An Adventuresome Day

Tags

AC Marriott, Microphones, Oxford Half Marathon, Vaillancourt Folk Art, Worcester Mass

My first day back in the States started, as they tend to do following a flight from England, very early. I lay in bed for a few hours, trying to get back to sleep and then giving in to the inevitable and writing my blog post, as well as tackling Wordle, which I achieved in 3 attempts.

At around 7.30 I went to investigate the breakfast offerings at the Marriott and had some cereal and fruit, as well as eggs and bacon. On the wall a very large TV was showing the latest match in the football World Cup – Poland vs Saudi Arabia, which looked to be a very entertaining one.

Back in my room I decided that I may go for a short run, which I haven’t done for a long time. Back in October I completed the Oxford Half Marathon, which was quite an achievement for me, and since that day I haven’t been out on the roads again. I had packed some running gear with the thought that I might occasionally go to hotel gyms during my stay, although I absolutely detest running machines, getting my joy from being in the open air and seeing the scenery, hearing the sounds, watching nature. On Saturday morning I decided to go an explore the streets of Worcester a little more. It was a crisp morning, with a clear blue sky, and I turned left out of the hotel, left again, around a square, and then just followed my nose. I didn’t stay out for long, I don’t really know, maybe 2 miles, nothing impressive, but it felt good to be in the open air, and to see parts of the city that I didn’t know.

Back at the hotel I had a shower, changed into my corporate garb, and then began to make preparations for the day ahead – I was due to perform twice, once at 2 and the second show at 6, and both were my 2-act performances, meaning that I would need 4 shirts for the day. I checked that I had everything else (cufflinks, watch, cravat, penny pieces, red cloth, shoes and socks). I picked up both of my costumes, my top hat and cane and went to the lift.

When I had arrived the night before the desk clerk had given me a ticket for the parking garage, telling me to scan it whenever I entered or exited, and I wanted to check if I needed to do that at the pay station, or the exit barrier, so I stopped by the front desk to ask. I was in a line of lots of people checking out of the hotel but had time to spare so I waited patiently. When my time came to be helped, I asked the question and the clerk confirmed that I needed to scan the ticket at the barrier, and then she said something I didn’t quite hear, but which may have been ‘Are you staying at the hotel?’ I nodded in the affirmative, ‘and your room number?’ I told her, and then she cheerily said, ‘You’re all set, have a great day.’ and off I went to the garage.

Soon I was on the freeway heading out of Worcester towards Sutton, stopping briefly at Wal-Mart to buy some laundry detergent capsules for my trip, and it was as I was getting back into my car that I had a terrible realisation that I may have just checked out from my hotel room! There I was, in line with luggage, asking how to leave the carpark, what if the inaudible question had not been ‘Are you staying at the hotel?’, but ‘Are you checking out?’ I had nodded and told her my room number, she had tapped at her keyboard and said that I was all set! Well, there was nothing that I could do about it now, I would have to see what the evening held when I returned.

My journey to Sutton, and specifically the Manchaug Mills building, is a very familiar one to me, as I have been performing for the Vaillancourt family for the last 12 years and they are not just colleagues but good friends also. As I arrived Gary was standing in the sun and seeing me pull in, directed me to a parking space close to the building. Much of the carpark was taken up with two wooden cabins selling Glühwein and German pastries respectively, for the Vaillancourts love to celebrate Christmas and all of its traditions. We greeted one another as if it had not been a year since last I drove away, but a day or so, and we went into the beautiful store from where the company sells the amazing plaster, hand-painted Santa Clause figures that they make here. We went to the intimate theatre where the stage was decorated and just awaiting a cast of 26 or so characters to bring it to life. At one end of the room was a bar, with a hot jug of Glühwein giving a rich boozy essence to the room, whilst at the far end Curtis, our sound engineer, was putting the finishing touches to the sound system. We spent some time going through the various cues, and then did a sound check, using a microphone system that clips over my ears – I warned him that I am never very successful with those units, as they tend to fall off, but he assured me that we could adjust it, so it fitted snugly, and the sound quality was far superior to a lapel mic, which may also be prone to feedback from the speakers that were right against the stage. I took his professional advice with a few misgivings and retired to the dressing room to wait for showtime.

I could hear the audience gathering, and they were a lively crowd, as the Saturday afternoon bunch usually is at Vaillancourts. Among them were, my sister-in-law and brother-in-law along with their daughter and her wife (they are not actually sister and brother-in-law, it is slightly more complicated than that, but they feel like they are, and that is good enough for Liz and me!) I wanted the show to be special for them and was delighted to hug and welcome them before start time. At 2 o’clock Gary checked that I was ready and walked up to the stage to welcome the audience to the event and to introduce me. The theatre was packed full. in fact, every performance over the weekend sold out weeks ago. When Gary had finished, Curtis started the music, and I began the show. I knew that it would be a bit of a struggle, as I was still extremely tired from my journey and the early morning, but the audience were lively, which gave me extra energy, but then the microphone started playing up – not the headset particularly, although that felt loose, which distracted me somewhat, but it sounded as if there was a loose lead somewhere and every time I moved there was a loud electrical CRACK or POP, which meant that any sense of atmosphere was lost. My attention and concentration were so lacking that I suddenly realised that I had jumped from Scrooge’s school into the scene where Belle leaves him, without even bothering to visit Mr Fezziwig! I realised the mistake I had made because the stool was in the wrong place on the stage (having not been cleared away by Dick Wilkins), and so my practical brain kicked in – I would be able to return to the Fezziwig scene, as I don’t think there are too many laws of chronology in the world of fictional time travel, and then leap forward again to Scrooge seeing the older Belle happily married, celebrating with her family. It was all a bit of a fudge, but well worth the effort for my dancing abilities got a round of applause! The continuing microphone problems were very annoying, and still that cracking and popping accompanied and disrupted Dickens’s words. I was very glad that this was a two-act show, for I only had to wait until the interval to sort something out, rather than ploughing on through the rest of the plot. Actually, the audience applauded loudly as I left the stage, but I was extremely frustrated by the whole affair.

Curtis was soon with me in the dressing room, and we checked all of the leads, which seemed tight and secure, but he replaced the pack anyway, in case that would improve matters. It was rather like a panicked pitstop in the middle of a Formula 1 race, and as I got changed for the second half, I put my waistcoat on before the microphone, meaning that the lead from headset to pack was held under my frock coat only.

Back onto the stage and I picked up the story, and the audience continued to respond enthusiastically, although I was struggling to maintain my energy and concentration a little. They were plenty who had been to the show before, and when I gasped at the stuffing issuing forth from the Cratchit’s goose, they all instantly joined in, meaning that I couldn’t go to the oppose side of the audience, and that I had to rearrange all of my blocking for the rest of the show!

But the really annoying moment came when I was in the very moving scene as Bob Cratchit returns to his house alone and takes off his coat. I did that, as usual, but of course now the long microphone lead was free and flapping everywhere, getting caught in my arm, as I made gestures and pulling the headset from my ears again. It was not a good moment.

In and around all of this confusion, the actual show was going well and there was lots of laughter, especially as Topper did his thing, and old Joe spread his mucus over an unsuspecting arm

I got to the final scenes of the show, and to the point when I could get my coat back on, thereby securing the errant microphone somewhat, and delivered the final narrative before leaving the stage to loud applause and shouting. I returned to take my bows and the audience stood, which was wonderful, but I was angry with myself and circumstances. I was particularly upset for I had wanted the show to be really special for David, Sue, Amy and Tara.

I changed quickly and went up into the store, where I was due to meet and greet and sign books, and the response was positive ‘Best ever!’ ‘You are a true artist!’ ‘Simply amazing’ all bandied about, and I relaxed a little as I posed and signed. At the very end of the line my family members waited, and we hugged again and exchanged news and chatted for a while, which was really nice.

When the signing time was over, I went back to the theatre to talk things through with Curtis, but he was nowhere to be seen. I changed into my normal clothes and went back to the shop where a lunch/dinner of sandwiches and salad had been laid out for everyone to enjoy, I chatted with Judi Vaillnocurt, who’s artistic vision lies behind the entire company, and Luke who is increasingly taking the company into a new future.

The second show was at 6, and having finished lunch, I rested for a while in the dressing room, preserving my energy. There was a knock at the door, and it was Curtis who had returned to his store and picked up a different type of headset, ‘better for the more active performer,’ he said in the way in which a tailor might offer a suit to a client:’ If I may say so, sir, the looser cut is appropriate for the more sporting gentleman’. Certainly, when I slipped it on (the microphone, not the suit), it felt tighter and much more secure. All that I needed to do was to remember to put the lead UNDER my waistcoat.

The second show was much better, and I was able to concentrate on the words and atmosphere – I even managed to get all of the scenes in the correct order this time. Unfortunately, during the second act the electronic cracking and popping returned, but almost instantly Curtis took the decision to turn the unit off, meaning that I was unplugged for the final scenes, but it is a small room and actually it all worked fine – maybe tomorrow I will just not use the microphone at all. The audience were as enthusiastic as the first and joined in at every opportunity, many having seen me many times before. At the final scene, as the narrator says that ‘Scrooge knew how to keep Christmas well, if any man alive possessed that knowledge’ I carefully picked up one of the Vaillancourt Santas and placed it on my top hat, which in turn was sitting on the stool. I regarded it for a moment and then said, in Scrooge’s voice, ‘I wonder where I can order more of these?’ which got a huge laugh. It had been a lovely show, one which restored my positivity, which had waned somewhat earlier in the day.

Again, I signed in the shop, and received plenty of praise, which is a nice way to end the day. Changing was quick, as I had no need to pack up my costumes and props, they could stay in the dressing room, and soon was driving back to Worcester, where I would meet up with Gary, Judi and Luke for a wind-down dessert and glass of wine in the restaurant next my hotel. Before heading to the bar, I went up to my room to drop a bag with costume shirts off and was relieved to discover that my keys still worked, and that I was still checked in as a guest of Mr Marriott!

The evening was nice and relaxed, but I was tired by now, so we all said our goodbyes. I headed to the lift and they to the parking garage and back to Sutton.

For sure, it had been an adventuresome day.

The Oxford Half Marathon. 16 October 2022

Tags

Brain Tumour Research, Charity, Marston, Oxford, Oxford Half, Oxford Half Marathon, Oxford Parks, Paula Radcliffe, Running, Spoinsorship, The Bodleian, The Sheldonian

The day had arrived. The 16th October has loomed in the far distance for many months and as you know I have been posting updates about my training and fundraising throughout that time. But when the day became a reality, I seemed to be living in a parallel universe – it didn’t seem possible that by the end of the day I would have (hopefully) completed my challenge. In fact, the16th arrived rather earlier than was appreciated, for sleep left me in the very early hours as my mind was spinning about the realities of the event – not the running specifically for I would either manage that or not, but I was still suffering from a sense of Imposter Syndrome and fearing that when I arrived among the dreaming spires of Oxford I would simply not fit in or know where to go and what to do. I had been reassured by a number of runners that they had all felt the same way in their first big events, but that everything had been fine, and the atmosphere was nothing but friendly and supportive. I had packed a bag the night before and eaten the requisite meal of pasta, so on getting up at 7am on Sunday morning I had little to do. I ate a breakfast of porridge and fruit, followed by some toast and honey (all on advice of my running friends) and changed into my kit: black shorts, a yellow shirt and my Brain Tumour Trust vest proudly over the top, with the number 1391 pinned to it.

It was a slight struggle for Liz and me to encourage our daughters to leave the house at 7.45 on a Sunday morning, but I needed to be in the centre of Oxford by around 8.15 and with the many road closures around the city it may not be easy to achieve. We had devised a route that should get me close to the University Parks, where the race village was situated and indeed Liz was able to pull to the side of the road give me a quick kiss of good luck, and I joined the procession of runners who, like salmon, appeared to be swimming upstream towards a common destination. Some were in groups chatting happily, some seriously adjusted their attire and occasionally stopped at a lamp post to do some more stretches (these reminded me of pet dogs, but it would be unfair to mention that observation outside brackets). On entering the park, the atmosphere was everything that had been promised, it was alive with energy and expectation and huge signs guided me to wherever I needed to go.

I noticed that there was one banner which said ‘Oxford Half Marathon’ and there was quite a crowd around it, which seemed slightly unnecessary as I assumed we all knew why we were here, but drawing closer I realised that it was made up from the names of every participant in the race, so I dutifully found mine, just under the cross bar of the ‘F’ in half (‘the Effin ‘Arf’ doesn’t sound a polite way to describe this fine race), and photographed it.

The next job was to drop my bag off, ready to collect at the end of the race. I took a long drink of water from my bottle, and made for the tent taking belongings from runners with numbers between 1,000 and 1,500. In one corner of the park music was belting out for a ‘warm up’ session, but with a fear that I might pull something or damage something before I’d even started, I decided to give that a miss. Instead, I followed hundreds, maybe thousands, of others to join a series of long queues which culminated in the toilet facilities.

We all had a couple of hours ahead of us, and everyone was drinking lots of water, so this was an essential part of the day. There was much talk throughout the crowds of not wanting to ‘do a Paula Radcliffe’ during the race. I was hopping a little by the time I reached the front of the line, so was glad that I had followed the herd when I had.

The start of the race was carefully controlled, and the runners were divided into separate pens, with the elite runners in A and the novices (of which I was one), in F. Groups A – D had been called already, but in no time the energetic announcer on the PA system announced that groups E and F should make their way to the start – actually this was quite a route march, maybe a mile, but soon we were gathered in Holywell Street waiting for our turn to go over the top.

At first the crowd remained still, but little by little we started to edge forward, emerged into Broad Street with the magnificent Sheldonian Theatre to our left and the gardens of Trinity College to our right. Ahead an arch marked the start, and another energetic announcer sent us all on our way, commenting on various participants, including a yellow submarine, a giraffe and, yes, two men carrying washing machines on their backs. I assumed that these gents had constructed some clever costumes, but it wouldn’t be long before I discovered otherwise.

More useful advice from my various running chums was not to go off too quickly at the start, and this was something that I had worried about, but the crowd was so thick that it was impossible to go off at a great pace, until we left Broad Street and turned into the even broader street of St Giles, by this time I could settle into my normal pace and found that I overtook some runners and was overtaken by others as we all found our natural place in the order of things.

Liz and the girls had found a clever spot to watch from, for the route came off St Giles and double backed towards The Parks, before making another loop to return to St Giles once more, meaning that they could see me pass by twice in quite a short space of time. I gave them all a quick (and rather sweaty) kiss first time past, and then a high five each on the second, before I headed onto the long stretch of the Banbury Road towards North Oxford. It was on this stretch that I saw the reality of the washing machines, the intrepid runners were indeed lugging proper, full-sized metal washing machines on their backs. As everyone ran past, we all shouted encouragement to them as they lumbered on. The expression on their faces suggested that they were somewhat regretting their fundraising decision!

Up to Summertown and past the first drinks station where I took the advice of my good friends Chris, ‘drink whenever it is offered’. Just past the drinks tables was a small battery of loos….and a long queue.

Towards the top of The Banbury Road the field looped round and came back down again, meaning that the elite frontrunners were on the other side of the road. They were going through 5 miles as we passed the 3-mile marker, and their pace and strength was truly impressive, if somewhat disheartening, but on we went.

Having made the u-turn and run half-way back down the Banbury Road, we then turned left and headed off down a very long and uninspiring road towards the little village of Marston and this was where the field began to spread out more. A strange phenomenon occurred in Marston, for instead of a water station there was an energy drink one and everyone eagerly sloshed the red liquid into their mouths and tossed the little cups into the large recycling bins provided. Unfortunately, quite a lot of the drink spilled onto the road, which meant that rather than running becoming easier (with a shot of isotonic drink), it became more difficult because the road became tacky and everyone’s shoes stuck to it, peeling off with the sound of a hundred strips of Velcro ripping apart.

Back up the dull road and towards Oxford again, and into the last few miles. I admit that I began to struggle a little now and, on a few occasions, lapsed back to a walk, as most people around me did at various times too, meaning that the bunch of people with whom I had shared the journey maintained their relative positions to each other. Back to the Parks, back into Holywell Street, around the Sheldonian and Bodleian, turn left and there were two signs in front of me. One said, ’13 Miles’ and just past that (.1 of a mile past it, to be precise), was a large arch saying FINISH!

Maybe in my imagination I had pictured myself bursting across the finish line, arms aloft, feeling a huge surge of satisfaction and pride, but in reality, I just sort of stopped with a sense of relief! I was given a medal and told to keep moving so that those behind me could finish too. I had been running with my phone strapped to my arm and as I checked my time, I saw that I had completed the course in 2 hrs and 18 minutes. Alongside the official notifications were messages of congratulation from family and friends, many of whom had been following my progress on the event’s tracker app.

I made my way back to the Event Village and retrieved my bag, before setting off to find Liz and the girls. Everywhere families were reuniting and hugging, tales were being told, tired limbs were being stretched, water drunk, and energy bars being consumed. Gradually the competitors drifted away to their various homes, where real life would resume, and I did the same.

Although the entire day, in fact the entire 6-month process, had been one of personal challenge, discovery and achievement, the main motivation of my run had been in memory of my sister-in-law, Liz’s sister, Sheila, who died on 16th April as a result of a brain tumour. It was to further aid the struggle to research the terrible disease that my family and friends around the world have been donating so generously to my fund. Towards the very end of the event, as I came back into the University Parks, there was a lady standing at a corner, just a regular spectator shouting encouragement. She was short, had white shoulder length hair and had a beaming smile on her face. I am not going all spooky-ghostly here, but she had something of the look of Sheila about her, and as I ran by, she made eye contact and called out simply ‘Well Done!’ And that was the moment that all of the effort and toil, the worries about injury, the fears about acceptance into the world of running, the fundraising and the eventual success in completing 13.1 miles around the city of Oxford, really made sense.

So, this is my final account of the running, and the last opportunity to donate to the cause. Including the proceeds from my show, the fund is now over £2,000 which is incredibly generous, thank you all so much, and if anyone is reading this who like to add to that figure, then we will all be profoundly grateful.

https://www.justgiving.com/fundraising/geralddickens

Counting Down the Days

Tags

Brain Tumour Research, Dreaming Spires, Oxford City, Oxford Half Marathon, Runners World Magazine, Sponsorship

Wednesday 12 October.

The week before my very first attempt at a long-distance running event is slowly passing and now, on Wednesday, the week is half over, and the weekend is looming large. Yesterday Liz and I drove into Oxford to do some shopping, and at the sight of someone running through the streets a wave of nerves ran through me.

My journey to this point began way back in 2020 with the arrival of Covid 19 in the UK. With lockdown conditions becoming ever more severe it became necessary, indeed essential, to get out into the open air whenever possible. Our eldest daughter had said that she wanted to run, because one of her best friends did, so together we started using a Couch-2-5K app to help us along. My target, if I had one, was to complete a Park Run event at some stage, as my sister Nicky and brother Ian had done previously, but the thought of running a distance of 5k seemed completely out of my league as I struggled to keep going for the minute or so that the app suggested at the beginning of the programme. Little by little, however, things began to get easier and there was a moment of supreme pride when I managed to run the 5k, a little over three miles, without stopping, for the first time (I never did attend a park run, but at least the distance was achieved).

And so, it continued, and the distances that I was able to achieve went up, and the exhaustion went down. I ran 5 miles, then 6, then 8 and 10, and I began to feel a bit like a runner, although I never felt that I truly compared to those committed folk that pound the pavements every day in their expensive shoes and reflective glasses, and who stop their watches as they pause for cars to pass at an intersection, so as not to skew a potential PB.

In April my sister-in-law Sheila died as a result of a brain tumour, and I really wanted to do something to help the cause of other families in the same situation and try to raise some money towards the ongoing research into the condition. Sheila’s husband Martin had undertaken a charity cycle ride on behalf of Brain Tumour Research so I decided to donate to the same cause, except I didn’t have an event in mind. In a moment of perfect synchronicity, it was at this time that I happened to receive a Facebook notification suggesting that I enter the Oxford Half Marathon, and I followed the link to be told that I would have to enter a ballot. Well, this was perfect! I could tell all and sundry that I had entered and would be fundraising, and then sorrowfully inform everyone that I hadn’t been selected and I would try again next year – then I got the notification that the buggers had accepted me! I was committed.

In life I always need a strong motivation to spur me into action, for example I will often take a booking for a show that I have not yet written, which forces me to get on and create it before the deadline of walking onto an empty stage and facing an audience of expectant people – the thought of being unprepared for them focusses the mind wonderfully. So it was with my running, I somehow had to get myself to a level to run 13.1 miles.

Regular readers will know that I have been training over the last few weeks, and apart from a few niggling injury worries, I have managed to complete my goal…almost…in that on my last long run I stopped at 13 miles, meaning that when I complete the event itself (0.1 of a mile longer), I am assured of a personal best time.

Why am I nervous? It is not about the running, because I know that I can do that. Of course, on Sunday I might pull a muscle. turn an ankle or feel unwell, but I know that I CAN do it. My nerves are much more to do with never having done an event like this before and not knowing how it all works – what do I do on the day, how will it feel mingling with all of the other competitors? Will it be obvious where to leave my bag, and how will the run feel with crowds lining the route? I am used to running alone and being able to control my pace, so will I be able to restrain myself in a crowd of other runners? How will I feel seeing large signs and banners marking the miles, will seeing a 7- mile board create negative feelings as I realise that I still have 6.1 miles still to go? The answer to all of this is ‘I don’t know’, but in less than a week I will have all of the answers for you.

The event organisers have sent a comprehensive pack with all of the details of the day in it, so some of the logistics are clearer to me now and I have no doubt that the other runners will be helpful and encouraging. I have my number (1391) and have details of an app that tracks my progress, so everyone can follow along. There are also photographers along the route and their pictures will be published in real time – again there is a website that anyone can log onto, to view the images.

It is now down to me. On Sunday. At 9.30 am. There is only one thing left to do: to run.

To donate to my sponsorship Brain Tumour Research fund please visit my JustGiving Page at:

https://www.justgiving.com/fundraising/geralddickens

To track my progress, download the LimeLight Sports Club app on Apple or Android and select Oxford Half Marathon and enter my number (1391)

To view the images, go to Marathon Photos Live: https://marathonphotos.live/

The next time I write will be with the full story of my first running event.

A Week of Fundraising Begins

Tags

A Christmas Carol, Abingdon-on-Thames, Brain Tumour Research, Charles Dickens, Doctor Marigold, Michaelmas Fair, Mr Dickens is Coming!, Oxford Half Marathon, Uriah Heep

As I celebrate my 59th birthday so my week of fundraising began in earnest. Of course, the main event will be on the 16th October with my debut run in the Oxford Half Marathon, and I will return to that story later, but on Friday night I performed in my hometown of Abingdon-on-Thames for the first time in many years.

I had chosen a new venue for me, and that choice had come about through a curious circumstance. My youngest daughter had been invited to the birthday party of one of her classmates at school, and the event was held at the Abingdon Baptist Chapel, where the birthday girl’s parents and grandparents not only attend, but administer too. The chapel is set a little back from the road and is an impressive building, with Palladian columns giving it an Acropolis-esque look. It is one of those buildings that I have driven passed a thousand times and thought how elegant it looks but had never investigated further. On the day of the party, I went to collect our daughter, and on walking through the main door I could see straight away what an impressive hall it was – simple, surprisingly modern and well lit, although the effect was somewhat obscured by a large bouncy castle, complete with an illuminated glitter ball in the centre. I tucked the memory away, ready to be used when next I needed a space to perform in.

The idea to give a benefit performance in aid of Brain Tumour Research came after I had been accepted to run in the half marathon, and I thought it would be a nice opportunity to raise funds by doing what I do, in addition to the terrifying thing that I do NOT do. I approached the Baptist Church and having checked the diary they were able to offer me Friday 7th October, which I grabbed with both hands. There was a slight moment of concern in that the ancient and traditional Abingdon Fair takes place at the start of October and the whole main street is closed for two days and filled with noisy, whirling, garish rides, and stalls selling candyfloss, hot dogs, burgers and other unidentifiable foodstuffs, whilst the Oxfordshire night air is filled with the screams of flirting teenagers. The Baptist Chapel sits on the very road where the fair is held, so not only would my audience be unable to get to it, but the accompanying soundtrack would not have been conducive to Victorian literature. Fortunately, tradition (and law) dictates that the fair be held on the Monday and Tuesday before the 11th October, and it is not built until the Sunday before, so my Friday date was safe. As an aside, the Abingdon Michaelmas Fair dates back to the 14th Century when it was created as a gathering to hire labour in the aftermath of the Black Death.

The next issue was to publicise the show, which was not easy. As I was producing the event, on behalf of Brain Tumour Research, I didn’t have a large budget to play with, indeed I had no budget to play with, so other than printing some leaflets and posters, all I had was good old fashioned leg work, and modern social media.

I had planned to start my publicity assault when I was in America in September, but of course that coincided with the death of the Queen, meaning that not only was I not in a state of mind to shout and scream about my show, but also the country and potential audience would not be responsive anyway.

When the funeral was over and life slowly started to get back to normal, I began distributing leaflets, initially in my own neighbourhood, hoping that curiosity and a sense of neighbourly support would bring in a few sales. After that I picked areas of the town the I felt would house the demographic that usually attend my performances and spent many mornings walking up and down leafy roads, slipping A5 fliers through letterboxes. The art of leafleting is not as easy as once it was in that most houses have highly sprung and insulated letterboxes making it a real struggle to push a flimsy piece of paper through. I had no idea if these operations would bring forth results, I didn’t know if anybody would even read the leaflet but clung to the hope that somewhere in the hundreds of houses was someone who loved either local theatre, Dickens or preferably both. I was startled by barking dogs and avoided the angry glares from people sitting in their front rooms watching me trespass on their properties.

In the town centre many businesses were kind enough to display posters and take leaflets and little by little the word started to spread. I bombarded local Facebook pages with posts about the show, but ticket sales remained frustratingly slow. I emailed large businesses in the town attaching the flier and asked them to circulate the information among staff, and I did the same to all of the local schools.

As the week of the show arrived the sales were still not great, but I could satisfy myself that the show was only part of my greater fundraising efforts, so from that point of view anything that I made would be a success, but I did want the atmosphere in the Church to be good and the evening to be an enjoyable one.

The day of the show arrived, and it was a very odd feeling not to have to pack up the car early and get on the road to some venue far away. The programme for the evening was to be Mr Dickens is Coming! and Doctor Marigold and that combination means quite the car full and, on this occasion, I also had a large box containing various promotional materials from Brain Tumour Research along with two collection buckets.

Naturally as I pulled into the small car park outside the church rain started to fall meaning that I was a bit damp by the time everything was inside!

The space was perfect with a small ‘stage’ at one end, a balcony around the top and a high vaulted wooden ceiling above.

I busied myself setting up the stage for Mr Dickens is Coming, which involves recreating the set that Charles Dickens used for his readings. I erected my red screen (fabric over a simple frame which, although Dickens’ was solid), placing my copy of his red reading desk, complete with the cube for the performer to rest their hand on, a handkerchief, and a small glass carafe, which bears my great great grandfather’s crest, and which is the only item I own that actually belonged to him. Once everything was in place, I started to rehearse a bit of Doctor Marigold and could hear the words echoing back to me, so tried to tone down my volume as much as I could.

There were other preparations too, for I had to make sure that the ticket sales table was in place, complete with a cash float (which I had withdrawn from the bank earlier in the day), and laid out my various items of merchandise, which this year includes the DVD version of ‘A Christmas Carol’, as well as ‘Dickens and Staplehurst’ and a DVD of Doctor Marigold. I also needed to lay another table out with all of the leaflets and publicity for Brain Tumour Research, and in the centre of all of that literature a large yellow bucket in case audience members who had already parted with their hard-earned money to attend the evening should feel disposed to donate further as they left.

When all of the preparations had been completed the audience started to arrive, so I dashed into my dressing room, quickly changed into my costume and then went out to meet and greet and mingle. As this was ‘my’ show I had decided to be present as the audience arrived, rather than theatrically hiding myself away – in this way I became actor, writer, producer, front of house manager and stage manager all in one, which didn’t allow me a lot of time to relax and prepare for the forthcoming performance.

The first arrivals were all from my own neighbourhood, and they gathered in the centre of the hall and chatted busily together, meaning that I could just as well have well given the performance in the middle of our street, and saved everyone the trouble of travelling. but soon others began to appear, and the small hall began to fill. It was by no means a full house, far from it indeed, but my efforts of the past few weeks produced a decent enough audience. Liz was there, with our two girls who have not seen me perform before and who would be staying for the first half, and there was a goodly sprinkling of friends and family, including Liz’s nephew Richard, a son of Sheila in whose memory these events are being held.

At 7.30 I made my way to the stage and began the show. Usually as I wait in the wings I listen as one of the organisers gets onto the stage and explains where the emergency exits are, as well as the toilet facilities, but being my own show, it fell to me to clumsily do that, before launching into the words of Charles Dickens, which begin the performance.

It was a fun half and the old script still got laughs where it always does. I felt slightly awkward writhing and squirming in the rather suggestive manner of Uriah Heep, and wondered what my daughters would make of daddy looking like that (and indeed when I was at home the next day they proudly told me that was their favourite part!), but gave the whole performance as much as I could.

The interval came and I rushed to change into Doctor Marigold’s costume, before returning to the stage to rearrange the furniture (thus adding stagehand to my growing job list!), and when I had completed the task I was able to give the girls a hug and say goodbye to them and Liz, before preparing to transform into Marigold.

The second half went well also, although the slightly boomy acoustics in the hall made some of the very fast paced dialogue difficult to hear, but the response to the ever-changing fortunes of the poor cheapjack was moving and generous as I took the applause at the end. Having taken my bows, I thanked the audience for their generosity once more and reminded them that in just a week’s time I would be running the Oxford Half Marathon for the same cause, thereby shamelessly encouraging them to part with yet more of their cash, and brought the evening to a close.

As the audience left, I stood at the door and thanked them for coming, and signed a few copies of my book, and one of my ‘A Christmas Carol’ DVDs, until the hall was empty with the exception of the staff and volunteers who had helped make the evening a success. As they began to rearrange the seating, I changed and started to pack up my belongings knowing that in the event of leaving something behind (a fairly common occurrence as regular readers will know), I wouldn’t have far to drive to retrieve it. I said my goodbyes and thanks, and set off into the night for my 5-minute drive home, where Liz was waiting for me.

The evening had been a success and added a few hundred pounds to my fundraising kitty. The audience had been incredibly generous and had donated an extra £78 into the Brain Tumor Research bucket. Now the focus will change as I prepare to line up at the start of The Oxford Half Marathon proudly bearing number 1391 and completing a challenge that began on April 16, 2022.

To become part of my fundraising efforts simply follow the link to:

https://www.justgiving.com/fundraising/geralddickens

First to Thirteen

Tags

Abingdon, Brain Tumour Research, Charles Dickens, Doctor Marigold, Mr Dickens is Coming!, Oxford Half Marathon, Oxfordshire

Having returned from America last week, and having solemnly and proudly spending Monday watching the funeral of Queen Elizabeth (wearing a dark suit and black tie in respectful honour of my Monarch), it was time to turn my attentions to the two projects coming up in October.

The first is a performance of Mr Dickens is Coming and Doctor Marigold in my home town of Abingdon, to raise funds for Brain Tumour Research. My fundraising efforts began in April when Liz’s sister Sheila died from the condition and I decided to turn my hand to working on behalf of the charity. The main push to my efforts was entering the Oxford Half Marathon on October 16th, and much of my year has been spent pounding the Oxfordshire roads trying to get myself into shape to complete 13 miles. However I also decided to stage a benefit performance (which will require rather less effort than the Half), and that is due to be performed on 7th October, so my initial work was to put in place publicity for the show. I designed posters and had them printed and started sending press releases out to all and sundry. Ticket sales are looked after by Eventbrite and it was with a smile that the first email confirmations of bookings came into my inbox.

With publicity rolling, I also needed to get back to training. I had run a couple of times in America, but not with any great intensity, so I went out one afternoon to run the 6 mile ring road which surrounds Abingdon. Everything was going well and my breathing was good and the legs felt powerful….until the 3 mile mark when suddenly a searing pain came from my right calf. I immediately stopped (I had promised myself, and Liz, that if anything felt untoward I wouldn’t push on thereby risking further damage), and limped home. What I hoped might be a cramp lingered annoyingly into the evening and through the night, so I feared that I may have suffered my first running injury just as I should be in my final stages of preparations. The next day I called a sports physiotherapist, but he was unavailable, so I just went about my ordinary business without putting too much strain on my leg. The next day it felt better, and I tried a few little runs, just a few hundred yards at a time, and felt no adverse effects, so I was confident that I could get out for a proper training run again.

Today, 23 September, I dropped our children to school and then set off to do two laps of the ring road, which would mean a 12 mile run – the little loop back to home would mean that I would be completing around 13 miles, the very distance that I will need to achieve to complete the event in October. I knew that I had to prove to myself that I could complete 13 miles before arriving in Oxford, and it needed to be done sooner than later, for if I were still pounding out long distances in the week of the event I wouldn’t have any energy for the race itself, so today was the day (leg muscles allowing)

At 8.50 I started to run, and it felt good. I kept a steady pace, not wanting to go off too quickly, and soon was in the centre of the town. I passed the spot where my calf had gone a few days before and still everything was OK. On I ran, past the fire station and later the police station, then turning right opposite McDonalds and climbed gradually towards the point I’d started from.

For much of my training I have been listening to audiobooks to accompany me, but a good friend and keen runner had told me that actually he runs better with nothing playing in his ears, so today I tried this and it seemed to work. My mind, rather than concentrating on the unfolding story, just ambled around. I thought of my forthcoming show, I thought of the performances in the USA, I admired a motorcyclist’s crash helmet livery which was charmingly old fashioned, rather than the multi-coloured ones that are usually so popular. I listened to birds, looked at trees, read the names of haulage companies on the cabs of lorries, and the miles just slipped away under the soles of my feet

I still felt strong, so set off for a second 6 mile lap. I had a choice to make at this point, did I turn round and complete lap two in the reverse direction, which in hindsight would have been the sensible thing to do, or just plough on through familiar scenery? I decided to carry on. Of course it was getting harder, but I was soon in town again (where my 10 year old’s class was gathering to sing Status Quo’s ‘Rockin’ All Over the World’ in the market square for reasons I am not sure of), and on towards McDonalds again, which would be the ten mile mark. At this stage, I admit, I began to find the going tough and I slowed to a walk a few times during those final 3 miles, but I never stopped, I was moving forward the whole time, and when I reached home I checked my Strava app and saw that I had clocked up exactly 13 miles. I had done it! When I had thought about this run I reckoned I could do it in around 2 hours, 10 minutes (I run at an average pace of 9.30 minute miles, but I knew I wouldn’t keep that up over thirteen and had estimated an average of 10 minute miles), and my final time was 2 hours 9 minutes, despite the walking: I was very very proud of that!

So I am in a good place, I know that I can do it, and now can rein back the distances a little to leave me with plenty of energy for the big day – I even have a PB to aim for now, I would like to get to around 2 hours if I could on the day.

So, I think that deserves some more sponsorship donations! Thank you so much to all of those who have already contributed so generously, taking the fund up to nearly £1,000, but we need more! So please do check out the link and come with me on my 13 mile journey.

To donate go to my JustGiving page:

https://www.justgiving.com/fundraising/geralddickens

A Debut for a Waistcoat

Tags

Abel Magwitch, Anthony Gormley, Castleford, Charles Dickens, Fire, Gateshead, Great Expectations, Jury's Inn, Just Giving, Miss Havisham, Mr Dickens is Coming, Newcastle, Oxford Half Marathon, Pip, The Angel of the North, The Word, waistcoats

As summer turns to autumn my thoughts turn to a series of trips to America, but before I fly to Jacksonville on Thursday, I had one performance in Britain. I was returning to The Word, the magnificent National Centre for the Written Word in the north eastern city of South Shields.

In a remarkable attempt at efficiency I had decided to load the car the day before and had even created a spreadsheet with all of the props and costume pieces that I would need listed and a little check box waiting to be ticked next to each. I was due to perform Great Expectations and of all my major shows this one probably has the smallest set, meaning that packing the car is a relatively quick process, albeit one that always leaves me with the feeling that I have forgotten something. But, I had checked all of the boxes on my list, so it was all OK.

South Shields is tucked away in the far North Eastern corner of England, not far from the Scottish border, indeed just over the River Tyne is the town of Wallsend which marks the end (and also, presumably, the beginning) of Hadrian’s Wall. The drive from Oxford is around 4 1/2 hours, and allowing for a couple of stops for lunch and leg stretching I needed to get on the road at about 10.am.

Last time I drove to The Word I suffered a puncture within 20 minutes of starting and had to carry out a tyre change in the darkness and rain, so I was relieved that this year the journey was smooth and adventure-free. I listened to some podcasts and coverage of the morning practice sessions from the latest Grand Prix weekend, and in between took the time to run the lines of Great Ex. which still resolutely refuse to permanently in the way that the words of A Christmas Carol and Mr Dickens is Coming! do.

I stopped for lunch at a motorway service station and as I returned to the car I thought I would just check my costumes, which were hanging over the passenger seat, and to my horror I realised that I had failed to include a fancy waistcoat, despite ticking the relevant box. The costumes of Great Expectations lead from ragged at the opening (representing the convict Abel Magwitch and the Spartan life of the Gargery family in their tiny forge,) to a slightly old fashioned tail coat in which young Pip is sent to meet the intimidating Miss Havisham. At the end of the first act Pip is informed that he is to receive a huge income and be raised a gentleman by the largesse of an unknown benefactor (assumed to be Miss Havisham, of course) and at that point he changes into expensive and extravagant clothing.

As I drove on I debated as to how I could sort this problem out and decided I couldn’t really get away with wearing the very drab and plain waistcoat from the first act, so began looking for a shopping centre along the route where I could maybe find a store where I could purchase a fancy waistcoat – a wedding supplier would be perfect. In the end I found an outlet village in the Yorkshire town of Castleford and made my way in.

There used to be a television in the early 90’s programme called ‘Challenge Anneka’ in which the host, Anneka Rice, would leap out of a helicopter and try to find some equipment or products to complete the week’s challenge (usually refurbishing a community centre or school). She would run around shouting to anyone who happened to be present, ‘where can I find a timber merchant? Hello! can you help, I need a supply of timber, can you tell me where I need to go?’ and off she would run with camera crew in tow. Well, I felt a little in the same boat as I arrived at the crowded mall and I wanted to grab passers by and shout ‘Waistcoats, I need colourful waistcoats, help me, where is a waistcoat shop, can anyone help?’ Fortunately for the residents of Castleford the very first shop I saw was a men’s outfitters called Eden, and I thought I’d make a start there. At the very back of the shop I found a very smart double breasted waistcoat in a midnight blue with a pale check across it. Although not garish and bright, it exuded a sense of style and actually reminded me of one of the waistcoats that Dickens himself wore, and which was highlighted in the recent exhibition at The Charles Dickens Museum ‘Technicolour Dickens’.

Fortunately they had my size and, being an outlet centre, the price was very reasonable, so I bought it on the spot and resumed my journey north with a sense of relief.

I was due to stay in a hotel at Gateshead, on the banks of the Tyne, and just had time to check in , before continuing my journey along the river to arrive at the magnificent cylindrical building that houses The Word. I have performed at The Word on three previous occasions, so I know the form, which is to ignore all accepted traffic laws and drive up onto the pavement and park outside an anonymous looking door, through which my props can be easily carried to a lift. I was greeted by Pauline Martin and together we emptied the car before I could go and park a short distance away.

When I returned, Pauline had kindly loaded the lift and got everything to the top floor and all I had to do was to set the set, which involves draping and dressing a white hat stand to represent the figure of Miss Havisham and placing a few bits of furniture, as well as carefully leaving some items of costume on stage that are required during the first act (including my new waistcoat which was due to make its debut without rehearsal…).

It was an early start, 6.pm, and at 5.30 Pauline asked if she could let the public in and I retired to my little backstage store room to change and prepare for the show. From what I could hear there was a goodly-sized audience gathering and I was keen to begin. The problem with the room at The Word is that it is not a particularly theatrical space, especially as regards to lighting. Pauline had told me that when the building was built they had been promised spot lights, but that they have never materialised, meaning that the choice is strip lighting on, meaning my face is illuminated but so is the rest of the room, or strip lighting off, meaning that my face and figure is in shadow. We went for lights on.

At 6 o’clock I hid myself behind the stage and waited for the voiceover taken from the opening passages of the book to finish and then bounded onto the stage in the guise of Abel Magwitch: ‘Hold your noise, or I’ll slit your throat!’

Great Expectations takes quite a bit of concentration from the audience, and I am always a little concerned that it may not work, but the crowd in The Word followed every scene intently, meaning that I could tell the story without further worry. As I came towards the end of the first act I arrived at the moment when Pip has to change into his new smart London clothes, and so I picked up the new waistcoat. There was one problem in that whilst the fabric of the garment itself is suitably traditional, the lining is VERY garish and modern. This wouldn’t normally be a issue, but as I had to actually put the thing on, I couldn’t help the audience getting a glimpse of modernity. Maybe in the future I will get somebody to make a plain lining, but for now it did a good job and I was proud of its debut.

The end of the act arrived and the applause was long, loud and greatly appreciated. During the interval I changed properly (the ‘posh’ clothes are simply put on over the rough costume in the final scene of the act) and then snuck back to the stage as surreptitiously as I could, to remove a few props and discarded pieces of costume, before waiting for Pauline to give me the nod that Act 2 could begin.

The second half was as successful as the first and when I left the stage as Pip holding hands with Estella (my ending is based on Dickens’s second version, rather than on his terribly downbeat first attempt), the applause was once again very generous in both volume and longevity, and Great Expectations had hit the mark.

I took my bows and then changed and started to pack up my props and costumes. By the time I re-emerged onto the stage most of the audience had departed, but a few folk were still in the room and came up to chat, congratulate and pose for selfies before they headed down in the lift.

Various staff members at The Word helped me to get all of my stuff downstairs while I fetched the car and drove it up onto the pavement once more. I said my goodbyes (hopefully I will be back next year, possibly in March to celebrate World Book Day), and drove back to Jury’s Hotel in Gateshead.

The great thing about starting a show at 6pm was that the hotel restaurant was still serving food when I returned, and I was able to sit in the bar and have a piece of chicken roasted with lemon and thyme and wind down slowly.

I didn’t sleep terribly well through the night: fitful describes it, but towards morning I was beginning to doze off when suddenly the fire alarm went off screeching loudly in my room and flashing a red light, meaning I had to vacate the room, follow the green emergency exit signs and make my way down to the street with all of the other guests, where we waited for about half an hour as two fire engines arrived and investigated.

Fortunately there was no inferno, or even a smoulder, and we were allowed back to our rooms to catch a few more winks until the breakfast service began.

I treated myself to a ‘full English’ (ignoring mushrooms and black pudding) from the buffet and sat at a window seat looking over the Tyne towards the city of Newcastle on the opposite bank.

My fast suitably broken I packed up my bags and began the drive home, making sure I drove past Anthony Gormley’s amazing Angel of the North sculpture that towers over the A1 road. It is always a lovely experience to be in the North East and I shall be back in Newcastle in November to perform A Christmas Carol at The Literary and Philosophical Society.

And now thoughts turn to two important projects, the first being my trip to America during which I will mainly be performing the double bill of The Signalman and Doctor Marigold at a variety of venues. At my very last stop, however, I am due to perform A Child’s Journey With Dickens, and was able to ask the venue if I may share the stage with actor Jennifer Emerson. Jennifer and I gave a Zoom performance of the piece last year, during which she took the role of Kate Douglas Wiggin whilst I played Dickens, so I was especially keen to reprise our performance whilst actually being in the same room, city, state, country and continent!

The other event which is looming ever larger is the Oxford Half Marathon which is to be run on 16 October. I have been in training for a few months now, and need to make sure that my efforts don’t flag, even though I am travelling and performing. When our daughters go back to school next week I shall make sure I get a few runs in, and hopefully a few in America too, even if that means availing myself of treadmills in various hotel gyms.

You will remember that I am running the race to raise much needed funds for Brain Tumour Research, and as an extra event I have scheduled a performance of Mr Dickens is Coming on 7 October in my home town of Abingdon with all profits going to my JustGiving page.

Please do support me in my efforts, you can donate to the fund by following the link at the end of this post. I am so grateful to all of those who have donated already and am keen to raise as much as I can for a cause that has had such a big impact on the life of Liz and me this year.

I shall let you know how the training is going in another post soon.

https://www.justgiving.com/fundraising/geralddickens

Running Halfway to October

Tags

Brain Tumour Research, Charles Dickens, Cider With Rosie, Just Giving, Oxford Half Marathon, The River Thames, Three Men in a Boat

Now that my intense period of touring is at an end I can get back to my running, and resume training for The Oxford Half Marathon in October.

To remind you of the story so far, on April 16th this year my sister in law Sheila died after suffering from the effects of a brain tumour for 18 months. During her illness her husband, Martin, had undertaken a charity bike ride to raise funds and awareness for The Brain Tumour Research charity, and I thought that I would like to make some kind of effort to do the same to help continuing research into this most awful scourge that continues to indiscriminately rip so many families apart.

During the various periods of lockdown I had taken up running in a very minor way, originally setting myself the modest target of being able to run 5km. Of course I started looking to purchase various pieces of equipment: shoes, shorts, shirts, a thing to hold my phone so that I could track my progress, and that meant that those little creatures deep inside the internet began to send me links to all sorts of running-associated sites, one of which asked me to run 50 miles in January to raise money for a local cancer charity. The challenge was exhilarating and I actually began to enjoy the whole process of pushing myself a little harder, a little further. I found that actually I could run 3 miles all at once, without stopping, and then 5, 8 and even 10

Having run 50 miles in 2 successive Januarys I wanted to look for another challenge, and those little internet mites went to work once more and slipped into my inbox details of a ballot to enter the 2022 Oxford Half Marathon. Well, a half marathon is of course for real runners and there was no way that I would be selected, but I filled out the form anyway and submitted it (thereby guaranteeing the short term careers of the Google Gremlins for a few more months to come). It was with a sense of shock, and some alarm, that a couple of months ago I received a notification to tell me that my entry had been accepted and that I would be expected on the start line surrounded by the dreaming spires, a week after my 59th birthday. It was at this stage that I contacted Brain Tumour Research and offered to use the opportunity to raise finds for them. Not only did they accept my offer with open arms, but they even sent me a branded running vest to train and race in.

I launched a fundraising campaign and, even though I hadn’t achieved anything yet, a most generous group of people donated straight away, giving me the responsibility to see this project through to the end.

So, back to training it was. I had rather let my running lapse over the previous weeks, and I miserably discovered that I was right back at a stage when I couldn’t manage 4 miles without stopping to recover along the way, which was annoying. Occasionally I did a 5 mile run, but it certainly didn’t feel easy, for the muscle/mass coefficient was literally heavily weighted towards the latter. My progress wasn’t helped by the many shows I have had, for I didn’t like to run on the morning of a performance, preserving my energy for the evening’s events, and I was never in a condition to run on the morning after a show, so the regularity of training runs was disrupted and there I stayed, mired at the 5 mile mark.

At the end of June, however, things began to calm down professionally and I was able to get out onto the Oxfordshire roads more often, and during the week commencing 27 June I found myself able to complete three runs of over 7 miles each, which was an important number, for it is over half the eventual race distance. The following week I was able to hit 9 miles, and things seemed to be going well.

From a pace point of view I was a little disappointed, as I was continually coming in at an average of 10 minute miles, whereas a year or so ago I was getting down to 9.5, but I am sure that will come and actually it is of no importance at all – whatever pace I run at in October I will achieve my PB in a Half Marathon!

I have various routes for my training runs, one of which takes me out of Abingdon to the village of Culham, where I then run on the River Thames tow-path back into town. At this time of year the river is alive with swans, gulls, moorhens, ducks and other wildfowl, whilst boats make their way through the various locks and downstream towards London, or upstream to the source. The sound of the narrow boats, especially, is wonderful, a very slow throb throb throb, as they cleave the water at 4 mph. Typically the skipper at the stern will offer a cheery wave and we will exchange a mutually inaudible morning greeting.

Another route takes me into farmland on the other side of town and on that run I cross fields of growing wheat, which is ripening now and the smell is so fresh and healthy that it seems to put an extra spring into my steps.

If you would like to encourage me and follow my training then why not add me on the Strava app and send me a few motivational messages to see me over that 13 mile target?

For company I like to listen to audio books that reflect my surroundings and mood: last year I worked my way through all of the James Herriot stories, whilst during this recent training I have listened to Three Men in a Boat and currently am relishing the beautiful Cotswold accent of Laurie Lee in his own recording of Cider With Rosie. I studied the book at school, and now I see why, for the imagery throughout is stunning. I particularly loved Lee’s childhood memory of fresh spring water being drawn from a pipe in the garden, he said it ‘was like liquid sky’ I smiled as I ran when I heard that.

I am not a fan of music when running, as it seems to dictate a rhythm or pace which I may or may not want to achieve on any given morning, I much prefer the spoken word.

Besides challenging myself, the real reason for all of this is to raise money, and over the next few weeks I will be bombarding you with requests for support, so maybe its best to get it done now, so that you can forget all about it! I have set a target of £3,000, but of course I would like to raise more – double it, treble it, I, or Brain Tumour Research, wont mind. As an extra fundraising event I am also going to stage a show in Abingdon during the week before the race, and all profits from the ticket sales will go into the pot, so if you are local then watch this space for further announcements soon.

I am posting this blog on 16th July which marks the exact halfway mark between Sheila’s death on 16th April and the race itself which takes place on the 16th October.

What’s that? How can you donate? Ah, a very good question. Follow the link to my Just Giving Page and all will become clear!

https://www.justgiving.com/fundraising/geralddickens

Thank you for your support and encouragement, but most of all thank you for helping us to raise funds which will assist the furtherance of such desperately needed research in the years ahead.

https://www.braintumourresearch.org/