had spread, turning the lower half of my face an unflattering shade of pink.

But then the sun comes out. The show starts to flow a bit better. Lines and cues start to come out in the right order (always a bonus). And the Rude Mechanical Theatre Company plus Dog hit the road for Dorset. Hurrah for rural touring.

First Stop: The Best Pub In England aka The Square And Compass in Worth Matravers. Real ale. Home-pressed cider. A large gently sloping garden where we set up our stage. A rooster with feathery trousers and a loud voice. If any of the audience are underwhelmed by the thespians in front of them, they can look over our heads to the ocean beyond.

After the Worth Matravers show I get behind the wheel of the van for the first time and cautiously negotiate the little Dorset lanes to Chaldon Herring, a village that sounds like a culinary creation from Hugh Fernley-Whittingstall but is home to the first boy I ever fell in love with. First Love lives here with his good lady wife and their gorgeous daughters. The good lady wife is an artist of such talent that I am going to break with convention by not giving her a pseudonym and actually name her so that you can check out her website for yourself. If you've got a few thousand to spare, I would encourage you to invest. She trained at the Slade, has her own wikipedia entry and the prices will only go up. Oh yes, and unlike fine wine, you won't be tempted to squander your investment by drinking it.

This sodding server isn't letting me post a link but the address is: www.harrietbarber.com

Punnets Town, Abbotsbury, Child Okeford, Ropley... the tour ticks by like a Flanders and Swan song. There's even time for beach fun. Check out me, Sax Chick and Bones auditioning for 'Baywatch'

By the time we hit Child Okeford, I am seriously exhausted. After the Abbotsbury show (rowdy crowd, mostly St John Ambulance), First Love takes me kayaking at midnight in Ringstead Bay... echoes of when I used to take him late night skinny-dipping in Lumb Falls when we were 15; except that we're wearing life jackets and about ten layers each, obviously. Not quite the same at all, but the spirit is there. On our return, HB, First and I sit up putting the world to rights in front of the aga until the wee small hours. Hence the exhaustion. So when tucked up early in our host's nice comfortable northern Dorset bed I am awakened by Sax Chick, lost in the square mile that is Child Okeford, unable to navigate the 25 metres from the pub to the digs, I am less than delighted. I don't know the address of our digs much less the location of the pub. I grunt something into the phone and fall asleep again.

I love rural touring.

Lx

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