Christmas Has Begun

Sunday, November 29

Waking at 6 is a luxury that I haven’t been afforded for a long time, and it feels rather good.  The room at The Beechwood not only boasts a Keurig coffee maker, but real china mugs, with handles too. The smallest things can make a happy start to the day.

I dress quickly and go to the restaurant for breakfast, where I have simple fare of cereal, fruit and a croissant, before returning to my room to watch the Abu Dhabi Formula One Grand Prix, which is another disappointing race, marking the end of a disappointing season.

As I watch the race, I write the blog and send emails, all of which neatly takes me to the falling of the chequered flag, and Nico Rosberg’s celebrations.  I switch the TV off before the drivers get to the podium to spray whatever non-alcoholic beverage is replacing the traditional champagne.

For the next hour or so I pace around the room rehearsing Doctor Marigold, which I will be performing this evening.  I correct a few minor errors, but on the whole the words come pouring out as if I have been performing it as regularly as A Christmas Carol.

With my rehearsing finished I get everything ready for the day’s shows, which doesn’t take too long as most of the costume is already hanging up back at Vaillancourts.  As I leave the room and the door shuts, I suddenly realise that I have left the key cards inside.  Oh well, I can get replacements at the desk, but there is a sense of such finality as that lock clicks into place.

The day is so blue, bright and clear – Worcester reminds me of California, and that can’t have been said about it very often!

The turn off to the freeway is closed from my direction, due to road works, so I drive on, knowing that I can make my way through the middle of town and pick the road up further along.  My Hertz sat nav unit is very unadventurous and doesn’t want to share my new route.  She keeps pleading, almost whining, ‘make a legal U-turn.’

Charles Dickens visited Worcester twice and I pass a business that may either a) have been named in honour of one of his characters; or b) inspired him: Blodgett and Blodgett:  Attorney-at-Law.  Wonderful!

The drive to Sutton is easy, and there are lots of cars on the roads with Christmas trees strapped to their roofs.  Maybe this is where the tour will become Christmassy at last, certainly Brenda Lee thinks so as she belts out Rockin’ Around the Christmas Tree from my radio.

Sun-Drenched Mills

I arrive at the sun-drenched mill buildings at around 12.30, and the first job is to spend time with Gary and his travel agent Alden to work out a few details about the tour which they are bringing to England next Summer.

I will be joining the group for two days: one in London and one in Kent, and this is an opportunity to discuss where we can visit.  The London day will be centred on Dickens’s grave at Westminster Abbey and the Museum in Doughty Street.  I also suggest a visit to the Borough of Southwark, south of the river, where Charles’s father was imprisoned in the Marshalsea Debtor’s Prison.

The Inns of Court will make a good walking tour and we can end up on The Strand, where Dickens worked in Warren’s Blacking Factory.  There is a blue plaque to mark the site, and it proudly proclaims that ‘Charles Dickens, novelist, worked here as a child.’; which seeing as it is fixed to a TGI Friday’s restaurant, conjures up all sorts of strange images!

For lunch I think we have a choice of three fine establishments:  The Cheshire Cheese in Fleet Street (mentioned extensively in A Tale of Two Cities); Rules in Covent Garden (which has a Charles Dickens private dining room); and of course our old family favourite The George and Vulture in the heart of the city, roughly on the site of Ebenezer Scrooge’s counting house.

The group will be staying in a London hotel and Liz will be joining me, so that we can perform together.  I check with Alden that the hotel in question has a piano and he confirms that it does.

On to Kent: Gad’s Hill Place, The Historic Dockyard, Rochester High Street and the Cooling Marshes where the opening chapters of Great Expectations is set, all feature heavily, with the possibility of lunch at The Old Leather Bottle, in Cobham.

We are all becoming more and more excited at the prospect of the trip.  Alden and I need to go away and continue planning.  We will liaise over the next few months, and create a package that maybe will become a blue print for other groups in the future.

For now though, I have a show to do and the audience is beginning to muster in the store.  They are not let into the theatre itself yet, so there is nothing for it but to peruse the displays.  If one of them should maybe want to make a purchase, well I am sure the Vaillancourts won’t mind that.

Meanwhile I lay a business card advertising my blog on each chair, before getting into costume and preparing.  It is another sell out crowd, so the show will be another hot work out.  Fortunately I am in my ‘thin’ coat again.

Laying Out My Cards

With five minutes to go I slip into the back of the hall, where Anna (Gary and Judi’s daughter in law) is sat bouncing little Nathaniel on her knee.  Although only nine months old, he is remarkably alert and taking everything in.  He loves the fiddle and harmonica playing, and bounces happily on Anna’s knee.

The folk duo make their way off stage, still playing as they leave the room and Gary makes his announcement, before A Christmas Carol begins again.

The show is subtly different to the one I performed here last year.  Most of the changes I made came in the second half of the 2014 tour, so the audiences are seeing them for the first time and the reaction has been very positive.  People love the musical beginning, and the slight re-structuring of some of the scenes.

The show is, as expected hot, but another very good and passionate one.  There is such a connection and closeness with the audience here, that the shows become extremely intimate.  I think that the Fezziwig-style setting of an old warehouse adds to the atmosphere too.

In the signing line is an old friend of many years, Robin Mc Fee who always comes to one of the shows, and who always presents me with British fare to make me feel at home on the road – McVities biscuits feature heavily.

Robin is also a keen follower of the blog, and after I had mentioned my brother Ian’s book Sea Change, she immediately ordered it and loved it.  Robin is a keen sailor and races each summer, so could fully appreciate Ian’s sense of adventure and exhilaration as he raced around the globe.

Between shows lunch is laid out once more and today there are delicious pies and vegetables.  The gap since my frugal breakfast has been a long one, so I hungrily clean my plate.

I need to look at the stage now and decide how I want it set for Marigold.  Removing Scrooge’s furniture is the first thing, as the fairground pedlar, Doctor Marigold would not be plying his trade indoors.

I had noticed an old green wheelbarrow buried between various boxes in the back store room, so I manage to liberate that and wheel it to the stage: it looks excellent.  I had also seen a heavy wooden crate, which will be perfect to stand on as Marigold sells his wares.  Unfortunately the crate was part of an elaborate display in the store, but Judi makes other arrangements, and brings it to the stage.  Perfect.

In the auditorium Gary and Judi present me with a very generous gift of their new range of A Christmas Carol ornaments, which they offer to ship back to England for me.

The show starts an hour earlier tonight, so having thanked them, it is time to get on.

In My Dressing Room: he must have seen me changing!

I get into costume, which doesn’t feature a frock coat, but does feature an unbuttoned waistcoat and casually rolled up sleeves.  A cravat is tied loosely round my neck, and I clip the microphone to it, but fearing that it may rustle, ask Randy if we can do a quick sound check.  I go into Marigold Mode, and perform a few lines, casually putting my foot on the wheel of the barrow – which instantly tips over in a most undignified way: I’m very glad we did this sound check, or that would have happened during the show itself.

The audience is, inevitably, smaller but Gary has papered the house with a few comps, and there is a decent number sat before me as I take to the stage.  I chat for a little while about how Dickens created the charming story of Doctor Marigold and then I begin: ‘I am a cheapjack…’

It is such a lovely story, and always surprising to an audience who have no idea where the plot is going.  The central character, Doctor Marigold (christened Doctor, rather than being a medical practitioner), is such a good, generous man and it is my supreme good fortune and pleasure to be able to inhabit him for an hour.

The story ends and there are, as ever, tears among the applause.  As the show is short and as the audience is mainly made up of loyal supporters, I take a few questions, and get to recount some of the anecdotes that I was going to deliver last night.

The whole evening finishes with roars of laughter as I once again tell the story of my father building me a cockerel costume for the school nativity.

Most of the people there have already had books signed during the past two days, but there are plenty who want to pose for photographs.  It is still early though when we are finished, and I go back to the dressing room where I make sure that I have EVERYTHING with me.

Tonight, rather than going back to the hotel Luke and Anna have invited me to their home for wine and cheese and conviviality.  I last saw their house two years ago when it was nothing more than a concrete shell.  It is beautiful and nestles in a woodland setting, looking as if it has been there for generations.

Inside, the house is very stylishly decorated and furnished.  A log fire crackles on the hearth and the smoke whirls up the brick chimney. The area in front of the tree is dominated by a large Christmas tree perfectly decorated (featuring lots of Vaillancourt Santas, of course) and the whole house looks as if it should be part of a Christmas magazine feature – which coincidentally is what it is going to be in two weeks.

Anna pours wine and we all sit around the fire nibbling cheese and talking about this and that.

Gary, Luke and Anna

Outside in the woods there is the frame of another house, into which Gary and Judi will move next year. These are perfect surroundings for little Nathanial to grow up in, surrounded by his loving parents and grandparents.

The evening draws on and I say my goodbyes before driving back to the hotel.  The route takes me along rural roads through small towns, and Christmas lights are twinkling in the trees and on the houses.  It never fails to amaze me how well America does Christmas lights

Yes, I definitely think that Christmas has begun.

I get back to the hotel, ask for a replacement room key and retire to bed.

As ever my time in Sutton has been warm and fun – hard work and physical, but surrounded on all sides by deep, genuine friendship.

 

Links:

For details of the Dickens Tour of England, contact Vaillancourt Folk Art through the website:

https://valfa.com/

 

 

 

 

 

 

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An Unexpected Carol

Saturday, November 28

I wake at 4: ping! knowing instantly that I have left my scarf on stage again.  At this early hour my mind is completely consumed with the importance of this realisation, and there is no chance of getting back to sleep.  I search for solutions and work out that I have plenty of time to drive back to the Wilton High School this morning before heading to Massachusetts.  Except, it is Saturday. There may be a rehearsal or something in the theatre: it’s worth a go I suppose.

I slowly get myself gathered and ready (not many sit-ups this morning, I’m ashamed to say).  I take huge delight in packing my new suitcase, which seems to swallow all of my clothes most efficiently.

At 8.30 I leave the room, abandoning my lonely old case, and load the car before returning to the lobby to start the orange juicer juicing, and coffee grinder grinding.  I order a plate of salmon and hard-boiled eggs and settle down to enjoy my breakfast.

I leave the Even Hotel at 9.15 and drive to the theatre, which is of course firmly locked up.  I knock hopefully on a few doors, but there is no reply, which is not surprising.  From the theatre I drive back to the Historical Christmas Barn, so that I can let Gary and Jenn know about the scarf, and hopefully make arrangements for them to send it on to me.  Unfortunately the store is deserted too.  There will be no scarf rescue this morning.

I set the sat nav unit and head my Nissan towards Sutton, Mass.  The road is clear, and the weather, although overcast, is dry.

I am amazed at the amount of damage to the crash barriers and arresting cables along the route:  they have obviously been hit on many occasions, and many look to be little more than ramps ready to launch a wayward car into the trees beyond.  At one point a long stretch of barrier separating the two carriageways is completely flat, meaning that any out of control vehicle would create havoc and result in major, albeit needless carnage.  I concentrate a little harder as I drive on.

The journey is going well, and I am soon approaching Hartford, with its beautiful skyline – one I will never tire of admiring.  It is only a brief glimpse, however, as I take the I84, which sweeps me away and towards Boston.

The roads are still clear and I am making excellent time, although the weather is closing in now.  As I cross the Massachusetts state line a few drops of rain splat onto my windscreen, which proves to be the precursor to a major storm. Soon the road is flooded.

I am still scheduled to arrive very early, so rather than heading straight to Vaillancourt Folk Art in Sutton, I reset my navigation unit to take me to the Beechwood Hotel in Worcester, where I can sort out my costumes ready for the performances ahead.  I leave the I84 to join the I90 Mass Pike and instantly hit traffic.  Mile after mile after mile of stationary traffic:  red tail lights fragmented by the rain stretching ahead, and similarly kaleidoscoped white lights in my mirror.  There is nothing to do but sit it out.

I am due at the Vaillancourts premises at 12.30, and at 12 I am still crawling only a few feet at a time.  I call and speak to Gary Vaillancourt to let him know that I am close (only twenty miles away), but stuck.  He confirms that a truck has turned over and I90 is as good as gridlocked.

The minutes tick by and I edge my way forward.  Paul Simon’s Graceland is playing and I sing along loudly (don’t damage those vocal chords, Gerald), until I reach the scene of the accident, which has now been cleared away.  There is sand on the road, to soak up the spilled fuel, and the steel barrier is curved like a piece of modern art, but the truck and its occupants have been removed.

All of that pent-up traffic is released and there is a serious possibilities of further accidents as impatient drivers accelerate hard, swerving from lane to lane in order to make good their escape.

All thoughts of a hotel check-in now gone, I leave 90 and am soon driving on familiar roads towards Sutton: there is dear old Oxford, and the road to Purgatory Chasm, where I walked in the snow last year.  There is Armsby Roadm where the Vaillancourts live, and then I am making my way to Main Street, and pulling into the Vaillancourt Folk Art parking lot, which is already filling up ready for my show.

I am on familiar ground here, as I have been performing for Gary and Judi for six years.  I walk into the Christmas wonderland of their store, and instantly see Luke (2^nd generation Vaillancourt), holding Nathaniel (3^rd generation).  Luke’s wife Anna is here too and little Nathaniel is being fussed over by a full complement of grandparents.

Gary shakes me warmly by the hand, and welcomes me ‘home’.

Although time is not too pressing, I do need to get the sound checks done before the audience can be admitted, so I head straight for the theatre that is created in the converted mill building.  As ever Judi has created a wonderful set, complete with windows, portraits, an impressive clock and an elegant chandelier hung at a perfect height, so that I can grab it as the Ghost of Christmas Present.

I know that the sound guy, Randy, will do a superb job with the microphone levels and we spend five minutes tweaking bass, treble and volume until everything is perfect.  We repeat the process with a back-up mic, and then run the musical introduction.

I then return to my car, where the costumes are on the back seat of the car.  Because I have not come directly from a hotel I have not been able to ‘steal’ any coat hangers, so I carry my clothes to the dressing room in an unseemly bundle, which I deposit messily on the table.

Before….

Fortunately there is a hanging rail, complete with hangers, so I can soon restore the frock coats, waistcoats and trousers to a more traditional state.

….After

The audience are filing in now, and I spend some time just trying to calm down and relax before the show.  I pace around the warehouse, where there are little bits of Dickens everywhere I look: a huge cut-out illustration of Mr and Mrs Fezziwig, a replica of Dickens’s reading desk, and glass Christmas ornaments  depicting Marley’s Ghost.

There are shelves upon shelves of chalkware santas, some of which are beautifully painted, others which are in their virgin state awaiting decoration, for this is what the Vaillancourts produce here.

As 2 o’clock approaches I go to the theatre and sit quietly at the back, watching the folk duo playing fiddle and harmonica on the stage, entertaining the audience.

Gary makes the introductions and the show begins.  Although the theatre holds around 170, it is a very intimate setting, and the close proximity of the stage lights make the performance a serious work out.  The audiences here are great, and many of them return year after year, which is very gratifying.

It is a passionate and physical performance and I am sweating feely as I move around the stage.

I am happy to give everything this afternoon, as this evening I am due to perform another of my ‘Behind the Scenes of A Christmas Carol’, which proved so popular in Missouri.  Although a fun show, it does not require a great deal of energy, so I can work extra hard now.

I finish to a  loud standing ovation, and as Gary leads the audience in a sing-a-long of ‘We Wish You a Merry Christmas’, Luke hands me a cold bottle of water and I go to change ready for the signing session.

Judi looks after me at the signing table, opening books ready for me to sign and chatting to people waiting patiently in line.  Many are familiar faces and it is a lovely friendly session.

When I have signed all that needs signing, I go and change out of my costume and chat with Gary.  And now I realise that the Vaillancourts have not scheduled the ‘Behind the Scenes’ show, but another performance of A Christmas Carol.  I’m not sure where the confusion arose, but my schedule says one thing, whereas the reality is another.  Of course there is no question of disappointing the audience, so A Christmas Carol it will be.  I hope that I have enough juice left in the tank after my exertions of the first show.

It has become traditional over the years that we all eat dinner together between the shows, and the catering company (close friends of the Vaillancourts) lay on an amazing spread of meats, salads and soups.  It is delicious but I am aware that I need to grab some rest before the evening, so return to my dressing room, where I fall asleep on the little sofa, waking eventually at 6.20.

I walk back to the store and realise that this is going to be a major show, the place is packed, and I think we will have a full house.  I drink lots of water and change into my costume and wait for 7 o’clock.

As you know I travel with two costumes, so that I can always be wearing a fresh set.  The frock coats differ in two ways: firstly, one is black and the other green but the main difference is that the black one is made of a much thicker material.

I had worn the green one for the early show, thinking that I would be wearing the black one for the less physical ‘behind the scenes’ show.   But now the only dry coat is the thick one, and I face a very hot evening ahead of me.

Almost as soon as I start I can feel the sweat starting to trickle, flow and then gush.  I am soaking even before Marley’s Ghost appears and there is a very uncomfortable journey ahead not just for me, but for the front rows of the audience too – It must be like being at a heavyweight boxing bout.

Quite apart from my discomfort the show does have plenty of energy.  I start a little quietly, but soon I am in full flight and the performance is a good one.

I gratefully take my bows and soak up the applause, before hurrying backstage so that I can get out of these clothes as soon as possible and take on as much water as I can.

The signing is a repeat of this afternoon, with many old friends, including a family originally from Crowborough in East Sussex, where my parents used to live.

When I have finished I hang all of my costumes on the rail, where they can stay overnight and get ready to drive back to Worcester and my hotel.

The drive is about thirty minutes, but it is a familiar one to me.  I am greeted at the reception desk like a VIP, and there is a plate of fruit and a bottle of wine waiting for me in the room.  I feel very pampered!

I go to the bar, where Luke, Gary and Judi join me for a drink, which is another tradition of my visits here.  We talk about a tour to England that Gary and Judi are organising next year and that I will be joining for a couple of days as a guest tour guide.  We will have a more detailed meeting on that subject tomorrow.

It is late when we say goodbye, and I return to my room.  It has been a busy and tiring  day and I think that I will sleep rather well tonight.

 

Links:

Vaillancourt Folk Art: https://valfa.com/

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The New England Swing Begins

Friday, November 28

I wake fairly early and spend an hour or so writing up my Thanksgiving Day adventures, before taking to the exercise mat.  As the rooms here are temples to fitness I really can’t shy away from my morning routine, and I pump my way through a routine of sit-ups before showering.

Opening the blind I see that for once the day looks to be ever so slightly wintery, with a thick heavy fog shrouding Norwalk.  I make a coffee and ponder my next move.

It is Black Friday, which is when traditionally the stores offer huge discounts to early shoppers.  Over the years news reports have shown pictures of near-riot conditions as desperate people chase the bargains.  The situation has got so bad that it even merits an aside in my production!

My dilemma is over the broken suitcase:  do I brave the dangers of shopping on Black Friday to try and find a replacement now, or do I struggle on and wait until the retail frenzy dies down and buy a case in a few days time?

As I have never experienced Black Friday at first hand, I decide to go for it.  After a little research I discover that there is a branch of Macy’s about fifteen minutes away, which is offering some reasonable looking deals.  Black Friday here I come.

First I need to have some breakfast, and I discover another way in which the Even Hotel chain differs from the norm.  In the breakfast area there are iPads, on which you make a series of selections (all very healthy, of course), before swiping your room key card.

Moments later a platter arrives from the kitchen.  Fresh juice is produced by fabulous machine, which takes oranges from a hopper and, through a series of revolving scoops, slowly pushes them down between whirring blades to create the delicious, pithy juice.

The coffee is similarly created: from bean to cup before my very eyes.

I have a bowl of granola, yoghurt and honey, as well as some toast.  It is a simple breakfast and leaves me feeling very good about myself!

From breakfast I go to the car and start the short drive to the City of Stamford.  The fog really is bad and when I join the I95 I can hardly see anything.  I am amazed how many people are driving without lights, but the traffic is lighter than I had imagined.

As I approach the mall in Stamford I am ready for long queues of traffic, being controlled by armed police officers, but there is nothing of the sort.  I drive straight into an underground parking garage and easily find a space.

Although the mall itself is busy, it is no more so than on any other weekend during the Christmas season.  I’m actually rather disappointed:  I thought that my blog post would win a Pulitzer Prize for the gritty realism of being in the heart of a Macy’s war zone.  The nearest I get to conflict is when I politely refuse to talk to a girl about moisturising products.

Macy’s proves to have a good selection of cases and I spend a good thirty minutes comparing sizes and prices.  I end up choosing a Revo Pipeline 30” spinner, for which I pay $130 (£89), marked down from an original retail price of $320 (£211).  Welcome to the team, Revo!

New Team Member

The fog has cleared a little when I start back for the hotel, although there are still a few lingering patches hanging dangerously around, ready to catch the unaware.

Back at the hotel I ceremonially empty my old case and pack the new one: the changing of the guard is complete.

I have a little while to pass before I need to go out again, so I do some rehearsing of Doctor Marigold before renting the film Holiday Inn and watching it on my bed.  After an hour and forty minutes of crooning and tapping the film arrives at its inevitably happy conclusion and I begin to make preparations for the afternoon.

I trim my beard and shave, before showering and getting my costumes ready.  My first commitment is a signing session at Gary and Jennifer’s business The Historical Christmas Barn, which is only a five minute drive away.  It is easier to drive in costume, and I get some quizzical looks and complimentary comments as I stride through the lobby to my car.

Main Street Norwalk has many small businesses and one name I particularly like for its creativity:  It is a lingerie shop (I don’t know at which end of the market it aims) and it is called ‘Lace Affaire’.

The car park at the barn is full and, unsurprisingly, so is the store.  As soon as I walk in the door I am collared by eager fans who want their books signed and photographs taken.  When the first flurry is over I take the opportunity to look around the store, which is packed with Christmas decorations of every kind.  There is a room dedicated to Byers Choice, there are trees, and villages and Christmas clothing.  It amazes me how Gary and Jenn squeeze so much into here, and still have room for customers, of whom there are many.

I stay at the store for two hours, and there is a constant stream of people stopping for a chat.  In the few down times Gary brings me boxes of books that can be sold after I’ve left.

Many people are coming to this evening’s show, and others are being encouraged to do so by a wonderful poster featuring me in full Fezziwig pose.

At four O’clock it is time to re-locate to the Clune auditorium in Wilton, where I will be performing tonight.  I follow Gary for two miles until we turn into the car park of the Wilton High School.  This is my fourth year here and it has always been a wonderful venue in which to perform.  Christian, the techie, is there and we do a sound check straight away.  I arrange the furniture on the huge, wide stage, and it all looks a little bit lost to be honest.  The answer is close at hand, for the school has recently finished performing something or other, and the remnants of the set are scattered around the back stage area.  The Egyptian sarcophagus is not a lot of use to me, but the elegant glass-fronted book case, standing atop a table, carefully and theatrically painted to resemble an antique, will do the job nicely.

Christian helps me to lift it into place, commenting that to his set designer’s eye it needs to be filled.  More rummaging backstage and I come up with some old books, and picture frames, while Gary calls Jennifer to ask her to bring some candlesticks from the store.

I retreat to the dressing room, where I consume a cup of delicious chicken noodle soup, that Gary has kindly brought in for me.

The time passes slowly, and I pace around a lot.  There is a notice board with newspaper clippings from various school shows.  When I first performed here the school had just performed Drood (the musical based on Dickens’s final novel), and the article was white and fresh.  Now that same newspaper fragment is curling and yellowing.  I wonder where those students are now and what the next stage of their life held for them.

As the audience arrives they are entertained by a string ensemble from a local school playing carols.  The strains of the violins sound lovely from my dressing room, so I go and stand in the wings to listen for a while.

At last seven o’clock comes around and Jennifer stands on the stage in front of around two hundred people to introduce the show.  Christian is doing a great job with the lighting, winging it without a script, and as Jennifer leaves the stage the lights dim to a sombre pool centre stage.  Sarajevo starts and I walk slowly on.

The show goes well, and Christian provides me with some wonderful lighting effects, including a bright harsh white spot coming in at head level from stage left, for the Ghost of Christmas Yet to Come, which is presumably casting some effective and eerie shadows.  Tiny Tim’s death is particularly heartbreaking tonight (maybe the memory of that happy family feast just twenty four hours ago is in my thoughts) and not only do I find it difficult to continue the narrative, but there are distinct snuffles from the audience too.

The reaction at the end is astounding!  I can’t believe the noise that comes from the auditorium and I bow gratefully to all sides, before leaving this magnificent stage for another year.

In the dressing room I change as quickly as I can, without getting hotter still, and walk the long corridor to the lobby, where a long signing line breaks into yet more applause.

Everyone has nice things to say and many ask: ‘aren’t you exhausted?’  Well, yes, but in a very positive and energetic way.  It takes a while to come down from a major show like this.

At the end of the line are Jim and Judi, my Thanksgiving hosts from last night, and we exchange more hugs and handshakes.  Judi says that she thought this was the best performance yet, and Jennifer confirms that many of the audience members have said the same, which is good to hear (although the insecure actor’s voice asks: ‘so, what was wrong with the others?’)

I need to change, so I go back to the stage where the book case is standing forlornly on its own, as the rest of the props have been removed.  My scarf is draped over it.

I change and pack as quickly as I can, before rejoining Gary and Jenn.  I make sure that I thank Christian for his spectacular, yet subtle lighting, and then pack up the car.  Having said my goodbyes, I drive back to the hotel, where I punch at the iPad and am rewarded with a board of meats and cheeses, as well as a warm-chicken and quinoa salad: so healthy (if I don’t mention the wine and key lime pie….)

Back in room 460 I hang my costume shirt to air, shower, and slide between the sheets.  Tomorrow I move on again, to another old favourite haunt, and more good friends.  The tour has definitely moved into a new phase now and I am in my New England swing.

Links:

The Historic Christmas Barn: http://www.historicalchristmasbarn.com/Default.asp

Thanksgiving

Thursday, November 26

Thanksgiving Day sees me waking with my alarm at 5am and preparing to take to the skies and move on once more.  The Hampton Inn at Liberty has become my home but now, like those first pilgrims, I must travel to new lands and meet new people who will give me succour (well, Connecticut actually).

My case is empty, and I re-pack it neatly and carefully while I sip a cup of coffee.  I shower and dress, before checking the room once more for those odds and ends, bits and bobs, that so often get overlooked in an early morning departure.

At 5.45 I am in the lobby and the hotel’s manager checks me out (I mean that he finalises my paperwork, rather than looking me up and down) .  He asks how my shows have gone, before admitting that he loves the works of Charles Dickens and is gradually working through the novels.  Bleak House is the next on his list.

I load the car up and grab a cup of coffee and a little blueberry muffin for the journey before driving towards Kansas City Airport.  I have left a lot of time this morning, as the airport could be very crowded.  Yesterday is generally regarded as the busiest travel day of the year with folks returning to their family homes, but it may be the case that the exodus will spread to the early hours of ‘Turkey Day’ (as it is irreverently called by some).  There is also the current world situation, which will inevitably lead to increased security.  I would be lying if I didn’t say that the possibility of terrorist attacks on Thanksgiving Day seem very real, and have definitely played on my mind.

The road is quiet, and I find a radio station playing Christmas songs, one of the first of which is the Trans Siberian Orchestra’s Sarajevo; the opening bars elicit a Pavlovian response deep within in me and I feel as if I should start performing.

As I drive, I pass Robin Hood Road, and remember passing the same in Norfolk.  I thought that Robin Hood was an English folk hero who plied his trade in Sherwood Forest, but apparently he took an extensive trip to the USA as well.

The traffic isn’t heavy and having filled the car with fuel, arrive at the Avis drop off zone by 6.30am.  There are only a few people on the shuttle bus to the terminal which isn’t nearly as busy as I’d feared.  From experience I know that there are no restaurants air side, so I have a delicious breakfast of eggs and bacon before making my way to the security gate.  As I sip my orange juice and drink my coffee I write as much of the blog as I can, before time overtakes me.

The flight boards and I settle into my seat, unencumbered by a near neighbour.  As I have only been watching House of Cards during flights I am ready for a new fix.  The drama continues to play out and I am amazed when one of the characters demands that A Tale of Two Cities be read to him: that Dickens man gets everywhere!

The flight to Atlanta takes a little under two hours.  My onward flight is to take me to White Plains, New York, and will depart from Terminal D, which means a ride on the Hartsfield-Jackson metro system.  I have plenty of time this morning so there is no panic or rush.

Once at the gate I manage to finish the blog, which I post without photographs (I will add them later), just before boarding commences.  The flight north again lasts for two hours, and I treat myself to a Thanksgiving glass of wine as I look down and wonder what the first pilgrims (not to mention the Native American Indians), would make of modern America.

The sky is clear and we pass over cities which frustratingly I can’t identify. One maybe Norfolk and one is probably Baltimore.  I think we pass over Philly too, before making our descent into the charmingly intimate Westchester Airport, White Plains.  It is aptly named, although miss-spelled, because the tarmac is covered with white planes.

The arrivals hall is very small and I can sort out my rental car whilst waiting for my suitcase to appear.  The paperwork is signed off as my large silver case rolls around and around, and in no time I am introduced to my steed for the next few days, a white Nissan Altima.

After leaving the airport I soon join the beautiful Merritt Parkway, taking me from New York to Connecticut. The afternoon sun is low, casting a golden glow through the woods that line the narrow road – it is so different from those wide, straight, never-ending highways in Missouri.  Low, stone, arched bridges cross the road at regular intervals, and the highway is full of cars with the New York State’s distinctive dark blue and yellow license plates.

The Merritt Parkway

After an enjoyable, if sometimes nervous drive (the lanes on the parkway are so narrow), I turn off to the town of Norwalk and my hotel on Main Street.  This year I am staying at the Even Hotel, which is a new chain to me.  I pull up in the car park and unload the car, but as I do so, my large suitcase breaks: The extendable handle snaps and one of its struts disappears into the framework never to be seen again.  I knew that this case was not holding up well, and secretly I have been wanting one of those with a caster on each corner, so maybe this is a providential happening.  Oh, if only there were a single day in the year when retailers offered huge discounts……

Farewell

The Even hotel is very modern, and the foyer is spacious yet minimalist. I am checked in by a young gentleman, who explains that membership of the health suite is complimentary.  I take the lift to the fourth floor, and the corridor is marked up with huge numbers on the wall.

As soon as I am in the room I see that fitness, health and well-being are of great importance here, as there is various gym equipment laid out for my enjoyment.  There is a large ball as well as ropes, elasticated bands and foam mats.  The TV is automatically tuned to a channel giving ideas for work-out routines in the room.  Even the sliding door to the bathroom is made of heavy frosted glass, which requires super-human muscles to move.

The décor is sparse, yet stylish and the room is very comfortable.  I have an hour before I have to leave again, so I update the blog, and send a few emails, before showering and dressing for my Thanksgiving Dinner.

I am here to perform on behalf of Garry and Jenifer Bean, who own a Christmas shop in the next town.  My show is tomorrow, but they have very kindly invited me to join them at Jennifer’s family celebration.

Jim and Judi Cummings (Jennifer’s parents) live 20 minutes away and I pull up at the house just after 5pm.  Judi welcomes me with open arms, and soon I am in the heart of the house, where the feast is being prepared.

Jim and Judi are the perfect patriarch and matriarch and are obviously fiercely proud of their family: photographs are on every ledge.  Jim and I share a love of classic cars and we talk about the Plymouth convertible that he owned and worked on as a young man

Gradually the family begin to arrive, and soon the home is filled with the noise and laughter of three generations.

I am introduced to sisters, and granddaughters and sons-in-law and more nieces and nephews and another son-in –law.  Garry and Jennifer arrive with their kids and everyone is introduced and all of their names go in one ear before departing instantly through the other.

Judi comes in from the kitchen, brushing a whisp of hair from her face and ushers us all into the dining room, where the table has been placed diagonally (as that is the only way it will fit).  The table centre is decorated with pumpkins and candles.  We all take our seats, and blessings and prayers are solemnly delivered, before we make for the kitchen again to fill our plates.

An amazing feast!  There is turkey and mashed potato and sweet potato and beet and beans and carrots and macaroni cheese and gravy and salad and pickled cucumber and so much more.

Back at the table happy memories of childhood are recounted and everyone laughs at stories they have heard so many times before.  The younger generation look aghast as they hear of the misdeeds of their parents.  It is a happy, happy time with good, good people.

At one point Judi appears next to me with a folder full of souvenirs from their visit to Britain in 1981.  To my amazement they visited a Quaker meeting house in a town very close to home, which boasts a barn built from the timbers of The Mayflower.  I had always assumed that The Mayflower was preserved somewhere on the east coast of America; I’d certainly never realised that she sailed back to England, let alone been broken up for building materials.  I must pay her a visit next year sometime.

Souvenirs of England

At around 9 o’clock I say that I really must get back to my hotel , and Judi insists that before I leave we have must have a family picture taken with me sitting, rather embarrassingly, front and centre.

I shake hands and say good bye to the family, and Judi gives me a farewell hug on the door step, before I drive back along the Merritt Parkway and to the hotel.

We do not have a holiday like Thanksgiving in the UK and I wish we did.  It does not have the commercial pressures of Christmas, it is simply a celebration of family, unity and love and don’t we need to celebrate those things right now?

Links:

The Even Hotel: http://www.ihg.com/evenhotels/hotels/us/en/norwalk/orqev/hoteldetail

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Library Lovers

Wednesday November 25

As today is the nearest thing to a completely free day that I have for a while, I intend to make the most of it.

After writing, exercising and coffee I have breakfast and contemplate my morning.  Of course there is laundry to be done, but I have no paper money to exchange into quarters, so my first job is to find an ATM.

The Hampton Inn is in the heart of a major shopping area, with open air malls spread all around, so there is no shortage of choice.  My first stop is Kohl’s clothing store where I chose some new shirts to replace those that have fallen by the wayside.  At the cash register I go to sign for the purchase, and have to restrain myself from asking the assistant her name, before scrawling ‘To Stacey, With best wishes, Gerald Charles Dickens, 2015.  Flourish flourish flourish…..’

Next to Kohl’s there is a Target which has an ATM and I am able to replenish my cash reserves, before returning to the hotel.

With a load of laundry languidly circulating in the machine, I take the opportunity of using the hotel swimming pool and Jacuzzi.  I complete about one hundred lengths of the pool (I know, it sounds terribly impressive, doesn’t it – until I tell you that it is a very small pool, and it only takes me about three strokes to get from end to end).  In the hot tub I allow the jet to play on my lower back and as I relax in the hot water I can almost convince myself that this is a necessity for my future well-being.

The rest of the morning and early afternoon is spent in the room being extremely lazy.  My  slothfulness is rewarded today when a ‘ping’ from the computer alerts me to the fact that Liz is online, and has sent me an instant message via Facebook.  We chat for a while and she has managed to get the crumbling infrastructure of our home sorted out successfully.  The days before I see her in Delaware are passing quickly now, and neither of us can wait

Another online alert is via Twitter -which I only use spasmodically – directing me to a blog written by a lady called Erica Williams who attended last night’s performance with her family.  It is fascinating to ‘experience’ my show from an audience member’s perspective.

At lunchtime I plan to grab something at Panera Bread, but the queue is almost out of the door, so I ruin my recent healthy lifestyle by dining at Burger King, where I have a crispy chicken sandwich.

After lunch I spend a little time rehearsing – running through Doctor Marigold, which I will be performing in a few days time.   With lines suitably refreshed I then decide to empty my suitcase and re-fold all of the costume shirts, which have become disheveled during my travels.  This way everything will be ready for packing tomorrow morning.

Kimberly is due to pick me up at 3.45, so after a short nap I shower and get ready for what should be a fun and relaxing evening.

Mid Continent have launched a friends of the library scheme called Library Lovers, and tonight they are hosting a special reception to reward the first members, as well as encouraging others to join.  The venue is the Belvoir Winery on the outskirts of Liberty.

We drive up an impressive driveway  towards an equally impressive house, built on a slight hill.  The house was built in the late 1880s as an orphanage belonging to the Independent Order of Odd Fellows.  The Odd Fellowship was a sort of Masonic fraternity, with its own rituals and beliefs.  Throughout the USA the fellowship built asylums for mentally ill adults, as well as orphanages such as the one in Liberty.

Although this building was privately purchased by the winery a few years ago, they are very proud of the heritage, and memorabilia from The Odd Fellows is displayed throughout the building.

The Library event (I think I can safely say ‘our’ event, after all I have been working with the library for twenty years) is being held in a beautiful room in one wing of the house.  As we arrive, Diana and Rebecca from Mid Continent are busily decorating the room with sprigs of fresh fir.  Diana (whose baby this is), shakes me by the hand, apologizing that she is ‘a bit sappy’.

Kimberly and I spend a little time looking around the house and exhibits, which include the skeleton of George, a member (fairly obviously deceased) of the Fellowship who left his body to medical science and whose remains were then used in one of the fraternity’s rituals.

Various members of the public are starting to arrive, so I change into my costume before going back to our room to meet and greet.

Doug and his son Collin (who were at Woodneath two days ago) arrive, as does Don and many other familiar faces.

With the ever loyal Don

A pianist is playing and suddenly my thoughts go rushing back to England again as she starts to play Traumerei from Robert Shumann’s Kinderszenen suite of pieces.  Liz and I have a show based on Kinderzsenen and hearing Traumerei makes me home-sick once more.

As the event is an exclusive one for the Library Lovers it is a small gathering of around fifty people.  There is a buffet serving delicious-looking mini lamb chops, asparagus, cheeses, dips and vegetables.  Samples of Belvoir’s wine are being sipped and there is a sense of general contentment within the room.

I chat for a while to Steve Potter, who is the director of the library service and who I have known for many years, until it is time to start the evening’s entertainment.

At 6pm Steve calls the room to order and talks for a while about the Library Lovers scheme, before introducing me and handing the floor over.

I am once again talking about my background, before describing the creation of A Christmas Carol and as many of the guests have seen the show multiple times, I am hoping that they will be interested.   I am not very good at being myself, and standing on the floor surrounded by people makes me very nervous (put me on a stage in front of a thousand and I am in heaven – up close and personal and I am a gibbering wreck!); however the guests are responsive and attentive and I warm to my theme, whilst keeping a careful eye on the clock, as our time in Belvoir is strictly limited.  With ten minutes to go I throw the floor open to questions and finally finish at 6.45 – as I had promised to do.

It has been a very nice evening and many of the guests come and shake me by the hand and tell me how much they have enjoyed the performance.  The room soon clears and I am able to try a glass of Belvoir’s finest before changing and getting ready to leave.  Diana and Rebecca are getting sappy once more as they take all of the decorations down.  I say good bye, and Kimberly and I return to her car.

We drive to an Olive Garden (the restaurant that is, not a Missouri olive garden, although as the state is making fine wines nothing would surprise me), for an end-of-stay, wind-down dinner.

Kimberly has always been the most generous person to work with: she ferries me everywhere, makes sure that I am fed, and protects me from audiences when I need some time to myself.  She is quietly spoken and gentle, but a true professional and puts on amazing shows.  She likes to stay in the background at the events but she deserves a huge amount of recognition and credit for what she does.  She is also a very good friend.

With Kimberly

 

I get back to the hotel at 9 pm, set the alarm for 5 am and then go to bed.

As always it has been a fun stay in the Kansas City area and the shows have been superbly attended.  The audiences are loyal and I have some great friends here.  Thank you all and I look forward to seeing you again next year.

 

Links

Belvoir Winery: http://www.belvoirwinery.com/

Erica Williams’s blog: #DickensOfAnEvening ow.ly/V4PC9

 

 

Time for a Rest

The routine is well set now, and I sit in bed composing my blog until it is light outside.  I go through my sit-up routine, before showering and dressing.

In the breakfast room I notice that the TV is tuned to Fox 4, and I feel slightly jealous that somebody else is in ‘my’ studio, being interviewed by ‘my’ presenter, (not that I have any particular affiliation with Fox News, I should point out.) I have a delicious bowl of porridge, with dried fruit sprinkled on to it, before returning to my room.

I have a little time this morning, as Kimberly is not coming to pick me up until 11 o’clock, so I settle down to some admin.  The most important job is to book our car in at the Heathrow long-term car park, for when Liz comes to join me for the last week of the tour.  This year’s tour is longer than usual, and we have been missing each other a great deal, so we can’t wait for December 10.

Recently we have taken to using the valet parking service at Heathrow, so that the car is waiting for us as soon as we emerge from the terminal; but things are slightly complicated this year by the fact that our return Delta flight is actually a Virgin Atlantic flight and I have to do some research to find the VA flight number.  After a great deal of hopping between the Delta, Virgin and Heathrow websites I determine that Liz will be dropping the car off at terminal 4, and we will pick it up again at terminal 3.

With all the information to hand I complete the booking and send the confirmation to Liz.  Unfortunately things are not going well in Abingdon, and Liz is experiencing a ‘when it rains, it pours’ kind of a day: the heating system isn’t working, the car needs repair (apparently it is very dangerous to drive at the moment, even though it passed its MOT safety test just a few weeks ago), the lock on the front door has seized, and Ruby, our cat, has a penchant for bringing mice in at night.

I love what I do, but at moments like this I so want to be at home with Liz.  Hopefully tomorrow will be a better day for her.

11 is approaching, and I need to have everything with me, as I won’t be coming back to the hotel for the rest of the day.  I check and recheck my bags and costume and when I am sure that all is in order, I go down to wait for Kimberly.

She is picking me up slightly earlier than is necessary, as I’ve asked her if we can stop at a bookstore, so that I can buy a copy of A Christmas Carol which will be a gift to my hosts on Thanksgiving Day.  We drive to a huge Barnes and Noble in Independence, and eventually I find a nice little edition, that features the original John Leech illustrations.

From Barnes and Noble it is a short drive to the Raytown branch of the Mid Continent Library, where I am to perform at 2 o’clock.  The library is built on two levels, and my stage has been set up on the mezzanine level.  By the looks of it they are expecting quite a crowd.

Kimberly introduces me to Denise, the librarian here, and I am taken into the office, where I can hang my costumes.  We all go to the stage to try the microphone system, which proves recalcitrant at first, before finally bursting into life.  I stand on the stage and try different voices and volumes: everything seems all right, so I go back to the office again, where I need to change prior to a brief newspaper interview with a freelance journalist.

Denise has suggested that the interview takes place in the basement, where we can chat uninterrupted.  It is a fun conversation, and as promised he wraps things up so that I have plenty of time to get back to the office and ready for the show.

Kimberly, as ever, is waiting to escort me and as we stand, a police officer comes in.  We chat for a while and discuss his belt, which is so packed with the various paraphernalia of his job that it must weigh a ton: there is an extending night-stick or truncheon (which he uses mainly to unblock drains), mace spray, a taser gun, torches , radio packs, various pouches whose contents are not immediately apparent, and of course the gun which is still a strange thing for an Englishman to see.  He promises to keep the audience under control for me.  They don’t look like a rowdy lot, but you can never be too careful.

At 2 o’clock I go to the stage, where Denise makes the introduction.  There is no way of playing the music effect here, so I begin the show in the old fashioned way with the book’s preface.

This year the Mid Continent’s marketing team have a done a fabulous job and there has been a great deal of media interest during my stay.  At this show there is a journalist from a local newspaper, as well as a video cameraman from the Kansas City Star (which is slightly confusing, as the Star is a print newspaper).

From the stage I can see the KC Star cameraman discreetly positioned behind a pillar, making sure that he does not disrupt the performance, or get in the audience’s way.

The local journalist quickly becomes apparent too, for he is sitting in the front row, and taking a whole series of flash photographs which are completely distracting to me and presumably to everyone around him.  I can see Kimberly at the side of the audience considering whether to move in and tell him to stop, but it becomes academic, as he gets up and leaves after twenty minutes.  It is not a sensitive display on his part.

For now I have other problems, which needless to say involve the microphone system.  When I did the sound check I didn’t move around the stage as much as I am now, and I am getting terrible feedback from the two speakers positioned on either side of the stage.   The stage left one isn’t too much of a problem, as I can avoid that, but the stage right speaker howls in protest every time I sit in the chair, which doubles as Scrooge’s bed.  If I could just move that speaker….

Fortunately Kimberly and Denise have come to the same conclusion, and as I step off the stage as the Ghost of Christmas Past conducting Scrooge along the country road covered with snow, they move in behind the set and pull the speaker back.

It works perfectly, and the rest of the show is relatively howl free.  As is the way with all Mid Continent Library audiences this group are enthusiastic in their reaction to the show, and join in with all the relevant parts, whilst quietly sobbing as Bob mourns Tiny Tim.

The final line is greeted with a loud, prolonged standing ovation.

I make my way back to the office, where the staff congratulates me on the performance, and I change into a dry costume, ready to sign.  There is a long line waiting for me there.  Some people have brought their own books to be signed, others are using the slips of paper featuring my photograph and the event details, that Mid Continent have produced for the autograph sessions this year.

One lady says ‘please, may I hug you?’ so she does, and that starts a new trend: ‘well, if you’re giving out hugs, I need one too!’  It is just as well that I change costumes after the show these days.

Standing very patiently to one side is the Kansas City Star journalist who wants to record a brief interview to accompany the footage that he took during the show.  I make sure to thank him for being so discreet and respectful during the show. ‘That’s the job’ he replies.  Hmm, I wish that all journalists realised that.

And there is Don:  his question for this afternoon’s show being if I ever had a nickname at home?  Well, yes: within the family I am always called Gerry.  If anybody else calls me Gerry it sounds wrong but within the family that is who I am.

Don leaves happy.

The office is full when I return, and I change while everyone talks about the show, emerging from the restroom as the 21^st century Gerald.  There follows a long discussion as to where Kimberly will take me to eat.  I just want a salad, but the opinion around the room is that I should be taken to a Kansas City BBQ joint.  There is much teasing and banter back and forth, until it is time to leave.

We load my costume, hat, cane and bag into the car and Kimberly asks what I actually would like to eat, I repeat my request of a salad, and she says that there is a good deli near to our next venue, if I don’t mind driving for a while.  That is fine, and I watch the world go by.

As we leave Raytown there is the most wonderful old drug store, with décor from the 50s.  I don’t mean it is retro-styled to look as if it is from the 50s – no, this is genuine.  Fox’s Drug Store has obviously been a part of Raytown’s history for many years.  There is a crude notice in the window to confirm my thoughts: ‘The Foxs thank you for 75 years’.

We drive towards the town of Lee’s Summit and pull into a parking space outside Jason’s Deli, where we both order the salad bar and a cup of soup (chicken noodle in my case).  My plate looks remarkably healthy, and it is the perfect meal to keep me going between shows.  I am beginning to feel quite tired now and hope that I can get a little down time before performing again.

It is dark when we return to the car and in the clear night sky the moon is almost full.  I think back to my performances in California when there was the slimmest new moon looking down on me:  the tour is moving on apace.

The venue tonight is the Pavilion at John Knox Village.  It is a venue that I have played a few times before, and initially is terrifying in its vastness.  The performing space is beneath a towering pyramid, and there are about five hundred chairs laid out.  The space is cavernous and as I look from the back of the hall I can hardly see the stage in the distance.

There’s a stage there somewhere

Even though it is only 5.30, there are already audience members milling around.  John Knox Village is an assisted living community, and the show is of course open to residents, as well as to the general public.  Due to various staff changes at the Pavilion, and communication errors, the residents have been told that the show starts at 6, instead of 7, which is a trifle awkward.

I am greeted by the technical manager, Kent, who has looked after me for all of my performances here, and who is great fun to work with.  The show is actually being run by another AV guy, Charles, and he fits me up with the microphone and we do a detailed sound check.  I make sure that I move everywhere this evening, so as not to repeat the feedback problems of Raytown.  The few straggling audience members watch on curiously as I leap from character to character until all of the voices and volumes have been tested.

There is an hour to go and I retreat to my little dressing room behind the stage to get a little bit of rest before starting to prepare.  I am feeling very weary and tired tonight, and my limbs feel heavy and stiff.  Deep breathing exercises.  Concentrate.  Focus.

At 6.55 I open the door, and walk to the stage.  Lee’s Summit library staffer Mike is making my introductions and he is completely terrified at the prospect.  He has nothing to worry about as he greets the audience clearly and confidently; his remarks are simple and to the point.  It is a job well done.

The strains of God Rest Ye Merry Gentlemen fill the pyramid and I walk into the garish light.

It is always a huge pleasure to perform on this stage, as there is so much space to play with.  The lighting and sound are good and the audience’s attention is fully focussed.

There seem to be a lot of very young children and babies in the hall tonight, and I find it very difficult to maintain my concentration with the constant soundtrack of crying, but I keep re-focussing and trying to block the extraneous noises out. A mobile phone going off in the front row doesn’t help, either.

The show, however, is exhilarating and enjoyable: to be on a stage this large and holding the attention of an audience this size is one of the most satisfying things that an actor can do and I soak up every wonderful moment of the evening.

I am exhausted by the time I finish, and fortunately there is only a short signing line, as nobody had told the audience that I would be there after the show. Usually I love meeting people after the show, but tonight I am grateful for the lack of fans.  Those that do wait are mostly old friends and long-time supporters, and it is lovely to see familiar faces and pose for photographs with them.

After I’ve changed I make a point of thanking Kent and Charles for the technical assistance and leave the Pavilion at 9pm.

Kimberly drives us to a nearby Applebee’s where we have dinner.  We are both weary and on the drive back to the hotel I fall asleep in the passenger seat.

Tomorrow I have a quieter day and a real opportunity to get some rest, which I am sorely in need of!

 

Links:

Kansas City Star Vide0

http://www.kansascity.com/news/local/article46345660.html
 

 

Dr who?

After yesterday’s hectic day of travelling it is very nice to know that I will be based in the same hotel for the next three nights.  Even if the schedule is busy, there is a sense or relaxation in having a firm base.

I write the blog in bed, with a coffee before getting up and doing a few ‘chores’.  Firstly I empty a bag of laundered white shirts, and notice to my dismay that the tomato stains from my Norfolk ravioli disaster have not come out.  Following on from the shirt that shrunk in the wash, I am rapidly running out of casual shirts to wear.  Maybe a trip to the shops is called for soon.

I have also promised myself to start a small exercise regime of sit-ups each morning, so I lay a towel on the floor and set myself a target of fifty, managing to reach thirty before subsiding into a crumpled heap on the floor.  Plenty of work to be done there, then.

I shower and dress before having breakfast.  I am still trying to be very careful with my diet, so I painfully forego the waffle maker this morning.  I may not remain so disciplined for the remainder of my stay, however.

Although my first show isn’t until 1.15, I do have an early start as Kimberly and the team at Mid Continent have set up two live TV interviews, which means being in costume and ready at 8pm.  Kimberly is waiting in the lobby and we head for downtown Kansas City on yet another bright, blue morning.

We are busy talking about life at the Mid Continent Public Library Service and life on the road, when I notice the offices for Fox4 TV, which is our first destination, on the right.  I tell Kimberly but it is too late to make the turn.  It is fine, as we have plenty of time, so we will just make a left turn further up the road and double back.

At the next street there is a no left turn arrow; and at the next, and the next, and at the next; and again.  It seems that the people in power in Kansas City do not want us to enter the area behind the modest condominium frontages.  What could they be hiding?  is it a Missouri area 51?

We are driving further away from the TV studio, so Kimberly decides to make a right turn instead.  The traffic is heavy this morning and very fast.  As we approach a junction she manages to ease the car over to the right, only to be greeted by a ‘No Entry’ sign.  To add insult to injury the fact that this street is one way, means that we could have turned left anyway.

On we go, now stuck in the right lane, until we reach the suburb of Westport where finally we can double back on ourselves and head towards the television station once more.  We are now travelling back down the road with the TV station to our left.  We reach the relevant intersection: ‘No Left Turn’ and we sail on past once more.

Eventually we find a road that winds its way through a park and brings us back to Fox 4.  What an adventure, and it isn’t even 8.45 yet!

We meet Mary who is in the marketing department at the Library service, and who is waiting patiently in the car park.  Obviously her journey hasn’t been quite as hectic as ours.

I am here to appear on the Fox4 morning show, and we are shown into a tiny green room to await our slot.  Of course the programme is being broadcast into the green room and at one point a list of stores who will be opening on Thanksgiving Day is shown.  Presumably the managers of the stores in question are delighted at the publicity, whereas others will see this as a blacklist of corporations sullying a special holiday with greed.

We watch the various news items being played out, until we are ushered into a studio that is stifling in its heat.  The air conditioning has broken and the studio lights are creating sauna-like conditions.

My first job is to wave cheerily at the camera for a ‘coming up after the break’ tease.  That done, we all relax in the studio and get chatting.  One of the floor managers says that he has a second edition of A Christmas Carol, inherited from his mother, who inherited it from her mother.  I casually ask, where he lives, and if his house is easy to break into?

‘Don’t worry; it is locked in a vault!’  That is a wise precaution, but I hope he takes it out to read sometimes, for it deserves to be read.

Nick, the presenter who is to interview me, comes in from the adjoining news studio, and immediately complains about the heat.  We stand together in front of the camera, and soon the autocue rolls and Nick introduces me to the coffee-drinking, school-run-preparing citizens of the Kansas City Metro area.

As is the way in morning TV, the interview is short and I finish by performing a few lines from the show which take the station to a commercial break.

Nick and the crew all say thank you and good bye; but time and tide wait for no man and the studio is being prepared for the next segment.

We make our way back to the front door, get into our cars and head for the next studio: KSHB and an appearance on the popular morning magazine show: KC Live.

The green room here is very busy:  we meet Scrooge and Tiny Tim, from the KC Rep’s annual production of A Christmas Carol, an archery champion and a young man organising a charity pub crawl.

We are all ushered into the studio which is large and comfy, with a sofa, bookcases and the obligatory kitchen.

The presenters are Michelle Davidson, who is the stereotypical perky, bright morning tv personality, and Joel Nichols a distinguished gent of more mature years.

The hour show is packed with features, and is carefully co-ordinated.  As each new feature approaches, the floor manager gives warnings at two minutes, ninety seconds, one minute, thirty seconds and then the final five, four, three, two and one.  Michelle perkily talks until the final second, before turning her face to the camera. She is exhausting in her positivity, and the bright smile never leaves her carefully made-up face.  Joel by contrast is more morose and quiet; he reminds me of the Harrison Ford character in Morning Glory:  the film about daytime TV magazine programmes.

I am called to the set, where Noel will conduct the interview.  As we wait for our cue, he asks if a relative of mine came through Kansas City doing much the same thing over twenty years ago.  Dad!

My father came to the city in 1993 and 1994 to help create the spectacular, but short-lived, Dickens Holiday Fair and Joel had interviewed him way back then.  What a lovely connection.

Despite a malfunctioning microphone (what do I DO to them?), the interview goes well and the events of the next three days are promoted successfully.  Joel shakes me warmly by the hand and suggests that perhaps he will interview my son in another 20 years:  Cameron, it is over to you!

The interviews have run for much longer than any of us had expected, and the day is pushing on.  I need to pick up a few things from the hotel before we drive to the Smithville High School, where I am performing A Christmas Carol to students.

The journey takes about half an hour, and shortly before we arrive at the huge educational complex we pass an old wooden house, with a sign proclaiming it to be ‘The American Angus Hall of Fame.  The largest and most complete compilation of Angus Bulls, Cows and History Ever!’

At the school Kimberly and I sign in at the main office, where we are joined by library employees Robert and Rebecca.  We are shown to the truly impressive theatre and are greeted by grey-bearded Davd in his Kansas City Chiefs cap.  David is helping us with technical issues, and we carefully check the microphone and the lights, until everyone is satisfied with the results.

The tech box, with a ghostly David

L-R: Rebecca, Robert and Kimberly

Being arty: the shadows of the stool on stage

 

We are joined by the splendidly named Taylor St John, the head of theatre, and then by Dr Mike Bartig who is the school’s principal.

Mr St John and Dr Bartig and very welcoming and we play the usual game of polite host/guest conversation, until Dr Bartig drops into the conversation that he drives in the NASCAR series!  Wait! Scroll back? NASCAR?  Wow! How cool is that!  Dr Bartig is no longer Dr Bartig, he is now Mike Bartig, pilot of car #27.

Theatre is forgotten as I chat to a real livin’ breathin’ stock car racer.

At 1 o’clcok the students file in to the theatre and I go to my dressing room.  Shortly before the show Mike comes by and gives me a signed picture of one of his major shunts: ‘folk only notice you when you hit things!’

The time to perform is approaching and, being a school, I have to be careful to run to time.  In fact I have to make sure that the show lasts for an hour, rather than its usual eighty minutes.  I spend time pacing backstage not trying to remember the lines I have to say, but the lines I have to forget.

The hour passes quickly and the show seems so empty in its pared back state.  There is no charity collector and there is no carol singer at Scrooge’s door.  Passages of lovely narration remain unsaid, and swathes of dialogue unspoken.  Despite that the students seem to enjoy it and give me an incredibly generous standing ovation at the end.

When the bulk of the audience have left, Dr Bartig (Principal, once more) asks me if I wouldn’t mind speaking to the acting class.  I am greeted by another round of applause from these young actors, and we spend fifteen minutes chatting, as I answer their questions.  It is like my time with the students in Norfolk: there is so much ambition within this group and they live in an amazing world of idealistic dreams.  Some will make it, some will fall by the wayside and some will find other outlets for their artistry, but here and now they are a positive, exciting and generous group of people.

We all pose for photographs, before it is time to leave.  Kimberly drives me back to the hotel, and we talk about the show and how sparse it felt.  It is strange to think that the hour long version was what I first performed on tour and this afternoon is vivid proof of how far it has come in the last twenty years.

We stop to buy a salad which I can take back to my hotel room, and I lie on my bed watching television and resting for two hours.

My evening performance is at the Woodneath Library Center, which is only five minutes away.  I have performed at Woodneath on many occasions, and know the staff and space very well.  Kimberly picks me up at 6.15 and tells me that the audience have been gathering since about 4.30.  I have quite a following at Woodneath!

The chief Librarian Melissa greets me and we go into the room where I will be performing.  She has decorated it beautifully, with amazing flowers crafted from the pages of books.

We do a sound-check, and then the doors are opened to let the crowds flood in.

My dressing space is in a small store room at the back of the hall and I stay inside it, wanting to preserve my energy and voice for as long as possible.  With five minutes to go I emerge and find Kimberly standing guard, making sure that I am not disturbed.  The room is packed.

Melissa, a trained opera singer, makes the introductions and I make my entrance from the back of the room.  The music and the bells see me to the stage and the audience is silent as I begin.

The crowd here are committed supporters, and many have been coming to see me for many years.  Every development in the script, every new nuance will be noticed and most likely commented on later.  It is nice to have the full cast of characters back with me this evening.

All goes without a hitch and I have great fun on stage.

As the applause and cheers die down I return to my store room, where I change costume and then go to the library’s coffee shop to sign some autographs.  There are many old friends in line, and one lady presents me with a beautiful Christmas Carol tray, whilst another gives me a print of her own artwork.  I shake the hand of Doug, (who is an avid follower of the blog) and his son Collin.  Another lady always has a sketchbook with her and shows me the pencil drawings of me in performance – this has become a tradition and it is fascinating to see how I appear to her.

And lastly, there is Don.  Dear Don, who always comes to my shows in Kansas City, and who has a signature from every one, and who always politely waits until everyone else has gone, before stepping forward to ask his questions.  A KC show wouldn’t be complete without Don.

It has been a long but exciting day and I change wearily into my normal clothes.  I say goodbye to Melissa and then Kimberly drives me back to the hotel, stopping on the way for dinner at Longhorn, where I have a burger and fries.

Back in my room I hang my costume and then go to bed.

What a lot has happened sine I last lay here: TV personalities, a NASCAR driver, ambitious students, artists and my good friends at the Mid Continent Public Library Service.  It has definitely been a good day!

Links:

Mid Continent Public Library Service:  http://www.mymcpl.org/

Smithville High School: http://smithvilleschooldistrict.net/site/default.aspx?PageID=1

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Beginning to Feel the Strain

Sunday, November 22

I am awake and up much earlier than I need to be this morning and there is hardly any repacking to be done, so I decide to have a coffee in bed before get going.  But where is the coffee machine?  Those cheeky folk at the airport Marriott have hidden it:  It’s not in the bathroom and it’s not in the armoire.  It’s not by the bed and it it’s not on the desk.  Oh, of course, silly me, it is on the top shelf of the wardrobe.

I finish the packing, and have a shower before leaving the room at around 6.15.  It is still too early for breakfast and I am just thinking about waiting until 6.30 when the girl behind the front desk asks if I’m taking the shuttle  bus to the airport, as it is about to leave.  I may as well, so join an American Airlines flight crew for the short ride.

Check-in, bag-drop and security are all very quiet, so I am at the gate early.  Today has the potential to be very awkward:  I am flying from Greensboro to Atlanta and then from Atlanta to Kansas City, but the layover is very tight.  According to my ticket I am due to arrive in at Atlanta at 9.46 and boarding for the next flight commences at 9.48.

As I sit at the gate I become aware that an earlier flight to Atlanta is boarding, which may have been a safer bet.

I use the hour I have to write the blog post and eat a breakfast sandwich from Dunkin’ Donuts.  I finish writing just as the boarding is announced, so the corrections and photographs will have to wait until I have time later in the day.

We take off on time, which bodes well for the connection, and rise into the bright blue sky.  This tour resolutely refuses to become Christmassy!

The flight is smooth, unlike the landing which is one of the roughest I’ve had for a long time.  The plane hits the runway hard before bouncing back into the air, at the same time lurching over to one side, which makes the second impact uneven which in turn slews the plane sideways.  It is all finished in a moment, but it is a scary moment.

The good news (apart from surviving) is that we have arrived thirty minutes early, so the pressure is off.  The news gets even better when I discover that Kansas City flight is departing from the same terminal (a rare event: perhaps I should buy a state lottery ticket today).

Thanks to all of the good fortune I have plenty of time to finish the blog, before the flight is called.

Another two hours pass and we begin to make our slow descent into the Kansas City airport.  The sun is glinting off streams and rivers, making them look like a giant snail trails across the landscape.  The flight path takes us over the Kansas City Speedway, before we fly parallel to the airport and the clover leaf arrangement of its three terminals.

The second landing is a vast improvement on the first and in no time I am waiting for my bags to be delivered.

Time is still tight, as I have to drive straight to the venue for my show today, it is a distance of over seventy miles, and I will only get there about an hour before the performance is due to start.  I don’t like days like this: there is too much stress involved, and I have very little opportunity to relax properly before the show.

I get on the road and head towards Chillicothe, Missouri.  At first the route takes me along some rural roads and the terrain is not unlike Pennsylvania, with gentle rolling hills dotted with barns, silos and farmhouses.  Soon, however I am on I36, heading north east and the road stretches way out in front of me, a lesson in perfect perspective.  The horizon is low and the sky dominates the scene, a brush of cirrus cloud breaking the blue.

There seems to be an inordinate amount of road kill, with the mutilated bodies of deer littering the highway.

The journey seems never ending, although there is some relief near Carrollton, when the road bends gently to the right and then to the left again.  It is the first time that I have used the steering wheel in over an hour!

At last the sat nav tells me to leave the highway and I am soon in the wide, quiet streets of Chillicothe.  It looks like an old frontier town, and it is easy to picture the saloons and livery stables, where diners and real estate offices are now.

The Livingston County Library is in a truly magnificent Victorian building, five or six stories high.  The car park is at the rear and is dominated by a huge mural depicting a bookcase stocked with classic novels.  I pull in, and study the art work, and see works by many authors, but where is Dickens? He must be represented somewhere: And then I see that I have pulled into park immediately beneath Oliver Twist.  It seems to be a good omen.

Mural

I get my suitcases out of the car (of course I haven’t been able to gather my costume together as I normally would), and haul them into the building where I am greeted by Robin, the director of the library and Jean, who first saw me perform and has put today’s show together.

We get into a lift and ride to the third floor, where I will be performing.  The room is huge, and was originally built as a courtroom, complete with a public gallery above. As befits its original status it is an impressive space with lots of polished woodwork. Robin and her team have dressed the stage with entirely appropriate period furniture, including one of the most remarkable iron hat stands that I have ever seen.

A microphone system has been set up, but even as we chat I can tell that the acoustics in the room are superb.  Considering that most of the troubles that I run into on tour stem from microphone systems, I ask if we can do a sound check without it.  It sounds wonderful, and I do not need to strain, so we decide to do the show without artificial enhancement.

There is now forty five minutes to go, and the audience are already gathering downstairs, so I go to my dressing room, where my cases are spread out on a table.  I get changed and then try to sit for a moment and gather my thoughts. There is a little plate of crackers in the room and I nibble on some of those, in lieu of the lunch that I haven’t had time to have today.  The effects of my Dunkin Donuts breakfast sandwich wore off a long time ago.

Spreading Out

Soon the courtroom is full and there is an expectant buzz of conversation.  The tolling of a church bell somewhere nearby heralds 3 o’clock and Robin gets onto the stage to welcome the guests.

With a round of applause I take to the stage and begin (there is no musical effect here, so I start with the ‘I have endeavoured in this ghostly little book to raise the ghost of an idea….’ preface from the first edition.)

The audience are great and vocal, and so attentive.  Everything works well today, and I even discover that I am not getting nearly as hot and damp as during previous shows, which is a bonus.

When I finish and the ovation has died down, Robin invites me back to the stage to take some questions, and there follows a very jolly thirty minutes or so banter with the audience, before I sign a few programmes and pose for a few photographs.

I am tired now and ready to get to my hotel.  The truth is that I could do with a day off, but I don’t get one of those (by which I mean a completely free day, with no travel or other commitments) until December 8, so for now I must just relax as and when I can.

I get everything back into my cases and say goodbye and thank you to Robin and Jean, before loading up the car and setting the sat nav for the hotel.  It is a journey of eighty minutes, back towards Kansas City.

The instructions tell me to take the I36 west, and I know I am heading in the right direction, because in front of me the sky is bathed in a beautiful sunset.

The drive is difficult, as I am struggling to stay awake.  I open the car windows and listen to the radio, all the time scanning the dark edges of the road for stray deer.

Eventually I reach the city limits of Liberty, and I pull into the car park of the Hampton Inn, Church Road, where I will be staying until Thursday.  It is a familiar hotel to me, and I was last here as recently as October.  I check in and go to my room.

It is 7.30 now and I could really do with something to eat.  In one of Liz’s emails from home she mentioned that she had a thick juicy steak on Saturday night, and that sounds like a great idea, so I go to the nearby Longhorn steak house nearby.  I just wish she was with me right now, although she will be flying out to join me for the final week of the trip, which will be amazing.

I have a delicious tender ribeye, with baked potato, but no dessert.  I am back in my room by 9, and feel completely drained as I lay on the bed.  I have quite an early start in the morning, with two TV interviews, before I even get to the performances, so I hope that I sleep well tonight.

 Links:

Livingston County Library: http://livingstoncountylibrary.org/

 

 

A Polite Way of Storytelling

Saturday November 21

My alarm goes off and I wake feeling ever so slightly jaded.  Maybe my evening of great conviviality with Stephen and Sarah Jane was a little too convivial.

The lobby of the hotel is very quiet, populated only by a desk clerk and the parking valet attendant, who disappears to fetch my Ford Focus.  I settle my bill, making sure that Nauticus do not end up paying for my dry cleaning, and drive into the night.

The journey is quick, and I am soon at Norfolk airport, returning the car with a full tank of fuel (not because I’ve filled it, just because I haven’t used it).  There is a short walk to the terminal building, which is surprisingly busy for this hour.  I buy a bagel for breakfast and go to my gate, awaiting the flight.

Today is one of those silly ‘fly-over-your-destination-to-a-hub-then-back-again’ days.  I am flying from Norfolk, Virginia to Charlotte, North Carolina and then to Greensboro.  For my first flight I am seated in an exit row, and take a great deal of time to study the card, which instructs me how to open the door.  In my mind I run through the emergency scenario and try to imagine how I will address my fellow passengers, as I guide them to safety. I will be controlled and ordered and command respect, and will inevitably be honoured for my bravery.  I am sure that the reality would be somewhat different, and I’d be elbowed out of the way in the initial surge.

Another episode of House of Cards passes the time nicely, and soon we are making our final approaches over the beautiful woods, rivers and lakes of Charlotte.  I used to perform here many years ago, and it is a friendly, modern, thriving city.

Charlotte also boasts one of the nicest major airports in the USA.  It has a large central atrium, with trees growing, and white rockers:  It’s similar to a grown-up Knoxville airport, actually.

My second flight departs from E concourse, and as I walk towards my gate I notice that the planes are getting smaller.  The Airbus A320s and Boeing 737s giving way to regional jets and propellered puddle-hoppers.  As the planes get smaller so the destinations get more charming, for these little craft are taking passengers around the southern states: Mobile, Augusta, Savannah, Hilton Head, Charleston, Fayetteville, Birmingham (with the emphasis placed firmly on the HAM) and Pensicola.  The last named Floridian city reminds me of a conversation many years ago, when I was told that ‘Florida is not in the south.  The south is further north!’

As the boarding time for my flight  to Greensboro approaches an announcement is made to say that there is a mechanical issue with the plane, and boarding will be delayed.   I have a horrible sense of déjà  vu of the day in October when my flight from Philadelphia was cancelled, and I missed a show.

Fortunately the trouble is soon remedied (Control-Alt-Delete and switch it off and on again) and we are allowed to board for a 20 minute flight at an altitude of only 9,000 ft.).

For once I am not renting a car, but staying in a hotel within the perimeter of the airport.  I am only here for one night, and am performing this evening in a private club in the city of High Point.

It is only 10.30 when I check in and I am able to have a bit of rest and a bite of lunch until I get ready for the show.  The order of events today is all a bit skew-whiff.  Originally the plan was to perform in the club to a public audience at 4pm, then do a signing session, which would include the arrival of the second audience made up of the club’s members who were to have an exclusive evening show.

In this way, all of the signing and posing for photographs would be done in one fell swoop, thereby meaning that I could leave as soon as the late show was finished.

A few days ago, however, the club cancelled the first show, but left the arrangements much the same, meaning that I need to be on site at 4pm, for a sound check; ready to sign at 5.30, before the guests have dinner prior to the show at 8.  The result of all this is that I am being picked up at 3.30 for an 8 o’clock show.

My chauffer is Michael, the husband of Nicky McLaughlin who is the general manager at the String and Splinter Club, and who has arranged the booking.

Michael turns out to be excellent company: he is a blues guitarist and spent years on the road, most particularly in Shanghai, so understands the routine of flights and hotels.  His 7 year old son Joe is in the back, intently studying a book on the Minecraft online game.  Every now and then our conversation is interrupted by completely surreal interjections: ‘Daddy, if I call my sheep Jeb it will have rainbow wool’; and ‘If I collect skeletons I can grow mushrooms!’  A different world, which I suppose is the whole point.  It is far removed from the flickering black and white tennis game that astounded us so much in the 1970s.

As we reach the city limits of High Point Michael explains that the community exists purely for the furniture manufacturing business.  There are massive warehouses everywhere, and for a week in the spring, and another in the autumn, the whole town is packed for the furniture shows.  Outside those weeks it is almost a ghost town.

We arrive at the String and Splinter Club (named after the city’s historic industries of fabric and woodwork) and Nicky is there to greet us.

I have worked with Nicky in different venues in the past – indeed last year she was the manager at a country club in Wilmington NC, and looked after me then.  She took the job at the String and Splinter in April and is trying to encourage the members to have more events.  The String and Splinter is a typical city club and is mainly used for business lunch meetings.  Only comparatively recently did it open its doors to female members

As soon as I walk in I can feel the history, and tradition oozing out of the walls.  It is very Dickensian and the Pickwick Club would feel quite at home here.

The staff is professional and attentive and the dining room, where a stage has been erected is elegant.  I ask if all of the furniture is locally made: ‘Oh, yes.  If it is local and very expensive, they buy it’

I am shown to an upstairs room to change in.  It is, in fact a restroom, but is furnished with tables and a sofa, and the decor is relaxing.  It makes me think of one of my very first tours, in 1995, when I came to do a book signing in a store near here, and had to change in a McDonald’s rest room: my, I have come a long way since then and how my restrooms have improved!

Not McDonalds

I change and return to the ground floor for the signing session.  The guests arrive gradually and as I sign their programmes they tell me how excited they are to see me.  They are the senior elite of High Point society and remind me how genteel the southern aristocracy are.  They are all immaculately dressed, with impeccable manners, and beautiful (oh, so beautiful) accents.

At 7 o’clock I return upstairs and leave the guests to their dinner, before returning ready to begin performing at 8.  The last of the plates are cleared, coffee is served, wine glasses are re-filled and everybody sits back to watch the show.

The audience in the String and Splinter Club have to be the quietest audience I have ever performed to!  There is no reaction to anything.  No titters, no laughter: nothing. Actually that is not quite true, and one table in particular are laughing in a very polite, genteel way, but as a group they are so quiet.

I abandon any form of audience participation (ie the gasp at Mrs Cratchit’s goose, or Topper flirting with a demure young girl.)  Rather than panicking I take comfort from the remarks of one of the students at yesterday’s event in Norfolk, who had gushed ‘you are great at telling a story!’  I heed his words, and concentrate on telling these good folk a story, nothing more.

For that reason it is a rather nice show, and at the end there is generous and polite applause.  The guests shake me politely by the hand and purr their appreciation.

It is a good reminder that there is more than one way to skin a cat, and A Christmas Carol does not necessarily have to be the big theatrical show that it usually is.

I say my goodbyes, and shake firm hands, before Michael brings his car round and we drive back to the hotel, where I have a late supper and get to bed.

Tomorrow will be back to normal but for today I have dropped into the south, not only geographically but socially too.  It, like Minecraft, is a different world.

 

Links:

String and Splinter Club:  http://www.stringandsplinter.com/

 

 

 

 

Let Me Take You By The Hand and Lead You Through The Streets of London

Friday November 20

 

As my only commitment today is a meet and greet session with students in the afternoon, I can take the opportunity of having one of my costumes dry cleaned.

It is with a sense of trepidation that I hand it over, for if by any chance it is not returned today, I am in trouble. I am sure that it is good hands, but as the green frock coat, along with trousers and waistcoat, disappear from my sight I send vibes of good fortune with them.

The breakfast room is actually very quiet, as the orchestra members, dressed in ill-fitting tuxedos, and long black dresses are obviously ready for an early performance. The noise level in the lobby rises as more musicians arrive, and it is as if they are tuning up before the conductor raises his baton to bring silence.

Good luck folks, have a great performance

I return to my room and write the blog, before spending time doing some research on a small legal matter that has arisen (no, it has nothing to do with running the red light in LA, or even for driving through the PA Turnpike toll booth without an EZ-Pass).

My administrative efforts are interrupted by taking the elevator to the 5^th floor to do the mundane laundry that is necessary for the next few days.

When I have all of the information that I need, and have sent the relevant emails; as well as retrieving my socks and shirts, I put my remaining costume onto a hanger ready to walk to Nauticus.

I have a little time before the meet and greet starts, so I am going to spend an hour or so in the museum itself. The walk is only ten minutes, and before entering the building I pause and look up at the huge prow of The Wisconsin.

Angela is waiting to greet me, and makes sure I have the correct sticker before letting me loose within Nauticus. The museum is superb and naturally focuses on the Naval History of the area (The Chesapeake Bay being a strategically important delta). I learn how the US Navy was in disarray until Theodore Roosevelt commissioned the Great White Fleet and sent the ships on a circumnavigation of the globe, to spread goodwill, friendship – as well as proof that the USA should now be counted on as a naval powerhouse.

I am particularly amazed at the stories of the Confederate ironclad ships used in the American Civil War. Ships such as the CSS Virginia were used to ram the opposition, and what is extraordinary to me is how modern they looked – almost like the stealth craft of today’s navy. I can’t say that for sure, because I have never seen a stealth craft, which obviously proves how effective they are.

CSS Virginia

Being from a family steeped in naval history I find the whole place wonderful.

All too soon my hour is up, and I take the lift up to Angela’s office, where I change into my costume for the afternoon’s visit to Christmas Towne itself. Angela is already emailing Pam at Byers Choice to try and get dates for next year sorted as soon as possible.

Angela and I take the short walk from Nauticus to The Half Moone Cruise Terminal where the Christmas Towne exhibit is situated. Stephen is waiting to great us, and as we walk through the doors we pass from the warmth of a sunny Norfolk day, into the chill of a London street.

The set is remarkable with streets winding up and down the building, all lined with 2-story buildings. There is the Old Curiosity Shop, there is a poulterer, there is a book store. Stephen is obviously immensely proud with what has been achieved, and as we walk he is checking the minutest of details, making sure everything is perfect.

He is an old romantic at heart, as one of the buildings represents the pub that he and his wife Sarah Jane visited on the night of their engagement, whilst one of the streets is named after his mother-in-law.

One of the main concerns Stephen has is to preserve the literary background of the experience, and not let it become a Disneyfied scene, so he has created huge curled pages displaying text and illustrations from the original 1843 edition of the book, and hung them from the walls.

There is a pub, serving proper pub food, there is an old time photography booth, there are huge Victorian Christmas Cards for people to stand behind and be photographed.

There are Union Flags (the correct name for the Union Jack), hanging…..oh dear. Last night as Stephen drove me back to the hotel there was a folded up Union Jack on the front seat of his car. ‘Make sure you hang it the right way up!’ I said. Stephen, having an English wife replied by saying his life wouldn’t be worth living if he got it wrong. And now, here today in Christmas Towne the Union Flags are hanging upside down.

Poor Stephen is distraught, but I know he’d rather be aware of it now, rather than when the crowds are pouring through the doors tomorrow.

We reach the far end of the scene and there is a small circular wooden stage, where I will be performing for the students in about thirty minutes. Actually the stage, set as it is in a market square, would be a superb venue to do Doctor Marigold in, and maybe that is something to think about in the future.

I do a quick sound check, and grab a few pieces of furniture, and then wait until the audience arrives.

At 2.15 the small group of theatre students from the Governor’s School for the Arts arrive and sit themselves around the stage.

Originally I was going to try and pare down A Christmas Carol to 45 minutes, but it was proving difficult to retain a sense of the main performance, so instead Angela, Pam and I decided that it would be better if I did the ‘behind the scenes’ of A Christmas Carol, and explain how the show works, and how it developed.

I begin with Dickens’s preface to the novel and then tell all of my old stories: Cockerel, RSC Nicholas Nickleby, first reading performance in 1993, losing the script and improvising for the first time. The students are very attentive and engaged.

For the second half of the session I talk about some of the techniques for transitioning between characters and maintaining their respective positions on stage – I hope that being theatre students they may appreciate these technical details.

Performing, with the Union Flag behind

When I have finished my talk, I throw it open to questions. At first no one is willing to make the first move, until the group’s teacher chimes in – after that the flood gates open and we spend a fun time chatting back and forth.  They are a great bunch and a real credit to the school, asking intelligent and pertinent answers.

My 45 minute time slot comes to an end and they give me a big round of applause. The teacher thanks me and asks if I could actually give a performance at the school sometime, which may be something to think about in future years; I’d love them to see the full show, and then have a discussion about it afterwards.

My formal duties for Dickens Christmas Towne are now finished, and it is with great sadness that I leave the wonderful scene for the last time. At least this year I have seen it in its finished state, whereas when I was here twelve months ago to promote the inaugural season, it was still a construction site as I left.

With Angela and Stephen

Angela takes me back to the office to pick up my 21^st Century clothes, and then back to the main entrance of Nauticus, where we say goodbye for another year.

I walk back to the hotel in costume, and no heads turn in surprise. It is a lovely warm day, and the sun is beginning to set.

When I get back to my room I realise that the dark load of laundry didn’t dry properly earlier, so I go back to the first floor and change a dollar bill for quarters. While I am at the counter I realise that I haven’t eaten anything since breakfast, so purchase a little microwavable can of ravioli, which I take back to my room (stopping at the fifth floor laundry to start the drier going). Once in the room I realise that there is no microwave (that was the previous hotel), so go all the way down to the lobby again to use the one in the pantry.

I read the instructions on the can: ‘remove metal lid by ring-pull.’ I peel it back, but it gets stuck at the last bit, so I tug a little harder and still it doesn’t come away. A little more effort…..

OK: a tight lid suddenly giving way; a can filled with red tomato sauce; a man wearing a white shirt. What do you think the result is? A CSI team could investigate me for spatter patterns – I look as if I should be strapped to a stretcher and taken to A&E straight away.

Back up to floor 8, and I take my shirt off and soap all of the red marks, before hanging it up to dry. By the time I get to the ravioli it is cold anyway.

Because I haven’t had a big show today I don’t need to let my costume air before packing it, so I spend time organising my cases (not forgetting the load in the drier.) My dry cleaning is returned intact, and everything is ready for the morning.

At 6.50 Stephen comes to the hotel to take me out to dinner. I’d assumed we would be driving, so didn’t put a coat on, but actually we are walking a few blocks to a fish restaurant. The temperature is still warm, and it is a very pleasant stroll.

We sit at the bar and order some wine while we wait for Sarah Jane to join us. Stephen is tired, as the whole project has been a massive effort, but tomorrow his dreams will be realised and Dickens Christmas Towne will be open to the public.

Sarah Jane arrives and we have a great evening, with lots of laughter and good conversation. I have a grilled salmon with crab and it is superb.

After a couple of hours of convivial company, and with promises to do it all again next year, we walk through the streets of Norfolk back to my hotel, where we say goodbye.

It will be sad to fly away tomorrow and leave Christmas Towne behind me. Stephen’s passion and vision, allied to the professionalism of Angela and the whole team, makes the whole project very welcoming; I have felt as if I am a major part of it from the first moment Stephen greeted me last year.

Good luck Dickens Christmas Towne: have a great season.