To KC

I have to get onto the road fairly promptly, albeit not desperately early today, as I have a sound check at 12.15 in the Kansas City area.

As I will be driving there is no need to squeeze my hat, cane, frockcoats, waistcoats and costumes trousers into my cases, and as I go to breakfast I take all of those items to my forgotten car, which has been languishing in the parking garage for the past three days.

The Element is a lovely and friendly hotel but I have to say that their breakfast choice isn’t the best.  Today I make do with some rather watery porridge (oatmeal) and some rather limp waffles (limp waffles).

At 7.45 I am ready for my road trip and say a cheery goodbye to the front desk staff who have been very helpful throughout my stay.  I set the SatNav and discover that my journey will be a little shy of three hours, and set off into the rising sun of a beautiful Nebraskan morning.  I make a few turns, join a few roads before eventually taking the slip road to the i29: ‘in 158 miles take the exit to the right’.  I settle in for the long haul.

As I mentioned a few days ago I am currently taking part in the Black and White Challenge on Facebook, and I made a decision that as I am on tour all of my images would come from my daily adventures, rather than using any old pictures that I may have.  No sooner have I joined the interstate than I see one of those huge American flags being barely stirred by the wind, so I pull off the road to take a picture.  And then there is a motel sign, and then there is some strange sculpture on a bridge, and before I know it I have lots of possible images to consider.

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I get back on the road and actually could stop every two minutes, as the images of an early morning are stunning.  Lots of farm land with large silos and water towers seem to float on the low morning mist, made more ethereal by the soft morning light coming from my left (I am driving south).  Long freight trains with rusty goods cars make false horizons, and long spidery irrigation systems stretch across the fields.

At one moment there is a powerful, modern, sturdy wind turbine casually sweeping the air, and in its shadow cowers a typical vintage windmill with its little wheel made up of offset blades, and its tail all sitting on a spindly wooden tower.

Thank heavens that the scenery is so beautiful because the road is interminably dull with no hills and only a few gentle curves to relieve the boredom.  I hit rush hour as I pass Mound City, and see three cars and a tractor.  The miles pass relentlessly beneath me.

It is a moment of great excitement when the display on my SatNav tells me that I have only an hour to go, and as the figures change so my Christmas playlist arrives at Mele Kalikimaka – it certainly feels as if I driven to Hawaii!

Soon I am passing my old friend Kansas City Airport (which I will not be using for the first time in many years), and suddenly become aware that I have to switch my concentration on again.  My driving instincts have lain dormant for the last few hours, but before I know it there are cars joining the freeway, and others changing lanes as the road becomes a more urgent and dangerous place.

The drive from the airport to my hotel in Liberty (a suburb of KC) is only about thirty minutes and it is a familiar trail, and at around 11am I pull up outside the Hampton Inn where I have stayed on many occasions (and whose waffles are NOT limp).

By the time I am checked in I have less than an hour before my friend and event organiser Kimberly Howard arrives to pick me up and take me to my first appearance of the day.  She is rather worried when I appear in the hotel lobby in jeans and a sweater but with no costume, until I explain that I had left everything in the car.  We collect the gear and set off towards the North Independence Branch of the Mid-Continent Public Library, where I am to perform at 2.  We spend the journey catching up on our news – we have known each other for so many years now and Kimberly is indeed a good friend.

The library is closed when we arrive (it being Sunday), but we enter through the staff door at the back.  I am greeted by various librarians who are very excited to have me in their branch.  The events at Mid-Continent are all free, but due to the policing of fire codes, people have to register for them – all are ‘sold’ out with waiting lists.

I am shown the room where I am to perform, a typical library meeting room, rather bland and brightly lit, with a small stage at one end with my props already in place.  The microphone system here has caused as trouble in the past so we take plenty of time to ensure that everything is working properly.  Mid-Continent invested in a very good portable sound system a few years ago, but the only actual microphone they have is attached to an ear piece.  I don’t know if my ears are a particularly odd shape, or the rigours of my show are over and above those for which the ear piece was designed, but the thing always falls off.  Last year we actually sewed the piece on (NO!  Not onto my ear!  Into my costume…), and this year we achieve the same effect by using a couple of little binder clips beneath my waistcoat.

A CD player is found for my music, and all is ready.  I change in good time and pick a book from one of the many carts that are scattered around – very strangely I find myself reading The Rise and Fall of the Third Reich.

At 1.50 I emerge from my changing room ready for the show.  Unfortunately a lot of people have decided not to turn up, which is rotten for those who had been on the waiting list, and the room is only two-thirds full.  Many that are there have seen the show in the past however so I know that I have a friendly crowd.  The stage is very small and becomes somewhat cramped with all of the furniture, but I can use the floor as well, which gives me more space to spread out into.  It is a decent performance, if not stellar, but I work up a good head of steam and really get going by the end.  The audience clap loudly, but do not stand, which is probably a fair reflection of my afternoon’s efforts.

Having changed costumes I return to my signing table where lots of people are buying programmes (of both 2016 and 2017 vintages), and I pose for lots of happy photographs.

It is 4 o’clock now and Kimberly drives me back to my hotel, whilst the Library staff dismantle the set in our wake.  We stop briefly at a branch of Panera Bread so that I can get a salad to take back to my room, as I have yet to have had any lunch today.  I have an hour and a half before it is time to go again.

I am feeling a bit flat, to be honest, so I decide to trim my beard shorter, have a shave and a shower all in an attempt to ‘re-invent’ myself; and when I emerge from the bathroom I do indeed feel refreshed.

The event this evening is not a performance as such, but a meeting to thank ‘The Libray Lovers’ members, who support Mid-Continent.  We are due to be at The St James Event Center in Liberty at  6.15, and it is only a ten minute drive, which is good.  The St James Center is a converted Church and is beautiful.  The high vaulted ceilings and exposed brickwork give a real sense of style, whilst the light fittings are modern and artistic.

Tables are being readied with various decorations, and an amazing lavish and decadent desert buffet has been constructed.

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At around 7 the guests start to arrive, and once more there are many very familiar faces among them:  I have been performing for the Mid-Continent Public Library for over twenty years and it is the longest continual sponsor on my tour.

My role tonight is to regale the audience with various tales of how I came to perform A Christmas Carol, and soon I am on the little stage pouring out many well-used anecdotes about myself and the show.  Of course the giant cockerel makes a guest appearance, as does the losing of my book in Tennessee which forced me to develop the memorised version of the show.  The lady who thought I’d had a stroke, because I only gestured with one arm, and many other silly stories bring colour to the tale.  I take a bit of time explaining some of the tricks of the trade, and how I change characters so quickly, before taking a few questions.

It is a nice, friendly evening and after I have finished I spend plenty of time chatting with the guests and being photographed by the Library’s official photographer who has been doing a sterling and inconspicuous job throughout the event.

But now it is time to leave, and Kimberly squirrels me away into the night.  We stop for dinner at Olive Garden, where I have meatballs and spaghetti, and then back to The Hampton Inn.  I hang my costumes up and prepare bags of laundry for the morning, before getting ready to sleep, which will not be long in coming.

In fact I alm….zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz

 

 

 

 

 

A Queue for a Cue

Today is day three in Omaha, and also the last day…for now.   I have an earlier start today, with Lee due to pic me up at 9.15, so cannot afford to be quite as relaxed as yesterday.  I write my blog, have coffee and shower, before partaking of the breakfast in the lobby, which today consists of a bowl of cereal with plenty of fruit heaped onto it, and two slices of toast (one with grape jelly and one with a strange, glutinous substance of a rusty brown hue, which declares itself to be strawberry jam).

I have two shows today, both of which at The Field Club, and there doesn’t seem to be much point in returning to the hotel between them so I make sure I have all the costumes that I need for both.  Lee, as ever, is punctual and we are soon walking into the beautiful hallway of the club.

Everyone is here, busily preparing for the  first show and as I walk into the ballroom I catch Kathy just having done an impression of me – she declines to repeat it, but I suspect it was the Ghost of Christmas Present’s ‘You have never seen the like of me before’ pose!

Everyone is in fine spirits and the audience begins to arrive good an early.  This morning I am performing A Child’s Journey with Dickens once more, which will be fun.  I go to change and then spend a little time pacing, going over a few bits of the script that got slightly muddled yesterday.  Today there is not such an elaborate tea service before the performance, although each audience member has two vouchers for Mimosas to put them in a nice relaxed mood.

The show is better today, tighter and somehow more personal.  The audience are so attentive, and smiling along with the story, and once more the revelation that my copy of the book is actually signed by Kate Douglas Wiggin brings gasps of astonishment and a few ‘Oh, my Gods’, as if the spirit world has really worked its magic on me.

After answering a few questions on the stage I make my way up the long corridor to the main lobby, where I sit at the signing table and….wait: nobody comes out of the room!  I wait a bit longer and still no-one.  I chat to Caitlin and some of the Douglas County Historical Society volunteers, and wait some more.  This is the strangest phenomenon.  Of course I have had very quiet signing sessions before, but these have usually been after rather poor shows when everyone has instantly left, trying to avoid eye contact with me.  Today is different.

Eventually a lady appears, proffering her programme, ‘That was the most beautiful story, I so loved your performance.  Oh, and THIS is the book?  Oh that is so amazing, to actually have her autograph!  Let me shake your hand.’  We chat for a while before she collects her coat and leaves.  Then another lady appears and we have much the same conversation.

For the next 30 or 40 minutes that is the pattern as the audience gently drift away one by one, apparently reluctant to leave.

When I eventually chat to Kathy she tells me that they were so relaxed, and so chilled in the ballroom, and just wanted to browse and talk.  It is a rather lovely way to finish the show, rather than the manic, long, noisy signing lines of A Christmas Carol.

I now have plenty of time to kill until the second performance, so Lee and I take the opportunity to have lunch and today I chose a delicious crab cake salad.  Outside, the golf course is looking resplendent but there is very keen, icy wind blowing across Omaha today and conditions for golf would require many layers.  A few hardened players are battling the wind, but our position in the warm clubhouse is the preferable choice today.

With lunch finished Lee and I repair to the tiny bar known as The Cry Room (every golf club should have one).  In the past it has been quiet in there, but today there are quite a few golfers and lots of raucous banter.  Having watched some American football for a while I decide to go and find a quite place to nap.

In the end I lay on the floor in the ballroom next to the stage, as the waiters quietly and efficiently lay the tables for tea.  I will be performing A Christmas Carol this afternoon, and a large fireplace has been placed on the stage, along side the requisite chair, table and stool.  Roxanne is dressing the set, artfully decorating the fireplace with fir and spruce, and Kathy checks the reservation sheets for any anomalies.  One of the most impressive things about working with the DCHS is their constant eye for the smallest details, meaning that the events tend to run so smoothly.

There is one thing that good planning cannot overcome, however, and that is the bizarre sound system in the ballroom.  There is no way to play a sound effect from a CD or a USB stick in the room itself.  The only solution is to plug my phone into the main muzak machine, which is in a store cupboard at the far end of the main corridor from where there is no view of the ballroom.  Connor, one of the servers, is detailed with the duty of hitting ‘play’ on my phone, but the lead which plugs into the phone is very short, so not only can Connor not see the stage, he can’t even see the corridor.  Therefore Roxanne is stationed outside the plant room, ready to signal him, and I will take up my position in the ballroom, ready to signal her when Kathy has finished her introduction.  Good grief!  There must be an easier way, maybe I should just sing the opening bars of The Trans Siberian Orchestra’s Sarajevo!  The chances of success, I would say, are limited.

The audience are keen!  Boy are they keen.  In complete contrast to the laid back, languid crowd of this morning, the afternoon group are almost banging at the door to be let in a good 90 minutes before show time.  When Kathy finally opens up there is a tidal surge, and I quickly disappear to the locker room to change.

With fifteen minutes to go I make sure that my phone is on airplane mode, so that no phone calls or Twitter alerts interrupt the mournful music, and hand it to Connor who takes his place.  Roxanne, with Lee as backup, take their positions, I take mine, and Kathy takes hers, thus creating a long line from stage to plant room: a queue for my cue.

When Kathy finishes the intro I signal to Roxanne and then turn to make my entrance and to my astonishment the music comes in perfectly.  This was an awful lot of effort for 50 seconds, but it has worked.

The performance goes very well, and all of the business works.  The stage at the Field Club is very narrow (front to back), but very wide; it is also not very high which means that it is easy to step down between the tea tables, which is always very much enjoyed.

It is hot work, so much more physical than A Child’s Journey for instance, but it goes very well and I am congratulated by a lovely standing ovation.  As ever Kathy calls me back to answer a few questions from the audience and after an initial reluctance, they start to flow. The questions are interesting and more about Dickens himself than about me and my show – with the forthcoming release of ‘The Man who Invented Christmas’ there is a fascination over here about the great man.

When I leave the stage I go straight back to the locker room to change out of my damp costume, and when I return to the lobby there is a long and noisy line waiting for autographs – in complete contrast to this morning.  I pose, I smile and I scrawl and the reception is wonderful.

And so my events in Omaha have come to a close.  Before the show both Caitlin and Kathy had said ‘here we go! the last show!’ and of course to them it is, but I have to keep focussing as I have shows tomorrow and the next day and the day after that, and pretty well every day until December 17.  Even though there is a celebratory feeling in the air that the event is over and everyone can relax, I have to detach myself from that somewhat, which is rather a shame.

I change and pack up all of my things and hug my goodbyes (although I will be seeing Kathy, Susie and Lee again next week for a couple of extra shows in Omaha).

Lee takes me back to The Element, where I hang my costumes up, before resting for a short while.

I have dinner back in Crave restaurant where I ate on my first night here, which somehow seems like an age ago.  I treat myself to a large juicy New York Strip steak, followed by a Peach Bread Pudding.  The restaurant is very busy with lots of couples out enjoying their Saturday night.  A wave of rather melancholy loneliness comes over me, and I wish I were at home in Abingdon on the sofa with Liz watching TV.

I finish dinner, and walk back to the hotel, my scarf carefully wrapped around my throat to protect it from the chill of the night.  It is still early, but I am soon in my bed ready for a good, and I think well deserved, night’s sleep.  Tomorrow morning I have to drive to Kansas City, where I will be working with different friends and colleagues, in different venues – and so the tour inexorably continues.

 

 

A Different Kind of Day

Today is a more relaxing day and will give me the chance to re-charge a little.  There are still two shows to be done, but the first is not until 3 which means I have the whole morning to myself, which is a treat.

Of course free time equates to laundry and my first job this morning is to send my ‘smart’ shirts for dry cleaning.  In the past I have sometimes struggled with clothes shrinking in the guest laundry process (nothing to do with burgers, fries and waffles I am sure), so I am taking extra care this year, especially of the beautiful shirt that Liz made for me which I particularly want to be able to wear for Thanksgiving.

Having dropped the cleaning off at the front desk and then had breakfast, it is back to my room in order to bag up the rest of my shirts and to collect the vast amount of quarters required for the machines’ voracious appetite.  Most people judge a hotel on its comfort, or its efficiency, or its convenience; not me – the availability and quality of a guest laundry is all that matters!  Here, at The Element, I am spoiled with a fabulous laundry room, albeit 5 floors below me, which means a bit of a trek.

With two machines loaded and tumbling I come back to the room and start a  little work in preparation for todays shows.  I am going to be performing ‘A Child’s Journey With Dickens’ in the afternoon, and a series of readings from ‘A Tale of Two Cities’ this evening.  Although I have been rehearsing A Child’s Journey over the last week or so, I want to remind myself of some of the build-up material, and particularly the newspaper review that Mark Twain wrote having watched Charles Dickens perform in New York.

Unfortunately I discover that I haven’t brought the Twain material with me, which necessitates another trip downstairs to the business centre computer to print it out.  A  quick online search pulls up the document and it is a more complete version than that I have seen before, with an amazing description of Dickens’ face and beard, comparing him to a Scottish Highland Terrier!

I spend plenty of time going through the long quote, and then run through the main show again until I am quite happy with all of the lines.

All of this is punctuated by various visits to the 3rd floor, and on one of these I let the laundry door click shut just as I realise that I have left the keycard inside, the other being in my room.  So once more I have to descend to the lobby, this time carrying a bulging bag of white shirts, and ask for a new card (and an extra dollar of quarters), before returning to my room.  Goodness, no wonder I get so tired!

The morning is moving on, and it will soon be time for Lee to pick me up so I go through the routine of gathering my costume together, and having a shower before going to the lobby to wait.

Bang on the stroke of 1 Lee arrives and we drive together to the Field Club, where I am to perform.  The Field Club is an old Omaha Golf club, and it so happens that Lee is a member there.  The weather is warm and lots of people are out on the course: maybe I don’t really need to do a show today….maybe I could just borrow some clubs…..maybe just a few holes!

Reality takes over, however, and in no time I am greeting the events manager Caitlyn, who looks after our event every year, and starting to do a sound check in the ball room.

It is still early so Lee, Susie and I repair to the restaurant for a spot of lunch where I choose some fish and chips.  The fish is crispy, the fries fluffy and the coleslaw delicious.

The audience is already beginning to arrive, the bulk of it being made up of two large coach tours who include my show in their itinerary.  One is from Virginia and a number of guests booked on the tour specifically to come to my show, which is very flattering!

I still have plenty of time, as the guests will be served with a sumptuous tea first.  The machinery of the event runs to perfection: Caitlyn supervises the tea service, Roxanne looks after the merchandise table (with the 2017 souvenir programme selling well!), Kathy supervises everything and makes sure it is all as she wants it.

I get changed in the golf club locker room, and then take myself to a little ante room, where once more I run through the Mark Twain quote and  parts of the show.  As the clock moves towards three, the tea service is finished and Kathy gets onto the stage to welcome me.

A Child’s Journey with Dickens is a true story written by the author of Rebecca of Sunnybrook Farm, describing a meeting that she had with Charles Dickens when she was a ten year old.

The show starts with a description of Charles’ tour to America in 1867-8 and the reception to it (hence the Mark Twain review)

It is a gentle story and quite charming, and the audience love it.  The coup de grace is when I produce my first edition copy of ‘A Child’s Journey With Dickens’ and reveal that when it was delivered I discovered that it was inscribed by Kate herself: ‘I was the child, Kate Douglas Wiggin’.  All of the audience gasp!

When the show is over I go straight to the signing table without bothering to change, as I haven’t got nearly as hot as I do during A Christmas Carol.  The coach tours particularly are keen to pose for photographs and have their programme signed which is lovely.

The event eventually runs its course and I return to the locker room to change.  Lee has taken the opportunity this afternoon to try his new driver out on the practice range – I am rather jealous.

We get in his car and start to drive back to the hotel, and I am surprised when he takes a different route to usual – maybe there is heavy traffic and he is taking a short cut.  Strange, for I am sure the Mutual of Omaha building is next to my hotel and yet we seem to be driving away from it – a one way system perhaps?  Suddenly Lee cries out ‘SHOOT!  I’m driving home! ‘ and he has to double back towards The Element.

I only have an hour between shows, but its enough time to rest a little and shower, before getting dressed all in black for the sombre A Tale of Two Cities readings at The General Crook House Museum.

The events at the Crook House are lovely, and very Victorian, with the readings taking place in the parlour, as they would have done when Crook himself entertained here.

The audience of 40 is already gathering when we arrive and tucking in to the delicious buffet that Chef Mario has provided.  I chat and mingle with the guests, many of whom are long time supporters and old friends.  As 7pm approaches Kathy starts to marshal everyone into the tiny theatre space (most swinging by the bar for a last minute top up), before closing the doors and starting the evening’s programme.

This script is only performed here and was specifically created because the Omaha events are billed as ‘A Tale of Two Dickenses’  I have created a script that is made from my favourite passages throughout the book, and it is nice to go ‘old school’, reading Dickens as I used to when I started performing back in 1993.  The rhythm and the language of the story is beautiful and I am so looking forward to getting to work on my full-scale theatre version of it next year.

The show ends, of course, with the famous ‘it is a far far better thing that I do…’ speech, and the lingering words of the ultimate self-sacrifice makes the atmosphere in the room heavy and electric.

At the conclusion of the show Kathy opens the doors into to next room and the whole audience piles through to share a champagne toast, composed and performed (for it is quite a poem) by Susie.

The evening continues and I sign a few books, but with an audience of only 40 (capacity!) it does not take long.  It is soon time to leave and Mario presents me with boxes of food from the buffet for me to enjoy in my hotel room, which has full kitchen facilities so I can reheat the superb beef tenderloin.

Lee drops me back to the hotel and I get out of costume, into pyjamas and enjoy the delicious fare before me.

It has been a lovely day, a different day, with two interesting shows, and lots of interesting people to share it with.

 

 

 

Not at my Sparkling Best

Despite my long day of travelling yesterday I endure rather a broken night of sleep, and having been nominated by Ian to take part in the Black and White photo challenge on Facebook, my first offering is of my clock taunting me at 3.45.  Even in my half-sleep state I think how odd that I should happen to wake when the numbers are in the correct order.

 

I finally wake for good at 5 and do not have long to write the blog, as I need to start preparing for a typically busy Omaha day.  My first commitment is at 7am at a nearby radio station, where I have been interviewed in the past.  A very quick bowl of cereal and a muffin, before I walk into the brisk icy air (definitely not in California now!), and stride to Boomer 104, where I am met by Roxanne (working with the Douglas Historical Society this year – the new Rylee, Abby, Cassandra), and two of the show’s presenters Patrick and David.

I am welcomed back as an old friend and the banter is great fun.  The interview is of course to promote my appearances here, but also to talk about the big new film release of ‘The Man Who Invented Christmas’, which opens on the night before Thanksgiving.  The radio station are staging a premiere night, and are giving away tickets, so are keen to know my thoughts.

The off-air banter continues on air, which is always the best way to run a morning drive time interview.  At one point Patrick asks me if I will tell the listeners something about Charles Dickens that they do not already know.  ‘No!’ I reply, conspiratorially.

 

At Boomer

 

The interview runs its course, and I am back into the cold morning by 7.30.  The sun is just rising and looks beautiful over the Mid Town Crossing park.

 

A Nebraska Sunrise

 

Back at the hotel I have time to grab my costumes and paraphernalia before Lee Phillips arrives at 8am to ferry me to my first show of the day.

Lee and his wife Susan have become very good friends of both Liz and I over the years and have  stayed with us in Abingdon.  It is always so good to catch up and Lee and I spend the drive talking about the most important things in life – that is how our respective golf games have fared over the year.

The first show is at a Preparatory School called the Brownell-Talbot school where both Lee and Susan used to teach.  It s a small school, obviously well supported and successful.  At the reception desk we ask if we have to sign in and the office manager says ‘Oh, I think we know that you are here – don’t worry!’  In these days of high security, this is rather refreshing.

We are shown to the auditorium which is lovely and intimate, and Eileen, the drama teacher, shows me to the dressing room and makes sure that I have everything I need.  We do a sound check with a student called Noah, who also makes sure that my opening sound effect is ready to play.

Susan and Kathy Aultz, the Executive Director of the Historical Society , are also at the school and it is lovely to hug our greetings and chat about the next few days as well as the past year.

The time of the performance is getting closer, so I return back stage and to my dressing room. This is obviously a thriving drama department and all over the walls are various motivational theatrical quotations:

‘The actor should be able to create the universe in the palm of his hand.  Laurence Olivier’

‘Movies will make you famous, television will make you rich but theatre will make you GOOD’

and:

Somehow I feel rather ill-prepared by the time the show is ready to start!

The stage is a perfect size for my show, as is the auditorium and I am able to give the full theatre-style performance for the first time on this trip.  The show goes well, although the pupils are just a little TOO well behaved for my liking.  There are laughs at the funny lines and murmurs of appreciation during some of the character transitions, but it is all just a bit constrained.  However I am very pleased with the performance and the audience clap loudly with teenage whoops thrown in at the end.

We have time for some brief questions and those students from the drama department particularly are keen know all about the rigours and difficulties of staging a one man show.

The question and answer session is brought to a close by the bell ringing and the pupils disperse to their next lessons, but a few remain behind to pose for photographs and to continue their questions.  One girl is over the moon: ‘I’ve never met anyone with an accent before!’

I get changed and pack up before joining Lee and Susie who will take me to the next venue, via lunch.  We drive a short distance to a branch of Panera Bread where I have a delicious chicken noodle soup.  Before out food arrives we group together to take a picture to send to Liz (who is off work, not feeling well).

We cannot tarry over lunch as we have to be at the next school before 12.15, and it is a 30 minute drive.  The Northwest High School has a very different demographic to Brownell-Talbot and is in a much more diverse and poorer part of the city.  We are greeted by the drama teacher in the parking lot and taken to a side door, which is locked – apparently the locks have actually been changed since she used the same door earlier this morning but nobody had mentioned it to the staff.  Josh is a student who will be assisting us today, and he is dispatched to run to the main entrance, through the school, back up the corridor and open the door for us.  He achieves this in double quick time – I am to discover that everything Josh does is at breakneck pace!

Another auditorium, larger this time, but less well equipped than this morning.  My dressing room is the backstage area behind the curtains and a small bathroom which is used to clean paint brushers and rollers.  Whereas at Brownell-Talbot the theatrical maxims were carefully printed and laminated, here they have been scrawled on the back stage wall in permanent marker, but are just as relevant and useful.

Suddenly waves of tiredness come over me and I can hardly stand up.  I slump into a chair and listen as the students arrive, and actually nod off into a brief nap.  I hope that the energy returns for the show.

I shall soon find out because the announcements are made and it is time to get going.  As Doctor Marigold would say ‘I thoroughly shake myself together’, and make my entrance.

As with this morning the audience is very quiet and reserved, which I was not expecting here, and the show is played out in near silence which is rather disconcerting, as I had expected a more raucous response from this crowd.  This is perfect territory for my trying too hard and straining my voice but I manage to restrain myself and give a measured, if not a spectacular, performance.

Once again the reception at the end is fabulous, and once again the questions are intelligent and probing.  One young man says that he loved the show, loves my great great grandfather’s work and can he shake my hand?  ‘Of course! I reply and he comes to the stage, respectfully shakes my hand and returns to his seat.

When the audience is dismissed a teacher asks if she can have a word, she is in charge of the Special Ed class and the young man who had shaken my hand was one of her pupils.  She says he was so moved and riveted through the show, and it really made an impression with him, which is  great to hear

Lee and Susan are waiting for me when I have changed and they drive me back to my hotel in the middle of Omaha, where I can rest for a couple of hours before my evening event.  I unpack my costumes and hang them to air before slumping onto the bed, where I am soon dozing and having  alarmingly lurid  dreams involving falling out of windows.

I haven’t set an alarm, but my internal body clock wakes me at 5.15, giving me half an hour to get ready before Lee arrives to pick me up.  I shower and get into costume and am in the lobby as he pulls up.

Our evening event is a very nice and not terribly taxing one, in that it is a private dinner for 16 guests at the historic General Crook House – nothing to perform, just to enjoy.

We are among the first arrivals and I am able to say hello to the Executive Chef Mario who always caters the events here, and who has a spectacular touch with his flavours.  The other guests arrive and many of them are familiar from years past.  We take our places around the beautifully laid and decorated dining table and the first of our six courses is served – an amuse bouche of chilled avocado soup offset by pomegranate seeds in a shot glass.

The banquet goes on, with Mario making an entrance to describe each course to us – all of which are amazing.

I am not at my sparkling best sadly, but as the dinner goes on I try to regale the guests with a few anecdotes and remarks.  At some point the conversation comes round to Port (a few of the diners being rather partial to the tipple) and I am able to tell them about the George and Vulture Dickens family lunch that is held in the heart of the City of London each Christmas.  The ‘G&V’ is a spectacularly chauvinistic event for all of the Dickens males directly related to Charles Dickens, and tales of woozy members of the family being discovered on trains having missed their stops, are legion.  (There was also the night the Roman Catholic priest almost ended up in a lap dancing club, but maybe that is a tale best not told….)

The dinner is wrapped up with an amazing rich chocolate desert, before we pull Christmas crackers which Susie has provided.

Everybody dutifully dons their paper hats and poses for a group photograph, before we all say our farewells and drift away into the night.

It has been a wonderful evening, with good company, but boy am I ready for my bed now.  Lee takes me back to the hotel and we make arrangements for tomorrow (which is a much less hectic day), I say good night and return to the eighth floor where I have no doubt that I will be asleep ‘upon the instant’

 

Musing with Mr Crippen

Today is the day that I move on and leave sunny California behind me, settling first in the Mid West for a week, and then to the East coast where the majority of the tour will be played out.

My flight is not until 1.55 this afternoon, and the journey back to the John Wayne airport at Santa Ana should only take 45 minutes, however once again I have received dire warnings regarding the traffic on the I91 and have been advised to leave in plenty of time.

My duties here in Riverside are not quite done, as a large box of books have been delivered to the front desk, all of which need signing.  So, after breakfast, I lug the carton up to my room and settle into an easy rhythm of scrawling until the job is done.

I carefully stuff my top hat with socks and make sure everything is packed, and to my horror discover that my camera battery charger and the Byers’ Choice mobile phone are nowhere to be seen.  Then I remember putting them on a counter top back at the Ayres Hotel and realise that I must have left them there.  Well that is not a problem, as the hotel is right next to the airport, and if the traffic is kind I will have plenty of time to pop in and retrieve them.

I know I wont be able to fly with the flowers that were presented to me last night, but I cant bring myself to leave them in the room, so I balance them on top of my case and will think what to do with them later.

As I drive away from Riverside a Los Angeles smog sits among the mountains, giving the air a yellowy-grey, cloying appearance.  I just couldn’t live constantly in an atmosphere like this, however beautiful the climate and natural terrain is.

The traffic is heavy, but fine.  Cars swoop from lane to lane in that Californian style and I witness plenty of near-misses along the way.  Soon I am once more approaching Santa Ana (or Costa Mesa, or Newport Beach –  take your pick), and take the familiar route to the Ayres Hotel.  In reception I ask about the chargers, and the girl tells me to wait while she contacts the housekeeping department.  The wait is a long one, but there are comfy sofas in the lobby and it is vastly preferable to an airport terminal.

Eventually I am summoned once more to the desk, only to be told that no chargers were found and that they are very sorry.  Well!  she doesn’t get the flowers then!

Back to my car and I open all of my cases for a final look, and needless to say, there is the charger and the mobile phone nestling amongst my smalls……

Rather ashamed of myself I drive to the John Wayne airport and follow the signs to the car rental drop off point, where the assistant cheerfully asks me if I’ve had a good morning, as she goes about her job of checking everything.  OK, she gets the flowers!  I absolutely make her day when I explain the situation, and she floats away boasting to all of her colleagues.  I am glad that bouquet which meant so much to me on stage last night is continuing to bring pleasure.

I check in for my flight and then pass an hour or so watching the planes out of the airport windows.  John Wayne Airport has a curious mix of large commercial airliners, sleek corporate jets and little Cessna high wing, single propeller aircraft, all sharing the same runways.

When driving from the hotel I had noticed a small flying school with a fleet of white and yellow Cessnas, and smiled to myself as I remembered the scene in Live and Let Die when Roger Moore commandeers such an aircraft from the Bleeker Air School, terrifying the pupil, Mrs Bell, as they flee the bad guys.

My first flight is to Denver, and what a beautiful one it is, to be sure.  We fly over the Grand Canyon and the rock formations are made more stunning by the low sunlight and heavy shadows that it creates.  The flight is a short one and I pass the time by starting to read a book that I was leant way back at the beginning of the tour called Christmas and Christmas Lore, in which the author TG Crippen investigates the origins of our modern Christmas celebrations (I say modern, the book was published in 1923).  It is an excellent read and Mr Crippen certainly did not stint on his research.  One particularly fascinating fact is that Carols were originally children’s ‘ring dances’, such as ‘here we go round the mulberry bush’, but over the years became celebratory religious songs.  A carol could be written and sung at any season of the year, although we seemed to have abandoned all but those of the Yuletide, hence the fact that we still place the word ‘Christmas’ before Carol, to differentiate from, say, an Easter Carol.

 

The layover in Denver is short and having found my new gate I am quickly being crammed into a very full flight to Omaha.  My immediate neighbour is a mountain of a man and I am squashed up against the window as I return to TG Crippen’s musings.

Once more the flight is a short hop, but thanks to the various changes of time zones it is 8pm by the time we land, and my journey has taken up the entire day.

As ever I am overjoyed to see my bags on the carousel and pull them to Thrifty Car rental, where I am placed in charge of a rather old, shabby and noisy Hyundai Sonata, which will sit in a parking garage for the next few days, before taking me to Kansas City next week.

The drive from the airport to my hotel is only a matter of 10 minutes and in no time I am checking in to the familiar surroundings of The Elements Hotel at Midtown Crossing, where there is a wonderful bag of goodies waiting for me from my friends at The Douglas County Historical Society, including a beautiful framed picture featuring photographs of some of my performances here.

It is after 9 now and I need something to eat, so I walk to Crave restaurant where I greatly enjoy a fantastic chicken stir-fry dish.

As ever travelling is tiring, and I am ready for bed, most especially as I have an early start in the morning and a very busy day ahead of me.

 

A Personal Best

This morning sees my unexpected appearance at the Poly High School in Riverside, which although a shock is not really a problem as I am expected to perform A Christmas Carol for the students.

Last night I had left my costumes in the car, so I need to collect them so as to get ready.  In the car park I am able to admire a beautiful sunrise over Riverside’s historic hotel, the Mission Inn.

After a leisurely breakfast I get myself ready and at around 10 am make the short drive to the impressive campus of a school that obviously prides itself for its sporting prowess.  Each name board of the school includes the legend ‘Home of the Bears’ accompanied by a logo made up of a roaring bear’s face superimposed over a slash wound from a  bear’s claw.  Not subtle, but certainly imposing to the team’s competitors, I would think.

I am directed towards the main office and as I walk find Doug, in full Victorian costume, heading the same way.  Once inside there are more Victorian-attired volunteers waiting to be walked to the theatre.  We are met by Chris who is the head of theatre here and he is very excited by the prospect of the show.  However, there is a slight problem in that the programme will start at 11.10 and the lunch bell will ring at 12.09.  So, after the audience have arrived, and settled themselves and been welcomed, I can only really afford to perform for 50 minutes.  My shortest version of the show is currently an hour, so this is going to take some doing!

The theatre is charmingly small, compared to some of the cavernous High School auditoria that I have played in before, and I quickly decide that I will not need a microphone to assist my morning’s efforts.  I come to this decision after talking to some of the theatre students who are hanging out in the hall.  They tell me that they use microphones for musical productions, but for drama they don’t bother, especially, they add, as the microphones usually don’t work anyway!

At 10.45 I change is a tiny closet/toilet, and then wait for the audience to arrive from various different classes around the school – a theatre class, a choir, a dance class, an English class and slightly incongruously, a maths class: (if a theatre show lasts for 80 minutes, and the allocated time is 50 minutes, how much time does a performer have to lose from each chapter, to achieve his target).

The clock ticks on as the theatre fills up, painfully slowly.  Students study their phones, listen to music and one young man in the front row bounces a tennis ball repeatedly (please DON’T do that throughout the whole show!).  11.10 comes and goes.  11.15 and 11.20.  Finally Chris gets onto the stage and instructs his pupils about acceptable behaviour, before passing over to Doug who, after thanking sponsors, and plugging the festival itself, introduces me.

It is around 11.25.  This has to be the fastest, and shortest performance I have ever given.  Everything is cut: no atmospheric scene building, no charity collector, no carol singer.  Marley is turned around and sent out of his window almost as he   arrives through the door.  And  before I am aware of it the Ghost of Christmas Past arrives.  No lingering at the school, and no vision of Belle happily married, but instead Scrooge wrestles the ghost to the ground immediately after his young fiancé has walked out.  The whole show delivered at a rapid-fire pace with few pauses for emphasis.  On we go, Christmas Present!  No murmur of delight over the Christmas pudding, and even Mrs Cratchit’s concerns about her Christmas Pudding are swift.  No Topper, no Ignorance or Want, but the ageing Ghost instantly vanishes to be replaced by Spectral Future.  Not much to cut here, but one of the gentleman in the street is superfluous, and there is no mention of it being ‘a very cheap funeral’   Old Joe and Mrs Dilber do their bit, but without time-consuming mucus business.  Slowwww everything up briefly, so that Bob Cratchit can grieve, and then back on the gas, through the Churchyard scene until Ebenezer is scrabbling at the bedpost.  Run to the window, fling it open: ‘What’s today? Christmas? Then I haven’t missed it!’  And at this point I can check my watch – 12.00!  I am going to do it.  Onward, don’t lose focus: turkey, walk through streets (don’t need to worry about meeting the charity collector as he has never existed in this version).  Quick visit to the nephew’s house and then I am into the final scene back in the office where it started.  ‘So as Tiny Tim Observed, God Bless Us, Every One!’

Like an Olympic athlete I have a few moment’s before my time is confirmed – the lunch bell rings just as I finish and I have achieved a new personal best, a new record for performing A Christmas Carol!

Phew!  The audience have loved it and cheer and clap and stamp (and for all I know bounce a tennis ball) loudly.  As I come off stage I am just giggling over what I have just done, and the adrenaline is coursing through my body.  The Festival staff and Chris congratulate me, and some of the students remain behind to ask a few questions.  Slowly my world comes back to a regular pace, and I begin to calm down again.

Back to my little bathroom and I change, and soon we are all ready to leave, heading off to my next commitment.

My closest friends over the years of coming to Riverside are two of the past chairs and very prominent movers and shaker’s behind the festivals continuing success: Carolyn Grant (Doug’s mother), and Gerry Bowen.  Today they are hosting a lunch to honour all of the past Chairfolk and board members of the organisation.  I follow Doug to the community where Carolyn lives and soon am enjoying a lovely informal buffet, chatting with lots of interesting people, including John who portrays Dickens during the festival and gives readings.  We talk about the various performances that Dickens himself gave, and compare notes on our own respective repertoires, as well as classic sports cars…..

The Queen is present, although in her everyday persona of Janet, and it is nice to chat to her without the enforced formality by which we are usually constrained.

When we have all eaten our sandwiches and are happily nibbling an array of cupcakes, Gerry stands and says a few words of thanks to everyone present.  I offer my gratitude to Riverside for inviting me back and for making me feel so welcome, and there are a few gentle questions, but this is in no way a staged event, it is just a wonderful informal chat with good friends.

The afternoon is mine to rest in, before returning to the First Christian Church for my performance of Doctor Marigold.

I decide to have a quick rehearsal on the stage, just to get my mouth working around the very quick-fire sales patter sequences at the beginning of the show.  As I am working through the lines, Doug and others are busy putting some flood lights in place, to improve the lighting on the stage.  Soon it is time to change and the audience begins to arrive.

Naturally a little known, obscure short story doesn’t sell as well as A Christmas Carol, so the audience is somewhat smaller than last night, but what it lacks in size it makes up for in interest and curiosity.  Some have read Marigold in advance and some have purposefully not, wanting to discover it for the first time through my show.

At 7pm Doug welcomes the Queen (Janet no longer, but Victoria again), and I start by introducing the audience to the story of Doctor Marigold, and explaining some of its history, before reciting the words that Dickens himself used: ‘And now I shall elt Doctor Marigold address you in his own words’.

Those of you who follow this blog regularly will know how much I love performing Doctor Marigold, and the audience completely buy in to the tale this amazing man.  Maybe I fall into my trap of overdoing the pace of the sales patter (that seems to be the day’s theme), but as soon as gentle, resilient, kind and caring Doctor starts to tell his own life story, the atmosphere in the room becomes electric.

When I finish (having elicited gasps and sobs at the conclusion of the story), I return to take my applause and am amazed when I presented with a bouquet of flowers!  I have never been presented with flowers before; I am quite overwhelmed and moved.

We all relocate to the church hall for the desert buffet, and soon I am signing and posing as usual.  Many of the audience were present last night as well, so there are not as many books to sign, but lots of people want to chat and talk about tonight’s performance.

The evening winds towards its conclusion, and before I leave there are a final series of pictures to be to be taken with the board.  I change and say my grateful goodbyes to everyone, and look forward to returning in a few years, before loading my things into my car (as Queen Victoria is also doing – I thought they had staff for that), and driving back to the Hyatt, where once again I have a light meal before returning to my room.

The Californian leg of my trip has come to an end, and from now things will start to get much busier and more frantic – but surely never as frantic as those 40 minutes in the Poly High School this morning!

Riverside

Today I move on again, but not far as my next venue is only an hour away in Riverside, California.  I do not have an early start, as my only show today is at 7 o’clock this evening, so I can have a very leisurely morning, stretching my stay to the appointed check-out time of 12.

I have breakfast (cereal, fruit and croissant), and pack my cases.  I take the opportunity to do some more rehearsal for Marigold, A Child’s Journey and A Tale of Two Cities, before deciding to finally leave at 11.

I put my cases into the car and then go to the front desk where another box of my blog-promoting-business cards has been delivered.  Having received the package and checked out I head onto the road.  I had been told that the route to Riverside (which is almost a suburb of the sprawling Los Angeles) can be very busy, and what should be a 45 minute journey can take 2 or 3 hours if there are accidents along the way.

I decide to see how things are and then if I am in good time, dive off the main road for an adventure.  I make good progress, and in fact the traffic coming the other way looks much worse – information that I tuck away into my memory as I will be driving the route in two days time to in order to return to The John Wayne Airport to fly back East.

As I get near the little town of Yorba Linda I notice a sign to the Richard Nixon Library and Museum, and as I am in such good time I make an instant decision to dive off the Freeway and have a visit.  I have visited a couple of Presidential Libraries before (Harry S Truman’s in Independence MO, and JFK’s in Boston) and they are always quite fascinating places.  The Nixon Library is based on the grounds of his childhood home, which still stands as part of the complex, and there is a very personal feel to the site.

 

Richard Nixon’s Birthplace

 

Of course the museum tells the life story of the 37th President in a very pro-Nixon way, one wouldn’t expect anything else, but I am impressed that the welcome video begins with his resignation speech, thereby bringing all of the controversy right up front, and not shying away from it.  Whatever your political leanings, there is no doubt that he presided during an extraordinary time of change and upheaval, and the tour is as much about social history as it is political.

The tour takes in all of the momentous moments (Vietnam, Cambodia, civil unrest, the assassinations of Martin Luther King and Bobby Kennedy, Nixon’s unprecedented visit to China, and of course Watergate).

There is so much about this man in the popular media, but to stand quietly by his and Pat’s graves, reminds you that he was just a mortal man and now lays at rest as the world moves on.

As I leave I decide that I want to re-watch Ron Howard’s brilliant Frost/Nixon film:   maybe I will download it for my flight on Wednesday.

Back onto the i91 and the traffic is getting heavier as I weave between the beautiful Californian scenery.  On the horizon majestic mountains glimmer in the heat, and closer to the road small scrubby parched hills and mounds topped with palm trees and bougainvillea  line the route.   At one point I find myself driving behind a van belonging to: ‘The Puritan Bakery – Best Buns in Town!’

My SatNav takes me to the Hyatt Place hotel in the heart of Riverside’s downtown area, and where I stayed three years ago on my last visit to the city.  The parking lot has a completely matt black (like a stealth bomber) Ferrari, and a white Bentley with gold wheels (I would imagine that the colour comes from a genuine gold alloy, not just a spray can purchased from a motor spares store).  It is good to know that I am in such good company.

I check in and go to my room, which is large and welcoming and there is a fabulous basket of goodies from the folk at the Riverside Dickens Festival.  I gratefully tuck into a fruit tray.

I have a little time to rest, before showering and getting ready for the evening’s events.  My sound check is earmarked for 5.30 and the venue is only a ten minute drive away.  I am performing A Christmas Carol at the First Christian Church, a new venue for me, so it will be good to check out the space and acoustics.

I arrive at 5.30 but the church is locked, so I sit in the car until I notice a shadowy figure in a top hat opening the door.  The Festival Committee are here!

The Riverside Dickens Festival crowd are a passionate and knowledgeable group of Dickensians, who hold their festival in February to mark the great man’s birthday.  I have quite a history with the festival, including an abortive first visit back in 95, or 96.  In those days my knowledge of the American immigration system was not what it is now, and I didn’t realise that I required a specific Visa to perform here.  I was due to make a speech about Charles Dickens and to perform some shows, but the friendly immigration officials at Minneapolis/St Paul airport turned me round and put me on the next flight home.  I ended up giving my speech by phone, as my top hat took centre stage on top of a lectern.

Since that faltering start I have returned many times  and count the good folk here among my dearest friends in America.

The sanctuary of the Church is beautiful, although not well lit, and the audience will be in wooden pews some distance from the stage which takes away from the intimacy that some venues provide.  The stage itself has been well set up with a black and gold brocade backdrop which will help focus the attention on the action.  A Union Flag hangs over the stage giving a great sense of Britishness to the whole thing.

I chat with the current chairman of the festival, Doug Grant and many other old friends, until the general audience begin to arrive when I take myself off to the room that has been set aside as a dressing room, and get changed.

Performance time comes around and I make my way to the back of the hall where I meet the Royal party of  Queen Victoria, Prince Albert and her ladies in waiting.  The fact that Prince Albert is present means that the Queen is colourfully dressed and much more jolly than the more traditional rendering of her.

At 7 o’clock the audience is asked to stand and Queen Victoria and her party slowly process to their seats at the front of the auditorium as the National Anthem plays, which makes me feel very proud and patriotic.

When the Royal party is seated Doug makes a short introduction, thanking all of the committee members and sponsors.  Almost as an after thought he mentions my visit to local High School tomorrow morning, and I am very glad he does, because I didn’t know anything about it!

When I come on tour I am sent an amazing document that has every show, every hotel every rental car, every appearance detailed day by day.  Tomorrow’s page originally only showed my evening performance of Doctor Marigold, although a meet and greet lunch event has been added since – the morning event I knew nothing about.  It is just as well that Doug thought to mention it, or I would have been sat up in bed whilst panic stricken committee members rushed around trying to contact me.  I get my cue and as I walk toward the stage tell myself to ask someone for details later.

I am happy with my performance, although as I feared the connection with the audience is not brilliant, and the reactions are not as lively as some other venues.  However it is clear that they are hanging on every word, and enjoying the play immensely.  As I go on  I become aware that I never really had a proper lunch today, other than my fruit plate, and begin to feel a bit weak and woozy.  I must look after myself a bit better.

The show finishes and everyone stands and whoops and hollers which is always a nice reaction, before we all make our way to a large hall where a desert buffet has been laid on.  I get changed and join the party to sign and pose, which all lasts quite a long time before I can finally get my hands on a plate of treats to bring my blood sugar levels up again.  When all of the books have been signed I can finally greet some of my very good friends from years’ past, most particularly Carolyn Grant who was responsible for bringing me here in the first place, and who is one of the stalwarts behind the festival.

My final picture of the evening is with the Royal party, and then I get changed from Gerald Charles to Gerald, not forgetting to get the details for tomorrow morning’s school event, before I drive off into the night.  Back at the hotel the little bar is open and I order a burger to wrap up my rather erratic food day.

Tomorrow will be fun, I am sure:  I performed for a (the same? I am not sure) High School when I was last here and it was a really good session; and the lunch with Carolyn will be a joy I am sure.  In the evening I get to perform my favourite Dickens short story, Doctor Marigold, which I have no doubt will delight a new audience.

But for now, to sleep.

 

The Last Day at Rogers

Today is a busier day for me as I have two shows in the Roger’s Gardens amphitheatre, one at 2 and the other a regular night-time performance.

It is also the day of the Brazilian Grand Prix and after missing the TV coverage of qualifying yesterday I am delighted to discover the NBCsN is in fact showing full race coverage – my morning is therefore built around that fact.  I go to the little courtyard restaurant and have another simple breakfast, before returning to my room and putting a load of white costume shirts into the laundry (which is on my floor, only a few doors away: could there be a more perfectly situated hotel room?).

As the washer begins to soak, tumble and spin, I settle down to watch the race, which is a fascinating, tense and exciting one.  I am reminded how lucky we are in the UK that the races are broadcast without commercial breaks, which are incredibly frustrating here, but at least give me suitable moments to transfer the laundry to the drier.

The race runs its course and results in a victory for Sebastian Vettel and Ferrari, demonstrating how close this year’s championship could have been if they hadn’t had a series of three poor races during the late summer.  However, there is always something more pure about racing after the championship has been decided, with no one having to think tactically about gaining precious points.  This was amply demonstrated by Lewis Hamilton’s remarkable drive starting at the very back and ending up fourth, only a few seconds off the win.

With the race over, I collect my shirts and carefully fold them, before starting to get ready for today’s performances.  I also take the opportunity to look at some coverage of the Remembrance Day service from London, at which for the first time in many decades the Queen has not laid a wreath at the Cenotaph in London, but watched from a balcony as Prince Charles undertook the duty.  The Queen wanted to remain at the side of The Duke of Edinburgh, who looked terribly terribly ill and frail.

I am getting familiar with the local road system now (I can’t actually say I am familiar with the roads of Santa Ana, or Newport Beach, or Corona del Mar, or Costa Mesa or Tustin, because they all seem to blur into one another with no particular delineation, meaning I never quite know which city I am in), so I make the journey to Rogers Gardens without troubling my SatNav system.

Having greeted Hedda and Patrick on stage, I take the opportunity to wander around the site, admiring the amazing Christmas displays, which Hedda works on 365 days a year, as well as the amazing collections of plants and shrubs and ornaments and statues and tools.  Whenever I am here I think that of all the venues on tour this is the one that Liz (who is a brilliant and passionate horticulturist) would love to come to.

I am strolling incognito, but as I walk I notice a lady hurriedly nudge her friend and as I pass by I hear her whisper ‘that’s him!’  A little moment of celebrity life!

In the past the matinee performances have been quite difficult beneath the burning Californian sun, but today it is overcast and grey, with the temperatures feeling quite comfortable to me, so things should work quite well, I think.  Hedda is worried that the sun may break through so instructs that huge parasols are erected both to protect the audience and myself on stage.

I go to the board room, where Shannon has ordered me a delicious salad from the restaurant, which I greatly enjoy.

The matinee crowd is slightly smaller than the two preceding evenings ones, but still very impressive, and the show goes well, but somehow it is more difficult to build the atmosphere in the daylight.  The bustle and business of Rogers continues outside our little theatre, and Patrick’s lighting has no effect on the stage.

From my point of view it is rather disconcerting to see every fidget, every stifled yawn and every surreptitious look at a phone or a watch as I do my thing.  I was not aware of this problem so much in years past, but maybe the sun was so bright that I just couldn’t really see the audience, and certainly last year sun cream ran into my eyes rendering me completely blind for the majority of the show!

The conclusion of the performance is enthusiastically received with another standing ovation, and I can congratulate myself on a job well done is slightly trying circumstances.

With a slightly smaller audience, so the signing line is correspondingly shorter and I am soon able to change out of my costume for a two hour break before the evening gig.  I am feeling very tired and very drained, and know that I should take the opportunity to rest a little, so I finish Miss Marple’s Nemesis, and then lay a pillow on the floor and sleep for the best part of an hour.

If I were in a hotel I would have an icy shower to wake me and energise me, but here I have to make do with splashing some cold water over my face to achieve the same result.  As ever I have taken over the board room completely with every chair having an item of clothing draped over it.  This is not quite as untidy as it sounds, as I have tried to air each frock coat, each pair of trousers, each waistcoat, each pair of braces, each cravat and each shirt separately.  In the middle of it all the scarf, hat and cane hold court on the table.

 

Ready to go: Patrick’s two microphones in place

 

It is dark outside now, and Susan pops by to check on me and to let me know that the audience have arrived good and early.  At 5.50 I make my way to my starting position and look down on the familiar stage, now reassuringly the illuminated centre of attention once more.

 

Walking Towards the Light

 

Once again there is a huge audience, and I know that if it could be made to work Hedda would rather concentrate on just the evening shows.  It is a little chilly again, although judging by the amount of steam rising from me, not quite as chilly as last night!  The performance goes well, with plenty of laughs and participation, and it is clear that many people have seen the show multiple times.

I bring my final 2017 performance at Rogers Gardens to a close and hurry back to change out of my damp costume, before returning to sign.  My perceptions of the audience are proved correct, with many saying that they have come before, and have brought more friends and family this year, which is fantastic to hear.  I pose and smile and chat, but after two full-on shows, I am feeling completely drained and exhausted, and am grateful when finally I can get back to my room, change and pack up my belongings.

When I am sure that all of my paraphernalia has been accounted for I leave my roller case, with my costumes and hat draped over the top at the side gate to the property, before going back to the stage to say my farewells to Hedda and Patrick. We are a good team, and it is such a pleasure to work with them.  I look forward to returning next year.

I walk back to the gate and am somewhat startled to see that there appears to be a foreshortened version of myself waiting for me amongst the shrubs – my case, coats and hat have settled into a human form, and seem to be waiting very impatiently for me to take them back to the hotel.

I oblige!

Building a Head of Steam

Day two in California and those pesky two hours mean that I wake far too early.  I sit in bed and write for a while, before eventually getting up and preparing for an early breakfast.

Being in sunny, healthy California, where everyone is fit and beautiful, I decide to forgo the hot buffet and instead treat myself to a bowl of granola and lots of fresh fruit, accompanied by glasses of fresh orange juice.  I do blot my copybook slightly by helping myself to a pastry and a muffin, but on the whole I think I am pretty abstemious.

Back in my room I try to find a TV channel showing coverage of qualifying from the Brazilian Grand Prix, but sadly no one appears to be showing it.   I follow the action via the official F1 website and by watching the figures it looks like an exciting session.

Although I don’t have a show until this evening I have earmarked the day to get some serious rehearsal work done.  Over the next week I will not only be performing A Christmas Carol, but also Doctor Marigold, A Child’s Journey With Dickens and readings from A Tale f Two Cities, and all three of those shows need extra preparation.

For three hours or so I divide my time equally between the three shows and pace up and down my room going over and over the lines.  The relevant script is open on the desk so that I can refer to it if I need confirmation of a certain word or phrase.

When I finally finish it is time for lunch, and I get into the car to go and buy a salad and some fruit.  I actually need to buy some coat hangers for my costume too.  So far on this trip I have been borrowing hangers from various hotels but it would be useful to have some lightweight plastic ones which I can travel with and have the costumes hanging in the car rather than being folded up in my case.

As I drive I am reminded of two things in this part of California, firstly the ‘take no prisoners’ attitude to driving: everyone is so fast, and tailgate so closely that a Californian freeway is no place for the faint hearted.  I am also reminded as to the sheer affluence of this area, and this is illustrated by the high end cars that drive between the palm trees: exotic Ferraris, shining Mercedes, gleaming Teslas and many more of the same price bracket swarm around my little Corolla.

Back at the hotel I return to my room with a slight sense of unease. The Ayres Hotel is spread over two buildings and in the past I have always stayed in the main block, but this year I am in the alternative building, where builders are working through all of the rooms remodelling.

When I was rehearsing this morning I was looking at a huge skip (dumpster) outside my bedroom window filled with the same fabrics, light stands and mirrors that make up my room.

The lifts are boarded with plywood and the hall carpets are covered with transparent plastic to prevent damage.  As I return on this particular lunchtime I am suddenly aware that I haven’t seen or heard any other guests in the building.  It is as if I am in my own remake of The Shining: ‘Here’s Gerry!’

I eat lunch and rest during the afternoon, before driving back to Roger’s Gardens at 4pm to prepare for my show.  As yesterday I am greeted on the set by Hedda, Susan and Patrick and we do a quick sound check, whilst the extra keen members of the audience who have started to line up two hours early look on.  The sky is beautiful over the top of the amphitheatre as the sun slips beneath the horizon.

I return to my boardroom and do my pre-ordered book signing duties, before relaxing and waiting.  Outside the door the carol singers gather to warm up and I am treated to a private concert of beautiful harmonies.

With 30 minutes to go I change into costume and with 5 to go I walk to my starting position at the top of the theatre.  I check with Patrick that both of my microphones are broadcasting, and then it is a just question of waiting for Hedda to introduce me.

The crowd is a huge one and although not quite as responsive as last nights, they are very good and attentive.  As the show carries on and I start to get warmer, something extraordinary happens.  The night is slightly cooler than yesterday and as I start to build a sweat I begin to steam!  Like a race horse at the end of  a gruelling steeplechase, my movements are accompanied by an aura of vapour, which must give the ethereal ghosts extra realism.

The show is another good one and I have been very pleased with the way that I have used the space here.  As yesterday there is quite a line waiting for books to be signed which of course I am delighted to do watched by the Harrod’s figures of Mr Micawber and Uriah Heep.

When everything has finished I go and change, whilst Hedda and the team clear away the set – there is a very heavy dew falling (or rising, I am never quite sure) and everything is getting soaked.

Hedda and Susan have booked a table for dinner in the Farmhouse Restaurant, which is part of the Roger’s property, and I have a lovely pork tenderloin and we all catch up with our various news from the last year.  The pairing of Hedda and Susan is the real driving force behind the events here and it has been a pleasure working with them over the last four years.

 

Relaxing in The Farmhouse

 

At the end of the evening we all hug our goodbyes and I go back to the hotel, where I am rather relieved to see that other guests now populate my building.

The tour is going very well so far and, on the evidence of this evening, I can literally say that I am building up a head of steam.

 

 

Under the Stars

I have my alarm set good and early so that I complete the packing of my costumes, which have been airing over night, before driving to Nashville airport, which is only 5 minutes a way from the Radisson.  I check out, not forgetting to collect my cravat that Hannah had left at the front desk last night, and in no time I am at the Payless car rental garage to return my little brown Tuscon.  It has been a good car and I am genuinely sorry to see it go.

The security lines always seem to be long and slow at Nashville, and today is no exception.  My little roller case is pulled out for extra inspection and it seems as if my box of business cards pose a potential threat today.  The agent smilelessly peers into the case, checks the cards and then returns my property to me without comment.

I walk to my gate, and still have around 40 minutes before boarding so have a quick breakfast of bacon and eggs before taking my very cramped seat for the short flight to Houston.

These days United Airlines have an amazing system onboard whereby you can long onto their wifi network, without needing to pay, and access their huge library of films. I follow the prompts on my phone but the system doesn’t live up to its promise as the network keeps failing and I can’t watch anything after all.  I do discover, however, that I still have season 3 of House of Cards downloaded onto my Kindle, so as the plane heads south west I find myself catching up with the machinations of Francis Underwood et al.

The beverage cart comes down the aisle and I order a coffee, which comes complete with a stroopwafel, which is delicious and far preferable to a little bag of mini pretzels.

 

The Stroopwafel

 

The flight arrives a little ahead of schedule and as I have plenty of time before my onward flight, the transfer from terminal A to terminal E, via Houston Airport’s monorail system is completely without stress.

I decide to have a salad for lunch and avail myself to the fare on offer at The Tanglewood Grill which is situated beneath an amazing wooden frame, and which dominates the terminal building.

 

The Tanglewood Grill

 

The flight to the little Orange County airport at Santa Ana is packed to capacity – I suppose passengers are looking for an alternative to the hell that is the main LAX airport in Los Angeles, making these regional airports more appealing

We are on board a Boeing 737, rather than one of the little jets that I have flown so far on this trip, so it is quite a novelty to be allowed to take my roller case on board with me.  I hoik it up into the overhead bin, along with my coat, and settle into my seat for the next three hours.

The flight is smooth, and an unlikely duo of Francis Underwood and Miss Marple look after me until we begin our slow descent over the mountains of California and into the John Wayne airport.  As the plane taxis towards the gate I can actually see my hotel just outside the perimeter fence, and it is a nice thought that I will have a little time to freshen up before performing later this evening.

As I get ready to leave the plane I almost forget to retrieve my bag (which has all of my costumes in it), from the overhead bin. That wouldn’t be good come 6pm this evening!

The John Wayne airport is quite small and in no time I am at the Hertz desk to collect my car which I will be using for the next five days.  The agent tells me that I have a Toyota Corolla, which is fine, but then he tries to offer me an upgrade.  How about an Audi Q7 – ooh, that sounds nice, and then on hearing my accent he offers me a Land Rover Discovery.  I am like a salmon on the end of a line being carefully played before finally being landed.  But on this occasion the fish manages to free itself, and I swim away in the Toyota.

It is around 2.30 by the time I arrive at The Ayres Hotel and thankfully they have a room ready for me, so I can quickly shower and change before driving to the Rogers Garden Center, where I am to perform tonight.

This is my fourth year coming to Rogers and it has become a very settled part of the tour, and offers a whole different set of experiences as the show is in the open air.

As I arrive I am welcomed by Hedda who books me, and Patrick the sound man, as well as Karen and the rest of the team who are bustling around making final preparations.  It is 4.30 and the audience is already lining up to get the best seats for the 6 o’clock start.

Patrick likes to be sure that all bases are covered, so this year he asks if I wouldn’t mind using two microphones.  Apparently the frequencies available to him are becoming more and more limited and more crowded, and he doesn’t want to run the risk of us becoming tangled up with other users.  Who knows how the local law enforcement officers would react if suddenly on their radios they hear ‘Marley was dead, to begin with!’  They would probably send all of their officers to investigate the homicide.

I carry out the sound check successfully and chat to Karen and some of the audience, before retiring to the board room in the admin block, which becomes my dressing room for the next three days.  Hedda mentioned that some of the audiences had pre ordered books which need signing, and she has laid them out very efficiently on the board room table.  Each stack of books has a printed sheet informing me exactly how the customers want it inscribed.  The boardroom chairs are on casters, so I can operate a sort of production line, starting with the books on the right and then rolling to the left along the table until I reach the end.

There is an hour to go before the show and I take the opportunity to rest completely, which I need.  The early start coupled with the two hour time difference is slightly taking its toll and I am feeling rather jaded.  Eventually I start to change into my costume and get ready for the show.  Just before six I walk to the back of the amphitheatre and watch the brilliant carol singers as they entertain the crowd which is very large (all of the events here have been sold out).  Finally we are ready to go and Hedda makes the introductions before Patrick starts the music and I walk through the audience and onto the stage area to take my place alongside the plaster figurines that featured in a Harrod’s Christmas windows in the early years of the twentieth century.

The show goes well, and the audience are fully engaged.  I was worried that feeling tired I may try to over compensate in the open air, but I keep control of it and everything works perfectly.  Roger’s Gardens looks lovely with all of the trees decorated by white lights, and Patrick does a superb job with the coloured stage lighting adding extra atmosphere to the performance.

I sign off with God Bless Us Every One and the audience stands and claps loudly: a standing ovation is always a very special thing, but in an amphitheatre setting with the audience above you it is somehow even more impressive. capturing something of the Coliseum in Rome.  Actually, on reflection, maybe that is not such a good thing!

I leave the stage and head back to the boardroom where I change costume for a signing session back on the setitself.  People have such nice things to say about the show and one lady is almost moved to tears as she tries to explain what it meant to her.  Right at the end of the line is a couple from Derby who joke that they travelled from the UK just to see the show!

Finally my duties are over and I can leave A Christmas Carol behind me for 24 hours.  I make sure that each item of costume is hung over the back of separate chairs before closing the boardroom up.

I am fortunate tonight that a regular audience member at Rogers has offered to take me out for dinner, which is a treat, and we go to Muldoon’s Irish restaurant where I have a delicious shepherd’s pie.

However the day is definitely catching up now, and I am not at my sparkling best.  I offer my thanks and make my excuses before returning to the hotel for what I am sure will be a good night’s sleep.