A Day Off…Almost

Today promises to be a very quiet day as I have no major performance.  I write my blog and drink coffee at 5am, which seems to have settled as my standard waking time and eventually get up and showered and ready for breakfast.  The shower:  At last a hotel designer has realised a major failing in shower design and addressed it, by putting the control at the opposite end of the cubicle to the shower head, meaning that I do not get soaked by a cascade of cold water as I lean in to switch it on.  Brilliant, and thank you.

Being another Courtyard by Marriott I need to stand at the Bistro counter and choose my meal and settle for a couple of eggs and some bacon.  I also add a croissant to the order.  Initially I sit in a booth by the window but the bench seat is so low that I’m having to reach up like a 4 year old, so I move myself to a table and chair instead.

My breakfast arrives, and while the eggs and bacon are recognisable in their shape, the croissant is round – perfectly round.  Call me pedantic, but surely, by definition, a croissant should be crescent shaped?

My only commitment today is at 1.30, so I have a morning to myself and once back in my room I set to writing an extra blog about the re-discovery of a lost portrait of Charles Dickens.  The Charles Dickens Museum in London is mounting a major fundraising effort and I promised the director of the museum that I would spread the word.  I spend an enjoyable few hours researching the story and looking for various images to accompany it.

As I work an email comes in from the Revelation Arts centre in Ashford with some pictures taken during my recent performance there.  It is fun to try and work out where they come in the show.

Once more Scrooge and the Spirit were upon their travels. Much they saw, far they went, always with a happy ending.

‘Spirit, I fear you more than any other spectre I have seen….’

Lead on, Sprit, lead on.

The spirits have done it all in one night, they can do whatever they like.  Of course they can.  OF COURSE THEY CAN!’

 

The morning passes quickly and it is almost 1pm by the time I finally publish the post ‘What Did Charles Dickens Look Like?’ I need to get changed into costume quite quickly as I have to be at the local high school at 1.30.  My efforts to change in a hurry are hampered due to the fact that my costumes are actually hanging in the car and I have to make a dash downstairs to liberate one of them, which of course is freezing cold when I put it on.

The drive to the High School is only around 5 minutes and as I pull up into the parking lot I am accosted by a man who introduces himself as the ‘sort of theatre tech guy’, and he takes me to the auditorium without worrying about checking in at the front office.

The theatre is deserted when we enter but soon the drama teacher comes in and we chat for a while.  He is in the local production of A Christmas Carol and plays both Fezziwig and the Ghost of Christmas Present and loves the story (as most do who have a close connection with it), he is also clutching a copy of The Life of our Lord  and is delighted to discover that I wrote the forward to it way back when.

the students start to mooch in and take their seats in the usual array of interested or bored, upright or slumped.  The teacher whose name sadly I didn’t catch, brings the theatre to order and makes a glowing introduction, considering he has never met me before, and leaves the empty stage to me.

I have a slight conundrum now as to what I do for the students.  Originally the board at Ventfort Hall Manor had suggested to the High School that it would be a good thing for me to come and talk to the students, at no cost to the school.  It was felt that maybe this would be an opportunity that would have been leapt at, but the school was slightly ambivalent and said that they supposed they could fit me in just before the students go home at 2.24, thereby giving me 33 minutes in which to speak – not long enough to do a show.

As quite a few of the audience are from the drama department I decide to concentrate on the development of my show and talk about how I came to play the characters in the way I do, and show some of the tricks that I employ to transition from one to another  (for example when Scrooge and the charity collector meet on Christmas morning Scrooge holds his hat and cane in one hand, whilst the other gentleman holds them in separate hands, thereby creating a subliminal difference in the audience’s minds).

At first the room is silent as I talk, but little by little the audience become more animated, and chuckle and laugh.  When I have finished my remarks I ask if there are any questions.  Of course, as ever in a school, there are no hands raised and everyone shuffles around a bit.  Drama teacher duly steps into the breach and asks a question, and then an English teacher asks how I portray Tiny Tim and Mrs Cratchit, and finally a few student hands start to be raised and the floodgates are opened.

Many of the questions are about aspects of the show and presumably come from the theatre students, and these develop into talking about the mechanics of touring and how I keep fresh and motivated.  One girl asks a really interesting question – how long would I keep going?

I had always told myself that I would stop when I felt I was not doing a good enough job anymore, but at the moment I felt that the show was in a good place and probably better than it has been for a while.  I explain how now the style script and performance is much closer to the original text than it used to be when almost everything was played for laughs – which was born out of a fear that if the audience wasn’t laughing they weren’t enjoying themselves.  Now I am much more confident in letting the material do the work and relying on what great great granddaddy gave me to work with.

All too soon the 33 minutes is up and the students are released, although quite a few hang around to chat afterwards.  I say goodbye to the nameless (I am sorry!) drama teacher and also to Kelly from the mansion who had arranged this session and has been watching from the back of the auditorium.

I return to my car and drive back to the Marriott.

The afternoon is not an interesting one but is punctuated by trips up and down in the elevator as I take the opportunity to catch up with my laundry before moving on.  Lots of quarters later I have two piles of freshly laundered and folded clothes – one my white costume shirts and the other my regular clothes.

It is late afternoon by then and I settle down on the sofa to watch The Blues Brothers for the first time in years (I had downloaded it to my laptop earlier).  I have been meaning to watch it ever since the sad news of Aretha Franklin’s passing, but hadn’t got around to it yet, and as I settle into the opening sequences I remember how much there is that I love about it, not only the great score and bizarre plot, but those little cameos of Frank Oz (close your eyes and you are listening to Fozzy Bear) and even Steven Spielberg as the Cook County clerk.

When the film finishes I go down to the little Bistro which is almost deserted and order a chicken pot pie followed by a slice of rich carrot cake which I eat as I continue to read Hidden Figures.

When my supper is finished I return to my room and flick through the TV channels and discover that Disney’s A Christmas Carol is on again and this time I pick the action up right at my own new scene for this year, as Bob Cratchit goes upstairs to be Tiny Tim’s room.  I watch to the end, mouthing along to the narrative.

The next film up is ‘The Santa Clause’ with Tim Allen and it is this that gently sends me to the land of nod

What Did Charles Dickens Look Like?

What did Charles Dickens look like?

If I were to pose this question after any of my shows during this year’s A Christmas Carol tour I am sure that most members of the audience would describe an old man with a wild beard and rather unkempt hair.  His face would be lined with bags beneath his eyes.  He would be dressed soberly and formally, in the Victorian manner and would maybe be leaning on a walking cane.

If I were to ask them to create an image of this man writing A Christmas Carol they would sit him at a dark desk, in a dark room barely illuminated by candles.  Papers would be spread over the desk with neat lines of handwriting on them.  Maybe the author has stopped for a moment and is pondering the next line, a quill pen in his hand hovering over the page.

To be fair you can forgive Charles Dickens’s 21st century public for clinging onto these images as it is they that are popularly circulated, and the tone of the narrator’s voice in A Christmas Carol is gentle and reassuring – almost as if of a grandfather reading before the fireside.

But the truth could not be further from those pictures.  Maybe a slight clue comes from the casting of that nice Matthew Crawley of Downton Abbey fame in ‘The Man Who Invented Christmas’ last year – he is young with a flowing mane of hair, eagle eyes and a vibrant personality, but he IS still Matthew Crawley from Downton Abbey.

If only we had a snapshot of Dickens, a portrait painted at the very moment he was writing the Carol to dispel the stereotypes.  Well, we do.

Currently on display at the Philip Mould gallery in London is a portrait completed in the last months of 1843 showing my great great grandfather in all of his youthful greatness.

The image itself is not a new discovery, for it has been seen before as a black and white engraving which originally appeared as the frontispiece of a book called  ‘A New Spirit of the Age’ which collected the works of many authors who were the vanguards of a new era of literature.  In a volume that featured Tennyson, Browning, Shelley and Wordsworth it says everything about Dickens’s reputation that it was his portrait that was selected to greet the reader.

With the book in circulation so the engraving has been reproduced on many occasions, but what is the story of the original – the full colour original?

The miniature from which the engraving was taken was painted by Margaret Gillies in 1843 and was exhibited at the Royal Academy in 1844, which was the last time it was seen in public.  Gillies was a great social reformer in her own right and she must have had some intense and stimulating conversations with her sitter who was campaigning vigorously and continuously.  Maybe they spoke of child poverty.  Maybe Dickens told her about his upcoming pamphlet ‘An Appeal to the People of England on behalf of the Poor Man’s Child’.  Maybe even as he sat with his bright eyes staring at Margaret a new idea began to take  shape.

We can only guess as to what passed between the two artists, but the facts of the story are that in December 1843 Charles Dickens published A Christmas Carol which immediately sold in huge numbers and in 1844 Margaret Gillies’ portrait was lost.

Nobody knows quite what happened but in 1886 Gillies admitted in a letter that she had ‘lost sight of the portrait itself’.  The little miniature was consigned to history and until this year forgotten.

The plot moves to a South African auction house where a general lot was being offered for sale.  In a box along with various other items was a dark portrait, the body of which was obscured by mould.  Whilst the image may have been dark and dirty the eyes shone bright, and prompted an email to Philip Mould & Co in London, who confirmed that the Gillies miniature had remerged onto the public stage with perfect dramatic timing (2018 marks the 175th anniversary of  the first publication of A Christmas Carol).

After cleaning and restoration the portrait is now on display at the Philip Mould gallery in Pall Mall, less than half a mile from the Royal Academy where it was originally hung. A special exhibition ‘Charles Dickens: The Lost Portrait which features not only the painting but many artefacts from the Charles Dickens Museum will run until January 25th, 2019.

I have yet to see the portrait close up but I fully intend to visit the gallery early in the new year and come face to face with the man who has given me so much pleasure (and gainful employment) over the last 25 years.

But just by looking at the images that have been published one can see a youthful man, a man of ambition, of energy, of conscience, of humour, of style, of impatience, of charisma:  Those eyes!

Charles Dickens was well aware of his status and, like today’s celebs, he was fiercely protective of the image he promoted.  In two portraits that he sat for in 1838 and 1839 he gazes away from the viewer, his eyes looking over our shoulder.

 

One of these pictures, ‘The Nickleby Portrait’ (on the left above) was painted by his good friend Daniel Maclise and it is interesting that in a letter to Margaret Gillies to confirm a sitting Dickens asked if Maclise could pop in to observe, and probably to advise.  But Gillies managed to convince Charles that this time the eyes should engage the viewer and the picture is all the stronger for that.

What next?  The exhibition will close in January and who knows where the portrait will end up.  It will be sold, maybe to a private collector and then will remain unseen by the wider public once again.  This is where the Charles Dickens Museum comes riding in on its white charger – they want the picture for the permanent collection housed at Dickens’s only remaining London home, 48 Doughty Street, where it can be seen by generations of visitors for many years to come.

Sadly the art world is an expensive one and if the museum is to be able to purchase the picture they have to raise a lot of money in a very short period of time – around £180,000 actually.

So I ask you, I appeal to you:  if I have 180,000 followers I ask you all to donate £1 today to the appeal and then we have succeed.  I realise that that I probably don’t have 180,000 followers, so maybe if I have one follower who would like to donate £180,000, that would work too.

This is a very important discovery and we cant let it slip through our hands for a second time and I know that the museum and the family will be so grateful for any donations that you can make.

Below is a link to a brilliant video about the discovery and also another to the Charles Dickens Museum donations page.

If you do happen to be the individual with 180k in your back pocket then I know that Cindy Sughrue the director of the museum would be very pleased to hear from you directly!

 

 

https://dickensmuseum.com/blogs/news/the-lost-portrait

https://dickensmuseum.com/pages/donations

cindy.sughrue@dickensmuseum.com

 

 

‘They left the high-road, by a well-remembered lane, and soon approached a mansion of dull red brick.’

My body clock is finally catching up with me and I sleep to a fairly decent time this morning.  The blog seems to take a long time to write this morning, and I sip coffee and nibble a biscuit as I do it.  Having posted my Nashua adventures I once again check on my new website and once again find that it is still not up.

My morning has a leisurely feel to it as I don’t need to leave the hotel until 10.30.  Having finished on the laptop I get up and have a shower before going to the little lobby bistro (as Marriott have branded it), and spending a long time choosing a very large bowl of granola and strawberries.

Back up in my room I record a video message to send home and then start the process of packing.  There should be a scientific paper written describing the phenomenon of  ‘suitcase spread’, ie the ability of the contents of my cases to fill the available space, in this case a large suite.  There seem to be bits everywhere, and I’ve only been here one night.  Eventually I round everything up and get it back into my bags and leave the room.

I have a 2 and a half hour drive ahead of me this morning and I have downloaded the audio book of the first Inspector Morse novel, Last Bus to Woodstock, to accompany me.  The book is narrated by Kevin Whately, who played Sargent Lewis in the television adaptation of the books, and it is odd to hear him being Morse, but the story is nicely written and helps to pass the time.

I am driving from New Hampshire, through Massachusetts to the Berkshires this morning and the route takes me right back past Shrewsbury (the location of my laundrette) and Worcester, before heading towards the Berkshire mountains, which is an area of the country that I have never visited before.

As I drive on the roads get quieter until I am suddenly aware of a huge amount of slow moving traffic ahead, all with hazard lights flashing.  I am glad that I have plenty of time to spare as it looks like a major hold up.  However I notice that other cars are overtaking in the left lane and as I drive up I see that this is along serpentine funeral convoy.  All of the cars, and there must be over 50, are lined up behind the hearse, and each is displaying a little purple flag which says ‘funeral’.  I have never seen this before and it is very moving.  As I pass, very slowly, I wish I were wearing a hat, so that I could remove it out of respect.

The road starts to climb and now there are little flurries of snowflakes in the air.  The pressure increases in my ears until they ‘pop’.  The wooded terrain all around is white and beautiful and soon I am cresting a summit at the top of which a sign informs me that this is the highest elevation on the I-90 to the east of South Dakota, which seems terribly specific.

This being the highest elevation it is therefore inevitable that I start to descend again, and the scenery before me is an absolute winter wonderland.  The snow is much heavier here and the boughs of the trees hang heavily laden.  I am glad that I had asked Bob and Pam to make sure I had an all wheel drive vehicle, although the road itself is ok at the moment.

I drive through Lee, which is a gorgeous looking town with perfect New England churches and substantial wooden homes.  My destination is Lenox which nestles in the shadow of the surrounding hills and soon I am pulling into the car park of another Courtyard by Marriott, which overlooks the valley and is covered with thick snow piles.

I get out of the car, smell the clear fresh mountain air and gaze at the beautiful vista before me.  The snow is falling heavily now and I suddenly realise that this rental car did not come with one of those brush/scraper things.  I may have a lot of clearing to do later!

The lobby of the hotel has a very familiar feel to it, as it is built to the same specifications as the one in Nashua.  I am quickly checked in to room 226, which will be confusing as I was in 227 in New Hampshire, and have an hour or so to relax before driving to the venue.  That gives me time to make a quick call to home and catch up on all the news.

At 2.15 I go back to my car and am relived the find that it isn’t buried, and make the short drive into Lenox and the Ventfort Hall Mansion. As I pull into the driveway I am instantly reminded of the description of Scrooge’s old school, which he visits on a snowy morning: ‘a mansion of dull red brick’.

Inside I am instantly greeted and welcomed and shown to the room where I am to perform.  It is similar to the General Crook House in Omaha, in that a parlour has been converted into a small theatre, with a tiny stage at one end.  The room is beautifully decorated with two twinkling Christmas trees, garlands and nutcrackers and will make a perfect setting.

I am introduced to Kelly who has arranged my visit here after seeing some information about me in a Williamsburg publication and then watching YouTube clips of my show online.  The effort by the board, staff and volunteers at Ventfort Hall has been immense and they have managed to sell out completely, which is amazing.  I hope that the snow doesn’t put people off, but nobody seems unduly concerned.

We sit in the parlour and consider how best to stage the show.  With a chair, table, stool and hat stand on the tiny stage I wont have any room to move, but the last three items can all be placed on floor level.  The chair is a little large, and I wonder aloud if there is a smaller one available?  The request results in Haley being called for.  Haley is in charge of all things practical to do with my show and is instantly efficient.  Of course I can use another chair, lets go and find one.  We walk from room to room throughout the mansion until I eventually decide on a small chair without arms, in a muted ochre colour which will not dominate the set.  Easy!

Haley askes if I need a microphone?  I don’t think so, not in this small room.  OK, that’s fine, and in an instant the speakers the flanked the stage have disappeared.  Sound effects?  I have a CD of the opening one, but the other is on a USB drive.  Oh yes, says Haley, I will run it from my laptop, and soon the files are on a playlist and she has a copy of the script printed out.  This efficiency is impressive.

With stage manager Haley

When the staging is fully sorted out I am shown to my dressing room, which is actually a magnificent lady’s morning room, with sumptuous chairs, elegant tables and even a chaise longue.  One a table stands an ice bucket complete with a bottle of champagne and a bowl of strawberries – I don’t get this treatment everywhere I go, although sadly closer inspection reveals them to be plastic props to dress the room for the tours that visit the house.

When I have laid out my costumes on the chaise, I go back downstairs and chat a little to the lady manning the front desk, who says ‘isn’t Haley good?  She is a theatre stage manager you know’ and suddenly all becomes clear.

The audience is beginning to arrive so I return to my sumptuous green room and start to get ready, and it is with horror that I discover that I haven’t put any black socks in my bag and the ones that I am wearing are bright red – not very fitting at all.  Downstairs again.

‘Haley.  One more thing.  You may not be able to sort this one out, but I have forgotten to bring black socks, and only have these red ones.  Would there be any chance that anyone has a spare pair?’

What happens?  Haley disappears into an office and re-emerges with a brand new pair of black socks, still on their plastic hook.  ‘These should do, although they do have silver tea cups on them!’

When I am in costume I go back to the parlour to discover it packed to bursting. There is an eager anticipation about the show and the promotion has been first class.  Just after 4 Kelly gets up and welcomes the guests in her charming manner before introducing me.  I walk through the very narrow central aisle, avoiding bags, hats and feet before arriving at the little stage.

One of the most enjoyable aspects of touring is the daily challenges in performing the same show, by which I mean making it work in a variety of venues.  Last night I was in a cavernous theatre with lots of space to move and express myself in, whereas this afternoon I can only move two steps in either direction, and yet both situations lead to a fantastic experience.

Being so close to the audience there is a real feeling of intimacy and connection, whilst the snow outside adds to the feeling of a family gathering around a fire to listen to a story.  As I talk about the school I remember my first view of the mansion and I can almost feel Scrooge and the spirit walking through the hall together.

In the front row are two women who have obviously seen the show before as they are laughing and giggling a few seconds before I have delivered certain lines (Supposin’….supposin’ being a particular case in point).  The rest of the audience get the idea instantly and are with me all of the way, which is fabulous.

When I get to the scene at the low-browed beetling shop, when old Joe makes his entrance, I normally pull up my trouser legs to give the impression of short ragged trousers; I am about to do it today when I suddenly remember the twinkling rhinestone teacups on my socks, and abandon the plan.

It is a supremely successful show and the audience are very vocal in their appreciation.

Whilst I am back in my boudoir changing into a fresh costume there is a major re-setting downstairs, as the audience are now to be given a delicious tea and all of their chairs have to be moved from the parlour and into the hall.  By the time I reappear tea is in full flow and there is a loud buzz of happy conversation.  At the bottom of the stairs I am immediately accosted and for a while that becomes my station to sign and pose for photographs.  It is rather nice to see that our 2017 souvenir brochure is selling well here and I sign a great many of them.

As I chat one of the board members, Mary Francis, thrusts a glass of sherry into my hand, which is terribly civilized.  Eventually I am able to get to the table groaning with sandwiches, cakes, cookies scones and strawberries and fill up a plate.  A lovely cup of black tea completes the feast and I am able to take a seat and eat my first meal since the granola this morning.

I chat to Kelly and Sharon, a local freelance journalist who interviewed me by phone last week when I was getting ready to perform in Ashford – back home.  Our conversation is constantly disrupted (not interrupted, for that suggests rudeness and the people here are by no means rude), by audience members asking me to sign books and wanting to thank me for the show.

As tea comes to an end Mary Francis and Haley take me to various rooms in the house to pose for photographs that the they can include in the Mansion’s newsletter and maybe promotional materials for future events.

One important picture is of my socks!  Oh, the tale will be told often.

It is 7 by the time I am ready to leave, and I am being taken out to dinner, which will be very nice.  I brush the snow off the car and load it up, before following another car to a restaurant in the middle of Lenox.  The roads are covered now and the AWD comes into its own.  Our tiny convoy of two turns into a broad deserted main street lined with street lamps wound with Christmas lights.  The snow is coming down and a wind blows flurries across the scene,  for a moment I fully expect Jimmy Stewart to come running up the middle of the street with that gangling gait, shouting joyfully ‘Merry Christmas you wonderful old Building and Loan!’

My dinner companions are Mary Francis, Patrick and Stephen.  Patrick is on the board at Ventfort Mansion, and also works as a set designer for the local Shakespeare theatre organisation, of which Stephen is the general manager and administrator.  There is a huge arts scene in the Berkshires and the Shakespeare company is a major part of that.  I try to convince them that they should stage the 8 hour Nickleby one summer, but I’m not sure that I succeed.

I eat a delicious  fillet mignon and the company is excellent too.  Outside the snow falls softly.  Crème Brulee finishes the meal and a fabulous day.

I say goodbye to my new friends and the Rogue takes me safely back to the Marriott on the hill.  I put the TV on and discover that one of the channels is showing Disney’s recent animated version of A Christmas Carol.  I watch Scrooge walking up to his door, seeing Marley’s face in the knocker, walking upstairs to his room, sitting in his chair, hearing the bells ring…..and then I am asleep.

To Nashua

In my little suite at the Press Hotel I sit up in bed to drink coffee and write my blog, listening to the pouring rain outside.  The rain was forecast and Jeff mentioned last night  that some of the properties close to the sea may well be flooded, it is not going to be a nice morning to drive, that is for certain.

I let the morning drift on a little, before treating myself to the magnificent shower and getting ready for breakfast.  The restaurant at the Press looks out over the street and the scene is every bit as bleak as the sound suggested.  The rain is slicing down creating thousands of little eruptions on the surface of the streams that are cascading down the road.  The few people that are out are hurrying under completely ineffective umbrellas, and car wipers are fighting a losing battle.  But the real issue is not immediately apparent, it is only when I receive a message from Kate O’Brien that I am made aware of the true severity of the weather.  In her message Kate thanks me and congratulates me on the show last night, but then goes on to say that the roads are treacherously icy and many Maine schools are closed because of the conditions.

The breakfast here is a rarity in that it is ordered solely from a menu – there is no buffet and I take quite a long time before ordering a standard eggs and bacon plate, but also a bowl of fruit to start, but not any old bowl of fruit!  The best I can do is to quote directly from the menu:

Fruit and Quinoa Bowl.

Pineapple|Banana|Blueberry|Black Quinoa|Basil|Orange Blossom Ricotta|Local Honey.

When he bowl arrives t is not the most attractive dish I’ve ever been served, but OH! the taste!  This is one of the most remarkable breakfast dishes I have ever had and it just feels so dammed healthy too.  I think that this dish may have to be included on my contract rider in the future, and I can become a real diva – ‘Mr Dickens MUST have his quinoa fruit salad or he simply cannot go on today!’

Oh, and the bacon and eggs are nice too.

Having finished breakfast I decide to get on the road as soon as I am ready.  Not only do I need to leave extra time to drive slowly and carefully but there is a very good chance that some of the roads will be blocked due to crashes and wrecks, and I don’t want turn up late at my first commitment which is at 11 am in New Hampshire.

Back in my room I pack my bags up, making sure that I have everything with me, and call to the bell stand so that my car can be retrieved from its hiding place and soon I am checking out at the front desk, and getting soaked as I make the brief run to the silver Rogue.  The SatNav tells me that the journey to Nashua will take a little over two hours and off I set through the murky streets of Portland and onto the foggy, wet, crowded freeway.

The journey isn’t as bad as Id feared and everyone is driving safely and carefully.  I notice that I am getting low on fuel and decide to stop at the same services where I had lunch on the way into Portland yesterday, however the fuel station is undergoing renovation and there are temporary pumps set up – with no cover over them: I don’t think so!  I drive on.

A I make my way over the Piscataqua River and into New Hampshire the weather clears slightly, although that is a relative term.  I have finished the Bond audio book now and am back into good old Christmas songs which accompany me towards Nashua.

The fuel situation is getting a little more critical, so I find a gas station not to far from my destination and fill the tank.  The bill comes to $37, whereas my last refill in the UK (probably in a similar sized car) cost me almost £80, which would be around $102…never complain about your gas taxes America!

My first performance today is at the Nashua Senior Center, and I pull up into the car park at around 11.10, which is pretty good considering the conditions earlier.  I have been performing here for the last five years and it is always a pleasure to return.  As soon as I walk through the door I am warmly welcomed back.  My performance is in a large meeting room, and the chairs are already set out.  It is a sparse, bland, dull room but somehow the shows always work very well here.  Today I am performing Nicholas Nickleby and that means locating a set.

My contact is Judy Porter, and she is used to me turning up with a list of requirements, so when I ask for a large book, a chair, a lectern and a screen that is tall enough for me to be hidden behind when I hang myself at the end of the show, she doesn’t bat an eyelid.  We set off to tour the facility on a Victorian scavenger hunt.  The chair is easy, fabric covered, wing back,  check.  Lectern – either a huge one, or a little table top affair?  The latter.  Check.  The book is bizarrely more difficult as the fashion these days is to print the hard cover under the dust jacket, but eventually I find a fairly plain looking one that will suffice.  Check.  And so to the screen.  After a false start when a rather expensive projection screen is produced, we eventually find a surgical screen on wheels which is about the right size.  Judy then finds an old curtain in gold brocade and a roll of duct tape and in no time we have a ‘Victorian’ screen.

It may all be a bit makeshift, but it will do the job, and I ride down in the elevator comfortably sat in my arm chair.

Whilst we have been scouring the building Jody Gage has arrived downstairs.  Jody runs Fortin Gage flower and gift store in Nashua and my events are arranged by him.  We have worked together for many years (10, I think it is) and it is great to see him again.

I build the set to my exacting requirements and it looks like a truly magnificent recreation of that which the Royal Shakespeare Company used for their ground breaking production of the same story

Even an hour before the show the audience is beginning to arrive, so having placed all of the furniture, and the girls’ little toys, on my stage I retreat to the finance director’s office which has been appropriated as my dressing room, a large sign on the door announcing the fact to anyone who may have pressing financial queries.

I change into the all black costume that Nickleby requires and then go to the hall and watch the ever increasing audience take their seats.  Another good friend has come to see the show too, Sandy Belknap used to work on all of the PR and marketing for my events here, and we have kept in touch over the years.  Sandy actually saw the original 8 hour RSC production when it toured to Boston, so I have a lot to live up to this afternoon.

At 12.30 Jody makes a few announcements and then welcomes me to the stage.  There is a warmth and generosity in the room and I know that I am in safe hands.  I briefly introduce Nickleby, and then launch in.  As I thought the audience lap it up: they laugh at Mr Squeers trying to teach his class f English spelling and philosophy, and they weep at S Smike’s death.  There are gasps of horror as I slip the noose over my head and disappear behind the duct-taped-decorated screen and a giggle of relief when, after a long pause, I begin speaking again.  Theatre is am amazing thing – in a bland room with no lighting except the fluorescent tubes above, a group of people can be taken into a story and fully believe it.

The standing ovation at the end is remarkable.

I sit at a table at the back of the hall and sign a few books (some very nice older copies which are treasured heirlooms), and pose for a lot of photographs.  The Nashua Senior Center is an amazingly uplifting and positive place.

The only cloud on the horizon is my voice.  Nickleby always takes a toll on my throat and I can feel that it is a little hoarse, a little scratchy, and I must protect it as much as possible.  I get changed and say goodbye to Judy and Jody, before driving the short distance to my hotel.  At the check in desk I give my name and the chirpy clerk tells me that my friend has already checked in!  I tell her that there must be some mistake as it is only me travelling, and she checks her file – no, she is certain that my friend arrived just a short while ago.  This seems odd, to say the least.  The girl calls to another clerk who actually checked my ‘friend’ in – ‘a Mr Gage?  Jody.’  Ah!  Jody must have dropped by after leaving the centre to make sure that the room was ok and to pay for it.  Phew!

The room in question is actually three rooms for I have a suite to luxuriate in.  There is a large living room with a kitchen area at one end, a huge bedroom with a real, free standing warbrobe (you don’t see many of them in hotels these days) and a bathroom with a bath!

Having dropped my bags I go back to the lobby and have a salmon and roasted vegetable dish for lunch, and then return to my room to rest.  I set an alarm, lay on the bed and fall asleep, which is a good thing to do.

My alarm wakes me at 4.45 and I have shower before getting ready for the evening’s show, which is being staged at the Nashua Community College auditorium, only a few minutes drive away, although the rush hour traffic is heavy.

I performed at the college last year for the first time and it is a very enjoyable stage to inhabit.  The lighting and sound are looked after by Doug, who got very excited by the show last year and wanted to play about technically.  We go into his sound box and I give him the files for the sound cues, which he has to run off somebody else’s laptop, as his is being utilised to project a wonderful London cityscape onto the backdrop.

We check the sound effects, and go through the fully marked up script so that he knows when to bring Sir Roger de Coverley in, and where any lighting changes can be made, should he feel so disposed (dispoged, as Mrs Gamp would say).

With the sound check complete I go to a little storage-cum-plant room next to the stage, which is filled with various items of cleaning and technical equipment as well as lots of chairs, and which will be my green room for the next few hours.  There is a loudspeaker from the stage and I can hear the audience arriving, they sound a jolly and lively bunch.  I sit and play Backgammon on my phone.

The show is due to start at 7 and this year Jody has arranged for a group of carol singers to open up.  He welcomes them to the stage and they perform energetically and beautifully for fifteen minutes.  The audience love them and applaud loudly after each song.  As they go into ‘We Wish You a Merry Christmas’ I suddenly realise that we have missed a trick, for it would have been a perfect opening to the show to have Scrooge walk into their midst, scattering them with a wave of his cane and a ‘Bah, Humbug!  Maybe next year.

As it is the show starts in its traditional way, except that the music cue keeps cutting in and out, which is frustrating.  The first part of the performance is a little tired and lacklustre, and I am aware that my voice is not great, but  the audience are responding well and things seem to be fine.  However with the entrance of the Ghost of Christmas Present I find an extra gear and suddenly the evening pings into life!  Energy returns, timing is better, and the whole thing takes on a new lease of life.  By the time I get to the end the audience are whistling and stamping and shouting out loudly, which is fabulous.

I take my bows to Percy Faith’s stirring and rousing Deck the Halls and all is good!  I change in my little plant room and go into the lobby where a long signing line has formed, the first lady crushes me in a hug, telling me that I have made her Christmas.  Lots of signing and lots of smiling, and the group dwindles down to some great friends who come every year and who always wait to the end of the line.  We chat about the girls back home, and about the changes to the show this year, and then pose for a final photograph before going our separate ways.

I pack everything up in the plant room, thank Doug for his help and leave the college with my costumes and roller bag.

Back at the hotel Jody and Sandy join me for a drink, and I have a large burger which I devour hungrily as we talk.  These moments with good friends are always very special and once the hurly burly of the day is done it is wonderful just to relax.

Tomorrow I move on again, back into Massachusetts, and the tour is entering a slightly quieter few days now, which will be good for my energy levels and my voice, before the final few performances next week.

Back in my suite I tour the whole apartment turning lights and the very noisy air conditioning units (oh yes, plural!) off, before snuggling down to sleep.

Old English Weather in New England

Today I must move on from the Beechwood which, as ever, has looked after me wonderfully.  I don’t have to be on the road until around 11, so I have plenty of time to get myself gathered.

I make my first coffee of the day and open the box of biscuits that Robin gave me yesterday, and sit up on my pillow to record my musings of yesterday.  When the blog is finished and the pictures added I press the ‘Publish’ button and send it away to wherever it goes.  I check emails, and take a quick look at my website, which is being redesigned and should go live any day now.  Sadly it is the same old picture looking back at me, and things haven’t moved on since yesterday.  I was hoping that the new site would be up before the tour started but things are dragging a long.  I send another of my ‘Any idea when….’ emails, and get another reply of ‘soon!’  I will check again tomorrow.

When I open the window I see that a thick fog, a real pea-souper, has descended over Worcester and I can hardly see the car park outside the hotel, which is a shame because I have a fairly long drive ahead of me and I HATE driving in fog, but hopefully it will clear a little before I have to head to Portland.

Breakfast is another Traditional English, this time with scrambled eggs which are rather over done and hard, which may just effect the Beechwood’s position in the breakfast league table!  There is a different clientele in the restaurant this morning and people dressed for business sit in booths chatting earnestly and being very important.

Back in my hotel room I have an online conversation with my friend Lynne who has booked some events for me in the North of England later in the season, and wants to firm up some of the details of the show.  She also asks if I have a favourite book version of A Christmas Carol as she wants to sell copies at the events and has no idea what to buy.  I spend a little time looking online and chose a few nice editions for her to chose from.

The other job this morning is to catch up on laundry, which means venturing out into the fog.  The Beechwood hotel doesn’t have a guest laundry, but a few years ago I found a very convenient launderette about a mile away, and that is where I will spend my morning.

The Shrewsbury Laundromat is deserted as I arrive, and I have my choice of machines.  I get plenty of quarters from the change machine and two packets of detergent from the detergent vending machine, and set two loads running, one with my costume shirts and one with various coloured items.  I settle down in a blue plastic chair and start reading Hidden Figures, the book about the mathematicians who worked at NASA in the early days of the American space programme.  The book was lent to me by our friends Penny and Jon, who suggested that I would enjoy it when they read about me enjoying the Apollo 8 book earlier in my tour.

Washes finish,  Driers start.  Fog refuses to lift.

Eventually my clothes tumble their way to dryness and I can drive back to the hotel to get ready for the day ahead.

In a parking lot opposite the hotel I spy another (or the same), little green Mazda 2 -it is as if Liz is really travelling with me and watching over me!

My costume, hat, cane and little roller bag are still  in the car, so back in my room I only have to make sure that all of my personal items are packed in my big case.  I check for chargers, adapters and all of the other paraphernalia that travel with me and finally zip it all up and leave the room.

The lady behind the reception desk is very cheery and sends me on my way with a happy ‘see you next year Mr Dickens!’  I load the car up, set the SatNav system with an address in Portland, engage Drive and let the nose of the Rogue part the swirling sea of fog in front of me.

I had meant to download some new audio books to my phone, but had not got around to it.  However I still have the James Bond collection from last year, so the journey is spent in the company of Rory Kinnear reading Live and Let Die.

As I drive North the names of English cities fly past me, but in such geographical disarray that it is as if the old country had been tumble dried along with my socks – Dover, Biddeford, Portsmouth, Taunton, Chelmsford and, somewhat incongruously, Greenland.  The latter named is SO out of place that it looks like a single red sock in my white wash, faintly tainting everything around it.

I make good time and the fog eases slightly, which is a relief.  Soon I am leaving Massachusetts and driving into Maine where there is a slightly more familiar feel to the geography in that at least Scarborough is in the county of York!

The succession of early mornings is beginning to take their toll on me and I am feeling very tired as I drive on so I decide to stop at a service station just outside Kennebunk where the blast of chilly air does me the world of good.  The snow at the sides of the road and in the parking lot is thicker here and there is a definite feel of deep winter about the scene.  A  fibreglass Moose watches over me as I walk to the restaurant.

Lunch finished I get back into the car and continue on to Portland, and The Press Hotel.  I stayed in the same establishment last year and thoroughly enjoyed it.  The hotel is in the old offices of the Portland Press and Journal newspaper and is themed to reflect the heritage of the building.  I pull up outside and unload my cases before passing my car to the Valet parking attendants who will take it to a mysterious location and hide it from me.  I leave my costume, checking that I will be able to get to it later this evening, and go to check in.

I am welcomed back by cheerful staff whom I recognise from twelve months ago and soon am in a lift up the sixth floor.

The newspaper theme continues throughout and the design is stylish.  The colour scheme is charcoal black, but it does not feel oppressive. The carpet in the corridors has a design that looks as if lowercase letters have been dropped and scattered on the floor, whilst the walls of the lift are made covered with pins from old typewriters.

My room is lovely, and even appears to have its own little stage, which on closer inspection I discover leads to a balcony. The view is of the City Hall (where Dickens performed when he was in town) and by craning my neck slightly I can see the tower of the First Parish Church up the street where I will be performing later.

The impression is that the rooms have been carefully thought through by someone who knows what it is to travel and they are wittily designed with little quotations scattered throughout.

 

I flop onto my bed and enjoy an hour of nothing, which is much needed.

Just after 3 my phone rings and I am told that Kate McBrien is waiting for me in the lobby.  Kate is the director of the Maine Historical Society who are responsible for my shows here, and we really hit it off last year.  We hug hello and then get into her car to drive to a nearby TV studio where I will record an interview which sadly will not air until next week. The station is WCSH and I am chatting to the presenters of the 207 show.  I did the same slot last year and the station specifically asked Kate if they could have me back, which is very gratifying.

As we wait in the lobby of the station, surrounded by large colour pictures of smiling presenters, we chat to another couple who are also waiting to be interviewed, and when Kate introduces me say ‘oh, wow, we are coming to your show tonight!  We cant wait to see it!’

The interview is great fun and very conversational, which is always the best way, but all to soon it is over and Kate drops me back at the Press, where I can rest for a little longer before getting ready for the evening show.  I sleep for a little and at 5pm have a shower to energise myself a bit.  I think I need to instigate a new award, this for the best shower on tour, because the one here is truly invigorating and powerful – I just don’t want to step out of it.

Having reluctantly stepped out into the bathroom and dried off, I send a text to the bell hops asking for my car to be brought to the door, and get ready for the show.  By the time I am at the lobby the Rogue is waiting, engine running, and the valets seem a bit confused that I don’t actually want to go anywhere in it.  I grab my two costumes, my hat, my cane and the roller bag, and the guys seem even more confused that I don’t need them to take my belongings to my room.  I leave the car, engine still running, and walk towards the First Parish Church just across the street.

The church is empty as I walk in and it is a truly impressive sight.  The pews are box pews and the aisle leads towards my stage for the night, which is well lit and slightly raised.  The requisite chair, table and hat stand have been left for me to arrange, which I duly do, and then I start to speak.

The acoustics are amazing and I do not require a microphone in here.  As I perform my impromptu sound check I am greeted by Moe who looks after all of the technical stuff here and whom I worked with last year.  Moe is a great guy with a shock of Alice Cooper inspired black hair and a tour T shirt sporting a fluorescent image of Ian Hunter, lead singer of Mott the Hoople.

Soon Kate joins us as well and the technical triumvirate is complete.  Although I do not need a microphone there is still the issue of my music cues.  Kate has been following the blog and is keen to use the new Sir Roger de Coverley music too, so we all gather around the sound desk and try to work out how best to make it work.  We have the cues on a USB stick and also on a CD.  The desk doesn’t have a USB socket, or a CD player.  Moe says that we can do it from a phone – the files are on my phone, but it is about to run out of battery and I don’t have my charging lead with me.  I had emailed the sound files to Kate, so they are on her phone, but that is an iPhone which requires a different lead – which we don’t have.  Kate can forward the files to Moe’s phone, which should work,  but when we try to play them they keep cutting out.

After much head scratching we realise that Moe’s Samsung is set to shut down after 15 seconds so he goes into the settings menu, makes sure that the auto-lock function is disabled, and at last we have music!

The audience are beginning to arrive by this time, so I go up to my little classroom on the 2nd floor and relax until it is time to perform.

The crowd is not as big as last year sadly, and the weather is becoming ever wetter and more miserable, which has put a number of people off, but there are still a goodly amount of brave souls in the sanctuary.  A few people decide to go up into the balcony to watch, from where there will be a better view of me on the stage, and that starts a bit of an exodus to higher levels.

Just before seven a young couple arrive and I am introduced to a descendent of Henry Wadsworth Longfellow, and we play out a rather nice historical meeting.  Longfellow and Dickens corresponded for a long time and were close friends, so it is nice to re-establish the connection between our families.

Kate introduces me from the stage and perfectly on cue Moe starts the music which echoes richly and satisfyingly around the hall.

I am aware that I am still feeling tired, and I think my performance reflects that slightly – it is not the sprightliest I have given, but it does go very well.  The audience are very engaged and follow along closely, those in the balcony leaning forward over the rails to watch and listen.  When I come to flirt with Scrooge’s niece’s sister I find that the lady I have chosen is actually the lady we met at the TV station earlier.

As the Sir Roger de Coverley cue approaches I notice that Kate goes up to the balcony to help Moe and sure enough the fiddle tune strikes up bang on cue, allowing me to dance the dance.

It is a fun show and is received with a lovely ovation at the end.  There is no formal signing session here (the Historical Society have nothing to sell), so in lieu of that I do a Q&A session from the stage, which is nice, and gives me the chance to explain about some of the staging of the show, and talk about Dickens’ own trip to Portland in March 1868.

When the Q&A is finished I pose for some photos and sign a few programmes, before returning to my little dressing room and changing.  My event here is sponsored by Jeff and Elaine O’Donal, who own a thriving garden nursery business locally.  Last year they had wanted to take me out to dinner to sample the local speciality of Maine lobster, but the restaurant closed early and we had a very hurried lobster roll as chairs were being stacked on tables.  This year they have checked out local restaurants and discovered one that stays open until 1 – we will be fine then.

When I am changed I say thanks to Moe, and goodbye to Kate, before walking out into a fine Old English rainstorm.  We drop my costumes at the hotel and then walk 4 blocks to the restaurant, where we take off hats, scarves, gloves and coats and settle into a booth, only to be told by the guy behind the bar that there is no food tonight, the kitchen closed at 9 – the bar is open till 1 though!  Tradition is a wonderful thing.

We re-robe and walk back up the hill to a bright diner called Highrollers.   I order a lobster roll, with lime mayo dressing and we enjoy a very tasty supper, albeit not the sort that Jeff and Elaine had planned.  We chat and share news and laugh and chat some more.  It is a lovely, inconsequential and relaxing end to the day.  Sometimes dinners with event sponsors can be rather tiring and difficult affairs, but Jeff and Elaine are friends and it is a pleasure to be in their company.

Tiredness is creeping however, and soon it is time to say goodbye for another year.  The rain outside is turning to snow and it feels very festive walking through the deserted streets of Portland.  We say goodbye at the steps of The Press and I go back to my room, where sleep takes me almost instantly.

 

Echoes

It is still dark outside when I wake, the acclimatisation to Eastern Standard Time is not happening overnight sadly and I look forward to the day when my eyes open at a respectable and recognisable waking time!

I sit in bed and write my blog, before having a coffee and turning the TV on to watch some inane police drama.  Eventually 7.30 ticks around and I can go downstairs for breakfast which today is a plateful of fresh fruit, followed by a larger plateful of French toast with a little crispy bacon on the side.  I am watching the clock this morning as the Abu Dhabi Grand Prix is due to start at 8.10, and I want to settle down in my big arm chair, legs stretched out onto the footstool in front of the fireplace to watch it.

I make it back to the room just as the cars are pulling up to the grid, and I spend the next couple of hours enjoying a race that has a definite ‘end of term’ feeling to it, in that all of the championships have been settled so the only thing that anyone is racing for is for glory on the day  The later stages are enlivened by Fernando Alonso purposefully missing a chicane on three different occasions to try to catch a rival.  Alonso is retiring after this race, so doesn’t care about the various penalty points and sanctions that the governing body could heap onto his shoulders, whilst the powers that be are loath to disqualify a great character and champion from his final race: all satisfyingly old-school!

When the race is finished I make preparations for the day ahead and go to the car.  It is warmer today, and some of the snow is starting to melt.  As I drive away from Worcester towards Sutton I notice that the slabs of rock that line the road no longer have  frozen sculptures of gargantuan icicles clinging to their faces, but are glistening wet instead.  As I drive I am still listening to the Worcester Christmas station on the radio, and have an instant Pavlovian response to the opening bars of the Trans Siberian Orchestra’s Christmas Eve, Sarajevo.  Fortunately though this is the full version and instead of melancholy church bells tolling the music crashes into the heavy rock version of Carol of the Bells.

I arrive at Vaillancourts early today, and just spend time mooching around the store, choosing a few gifts, for Gary and Judi is always generous and this year especially so.  I grab a coffee and go to my ‘green room’ where I sit until it is time to get ready.  Darren, the sound man, arrives and we discuss the failings of yesterday.  He mentions that having seen the show a couple of times he would like to try some special effects if I am amenable?  Sure, I say, be creative!

When the sound check is also record a video to the Year 8 students at The British School in Bahrain.  An old friend of mine teaches there and as they are studying A Christmas Carol, she thought it would be fun to get a message from me.  With the recording over I go and have a sandwich for lunch and chat with Gary’s brother who used to work in the heart of the City of London in the financial district – Scrooge’s natural habitat.

The audience is gathering in the store and Luke is starting to sell wine and beer:  as well as looking after the company’s marketing and online presence Luke is a keen foodie and this year has branded a Vaillancourt wine, which is selling well.  To help promote the new venture Judi has created a Christmas tree made out of wine bottles.

the show is at 2 and soon the shop is crowded. I go to change as the doors are opened and the empty seats fill quickly, each audience member directed to their assigned place by Luke’s father in Law Bob.

Definitely a lively bunch, no doubt grape-assisted, and there is very jolly banter between Gary and them as he makes his introductions.  Having explained about the history of Vaillancourt Folk Art and the family’s love of tradition Gary starts to tell the crowd about me and explains that when they first came to see me perform at Byers’ Choice they thought that I was probably just ‘living off the name’ and had nothing really to offer. I pretend to be highly affronted and flounce out of the room saying ‘that’s it!  I’m off!’  It all gets a good laugh and everyone is in fine spirits as I begin the show.

Everything goes well in the performance and I am very ‘on it’ today.  Darren is enjoying himself at the sound desk putting lots of reverb onto the microphone when the ghosts appear, giving Marley, Past and Future a fantastic echoing quality.  He is following the script carefully, and tweaking his mixing board to ensure that in moments of conversation it is only the ghosts who are thus amplified, whilst Scrooge continues to talk in his regular tones.  It is a fun addition to the show, although not one that I would entrust to other venues.

The Sunday afternoon show at Vaillancourts is always a fun one, and today is no exception.  I am very pleased with the  performance which is excellent, albeit hot, and the audience love the to and fro byplay.  The ovation at the end is great and I take some rather damp bows before retreating to the dressing room to change.

The signing session is fun, and most of the people in line are habitual attendees, including my great friend Robin who presents me with her now traditional gift of English ‘Family Choice’ biscuits to make me feel at home in the succession of hotel rooms.

The day runs the traditional course and in no time we are all sat around the table in Gary’s office enjoying the huge supper buffet which today features cold turkey and ham, not to mention an eye-watering collection of salads. Delicious.

The early morning is catching up with me a little and having eaten and chatted I retire to my dressing room, curl up on the sofa and fall asleep.  I remain in my catatonic state until 6.30 when Gary wakes me up.  The next show is at 7.

None of us know what to expect this evening, as the Vaillancourts have donated the show to the Paediatric department of the UMASS Medical School.  Ticket sales and reservations have been looked after by UMASS, so we have no idea if it is going to be a sell out, or a damp squib – the feeling is towards the latter and although none of us fully articulate the thought, we all have a slightly negative feeling about the prospect.  I warn Darren that if things are not going well I may start to edit the script as I go, to avoid the audience participation moments which would fall very flat with an unresponsive audience.

Actually  a decent audience gathers and people seem excited, so it may be OK.  Gary makes a very emotional introduction to the evening and welcomes me to the stage, and I walk up and into the unknown.  Although a small group it quickly becomes apparent that they are enjoying the show, and as a result get the full works (including ghostly echoes from Darren).  What we hadn’t expected, however, was the fact that many of the audience are parents of children who are being cared for at the hospital, which makes the Tiny Tim scenes much more emotional, and there are loud uncontrolled sobs as Bob sits at his son’s bedside cradling the lifeless body in his arms.

I give it everything, and wring every ounce of energy from my body – I am determined to leave nothing on the table tonight for  these remarkable parents and doctors.

The show is greeted by another standing ovation, and it is a pleasure to chat and pose up in the store.

And so once more my time at this remarkable venue comes to an end.  I gather all of my belongings, and pack up my bag.

I say goodbye to the staff for another year and drive back to the Beechwood where Gary, Judi and Luke join me.

As with last night we talk the talk and come up with plans for next year, some of which will be forgotten, some of which may well come to fruition: watch this space.

It is around 10.45 by the time I say my goodbyes, and return to my room.  Tomorrow I move on, but it has been a wonderful two days in the company of the Vaillancourts and some amazing audiences.

For Randy

The day starts early which gives me plenty of time to write two blogs, assisted by caffeine from the Keurig coffee maker discretely hidden in its own little niche.  I think the real mark of a quality hotel is when it has a niche for the coffee maker.

Having finished my writing it is time to go to breakfast in the stylish restaurant, beneath the stained glass dome.  There is a nice continental breakfast laid out, but knowing that I may not have a substantial lunch today I plump for a ‘Traditional English’.  I have mentioned before that the award to best breakfast of the tour is up for grabs this year and I have to say that The Beechwood may be well up there.  I’m not sure that a traditional English breakfast would come served with slithers of orange and lime, not to mention a large pot of ketchup on the side, but it is delicious nonetheless.

I have the rest of the morning free as my sound check at the Vaillancourt venue is not until 12, so I am able to watch the qualifying session from the Abu Dhabi Grand Prix, before starting to get ready.

The first job is the press my costume trousers, and to that end I use a linen napkin that accompanied the complementary bowl of fruit that had been waiting in my room.

The trousers are new for this years tour and are a much more tradition cut, with buttons for the braces.  When the creases have been eradicated I attach a pair of braces to each pair of trousers (could there ever be a sentence that so illustrates the differences between our common language?) and carefully fold them over the hanger, along with the two waistcoats and frock coats.  In my little roller case I pack enough shirts for the four shows, along with cufflinks, watch, cravats, shoes, socks, Fisherman’s Friends, the ‘Tiny Tim’ cloth and my two little soft toys who will watch the show.

I still have time to kill, and I decide to try and use a new sound effect today, so get to work on the computer until the file is saved to my USB stick.

11 o’clock is approaching and it is time to leave.  The day is cold and crisp, with piles of snow that had been cleared a few days ago becoming grey and dirty at the side of the road.  The drive to Sutton, where the Vaillancourts are located, is about twenty minutes, but I want to stop off at the large Wal-Mart in the way to buy the items that I had forgotten to pack (ie some deodorant and some gloves).  With my purchases complete I return to my car and am amazed to see a little bright green Mazda 2 pulling into a space nearby – why amazed? Because that is Liz’s car back home and the splash of green in an otherwise bland scene is a vivid reminder of her.

I continue the short drive to the little town of Sutton and pull up outside the mill buildings that house the Vaillancourt Folk Art store and manufactory. Gary, The store is a riot of colour and glitter, lavishly decorated to best create an ambience of Christmas cheer, and in the midst of the tinsel and glitter are hundreds of chalkware santa figures, each carefully designed, moulded, painted and finished right here.

 

My first duty is to go to the small theatre that is created for my shows, and perform a sound check.  In previous years this has been the work of a moment as Randy, the sound engineer, had worked with me many times and knew the ins and outs of the show and my performance.  However this year things have changed.  In the corresponding blog post last year I wrote:

‘Randy has not been in good health this year, but points out that three of the best hospitals are located nearby, and he is in expert hands.’

The truth of that statement was much bleaker.  Randy had looked grey, weak and drawn and we talked at great length between my shows.  In his heart of hearts he knew that his condition was terminal and he died of cancer just a couple of months after my visit.  Randy was a true professional and took huge pride in doing the best job possible to make me sound good.  He loved the show and talked about any changes I had made.  I will miss him a great deal.

The new sound engineer is Darren and straight away it is obvious that he is equally professional.  He has a collection of microphones, and strongly advises a head mic for the superior sound quality that it produces.  I fight my corner and hold out for a clip on lapel mic, as the head ones always fall off my ears meaning that I am forever trying to hook them back on, which disrupts the show.  Darren gives in gracefully and we spend a good fifteen minutes checking levels and balances, all of which is done from a tablet.  Getting the sound cues into Darren’s phone isn’t the work of a moment and involves emailing them from Luke’s computer, but eventually everything is where it should be.

With the sound check complete I go into the store and meet all of the staff who have been here for many years (it is a major testament to Gary and Judi that they have such a loyal group of people working for them).  Soon Luke’s wife Anna arrives with the explosion of energy that surrounds their two little boys, Nate and Charley.  Soon the two boys are running around the stage giving impromptu performances to me, their parents and two sets of doting grandparents!

By this time there is an hour to go before showtime and I retreat to my little dressing room deep in the back of the warehouse.  On a wall, partially hidden behind a huge air conditioning unit, is a recreation of the original Fezziwig illustration, showing Mr and Mrs F dancing at their party.  Today they will have a real tune to dance to…..

As the show time gets ever closer I start getting into costume and making sure that everything is where it should be. Darren fits me with my microphone and we do a brief sound check to make sure everything is OK, and then the doors are opened for a capacity crowd to take their seats.

I enjoy standing at the back of the room as the audience arrives, and exchanging greetings with those who have attended the show on multiple occasions.  This seems like a  good, noisy, lively crowd which bodes well.

At 2pm Gary goes to the stage and welcomes everyone in his inimitable style – a true showman.  Having given away some prizes to those lucky people who have tickets on the bottom of their chairs (including an unexpected winner whose ticket had remained on the chair for twelve months), Gary finishes up and launches the show.

Lights dim.  Sound effect.  Slow walk through the audience to the stage.  Begin.

Marley was dead, to begin with.  I am thinking about Randy.

The show is a little slow to get going, and maybe I am suffering a little from jetlag, but it soon pics up and the audience joyfully join me in the novel.  We arrive together at Fezziwig’s party and go in, and when the fiddler strikes up Sir Roger de Coverley, so my new music effect comes in bang on cue.  I have found a lovely solo fiddle version of the old country dance tune, and it fits perfectly into this moment of the show.  Darren has followed the script diligently and fades the tune out again as the scene itself fades into the mists of Scrooge’s past.

We get to the Cratchit’s Christmas lunch and the audience to my left gasp in delight at Mrs Cratchit’s goose, which puts me in a rather awkward spot because normally I mockingly berate them for NOT joining in and go to the stage right audience, who become the poor family for the rest of the show.  The fact the my friends on the left respond so enthusiastically  I means I have to keep them, which necessitates reversing all of the blocking for the rest of the show!

As I get into the closing stages of the show my microphone somehow manages to unclip itself and work itself down the sleeve of my coat, which is very adventurous of it.  When I sorrowfully remove my coat as a tearful Bob Cratchit, the microphone gets further tangled and I have to perform the rest of the show with a black wire dangling around my shoulder accompanied by a series of rustles and bangs, which Darren does his best to control.

‘Scrooge got dressed all in his best’  I flip the top hat in the air and it SO nearly lands sands squarely on my head, that the audience gasp in anticipation.  It teeters there for a moment before slipping to the floor, but this is my best effort so far this year!

The show finishes and the audience stand to applaud as I come back to take my bows.  This is a lovely venue to perform in, so friendly and intimate, and the high I get from a good show here is almost as intense as any venue.

I make my way back past the cardboard Mr and Mrs Fezziwig and change into a dry costume before going into the store where I chat and pose and sign for 30 minutes or so.  The audience members are generous with their comments and it is so nice to hear how many come back year after year .

When the signing is over I go back to my dressing room and change back into regular clothes, and have a bit of a rest.  Soon supper is served in Gary’s office and many of the staff join us to eat delicious soup, salads and deserts which have become a tradition in their own right.

I still have an hour before I need to get ready again, so I go to the theatre, change the batteries in my mic pack, re set the stage and then curl up on a little sofa and get some sleep.

The evening show is another sell-out and I go through the same routine of preparation and standing at the back of the room as the audience arrives.  They seem a slightly more subdued group than this afternoon, but soon Gary is back doing his thing, being spectacularly politically incorrect, which leaves Luke and Judi shaking their heads and fearing a social media backlash.

And then it is showtime.  Lights, sound effect. Walk.  ‘Marley was dead…..’ and I instantly know that the microphone is not working.  I have a choice, I can either stop the show, let Darren sort it out, and then re-start, or I can just get on with the performance.  The room is not large and if I were doing this in the UK I wouldn’t even think about using a mic, so I decide to continue.  The danger in a situation like this is to over compensate and strain my voice, so I am very careful not to overdo it.  The audience are obviously hearing the words, and their response are excellent (from being a subdued group coming in they actually turn out to be a remarkable energetic bunch!), so I continue to perform unplugged.

The Fezziwig music comes in on cue, so the sound system is obviously OK, the problem must be with the microphone, but I need to forget that and just concentrate on the show.  The performance is better than the matinee and the audience leap to their feet at the end, whistling, cheering and whooping their appreciation.

As before I leave the theatre to get changed before signing.  I check the microphone pack and see that when I changed the batteries I flicked the mute switch on. Stupid error.  I should have checked it, Darren should have checked it, we should have checked it together.

In the store the signing line is much shorter this evening, mainly because most of the audience have been to the performance multiple times and have bought everything that there is to be bought, so have nothing to sign, however there are plenty of handshakes and sincere comments of congratulation.

And now it is time to leave.  I hang all of my costumes up in readiness for tomorrow and with Gary as a passenger head back to the hotel where we have some wine and desserts to wind down.  Judi and Luke join us soon, and we spend a wonderful evening coming up with fabulously extravagant plans for a summer Dickens festival, featuring fine dining, shows, lectures and trips. We have often had fabulously extravagant ideas in this bar and none of them have come to fruition yet, but there’s always a first time!

When I retire I think back on the goings on today: two shows, two unforeseen complications involving the sound, and the memories of a friend who looked after me on stage:  Marely was dead, but he came back to look after Scrooge……

Randy?  surely not….

Returning to America

It is early on Friday morning and today our goodbyes are going to be said at the front door, rather than at the airport.  My cases are packed and ready to go and I have put my Happy Socks on ready for airport security.

At exactly 7.30 a silver Mercedes with darkened windows pulls up and a cheerful driver carries my large case to the car whilst the four of us hug on the doorstep.  It never gets any easier.

I settle into the luxury of a leather seat and before we pull away Jay, the driver, turns and  says ‘before we leave – wallet, passport, phone.  OK?  we go!’  One last wave and I am off on my adventures again.

Jay is very jolly and cheerful and chats for the whole journey about his love of physics, science fiction, politics, gun control and his love of England.  He came here from Poland over ten years ago followed by his aging mother, and he says how happy he is here, and how welcome he has been made – which is so good to hear.  The fallout from the Brexit vote might make one feel that anyone trying to settle in our country would be driven out with flaming pitchforks, so it is reassuring to hear a genuinely happy story.

The drive passes quickly, with little traffic on the road and soon Jay and I are shaking hands and I tug my cases into Terminal 5 at Heathrow airport.  T5 is dedicated to British airways and is the most modern addition to the airport, meaning that I do all of the checking in myself, attach my own bag tags to my case and send it through the conveyor belt.  I am surprised that I do not have to ask myself if I had packed the bag and whether it had been in my possession since then, but a clerk does take that responsibility away from me.

Having checked in it is off to security.  I remove my belt, watch and boots, and my day is completely made for me when one of the officers says ‘great socks!’  he may have been a little concerned had he searched my pockets however, for I appear to have brought a rubber eyeball (leftover from Hallowe’en) in my coat.

I have got a lot of time in hand, so I go off to find a restaurant where I devour a delicious breakfast of Scrambled eggs with smoked salmon.

Eventually the monitors tell me that I will be boarding at gate C35 and I take the subterranean train to the C gates to discover that I will be flying in a good old Boeing 747 ‘Jumbo Jet’.  I know modern planes are quieter, and more efficient but there is something about flying on a Jumbo that excites me.

The gate area is very full as besides my Boston flight there is another flying to New York out of C34.  Boarding starts at the same time and there is a fair amount of confusion as people (not me, I hasten to add), get into the wrong lines.  I get very rebellious and go to the gate before my zone (5) has been called to board, and slip in with the Zone 4 people.  I’m sure that my crimes will come back to haunt me one day.

As I enter the plane I give an envious glance to the little staircase that leads to the seats in the bubble over the cockpit – last time I flew on a 747 I was fortunate to mount those stairs and fly not at 34,000 feet, but at 34,015 feet in the luxury of whatever class it is up there.

It is a full flight so I do not have room to spread my things out on an empty seat, but it is OK.  The entertainment system is already working so I can start watching my first film as we wait to taxi to the runway.  I chose The Sting.  I haven’t seen it for so long, and love watching Newman and Redford together.  Strangely enough I watched Jaws when I flew home a couple of weeks ago which stars Robert Shaw who is also in The Sting.  This sets up a sort of game in my head of Movie Connections – could I watch each film because it is linked to a previous one by cast or director.

Life. Get. A!

The Sting is a pleasure to watch and takes me to lunch which is a chicken Tikka dish.  I then watch a documentary about Evel Knievel which is not great, followed by an episode of Top Gear.  Next choice is The Bird Cage and I have my customary wave of melancholy that always surrounds me when I watch Robin Williams.  I don’t make it to the end of the movie and fall asleep.

When I wake up I check the interactive map and discover that there are just over 2 hours left until we land in Boston, so I scroll through the film choices once more and select Disney’s The Lion King and thereby, unintentionally, continue my Movie Connections game as Nathan Lane voices Timon as well as appearing in my previous choice of The Bird Cage.

The ground beneath us is frozen and snowy, not only over Nova Scotia but also down towards Bangor and Portland, where I will be driving too in three days time.  I am glad that I asked Bob and Pam to make sure I had an all wheel drive SUV for my rental car.

Pressure in my ears coincides with Simba returning to Pride Rock and soon we are making our final approach into Boston and I admire the skyline that is as familiar to me as New York City or even London.  I have had many wonderful times in and around Boston and it has formed a central hub to much of my touring life and I always feel very comfortable here.

We have been helped on our way by strong tail winds and have made excellent time meaning that I am in line to chat to a friendly immigration officer even before I should have arrived.  With yet another stamp in my passport I am officially welcomed to the United States of America.

I collect my bag and make my way to blue bus number 33 which I know from experience will take me to the car rental facility where I am introduced to my companion for the next 17 days – a sturdy, solid, silver (note the comma, it is not solid silver), Nissan Rogue.  It is a wonderful thing that I have no internal flights on this leg of the trip, so I can keep my hat, cane and various props in the car for the whole time, rather than constantly having to pack them into a case.

I set the SatNav system to take me to the Beechwood Hotel in Worcester, find a station playing Christmas songs, and settle in for the drive.

Initially I navigate the tunnels beneath Boston and then onto the roads that take me past the slightly disorganised looking sprawl that is Fenway Park.  Soon I am leaving the city behind me.

Although the roads are clear there is still plenty of snow lying in the woods and there is a wonderfully festive feel to the 50 minute drive.

I have stayed at The Beechwood Hotel for many years and I know that the address that I have typed into the SatNav wont actually take me to it, so although she tells me turn left at the final junction I ignore the well spoken lady and peel off to the right to pull into the car park.

Oh and now there is a wonderful moment: as I check in the lady behind the desk says ‘let me just make sure that your room is ready Mr Dickens’ and then she talks into her phone: ‘Our VIP guest has arrived and I wanted to check if the room is prepared for him’.  A big grin on my face!

I go to my room, a lovely suite complete with a fireplace and settle in.  I hang the costumes up, and make sure that I have packed everything I need, discovering that deodorant and gloves are the two items that haven’t made it, but a nearby Wal-Mart can sort that out tomorrow morning.

At 6 o’clock I get a call from Gary Vaillancourt and I go downstairs to meet up with him and Judi for dinner.  We chat and catch up over a slow long dinner.  We share appetizers of cauliflower fried in a mild curry batter, and a large platter of humus, tabbouleh and flatbreads.  For a main course I have a Ribeye steak, Gary has a salmon en croute and Judi has a squash salad.  None of us can manage a dessert.

We talk as if the intervening 363 days have passed in the blink of an eye and it is great to be back with such good friends again.

Of course as far as I am concerned it is getting on towards 2am and I am beginning to flag a little, so Gary and Judi say farewell and drive back to Sutton, and I ride the lift to the 5th floor, where I lay on the bed and very soon fall asleep.

 

 

 

The First of Two

Friday 23rd November and it is time to return to the USA for the second part of this years tour.  But before I get into describing my daily adventures let me fill you in with what has been going on back in Britain during the intervening weeks:

Owen Drew Luxury Candles

Earlier in the year I was introduced to a small company that is making great waves in Liverpool and is winning multiple awards for entrepreneurship.  The company was formed by Drew Cockton after he had a brush with a large candle company with which I have had a few dealings in the past….

Drew liked to decorate his home with candles but became annoyed that many of the products on the market left black sooty marks on the wall, and that the scents seemed rather stereotypical.  So in the way of all good entrepreneurs Drew set to do something about it himself and began to research how to make beautiful luxury candles.

His research showed him that there were completely natural ingredients available that could replace the petroleum products and the same was true with essential oils instead of synthetic scents.

Drew went to work and the results were truly remarkable.  But why should I, a performer of one man shows based on the works of Charles Dickens, become drawn into this particular orbit?  This year Drew decided to introduce a new candle into his Christmas range that was inspired by the young Charles Dickens and his writing of A Christmas Carol.  The result was the 1843 Candle.

I was invited to a lavish launch bash held at the historic Albert Docks in Liverpool and it was quite an event.  I wasn’t called on to perform, or even speak, just to schmooze with the many invited guests as they nibbled on canapes and quaffed champagne.  My experience of press launches in the past has been that most of the guests have been….press, but not this time for the bar was filled with bloggers!

Mostly in their mid twenties and almost exclusively female this group spread the lifestyle word across the internet, so a word or a photograph of your product can make all the difference.  As I chatted I was amazed to learn that most of these bloggers have followings well upward of a million followers each!  Wow, I get excited if WordPress informs me that I have 150 hits in a day – I am doing something wrong!. perhaps I’d better start talking about skincare products.

The launch was great fun and I was photographed with all sorts of people and in all sorts of poses.  It was an exhausting evening, but great fun.  I wish Drew all the best with his new product line, and know  that the spirit of Charles Dickens and A Christmas Carol will grace many tables this December.

 

If you would be interested in knowing more about Drew’s story and other products the website is at:

https://www.owendrewcandles.com

 

Kenwood House

One of the advantages of being home more during this season is that I have been able to explore new venues for my performances.  For quite a few years Liz and I have thought that it would be good to perform in some of Britian’s great stately homes, but inquiries to the two main organisations that manage such properties has repeatedly drawn blanks.  The National Trust and English Heritage are both huge corporations and emails, phone calls and mail outs constantly fall into the wrong desk and get carefully filed away, never to be seen again.

But at Kenwood House there was a chink.  Through the wonders of social media I was contacted by a lady called Jennifer who used to work at the Dickens World visitor attraction in Chatham, Kent.  When DW closed Jennifer got a job with English Heritage at Kenwood, and started telling anyone that would listen that they should feature one of my shows.  Nothing happened for a number of years (mainly due to my USA schedules), until this summer suddenly emails began to arrive from a manager of events.  After a brief meeting at the venue a date was set and my first performance with English Heritage was settled.

The mansion is magnificent and stands proudly on a hill overlooking London in beautifully landscaped gardens.  The original house was built in 1616 and has been enlarged and developed over the years.  In 1859 Edward Cecil Guinness bought the house to display his art collection, which is one of the most valuable private collections in the country boasting Rembrandts, Gainsboroughs, Vermeers and many more.  When Guinness died he bequeathed the house and the collection to the nation with an understanding that no charge would ever be made to those who wished to view the art.  In 1986 English Heritage took over management of the house, of course respecting the requirements of the bequest.

Because the art collection is so valuable security is a major concern at Kenwood House and I had to go through a great deal of  red tape before I was allowed to perform there, but at last the date came and on a dark November evening I set up my props in the Old Kitchen – part of the servant’s quarters.

The timetable to which I had agreed back in the summer was quirky to say the least, with one show at 6 and another at 8.30 – making for quite an intense evening.  However the acoustics in the kitchen were very good, meaning that I did  not have to use too much energy in projecting my words.

The shows had sold well so it was through an almost full house that I walked to begin the story.  I am often asked what is the difference between an English audience and an American one this event was a perfect illustration of the answer.  The crowd sat quiet and intent, enjoying the language, appreciating the storytelling, but with very little responsiveness (in the first show I dropped some of the audience participation, although the second group were slightly more up for it).  However when the show finished the rounds of applause lasted a long time, calling me back to the stage to take more bows.

For the second performance a young lad sat in the front row with his mother and when the show was finished he came up to me saying ‘can you just do my GCSE for me!’ (A Christmas Carol is on the curriculum this year and many schools are studying it).

It was a lovely, friendly evening and one which will hopefully lead to more appearances in more beautiful houses.

 

https://www.english-heritage.org.uk/visit/places/kenwood/

 

Revelation Ashford

My final event before returning to America was at the Revelation Arts centre in the heart of Ashford in Kent.  St Mary the Virgin Church is still a fully functioning place of worship  but in the evenings it is transformed to a vibrant arts venue, with lots of bands, stand up ad theatre.  I have been performing at Revelation for a few years and am proud to be an official ambassador for the venue.

The stage itself is beneath a huge stone arch (gothic? Norman?  I don’t know my architectural styles well enough) and a state of the art lighting system has been installed which not only focuses the audience’s attention on the performers but also shows off the venue itself.  When I performed The Signalman there a few years ago the arch took on the brooding character of the train tunnel that features so strongly in the story.

A feature of my shows at Revelation had been the presence of the centre’s own photographer  Lewis Brockway who took a series of amazing pictures, many of which I use for my publicity shots.  It was with great sadness that I learned that Lewis has recently died.

Lewis and his wife Rita had been great supporters and admirers of my shows and the theatre manager told me that Rita was planning on coming to the show and would I sign a couple of Lewis’ pictures for her.

I set the stage (hiding the two little toys on the stone pulpit, where they would watch me from above), worked through the various lighting cues with the tech team, and then retired to my dressing room to prepare.

This was an amazing show, the audience were huge and enthusiastic.  The stage allowed me plenty of room to move and the lighting created the multiple atmospheres that the story demands.  Revelation is a great place to perform and I greatly look forward to returning there next year.

Once again there were many students I the audience who were studying the book, and when I had finished they all came up onto the stage to chat and ask questions.  I assumed they would be asking me about the book or CD himself, but they wanted to know how I managed to remember all those lines.  The answer to which is the same as to the question ‘can you tell me the best way to get to Carnegie Hall?’  Hard work!

And so my British shows were done and each was memorable in their own way.  There was one other event that I was unable to attend, but I will devote another blog post to that on its own.

And now it is time to get into my taxi to renew my American adventures, and I will tell you about the first of those later today.

 

The Last Day of Part 1

Today is the last day of the first part of my 2018 tour and it will be spent in the Kansas City Metro area, which means a drive of nearly three hours along the dullest, straightest and most featureless road in America (OK, maybe not, but certainly the most dull, straight and featureless that I have the misfortune to drive on).

Before breakfast I take my two costumes as well as my hat and cane to the car which has been sitting in the parking garage since I arrived three days ago.  There is still a chill in the air but the sun is bright and the sky clear.

Breakfast is my customary bowl granola and fruit, as well as a couple of little pancakes drizzled in a blueberry sauce.  Orange juice and coffee give me the hit I need for the day ahead.  Last night’s events are still weighing on my mind and I check the Douglas County Historical Society’s website which sure enough announces that I will ‘be unlikely to return next year’.  Maybe this is a clever marketing ploy by Kathy and her team, but there does seem to be a sense of finality about it and I have to accept that maybe my days of performing in Omaha came to an end last night.

In my room I make sure that I have got everything in my bags and then check out.  In the garage I load my large suitcase into the Fusion’s boot, and then get ready to drive.  Press the start button: nothing.  The car is dead.  Push the button again.  Nothing.  Get out, lock the car, unlock it, get in, press the button.  Nothing.  This is a disaster!  I have two shows later today and I have to get to Kansas City.  Press.  Nothing.  Can I call Hertz?  Can I book a flight?  Its not an electrical problem as the screen lights up like a Christmas Tree, but the engine refuses to fire

I am just beginning to panic when the truth dawns on me: this is a Hybrid car and when you start it up it is in pure electric mode, with no internal combustion engine influence: all I needed to do was select drive and the giggery-pokery under the bonnet would do the rest:  I drive out of the garage feeling very foolish.

Omaha is deserted on this Sunday morning, in stark contrast to Thursday when Lee and I sat in the gridlocked roads on our way to Lincoln.  In no time I am joining I29 S and the SaNav cheerfully announces that I should take the exit in 150 miles.

Settle In.

Flat fields.  Firework stores.  Occasional mounds.  Ponds.  Huge irrigation mantises.  Brief excitement of a murmuration (probably not the right term, as I don’t think the birds are starlings, but whatever they are, they are doing that amazing aerial display).  Road.  Corner.

There is a moment of minor celebration when the Sat Nav tells me that I have less than 100 miles together, and another when I have less than an hour remaining.

I pass the time by listening to the radio, I have lots of choice thanks to Hertz’s largesse, for the Fusion comes with the Sirius XM (the satellite system which gives me access to almost any station I can imagine.)  Towards the end of the journey I am able to listen to the opening laps of the Brazilian F1 Grand Prix from Sao Paulo

After two hours and fifty minutes of largely straight driving I arrive in the vicinity of Liberty, MO, and pull into the parking lot of the Woodneath Library where I am due to meet Kimberly who has been responsible for bringing me to the Kansas City area for more years than either of us care to remember.

I park my car and a few moments later Kimberly pulls up too.  We greet each other and I transfer all of my costumes into her car ready for her to take me to the Gambler Community Centre in Lee’s Summit.  We spend the journey chatting and catching up – both of us have had major events this year, and the journey passes quickly.

Kimberly works for the Mid Continent Public Library and usually my events are held in one of the branches, but this year she has decided to stage the show in the community centre which has a theatre style space.  When we arrive the stage is being decorated and the sound system is being installed.  Having had problems in previous years with Mid Continent’s own portable PA system Kimberly has engaged a specialist AV company to look after the tech side of things so that nothing should go wrong.

Anthony, the sound man, suggests a head mic (which I hate because they always fall off), assuring me that the sound quality will be much better than a lapel mic.

I have no fight in me so succumb meekly, and he carefully fits the loops over my ears and adjusts the mouthpiece until he is happy. Next Anthony addresses the issue of my music effect and quickly ascertains that his hi-tech equipment wont read my lo-tech, self-burned CD. I do have the sound file on my phone however and he plugs that in and all is well. Having tested the levels he gives me my phone back and thanks me.

The audience are arriving by this time so after hiding the two little soft toys in a Christmas tree I retreat to the tiny, and very cluttered, office that is serving as a dressing room today.

The show is due to begin at 2, and with ten minutes to go I return to the hall and stand at the back with various members of the library staff, watching as the seats fill up for there is a good crowd gathering.

At exactly 2 o’clock the chief librarian from the local branch gets up to make an introduction, and I am rather concerned that the lighting leaves his face in deep shadow, as it presumably will do for mine in a few moments time. Well it is too late to do anything about it now.

The introduction is about half way through, and I am beginning to think myself into Scrooge, when Anthony saunters up and whispers ‘do you have your phone? I assumed that he had copied the file earlier, but apparently not! Scrooge is cast aside and I dash back to the dressing room (intro still continuing), find my phone, unlock it and find the audio file and I run back to the hall (is the intro finished yet?) give it to Anthony who plugs it in just as the audience applaud to welcome me onto the stage. Bang on cue the music rings out, and I begin a somewhat breathless walk to the stage.

All goes well with the performance, although the little cough is still present, and of course the earpieces of the head mic keep falling off.  The sound is good though, rather too good in fact, as every snuffle from my nose is broadcast loudly, meaning I have to pick moments for a sniff carefully: during snores, during sobs (Scrooge becomes extra emotional as he views the loss of Belle today), and of course at the entrance of Old Joe.

The audience enjoy it and join in enthusiastically. I have been coming to the Kansas City area since my first trip to the USA in 1995 and the crowds here are always fiercely loyal and supportive. Earlier Kimberly said that I had to keep coming back to perform because she would be strung up if I didn’t appear.

At the end of the show I take my bows and perform a quick change in my little office before returning to the stage to sign. Mid Continent have a large stock of the souvenir programmes left over and are selling them at $5 a piece. Nobody seems to mind that they are dated 2016 and 2017 and they sell well, some people even asking there isn’t a 2018 edition. It is lovely to see the colourful brochures again and to be reminded what a great job Ian and I did in creating them.

There are many familiar faces in the signing line and I chat for a long time, but soon it is time to pack up and move on.

The next show is back at Woodneath, where I left my car earlier, and Kimberly drives me back to the impressive library there. Having set the stage and made sure everything is in order I sit alone in a large meeting room, playing Angry Birds on my phone and even managing a little nap until I need to get into costume again at 6.

I usually spend two days with Mid Continent but because of the constraints of time in this years tour I only have two performances, which means that the audiences are large. At Woodneath they are expecting around 350 people and have cleverly utilised the space in the centre of the library to fit a stage as a hub to three banks of seating. With 30 minutes still to go the main seats are already filled and people are being directed to the two wings.

This time I make sure that Anthony has my phone in good time, and I wait at the back of the room with Kimberly and her colleague Sarah until it is time to begin. During the introduction the audience is asked to silence their electronic devices and the this year the list includes watches. What a long way technology has come since I started to perform when I would have to plug my computer in to a socket and endure that screeching modem dial-up sound before I could get on line at all.

Simply this is the best performance of the week. My cold seems to have gone, or retreated at any rate and the audience are amazing (they always are at Woodneath). I get energy from their response which makes the performance stronger, although I am slightly distracted by two boys in the front row who play on their tablets throughout the show.

I am pleased with the pace of the performance (I am trying to keep the passages moving along, without the rather over-dramatic pauses that I have allowed to creep in over the years), and the characterisations too. Yes, this is a good way to sign off.

Once more the signing line is filled with familiar faces and old friends, and suddenly I am lavished with gifts: A book for the girls, some cookies, a box of Fisherman’s Friends, some hand-made soap and a loaf of freshly baked pumpkin bread. You all know who you are, and I thank you most humbly for your kindnesses and friendship.

It is late now and time to go. After a few pictures on stage with the library team I get changed and make sure that I have all of my belongings. Kimberly and I drive to a nearby Longhorn steak restaurant where I chose a salmon dish which is delicious. It is sad that we only have such a brief time to chat this year but soon it is time to hug goodbye in the cold parking lot.

My hotel for the night is at the airport (my flight is at 6am meaning I want to be as close as possible) and I have a twenty minute drive before I am at the Holiday Inn. I check in and bring all of my bags and costumes up to my room ready to be packed in the morning, but for now I am tired and after setting an alarm for 3.45 I drift off into my last sleep on this side of the Atlantic for a couple of weeks.