Reflections from a Vinyl Chair

I am now sat at Logan International airport in Boston, waiting to board BA flight 212 to Heathrow.  I have had a lazy and touristy day in Portsmouth, including a visit to the spectacularly bonkers Pickwicks Mercantile store that stocks an eclectic range of gifts and apparel.  I posed for photographs with the staff and with a bust of the great man himself.

With the staff at Pickwick’s Mercantile

Behind the Counter with CD looking on

The success of yesterday’s shows was backed up by a wonderful article in the local paper as well as second hand reports from the girls behind the desk at the Hilton Garden Inn, from guests who had been in the audience.  All very gratifying indeed.

A Successful Outcome

Although my flight doesn’t leave until almost 6pm, I made up my mind to leave Portsmouth early and drift down Route 1 rather than taking the Interstate.  It was a lovely drive, through small New England towns.  I was particularly looking forward to Hamptons Falls, which sounded as if it would give me some exciting photo opportunities.  Hamptons Falls must sit in the flattest piece of land in New England, so any falls that exist must be very small.

The route is lined with small antique stores, often it seems in private back yards, and car repair shops, similarly located.  There is a splendid lack of corporate food outlets and instead there are plenty of diners, looking as if they’ve been lifted straight from an episode of Happy Days.  As I drove I could imagine the queues and tailbacks on the Interstate and was very glad that I took this route.

As I approached Boston I reset the SatNav and let it take me through the suburbs to Logan.  I’d expected the airport to be very busy but actually I checked in and cleared security in good time which brings me to this metal and vinyl chair.

It is time to reflect:  It has been a marvellous tour.  If you have followed me all the way through you may think that I have painted a rosy picture of my time here and edited the bad stuff out but that is not true.  On the whole I have written what I have seen and felt.  It has been fun, it has been successful and it has been very satisfying.

The biggest change this year has been the blog.  I have never written one before and, I’m ashamed to admit, I have never read one either so I don’t know if there is a right or wrong way to do it.  I have just sat down first thing in the morning and recorded my thoughts from the day before.  Of course there has been a degree of repetition within it and that has been intentional.  I wanted to capture the spirit of life on the road and a part of that is doing the same things over and over, such as the shows themselves and the signing sessions, not to mention the ironing and laundry.

The blog has had one huge benefit for me personally: it has made me look at things much more closely than I have done in the past.  For instance I am sure that I would never normally have noticed that I was driving on the Sergeant Robert Kimberling Freeway on my way to Omaha.  However with open eyes and an enquiring mind I remembered his name and later learned of his tragic story.

I am so grateful to everyone who has read the blog and for your very kind comments about it.  I will certainly repeat the exercise next year.

What other memories?  Of course meeting the Wagners from Newtown Connecticut.  The boy in the signing line telling me that my head was REALLY shiny, the girl in Wilton admitting that she thought I was saying ‘spinach’ rather than ‘spirit’.

There was the luxury of my hotels in Chicago, Atlantic City and Williamsburg.  There were hotel rooms with nowhere to plug an iron in. There was my sparrow at the Borgata.  There was my Jeep. Oh, there are so many memories.

There were hundreds of kind, generous and hospitable people, some who gave me gifts, some who checked me into hotels, some who told me how much the show had meant to them.  There were a whole range of technical experts who made me look and sound good as well as the individuals who actually organised, promoted and staged my events.  To all of these people I offer my sincere and heartfelt thanks.

But the biggest thanks are reserved for a very special group:  Bob Byers and Lisa Porter at Byers Choice spend the entire year making the arrangements that make the trip so problem free.  The sheer logistics of taking all of the requests and finding dates to suit everyone, whilst maintaining a sensible and not too exhausting travel schedule, is a major feat.

During the tour Lisa is bombarded with requests for interviews and has to find packets of time when I am in a hotel or can get to a telephone. She checks in on me, makes sure all is well and follows up on all of the requests that I make of her. As Don Tirabassi in Portsmouth told me, she ‘is a real diamond’.

Bob took on the role of managing my trips 5 years ago and is as supportive and enthusiastic an agent as I could ever wish for.  He puts up with my demands (hopefully not too many), cheerfully and patiently.  The entire Byers Family are a good bunch of people and I feel fortunate to count them among my closest friends.

I have saved my biggest thank you until last.  To Liz.  Thank you so much for supporting me in my career and putting up with my weeks of absence every year.  You are a very special person indeed and I love you so much.

And that is where the 2013 tour finishes.  My flight is boarding and tomorrow morning I will be back in England to celebrate Christmas at home.

I shall leave you with this line from A Christmas Carol:

‘I will honour Christmas in my heart and try to keep it all the year.’

A Very Merry Christmas to you all.

Gerald Dickens 2013

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The Final Bow

Goodbye to Nashua

So, here we are.  48 Days, 54 shows, 11 States and 2 countries bring me to today, the last day of my 2013 tour.

I wake at my usual annoyingly early time but that gives me plenty of opportunity to read my notes and write yesterday’s blog.  It has become a good morning discipline to get the latest post written before I get into the meat of the day.

Notes for the blog

This morning I have plenty of time, as I don’t need to be in Portsmouth until 1.30 and the drive is only an hour or so.  The weather looks clear, so there is no obvious potential for delay.  Despite not needing to get going too early, I will probably leave at about 10.  There is an empty feeling about being in a hotel after an event has finished, everyone has gone and the hotel itself is moving on to the next event. ‘My’ ballroom will be used for a party or a seminar and different people will be bustling about.

It’s not that I like to be the centre of attention or anything; it’s just that…..Oh, OK, I like to be the centre of attention.

I have a brief breakfast in the lounge before going back to my room to make preparations for the day ahead.

Today will be a day of ‘lasts’ and I unfold an hotel ironing board for the last time, fill the iron for the last time, spill water all over the cover for the last time and press my final 2 costume shirts.  I assemble 2 hangers with striped trousers, gold waistcoats and black frock coats, complete with burgundy cravats and put them into my suit carrier, making sure that my cufflinks and watch are safely in their little compartment as well.

I watch a bit of TV, get online to reserve a window seat for my flight home and generally potter until I decide that it is time to leave.

The lobby of the hotel is deserted this morning and having checked out I pull my bags to the car and load up.  I get in and start the engine and immediately there is a message on the dash saying that the tailgate is open.  I get out and check it:  definitely shut.  Back into the driver’s seat and the message is still showing.  How ironic would it be to now have a rental car whose tailgate I can’t shut having lived with one that I couldn’t open for most of the tour.

I Check again and I realise what the problem is, the window part can open independently from the main door and I must have activated the release when I first unlocked it with the remote key fob.  2013 has indeed been the year of the tailgate.

To Portsmouth

On the road and the route takes me up towards Manchester and then East to the coast.  I could almost be home already as I pass signs for Newbury, Chester, Nottingham, Rochester, Epping, Kingston, Stafford, Exeter, Durham and of course Portsmouth itself.

I have never visited Portsmouth before and it looks lovely as I drive through the downtown area looking for my hotel, the Hilton Garden Inn.  As I pull up a young man opens the car door and immediately greets me.  ‘Good morning, Mr Dickens, we are delighted that you are staying with us.  Your room is all ready for you, just see the girls at the desk’ and with that he gets into my car and takes it to a nearby lot.  I am astounded.

The welcome is continued at the front desk and before I know it I am in the lift rising to the fourth floor.  I had noticed that in the lobby fliers for my show are on the desk, hence the instant recognition but it is still amazing customer care.

In the room there is a basket containing cheeses, crackers and water, which I will save for this evening after the show.  Dairy products have a constricting effect on the throat making it difficult to project properly, so I always avoid them on show days.  I have a little time, so I watch a bit of television and buy a microwavable vegetable soup which is a perfect lunch.

At 1.15 I leave the hotel to walk just a couple of blocks to my venue for the day, the North Church which is a hugely impressive building, overlooking the old market square.  Outside is a trio of students playing carols on brass instruments and I am immediately taken back to my childhood when a local Salvation Army brass ensemble would stop at the corner outside our house on Christmas Eve and play.  I would always request ‘Away in a Manger’.

As I approach, the Church door opens and a face peers out scrutinising the passersby, she sees me carrying my top hat and cane and welcomes me in.  This is Nina Custer who is one half of the production team which is promoting this event.  Nina introduces herself and helps with my bag and coat, takes my hat and cane and generally makes a rather lovely fuss of me.

I catch sight of Don Tirabassi and we greet each other like old friends.  Many many years ago, in my very early years of touring, Don and his associates staged three events for me in Boston.  2 were in the Tremont Temple, where Dickens himself had performed and the third in The Shubert Theatre in the heart of the city’s theatre district.  He is a true theatre man and knows how to stage a great event.  Don and his wife now live in Portsmouth and he has formed a new company, Open Stage Events, with his business partner Nina.

Throughout this year’s tour it has been obvious that they are doing a good job, there have been plenty of interview requests and they have been promoting well.  Don says that the matinee is a complete sell out but we will probably be starting late as parking in Portsmouth is a real issue and this is the last Saturday before Christmas.

The hall itself is beautiful, actually very similar in size and design to the Church in Burlington New Jersey.  Don and his team have erected a stage in front of the main pulpit and altar area.  It is nice and high and will give everyone in the Church a good view.

The North Church, with temporary stage

The tech crew, Clark and Dean are hovering, waiting to do a sound check.  Dean has one of the little over the ear microphones but, remembering the one I tried at Fairleigh Dickinson University earlier in the trip, that fell off after about 10 minutes, I opt for a traditional clip on lapel mic instead.

I stand on the stage and start performing as Dean tweaks levels on his board, on the microphone pack itself and on the amplifier, until it is perfect.  Ushers and volunteers appear from various doors to listen and there is a little round of applause…for a sound check!

Door opening time is approaching so I go to my dressing room (a little office ‘off stage’ where the Pastor prepares for her services), and start to change.  I drink as much water as I can and take the opportunity to do some deep breathing exercises, as well as going through a few tongue twisters, to get my voice working properly.  More water, get hydrated.

In the dressing room

I can tell when Don has opened the door, suddenly the noise in the Church is huge.  I’m not sure if we will need to start late, as it sounds as if 350 people have all arrived at once.  There is obviously a huge sense of anticipation in the hall and that lifts my energy levels and spirits.

More water, and now the first problem of the day presents itself.  The only restroom is out in the front of the Church, in the lobby, where the audience is flooding in and to which I cannot get.  This may be the fastest performance of A Christmas Carol that I have ever done.

At a little after 3.00pm the Pastor of the Church, Dawn Shippee, gets up onto the stage and makes an introduction to the Church and then to me.  The applause that greets me is astounding, what a welcome.

I start with a few introductory remarks before diving into the show head first.  The opening gambits go well, the audience are definitely responsive and this is going to be a fun afternoon, I can tell.

The Issue of the Hat Stand

As Bob Cratchit I grab my scarf from the hat stand and fling it around my neck.  Odd, there is only one end.  I give it a flick to pull the other end round but unfortunately, out of my eyeline, it is still caught on the hat rack which topples onto the stage, spilling my top hat and cane, which is a vital prop later in the show, onto the floor.  Fortunately, they do not fall down the narrow gap between the back of the stage and the pulpit behind.  If they had I would not have been able to retrieve them until after the show.

As the scene continues my mind is furiously working at the issue of the fallen hat stand.  I consider introducing a new scene, with Scrooge berating Cratchit for his untidiness and telling him to clear up before he leaves, thereby giving Bob the chance to set things up again, but in the end I simply stand the rack up in the character of Scrooge as he prepares to leave the office on Christmas Eve.

The rest of the show passes with no problems and it is a gem.  I am so pleased with it and the thunderous applause suggests that the audience love it too.

I get back into the dressing room, change and then back out to my signing table.  Don and Nina have decided not to sell any product but lots of people want their programmes signed or just to shake hands.  A reporter and photographer from The Portsmouth Herald are there getting audience member’s reactions as well as chatting to me.

When the audience has left Don is beside himself, he says that he has never known an audience like that, so enthusiastic and excited.  He heaps lavish praises onto me, which is very nice indeed.  However, I must not forget that we still have one more show to go.  So often on this tour the matinee audience has been enthusiastic and the evening one quiet, so there is still work to be done.

Don gets a roll of gaffer tape (USA Translation: Duct tape) and secures the hat stand, so that my earlier adventures are not repeated and as he carries out the operation he says that if this had been a union theatre in Boston, he would not be allowed to tear the three strips off the roll, bend them back on themselves and stick them beneath the legs of the stand.  No, a union stage hand would have to be located and if there wasn’t one on site, he would come in especially to do the job and be paid $360!

We have a couple of hours to relax.  Nina fetches a grilled chicken salad for me to eat, and we sit together, chatting in the pews of the Church.

The clock ticks inexorably on and Don is soon quietly mentioning that it may be nice to open the house doors a little earlier for this performance, which translated means: ‘I am about to open the doors, make yourselves scarce!’  I make sure I pay a visit to the rest room this time.

Back in the little dressing room I listen to the audience coming in again and try to gauge how they are going to be.  If anything they sound even louder and more excitable than the afternoon crowd.

I sit in my chair and actually doze off for a while.  Come on, don’t let it go now.  One more.  Energy.  Tongue twisters. Deep breaths.  Shake limbs. Hydrate.

The Final Show

Once again Dawn gets onto the stage and makes her introduction and once again the ovation that welcomes me to the stage is outstanding.

The show and the audience exceed even this afternoon’s.  It is an amazing 90 minutes and encapsulates everything I love about my job.  The laughter rings through the Church as do the sobs.  The responses are enthusiastic and from my point of view the timing and the performance are right back on the mark.

God Bless Us. Every One!

An explosion of applause.  Cries of ‘Bravo’.  Whistles and whoops.  Maybe I’m living in a rose tinted spectacled world, but right now I think that this is the best reception that I have had all through the tour.  Here, in Portsmouth at 9.30.  My last show. The sweat has rolled into my eyes, making them water a little bit.  I’m not sobbing with the emotion of it all.  Of course not.

The Final Bow

I go through the same routine of changing costume before signing.  One gentleman presents me with a lovely framed engraving that he made of Charles Dickens.  More generosity.

Even as I sign, Clark, Dean and their crew are dismantling the set and stage behind me.  Things must move on and the Church, entering a rather busy week, needs to be returned to its natural state.

The last guests leave and I change and pack up all of my things, making sure that nothing gets left in the Pastor’s room at the North Church in Portsmouth.  I thank Clark, Dean and Don (Nina had to leave during the signing session).  They have been a great team to work with and I sincerely hope that we will do more together in the future.

I trudge through the crowded Saturday night streets of Portsmouth, in my thick coat, tweed cap and scarf, pulling my costume bag behind me.  Crowds are spilling out of bars, and everywhere there is music, raucous conversation and laughter.  I feel a bit like Scrooge ‘edging his way along the crowded paths of life’  The spirit of Christmas Present is definitely in the air tonight.

Back at the Hilton Garden Inn there is a little bar, and I have a couple of drinks, toasting myself and the season before going back to my room and making a start on the selection of cheeses.  It really doesn’t matter if my throat closes up and I can’t project now!

So, that is the end.  I get into bed and the accumulated waves of tiredness wash over me and send me to sleep. A deep sleep.

I will post one more blog later today, but for now thank you so much for reading and for all of your comments along the way.  It has been so much fun.

It’s a Wonderful Life

WSMN

After a late, and difficult night last night it is up and at it first thing this morning, as Jill has arranged for me to be interviewed by one of the local Nashua radio stations at 7.30am.

At 7.10 I am in the foyer and Jill pulls up in her car.  She looks like I feel.  The journey to downtown Nashua only takes about 10 minutes and we are soon pulling into park at the side of Main Street among the banks of shovelled snow.

We enter the anonymous door and make our way upstairs to the offices and studios of WSMN 1590 am.  It would be fair to say it is sparse.  No reception desk, no walls showing pictures of the various presenters, no lavish green room. Nobody bustling about with sheaves of scripts and running orders.  In fact, nobody at all, except for one voice.

Jill and I make pour way through the deserted offices until we find one rather drab room at the far end of the building.  The ‘On Air’ light is glowing but the door is open nonetheless.  In this small room George Russell is broadcasting his daily morning show.  He speaks to his listeners at a billion miles an hour, loud, brash, crazy.  Off the wall, is a good term.

When he sees Jill and me he calls us into the studio and immediately the banter starts.  He is definitely in his zone.  He offers me coffee and fetches a cup of strong dark roast that he has ground especially.  He calls it his Fog Lifter.  Here, then, is what fuels the WSMN 1590 Breakfast show.

We all settle into our seats and our segment begins.  For all of the bluster and mania, George is a very good interviewer.  He is well researched and allows the conversation to roll.  Of course we talk about Dickens and the shows but also about the British Parliamentary system and how the Americans have destroyed the English language (his phrase not mine, I hasten to add).  It is a great fun 30 minutes and I think that I give as good as I get.

With George

When we are finished and today’s shows have been duly promoted, we shake hands, pose for pictures and then head back through the deserted building and to Jill’s car.  The radio is tuned to WSMN and George is still at it ‘broadcasting live, overlooking Main Street here in Nashua, from our penthouse studios.’  I think of the little drab room and love the magic of radio.

Jill drops me back to the hotel and I am in my room by 8.10.  Today the Executive level concierge is Maureen who has been with the hotel since it opened and is their treasure.  Every year Maureen bustles and fusses over me and today she brings me breakfast and talks about the show tonight.  In 5 years she has never been able to get to one of my performances but she is determined to tonight.  She has already talked another guest into buying tickets and attending.

The morning is spent writing up yesterday’s blog and starting to make arrangements for my journey home on Sunday.  I really am feeling exhausted and I’m sure that is because my body knows that this abuse of it is soon to end.  However, I cannot let things go, I still have four more shows to do.

 

A Child’s Journey With Dickens

At 11.30 I get into costume and go to my car for the short drive back into Nashua to the Senior Center, where I am to perform ‘A Child’s Journey With Dickens’.  Jill is waiting for me outside and takes me into the room where I am to perform.  It is a light, bright day room with chairs laid out and a little lectern on a table at the front.

The audience are already arriving and many of them have seen me perform A Christmas Carol and are intrigued by a different programme.  Jill sets out a table of books and straight away people are buying and I am signing.  At a big show it doesn’t do to start signing beforehand because it tends to start a rush but for a smaller venue like this it is an opportunity to meet the majority of the audience first, make a connection and guarantee that they are on side before proceedings start.  As 12.30 gets closer so the seats fill up and by the time Jill gets up to make the introductions there must be about 70 there.

A Child’s Journey With Dickens is a very sweet show.  The events detailed in it took place during Charles Dickens’s second trip to America in 1867/8. In March 1868 he had performed in Portland, Maine and was making his weary way by railroad back into Boston.  On the same train was a 10 year old girl who completely idolised him and devoured everything he wrote.  Her pets all bore names of Dickens characters and even her sled was named The Artful Dodger.  During the train journey she discovered that Dickens was onboard and eventually actually ended up sitting next to him and engaging him in conversation, telling him that she loved all of his books but ‘skipped the very dull parts’.

Years later, as an old lady, she published her memories in a book entitled ‘A Child’s Journey With Dickens.’.  I have a first edition of the book, signed by the author Kate Douglas Wiggin, who wrote Rebecca of Sunnybrook Farm.  In a neat script she has written ‘I was the child’.  It is very precious and I love holding the slim volume, as it seems to reunite her with the Dickens family.

The show is gentle, reflective and charming.  It is completely different to the histrionics of A Christmas Carol and actually does me a great deal of good to do it.  The audience absolutely love it.

There is a short and very informal signing session afterwards during which Jill runs out of books, leading to a slight delay during which a fresh stock is fetched from the store, which is only 5 minutes away and then the signing resumes.

At the Senior Center

When the last book has been signed and the last picture posed for I shake hands with everyone and leave the building.  As I am getting into my car I realise that I have left my copy of the script in the room.  I don’t need it, I can print another easily at home but I haven’t left anything anywhere yet on this trip and I’ll be damned if I’m going to start now.  I go back and fetch the script.

Driving back through Nashua there is an amazing cemetery, with the old crooked headstones looking bleak and mournful in the thick snow.  It would be a fabulous setting for a moody monochrome publicity picture for A Christmas Carol.

I have time for a room service lunch and a brief rest before getting ready for the evening’s show.  We have an early sound check today, as there is a dinner reception at 5, but when I get to the ballroom a previous event has overrun, so things are not ready.

The sound and lighting guy that Jill uses is busy setting up his stuff.  In previous years the lighting in this larger ballroom setting has been an issue but this year he has brought much more equipment along and it looks as if it’s going to be impressive.  However, until the stage can be put in place we can’t do a proper sound check.  Half of the seating has been put out so I lay one of my blog business cards on each seat and when I’ve finished that go back to my room and change into costume.

 

MaMa

The dinner reception is not something that Jill has laid on but is hosted by an audience member who invites many of her friends and family to the show each year and treats them to dinner.  She is an English Lady, MaMa (I have no idea as to the correct spelling or if it is her real name or a nickname but that is how everyone knows her).  She is an active lady, also inviting all of her American friends to celebrate Guy Fawkes night on November 5^th.

MaMa’s Party

The party is in a private room behind the main hotel restaurant and soon I am chatting to lots of people.  As usual just before a show I am not really able to eat much but I do have a little soup and turkey.  The party is in full swing but I have to leave early to get back to the main hall and the final sound check.

Outside the ballroom there is a lobby which is already filled with audience members waiting to get the best seats and even as I walk up there is a round of applause.  This could be a good night.

And, the apostrophe should be where….?

The hall has been transformed, 350 seats are ready, the stage set, the lighting looking superb.  We do the sound check quickly, so that the doors can be opened. It is a good crowd, a big crowd, near capacity and the room fills up from the centre out to the far extremities at each side.

 

A Christmas Carol

As start time gets closer a couple arrive who have come to each of my shows here. Last year they told me one of the most moving things and it is something that lives with me during every performance that I give.  After the signing session had finished  they said that they wanted me to know that they had lost a son and the way I portrayed Bob Cratchit’s grief was exactly how they had felt.  The pain, the emptiness, the desolation.  It was probably the most intensely moving moment of my 20 years of performing the Carol.  I feel a very strong connection to them and am delighted to see them back.

You know who you are and thank you.

The show starts slightly late but it is a good one.  Not perfect, but much better than last night and I’m certainly getting back to where I should be.  It is strange, but performing ‘A Childs Journey’ today created a break in the treadmill of the tour and had the effect of hitting a reset button.  I am much happier with the show tonight and the audience reaction is fantastic.

I leave the ballroom, dive into a little closet behind my signing table and effect a quick change of costume before emerging to a loud, busy, excitable signing line.  Lots of lovely comments, lots of photographs, lots of scrawls.  All of the usual questions and remarks: ‘How do you remember all those words?’, ‘How do you do it without a drink?’ ‘I LOVE your signature, how long have you been working on that?’ ‘Which is your favourite movie version (the absolute most commonly asked question throughout the tour!)?’, ‘do you have writer’s cramp yet?’ and on it goes for a good hour or so after the show’s conclusion.  I am delighted to see that Maureen, ‘my’ concierge, is there with her husband.

Signing line, with Maureen in the background

Eventually the room clears and I gather my things, go back up to my room to change and then join Jill, Jody, Darcy and some other audience members for a drink and some dessert.  It has been a long long day.

With Jody and Jill

Everyone is shattered and soon the others leave for their respective homes.  I sit at the bar to finish my dessert and wine.  As in any bar in America there are TV screens all around but they are not showing sports, as is the norm: no, they are showing what is probably my favourite Christmas film and as I sit at the bar and think of the last few weeks and of all of the people that I’ve met, all of the things that I’ve seen and all of the venues that I have appeared in, I reflect that the title of the film sums up my experiences perfectly.

It IS a Wonderful Life.

 

 

 

 

 

 

The Hunt Room

Today’s missive may be remarkably short, as for most of the day I did nothing, saw nothing and spoke to no one.  That is another kind of luxury.

I wake around 6 and write for a while before having a shower and then going to breakfast.  When one is on the Executive Level on the 8^th floor at The Crowne Plaza you do nothing as sordid as actually join other guests for breakfast.  Oh, no, no, no: the lounge is laid out for a lovely private continental affair and you are fussed over by the concierge on duty.

I have a glass of grapefruit juice, some cereal with sliced banana and other fruits piled up onto it, followed by a plate of pastries and a specially warmed croissant.  It is all very relaxing.

After I’ve finished I return to my room and start to do a little work.  Emails are starting to come in from the UK about 2014 of which a few need answers.  Also I need to do a little line revision as tomorrow I will be performing one of my other shows.  A Christmas Carol is now so ingrained in my mind that I need to create some space in there for ‘A Child’s Journey With Dickens’. I work away for an hour or so and then go back to the computer and while I am working various friends pop up on social network sites.

One such friend is Sandy, who for the past 4 years has worked on the marketing side of my events here in Nashua.  This year sadly she is not involved but is getting in touch to see if I would like to have a bite of lunch.  It sounds like a great idea and we agree to meet up at around midday.

The rest of the morning is spent in my room, watching TV, playing online backgammon, reading and generally resting.  As I have only been in the room for one night, I turn down the offer to have it refettled by housekeeping and just ask that the supply of coffee be replenished.

Noon approaches and I go the main hotel foyer and wait for Sandy to arrive.  I step outside.  Although the air feels warm, the scene before me suggests otherwise. The sky is clear and the light crisp.  Huge banks of snow create beautiful shapes and blue shadows fall across them.  4 ducks swim in a pond surrounded on all side by white cliffs and I think back to the little white and green rubber duck from Sandyhook Elementary School, which I was photographed with.  Since I met the Wagners from Newtown the first anniversary of the shooting has passed.  It must be an awful time of the year for everyone there and my thoughts go out to them.

Sandy arrives and we swish onto the freeway and towards Manchester for lunch.  Sandy has become a good friend over the years and it is always nice to meet up.  We talk about the tour and the blog as we drive.  In no time we are arriving in Manchester, which is a stunning mill town, the sort of which Dickens would have loved to inspect.

Manchester

Now, all of the old mills have been taken over by businesses or by the University here but the fact that they are still standing means that the imposing look of the City has been preserved and it is not just another strip-malled, sprawling example of retail America.

Sandy has booked a table at Cottons, which is a really nice restaurant and obviously doing well.  There is a happy buzz of conversation inside.  We order and continue to chat about this and that.  Sandy has made a major career decision during the last year partly inspired by my brother’s book, ‘Sea Change’ and is very excited by the prospect of the future.

Lunch finished we have coffees before leaving Cottons.  Sandy offers to take my picture in front of the restaurant and we spot some amazing ice formations on bushes and ivy around the door.  I spend a little time increasing my stock of winter wonderland photographs from this tour until it is time to get back to the car.

Back to Nashua, exchange goodbye hugs and it is back to my room.  I decide to try and nap this afternoon. I get beneath the covers and very soon am dozing.

As evening approaches I realise that I am going to have to do some work and get up and start bustling about.  I spend a little more time on ‘A Child’s Journey’ before getting things together for tonight’s show.  Hat, scarf, cane, business cards, etc: all of the paraphernalia of my trip.

At 5.00pm I go to the Hunt Room restaurant where I will be performing later. Jill Gage is there making final arrangements.  Jill and her husband Jody own Fortin Gage Florist and gift shop.  I have been performing in Nashua for five years and it is always a fun place to be.  Jill and Jody work hard and play hard!

Jill tells me that a gentleman in the store had been asking about the shows and, quite seriously, had enquired if any investigations had been made as to my genuine familial connections to Charles Dickens.  Maybe in future years a DNA test will be required before contracts are signed.

What with the gentleman in Williamsburg bemoaning my lack of Britishness and now this, I am beginning to doubt my own identity.

The show is to be performed with a dinner and as yet the decision has not been made as to whether it should be between courses, or straight through.

The Hunt Room

Despite my feelings about breaking the show up into little chunks, actually here it is the correct thing to do.  The Hunt Room is curiously dead acoustically and doesn’t have theatre lighting, so to watch the show for an hour’s stretch is difficult.  I run through the menu with Steve from the hotel and we settle on our evening’s schedule.  When everything is sorted I go back to my room for a little more down time during which I read the terrible news from London about the collapse of a ceiling in the Apollo Theatre during a packed evening show.  I hope that the injuries are minor and that there isn’t anybody I know involved.

Back in the Hunt Room am 6.30 and the guests are arriving and settling themselves at their tables.  I am sharing with Jill and Jody and one of their loyal employees Darcy.  We are joined by other friends and business people from Nashua.

At 7.00pm Jill welcomes everyone and the show begins.  The Hunt Room is unique among my venues in that there is a hotel swimming pool right beneath it and for the first part of the show I am accompanied by shouts and laughter from below, which makes it a little awkward to capture the atmosphere of Victorian London.  The gentle aroma of chlorine doesn’t help.

At the end of each section the food is served speedily and efficiently.  We eat delicious duck confit and a salad with sweet peppers and apple.  We are making good time and the evening is running smoothly, although there is a slight hiatus during the main course when two plates are accidentally dropped in the kitchen and the guests have to wait for replacements to be brought.

During the gap in the proceedings the table next to us are entertained as one of their number leads a class in making hand puppets out of their napkins.

Puppetry

Main course complete and into the Ghost of Christmas Yet to Come, which is dramatic and intense, although there is much laughter as Old Joe wipes his running nose on his hand and looks for a suitable audience member to clean it on.

Once dessert is down I get up to finish the story and, despite the room’s shortcomings, get a very nice ovation.  I finish the evening with a toast to Christmas and we can all relax now.  There is a signing table and lots of books etc for sale, but very few people avail themselves of the opportunity, so almost before I know it, I am off duty.

It is strange that in such a small room the effort needed to project the piece is so much higher than in a larger, acoustically sound, auditorium.  I can certainly feel that I have worked hard tonight and suddenly all of the down time that I have enjoyed during the day is very, very welcome.

Jill, Jody, Darcy and I move to the bar, along with our fellow table companions Mark and Paula, where we have a nice wind down session.

Tomorrow will be a busy day and, as I have a 7.00am start for a live radio interview, I need to get back to my room.  We all say goodnight and I make way back to 828 where once again I fall asleep instantly.

British Goodbyes

Moving Out

After what seems to be a horribly short night I wake up in the Queen’s Bed, (if you are reading this blog for the first time, I suggest you refer to yesterday’s post before running to the tabloids).

I pack my bags but have to be more thorough this morning, as I am going to be flying for the first time since I arrived in Boston on the 26^th November. No more throwing the cane and top hat into the back of the car, everything has to be in my case today.

With all of the gifts that I have been given along the way as well as the large box containing the microphone system, my case feels worryingly heavy and I hope that I am not going to incur penalty charges.  The bag does look very neat and ordered though, which pleases me no end.

Not British Enough

I take all of my luggage to the reception area so that I can load the car before I have my breakfast.  Leslie at the front desk calls me over and says she has to tell me what happened when I checked in yesterday.  While I was at the desk, a group of people were waiting close by.  After I had left Leslie engaged them in conversation and it came out that they were here for the Dickens Tea.  ‘Oh,’ says Leslie, ‘That was Mr Dickens right there’.  The two ladies in the group fluttered and twittered and cooed.  The gentleman with them looked unimpressed and said: ‘Him?  He didn’t look very British’.  Leslie pointed out that I am, indeed, British and still live there.  ‘Hmmmm, maybe, but he doesn’t seem very….British.’.  Oh, dear, I have become assimilated into the American way of life obviously. I’d better put some extra work in.  I hope, after all that, that he enjoyed the show.

Now, for breakfast.  Here at the Williamsburg Inn they serve an amazing breakfast buffet, laid out on my ‘stage’ in the Regency Room.  Sadly this morning I only have a very brief time to enjoy it and am the first guest to be seated.  Almost before I am in my chair the wonderful Delphine is by my side.  Delphine helps run the restaurant, working with Leroy.  She has an indomitable spirit and is not to be messed with.  It was Delphine who threw the hell raising actor Colin Farrell out of the restaurant because he wasn’t wearing socks.  ‘I don’t let ANYONE in my restaurant that is not properly dressed!  I don’t care who they are.’

We chat for a while, and she says that a member of last year’s audience had been talking to her and told her all about Smoking Bishop, a hot punch mentioned in the book.  Delphine demanded that he send her the recipe and then she had it made to be sent to my tale during the show last night.  That explains the mystery of the Smoking Bishop.

I sit for 30 minutes or so looking out onto the golf course here and wishing I had a free day to go and play, but reality comes back and it is time to leave The Williamsburg Inn for another year.

Farewells

I say goodbye to all of the waiters, to Delphine and to Leslie and go out to Manx, my Jeep, who is sitting rather forlornly outside the hotel.

Manx’s Farewell

The drive to Richmond airport takes a little under an hour and the roads, although busy, are running well.  Even my SatNav behaves and takes me right to the airport with no hiccoughs.

As I get my first sight of the control tower, the fuel warning light blinks on and the gauge falls to E.  Job well done.

Zero

I pull into the parking garage and it is time to wish a fond farewell to dear Manx.  Despite his foibles, despite the fact that I could never open the tailgate to load my bags, despite the fact that when the lights were on, the dash display was in darkness, despite the fact that the first time his 4 wheel drive system saw any ice he slithered around like a greased up eel.  Despite all of these things he has been a companion to me for over 2,000 miles of driving and I will miss him greatly.

One last look round to check that I haven’t left anything important.  There is a scrap of paper with the Vaillancourts address written on it, telling me where to go on my first evening here.  There is a leaflet for The Hershey Sweet Lights drive, there are some parking lot stubs from Worcester, there is the remains of the hamper that Missy put together at the Country Cupboard store.

Very, very sad.

I say my private goodbye and then walk into the airport terminal.  The airport is full of military all of whom look impossibly young.  I would guess that they have just finished training and are now being deployed for the first time.  Good luck, my friends.

Flying

I check in at the United Airlines counter, where a laid back guy is behind the desk.  He sees my top hat: ‘Cool hat, man!’  The suitcase is checked in with no overweight charges, which is a relief and he says that I’m all set.  ‘Don’t you need to see my ID?’ I ask, giving him my passport. ‘Oh, yeah, man, yeah.’  He looks at it.  ‘You’re cool man, SO cool.’ I have no idea why I elicited such a response but it raises my melancholy spirits as I walk to and through security.

When I arrive at the gate there is a panic going on as a flight has had to be cancelled due to mechanical failure.  Fortunately it is not mine but passengers are everywhere trying to make alternative arrangements and the United Airlines clerks are tapping furiously away at their computers.

It reminds me of last year’s trip when Liz and I were flying from Bethlehem PA to Williamsburg and were faced with the same scenario.  I ended up being late for the tea performance and almost had to run from the car into the Regency Room.  There was no room for Liz on the flight and she was abandoned in PA before coming in later in the day.  It was a very stressful time and makes me doubly glad that I was driving myself everywhere this year, rather than relying on the airlines.

The flight itself is only an hour but as we make our way North the terrain below changes from brown to white.  We begin our descent to Newark as we pass over Philly and if my geography and memory serves me well, I can clearly see Clark Park where the statue of Charles Dickens sits with Little Nell gazing up at him.

Newark, as with any International airport is packed and busy.  The Christmas rush is already starting and everyone is dashing hither and thither.  Again I am grateful to have been driving, rather than going through this madness every morning.  I grab a McDonalds for lunch and when I’ve finished, I call Bob Byers for a brief chat about this year’s tour.

We talk for about 30 minutes about what has worked and what needs looking at.  We chat about some possible future projects and ideas for some merchandise, until my flight is called and I have to get on my way again.

The plane is very full but amazingly I have an empty seat next to me, which is a minor luxury.  I read for a little bit but drop off to sleep very quickly and stay that way for most of the flight back to Boston.

And here I am, back at Logan.  Back on the courtesy bus to take me to the car rental centre, back at the Dollar car rental desk.  Back on the exact spot where I was standing 3 weeks ago.  It all feels rather difficult, as if I should be going home now but there are still 5 shows to be done and each of those are just as important as the first one was.

I go through all of the formalities and go into the garage to pick my new car up.  Presumably due to the heavy snow here Dollar have run out of mid sized SUVs so I am upgraded to a Chevy Tahoe: a monster of a thing.  It has lots of switches and things to play with and, guess what, the tailgate opens.  I still miss my little doe-eyed Jeep though.

The Drive to Nashua

I set the SatNav unit (which is a new type, a tablet which also has its own wifi hotspot capability), and drive out into the Boston streets.  Which are gridlocked.

Everybody is trying to go everywhere tonight and nobody is going anywhere. At least I have plenty of time to play with all of the switches and soon my rear is heated by the seat and even my hands are warmed by the heated steering wheel.  Satellite radio fills the car (except when I’m in one of the many tunnels beneath Boston).  Little lights flash up in the door mirrors when another car is in close proximity, which is, of course, all of the time tonight.  On the few occasions that I do pick up speed I discover that the Tahoe is like super tanker to stop: the sheer bulk of the thing pushing it onward towards the rear of the car in front.  I adapt my driving accordingly.

I am heading towards Nashua, New Hampshire, a drive of about an hour.  After Two and a half hours I have edged forward just fourteen miles and so the path of red tail lights stretches way out ahead of me.

Eventually I get to the intersection and leave i93 to join i95 and the traffic lessens slightly and then to route 3 and I’m at last on my way.

The snow in NH has been heavy over the past few days and the banks on either side of the road are piled high.  I finally arrive in the car park at The Crowne Plaza Hotel which is beautifully lit up.

The Crowne Plaza, Nashua

I drag my bags into the lobby to check in and then take the lift to the 8^th floor.  The 8th floor is the executive floor and I have to put my key into a special slot in the lift.  No riff raff allowed on the 8th, you know.  Having dumped the bags in my room I go straight back down to the restaurant for dinner.

Originally I had been supposed to meet my friends, and event sponsors, Jill and Jody Gage, for dinner but I decided I just wanted a quiet evening on my own with no talking.  My voice has taken a bit of a battering over the last few days and a day of complete rest will do it good.

I have a Pork Chop and a Crème Brule to finish and then go back to my room where I think I may watch a film.  I lay on the bed.  At 11.30 I wake.  The TV remote is in my hand, I hadn’t even got as far as turning it on.  I undress, brush my teeth and get under the covers rather than on them, and instantly am back to sleep.

Luxury

I wake up later than usual, at about 7 and try to get out of bed.  I can hardly move, I am SO stiff.  Those two little shows yesterday were more energetic than I thought.  I cajole my limbs into doing what they are supposed to do and get myself to the shower.

I have a little time this morning, so check my iphone notes and start to write my latest blog.  After finishing, checking, correcting, adding pictures and checking again, I post it and then go to breakfast which, being a Hampton Inn, is the usual fare but it is very welcome nonetheless.

The Motel Breakfast

In my room I pack up ready for another drive and then wait until 9.00 for a telephone interview to promote my final event in Portsmouth, New Hampshire, on Saturday.  I spend about 20 minutes chatting to the journalist and it is fun.  She asks good questions and responds to my answers, letting the conversation take its own course, which is not always the case with interviewers.

When we are finished I take my bags to the Jeep, load up and get on the road heading further South.  I’m glad that I’m heading away from DC, as the traffic on the opposite carriageway is very heavy indeed.  I am alerted by a little ‘ping’ that my fuel is getting low and I pull of the highway at Fredericksburg to fill up.  I find the slowest fuel pump in the World and after standing in the cold for about 10 minutes, only 3 gallons have dribbled in.  I give up at that and move on.

Dribbling

Back on the road, heading towards Richmond and it is noticeable that all traces of snow and Ice have disappeared and that the sky is blue.  I make a mental note of where the airport is as I will be coming back here tomorrow morning for my first flight since I arrived on November 26.

Skirting the city of Richmond I think of Charles Dickens and his visit here in 1842, when he came to specifically to see the issue of slavery at first hand.  The relevant passages in American Notes are harrowing and disturbing which is exactly as he meant them to be.

The fuel gauge has worked its way round to empty again and I find another gas station, this time one which dispenses fuel at a respectable rate.  I only put in a further 4 gallons as I want to return the car empty tomorrow.

Now I am reaching the outskirts of Williamsburg and there are signs for lodging: Quality Inns and Suites, Hampton Inn, Comfort Inn, all of which I have stayed at during my trip in other cities but not here.  Oh, no.  My accommodation in Williamsburg is the gracious, splendid, stately and elegant Williamsburg Inn, where the Queen stayed during her visits to the town.

The Williamsburg Inn

I pull up in the parking lot and look admiringly at the wonderful building but don’t go straight in.  Sadly I have very little time here and want to catch a little bit of the Williamsburg atmosphere so walk across the street into the 18^th Century.

Colonial Williamsburg is an amazing reconstruction of the capitol of the Colony of Virginia in the years before the Revolutionary War.  This is no Disneyfied theme park, this is a faithful reconstruction.  The buildings are original and were brought back to life by Rockefeller in the early years of the 20^th century.  On the main street costumed characters go about their everyday life.  Oxon are driven along the street as are horse drawn carriages.  Everything happens at a slow and sedate pace.  It is the modern tourists who look out of place, not the residents of Duke of Gloucester Street.

On Duke of Gloucester Street

For the past 2 years Liz has joined me at the end of my trip and Williamsburg has been one of our favourite places to be together.  I make my way to her favourite site on the street, a little garden stall, where vegetables are grown in a well ordered plot.  I take a few pictures and then make my way back to the Inn.

Liz’s Favourite Spot

I am greeted warmly by the staff, most of whom have been here ever since I’ve been touring, which is always the hallmark of a good hotel. Lesley behind desk busies herself with the check in and asks if Liz is with me this year and is genuinely disappointed that she is not. Lesley finishes the check in and gives the key card to room 3269.  This sounds innocuous enough but it is the suite in which the Queen stayed during her last visit here in 2007.  I cannot believe it!

The suite is stunning.  Entering from the corridor you find yourself in a little private hallway from where you continue into a lavishly appointed drawing room, where one can receive ones guests.  The bedroom is huge, as is the bathroom.  As with all of the rooms here it is filled with antique furniture and prints.

I still can’t believe it.  There is the desk where the Queen sat to do her correspondence, here is a sofa on which she took tea and chatted.  There is the bed in which she slept, the bath where she bathed, the basin where she brushed her teeth, the lavatory where……no, I think it may be treasonable to have such thoughts.

Drawing Room

Bedroom

I don’t have much time to enjoy the surroundings as I have a sound check and meeting in the Regency Room.  Waiting for me there is Michelle DeRosa who is looking after my events today.  We chat for a while until my very dear and great friend, Ryan Fletcher, arrives.

Ryan is an opera singer who teaches at the nearby William and Mary College.  He has also portrayed one of the characters on the Duke of Gloucester Street and has been engaged by Williamsburg to introduce my shows since 1998.  We have a big hug (I mean a big hug, as Ryan towers above me) and catch up a little on the year past.

There is still a little time before the show, so I go back to the room and immerse myself in the deep bath and have a cold blast in the shower to energise myself a little.

Something is in the back of my mind and I get online to check my theory.  Yes, I am right, today, 17^th December, is the exact anniversary of the first publication of A Christmas Carol.  I should be able to use that in my opening remarks at tea.

I go back to the Regency Room which is now filling up.  It looks as if the room is going to be packed.  I perform on the floor here, there is no stage, but I have the whole dance floor to use.  In previous years I have also been able to work the room, but there are so many tables laid that it is going to be difficult to find a route among them today.

The Regency Room

The seating process is overseen by Leroy, the master of the dining room.  Short, but with a military ramrod straight back, he welcomes every guest with true southern hospitality and then hands them over to one of the waiters who lead them to the relevant table.  It is a well drilled and effective system.

Once everyone is seated the waiters make their efficient way around the room serving plates filled with sandwiches and cakes, all looking delicious.  Tea is poured from silver pots and the room is full of chatter and laughter.

Ryan and I get ‘the nod’ from the banquet Captain and we begin.  Ryan makes a generous and warm introduction and I take my place in the centre of the room.

I mention that today is the 170^th anniversary of the first publication and A Christmas Carol gets a warm round of applause, which it fully deserves.  That puts an idea in my mind, and I continue:

‘It is a tradition, in literary circles, that whenever a book celebrates its 170^th anniversary, any performance or rendition of that book be greeted with a standing ovation.’  Shameless!

The show goes well, although the sweat is streaming off me and stinging my eyes very early on in the piece.  I do manage to make my way through the tables and find suitable candidates to be my stooges: The Ghost of Christmas Past, Fezziwig, Young Scrooge with his fiancée Belle, and Topper’s victim who gets flirted with at the nephew’s Christmas party.  All play their parts well.  Over half of the audience have been to the event before and many are mouthing along with the words.

At the conclusion the audience respect the 170^th anniversary tradition and after taking my bows we all move out into the hotel lobby for the signing session.  As my room is at the top of a short flight of stairs I am able to run up, towel down, change into my dry costume and be back at the desk again in short order.

The signing runs for quite a long time and one party of guests give me a bag filled with gifts. People have been so generous to me this year.

When the last books are signed and the last pictures posed for, I go back to my room and relax for an hour or so before the dinner show.  I have another bath and another shower and lay on the bed in a Williamsburg bathrobe, watching television until the phone rings at 6.15.  It is another good friend from my times here in Williamsburg: Christine and her husband Erich.  Christine used to work at the Inn and looked after my events for many years during which time we became good friends.

I get into costume and meet them in the bar, where they sip cocktails and I don’t.  Not having had any lunch today, a glass of anything now would be very bad news indeed.  We all catch up with each other’s news.  Our conversation is punctuated by lots of waves, handshakes and ‘hellos’ from other arriving audience members.

As the clock approaches 7, I make my way into the dining room and get fitted up with my microphone again.  Ryan arrives, with his wife Jean and our other table guests join us, a family with whom we dined last year.  Greetings are exchanged and hands shaken.  I am sitting next to Bill, who is an actor in Williamsburg.  Actually he is quite a celebrity hereabouts as he portrays Thomas Jefferson in many different settings.  It is nice to chat with a fellow ‘one man’ actor.

In the past I have performed A Christmas Carol between the courses of a dinner but I am trying to get away from that format as far as possible.  It is much easier for me to do the whole show straight through and it is better for the Chefs to be able to produce a dinner without the service being interrupted by gaps for the performance.

Ryan makes a brief announcement to explain how the evening will work and there is a sense of disappointment in the room that the familiar format will not be followed.  I will have to do a good job to convince the guests that this is a better way to run the evening.

I repeat the 170^th anniversary tradition line, which gets a laugh and on then ask the room to bow their heads and join me in the Dickens Family Grace, which is a nod to the old traditions of this event.

‘In fellowship assembled here

We thank thee Lord for food and cheer

And through our saviour, they dear son,

We pray ‘God Bless Us, Every One!’

Our food arrives, as does the wine: white with the soup, red with the beef.  The waiter even brings me my own glass of Smoking Bishop; I have no idea why, as I do not feature it in the show, but it looks lovely.  I have a sip and the taste matches the look.

However, with a performance to do I can’t drink any of the wine and the three glasses remain untouched which is most frustrating.  I don’t really eat much either.  Bill says that he is amazed I can sit at the table at all, he would be backstage pacing and fretting.

Desserts are served and coffee poured and when the last of the waiters slips out of the room it is time to go.  Ryan makes another introductory speech and I take to the floor.

The evening show is a repeat of this afternoon’s.  Many audience members have been before and are joining in with the words: one table very audibly.  Everyone joins in again where necessary and I’m able to give a more complete performance than the very fragmented and shortened version that I do when it is split.  Even with the longer show we are all finished by 9.40.  On one occasion in the past we were still in the dining room at 11.00pm.

I know that not everyone will have liked the changes, after all Williamsburg is all about tradition, but it is a much more effective way to perform.

The signing line is once again busy and fun.  The reaction seems positive and there is lots of merriment.  A glass of wine appears on my table but I don’t get to touch it until I have finished with the signatures and the photographs.

After the last of the guests have gone I go into the bar where I meet a husband and wife who had been at our table (I am so bad at names, and apologise to you if you are reading this: it is very rude of me).  They are excellent company and we chat about the show, about wine, about cruise ships and about Harry Potter World at Universal Studios.

Christine and Erich are also in the bar and I move to sit with them to have a brief chat before they go home.  Leroy joins us and the brief chat becomes a long reminiscence of years gone by.  He is a wise and sensitive man and his words about the current state of the hospitality industry are fascinating to listen to.

It is after midnight by the time we leave.  I say goodbye to Leroy, Erich and Christine and make my regal way up the stairs, through my little hallway, across my spacious drawing room, into my commodious bedroom, via the extensive bathroom, and to sleep.

Luxury!

The Golden Goose

Driving South

Today I have the longest drive of the trip and also the one with the greatest delay potential as I have to negotiate the cities of Baltimore and Washington DC before arriving at my destination, the gorgeous sleepy town of Occoquan in Virginia.  The whole trip should take me around three and a half hours.

The breakfast at the Quality Inn is as standard motel breakfast of cornflakes and waffles, which I eat in a deserted breakfast room, with the exception of an incredibly helpful member of staff who watches my every move and tries to pr-empt  everything I do.  I’m on my way to the waffle machine and she is filling batter for me.  She gets my plate.  This is getting competitive now and I stealthily move to the knives and forks, disguising my actions before she can beat me to it.  ‘Do you have a knife and fork?’ she asks from the waffle machine.  ‘Yes!’ I do now.  She has one more trick up her sleeve and a fresh cup of coffee is waiting for me before I get back to the table.  She is very helpful.

I check out and get onto the road at about 8.15.  Christmas songs playing and speeding happily along the Interstate I suddenly realise that a police car is parked on top of a bridge and as another car and I pass underneath he starts to move to join our carriageway.  There is an exit coming up so I gently peel off to the right and watch the mirror.  The cops carry on their way, presumably chasing my companion down.  Beads of sweat had broken out on my brow and I take a few moments to breath deeply and calm down again.  I’d expected to simply be able to rejoin the main route but dear Ms SatNav takes me across country for a few miles to join another road South.

The new route takes me onto a large suspension bridge and as I am crossing the Delaware I reflect on the ton of washing I have done on this trip.

Onward I go, and soon I am crossing my old friend the Susquehanna River, broad, wide, majestic, shortly to flow into the Chesapeake Bay.

I hit my first traffic delay on the outskirts of Baltimore and sit looking at the squat city skyline to my right.  The traffic is not held up for long and I am on my way soon enough.

The Maryland (pronounced Marylnd, not Mary Land), interstate runs through woodland and there are no barriers at the side of the road.  At alarmingly regular intervals there are vivid, lurid black tyre marks scribing huge S shapes on the tarmac before disappearing into the trees.  I can only imagine the fear inside those cars as they headed towards the woods.

As I get closer to Washington DC the cars begin to change.  Now there are more Mercedes, BMW’s, Porsches and other exotic sport scars.  Everyone is talking on cell phones, urgently doing business.

In no time the road ahead is filled with brake lights shining like a Christmas display and I pull slowly up behind the car in front and to a halt.  I can see the queue of traffic stretching way ahead.  My SatNav confidently tells me the delay is 2 minutes.  Bless her.  I now realise that I was wrong to be angry with her in Philadelphia when she tried to take me to a nonexistent petrol station.  She just doesn’t like to disappoint me with bad news. she is only trying to be kind.  I sit in the traffic for 25 minutes and never once does she budge from her assertion that the delay will be 2 minutes.

Eventually we all edge to the scene of the accident.  A car has run into a truck showing a large arrow cautioning drivers to move to the left, as the right lane will be shut. The lane is certainly shut now, blocked by the truck with a maroon saloon car wedged in underneath it front completely smashed.  I can only hope that everyone who was talking on their mobile phones understands the possible consequences of their actions.

 

DC by CD

Released from the traffic and I am passing the DC skyline to my right: there is the dome of the Capitol building and the slender needle of the Washington Monument.  I am only flirting with DC though, as I’m headed further South.

Charles Dickens came to Washington DC in 1842 and didn’t find the place to his taste at all:

It has no trade or commerce of its own: having little or no population beyond the President and his establishment; the members of the legislature who reside there during the session; the Government clerks and officers employed in the various departments; the keepers of the hotels and boarding-houses; and the tradesmen who supply their tables. It is very unhealthy. Few people would live in Washington, I take it, who were not obliged to reside there; and the tides of emigration and speculation, those rapid and regardless currents, are little likely to flow at any time towards such dull and sluggish water.

 

Ebenezer in Occoquan

I leave it behind me and in no time I am arriving at Occoquan.  Nestling on the banks of the Occoquan River (the name means literally ‘at the end of the water’), Occoquan has a population of under 1000.  It is a lovely town.

Occoquan

I have arrived in good time and am able to check into my hotel and have a shower to wash the slough of the journey away and then at 1.00 I pull my car up to a parking space outside my venue for today, the Ebenezer chapel.  Yes, really.

The Ebenezer Chapel

The show is actually promoted by The Golden Goose store which sells a huge array of Christmas decorations, ornaments and collectables, including the Byers Choice range.

The Golden Goose

The shop is run by Pat and LaVerne, two amazing ladies.  I have been coming here for every single one of my tours, dating back to 1996.  As soon as I walk in through the door Pat gives me a huge hug of welcome.  Would I like some lunch?  We have plenty of time.

We go across to the Virginia Grill across the street and order a bowl of peanut soup for Pat and a plate of chicken tenders for me.  We chat.  And chat. And chat. Presumably they are harvesting the peanuts by hand and chasing the chicken around the back yard, for the order seems to take forever to arrive and when it does, I have about 15 minutes before the start of my first show of the day.

I wolf down a few of the tenders and then run over to the shop to change.  Of course when you are in a hurry nothing goes right and I can’t get my buttons to do up properly and can’t get my cufflinks through their holes.  I put on my shoes and think that inevitably this will be the day that my laces break, so am very cautious pulling them tight.

At last I’m ready, grab my top hat, cane and scarf and march off along the street up towards the Ebenezer Chapel which is already full.  LaVerne is waiting for me there.  Straight away she walks to the front of the tiny hall and makes her introduction.

The audience is full of people who have been to my show multiple times.  There is no stage, no sound system, no lighting to speak of but there is an amazing atmosphere and the show is more like an English Pantomime than anything else.  Some members of the audience are mouthing along the lines and laughing before a gag, in anticipation.

I am giving it everything, probably too much, if truth be told: I will pay for it later, I am sure.  The audience is such fun however, so alive that I feel like a surfer riding a huge wave and I don’t want to lose a second of it.

About half way through, my tentative shoe tying comes back to bite me, as my left lace unravels itself and drags across the floor lying in wait to catch me out.  Once I am aware of it I make sure that I place my feet very carefully.

I have a special ‘adlib’ here in the Ebenezer Chapel.  I use it every year and every year everyone laughs as if it is the first time I’ve ever said it.  When Scrooge goes to Church and kneels in front of the altar, he turns his head back to the audience and says: ‘they even named it after me!’

At the end of the show there is only one way off stage and that is right through the middle of the audience, so there is much hand shaking and backslapping.  I grab a bottle of water and stand at the door, like a minister at the end of the Sunday service as everyone files out.

The signing session for this event is back at the store, so we all make our way along the street back to the Golden Goose, where I sit in a little room surrounded by Christmas trees.  I am assisted by Alyssa, one of the staff members, who takes pictures, chats and helps to unwrap various items ready for me to sign.  It makes so much difference having someone like this at the signing sessions and makes the whole process pass much more quickly.

So many familiar faces.  One lady used to see me in Californian and now lives in Virginia and comes every single year.  She has the sleeve to an audio cassette of A Christmas Carol that I recorded in 1994 and having asked me to sign it, she gives me a gift of her own.  It is a British Ha’penny, minted in 1861.  A good luck charm that she would like me to have, it is very lovely of her and very moving.

The line finishes, although I am waylaid a couple of times on my way to get changed by people who want yet more things signed, but at last I get out of my costume, ready for dinner back at the Grill.

This time we had pre ordered so there isn’t such a delay and I spend a very happy 40 minutes or so sitting with friends talking mainly about British TV drama.  I have the upper hand and valuable information:  I have seen the latest season of Downton Abbey….

All too soon it is time to get changed again and the afternoon’s events are repeated with slightly less panic.  I arrive at the hall, which is filling up again and LaVerne is waiting once more.  She makes her introductory remarks and I walk through the audience to begin.

I am paying for the excesses of this afternoon and the evening performance is more of a struggle both vocally and energetically but the audience loves it just the same and the reactions are just as powerful.  The ‘Ebenezer’ chapel gag gets the same reaction and the groupie audience love the additions that I’ve made over the past 12 months.

Another backslapping walk through the Church, more meeting and thanking at the Church door and another brisk walk back to the Golden Goose.

The line is shorter this time as a lot of the second audience joined the first signing session.  Alyssa and I work through the happy crowd until there is nobody left.  Except for 2 people waiting for me.  An old friend from my first performances in Williamsburg has come to see the show.  Carol Godwin used to be in charge of Public Relations at the Williamsburg Inn and we worked closely together for many years there.  She has brought her friend Mary with her to see the show and we are going to grab a drink somewhere afterwards.

I get changed and gather up all of my belongings from where they had been spread throughout the day.  There is a slight delay while I locate my cufflink box which actually is in the bottom of my bag and I am ready to go.  I bid fond farewells to Pat and LaVerne and all of the staff at The Golden Goose and they send me on my way with a bag of cookies and treats.  I love coming here and will return for as long as they invite me.  It is such a happy shop!

Carol, Mary and I go to the Virginia Grill, being the only place open in Occoquan, and have a lovely hour or so talking about old times at the Inn.  Mary is an International flight attendant for American Airlines and it is fascinating to talk about her job too.

Soon it is time to leave.  Carol and Mary back to DC and me back to my Hampton Inn a mile away.

I hang my costumes, sit in bed, munch some cookies and let my body relax.  It has been a tiring day and a stressful one in many ways, but oh, such fun.

 

Burlington

As 5am wake ups seem to be the norm at the moment, this morning is a normal one.  The early start gives me plenty of time to finish off yesterday’s blog, upload the photos and get it posted before having breakfast which is a simple continental affair in my room.

I have an exhausting shower (it is so powerful in this spacious bathroom, that it completely knocks the wind out of you) and then carefully pack all of my things, making sure that I’m not leaving anything anywhere.

Even at this hour of the day there are people playing the slots and provocatively dressed waitresses are gliding among the rows of machines ferrying drinks orders to the gamers.

However beautiful and friendly The Borgata is, one thing I won’t miss is the tobacco scented gaming  floor which is the hub from which everything else radiates.

I trail my bags through the hotel and to the car park, before loading up the Jeep and setting my SatNav for Burlington NJ.  The weather is foggy, wet and cold but being a Sunday morning the roads are relatively clear and the drive uneventful and unmemorable.

As I get closer to Burlington which is situated on the southern side of Philadelphia, it is noticeable that the snow is still laying much more thickly here and the sidewalks look icy and dangerous.  The road’s, however, have been well treated and are completely clear

Even though it is only 9.30 I go to my hotel to check in and there is a room available for me, which is wonderful.  I also have time to do one load of laundry before I need to drive into Burlington itself to get ready for the first of two shows today.

On the door next to mine is taped a little card, with a picture of a rather past-middle aged couple scantily dressed. ‘For fun, call us’ and then there are 2 cell numbers and an email contact. I hope that they are checking out today, or I may have trouble sleeping tonight.

With laundry completed and coffee drunk I get into the car and make my way towards Burlington.

My venue, as it has been for many years, is the Broad Street United Methodist Church, an impressive historic building in the very centre of downtown Burlington.  I have to circle the Church a couple of times to find a parking space, which is odd as in the past I’ve just been able to pull up outside until I realise that it is 11.30am on a Sunday morning, of course it is going to be busy.

I am flowing against the tide as I carry my costume bag and top hat into the Church.  Everyone is happy and smiling and among friends.  The main sanctuary of the Church is a lovely, open well lit space, with a balcony above.  I have always found it a most welcoming place as well as a beautiful venue to perform in.

Busy on stage is Laura Jaskot, moving a chair, table and stool into place ready for my show.  Helping her is her husband Joe, Marcia and her husband Bob who have formed my ‘team’ over the years here.  We all greet each other like the old friends that we are and continue to make preparations.

Once I am in my dressing room, Marcia appears with a tray laid with a teapot and a plate of cookies, she even bobs a little curtsey!  On the plate are M&M, raisin, choc chip and plain cookies.  These are welcome and I munch happily whilst reflecting upon how different my preparations are to my great great grandfathers.  I am indebted to my brother Ian for forwarding the following information about CD’s dressing room fare:

‘2 tablespoons of rum mixed with cream, a pint of champagne, sherry with a raw egg beaten in, a cup of beef tea and soup to end the day.’

Tea, no rum, sherry or champagne

Beneath the main church there is a large room, which is laid out with tables for refreshments after the show.  An army of volunteers are folding programmes, plating up cakes, cookies and other delights, making soup, tea and coffee.  It really is a community effort here.

Laura has been eagerly following my blog over the last few weeks, so is keen to let everyone know about it.  My cards are going to handed out with every programme.

Preparations

In my dressing room there are shelves containing tins and jars of foodstuff ready to be distributed.  On the peanut butter shelf four jars are lined up looking as if they are auditioning to become new members of Snow White’s dwarfs: Skippy, Creamy, Jif and Crunchy.

Dwarfs 8-11

As 1 o’clock approaches the audience are piling in and a good crowd it is too.  When we are ready to go, Laura steps onto the stage to make her introductory remarks.  Unfortunately she gets a bit tongue tied whilst attempting to caution people to move quietly if they have to go to the restroom.  What she means to point out is that it is an old building and it creaks a lot, which may disturb other audience members, what she actually says is: ‘If you do need to use the bathroom, remember that this is an old building and everyone can hear everything!’  After that warning I’m sure that nobody will move and will suffer with legs crossed until the show is over.

The show is lovely.  Throughout the tours I always try and give myself new little challenges, for instance making Marley more dead was one such a few days ago.  Sometimes I make wholesale changes to a scene and sometimes I just try and achieve something small, something that probably only I would notice.  It helps keep the show fresh to do this.  Today I decide that in the very brief moment when Scrooge is standing at Marley’s graveside he must be recognisably seven years younger than he is during the rest of the show.  It’s slightly OCD, I know, but it keeps my brain active and focussed.

This afternoon’s audience is a great mix of those who have seen the show multiple times and plenty of first timers, which is always fun.  There is a sense of initiation from the experienced club members and they laugh knowingly as the newbies are pulled into the story.  The set up of the Church allows me some moments in among the audience and they all play their parts to the full.  The show finishes triumphantly and we all move downstairs.

By the time I have changed costumes there is already a very long queue waiting for me.  At the head of it, by my table is Laura’s mother who keeps the line moving and takes pictures when required.  On the table is another lovely tray of tea and cookies.

The signing line goes on for a long time.  Lots of audience members are sat at tables enjoying the refreshments laid on and as they see the queue shortening, grab their books and join on the end.   I am beginning to feel tired but everyone is so friendly and enthusiastic that it is a pleasure to meet them all.

At one point the wailing sirens and clanging bells of a fire truck are heard in the streets and everyone rushes to the window to stare but this is no case of morbid fascination about some disaster or other, no, today Santa Claus is being driven throughout the streets of downtown Burlington by the Fire Department.

Eventually I am able to get back to the dressing room and change.  As has become tradition a group of us go to dinner at a lovely Italian restaurant around the corner from the Church, Francesco’s. I have a lovely bowl of pasta and the conversation is bright and cheerful.  During our dinner Santa wails and clangs his way past us again.  The streets are deserted and it must be a rather strange feeling for him up there waving to nobody.  I think back to Santa Mike at The Borgata and his descriptions of his various bookings.

During dinner Laura is fending off compliments about her organisation of these events and it is a massive undertaking on her part. Brushing off the praise she says, ‘what do I do?  I have lots of volunteers, they come to me and ask me what to do.  I tell them find something that’s not being done and do it!’  her husband Joe, with quiet and impeccable timing responds: ‘It’s the same at home.’

Seriously, Laura does do an amazing job for the Church.

After dinner we all troop back along the icy sidewalks to the Church.  I see that there is now plenty of parking and decide to fetch my car and bring it closer.  Laura shows me where there is a parking lot immediately behind the Church and waits until I pull up.  As an avid reader of the blog she is pleased to be introduced to Manx, the Jeep.

We now have almost 2 hours before the next show and I gratefully lay on the sofa and have a nap.  I am roused from it at 6.20 by Marcia bringing me a fresh tray of tea.  It really is most civilised.

The evening audience is much smaller.  The weather is icy and it is a work morning tomorrow so only about 70 have braved it.  However every one of them deserves as good a show as I can give them, so any thoughts of fatigue are banished and I get myself into the right frame of mind to give 100% once more.

During the show something happens that I have been waiting for 6 years for.  Outside the Church is a tram line and as the trams rattle along they sound a bell of warning. For the very first time in 6 years the timing is perfect:

‘As he watched, this bell slowly began to swing and so did every bell in the house…’ bang on cue a tram rumbles passed bells jangling.  Everybody hears it and laughs.

I am so pleased with this evening show.  With a small audience it could drift into an unmemorable and disappointing performance, but I keep the energy up and work hard, as does the audience.  It is less theatrical than say the massive spaces of the Borgata or even of this afternoon’s show.  It is more like storytelling and as my first memory of A Christmas Carol is of it being read to me in bed on Christmas Eve, it’s a rather nice atmosphere in the room.

The bell ringing

‘So very confidential together, behind the curtains….’

 

There is no standing ovation, but that doesn’t matter.  I know that I have done a good job and that the audience has loved it. This is borne out in the signing room where the conversation and chat is even more animated than this afternoon.  One lady very kindly gives me a copy of an amazing Christmas Carol popup book, signed by her and her family. ‘You have been so kind signing everything for us in the past we wanted to give you something from us.’  Very very special.

After changing and gathering up my belongings I say good bye to everyone and head back to my hotel, where exhausted by the day’s efforts I get straight to bed (the card has gone from room 151, so hopefully my seep will be uninterrupted).

There cannot be two more contrasting venues than the glitz, bright lights and razzmatazz of The Borgata and the gentle quiet Church community of Broad Street United Methodist, yet they nestle alongside each other on my itinerary and both have provided me with unforgettable memories.

 

 

 

 

 

 

The Music Box

Sparrow

Today is actually very quiet until this afternoon, which is good because I had a broken night of sleep.  It was one of those nights when you think you’ve slept soundly for hours, wake up and discover you’ve actually been asleep for 30 minutes.

I make coffee and decide to really schlep, so I order room service breakfast and get on with writing the blog, replying to emails and general housekeeping.

Later in the morning I go down to the Casino level and have a coffee and Danish in a lovely little café just off the main gaming floor.  A few single folk are sitting around all involved in their own thoughts and worlds and not engaging with anyone else.  Myself included.

I sit at a table and suddenly I am aware of some movement at the periphery of my vision.  I look up and there is a little sparrow sat on the table next to mine.  He hops about, then flies to my table.  I grab the camera and take a couple of pictures.  One of the other singletons smiles at me and says ‘You have to be quick to catch him!’  The bird then flaps off and sits on the floor, at which point one of the staff members, who had been rather sullen and surly walks over: ‘Did I see a bird in here? Hey, there his is!’ He calls to another member of staff ‘should we get someone to remove him?’  Another customer: ‘He’s cute, he’s not doing anyone any harm.’  And so it goes on.  This one little sparrow has single handidly (single clawdly?) made us all communicate with each other and smile.

The Sociable Sparrow

Eventually a security guard arrives, complete with automatic pistol, baton and probably a taser as well.  He has a badge.  He takes control.  ‘C’mon Guy, let’s move along here.’  The sparrow doesn’t have great respect for authority and refuses to leave.  You have to feel a bit for the security guard, this probably wasn’t what he had in mind when he was given the job of casino security.  It’s not exactly Ocean’s 11.

The morning drifts on and it is time to pack the costume bag up and head to the Music Box Theatre.  2 complete costumes, braces, socks, cufflinks, watch.  Top hat, cane and scarf.  Camera bag, blog business cards.  Check! Ready to go.

 

The Music Box

I’m met by Ben Feranda who heads up the theatre team.  I worked with him last year and he is very friendly and cooperative.  Also there is a 2 man stage management team along with David the Sound and Wayne the Lights.

The raw materials for my set are gathered in the centre of the stage so I move them around and do a sound check also taking the opportunity to survey the auditorium.  The Music Box holds just short of 1000 people and is a magnificent facility.  In fact it is very like the theatres onboard cruise ships, with state of the art equipment.

The Music Box

The Music Box

 

Wayne comes down with the script and we start going through the lighting cues which are anything but complicated, however he is very worried that he won’t get the desk programmed in time.  The show is at 4, the doors open at 3, and it is now 2.15.  He rushes up to the lighting box and starts to work.

Back stage David the Sound is bemoaning a potentially severe sound problem he has during the forthcoming burlesque show in the theatre.  At one point one of the girls will be wearing a nurses costume which will be open, revealing all beneath and he is worried about where he can clip the microphone.  I mention to him that possibly he has been doing the job too long if, faced with a semi naked nurse, his biggest concern is finding somewhere for the microphone!

Wayne the Lights is seriously panicking now and I go up to the lighting box to go through all of the cues with him.  His fingers work the electronic console quickly, knowing exactly what he is doing.  He creates all of the moods I want, and we go through the script over and over.  For some reason the desk doesn’t memorise the cues, so we have to go through them again and once they are in the memory, go through again just to check.  At 2.59 and 56 seconds (I kid you not), we finish.

Wayne working the cues

 

Preparation

I make my way back stage as the house doors open and chat with Ben in the wings about all sorts of things.  At about 3.20 he goes to check front of house and I get into my costume.  The dressing room boasts lots of mirrors, and just as I’ve got into my waistcoat I catch sight of myself and think: ‘what a good photo opportunity.  I can put it in the blog tomorrow captioned: ‘Ready for the Off’.  I am about to take the picture when I realise that I haven’t got my shoes on, and some clever soul will point out that I am about to perform shoeless.  I go to my costume bag and find it devoid of shoes.

I have left them up in my room, on the 31^st floor!  I quickly get the waistcoat off, put a sweater on over the formal shirt, leave the theatre, cross the gaming floor, up in the lift, pick up the shoes, back down in the lift, cross the gaming floor and back into the theatre.  20 minutes to go.

I get into costume again, put my shoes on and take that damned picture!

Ready for the off: with shoes!

 

Ben gives me a very short introduction and I walk out into the first lighting cue.  Wayne’s off and running too.

The audience is a little quiet at first and I am aware of a couple of people leaving, obviously not their thing.  I keep the story moving, focussing, concentrating, using the space available to me.

Wayne’s lighting moods work so well and the blue cold seeping up around Scrooge as Marley appears is particularly effective as is the light dimming leaving just a dim pool on Scrooge’s chair as he falls asleep.

The next cue is on: ‘…when the Church clock tolled a deep, dull, melancholy ONE!’  at which point bright light is supposed to spring up.  But nothing, just the little pool on the chair.  Ah, I realise what’s happened, Wayne assumed that there would be an actual sound effect.  So instead of leaping from the chair I remain where I am and hope that he has looked a few lines ahead and has noticed what is coming:

‘But the strangest thing about it was, that from the crown of its head there sprung a bright clear jet of light, by which all this was visible.’  Sure enough, up come the lights.  Brilliant!

The show moves on and the audience become more involved and animated.  Soon they are ‘Oooooohing and Aaaahing’ over the Cratchits Christmas lunch.

They are silent when Scrooge is shown the heartbroken Bob in the future and laughing as he shouts to the little boy on Christmas morning.

‘God Bless Us, Every One! And a resounding standing ovation with whoops and bravos.

In the dressing room I am changing and Wayne comes in to explain what happened with the bell tolling ‘One.’  Sure enough he was waiting for an actual audio cue and was shouting down the talk back system to stage management asking what had happened to it.   I congratulated him on realising the problem and picking up the next suitable line.  Apparently, on talking to the other crew members, Wayne is known to be a little highly strung.  From what I saw he wants to do nothing more than a perfect job and gets frustrated when things conspire against him.  They are all a really good team to work with.

I go to the foyer and sign and pose, although it’s not a long queue by any means, then go back to the dressing room to change, making doubly sure that I have packed everything this time.

 

Evening at the Old Homestead

Back on the 31^st floor I go through the routine of hanging things up to air and then write up today’s blog as tomorrow morning I have to be on my way fairly early.

I am feeling ravenous, as I haven’t really eaten properly today, so I take myself to The Old Homestead Restaurant in the hotel, which serves steak and seafood.

At the Maitre D’s podium I ask if there is a table, or I’m happy to sit at the bar and he says that there is plenty of room at the back bar.

‘Name?’

‘Dickens’

‘First name?’

‘Gerald’

‘Yeah, I thought it was you!  You did a show, right?  Apparently it was really great.   Good job! Follow me’

That gives me a nice glow.

The back bar faces into the kitchen and it is fascinating to watch the dishes being prepared at the different work stations.  Just near to me a chef is preparing all of the shellfish dishes.  He is an artist, building up extravagant displays on mounds of crushed ice before adding samphire, clams, lobster tails, crab and all sorts of decoration.  It is astounding to watch him work.

An artist at work

I have a simple grilled chicken and asparagus dish which is tender and delicious.

I am back in my room by 8.30 and get into bed for an early night.  I have 3 very busy days coming up as I pitch headlong into the final week of the tour, so a good night’s sleep will be more than welcome.

 

 

 

Rolling with the High Rollers

Phone

In the lovely surroundings of the Fairville Inn Carriage House, I wake and prepare to start writing my blog, using the notes I’d made yesterday:  No phone.  I look in my coat, my bag, my costume carrier.  No phone.   I know that I had it at dinner last night.  I must have left it on the table when I left.  At last, my demon has struck.

I doubt that Buckleys Tavern will be open before I get on the road, so I will need to phone them and have it shipped on to one of the future venues.  Damn, I was so proud of myself and thought I may get to the end with all of my belongings intact.

I set about writing and trying to recall of the details of yesterday.  I write until 8am, which is when I have told Laura that I will be having breakfast.  As I walk past I have a look around the car on the ice to see if my phone had dropped out of my coat pocket as I got out of the car.  No phone.  One more look in the car.  Phone.  AhHaaaaaaa! On the floor, beneath the passenger seat: YAYYYYY!  Sorry, little things please me on the road.

I enter the dining room with sense of euphoria and am greeted by Laura, Rick and Ozzie.  They were at my show yesterday afternoon (not Ozzie), and we chat about it.  Laura said she’d noticed some changes to the show and was particularly impressed by Jacob Marley’s lifeless expression.  It is very gratifying to hear that the change I’d made has worked from an audience’s perspective.

Breakfast is lovely and refined and the chat about the shows continues with two of the guests who also saw it yesterday. ‘How do you remember all of those lines?’

I go back to my room and finish the blog adding in some details that I see on the phone notes, before packing up and driving away at about 10.00.  I have christened the Jeep ‘Manx’ because it has no tail.

 

On the Road

This morning I am driving to the gambling mecca of Atlantic City and the route takes me past Philadelphia which boasts one of the most beautiful skylines in America, I think.

At one intersection the road goes beneath a bridge which had been constructed with prefabricated concrete slabs.  In the small gaps between the concrete, water obviously drips and, as with the roadside cliffs yesterday, the sudden temperature drop has frozen the water, meaning I am driving through a tunnel of icicles, hanging like swords of Damocles just above the car roof.

I am running low on fuel so I set my Sat Nav to find the nearest gas station.  I am directed off the main road and through a residential area in the middle of which my guide confidently announces ‘You have arrived at your destination’.  Not a fuel station in sight.  I give her the benefit of the doubt, maybe there used to be one, although I doubt it.  I ask her to find the next nearest one and off we drive again.  ‘Turn Left’ she tells me at huge dual carriageway with a concrete central reservation barring me from the opposite carriageway.

I give up on her, turn the opposite way and immediately arrive at a Gulf filling station that she had forgotten to mention.

With the tank full I head off towards Atlantic City, on the Atlantic City Expressway.  The road is soulless. Compared to the roads I have been on recently, from the seedy to the pastoral, this one is just straight, wide and dull.

The inevitable Christmas station is on the radio, there is a commercial that I’ve heard a few times in the Philadelphia area, for a store called Ollies and they have naturally used the Burl Ives classic Holly Jolly Christmas for their jingle.

The rewrite makes no attempt to rhyme or scan but panders to the company’s greed for custom.  The jingle runs:

Have a jolly Ollie’s Christmas

It’s the best time of the year

Say hello to friends you know

And don’t forget your wallet

Soon I am arriving in Atlantic City and as this is my second year here I know where I am headed.  I can see my destination, the towering glittering gold towers of the Borgata Hotel and Casino far to my left.

 

The Borgata

I follow the signs and soon am in the parking garage and unloading my bags.  I take the lift to the Casino level and my senses are immediately assaulted.  Noise, light, rush.

I have to put on record that I am not a casino person, I don’t understand them.  I have visited a few over the years, some for work, some as a tourist.  I have been to Monte Carlo, Macau, Melbourne and Las Vegas but have never been tempted to play, I just don’t understand how to and have no desire to learn.

Of course slots are easy but the gaming tables themselves seem alien to me and I’m sure if I sat down at one my naivety would shine through and the vultures would instantly descend.

So, I’m not a gambler but I do appreciate the extraordinary surroundings that I find myself in.  The Borgata is a truly amazing building, very elegant and well designed.

At check in, which is more akin to an airport concourse, than a hotel, I am called forward and the girl at the desk immediately says: ‘Oh, you are our performer, I was reading about your show in our staff newsletter, it sounds amazing: how does the show work, what do you do?’  What a lovely welcome.  For all of its huge size the Borgata is a very friendly place.

Check in complete I take the lift to the top floor, 31 and walk to my room.  It is huge, so big that it takes a long time to find a wardrobe to hang my costumes in.  The bathroom is larger than many of my hotel rooms on the tour.  The view is towards the ocean, across flatlands that were destroyed by Hurricane Sandy last year.

On the desk I find myself looking at me from a  flier advertising forthcoming shows in the hotel’s theatre The Music Box.

Here’s Looking at You

I just have time to take in my surroundings before going to the great Ballroom in the hotel’s Events Center, where I am due to appear tonight.  I meet with the event coordinator Sally Nickel who, as her job title suggests, is coordinating the event.

This isn’t a show, it is a dinner.  It is a dinner for the casino’s most favoured loyal customers, the highest of the high rollers.  The Titanium Club members.

The Ballroom is a major venue and some of the top names in rock and roll and comedy have played here.  Tonight it is in dining room mode with tables laid for probably 2000 guests.  Every table has  an extravagant floral arrangement and is laid with military precision.  In the centre of the room is a high stage onto which a grand piano is being hoisted.  Above the stage are four huge video screens ready to broadcast to the four compass points of the room.  There is a large team at work each and every one of who know exactly what their role is and getting on with it quietly and with great efficiency.

The Ballroom

Sally takes me to my dressing room and we run through the plan for the evening.  The dinner lasts from 7 until 8.30 and during it there will be various performances and events as the managers of the casino thank and seduce their guests.

My part of the proceedings is to briefly appear as ‘Scrooge’ marching through the room all curmudgeonly, berating all and sundry until I reach the stage.  There it is suggested that maybe we should embrace the spirit of the season and give out some gifts;  More ‘Bah, Humbug’ ing until the new executive in charge of the slots announces that everyone in the room will have a free $250 credit.  And that will be me done.

‘Oh, one more thing, we thought it may be nice if you could pose with guests for some photographs as they arrive?’  It all sounds easy enough.

Meeting finished I pick up a salad to take to my room and call by the business centre where there is a parcel waiting for me.  This, at last, is the delivery of business cards that I ordered earlier in the trip, with the blog address on it.  The idea is to have them at my signing sessions, so that people can follow along and see what I say about them.  It is rather late in the tour, but it will be interesting to see how the numbers stack up from now on.

I go back to my room, have lunch and re pack my suitcase.  It has become an awful mess over the last few days and I’m much happier after I’ve folded and re-laid everything in a more orderly manner.

Order

 

Dinner

At 5.00 I take my costume and go back to the ballroom.  I go to my dressing room that I am due to share with Santa.  And there he is already in costume, with a magnificent beard and deep rich velvet red tunic.  Scrooge and Santa in the same room, I’m sure that Pinter could have written a brilliant duologue.

We are due to run through the entire dinner with all involved.  The evening is to be hosted by Joe Intilli, one of the managers and it is his job to keep the whole thing running to schedule.  He will welcome the performers, call other managers and executives to the stage, help to reveal the gifts for the audience.

There is a group of carol singers, Santa, myself and 4 Borgata Babes.  We all discuss our respective roles and then it is time to start.  The doors are opened at 6.30 and the mayhem begins.

The Carol Singers are amazing, they are all studying singing at Princeton, where I was a week or so ago.  It sounds like a cathedral choir is singing, rather than 4 students.

Remember the suggestion that I should pose for photographs?  Easy, right?  Ha!  I am working with one photographer and 2 Babes and together we have to cover half of the room.  Every table, every couple.

‘Hi,’ says the photographer, already taking a picture of the table number for reference.  ‘You want your picture with Charles Dickens, great.  Smile!’ click.  The Babes and I have to make sure that we are behind the couple smiling, before we shuffle through 90 degrees for the next couple.  It is manic!

Among it all though lots of people say ‘How wonderful, we’re coming to see your show tomorrow’, or, ‘we saw you last year.  Amazing!’  And so it goes on. Smile. Click. Shuffle. Smile. Click.  These pictures will be printed and delivered to the relevant table later in the evening.

The entertainment continues, the house band and singer belt out Christmas songs, but nobody is listening to them.

Santa and I are back in our dressing room and chat about life on the road at this time of year and theatre in general.  The beard is off and the tunic undone.  It is mighty hot in the ballroom with 2000 people and probably as many lights.

7.40 and it is my turn.  I get the cue and we do our little skit on stage leading up to 2 of the Babes unwrapping a huge $250 Slots Credit board.  Whoops and cheers and delight from all of the guests.  Joe thanks me, introduces the ‘real’ me and plugs my show in the theatre tomorrow and then I am done for now.

The guest entertainer for the evening is Andrea McCardle who was the first actress to play Little Orphan Annie in the Broadway musical.  Joe welcomes her to the stage.  Well.  Annie has all growed up.  She is in a red dress, as the character wears and she has red hair.  But Annie was never curved like that!  More Jessica Rabbit than little orphan.  The crowd love it and when she sings ‘Tomorrow’ there is great applause.

The final part of the show is for Joe and the President of the Casino to announce the Christmas gift to all of their Titanium members.  Babes on stage again and the reveal: a prepaid $500 American Express card to spend as you want.  2000 people cheering and clapping.

Our final job of the day is to stand at the exit door and wish everyone a Merry Christmas and line the way to collect their gift cards.  There is a rush as soon as the doors are open, to get to the desks and get the present.

I’m standing with the choir and lots of people say how wonderful they were and how beautifully they sung.  As we are all in Victorian Costume I am included in all of their praise, which is very nice.

Santa and the Babes are on the other side and are favourites for photographs but everything is fun and good natured.

At last the last guests leave and we all go back to our dressing rooms.  Santa Mike and I change.  No, children, I am not telling you what Santa wears under his Red clothes…..

Mike has to drive home so we say our goodbyes and go our separate ways.  The ballroom is being broken down again.

I go back to my room and on the way see that many of the dinner guests are already at the slot machines or at gaming tables ensuring that the Borgata’s largesse is paying off already.

There is a bar which is quiet, so I sit there and have a pizza and a glass of wine before going back to my suite and bed.

As I say, this is not my world, but it is extraordinary to get a peek into it.