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And Just Like That

They cancelled And Just Like That. Despite the shockwaves across the intartubes, I can't believe anyone is really surprised. Sex And The City was often more dreadful than funny; sometimes orgasms, sometimes not, always shopping, repeat ad nauseam. The nearest to feminism was Samantha, who was successful and sex positive, though God knows how she managed the first when all she thought about was the second. But Carrie Bradshaw was the most clingy needy pick-me ever depicted on screen and it never surprised me that Big constantly dumped her. His eventual acceptance felt like the settling of a man who knows the pretty girls don't watch him anymore, even when his jag vrooms right past them.

However dubious the quality of SATC, its writing was positively Sorkin compared to AJLT. I managed ten whole minutes of this. Man oh man. Tried again for Season 2, could have timed boiling an egg between starting this and switching over. One headline shrieked If you don't like AJLT, maybe you don't like middle aged women! Really? I'm a middle aged woman (I know this because the Times just showed me an advert for Calecim skin repair serum for £80) and thoroughly enjoying it. But I'm allergic to dull writing so if this is what it takes, my anti-ageism credentials will have to wait. I'll never get those minutes back and no-one's convincing me that Big carked it by accident on a Peloton bike. Maybe it was his only chance of escape. Bet his will specified a close-topped coffin so as to avoid Carrie looming over him in her flat hat and terrying tutu.

The outfits were a different story. I saw a couple that made me go 'Huh, I'd try that,' but these were all in articles about the show. I couldn't watch this stuff for weeks hoping to see some interesting if implausible fashion choices.

The Valentino dress looked utterly wonderful from the back. Side and front a bit balloony.

This Moncler thing looked great fun, but I'm not convinced it's a winner for the New York blizzard it was meant to be set in.

It does remind me though, that I like different combinations of whimsical clothing, in theory at least. I'm just never interested enough to invest time and thought into it. I'm still a jeans and tshirt girl.

The Bottle Wall

A story that came to me before dawn today.

Once upon a time, there was a woman left a farm by her flinty husband. He had died of the drink and this was part of the reason why the farm had no success; the other was that all the land about was bone dry, every seed shrivelled in the cracked earth, and neither tree nor crop could grow. Nonetheless she set to making it work for she had nothing else and hard enough her life was, though free of beatings and curses at last. But when she learned that a cloud-herder was passing through the village she took every last coin she had and went to market, for even one rain-heavy cloud could make a difference to the benighted soil she tilled.

Alas! When she got there, she found he would take no money, not a single coin, for any of his herd. She shrugged in disappointment.

'Whether I have some money or all the money, it is never enough,' she told him.

Then he looked at her out of his bright eyes.

'You have enough,' he said. And he walked with her back to the farm and embraced her there. She was delighted at his gentleness and passion, and they stayed together for a very long time, his clouds raining down every day until the surrounding streams were bursting, and all the land was lush with promise. He stayed until the Great Herdsman wondered where he was, and sent a message to remind him that the rest of the world needed his flocks and he had to take his leave of the widow woman.

'Come with me,' he urged her. And though her heart pulled his way, yet she could not leave all the effort she had made, especially now when it finally seemed able to flourish and grow.

'I cannot leave before harvest,' she said.

'I must be gone long before then,' he replied.

And for the first time between them, there was sorrow. But the cloud-herder had an idea.

'As I go into the sky and far from you, I will become impossible to see. But the children of air we have made together, the wind sylphs who are too little yet to have shapes, these can talk to you. Take all those bottles your husband once had, and clean them free of the touch of his mouth. Then build a wall of them, and you will understand.'

And with that, he had to go whirling upwards with his herd. She watched him leave until she could make out his shape no more, and then set to work washing old glass and building the wall. Almost instantly, her mischievous children of air started to blow across the bottles making music, and as the little ones realised with delight that they could be heard, they started to talk and sing to their mother. She was never lonely.

The day came when she found herself squinting at the bottle wall. Near them were shapes graceful and lithe with eyes she recognised.

'Children,' she said, 'though you seem faint to me, yet you become clearer every day! What is this?'

'Oh mother, mother,' they replied, 'it means you are dying, and soon must leave the wall behind.'

She bowed her head and made her will, leaving the farm as common land for the villagers provided they never disturbed the wall. And the day came when she could see all her children clearly, solid and real, with their arms around her.

'Ah, children,' she cried out, 'I am so happy to see you. But does this mean...?' In response her eldest pointed to a crumpled heap lying next to the wall.

'Moments ago, mother,' he said, 'it is all done. And look!'

Above them the clouds opened and she recognised her love sitting there. Now indeed she moved upwards light and merry, and kissed him again.

'Oh my love,' he said,smiling at once young and old together, 'How I have missed you! I come now with choices, sweetest of souls. You may enter the gates of Heaven and rest there in perfection or you may go to purgatory and rescue your husband, or you may join us now and wander the Earth and Sky and Sea until time is done and you are weary. What say you?'

To this day the gates of heaven wait serenely for the widow woman. When her children are not travelling with their parents, they play on the bottle wall whistling merriment to any who come by. The woods grow tall, the fields golden, and purgatory has nothing to say on the matter.

Notes I am this close to sending

Dear Young Person

Happy to help, happy to be the kind of help I wish I had received at your age. I think I understand some of the particular issues you face putting this application together, and will do my best for you. But I will not work harder for your future than you do. I am not your mama.

Yours

The Boot of Appraisal

**

Dear Certain Friends

If you were in a cult right now, how would you know? And unlike the above, you are old enough for an eye-roll.

Yours

The Boot of Scepticism

**

The Crooked Sea

I'd never been to Morecambe before. 10 miles north and 3 years back we were in Silverdale just off the bay. The village was in the throes of being adorable, decked out in crochet to celebrate the Queen's platinum jubilee.

Surrounding woods seemed elven but I never got anywhere near them cos a hot tub kept getting in the way. We made our way down to the beach and found it forlorn, almost eerie, the sort of place where you might hear the notes of a lone flute for minutes before realising you're alone on the beach.

The name Morecambe is said to be derived from Brythonic or something, words for 'crooked' and 'sea.' The bay has a tragically well earned reputation for being dangerous. I recall reading somewhere that the river 'moves' but I don't know what that means. At least four rivers pour into this estuary, there's growing patches of quicksand and notoriously fast tides. It is possible to cross from one side to the other though since the 16th century local wisdom has suggested asking the King's (or Queen's) Guide to the Sands for help. I wouldn't mind doing that. There's an art project here somewhere, crossing and trekking around this strangely beautiful place, taking photos and/or painting its moods.

None of this could be guessed on Sunday. The skies and seas were azure as the south of France, and Morecambe town seafront was chocker with folk enjoying their sudden realm of sun factor 50, a great place to hide behind a cocktail. On to the gig, These Wicked Rivers headlining, and then gallant mates decided to go on a midnight quest to find the graves that grace the album cover of The Best of Black Sabbath. https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/The_Best_of_Black_Sabbath#/media/File:Best_of_BS.jpg

I couldn't join them. 11.30 pm and I was beat, unable to do much beyond walking back to the hotel.

We got back yesterday morning. Thanks to friends, our grief has become bearable and even the cats have resumed eating. I have had a great time but it is good to be here. Now the healing needed is of home and quiet and time.

Entry tags:

fringe

Farewell to the Fringe

With a trio of one person shows in bijoux studios. The first was Five Mistakes That Changed History, which we expected to be some kind of satire; turned out to be a story-telling gig doing exactly what it said. We were treated to five little known stories out of history told by an enthusiastic nerd with slides, just perfect for an afternoon show. Genial, interesting, an easy 7/10.

Next was Heavenly Baba, a comedy show based on a man's childhood as an American Muslim, growing up with his eccentric father etc. Personally, I detest any show that leans hard on representation to justify it. I will never say that a show has merit because a [insert minority] person made it; smacks of condescension. Without qualification this was the best stand up comedy I have ever seen on stage. Yes, poignant, yes, authentic, principally extremely funny. Rated right up there between Shamilton and Fly You Fools: 9.6/10

Comedy Samurai followed on the same stage an hour and a half after HB. It was a much more standard stand up routine and though shrewd and excellently observed, suffered by comparison. My companions enjoyed it, I thought it was OK. 6.6 /10.

Time to go home then, making our way to the train station while folk tumbled out of pubs and venues, streets thronging. All that colour, all that music! Farewell Fringe, you've been amazing, but sometime in the next 48 hours I've got to sleep.

Entry tags:

fringe

Fringe: Slugs

This takes the prize for the Fringiest Fringe show I have seen since Famous Puppet Death Scenes.

The premis is that a pair of slugs try to have conversations about nothing, because any actual subject is dangerous territory. But the more they try to avoid contentious issues ('something') the harder and more bizarre conversation becomes. This is as lucid as the performance gets. It's brilliant, intensely creative, and at the same time incoherent drivel. The show's non-linear, one pace, almost one note, and character-free. Often it was extremely funny if uncomfortable, a series of surreal sketches that sometimes devolved to screaming clowns* running around with their genitals out. Not convinced much was added by one of them vomiting chickpeas on stage but eh. One serious issue; while the show's blurb warned of nudity/fake weapons, I wonder if these potential triggers should have been flagged more as the space is small and the actors get very close to their audience.

The sum of Slugs was less than its parts, still not sure why. It was hilarious in fits and starts, but pure shapelessness made it feel longer than necessary. After all that, I give Slugs 5/10.

*Literally. In terms of drama labels, this is clown work based firmly on theatre of the absurd.

Entry tags:

fringe

Fringing with Friends

These past few days have been fun, we have laughed a lot courtesy of Friend and Friend's son and son's girlfriend visiting. Friend has been most excellent, son and son's girlfriend have been lovely, the Fringe has been cracking. It's in the heart that the sombre note sounds. We brought Ralik's ashes home the day before yesterday. When I allow myself to admit that it hurts I realise that actually everything hurts. Still, we can smile and do, think and and move. Fringing with Friends is very healing.

We have a few shows yet to see, but so far it's been pretty amazing. I want to list everything here, and realise I'm very tired. This might wake me up.

Frisky's Reshuffle
The story behind this was that Friend's family watched Frisky's videos for years. Friend had bought these tickets as a surprise for his son. It was an incredible show, the basic idea is that Frisky (Laura Corcoran) sings well known songs in styles suggested by the audience. Have you really lived until you've heard the Death Metal version of Like A Virgin? She has a phenomenal voice, interacted with the audience beautifully, left everyone feeling wonderful. I cannot imagine anything she could do to make this show better. 10/10.

Shamilton!
Improvised Hip Hop Musical based on a historical character of the audience's choosing. On our night it was Winnie The Pooh. Ridiculous, insane, magnificent, 9/10.

Fly You Fools!
Parody of the movie The Lord of the Rings and as such requires an audience familiar with the film for it to work. Given that, it's utterly brilliant and near damn perfect. No surprise that it's a break out success. 10/10.

Mythos Ragnarok
We've seen this before but our guests were new to it. Mythos Ragnarok retells Norse myths via the medium of wrestling. It's moved to a big top venue where the stage is a ring surrounded by three quarter seating, much better than proscenium arch for this show. They're wrestlers rather than actors so no oscars are likely, but given that proviso my only criticisms are that they need to sort out their mikes/sound system for individual one-liners, and some could use different techniques, for example the Midgard Serpent could have used fighting forms that include constriction. But maybe I'm getting a bit UFC. None of this mattered. We all loved it, the audience cheering, booing, shouting advice, leaping up and down in their seats. Fab Viking panto. 8.9/10

Shit-Faced Shakespeare
Saw this before though most of our guests had not. Last year it was Much Ado About Nothing, this year it was A Midsummer Nights Dream. The premis is that a truncated version of a Shakespeare play is put on, but with a twist; one of the actors has been drinking for the past four hours. The idea is to see 'how fast the wheels come off this thing,' to quote the compere from not only this years performance but last years too. And there lies the problem. A second viewing, even with a different play shows the formula and repetitions, and to add to it, in last years Much Ado, the actors tried (or pretented to try) to play it straight. Here it was all a bit crazy straight off the bat which dilutes the joke. Still, most loved it and it was well done, leaving me with the sense that it's a must-see but only once. 7.8/10

James Phelan 'The Man Who Was Magic.'
Nicely done though if he's going to do up close work needing a camera, an audience member helping him out is not the way. Also, and this is just a personal preference, card tricks bore me to bits. Yes, they are a magician's staple but I just switch off. Much more absorbing was the mind reading stuff. This was extremely impressive. JP swears he doesn't use stooges and as far as we can tell, that's true. Two members of our group got involved in his routine, and they are still completely baffled as to how he guessed their words and numbers. Interesting. 7.9/10

The Black Blues Brothers
A tumbling show full of charm, this Kenyan troupe was featured in Time Out and The Times, and for sure, I'd call them one to watch. Mistakes were made in the routine but the big seller was the energy and smiles, the amazing feelgood factor and sheer awe at some stunning acrobatics. Solid 8/10.

Knight Knight
Controversy! This show was loved by most of us and detested by one. It's comedy based around a knight's love for his horse, and I thought it was excellent. Anyone who enjoyed The Fast Show might well appreciate the comedy of repetition shown here. But for those who don't, as the dissenter said, 'it's just lazy writing.' This production was a time filler between two shows previously booked, so we had to leave 10 minutes before the end. We told this to the door staff and sat at the back to cause least disturbance when we left. But I am going to go back and finish it because it was easily the most surprising and fresh take I saw this year. R tells me he would sooner poke both his eyes eyes out with a spoon than sit through it again. Eh, he's wrong and I'll go by myself. I can't give Knight Knight a rating til I've seen the whole thing, but I'm already inclined towards the upper 8s.

Space Hippo
If only there had been controversy around this, but alas, it was given a universal thumbs down by our group, with one of our friends falling asleep half way through it, and another giving it 2/10, lowest score for any show we've seen together. Space Hippo is a shadow puppet show, based around the premis of a hippo being shot into space. It's got really great ideas in it surrounded by a lot of sag, far too long. Of all the shows we have seen, it's the only one in which I checked the time. There's a great half hour here somewhere but it needs an editor of metal to chop and shape it into a proper show. I give it one extra point for the unique creation it could be. 5/10.

Entry tags:

fringe

Fringe: Best of Burlesque

The best I have ever seen so far was Blues and Burlesque last year at the Fringe, but that was a cabaret show, very witty and surreal. If you can't portray King Kong being attacked by paper planes flung from the audience, you probably aren't the star for me.

Last night's show was about demonstrating pure burlesque dance, full of fun and exhibitionism at its most unapologetic. The dancers are clearly having a whale of a time and I guess that's the idea, the cheek (oo-er missus!) and the wink of it, sexiness that's funny rather than a turn-on. Having said that, the most interesting was neither funny nor sexy, a dancer taking her narrative from The Last Of Us. She wore a mushroom zombie mask, and her dance was intersperced with moments where she's clearly in spasm, wracked as the infection mutates further. It was deftly grotesque as well as excellent dance.

Would I go again? I'd give it a solid 6.7/10 for what it is, but what it is doesn't really hold my interest. The idea seems to be to take the stations of classic burlesque routine (taking off the gloves, nipple tassel twirls etc) and find different ways to present them. Five dancers later the formula was looking tired. We left as bagpipes and fireworks sounded the end of the Tattoo up at the castle, and the moon followed us home, huge and golden.

Glitch

I see things. Don't really know what causes it, only that Mum gets auditory as well as visual hallucinations, and I know the stat, 13% of the children of schizophrenics... so I am careful, try to stay aware.

Looked at R today on his PC, blinked and there was Ralik on his lap. Blinked again, gone. Felt very dizzy. But this made it clear to me that I needed to get my chores done, go to town, move myself and try to come back to the ordinary world, be real. I went and did everything necessary, decided to stop at a local cafe for tea and toast. Stood there waiting for my order and suddenly everything got very loud. It reminded me of the lyrics from Angie Baby;

When he walks in her room, he feels confused
Like he walked into a play
And the music's so loud, it spins him around
'Til his soul has lost its way
And as she turns the volume down
He's getting smaller with the sound
It seems to pull him off the ground
Toward the radio he's bound, never to be found...

Nothing remotely as dramatic as that, but it was all suddenly blaring, spiralling around me, more dizziness. Maybe there's some inner ear thing going on. I moved to my table, ate my toast while the noise ebbed back to normal but couldn't finish the tea, and instead dashed home thorugh the meadows. A rabbit ran right across my path. It made me smile and slow down.

Going out was a good thing. If today I suffer from some kind of sensory overload at a gentle cafe, Edinburgh tomorrow might be a challenge, but maybe this is because the house has been so quiet recently and I am not used to normal volume. It's going to be healthy for me to be among raucous crowds, make myself adjust. Even acknowledging the potential lessens its likelihood. Pipe down Angie Baby, nothing's happening.

The Chatty Tree

The girls are are needy right now. If I sit in the front room at all, there's quickly one on my lap and one beside me, possibly to comfort a sad human but my sense is that they need comfort too. Tomorrow friend turns up for adventures at the Fringe. It will be good for us though the cats, who prefer no change in any way, will find it stressful. Having said that, they know our friend. I know it's early but we must shift ourselves, attend to body and mind, try to make room for something other than grief. Hard though.

The vets bills have been paid, likewise the cremation and container, everything that needed to be done is complete. A few weeks back before any of this happened, R had made an appointment with a solicitor to discuss our wills. The questionnaire is somewhat sobering and we had to curtail the meeting because - well, it's all closing in a bit. We need more time.

We didn't scatter Surya's ashes and we won't scatter Ralik's. I would sooner be buried in a high place near the sea if possible and have a nice tall tree planted on top to help us all breathe. R said he would like his ashes scattered at the same point where my tree stands. Then would be the time to scatter the ashes of our dear pets. We will all be together and apart at the same time. I like the poetry in that.

And you, if you ever need to talk or read a book or just sit, you'll be welcome to visit. All trees know when to be quiet but I would expect mine to be quite a chatty tree.