Triumph

So the weeks of hard work, shredded nerves, tensions, tantrums, preparations and rehearsals are behind us. Well, there you go then, as my dear sainted mother used to say, all over bar the shouting. Except of course the shouting isn’t quite over as congratulatory messages keep on arriving. What an evening Friday turned out to be. Chris was on top form and, like the man on the flying trapeze; he flew through the show with the greatest of ease. He had the audience from the very start and proved himself to be not just a singer, an actor, a dancer, but the complete entertainer. It must have made quite an impact on me because I find myself still thinking about it, the subtle changes he made in intonation, in gesture, and expression. It’s hard to believe that we’ve been living with Champagne Charlie one way or another since the eighties and, familiar as I am with it, this came as a completely new performance. He well deserved his standing ovation. So I reckon I was wrong in not wanting him to do it and an apology is forthcoming but it was only because, at his age, I wasn’t at all sure he could do it.

Even taking into account the audience’s enthusiastic response it was certainly a triumph in every sense and hats off too to Douglas who just has to be the supremo of stage managers. Finally Paul Knight’s contribution as MD and the musicians. There must have been something to criticise surely? Well, yes, only a minor one, but I did feel the trumpet was too loud and it should have been muted. Much to my surprise Douglas informs me it was.

The only disappointment of the evening was the failure of the “streaming” to live up to expectations and we were looking forward to it so much. The gremlins really got in the works in particular as far as the sound was concerned. The opening number for example, “Music Mad” was performed (for us watching the film that is) in complete silence and there were glitches most of the way through. We thought it was just us suffering but according to some of the e-mails it seems it was pretty universal. Fortunately the last twenty minutes or so went smoothly which was some consolation.

So, what a delightful evening it was. While the guys are in London I have been looked after by our friend Judith who is a gem. I think she can either read my mind or she is psychic but never have I been so spoilt. Friday was also her birthday and mutual friends Derrick and Joanna wanted to celebrate by bringing us dinner: smoked salmon and rocket salad for starters, beef cooked in red wine with mashed potatoes and green beans Cretan style, that is with onion and chopped tomato, and for dessert a pear, apricot and almond crumble; and to wash it all down celebratory style champagne of course. Actually I’m not a lover of champagne. I find it too dry so I like it as a bucks fizz. This one though was a Greek version and I found it most potable as, even though labelled brut, it had just the tiniest edge of sweetness and went down a treat.

I have been watching “Cranford” again. I know it is only a short while since I watched it previously but it is such a remarkable piece of television, and as Judith hadn’t seen it, we have settled down to watch every episode before she leaves. She loves it and I am enjoying it as much as first time round. I just needed the excuse of watching it again so soon. With a stupendous cast, the crème–de-la-crème of British acting talent giving perfect performances; beautifully written, beautifully photographed, beautifully directed at just the right pace it is, in my humble opinion, the best thing the Beeb has done in years. I have no doubt, after an interval, I shall watch it again.

Zombies

Nature really is quite amazing. During my two and a half month exile upstairs while the house alterations were taking place Douglas neglected (hardly surprising considering the amount of work and the pressure he was under) to water a shrub in a tub outside the garden door and, when I saw it, it was to all intents and purposes dead, just a mass of brittle branches and withered brown leaves – except for one miniscule portion of green, hardly visible. Where there’s life there’s hope as the old saying would have it and after one generous watering more green appeared. In just over a week and daily watering the shrub is once more a healthy specimen. There are branches of course that will never recover but they can be cut away leaving the remainder to flourish. Everything in the garden is overgrown and needs trimming or even drastic pruning anyway. I don’t know where this particular shrub came from. It just suddenly appeared so I have no idea what it is. It doesn’t flower but even so it is decorative beside the doors so I’m glad we didn’t lose it. I remember a couple of years back the same thing happened with a Virginia creeper because its tub was low down and out of sight on the far side of a wall it was a case of out of sight out of mind. Then one day I noticed this pathetic twig along the wire fence, remembered it, and three minutes with the hose had it springing back to immediate life. At one time I had hoped it would climb and cover the back wall of the building next door, built right on our boundary but, unfortunately, those winds of Crete broke it off and that was that. It obviously didn’t have, and never would have, the strength to resist.

Talking of coming back from the dead, I wrote an e-mail to our friend Michael Jenn listing all the writing I have done in the sixteen years we have been in Crete, neglecting to add nearly twelve hundred Blogs. Douglas maintains that after I am gone and not likely to return as a zombie he will edit and publish them. A big job is all I can say. But to return to the coming back from the dead bit, Michael’s response included a clip from the film he has finished working on playing a zombie in a scene with Brad Pitt. Great part, no dialogue to learn (obviously zombies have lost the power of speech) but lots of pathetic or menacing howls and a fantastically hideous make-up. Michael seems to attract roles that require this sort of thing. For most of the scene he is unrecognizable until almost the end when he steps into the light and you can just recognise traces of him. I don’t think I would ever have had the patience to sit in a make-up chair for three hours while all that was plastered over my face. In my old acting days I even resented having to wear crepe hair when moustache or beard was necessary. The spirit gum drove me crazy.

Anyway, in case it might be of interest, here is the list of works I sent him –

Just as a matter of interest and to bring you up to date with my writing here is a list of everything I have written since moving to Crete. Firstly, as you know having read it, my autobiography, “No Official Umbrella” then –

La Belle Otero – Musical Book and Lyrics.

The Journeys We make – novel.

Angel – novel.

Torque – novel unpublished

The Museum Mysteries and Other Short Stories – Gothic horror!

Dead On Time – a Thornton King adventure (also on Kindle)

Just In Case                         ditto.

Dead On Target                  ditto.

The Cinelli Vases                ditto.

Celluloid & Tinsel              ditto.

Men And Their Toys          ditto (To be published)

Two full length plays – ‘Marry Go Round’ (comedy set in Athens) and ‘The Muses Darling’ theoretical play on the death of Christopher Marlowe.

2 opera libretti – The first on the artist Modigliani, the second, the naughty goings-on at the Villa Lyses on Capri. Very Ronald Firbank this one.

The prose works are all available on Amazon.

Talking of Firbank many years ago I wrote the book and lyrics for a musical based on his novel ‘Prancing Nigger,’ but couldn’t get the rights. I suppose these days of political correctness and the awareness of racism the title would have to be changed even though it was used as a term of endearment and I cannot for the life of me think of a replacement or a better. Not I suppose that it matters as the likelihood of it ever been done is like zero. I could never understand why Sandy Wilson never chose this for his Firbank adaptation rather than ‘Valmouth’ which is so slender he had to include some of ‘The Eccentricities of Cardinal Pirelli.’ There is a scene in this novel where the Cardinal pursues a choirboy around the cathedral before expiring in front of the high altar. There is nothing new under the sun. It’s been going on probably for centuries.

But on the subject of racism I read in the news that a white boy in South Africa with the permission of his parents has undergone the Xhosa initiation ceremony which includes circumcision, this evidently in order to have a greater understanding with his black friend who went through it at the same time. This is truly remarkable, not only because of the boy’s bravery in facing this ordeal but he bears an Afrikaans name – de Wet.

I also watched on Facebook a ‘Cheerios’ commercial featuring a black father and a white mother and their little daughter. Despite the immediate avalanche of bigotry a number of young kids were interviewed for their reactions. They couldn’t understand what all the fuss was about and aired their views with such articulation, intelligence and in some cases positive vehemence, even in the very young; it was a joy to watch. They were all beautiful and maybe there is some hope for humanity after all.

Ailments

Was it Bette Davis who said growing old is not for cissies? Well, whoever it was they couldn’t have said a truer word. My handwriting has been deteriorating for some time and has now become virtually illegible. It’s a scribble I can’t even read myself. So hoorah for a keyboard! Except that now my fingers are so stiff as I sit here I am finding it even difficult to type. If I lose that ability completely, well… let’s not even think about it. This stiffness is a strange turn-up for the books because up to now my hands have been so shaky (hence the illegible writing) that holding a cup of tea without spilling any is not easy. And because of the rat poison blood thinner I take every day (Sintrom) the skin on the back of my hands has turned black and I have leopard spots all the way up my arms. It’s not helped either by the skin being like tissue paper and should one of Wagner’s claws when playing accidentally get me that means a scab – once the blood has stopped flowing - and there are a number of them. Pretty isn’t it? Pretty it is not.

Health! Now suddenly I have developed edema and it is not only the feet that are horribly swollen and ugly but the legs have doubled in size with the amount of fluid. This is not good news. I have also reached that time in life when I can suddenly lose balance and go toppling over and once you start to topple there’s no stopping it. It’s like dropping a bottle of milk and watching it in slow motion as it descends to shatter on the floor and there is nothing you could have done about it. And the worst aspect of it is that once down it is almost impossible to get up unless there is something, like a peace of furniture for example, against which one can use the strength in the arms to hoist yourself up because there is no strength in the legs and one is floundering like one of those beetles on it’s back unable to turn over. Some years ago an ex-pat, Arthur, originally from Yorkshire, (spoke Greek with a Yorkshire accent) was telling us he was reluctantly leaving Crete and going back to the UK because his wife had died and he had reached the falling over stage, Eleftheria’s late mum, Maria had a couple if falls which meant a broken pelvis and after being discharged from the hospital she was still in terrible agony. Chris and Douglas used to go over to help Eleftheria put her to bed: siga, siga; slowly slowly, every little movement so painful. Once she was in and settled that was it for the night, there would be no more movement. When Maria died we went over to the house for what I suppose one could call a sit-in. Coffee, wine, tsigouthia, biscuits, etcetera were available and there were a number of ladies seated around the open coffin and every now and again one of them would talk to the corpse as if she really could hear her. That was the first time and we have attended others since. In Crete once you’ve gone you are put away pretty quick, no hanging about. Then according to the Orthodox Church you start your long forty day journey to meet your maker. In our little corner of the world there have been six deaths which is not surprising considering they were all in their eighties. Agathe just down the road is hanging in there at 96. Her sister, Anna, one of my very very very favourite ladies of all time also had a fall that proved fatal. Unfortunately we were in Athens at the time and by the time we got back Anna was already gone. Hers was a corpse I could have talked to without feeling foolish. I still miss her dreadfully. Growing old is eventually a problem for most ex-pats because most come over here already at retirement age singly or as a couple and when one of them dies what happens to the one who is left? Especially if they have failed to integrate into Cretan society. I am not in the least bit religious. To be honest I am an atheist plain and simple; when you’re dead you’re dead, but that doesn’t stop us from taking part in certain aspects of Cretan life which usually involves the church in some way or other. Jesus is everywhere on this island. It never ceased to surprise me while I was still mobile enough to get to the church that at Easter, the most sacred time in the Greek calendar, we have been the only ex-pats at the midnight service year after year. Christ is risen. He is truly risen. Kiss kiss. And we carefully walk home with our candle lit by the holy flame all the way from Jerusalem (?) and mark the sign of the cross on the door lintel. We tie a bunch of wild flowers on the handle of the front door every first of March. And if the young papas wants to bless our house with a sprig of basil and holy water, even though he knows we’re not orthodox, why not? It’s not hypocrisy if it gives him some satisfaction.

We have two lesbian friends, beautiful people and I don’t necessarily mean physically, who have been together for 45 years. They have had this big house built with swimming pool and a beautiful garden the size of a small park and the time is coming when they will have to think on what happens when one of them goes. They want me to write something in ‘No Official Umbrella’ but if they leave it much longer it won’t happen. As it is I would have to get someone else to write the dedication and scribble my signature beneath. I am extremely fortunate in that I have not one but two who watch over me with love, diligence and a great deal of patience. They cannot be thanked enough. I am also thankful that whatever ailments I suffer at the moment none involves pain.

Talking of books, monthly returns from the printers both in the UK and the states informs me that ‘Celluloid & Tinsel,’ the penultimate Thornton King adventure has hardly left the ground. A round robin was sent to all friends, acquaintances, and associates but it seems they’re not exactly in any rush to get their hands on a copy. What does one do if even friends can‘t be bothered? Am now polishing number six which will be the last in the series, but six is a nice round number.

Cranford

This was the peroration for the previous Blog but somehow got left off

…but if you believe in a divinity, women as well as men are as God has made them and this fearful practice born no doubt and carried on through ignorant superstition is an abomination. Even if you don’t believe in a divinity it is almost impossible to believe human beings can inflict torture in this way. Tradition!

There are attempts to have it stopped but it would seem to be world-wide and appears to be a losing battle. Perhaps, just perhaps, hopefully it will be the mothers themselves, finally defying tradition, who save their daughters from this awful experience.

Have just spent the best part of a week’s evenings totally absorbed in  what I think is one of the most marvellous productions we have ever seen on the box – CRANFORD – and I  would be quite happy to sit through it all again right now, including the extras. In this quiet backwater in Cheshire with the majority of characters townswomen this is to all intents and purposes a ladies’ subject and they bring it off brilliantly: created by Sue Birtwistle who also produced and Susie Conklin and written by Heidi Thomas what can I say? Talk about suspension of disbelief, this is a six hankie job and all six of mine were sopping by the end and I’m not ashamed to admit it. The amazing thing, such is the power of the writing, that it was usually small things and not necessarily great drama that set the tears flowing. And of course there were moments of wonderful; humour.

I didn’t see it when first broadcast and would never have thought of getting the DVDs, it was our Douglas who ordered it out of the blue and as a complete surprise. ‘Cranford’ was one of my set books at school but obviously as a schoolboy I didn’t appreciate Mrs Gaskell’s writing and I don’t think I would want to read it again now. For once I feel sure the screen is better than the book. If there are flaws I didn’t notice them. I wouldn’t have wanted to notice them. To me everything; acting, directing, (Simon Curtis), costumes, settings, props, locations, was sheer perfection. Such meticulous care taken to get everything right and as for the cast! The top of the cream of British talent with the wondrous Judy Dench as Miss Matty and oh what a collection of wonderful women with her! Everyone, not to leave the men out of it, without exception gives a performance of total reality. Absorbing I suppose could be the word for it? Simply no one puts a foot wrong and it would be invidious to pick out a single one. There is an old saying that states you should never work with children and animals and even they in this piece gave performances, albeit not consciously, especially Mrs Forrester’s (Julia McKenzie in tip-top form) cow that came to an untimely end pertinent to the denouement. What more can I say? The Beeb has produced some wonderful period pieces over the years I have watched television – why I have even been in one or two myself - and this must surely rank with the very best. God alone and the accountants know what it cost but it is worth every penny spent. If you haven’t watched it, do so, you won’t regret it. Every drama student should watch it and learn what their future craft is all about.

As for me, at 82 I was taken out of mothballs to do a seven minute promotional film on Crete and saw a fine cut for the first time last week. Again it is something beautifully put together – well how could it not be considering the beauty of this island? And Theo Papadoulakis is a wonderful director; witness his 22 episodes of ‘The Island’ which unfortunately has not been dubbed or provided with sub-titles to be seen elsewhere which is a great pity, so hopefully our seven minute promo will encourage other film makers into using Crete for locations.