The End of the Tour

And so it has arrived.  After 47 days on the road the final day of the 2017 USA tour has dawned.  Strictly speaking I beat the dawn as I have to get up and ready to be at a television studio at 7.15.  I decide not to wear costume today and simply don a smart shirt and cashmere sweater for the interview.

The Fox 9 station is actually situated in Eden Prairie where I performed two days ago, and there is hardly any traffic at this hour.  I arrive in good time and pull into the almost empty parking lot shortly before the Martin, the PR guru also arrives.

The station is almost deserted with one man on the front desk, one girl in the news room, one floor manager, one meteorologist and Leah, the anchor who will interview me.  Martin and I go to the greenroom and manage to track down some coffee which is greatly needed.

After waiting for around twenty minutes I am called into the studio where I am fitted with a microphone and sat at a large Perspex desk to await Leah.  The interview is very good and Leah has done plenty of research and is genuinely interested and excited about the prospect of me performing in The Twin Cities (she is better prepared than one breakfast TV team I remember who had a reputation for bad research and asked the founder of the Cirque du Soleil how many animals the troupe travelled with).

With the interview done I go back to the car and as I drive back towards Minneapolis I can truthfully repeat my opening statement: the final day of the 2017 USA actually dawns.

As I enter the lobby of the hotel it is a sea of purple and white, for the Minnesota Vikings are playing today and the hotel is full of fans (one would of thought that a hotel might be full of the visiting fans, but there is not a Cincinnati Bengals shirt to be seen, although there is one rather incongruous Green Bay Packers fan swimming against the tide.

My breakfast is positively British this morning (I must be getting truly homesick), I start with porridge, then toast some bread, heap scrambled eggs on it, adding bacon and sausage to the side; not a waffle or pancake, or a drop of maple syrup in site.

I have a couple of hours to kill before I am due to meet Jeff, the owner of the Aster Café, to go over the day’s events.  At ten o’clock I return to the lobby and watch the hoards of fans leaving the hotel and heading for the game.  Many are sat at the bar where the beers and wines are already flowing.  After a while I see Jeff pull up in an immensely impressive pick up truck and I jump up next to him.  Jeff and I first met in March when I was in town with To Begin With, but he has a long relationship with the family, originally getting to know Cedric and more recently Ian.

Our first stop is a house that Jeff is selling, which sits in the shadow of the football stadium and we drive through the purple lava that is flowing through the streets of Minneapolis and pull into the driveway.  The house is an extraordinary Tolkeinesque dwelling with quirky iron work and stained glass everywhere.  Jeff had been hoping to sell it to a microbrewery, and one would of thought that its proximity to the stadium would have been a huge bonus, but sadly the sale fell through.  There is a viewing of the house tomorrow and Jeff wants to check how the decorating is going.

The upstairs accommodation gives the most remarkable view of the US Bank football stadium, which was only built two years ago.  The stadium is fully enclosed and is designed to represent the prow of a Viking ship sailing into the city, although its matt black finish make it look more like a stealth warship – it is a truly remarkable building and dominates the skyline.

From the stadium we drive to the Aster Café where Jeff shows me the River Room where I am to perform: the stage is small and surrounded on three sides by chairs and reminds me rather of the set up at the Vaillancourts mill in Massachusetts.  Jeff has been holding music events here for years but is keen to branch out into theatre and my show is the first dip of the toe.  There is a definite charm about the room and I am sure that the atmosphere will be superb tonight.

With the site check finished Jeff drives me back to the Hilton, although I don’t go back to my room yet as I want to walk in the city for a while.  When I was here in March the whole of Nicollet Mall (one of the main thoroughfares)  was undergoing a major remodelling, and the great gashes in the ground suggested that something remarkable was going to be created – the US Bank Stadium is testament to the vision of the city.  So I was somewhat surprised and disappointed to discover that the finished mall looks just as it did three years ago!  The project has cost the city 60 gazillion dollars, and led to many businesses closing during the years of disruption, and for what?  Not very much would seem to be the answer.

 

60 gazillions worth….

 

For old time’s sake I walk up to the Lund’s grocery store which is where I regularly shopped when I was here for To Begin With, and buy a salad for my lunch.  From Lunds I walk through the snow covered Loring Park, where a Christmas Market is on, featuring a giant mechanical Arctic wolf and a similarly animated Moose which children can move by pulling on ropes or by peddling a fixed bicycle.  The air is filled with the scent of cooking and spicy punches.

From the park I continue my nostalgic walk past the two apartment blocks where I stayed, and then past the two venues where I performed, The Music Box and the Old Wesley Center, and then I am back at the Hilton where the bar is still full of fans.

I go back to my room and turn the TV on and discover that the Star Wars Marathon is still going on, fortunately it has now reached the original movies and as I eat my lunch I revel in the brilliance of the ‘first’ film.

The afternoon passes slowly until it is time to pack my things up and drive back to the Café.  I am aware that the first hints of a cold are starting to make themselves felt, which is not surprising I suppose, but I hope I can ward off the worst of it until all of my shows (including those in England) have been completed.  At around 3 O’ clock I can get online and check in for my flight home, which is a wonderful moment for it marks the first step in the two days that will lead to my reunion with Liz.

At the café the staff are busy preparing for the event, David is my tech guy and we do a microphone check, although I really don’t think I need one in this small space.

The doors are due to open at 6, even though the show is not until 7.30, but the audience is already gathering outside the door.  Sonia, who is looking after front of house, does a good job of chatting to them and keeping them informed.

With all the preparations completed I absent myself from the River Room, and take a few photographs of the café and of the remarkable view back towards the city – there is a slight fog in the air that gives the skyline an extraordinary golden aura.

Back inside I meet up with Dennis Babcock who has come to watch the show tonight, which is kind of him.  He is wearing his Pickwick Club Tie, and if Jeff should happen to turn up without his then a bottle of port will be the forfeit (such are the rules of the club).

I retreat to my dressing room, which is actually an empty shop unit on the upper floors of the old mill building and far removed from the bustle downstairs.  The time seems to pass slowly but I have plenty of time to reflect on the last few weeks and on the adventures that I have had.

Eventually Jeff comes up and says that we are ready to start the show (I notice that he does NOT have his club tie on and wonder if the forfeit has been paid).

The audience are packed in and there is a fabulous atmosphere in the room, I really can’t think of a better venue to finish up the trip.  Outside the windows the lights of Minneapolis twinkle, whilst the stage lighting is enhanced by candlelight throughout the room.

The intimacy of the show is wonderful, and I am able to capture the gentle narrative of the novel itself as I tell the story.  Sometimes a Minnesotan audience can be quiet and stoic, but this group are not – they react and are completely engaged in the show from beginning to end.  I give one of my best performances for quite a while and love every minute of the evening.

When I leave the stage having taken the applause a very kind young gentleman hands me a glass of beer, which is very welcome, and I toast the tour before taking a large gulp.

I quickly run back to my upstairs shop and change before returning to the River Room to mingle with the audience.  This sort of sums up the atmosphere of the whole event, there is no formal desk to sign at, no orderly line, just lots of people who want to chat.  And there are so many people here that I have met before: people with a book that I signed at The St Paul Hotel in 2002, people that I met at The Abbey resort in the mid 2000s and shared dinner with (who give me a bag of presents which include a Chicago scarf, a baseball cap and a toothbrush – the gentleman is a dentist and it is an old joke between us), there are people who saw me at the Arboretum last year, and others who watched To Begin With at The Wesley Center: really quite the fan club!

In particular it is great to see a  contingent from To Begin With, for as well as Dennis, there is Bob who was the production designer of our second run, and Kasey who looked after the social media promotion as well as my wig (a strange combination of talents!).  We all chat and catch up and pose on the stage and discuss the show.

Eventually it is time for everyone to leave, and I hug my goodbyes, before changing upstairs and gathering all of my belongings.  I say goodbye to Jeff, who is very pleased with the event and would like to expand it to more nights next year, and make the Aster my new home in the Twin Cities.

I drive back to the hotel where the bar is STILL full of Vikings fans.  There is a guard at the lifts making sure that no non-guests make it up to the bedroom floors, and I have a great deal of trouble finding my room key whilst balancing two costumes, a top hat, a cane and various gifts, not to mention the little roller case.  Eventually I prove that I am indeed a resident at the hotel and not some suspicious stalker, and get back to my room on the 11th floor where I hang my costumes and shirts up to air for the last time.

I go back to the bar where I look incongruous among the Vikings.  I order a dessert and a glass of wine and congratulate myself on a job well done.

As I sit alone on my bar stool a sad little footnote to the tour pops up onto my Facebook feed: Pat and LaVerne from the Golden Goose in Occoquan have decided to retire and close the store in February.  I have had such happy times in that little shop and shared such close friendship with them.  I send a message wishing them a happy retirement and thanking them for all of the great opportunities that they have given me to perform in the little Ebenezer Chapel.

I return to my room and know that I will sleep very well tonight.

 

The Tour’s End

 

 

NB: Two of the most ardent followers of this blog back in the UK are Liz’s colleague Penny Durant and her husband Jon.  Please share my congratulations with them for the birth of little Beatrice Esme.  I look forward to meeting her soon.

 

 

 

 

 

The Final Day Off

Today is my final day off, which seems a bit strange on the penultimate day of the tour, but I have nothing that I need to do and nowhere that I need to be.  The day is mine!

I had thought about driving out to the Mall of America to look for some Christmas presents but that seems like a ridiculous idea for a couple of reasons: firstly the second last Saturday before Christmas in the largest shopping mall in America sounds like an extra circle of Hell that Dante would have incorporated if he had lived to see it.  Secondly my flight on Monday is not until 3 pm and the mall is close to the airport, so it makes sense to kill those two birds with one stone.

Instead I decide that after breakfast I will drive up to the magnificent Minneapolis Institute of Art and spend a morning admiring the beautiful paintings and artefacts there.  Over the past three years I have had 2 extended stays in Minneapolis to perform To Begin With and MIA has always been one of my favourite diversions.

Having enjoyed the Hilton’s buffet breakfast and got myself ready, I fetch the car from the ludicrously expensive parking garage beneath the hotel and drive out into the streets of Minneapolis.  At the first red light I discover that the Ford Escape is one of those cars that automatically shuts itself down when you stop, which is very disconcerting and I have to keep reminding myself that this is an effort to reduce emissions and that I have not rented a frighteningly unreliable vehicle.  The drive to MIA is very short, and if the weather had been better I would have walked, but the pavements (sidewalks) are covered with icy snow and it is a grey cloudy day which would make perambulatory activities uncomfortable and possibly dangerous.

At the museum I spend a very happy couple of hours wandering through the galleries, and admiring many pictures that have made an impression before, and others which I am seeing for the first time.  When I have seen about as many paintings as I think I want to see today I go and have a coffee before mooching around the coffee and gift shops and I am delighted to find my cousin Lucinda’s book about beards and moustaches on the shelf (of the gift shop, of course, not the coffee shop!)

Firmly in tourist mode I now decide to drive towards the Mill City museum by the river, which celebrates the city’s milling trade.  The museum is right next to the Guthrie Theatre and it is a struggle to find anywhere to park because the audience are arriving for a matinee performance of, you guessed it, A Christmas Carol!  I notice that the other show playing this month is Noel Coward’s Blithe Spirit, so it is obviously the British ghost story season at the Guthrie.

Eventually I find an on-street parking spot and having worked out how to pay I go to Mill City.  The museum is, as the name suggests, built in an old mill that was partially destroyed by fire, but they have mounted an interesting exhibition using a mixture of the ruins and more modern additions.

The central part of the visit is a ride in a huge industrial elevator which hops from floor to floor, showing us various rooms and machines as they would have been in the mill’s heyday, whist a recorded narration from people who actually worked here tells the story.  The museum does the best it can with a rather limited story to tell, but the highlight of the trip is standing on the observation platform at the very top of the building looking over the St Anthony’s Falls, around which the entire City grew.   And as I  admire the view I can see the Aster Café on the other side of the river, where I will be performing tomorrow evening.

Having learnt as much about grain and flour as I want to, I return to my car and drive back to the hotel once more.  Although I said that I didn’t have any work to do I realised when I was out that I have two three shows to perform in England next week, and they have to be the longer 2-act version, so I spend a little bit of time going over the extra lines that I will have to shoehorn in to what has become such a  familiar script.

I don’t spend too long working, and soon I have the television on am watching Star Wars, The Phantom Menace, which is the first of the prequel trilogy featuring that woeful creation Jar Jar Binks.

At 5 o’clock I am due to meet my old friend, and producer of To Begin With, Dennis Babcock, and I make my way back to Brits Pub which is our rendezvous point.  The place is heaving just like a British pub would be on a Saturday night.  I am first to arrive so put my name down for a table and at the very instant that my name is called, so Dennis walks through the door, which is a perfect piece of timing.

We sit at our little table before a roaring fire, and begin to talk about what has been going on in our lives since I left Minneapolis in March.  Dennis also produces the incredibly popular show Triple Espresso, which is set to play in cities across America once more after a couple of quieter years.  The future looks bright.

We both eat Brit’s signature dish of fish and chips and talk and talk, until Dennis has to leave to watch a student of his in a play based on The Great Gatsby.  I walk the short distance back to the Hilton and go back to my room where I discover that the Star Wars marathon is still playing,  so I watch some more of that.

I get ready for bed quite early, as I have to be up and out of the hotel at 6.45 in the morning for a live TV interview to promote the show in the evening.

The last day of the USA tour is about to begin.

 

 

 

No Name Day

As I wake up this morning the first thing I see is a blinking red light on the phone next to the bed.  I press the button for messages and listen to an electronically generated message informing me that I have a package waiting for me at the front desk.  I dial ‘O’ and speak to a real person who confirms that indeed it is my suitcase that has been delivered overnight.

I have a fairly early breakfast and then retrieve my case and take it upstairs, much to the confusion of the bell hops who are not used to the sight of someone apparently checking in at 7am.

Up in my room I open the case up and have my second huge relief of the day when I discover that I had indeed packed my favourite scarf and hadn’t after all left it in the rental car or at Richmond airport.  It is therefore in a good frame of mind that I continue into my day.

My first commitment is a live TV interview to promote my final USA performance on Sunday.  I get into costume and also take everything that I will need for my show later so that I can drop it into the car on my way out.  The TV station is across the street from the hotel so I stride out into the cold morning and get a good blast into my lungs before entering the offices of WCCO, and being greeted by Martin Keller, who’s company is handling all of the PR for the Aster Café where my show is to be held.

Martin guides me to the green room where we make polite conversation about the theatre scene in Minneapolis and the  release of the new Star Wars film (neither of us can quite remember where we are up to in the plot, and what has been prequel and sequel).  After a while we are ushered into the TV studio and I am fitted with a microphone and sat under the hot lights on a cosy part of the set, while the presenters do their stuff behind a more formal news desk on the other side of the room.

There is a local story running about the re-naming of Lake Calhoun in Minnesota: apparently there is a move to change the name because the Mr Calhoun in question was a keeper of slaves and honouring him in this way is now deemed inappropriate.  However the powers that be seem to be saying that the Calhoun was not THAT Calhoun, Oh no, the lake is named after quite another Calhoun – a good man, very honourable and patriotic who did lots of wonderful things and never forgot his mother’s birthday and helped elderly ladies across the street and rescued kittens from trees: One gets the sense that the City would rather not take on the expense of re-branding when they can simply change the story.

The news moves on to viewers reactions to Star Wars, and while the screen is filled with tweets and texts the presenters pick their way across the studio, still talking which is an impressive thing to see.  Their journey complete they sit on the sofa next to me and before I know it the floor manager is waving to one of the remote cameras and our interview begins.

I am sorry to say that I don’t know the name of either presenter as I wasn’t really concentrating when the floor manager told me, but we chat as if we are old friends anyway.  I have some slight doubts when the girl announces that I will be performing at the Aster Café on Sunday, but she pronounces it ‘Aister’ whereas I assumed it was in Lady Astor.  I decide to refer to just ‘the Cafe’ for the rest of the interview.

It is quite a long slot, in TV terms, and we talk about my show, my previous appearances in the Twin Cities and the friendship of the Café owner Jeff with my brother Ian via their mutual membership of the Pickwick Club in London.  Our chat comes to an end and the male presenter, who is also the meteorologist, repeats warnings of light snow falls, and I leave the set saying thank you to all of the nameless people who fill the studio.

I have a very brief time to go back to my hotel but within twenty minutes I am on the road driving to the small community of Eden Prairie which about thirty minutes away, and where I am to perform this afternoon.  There doesn’t seem any point in changing out of my costume, so I drive Victorian.

My venue is the Wooddale Church and it is an impressive sight as I pull into the parking lot.  It is a modern building with an impressive metal, industrial ‘spire’ on the top.

I find my way into the main lobby area and am greeted by a lady whose name I don’t hear and then am introduced to another lady whose name I also don’t get.  I am not on terribly good form today in the name stakes and I apologise to everyone involved for my inability to listen!

I am given a brief tour of the Church and shown the main worship space which is remarkable and dominated by the largest pipe organ in the USA.  Then I am taken into the room where I am to perform, which is smaller and beautifully laid out.  The guests are going to be served with a delicious lunch before the show ad already the tables have been set with plates of salad, while at the side of the room plates of delicious desserts are lined up waiting to be served.

Along one side of the room a large stage has been prepared and theatre lights hang over it, so that it will be well illuminated when I come to do the show.  The Pastor (David – I made sure I listened) and the sound guy (Richie) introduce themselves, and we start the sound check.  Unfortunately the only microphone they have is one of the ear clips, which always fall off, but my experiences at the Mid Continent Library have told me that a few mini binder clips can hold such a microphone in place on my shirt and so it becomes a lapel unit instead.

The first members of the audience are beginning to arrive, so I go to the little vestry which is where I am to wait until lunch has been served and it is time for the entertainment to begin (scheduled for 12.35 which seems terribly precise!)  There is a TV set in the room and I assume that it is only an internal system broadcasting proceedings from the sanctuary, but I discover that actually it is properly connected, so I wile away the time watching the quiz show Jeopardy, and realising now lacking my general knowledge is!

Just before 12.30 I am collected and taken back to the room, where everyone has enjoyed their lunches and are settling back to watch the show.  The event has been a huge success, with the lunch tickets selling out in a matter of minutes, and the organisers adding a few rows of theatre style seating at the back of the room to accommodate as many audience members as they can.  David takes to the stage and announces me, and the music starts right on cue allowing me to walk, as if behind Marley’s coffin, to my place on the stage.

It is always an interesting to perform for a new group in a new venue, and for a while it is as if we are feeling each other out, and setting down the ground rules.  I have plenty of space to perform, and soon the room is fully immersed in the story: the intensity and concentration of the audience is remarkable, and is most palpable.

I enjoy the performance but as in Williamsburg I am aware that my energy levels are still not where they should be,  I concentrate on giving a measured, and not a strained show, which everyone seems to enjoy.

When I have taken my bows and made my way through the standing crowd, many of whom pat me on the back and shake my hand, I return to the vestry, change quickly and come back to the lobby where a few people are waiting to see me.  The Church haven’t been selling any products, so there is no formal signing session, but it is very nice to meet and chat anyway.  A lot of people have seen me in the past at various venues in the Twin Cities and one lady has pictures from my old performances at the St Paul Hotel dating back 17 years.  How young and slim I looked, with even the trace of a fringe!

Another audience member is Peggy who was responsible for bringing my version of A Christmas Carol back to Minnesota when she encouraged the Arboretum to stage my show two years ago.  Peggy has been a long standing supporter and has been behind a good many of my appearances.  We hug and chat and she sends her love to Liz whom she met at the Arboretum last year.

I thank David and pose for some photographs and then soon it is time to get changed and leave the  church.  Of course I travelled here in my costume, but remembered to bring regular clothes, meaning that when I emerge back into the lobby the staff and volunteers get their first sight of a modern Gerald!

I say my goodbyes and offer my thanks to everyone who has made the event so enjoyable and start to drive back to downtown Minneapolis.  Almost straight away I run into heavy traffic queues; it is only 2.30 and it seems as if the Friday rush hour has started very early.

Back at the Hilton I buy a sandwich and a slice of cake for my lunch, not to mention more bottles of water (the air is so dry here that I am constantly needing to drink), and go back to my room where I spend the rest of the afternoon.

I just seem to have no energy to do anything today, and even when I try to watch the second episode of Mrs Maisel I fall asleep almost before it has started.  I turn all the lights off, get under the covers and have a long afternoon nap.

When evening comes I decide just to stay in the hotel and go down to the lobby bar where I have a delicious pork chop and risotto dish.  A group of ladies at the end of the bar are out celebrating, one is sporting a Santa hat, and on hearing my accent (as I chat to the barman), they start to converse and soon are asking all about the shows and getting a little flirty.

 

I pose for a few pictures but really need to get some sleep, so I politely say my goodbyes and return to my room.

Tomorrow is a complete day off, with no media commitments or appearances, and it will be good to have a final day to recharge before the final show on Sunday night.  I am thinking of joining the hundreds of thousands of other people who will visit the Mall of America tomorrow, just to pick up a few gifts, and I may well visit the Minneapolis Institute of Art which is always a favourite place when I am here.

But that is all for the morning.  For now I bring a close a day when I couldn’t remember anybody’s name!

 

 

 

No Bag!

My alarm is set for 5.45 this morning, although as ever I wake before it.  My first job is to get packed and as I mentioned yesterday this will entail getting everything into my cases as I will be flying again for the first time since Thanksgiving.  My main worry is the weight, for last time I was very close to the 50lb domestic limit and since then the generosity of my audiences has increased what I have with me (most especially the bottle of Ceddy’s Sloe Gin).  I get as much into my little carry-on roller as I can, and it is amazing how small two complete costumes can be squashed down to.  2 Frock coats (both heavy in themselves), 2 pairs of trousers, 2 waistcoats, 6 shirts and 2 cravats are all pressed down into one half of the case, whilst shoes, braces, cufflinks, chargers, socks, pens, CDs, USB drives, a sewing kit, a box of business cards, a pair of flips flops (brought especially for California but never worn) and various other things are packed on the other side. The case just about zips up.  I usually pack my camera bag in here too but today there is no room and I will just have to hope that the gate agent doesn’t quibble over an extra item of carry on baggage.

My main case gets filled with all of my clothes, the top hat and scarf, the cane, various gifts (the bottle of course has to be in the hold), my wash bag etc and when I pick it up I am fairly confident that it will come in under weight.

Finally my brown shoulder bag is bulging with lots of books, as well as my laptop, charger, two pairs of sunglasses in their cases, and my SatNav unit.

By 6.20 I am ready to leave and pull the cases across the gravel to the car, which does not respond to the key fob when I try to unlock it.  Strangely the lights on another car just down the row blink and it dawns on me that I might just be trying to get into the wrong vehicle.

I load up in the Hyundai (I had been trying to get into a Toyota), and drive it to the main entrance of the hotel where I complete the formalities of the check out, before going to the coffee station to grab a cup for the road.  Another couple are doing the same, they are driving home to Raleigh North Carolina this morning.  They have not been here for my shows, and have no idea who I am any more than I have any idea who they are, but we have a nice friendly conversation over the coffee machine.  It is one of those moments when two completely different lives touch for the briefest of instants, before they go off on their separate paths again, never to meet again.  I love those little inconsequential connections that in themselves have no influence on anything, but despite that leave the tiniest of marks on the lives of three people.

I get on the road and drive towards Richmond airport as the darkness breaks into one of the most glorious sunrises that I have ever seen.  I follow directions to the car rental garage and sorrowfully say goodbye to my Tucson which has been a faithful companion over the last weeks.  The gunmetal grey bodywork is streaked with the marks of salt and snow from the weekend, and it is almost as if it is defiantly saying to me: ‘ you WERE right to insist on an SUV, and I hope I looked after you!’  You did, dear friend, and thank you.

In the terminal I seek out a set of scales and put my case onto it and am relived to discover that it comes in at 47lbs. which means that I can put my camera bag in after all.  I get checked in, clear the early morning security check (for some reason my box of business cards always rouses suspicion), and then seek out a restaurant for a plastic breakfast.  This morning is one of those when all of the timings work perfectly, for as I finish my meal and walk to gate B12 the boarding process has already begun and I can almost walk straight onto the plane.

Astoundingly the flight to Minneapolis is a direct one with no layover, which is almost unheard of theses days.  It is due to last for about 2 hours 30, minutes, and I decide to try Delta’s entertainment app with which you can use the Wi-Fi connection on the flight (without charge) and access the huge library of movies.  I chose the brilliant Hidden Figures, the story of  three women who were mathematicians for NASA in the early years of the space programme, breaking down sexual and racial barriers along the way.  On the whole the system works very well, although I am frustrated by occasions of buffering, but I am pleased to watch such a moving film again.

When I have finished the movie I open the window blind and am delighted to see the snow covered landscape beneath me.  Soon we are descending into Minneapolis, St Paul airport and I am back in the Twin Cities once more.

As I stand up and put my coat on I realise that I do not have my lovely scarf with me, which was a gift from Liz two Christmases ago.  I think I packed in my case – but I cant be sure.  I so hope that I haven’t left it in the car, or the restaurant, or at the check in counter at Richmond airport.

I make my way to baggage claim and watch as everyone else takes their bags, until eventually the carousel stops revolving.  Of my suitcase there is no sign.  To misquote my own show: ‘No Bag!’

I go to the Delta desk and present my bag tag and after much tapping on a computer keyboard discover that it never got on the plane at Richmond (I have no idea why that should be as I was not late checking in).  Further investigation reveals that my case was then loaded onto a flight to Detroit, from where it will come to Minneapolis later this afternoon.  I give the agent all of my details and she promises that it will be delivered to my hotel as soon as possible.

I have a show tomorrow, and I am glad that I have managed to get all of my costumes into the carry-on bag.

I make my way to the car rental facility where once again I ask for an SUV as there is more snow forecast over the next couple of days, and when it falls here it really falls.  This time I am furnished with an electric blue Ford Escape, which has its own built in GPS system, meaning that my little English SatNav unit has finished its work for the tour.

I have been performing in Minneapolis regularly for the last few years and it is a very familiar city to me now, and can picture exactly where I am heading.  I have been booked in to the Hilton hotel which is only a few hundred yards from the apartment block where I stayed in March of this year, and in no time I have parked in the garage and am in the huge lobby.  It is only 12 o’clock and as yet there are no rooms available for me, so I go and find a table in the café and order a salad for my lunch before completing my blog and posting it.  While I am working I get a couple of emails from the PR company that is working with the Aster Café, where I will perform on Sunday, detailing various media events that they have set up including a morning TV appearance tomorrow.  I reply asking if they want me in costume or regular clothes, although that might be a moot point for at the moment costume is all I have!

By the time I have finished lunch and work I return to the front desk and now there is a room free, so I can relax and snooze, which is lovely.

Afternoon becomes evening: ‘No Bag’.  I can however monitor its progress across the country by getting logging into Delta’s tracking system.  I can see when it was loaded onto the flight to Detroit and even that it has arrived at Minneapolis. I know that it was on carousel 6…..and then nothing seemed to happen until the log changed to say it was being ‘set up to delivery’.  I’m not sure what that means, but what it does not say is ‘Delivered’

I pass the time by watching the pilot episode of a wonderful new series on Amazon Prime called ‘The Wonderful Mrs Maisel’ and follow that up with the latest edition of Grand Tour.

As 7 o’clock comes round I decide to return to my favourite haunt Brits Bub, where I have a rustic and delicious Steak and Ale Pie and coincidentally find myself sat at the bar next to a lady from Liverpool.  We exchange a polite, reserved, British greeting, but she is being outrageously flirted with by a young American lad, and rather enjoying it I think, so I leave them to their own devices.

Having finished my dinner I walk the single block back to the Hilton, where I stop at the front desk.  ‘No Bag’.  I check the Delta site again and discover that the file has now been officially closed, which is somewhat worrying.

And as I slip between the sheets and fall asleep there is still ‘No Bag’.

Fingers crossed for tomorrow!

 

Oh Yes You Should!

As soon as I wake I know that I am going to be tired all day.  The night was one of disrupted sleep and still I am wide eyed and not very bushy tailed at around 5.30.

Breakfast is not served in Williamsburg until 7.30, so I fire up the Nespresso machine which duly presents me with a very small elegant demitasse of wholly unsatisfying coffee.  In need of further revival I walk to the lobby where there is a machine that grinds beans and dispenses a much larger cup which hits the spot.

At 7.30 I walk down to the room where breakfast is served and have the combined services of all the staff as I am the only diner to venture out at this hour.  As I am showed to me seat, and as Travis fawningly introduces himself to me, a wave of sorrow comes over me:  The breakfast buffet at Williamsburg was always one of the greatest on the tour (only rivalled by that at Hershey), and was laid as a long centre piece in the Regency Room.  Now sadly due to the changes at the hotel the Regency Room is used no more and I am presented with a menu card instead.

Another couple arrives and Travis is as obsequious with them as he was with me.  ‘Did you sleep well?’ he asks, gently rubbing his hands as if drying them.  ‘Yes. very comfortable’, is the reply.  ‘Sometimes sliding between Egyptian Cotton sheets is all that is required,’ says Travis in a perfect corporate response.

I cast my eye over the menu and my spirits are lifted by the promise of ‘An Old English Breakfast’ complete with fried eggs (‘will be prepared over-easy’), bacon, sausage, grilled tomato, mushrooms ‘English-style’ beans and fried bread.  Perfect and I order the dish, asking for the mushrooms to be left off.

My orange juice and coffee arrive and I decide that this isn’t so bad after all!  More guests are arriving now and almost every one mourns the loss of the buffet.  The staff must have become very adept at batting away these comments over the past few months.

The breakfast arrives and it is indeed delicious, although I am not sure where in England the beans hail from but they add a nice sweet yet tangy flavour to the familiar tastes of home.

As soon as I have finished the meal I return to my room as I have a radio interview due.  I have time for a quick shower and when I phone the station at 8.45 I am sat at the desk in a fluffy Williamsburg robe.

This morning’s interview is not to promote any particular event, but just a general feature about Charles Dickens, A Christmas Carol and my career.  It is a nice chat, and the presenter has done plenty of research which keeps the conversation moving from topic to topic.  After fifteen minutes or so of chat I sign off with the inevitable ‘God Bless Us, Every One!’ and listen to his closing comments before hanging up.

I need fresh air.  I need to walk.  I get wrapped up and head down towards the Duke of Gloucester Street which is the main thoroughfare through the historic district of Williamsburg.  The day is bright, the sky is blue and boy is it bracing!  All of the familiar buildings stand in their various states of majesty (the Governor’s Palace at on end of the scale and humble wooden cottages at the other), and all are decorated with the door wreaths which are such a feature of Williamsburg at this time of the year.

Opposite the Bruton Parish Church I am dismayed to see that the charming store that sold garden goods and wreaths, and which has always been a favourite stopping place for Liz and me, is no more.  It also seems as if there are very few people out and about at this hour, although I do witness a moment of rush hour traffic as two carriages pass each other in the street.

I walk up to the Merchant Square shopping complex where I am to meet my old friend Christine and her eight year son Erich who came to see the show last night.  They are already tucking into a huge breakfast, with Erich almost hidden behind a stack of four waffles which are drowning in syrup.  We chat about the show and Erich admits that he thought it was amazing and that he ‘loved it more than the Lego Ninjago movie’ which seems like a pretty good affirmation to me.

We are in a French bistro and over the bar there is a television screen showing old episodes of Julia Child’s The French Chef.  Liz and I loved the movie Julie and Julia and a few years ago made a pilgrimage to the Smithsonian Museum where Julia’s kitchen is displayed.

 

Bon Appetit! 

 

Whilst Christine and Erich have their breakfast, I have a delicious cup of coffee.  When we have all finished I say good bye and set off to walk from Merchant Square to the recreation of the old Capitol building, a distance of a mile.  My stroll is brisk (CD would be proud of me) and the cold morning air is feels so good.  As I am striding towards the Capitol the peace is suddenly broken by a loud siren which sounds rather serious: the sort of siren that is sounded when there is an impending nuclear attack, and as it goes off I remember my concerns as I drove past the various military establishments yesterday morning.  Despite the unearthly wail nobody else seems to be very worried, so maybe I shouldn’t be either.  I complete the mile trek and then walk half a mile back to the hotel and return to my room.  When I switch on the TV all of the channels are showing an official screen explaining that there is a test going on for the warning systems relating to the nearby Surry nuclear power station.  I probably should feel safer in the knowledge!

The rest of the morning is extremely frustrating as the Wi-Fi service is down (in fact it is a city-wide problem according to the front desk), so I am unable to get my blog posted.

I stay in my room and try to rest before the tea performance which will follow the same pattern as yesterday.

I get into costume and walk up to the dining room just before 2 o’clock and check my microphone battery with Chase, who is on audio duty today.  At the top of the hour seating is started and the audience are in an ebullient mood.  I pose for a few photographs and chat to many people that I recognise from past years (the people here love telling me how many times they have seen my show).  Soon the servers are placing the plates and we are ready to begin.

I am in an energetic frame of mind, which bearing in mind my tiredness today is maybe not a good idea, but I go at it full tilt.  At one point one of the buttons from my frock coat cuff pops off, but I manage to retrieve it when I am on my knees being dramatic.

The audience responds enthusiastically, and soon I am bringing the first half to end and vacating the stage so that the waiters can pour tea.  In the short break I go back to my room, to dry myself off, but also just to be away from the guests who I know will start to ask me to sign books and programmes, and once I have done one the floodgates will open.  But back in the room I read message from Liz with the very sad news that a friend and former colleague of hers has died unexpectedly back in Oxford.  It is with a heavier heart that I return to complete my show.

Once I get going my mind becomes involved with the story again and all of the joyousness of the Cratchit’s party, not to mention Fred’s pushes the sadness of the news away for a while.

I finish up and take my bows and go through the well trodden route from Regency room to bedroom and back again where I sign all of the books, programmes (which have now sold out here) and menus for a very happy and festive group of people.

After the signing has finished I discover that the Wi-Fi is back on and I am at last able to post my blog.

To relax I have another of my lovely hot baths and lay on the bed where I fall asleep in front of the television.  When I wake I look at my clock and see that I have half an hour to get ready.  I decide to do the James Bond shower (scalding hot, followed by ice cold, although on this occasion I wimp out a bit and finish with another blast of hot.)  I am still feeling tired and know that I am going to have to call on all of my reserves tonight.

When I get to the room all of my dinner companions (including Ryan’s wife Jeannie) are already seated and are chatting animatedly.  Actually it is a good group for me because they all have backgrounds in music and Ryan is the centre of attention (he is a professional singer who teaches opera at William and Mary College), meaning that I don’t have to talk too much.  I can feel my eyelids getting very heavy and on a couple of occasions I think I on the point of nodding off, although I must say that this has nothing to do with the company or conversation as they are a lively and engaging bunch.

At around 8.15 we get the nod and my last show in Williamsburg gets under way.  I push myself on, taking care not to strain my voice, and don’t let myself get disheartened by a quiet audience.  I know that often evening audiences are more reserved and I just have to carry on and not allow myself be ground down.  In a repetition of this afternoon’s show another cuff button pops off and once more I am able to retrieve it under the cover of a gesture.  Maybe I should be in Pantomime playing Buttons in Cinderella: Oh no I shouldn’t….Oh yes, I should! (that line will mean NOTHING to my American readers, but it is a traditional audience response to the pantomime dame on stage)

The show takes it all out of me, and by the end I honestly believe that if it were 3 lines longer I wouldn’t be able to deliver them.  As I bow (to a standing ovation – so I was right not to be worried about the audience), I know that I have nothing left in the tank.

Fortunately the signing line isn’t that long and those that are in it are in fine spirits, including a couple who were at my shows in Pigeon Forge all those weeks ago at the start of the tour.

When I have finished signing I join Ryan and Jeannie in the bar for a little nightcap where we all miss Liz who has been here chatting over a glass of wine for my last few visits.

Soon it is time for bed, and Ryan and Jeannie need to drive home, so we say our goodbyes for another year and I return to room 3191.  It would be lovely to have a nice relaxing lazy lay in tomorrow, and maybe a pampering massage in the spa, but unfortunately that will not be possible as I have to leave the hotel at 6.30 to get a flight to Minneapolis where I will be performing for the last two times on this years USA tour

 

Williamsburg

This morning we bid farewell to a constant companion on this trip, for I will be loading my final load of washing into a coin operated machine.  Naturally the process does not run smoothly as the dispenser of detergent is empty, thereby necessitating an extra trip to the front desk and back to the 2nd floor again, where I discover that I have left my key card inside the laundry room, thereby necessitating yet another trip to the front desk and back to the 2nd floor again.

 

The last load of shirts

 

With my white shirts carelessly tumbling in the machine I eat breakfast and spend time in my room doing the sort of things that I do when I have time to kill, until I can finally pack my case and check out of the Hampton Inn at around 10 o’clock.  The packing of the case is another ‘last’, as next time I have to get all of my costumes, hat and cane in there as well for it will be back to flying on Thursday.

I re-join the i95 and start a 2 hour drive towards the opulent luxury of the Williamsburg Inn.  The road is straight and for the most part rather dull, taking me past the military strongholds of Quantico and West Point, and signs to the Norfolk where much of the US Navy is moored.  With the Pentagon just up the road this must be one of biggest targets in America, and therefore probably one of the most protected patches of land in the country: I’m not sure I feel reassured by that or not.

I am feeling very tired today and I think that I am starting to dip into my reserve tank of energy. The road being monotonous and slightly claustrophobic thanks to the heavily wooded central reservation, I can feel myself struggling to stay awake, so I pull into a McDonalds for an early lunch and a chance to stretch my legs, and gulp some fresh air into my lungs, before pushing on to Williamsburg.

Like so many venues on this years’ tour, Williamsburg is an old friend to me as I have been coming to perform here for heaven knows how long.  Within the last twelve months the Colonial Williamsburg Foundation (which overseas all of the properties and tourist sites in the city) has been taken over and massive changes have been predicted, so I am anxious to explore the Inn and find out what has happened here, for better or for worse.

I pull up in the car park and walk through the beautifully polished brass handled doors.  The main hallway allays any fears that I may have, as the décor is just as plush and understated as ever it was.  I am welcomed with due deference into the reception lounge (nothing as sordid as a simple check in desk here), and am offered a glass of champagne, ‘or perhaps sir would prefer a spiced cider?’ as my check in is sorted out.  I decline both as I have a show to perform fairly soon.  Unfortunately my room is not quite ready, so I stroll towards the Regency Dining Room where all of my shows will be held.  The Regency Room used to be the hotel’s signature restaurant and harked back to another age when gentlemen wore jackets and ties to dine, but sadly that age is passing (maybe it has already passed) and the modern clientele want to spend their money in a more relaxed setting, so now the room lays dormant except for special banqueting events such as mine.

Chase and Donald, the AV guys, have already set up the sound system so I do a quick sound check, and then sit on the set and watch the bustling preparations for the sumptuous tea that is due to be served in an hours time.  A call is put out for more chairs, which requires Chase to slowly descend to the store room which is under the room.  A whole patch of floor is in fact a lift and in past times a band would slowly emerge to the delight of the diners and dancers who flocked to the Inn.  Wouldn’t it be great if Marley could make his first appearance on this device?

Another addition is a long fire pit on the terrace outside the window, meaning that my performance will have the flames licking behind me.  There is another wonderful item on my wish list – how about if we could control the height of the flames, so that as Scrooge is shown his own grave we turn them up as if the gates of Hell are opening for him!

I pop back to reception to see if my room is ready, and while I am there am greeted by my dearest friend here, Ryan Fletcher who always introduces my shows.  We exchange a hug of greeting and then walk back to the Regency Room together to go over the timing of the afternoon’s event with the banquet staff.  Guests will be seated at 2.30, and tea will be served.  As soon as the plates are down Ryan will get the signal and introduce me.  I will perform the show up to the end of the Ghost of Christmas Past when we have a short break so that teacups can be replenished before I finish the story.  It is all pretty simple, and a well tried programme.

Ryan

The audience are already waiting at the door, so I go back to the desk, get my room keys and finally am able to enjoy the beautiful room in which I am to be based for the next two days.  I have a quick shower to clear away the journey and get into costume before returning to the dining room and watch as the guests are seated.  Many exchange greetings and shake my hand as they arrive and the whole scene is very festive with red Christmas sweaters predominating; there is even a Santa hat (has the Regency Room ever seen such a thing before?)

The service seems to take a while, but Ryan and I are reassured that everything is running to time.  We stand at the back of the room and chat and Ryan fills me in with goings on elsewhere in the Williamsburg operation.  A lot of staff have been laid off from the shops and venues on the tourist side and Ryan, who appeared as storekeeper Mr Greenhow, no longer works for the Foundation (although he retired, rather than was let go).

And suddenly we are given the nod, and Ryan makes a typically generous and eloquent introduction before I start the performance.  I don’t have a stage to perform on here, I have a dancefloor and as I am almost performing in the round I need to use all of the space available to me to make sure everyone enjoys the show.  Being a tea event means that I can roam among the tables and include members of the audience in the plot (one man becomes Scrooge, another Fezziwig.  Someone ‘trips’ me up as I am rushing through the city streets, but is forgiven for ‘it is a shame to quarrel on Christmas Day’).  As Scrooge falls asleep after being visited by the Ghost of Christmas Past I say ‘..and dreamed of servers replenishing cups of tea’ and we are into the intermission.  When everyone has been served and the necessary restroom breaks have been complete, the plot begins once more and builds to the rousing end.

It is always hot and energetic work here, as I have a lot of ground to cover but the rewards are immense for maybe here, more than at any other venue, the audience and I travel through the story together.

I take the applause and bow to each corner of the room, and then make my exit leaving an excited babble of conversation behind me.  My room, although on the same floor, is quite a way away so I run down the corridors in order to get changed as soon as possible so as not to keep the people waiting in line for too long.  This year I am signing in a little room that used to be a back office to the front desk (the title of ‘Executive Board Room’ is rather more grand than it deserves to be), but it takes us away from the hubbub of the lobby and ensures that people arriving for the second show don’t gate crash the party!  The great advantage of the board room is that it has two entrances making ingress and egress very easy.

People congratulate me on the show and a lot talk about my blog and ask about various adventures (my geranium cufflinks seem to have taken on star status this year).  It is always nice to know that people enjoy my rather mundane diaries and it makes an even closer connection between me and the audiences around the country.

When the signing is finished I have only about an hour to relax before it is time to prepare for dinner, so I run myself a hot bath and disappear beneath the bubbles.

But time and bubbles wait for no man, and before I know it, it is time to get ready again.  I get into costume and carefully lay out the replacement shirt, waistcoat and frock coat on my bed so that the after-show change can be a quick one. As I walk through the lobby the crowd is massing, and once again I am greeted by people who come to the show every year – ‘This is our 5th!’;  ‘Hey Mr Dickens great to have you back, this is our 8th time!’; ‘Gerald!  is Liz with you?  Oh, what a shame, we miss her!’, and so on.  Before taking my place in the restaurant I go outside to admire the hotel at night, one of the changes this year has been the building of a reflecting pool which reflects the thousands of white lights spectacularly.

 

As I am admiring the view a couple of guests come up to me and ask if they can have a picture taken?  ‘Of course!’ and as I am getting ready to pose with them, they hand me their phone  and stand arm and arm waiting for me to take the photograph.  It is good to be reminded that not everything is about me!

For the dinner show I sit at a table with Ryan and some other guests, and enjoy the delicious meal before performing after desert.  This year we are sat with Rick and Carol, who are celebrating their anniversary, as well as other guests who cant quite believe that they have been seated with the ‘talent’.  In the early years of my Williamsburg appearances I would inevitably be sat with hotel management or board members, but Ryan and I love the new style and always enjoy chatting, although I have to be careful not to overdo the anecdotes as I need my voice to be in fine fettle.  As we eat, snow begins to fall outside which brings an even greater festive feel to the proceedings.

The dinner is superb, and just after 8 Ryan makes his introductory remarks before he leaves to go to a concert at the Bruton Parish Church where he is due to sing.  The energy in the room is even greater than this afternoon, and people become completely engaged in the story, which in turn leads me to work even harder.  It is a wonderful show and I feel truly energised by it as I take my bows.  Once more I run back to my room only to discover that the Williamsburg housekeeping team have turned down my bed, and carefully hung all of my clothes up meaning that my quick change plan doesn’t work quite as well as it should!

One of the first parties in the line hands me a gift bag and says ‘This is for Liz, we so enjoyed talking to her when we were in the lobby last year, and she is so sweet.  So please say hi from us!’  Once again I am open mouthed at people’s thoughtfulness and generosity.

Eventually the line dwindles down to nothing, and my energy levels are doing the same.  I retreat to the bar (new wallpaper: not sure about it) and have a drink with some old friends from the hotel, but soon I have to get back to my room and sleep.  I move the little cushion with the porcelain tray and the miniature bottle of peach liqueur to the antique table at the side of my bed, slip between the Egyptian cotton sheets and let my eyes close upon the instant.

 

 

 

Living It

In my anonymous hotel somewhere in Delaware I wake up at an annoyingly familiar early hour, which gives me time to write and catch up with the news from home, where the first snow of winter is wreaking havoc on the roads, and also allowing Liz a day off.

When breakfast time comes around I go down to the lobby Bistro and order two eggs, over-easy, along with some bacon and toast. My table is a little booth, with its own TV set into the wall: it is a little breakfast-pod, designed to prevent any interaction with anyone else who are also hidden in their own little pods.

At 9 o’clock, having given the worst of the rush hour traffic a chance to clear, I take my case back to the car and get on the road to continue my journey to the little riverside town of Occoquan in Virginia.  It will be a drive of just over two hours, and I settle down with Mr Bond as the countryside of Delaware, Maryland and then Virginia passes by outside.

I am driving down the i95, a road that has featured so much in my various travels on this trip, and soon I am crossing the Millard E Tydings Memorial Bridge, which takes me over the mighty Susquehanna river, that I admired so much when I drove to Lewisburg a week ago.  Here the river is bloated and swollen, preparing to empty its contents into Chesapeake bay, which in turn will flow into the Atlantic.

I drive on, passing the skyline of Baltimore where I say a silent ‘hello’ to David and Theresa who live here, and continue towards Washington DC.  My first glimpse of the city seems almost accidental and apologetic – it is not like driving towards New York City where the Manhattan skyline is visible from miles around – DC is a low level city, as no building is allowed to be taller than the Washington Monument, and the first time I realise I am actually here is when I get a glimpse of the Capitol Building’s dome between a couple of run-down tenement blocks.  Further on and there is the Washington Monument too and for a while I am driving parallel to the magnificent Mall, before curving away to the left and over the Potomac River.  I drive past the Pentagon, low and squat, and then the three-pronged Air Force Monument which is shining bright in the sunlight.

And almost as quickly as DC presents itself to me, it is gone again and I am driving past Ikea stores and car dealerships which fill the southern suburbs.

Occoquan is only about twenty minutes south of DC and it is a road I have driven many times.  I do not actually have an address for my hotel, but as I have stayed here so often  can navigate myself without electronic assistance.  Well, almost.  As I near the hotel I realise that I am in the wrong lane, and that I am about to curve right back onto the 95, I glance in my mirror and see a car coming VERY fast on my left, so I brake to let him fly by before moving over into the left lane.  Unfortunately just as I start brake, he also realises that he is in the incorrect lane and swerves to the right bringing him right behind me, on a collision course.  He must be doing eighty and I am still braking hard.  Fortunately I glimpse his sudden lane change and I am able to swing the car to the left seconds before what would have been a major and catastrophic collision.  He races by me on the right and away.  Wow, that was close.

I navigate to the Hampton Inn, and am soon checked in, giving me an hour or so of rest before I need to be at The Golden Goose Christmas store in Occoquan itself.

I open up the laptop to check emails and discover that I have one from Ian Fleming Publications.  After I had written my Bond spoof a few weeks ago, I thought I would send the link to the publishers, just for fun.  I am amazed to see that they have replied and for a moment allow myself to be seduced by the images of  headlines announcing a lucrative new book deal – ‘DICKENS TO WRITE BOND’.  My dreams are crushed in two lines:

Dear Gerald. Thank you for sharing this with us. We hope you continue to enjoy the Bond novels.

It was very nice of them to reply at all though!

The next thing to do is ring home, as I know that Liz is not working today, and will be at home.  We chat for a long time, and it is so lovely to hear her voice.  In a week’s time I will be getting ready to fly home and neither of us can wait to see each other again.

All too soon it is time to get ready for the day’s events, so we say our goodbyes and continue with our respective Mondays, which for me involves having a quick shower and driving to The Ebenezer Chapel, in Occoquan.  It is 1 O’clock, an hour before show time, and yet the sweet little wooden church is filling up already.  LaVerne, one of the owners of the Golden Goose store, is manning the door and confirms that people have been milling around since 10!

 

The Ebenezer Chapel

 

I rearrange the furniture at the front of the room, and exchange greetings with many audience members who have been coming to this event for as many years as I have – 23 or something like that, which is amazing.

Having set up (no sound check here as the hall is too small to merit a microphone, and there is no equipment to play my CD sound effect on), I walk to the store itself and greet the other owner, Pat, and the rest of the staff, including Brittney who acts as my ‘minder’.

The routine is a familiar one and I change in the little rest room that doubles as a stock room, before I am ready to be escorted back to Ebenezer.  There really is no need for Brittney to accompany me, but it is nice to catch up with her news: she is just about to finish university and will soon be on that great job market treadmill.

The audience is packed in and when I arrive LaVerne walks to the front of the hall and begins one of her carefully researched and beautifully delivered introductions, but as she starts so a car alarm begins to sound outside, and this will be a constant companion all the way through my show – 90 minutes, which leads one to question the value of such a device in that nobody takes any notice of it.

The show is a complete contrast to that of yesterday at Byers’ Choice when I had so much space to roam and move.  The hall at Ebenezer is intimate and there is only a very narrow piece of floor for me to do my stuff on.  I feel a little heavy of limb as I move around, but the audience are always amazing here and its a pleasure to perform for them.  I try a little adlib about the constant car alarm when Scrooge sends the boy off to collect the turkey, but it doesn’t work and falls flat.

It doesn’t matter though for the show is very well received one again, and I bow to cheers and whoops.  As the audience leaves I stand at the door with Lavern and shake everybody’s hand, wishing them a Merry Christmas, in my best vicar’s voice.  As ine gentleman shakes my hand he says ‘that wasn’t acting, that was living it!’

When everyone has left I stride back to the Golden Goose, change into my dry costume and then go to the signing table where Brittney is on duty once more to control the queue in the cramped space of the store and to take photographs which she does with the enthusiasm of a professional, getting all sorts of artistic close ups of my signature, as well as the more formal posed shots.

The signing comes to an end, and my luggage will be heavier to the tune of a charming children’s Christmas book, beautifully wrapped complete with a Christmas cracker, and a Victorian ha’penny from 1870, the year of Dickens’s death.  People are just so very very generous.

I go back to the stock room and change before walking to the Secret Garden restaurant where I dine with Jean, Peter and Joe – another wonderful Occoquan tradition. WE always come to the same restaurant and sit at the same table, and to some degree have the same conversation.  It is wonderful and relaxing, but we all miss Liz, who is usually here with us.

I have a delicious pasta dish, topped with salmon, but our time together is all too short, and I have to absent myself from the table to go and change once more, ready for the 6 O’clock performance.  The chapel is filled again, and once more LaVerne makes her welcoming speech and I walk through the audience to the front of the hall.

Whilst I was eating dinner, and again while I was changing, I was worried that my throat was tightening up, but as I start the show there is no evidence of it and it is in pretty good shape considering the length of the tour.  It is an energetic performance, considering the small space, and the audience are fully engaged, especially a younger group who obviously know the show well and are laughing at almost every line.  One girl, maybe in her early twenties, particularly is enjoying it, and I just know that she will want to be involved….Topper, do your worst!  Sure enough as the flirtatious friend of Fred makes his move, she blushes just as deeply as the text suggests she should!  The rest of the family love it.

The performance comes to another rousing end and the audience welcome me back on their feet, before we all traipse back to the store for the evening signing session, which is slightly shorter as some of this audience had their books signed this afternoon.

Before I can change Brittney has me sign a few pieces for the staff in the store, and as I am signing the collection of badges and playbills LaVerne asks about the significance of my little red flower pin and cufflinks, I explain that they represent the scarlet geranium that was Dickens’ favourite flower.  ‘Oh!’ exclaims Pat, ‘That is the town flower, LaVerne made it our flower when she was the mayor.’

‘Yes,’ confirms LeVerne modestly, ‘I had such power then!’

I finish signing, and although it is only around 8.15 it feels so much later.  I collect all of my things up from the store room and the office and say good bye to all of the team at the Golden Goose, giving special warm hugs to Pat and Laverne, and thanking them for providing me with such a fun place to perform.

I finish the evening in Madigan’s Bar, where I order a piece of Apple Tart, which never arrives, but I have a lovely conversation with some locals, one of whom had seen the afternoon’s show.  Hardly anyone in the town knows about the event as The Golden Goose markets it to their customer base and it sells out instantly, meaning that further publicity is not necessary.  However, my praises are sung by the lady who had seen it and other customers in the bar are intrigued and want to know more!

Eventually I say my goodbyes, collect my car from the Ebenezer Chapel and drive back to the hotel.  I eat a few biscuits (the remains of a gift earlier in the trip) in lieu of the apple pie that never was (but for which I was not charged), and then get ready for my bed.

 

 

 

 

 

To the Right, Opening In

I wake in the Ambler Inn with a nice long morning of nothing laid out before me.  A glance outside reveals a beautiful morning of blue skies and bright sun, making the snow sparkle and glisten in the low, golden light.

I write my blog and then head to the restaurant for breakfast where the remnants of a major wedding party are spread around the tables in various states of delicate repose.  Some are being very quiet, others are cheerful and brash.  From the snippets of conversation that I overhear it was obviously quite a night.

When I have finished breakfast I decide to move my car closer to the room, so that I will not have to drag my case across the snow.  When I came back last night the car park was absolutely packed with wedding revellers’ vehicles, and I was lucky to find one space right in the far corner of the property.  This morning the Hyundai looks rather lonely.

Back in my room I need to pack, as I shall be driving south straight after my afternoon show, but the fact is that I have nothing to pack – my case is empty as Pam still has the large majority of my clothes.

I watch some TV, play some backgammon on my phone, and generally waste time until 11 o’clock ticks around.  I check out of Ambler and drive to Byer’s Choice where I spend time chatting to Wendy in the store, and Dave in his office.  I go to the main auditorium to make sure everything is where it should be on the stage, and bump into Bob.  We talk about the programmes and how well they sold, and were sold, yesterday, and herein lies our great frustration.  Bob tells me that the $20 price tag was difficult for this particular crowd (not being the theatre-going demographic who would happily pay that amount for a well-produced glossy programme such as we offer), but still, through hard selling and marketing, we sold a goodly amount .  If only we could convince other venues to do the same, the situation would be very different.  OK, some places such as libraries and churches are not geared up for selling, but many of the sponsors are retailers in their own right and should really have done a better job.

As we talk Pam arrives laden down with two huge bags containing my clothes, she has been so generous with her time, and takes the bags to my dressing room.

There is now an hour to go and I start to get ready as the audience is let in to the hall to take their seats.  Today is going to be a massive crowd; many people were worried about the falling snow yesterday and swapped their tickets for today’s show.  I don’t know the number, but it must be pushing towards 800, and every chair in the building is sourced to accommodate everyone.  I am standing at Dave’s sound desk watching the crowd grow when a familiar smiling face comes up to me: Lisa!  Lisa Porter used to work at Byers’ Choice and for many years operated my tour – It was Lisa who negotiated with all of the venues, and arranged my travel and accommodation.  It was Lisa who was always on the end of the phone when I had left my watch, my pen, my cufflinks, my hat and countless other things in hotels or on stages around the country.  It was Lisa who worked hard to re-book flights when one was cancelled, and it was Lisa who drove Liz from airports to venues when she came to join me.  Lisa was the forerunner of Pam, in short.

It is wonderful to see her again and she is looking well and enjoying her new work (she left Byers’ Choice a few years ago now).  She asks me if I wouldn’t mind signing a book for her grandson who is just a year old, which of course I am more than happy to do.

Some eagle-eyed opportunistic members of the audience spot me signing Lisa’s book, and soon people are coming from here and there clutching a programmes or volumes of A Christmas Carol: ‘I know it is an imposition, but would you mind just….’

Fortunately the CB West choir launch into We Wish You A Merry Christmas and that is Bob’s and my cue to make our way backstage and begin the festivities.

The show and the response to it is very like yesterdays, and it is great fun to perform for such a huge group of people.  One thing has been nagging me throughout the tour, and I really want to settle it firmly in my mind, and that is the question: which way does Scrooge’s door open?  In the first scene Bob Cratchit, and Ebenezer himself, go to an imaginary door stage left and at various points open it or slam it shut.  Of course Scrooge returns to his office the next morning, and unlocks the door, before entering it and closing it behind him.  All of this is mimed, but during the tour I have realised that I am not being consistent with the door: are the hinges on the left or the right as I look at it?  Does it open inwards or outwards?  Is the door to Scrooge’s apartment the same or opposite?  This has become one of those issues that takes on huge importance in my mind and I want to get it right.  So today I make a decision, that the hinges are on the right (as I look from the ‘room’), and it opens inward.

The show goes on and we have lots of fun with Mrs Cratchit, and Old Joe, but unbeknown to me I am fast approaching a momentous moment in this years’ tour:  ‘Scrooge got dressed all in his best…’ up goes the top hat spinning over and over, only to fall squarely and comfortably straight onto my head!  This is only the second time that I have ever achieved this and there is a huge cheer from the crowd!

Of course such a large crowd brings a long signing line, but they are a cheerful and remarkably patient bunch of people.  Most who wait behind have seen the show multiple times and some have books that I have signed every year – space is becoming a little limited in those volumes now.

Pam hovers, and takes photographs, and moves people on well, until the last people leave clutching their books and it is time for me to get changed again.  As usual I have completely taken over the boardroom, with various items of costume hung over separate chairs to air individually.  I make my way round the room making sure that everything is packed up, and then get ready to leave.

I go back to my ‘theatre’ only to discover that it has almost been completely transformed back into a factory floor, with work stations replacing the rows of white seats.  Dave has taken the all of the lights down, and one solitary painting hangs on the wall above the now absent stage.

 

The small painting in the centre if the image is where the stage once was

 

Bob is controlling the operation, but breaks off to hug a goodbye.  It has been another great time at Byers’ Choice and as ever I am sorry to leave ‘Mr Fezziwig’ as he puts the warehouse back together after the Christmas party.

Pam very kindly helps me take all of my belongings, not to mention the two bags of laundry, to my car, and we have our own goodbye hug, before I set the SatNav and start to drive south.

Tomorrow I have to be in Occoquan, Virginia, which can be quite a long drive from Pennsylvania, so Bob and Pam decided  that it would be a good idea to make part of the journey this afternoon and have booked me into a hotel near Wilmington, Delaware tonight, which will just break the journey nicely.

Diamonds are Forever, read by Damien Lewis, accompanies my travels and I am so relieved that someone has at last got Felix Leiter’s Texan accent correct (I’m sorry to say that Rory Kinnear’s effort in Live and Let Die was not impressive.)  The character of Felix is one of Fleming’s best creations and he has been badly served in all of the films – so I am delighted to hear Lewis’s drawling and laconic accent.

After an hour’s driving I pull into the Courtyard by Marriott just outside Wilmington, and it is a very strange feeling to check into a hotel that has nothing to do with an event, there is an extraordinary feeling of anonymity about it.  I watch a bit of television and converse via Facebook’s messenger service with my son Cameron, who has just been involved in a car crash on the ice in England. He and his girlfriend are quite unharmed, but the car is a bit of a mess apparently.  It is a frightening thought, but I am so relived that they are OK.

After a little bit of online research I find that there is a good looking restaurant nearby and soon I am sitting in a very dark booth, struggling to read the grey print of the menu. Eventually I squintingly order the grilled salmon, grilled vegetables and mashed potatoes.  The meal comes and it is delicious, and just the right portion size, which is rare in American restaurants.

I go back to the hotel and have an early night.  Tomorrow takes me into Virginia, which really marks the last leg of the US tour, but I cannot relax yet, for there are another eight shows to be done here, and three more in England, so I must keep on top of my game for a while yet.

Sleep is coming.  What is it that I must remember?  Oh, yes. Hinges to the right, opening inwards.  Hinges…..to the right….opening in….hinges….hinges…hinges….zzzzzzzzzz

 

Snow, Snow, Snow, Snow, Snow

Last night at Gloria Dei Susan had told me that snow was on the way and hoped that it would hold off until after her evening show.  I saw no flurries on my drive back, but this morning I wake up with the excited anticipation of  a child and run to the windows.  I would fling the curtains open, but the Ambler Inn has venetian blinds which do not have the same sense of excitement to them.  What an anti-climax, for there is nothing on the ground – no mantel of white or any other real life recreation of any of the lyrics from my Christmas playlist.

The excitable child has just discovered that his Christmas stocking is hanging empty at the end of his bed.  It will just be another day.

I write my blog, and when I have finished I walk from my building to the main restaurant of the Ambler to grab two cups of coffee to take back to my room.  Today sees the launch of the new season of Grand Tour and as I have a while to wait before breakfast is served, I settle back to watch.  The new series is much more like the old Top Gear, without all of the silly experimental stuff that spoiled series 1, and there is a feeling of reassuring familiarity to it.  I watch half of the show then go to breakfast, where I am aware of a new nudges and whispers.  Sure enough as I leave two ladies ask if they can have a picture with me.  I am looking a bit dishevelled, but duly smile and pose with them.

Back in the room I resume the programme and as I watch I suddenly become aware of a movement outside the window, and the first flurries begin to fall from the grey sky.  The Christmas stocking is slowly being filled after all!

Throughout the morning the snow continues to fall and the trees and grass begin to turn white, although it looks as if the road surfaces have been well treated, meaning there should be minimal interruptions to my day.

I finish watching Grand Tour and then make sure that I have everything for my shows today (including two bulging bags of laundry for Pam), before crunching to my car, and starting the engine to clear the screens while I brush the loose snow from the windows.

The drive from The Ambler Inn to Byers’ Choice is little more than ten minutes and as I suspected the roads are fine, although this amount of snowfall in the UK would bring the country to a grinding halt!

I pull into the magnificent complex that is the Byers’ Choice HQ, where all of the caroller figurines are created, and find a parking space near to the main administrative entrance.  I load myself up with two costumes, my top hat and cane, two bags of laundry, and somehow balance it all on my little roller case and leave a set of footsteps that will soon disappear, for the snow is coming down much heavier now.

In the building I am greeted by all the staff I know so well, for I have been coming here for around twelve years and feel like one of the family now.  I dump my belongings in the huge boardroom that doubles as my dressing room, before going to the theatre space to meet with Dave, who looks after all of the technical aspects of my performing.

The Byers’ Choice shows are the largest on tour and over the next two days I am due to perform three shows, each with audiences of over 600, the seats have been carefully laid out and look rather intimidating.

Dave loves the show and is always thinking of ways to tweak and add to it, which I am happy for him to do.  A few years ago he managed to find a lighting effect that projects a stained glass window onto the back wall, to use when Scrooge goes to Church.  Last year Dave discovered some sound effects, so now the show comes complete with ringing bells and street sounds as well.

We complete our sound check, and I return to the boardroom, where Pam brings me a bowl of soup, which is very welcome.

With about an hour to go I sign a few books that have been ordered from previous venues, and a whole stack of our programmes to offer to people who do not want to stand in line later.

The snow is still falling, and however pretty it looks, it is causing problems in the various car parks, so everyone is mobilised to help get the audience settled before showtime.  I get into my costume, making sure that I have the Victorian penny in the pocket of my waistcoat, and with twenty minutes to go I walk to the back of the hall to watch the crowd grow.

Usually I stand with Dave by the sound and lighting desks, but today he is strolling through the audience selling the programmes – Byers’ Choice are making a big effort to sell them properly here, rather than simply placing them on a merchandise table as has been the case at many venues.

On the stage the choir from the CB High School East entertain the crowd with Christmas Carols and the whole scene is very festive.  Amazingly the whole crowd is seated pretty well on time and Bob goes to the stage to introduce me, and soon after I walk into an atmospheric pool of deep blue sombre light (Dave is playing!)

The show is, of course, big, there are a lot of people to include, but everything here is proportionally in scale, so the stage is high and there is plenty of room for me to move.  This is the wonderful thing about my tour – just twenty four hours ago I was performing to around thirty people, and now almost 700.  This is why the shows never become routine for there is always a new set of challenges to overcome.

The audience at Byers’ Choice are a loyal bunch and it is always a pleasure to perform to them.  The show is an adrenaline filled adventure and I work very hard, trying to bear in mind that I have another show in just a couple of hours’ time.

When we get to the church visit and Dave very slowly brings up the stained glass window effect there is an audible reaction from the audience, which is very satisfying.  I bring the show to a close and receive another amazing Byers’ Choice ovation.

As I leave the stage there begins the most exhausting part of the day – as Bob makes a few closing comments on the stage I have to run the entire length of the factory, so that I can get back to the board room before the mass exodus begins.  I achieve my goal and start to slowly change into my spare costume, letting my heart rate come down, and controlling my breathing.

I take my time, but I know that there will be a massive line waiting for me, so I tie my cravat, pick up my fountain pen, and make my way into the Visitor Centre, where Pam is waiting for me in the Nativity room.  As I arrive she starts a round of applause which is taken up by the patiently waiting fans.

The signing lasts for around an hour, with Pam managing it very efficiently, making sure that books are open to the correct pages, and mastering a wide variety of photographic devices, as she moves the line on quickly, but without diminishing the personal touch.

As soon as the last guest leaves Bob and Pam take me back to the little kitchen, give me a ham sandwich to eat, and leave me alone to relax.  I eat the sandwich and then get down to making repairs to my second pair of trousers, with the broken expandable waist, which I haven’t been able to use for a few days.  The repair isn’t pretty but should be effective for the rest of the tour I think.

Before the audience arrives I need to collect my woollen scarf from the set and move Bob Cratchit’s stool to the correct position for the opening of the second show.  The theatre is deserted, except for one figure, busily putting reserved signs on a number of seats in the front row.  Dawn Byers is the wife of Jeff (Bob’s brother), and always helps with seating the audience – she is energetic, strong and sparky.  Her Facebook feed has always been full of exciting adventures, with skiing featuring prominently, at least it was until June.

Completely out of the blue Dawn was diagnosed with Ovarian Cancer, and through the second half of this year has been undergoing major Chemo treatment.  Dawn being Dawn has tackled the issue head on and continually posts amazing video updates of her treatment and progress – not just lovely, fluffy, positive ones, but telling it as it is, sharing her downs as well as her ups.

She is approaching the end of the current course of chemo, and is hoping to be put on a trail programme for an amazing sounding drug.  Always looking forward, never feeling sorry for herself and her situation, she is a beacon of positivity.

We chat for a few minutes, and she is amazing.  I know that I speak for all of my blog readers in wishing Dawn continued success in her ongoing treatment, and thank her for all she is doing to raise awareness.

The audience numbers will be slightly down tonight some folk have cancelled do to the snow, but it will still be a crowd of over 600.  I get changed and return to my post at the back of the hall, and watch the ‘other’ high school, CB West, sing.  West is an incredible choir, that regularly performs at the Whitehouse and at other major national events.  Most of the programme is made up from traditional Christmas songs and carols,  but as the session nears its end  they begin their rendition of the Hallelujah Chorus.  Now of course it is traditional for audiences to stand when the piece is performed, but I don’t think anyone expected that from the huge audience gathering to watch A Christmas Carol, but there, on the factory floor of Byers’ Choice, the audience begins to get to their feet and humbly listen.  It is an incredibly moving moment, started by a few people in the middle, but gradually spreading throughout the room.

Quite the warm-up act!

The second show is just as energetic and good as the first, and the audience are just as fun and responsive.  As I leave the stage I once more make my sprint to the dressing room, ready for the signing session.  The line is not quite as long this time, as a few people have left straight away, for the snow has continued to fall all day and they want to get off the roads as early as they can.  Hopefully they have all availed themselves of those pre-signed programmes.  However I am still sat at my desk for a good long time, and the smile starts to get a little more forced, and the conversation a little more brief.

At the end of the one of the most exhausting days of the tour, I wearily change into street clothes, leaving the costume in the boardroom, as I will be back tomorrow, and go to my car, which looks like a cup cake with white icing poured over it.

I clear the snow and scrape the ice (this is the first time on the tour that I have had to wear my gloves), and drive back to the Ambler Inn.  At last my insistence of a 4 wheel drive vehicle has paid off.

Back at the Inn I order a ribeye steak, and then go back to my room. I switch on the TV and am delighted to discover that It’s a Wonderful Life is playing – my favourite Christmas film.  I settle down and wallow in the gentle nostalgia of Jimmy Stewart doing his thing.

But the day has been about one thing: to take the opening lyric from another of my Christmas songs ‘Snow, snow, snow, snow, snow.’

Happy Birthday to my wonderful sister Nicky! Have a great day

 

 

 

 

 

 

Christmas Seems Much Closer

I seem to be getting into a routine of waking very early again, which is rather frustrating.  I sit in the curtained bed (old Joe and Mrs Dilber would approve), and dispatch my previous days’ experiences to the cyber world.  Eventually 8 O’clock approaches and it is time for breakfast.

The Fairville Inn is very busy this morning and when I go into the little dining room there is already a party of four waiting to be served.  The server is a young girl and one of the group barks at her ‘what is the situation here?  How do we order breakfast?  Is there a menu or what?’  The girl says that she was waiting for the rest of the party to arrive before explaining the choices.  The bark comes again ‘tell us now, and I can explain it to the others when they arrive.’  The girl then patiently runs through the menu choices, pours coffee and leaves the man to talk to his group in a loud, brash voice.

She comes to my table and asks if I need to hear the menu and I say no, it is fine, and choose Rick’s amazing Blueberry French Toast Soufflé, with home made raspberry sauce.  As I sip my coffee and drink my orange juice the rest of the large party arrive and the alpha male begins to tell them what is on offer:  ‘There is some egg thing, and some kind of pancake, or waffle, cant remember, there may have been some sort of omelette.  I don’t know what the hell there is, HEY!’ and he once more calls the server who patiently goes through the whole menu once again, for the benefit of the entire group, as she wanted to do in the first place.

I eat my breakfast quietly, and chat to Rick, Laura and the rest of the team as they come in and out of the restaurant.  The soufflé is delicious, and Laura explains that Rick grows the raspberries for the sauce in the yard, and makes huge batches of it.  To accompany all of this is the soundtrack of our loud friend’s life and career.

Before returning to my room I stop by the Christmas tree to admire the Vaillancourt ornament that now hangs in pride of place.

I am moving on today but don’t have to be on the road until around ten, so I take the opportunity to empty my suitcase and re-pack it, as its become a bit of a mess over the last few days.  Another massive amount of laundry has built up, but I am saving it until I see Pam on Saturday, as she rather foolishly offered to take some loads in for me.

I fold everything that needs folding, and discard various things that are superfluous to my needs, before closing up and humping the heavy case down the narrow staircase of Spring Cottage and into my car.

Back in the main building I remember to hand my key in and say my goodbyes for another year.

 

With Laura

 

My venue today is in the small Pennsylvanian community of Huntingdon Valley, and my SatNav tells me that it is a drive of just over an hour, so I have plenty of time in hand.  But when I come to join the i276 I come to a grinding halt, as there has been some kind of crash or break down up ahead.  I sit staring at the back of a DHL van for about thirty minutes: 11.30 (my supposed arrival time) comes and goes.  Thanks to Pam’s comprehensive handbook that accompanies my tour (my ‘Bible’) I am able to call Susan at the Gloria Dei Church and explain that I am on my way and not to panic.  She sounds very calm, and panic seems to be the very last emotion that she would have!

In fact almost as soon as I finish the call, the traffic starts to move on again and my journey is back on track.  The little computer screen is counting down the miles to my destination, but suddenly I am aware that I have not seen any signs to Huntingdon Valley – lots for Doylestown, and I begin to panic that maybe I set the SatNav incorrectly and I am miles away from where I should be.  However soon I see signs for the Gloria Dei Church and I pull into the parking lot.

The Church is an impressive sprawling complex with lots of offices, and meeting rooms as well as the main sanctuary.  I am greeted by Susan, who is just as calm as I imagined, and she shows me the lay of the land (I hope she will be on hand throughout the day, as the building is quite a warren and I could easily find myself performing to a pre-school group of 3 year olds, rather than my intended audience.)  I mention the lack of road signs and Susan rolls her eyes, and explains Huntingdon Valley is a hidden away little secret and very few people know that it actually exists

As I am running late the first thing is to get the sound check done before the audience arrive.  The main sanctuary is an amazing long room, with high vaulted ceiling made of dark wood.  At the far end is a raised area, which will be my stage, and overlooking it is a huge wooden carved statue of Christ the Redeemer.

Susan introduces me to the Reverend Jim, one of the pastors here, and he hands me the microphone, so that I can try a few lines.  The sound system is a good one and I have no worries about it, at all.  Jim is an open, very jolly sort of pastor, whose face falls naturally into a smile; I could cast him as a young Mr Fezziwig.  His shirt is a loud one made up of broad green and red stripes, and this adds to his festive appearance.

My changing room is in the music directors office, and apart from the usual desk, which is covered with sheet music, there is also a toddler’s cot, which doubles as very useful hanging space for my costumes (and maybe I can have a nap between shows!)

Just before 1 Susan arrives to lead me back to the chapel, where a very small audience, maybe 30 or so, appear lost in the cavernous space.  Fortunately Susan and the team have roped off the back pews so that the audience are at least gathered at the front.  Jim explains that this is the first time that they have ever tried anything like this in the church, so do not know what to expect.

AS soon as I start the show I realise that this is going to be a completely different kind of performance to that which I have been giving on stage so far.  The audience are silent, and do not react to anything.  Not a laugh, not a titter. Nothing.  However I do get a feeling of support and enjoyment from them – they are not a sullen crowd at all, just different.

I adapt the show so that I don’t indulge in any of the audience participation stuff, and do not pause at lines where laughter usually follows; it becomes a much more literary show (maybe more in the way that Dickens performed it) and it is fun to do it that way.

One remarkable moment occurs during the future scene when Bob Cratchit holds up Tiny Tim’s ‘crutch’ to the Heavens.  I play the scene centrally on the stage so that the figure of Christ is over me, and as I hold my wooden cane aloft the perspective of my view sees it seem to settle into Jesus’s outstretched hands.

I finish the show and the quiet audience stand to applaud me, which is rather nice.  I go and change and then join them in the Church’s library lounge, where we drink punch and eat cookies together, as we chat.  One gentleman says that ‘this morning Christmas seemed a long way away, but now after that, it feels so much closer’.  What a lovely review!

Of course our meet and greet session does not last long, and I return to my office to change.  There is another 3 and a half hours before my evening show, so I decide to drive to my hotel in North Wales (I know, it seems to be a bit of a hike from PA, but actually only thirty minutes away), to check in to The Joseph Ambler Inn, where I will be staying for two nights.

I stop briefly to buy a burger for a quick lunch, but soon am pulling in among the various historic stone farm buildings that go to make up the Inn.  I always stay here when I perform at Byers’ Choice and it has such a lovely welcoming feel to it.  By the time I have checked in and got to my room I have just over an hour to rest, which is perfect.

I am aware that I will be driving back in heavy rush hour traffic, so give myself plenty of time for the return journey, and indeed there is just one long crawl of traffic between the hotel and the Church.  Although frustrating there is a benefit to the congestion as it gives me time to admire the beautiful Christmas lights that bring the dullest neighbourhoods to life.

I get to the church on the dot of 6, and return to my office/crèche where I put on my Christmas music playlist to put me in the mood as I change.  Somehow, however, it feels slightly irreverent to be singing along to Dominic the Italian Christmas Donkey in such a setting!

At 7 I return to the Church, and straight away I can tell that this is a more energetic and vocal crowd.  The buzz of expectant conversation fills the space, and when Jim gets up to make his remarks his jokes are greeted with laughter – I am back to my usual show tonight then!

My perceptions of the crowd prove to be correct and they are a very lively bunch.  Some have obviously seen me perform before, as I can hear chuckles before I say certain lines.

The show is more energetic and therefore more tiring than this afternoons and I work up quite a sweat, but it is very satisfying session and my efforts are greeted with a lovely standing ovation.

The meet and greet session is longer tonight, and lots of the audience have purchased the programme (ironically), so I sign, and chat and pose for quite a long time, until eventually they all drift away into the night, leaving me to change and collect my belongings.  I say goodnight to Susan, who seems to be very pleased with the day’s events, and get into my car to return to the Ambler Inn.

It is only 9.30 when I get back and the bar is still open, so I am able to order a plate of fish and chips, which I hungrily devour before returning to my lovely room and my large bed.

 

NB:  After yesterday’s post many of you have kindly asked how you can order one of the souvenir programmes.  They are available via the Byers’ Choice website at:

https://www.byerschoice.com/store/catalogsearch/result/?q=souvenir+programme&search-select=members&search-submit=&ACT=29&XID=0&RES=&meta=vme8gMECssmkWPafl7B5nELPCxmmiEQujxxCKk%2FpoXTSgXA7fOJ1XY94BGFtozFpqa6RYwuvrE%2F9o33HiIVN0flB1eIxT0S%2FoxD1tt4YmG%2Ft%2F%2FfGM%2F%2F%2BC0e0Qi39u41Fpq2k7SU1UdQV%2BlMips8X4ZSkvGScP740WvMfauDaQmldGPNffBA0PoEwt3rHrD%2BJ7CoDWC%2B1K29jYvR0hXc2FN%2Fq%2FnsI8Ai5ZFsgszBPnASzGudv%2B4wA3D3oBTPPtYZBk7GxQbw1ovifoiWRYD8ca6BNjJpSBwFeBJwE0NCVIFS%2FdyV%2BELMBYfgeYxCMf3LVcbEjCY1v67kXA8EeisoIpwEuABz9OG3NpAIWgOz%2FupDDIqPy7EmUODARd43qu0GTrdEFeaqwPy%2BJ%2FaI7X4AK3XjcQSvktX%2ByjuWV1CF%2BpcwdAilX7DnC7sVwphvJ3k5zj79DEKY1igjvt6pfEAUmEw%3D%3D&site_id=1