The sun rises on a new tour.

I’m happy to report that since my last post, I’ve had at a thousand offers for Viagra and other potency/male enhancing meds. All of which I’ve ingested, resulting in a slight growth on the side of my head and shoulders- I now look like this:

More manly for sure. Pour homme plus masculine.

No worries however, I’m out on tour in the UK again, in many ways I blend in. People think I’m giving a dog a ride on my shoulders.

This tour takes us to 27 cities in just over a month. We’re traveling by car: a BMW sports wagon…or something. Nice car. Gets dirty very quickly.

Our first show was Sheffield, as in the Full Monty, and in honor of that film I did the entire show naked.

We’re lucky to have a fast car.

The posse is smaller this time around: as always there’s Christine Fisichella as Tour/Stage/Lighting Goddess,

Lighting queen- she glows in the dark- just like Glow Worm (batteries sold separately).

John Cooper (my Comic Rain Man) and me (Mr. Dressup).

Hot muffins, or what?

We’re at Bradford (near Leeds) tonight.

Pretty Bradford.

I’ve played here at the cavernous St. George’s Hall before.

The theatre is so big I couldn't fit it into a single frame. It's like Jupiter, without the red spot. Or the moons. Or radiation. It's big, though.

It's hard to photograph three levels of 1800 seats. It's the kind of place where Tom Jones and Bill Bailey perform. I'll be happy to fill the first two rows.

The last time I was here in Bradford, it rained incessantly and the sounds of gunshots rang out every five minutes. The shots were actually a part of a trend where guys would loosen the mufflers on their cars so that they’d intentionally backfire.

As stupid as it may seem, in my youth, I’d have enjoyed watching people jump, duck, and defecate as I’d drive past.

Maybe we’ll loosen the muffler on the Beemer and see what happens.

So, the show goes ever on and on, and I couldn’t be happier about it.

Some people are happier than me:

Happy!

Yup.

And even if I should ever find myself getting down there’s always this:

If you can't get satisfaction from TV, you can still get pissed. There's always hope.

Here’s hoping the TV sucks.

See you soon:)

I had left you on my way to Basingstoke. Some people mistakenly pronounce the name as: Bah-sin-stow-kee.

I’m just going to go out on a limb and say it: what?

We performed at the Haymarket Theatre, which is a fantastic space to work in, and the theatre staff are great.

One of the technician dudes was from Milwaukee, Wisconsin, which made me think of beer. If you can’t get drunk in Wisconsin you aren’t trying hard enough. Beer is cheaper than bottled water in Wisconsin. And it’s so good.

You could almost call Wisconsin: the Shire State.

But nobody would know what you were talking about.

So don’t bother.

Basingstoke is a pretty town, and it yielded up a thrilling (for me) sunset:

Made me think of a town called Wells.

From there it was on to Sudbury

See?

The home of cute little theatres

Quay Theatre

and humongous swans

This was taken from a helicopter. The swan's rampage was savage. Here you can see them devouring cattle in a field.

It was a bright, bright day, in Sudbury, which made it seem all the more lovely. Even though if it had been raining I’d have still felt the same. Just look at it:

No joke, it was this bright. Even at night.

We stayed that night at Pub called the Bay Horse Inn, which had rooms for rent.

Now, my show was fun, but the real evening’s entertainment came from a wicked blues-esque band called the Smoking Hogs.

These guys just didn't stop. It was like trying to photograph Terriers on speed.

The audience in the pub went wild:

They actually did go wild.

They were the best entertainment to be found in Sudbury, that Saturday evening.

Early the next day we embarked on a mammoth trip that involved six trains, two Tube subway lines, and bus to get to Winchester. “Good things come to those who wait”, or in this case: change train platforms a trillion times.

I have one of these in my backyard at home. yeah....

It’s was my second time back to the Winchester and the perfectly proportioned Theatre Royal.

Theatre Royal

Our B&B was very posh, covered with art and furniture fit for the home of an aristocrat. I was almost afraid to breathe too hard when I entered the place, but the Hostess (who was as charming a person as I ever met) made me feel completely at ease. I asked her if I could take a wee picture of one of the adorable drawings on my bedroom walls. (I sound like a twerp, I know) Look at her:

Aw! Do you think she really looked like this?

Much to my joy and happiness we were booked to stay in Winchester for a day off.

Instead of sitting on our arses- as we usually do- Christine and I willingly got onto a train (on our day off) and made our way to Salisbury. From the Salisbury train station we boarded a bus- all of this was made much easier as we had no luggage to carry- and went to go check out a stack of rocks.

There are moments of clarity in life when you realize that something neat is going to happen: like the first time I went up the Empire State Building, or when I performed at a giant Star Wars convention. You prepare for it, not knowing exactly how you’ll react to it- this could be the first of many times to come or perhaps this will be it.

If you've not visited it before, go do it. Stonehenge is truly a simple wonder. Not bad for some rocks.

I’d been told you can’t get close to the stones, but I thought it wasn’t bad.

It was hard to get a photo where the stones weren't blinking.

If I was a bird around there I could nest in Stonehenge:

Can you see the bit of bird's tail sticking out?

There were a bunch of sheep too (aside from the tourists):

Baaahd Birdie! See him? Or her?

Someone should seriously consider opening a little pub up there. Maybe an underground pub, so that the view isn’t compromised. Besides, alcohol and tourists go together sooo well.

Maybe not.

Anyway, after seeing that ancient wonder of the world, I felt a overwhelming sense of connection to everyone:

"Don't ever leave me. I really have to pee. You wanna come?"

I almost didn’t want to get back onto the bus. Most people didn’t:

This is the most terrifying PSA I've ever seen.

On my way back to Winchester from Salisbury, with visions of Stonehenge still swimming in my head, I noticed that a rescue helicopter passing overhead looked a lot like a little water bug:

Doesn't it?

And as I stepped off the train back in Winchester, I found myself searching for the right words to express what I felt. What could I say that would make people understand?

Suddenly, I looked over and realized that a sign in Welsh must be experiencing a similar kind of angst, but directed towards me:

Oh, okay...I..uh...o...k...

I have no idea exactly what it was trying to tell me. I know it was important. It might have been something that could have changed my life- even saved it someday.

What can I say?

Go see Stonehenge.

It’s cool.

So are helicopters.

It started out in Barrow (see above), a town on England’s north west coast. It’s a lovely place to be a duck, swan, or goose.

What a beautiful sunny day Tuesday was:

Damn

Weird.

Of course a sunny day spent on train platforms is like a Belgium chocolate coated beer-cap.

Sigh

I shouldn’t complain about train platforms- nobody’s forced me to live out the rest of my days on one. I’d rather think of it like this: every train platform is taking me that much closer to home.

Okay, let's go!

I like to take a moment to say that Virgin Trains (1^st Class) rock! You get served coffee and apples from a person who actually begrudges you a smile. More of a face stretch, really, but there’s still the effort made.

I got to sit, sipping my coffee, and stare enviously at the jets flying overhead.

Someday.

The next night was in Preston.

Preston… has nice hardwood floors.

The bathroom at my B&B had pink shag carpet- you don’t see that very often- I won’t mention the actual name of the B&B, only that it was in Preston.

Enough said.

The hallways at the theatre appeared to made of chrome.

No one could ever sneak up on you, I guess.

Yup, still a dork.

I don’t want to sound unkind towards the not-so-lovely places that I travel to. If you can’t say something nice etc..

That being said: Preston isn’t the prettiest of all places.

Now I was born in an industrial (kind of shabby) town and since then I’ve lived in my share of hideous places.

Does that make me worthless? An ugly home does not an ugly person make. Even a Shangri-la can be populated with ghouls.

Hell, even my family has moved away from a picture postcard town (a place very close to my heart) to an industrial town (a place that I associate with the smell of sulphur). Despite its esthetic inferiority, the place has started to grow on me with every new memory we make there as a family. The surroundings almost don’t matter.

I suppose that means that even life on a train platform could be bearable if the right people were there. And if it was sunny.

Preston has good people, I know because I met some of them while I was there. I hope that I get to go back.

Solihull was the next night. It’s a great town and we had an awesome Victorian era B&B.

Plus, I got to meet up with my old partners (Richard and Anne) in crime from my One Man Star Wars UK tours:

Evil. The two most dedicated Storm Troopers (and that's saying a lot) in the UK.

It was my second time back to Solihull. I’d forgotten that the theatre sort of boarders a giant mall. There are tons of malls throughout the UK, but this one is special. It could be because one store had these (and only these) to sell:

We had one of these. It was like one on the top right. The last time I ever saw it, we were moving to a different city. It was moulding in my Mom's garden. I'd like to imagine that it biodegraded and now nourishes a fruit tree. But in my heart of hearts, I know it's still there.

I was very pleased to realize the morning I woke up in Solihull, that my glass had become half full. There were more days behind (at least as far as this tour is concerned) than lay ahead.

The home stretch had begun.

Yes:)

The way to Barnstaple was like a journey through the Shire.

Blogging is like “Life” as described by Monty Python: a game, where we make up the rules, while we’re searching for something to say.

I could tell you about the awesome socks you'd see on the train.

The only guarantee of blogging is Spam- makes me think of Spamalot. I never actually saw the musical but loved the Holy Grail movie.

Crazy ugly power station made me think of Pink Floyd.

This country has so many varieties, its landscapes its people. I saw the power station above maybe twenty minutes before the Shire. It’s amazing: the diversity that exists from one town to the next, even if it’s only twenty miles away.

Barnstaple is so gorgeous. It's not really on the way to any other place. Devon is amazing enough to be the destination.

Travelling across this place, as I have, by train, it’s as though I’m seeing it from a great height. I feel close to it, but can’t quite reach out and touch it.

Flea Market Heaven!

And two hours later...where the hell did Heaven go?

I sometimes feel as though it’s all a dream. Then I find myself waking as with every train station a little bit of the world gets on board.

Not quite sure where we were.

We live in a bizarre symbiosis with each other. There are the annoyers and the annoyees (not a real word, but you know what I mean).

For example: there was this person who sat on our “quiet coach” (a type of train car which hopefully requires no further explanation) and loudly recited a monologue into a cell phone, regaling someone with every minute detail of life. (I sort of sound like the blog-pot calling the cell-kettle black, don’t I?) Anyway, I say “monologue” because it seems altogether impossible that anyone be willing to participate in such a dull “dialogue”. (To me, even if the person on the other end had spent their entire life trapped in an elevator, I’d imagine them hanging up.)

Tales of video games, quiche and croutons, mortgages, and the best choice of bottled water, after two hours became kind of an annoying thrill.

It’s unfortunate that this person looked and dressed in such a fashion as to resemble a muppet.

"I boiled some water last night and blah..."

This person was like a television in a bar. I was hypnotized and utterly powerless to ignore it.

Then she left...enter...the silence.

So this last week has been very much the hors d’ouvre plate of locales. I never imagined the subtle differences between Epsom, Barnstaple, Lichfield, Buxton, Newcastle, and Birkenhead. In some ways they may as well be from separate countries.

There’s been mountains and snow,

More snow than Whistler.

Shires minus the Hobbits, cities in name rather than in scale,

Ugly, or what?

accents, accents, accents, and some theatres so grand as to humble me to my very core.

You should see the inside.

See?

I’m never sure what’ll come next.

Performing in a trolley museum.

or

Canadian Geese, maybe?

The memories are fleeting- I hope that there’ll be some kind of carry over of this experience to the rest of my life. Watching Canada win Olympic Hockey gold made the huge impression on me. That makes sense, though- touring is my job- the hockey is something that happens once every thirty years. Or if we believe Roland Emerich’s movie 2012, it’ll never happen again.

The Mayans knew it.

Touring it seems serves to remind me of the life I’ve left behind. Real life is so precious to me.

I remember an Oscar speech made by a woman who’d suffered greatly during WWII. She said that people today don’t appreciate the luxury of a boring evening spent at home. I’m paraphrasing, of course, but that was the gist of it. For my own part, I feel the truth of it, even though her life was terribly hard in comparison to mine.

I implore you, if you have the opportunity to savour an extra embrace with your loved one: do it. Take the time to smile at each other and make a joke. Phone a friend before the prospect of dodgy cell phone service plagues your day to day. Go visit your parents or grandparents if they live nearby. If you have the luxury of it, relish it. Ketchup. (get it? dumb)

What matters to me most is what’s left behind. If I could fly it all here, believe me, I would.

If anything, that sentimental feeling has made me empathize a bit more with this world  I cannot touch. I am travelling through the lives’ of others. Even if I never meet any of them I can assume that this is their home and what matters most.

It’s like passing through the fields of sheep and pheasants, on the the way to Barnstaple, I remember how “quaint” it all seemed. Even the warring pheasants, battling it out over dominion of a small section of a field. How could it matter? What could possibly be the difference?

STRESS!

The lives’ of sheep and pheasants cannot be dismissed, they must be lived to be understood. I pass by in the train, yet for all the windows in the car, I see only an impression of it. I’ve spent so may years “just passing through” places that I’ve lost my ability to see any of it.

It makes me think of the muppet on the cell phone and the person with the lovely red socks. My meagre observations of them are as nothing. I’ve not revealed the underpainting, the textures, or their complexities layered beneath the surface. They’ve shared a part of themselves with we strangers. It makes me question why I’m bothered by it?

Is it because I don’t care to hear it? Or do I wish I was as free?

Part of my longing for home is that I know there are people in my life who care enough to listen about what I ate for dinner. It’s a comfort. (I promise never to tell you unless you ask, because it’s really boring.)

I’ve failed to appreciate that for maybe thousands of generations of pheasants, a mere passing field might represent their entire world. What appears to me as a squabble between birds may in fact be the passage of power. Unless I live in those fields (or wear another person’s socks), all I have is just my lazy observations.

I have begun to understand that touring is a gift that can’t take come home with you. It’s something like a long rite of passage, that after a while, it changes the way you view the world. It ’s been a privilege that I haven’t necessarily earned, and for that reason, I will try to be worthy of the honour.

Why are animals so much easier to make friends with? If Hamish could have told me, I'd have given him another biscuit.

Last night in Newcastle, the show at the incredible Theatre Royal (one my favourite theatres in the world), it was rejuvenating.

Theatre Royal Newcastle- gulp!

I felt my blood happily race through my bruised body with slightly greater gusto. It helped that there were over 600 people in attendance and that they really got it. It’s the variable that can never be controlled during a live show: the response. Regardless of it, you have to keep going. Some days I wonder if the morgue has been taken out on a field-trip to see my show.

In Newcastle though, if was as if the embodiment of joy and youth found living expression in the form of my audience. I thank them for being so.

Bless'em

I spent today off in Chester, which has a quiet bustling beauty to it.

Nice.

I had coffee in a Medieval crypt this afternoon,

This kind of place doesn't exist in North America. Sorry, no, it doesn't. Close, maybe, but there's a difference.

this is just a local coffee shop. No big deal.

I was lucky enough to see some friends this week, and here they are in no particular order.

My friends Bill and Jill with family.

Jo with her Mum and Bro.

Mark and his Bud from Lightsabre.

I also was lucky enough to have a night out in Barnstaple with Henry (my comic support) and Christine (my tour manager).

Kick off your Wednesday shoes!

Lastly, I saw two funny signs that I wanted to share:

How much power does it require to keep the "off" sign on? What exactly is off? And before you say "that's the side of the train you get off of" I have to ask: who'd be dumb enough to get off the other side? It's a wall.

And, in Chester:

For those who really put the "chest" in Chester.

I’m an eight year old.

Thank you Pheasants.

The Hotel Logo

Reading Rainbow is an American children’s show on PBS, it’s about- funny enough- reading. Reading, the town, is actually pronounced like the past tense of “read”- I just found it funny at 4am.

Then I remembered that Reading Rainbow had recently been cancelled.

Then I found myself feeling bad for show’s host: Levar Burton. He was in Roots. He also played Geordi La Forge on Star Trek: The Next Generation.

Then I started to think about the Geordie accent from Newcastle.

It was over after that- I couldn’t get back to sleep.

We left

for

at a decent hour. The day was pretty nice too.

The train trip was as enthralling as ever. I looked out the window

Shaving is too hard to do everyday.

at the exciting scenery

A Tree

and recorded my every single thought about it.

The tree we just passed was nice...

On the way to Norwich, I couldn’t help taking a photo of this town’s station sign:

Some jokes just write themselves.

Oh, I should mention how great the show had been the night previously in Reading. I’d performed once before at the gorgeous Reading Concert Hall:

"At least there's nothing to upstage me during the show. Hey, wait- who put this three storey organ on the stage?" Notice my water bottle? Product Placement.

(Insert a hilarious caption here. Or something juvenile.)

Okay, back to the train journey.

We arrived in Norwich and quickly became reacquainted with how beautiful the city is. It’s the kind of place where you could spend the entire time just taking photos. It’s grandiose one moment and quaint or homey looking the next.

Luckily for me, Norwich would serve as my “home” for the next four days.

Off we went to the theatre.

The Norwich Playhouse is situated right on the river:

It's practically steeping in it.

The view from my dressing room made me nervous that the swans could to watch me changing.

The average dressing room view is of a brick wall or car park, hence the reason I'm including this somewhat dull tidbit of info.

We performed on the Friday and Saturday. The shows were fantastic. (Aside from a microphone malfunction. Argh!)

Norwich is the place to be as far as I’m concerned. Any place where strangers invite you to sit at their table (after they’ve seen the show) in the pub, is worthy of praise.

Aren't they awesome?!

People in Norwich spontaneously break into to song along with fully choreographed dance numbers.

I screwed up the dance. Heel-Toe-Kick-Turn-Toe-Turn-Heel-Kick-Pivot-Kick-Toe-Pivot-Kick! (Duh! I'm such an idiot!)

The staff at the Playhouse were awesome too. They’ve gave us some red wine after the show and let us sit up in the control booth with them.

At some theatres the staff line up like sprinters on the starting line and come the end of the show, they’re breaking world records to get out of there.

I’d like to thank the Norwich Playhouse staff for being so wicked.

Tristan Fox (actually from Australia and Fiji): a man with a cool name.

I don’t have photos of everyone, but they know who they are. Thank you, again.

It became frighteningly clear that I’m not the only one who REALLY loves the Norwich Playhouse:

I couldn't get all the kiss marks into a single photo. This crud covered wall backstage must be Norwich's version of the Blarney Stone. Ew.

There were two schedules days off in Norwich. I’m a bit sheepish to admit that in order to clean up some issues I’ve been having with the show, I spent the first day off watching the entire LOTR extended trilogy.

It shouldn’t be a huge surprise considering what I do for a living.

Did I mention that weather was incredibly awful?

Break out the budgie smugglers and let's get to the beach!

The films are just as good as I remember.

Yes, I’m a nerd.

This morning (February 22nd) I began with a radio interview at none other than:

It  was a remote interview with BBC Radio Devon, which meant that I worked out of a studio the size of a broom closet.

Sexy studio.

It’s snowing again today. Everyone is trying to pretend that Winter is over. Some more than others:

Happy Holidays!

I popped  around Norwich’s extensive shopping district afterwards. There’s an outdoor covered market.

It's hard for me to show the actual scale of it. Believe me, there's a ton of crap for sale. Along with good stuff too.

I found a cheese shop in the market which made me want to do that Monty Python sketch (What was it called? The Dead Parrot? I can’t remember.). Unfortunately, the cheese merchant had every kind of fromage a person could desire.

Finest in the district.

I think I’ll spend the rest of my day-off at either at the Cathedral, the Castle, or the Colman’s Mustard Museum.

I will miss Norwich when we go.

Onwards and upwards.

Tomorrow we’re off for Epsom.

Does it look like I'm interviewing him?

It’s the Hatsue Guest House, in Camberley. If you’re ever in Surrey, UK, and need accommodations, the B&B is lovely and reasonable.

Hatsue, is a very personable woman, she really goes beyond the call of duty to make you feel welcome. She even went so far as to drive us to an alternative rail station so that our trip would take almost two hours less.

She actually offered to drive us! This has never ever happened before.

Yer darn tootin' I'm smiling.

Thank you Hatsue! Isn't she lovely?

Camberley is a pretty little town I discovered. The streets are beautifully signed and named:

Sensational

The Camberley Theatre was cool:

Some drive, others cycle.

It’s always a pleasure to have your name in lights too:

If the neon sign says I'm "hilarious" it must be true.

The sign must have the power to convince. I had a whole whack of folks who came to the show who’d never seen or read Lord of the Rings. Like these two young guys:

Tom, Oli and family. Notice their step-mum with child? This is the second unborn child to appear in this blog in two weeks. Then again, this blog has only existed for two weeks.

In fact, the only person in the photo who’s seen or read the Lord of the Rings is me. Oh, the man in specs saw the LOTR Musical, in London.

The boys wanted a signed poster too. It was a pleasure to be in Camberley.

Tonight, I’m in Reading at the Concert Hall, starting at 8pm. Henry Paker is our comic support man.

I have an Executive Room at the Rainbow Hotel- it’s nice too- but I’d be lying if I didn’t say I miss the Hatsue Guest House.

Not as much as I miss my wife, mind you, because nothing compares to her.

Maybe there’ll be time for a nice stroll around when I get there. I thought, nestled snuggly in ignorance.

Ha, ha, hahhhhhaaaaaaa! cackled the Rain Clouds as they high-fived the Train System. This fool will suffer! And his tour manager too! Ha, ha, h- etc…

Right- five trains and a subway ride later.

The day started off beautifully from

Look at the sky!

How did they paint this building the same colour as the sky?

So, we were off to London’s

and from there hop the Tube

It's so easy

to

Joy!

Simple.

On the Tube, I noticed someone had left their gloves on the seat:

Isn't it sad?

(There must be something wrong with me. I see lost things, and I know they have no feelings, but I feel sorry for them.)

The subway was just gross enough for me not to rescue them, love them, squeeze them, name them, and make them mine.

Instead I took a photo and worried about what was going to happen to them.

Trying to move on, I walked out into the cold and rain- because it’s still February and we’re in England. (At least the gloves will be warm on the train car. I reassure myself.) Suddenly, the fact that we’re actually back in London becomes very apparent:

Neat.

(The gloves are going to be fine.) I smile to myself and look across the train tracks as our train approaches:

Those shoes are screwed.

It was as if someone had been disintegrated or the invisible Man had a personal entrance for the train- meaning he’d be standing in the rain naked.

This was getting absurd. How did they even..?

No time- I was off for

so I grabbed my

and away we went.

The journey to Teddington was brief-ish. The walk from the station to my photo session (at an Arts Centre) was through a midday torrential downpour. The Arts Centre however was warm and gorgeous, a converted church and probably older than any building in North America.

Our photographer, Magnus, was waiting along with my publicist friend, Valerie. She’d brought me a sword from the National Theatre to use in the photos.

Sword good.

After two hours of

Work it.

and

Okay, Charlie, this time don't look so tired.

we’re off again from Teddington to

and then onwards to

Sigh.

The journey ended in Camberley, where it was too dark to get a photo of the sign.

After the tedious day off journey I was happy to discover our wonderful B&B, complete with a wiener dog who has a Japanese name.

When I came down for coffee in the morning the breakfast room was glowing.

Good Morning!

By the time I got back to my room (no train journey today-yay!) I had received some sample photos from yesterday’s session:

I think the day spent battling rain and trains was worth it.

I hope the gloves were found. I hope the invisible man made his train.

Between the lost toupee and soother I saw on the way to Worthing, along with yesterday’s shoes and gloves, I’m getting close to a new outfit and hairdo. What a makeover I could have had.

Tonight we’re at the Camberley Theatre, not surprisingly in Camberley, Surrey. 7:30pm showtime.

The sun pokes out of the clouds and suddenly the day ignites.

Come on, you can do it!

I’m usually stuck on the train when this happens. When it does, the passing towns transform into romantic, Shire-like villages, filled with Hobbity types who live in perfect harmony with their land,

Ahh...England!

their radio telescopes,

Can you see how big this is? It's at least 6 stories tall.

and their nuclear power plants.

Relax, those nuclear cooling towers are miles away, and you're on a speeding train. You won't get much closer.

Alright, so we get a bit closer but....it's not like we stop there.

Okay, so we stop there.

I did the show in Swindon, at the Wyvern Theatre, on Saturday. It’s my second time at the theatre, though it should have been my third. In 2006, I’d been relocated to an alternative performance space as the Wyvern was forced to shut to remove asbestos.

Some theatres look very similar to others. What I love about the Wyvern (aside from being asbestos free) are the neon lights illuminating the auditorium stairs.

It's always the little flourishes you remember. Those glowing stairs make me think of Saturday Night Fever.

I’d rather perform in a theatre that underwent asbestos removal than a theatre next to a nuclear power plant. Otherwise it would be more than just the stairs that’d be glowing.

February 14, 2010

I have to admit that on February 14th, I felt a definite pang for my absent Valentine- even though I’m the one who’s absent.

The show in Leicester at the Curve Theatre was amazing. What a turn out! Who would have thought that so many couples would include Lord of the Rings in their Love Day romancing?

The Curve Theatre is virtually brand new. It still has that new theatre smell. Photos can’t do it justice, yet here a couple:

An 80 foot wall raises up (an entire wall!) opening into the theatre's 360 degree "curving" lobby. Productions can load-in and unload with greater ease. It's like revealing a pizza prep kitchen by lifting the kitchen walls (as effortlessly as a cake cover). What a great way to see behind the scenes.

What a lobby! I've never felt this way about a lobby.

Alright, I'll stop.

Not all UK theatres are as grand.

Majestic.

The romantic Leicester streets were actually pretty quiet. There were a few couples leaving a movie cinema after a RomCom or two- otherwise it was desolate.

Dead, dead centre of Leicester.

Surely some people were out enjoying a yummy meal at a yummy restuarant.

Table for two by the window please.

Or maybe they stayed at home.

I hope everyone had a lovely Love Day. It’s nice to know we’ve gotten past that trying event of the year. Finally we can get back to the business of barely tolerating each other.

Here are two friends from Worthing, I met them back in 2006, and it was great to see them again.

Darren and Leslie. Love is sweet.

It was a four train hop to Worthing and was it ever worth it. What a gorgeous day!

Pretty bloody lovely.

Along the way through London, I was dragging my sorry behind and 10,000 lbs of luggage from train platform down to the Tube subway station when I saw this:

How???!!!! How could this have happened?

Am I crazy to think this worthy of notice?

I’m not sure if you can see how small this lost- or discarded- hairpiece is, but it would be too small to fit a grapefruit. As for its origins, it will forever be a mystery to me. That being said I still couldn’t stop wondering about the person who lost it.

Was someone late for a job interview and not notice it fly off their head? Did some old chap doff his cap to a lady and not feel it slipped away like Sauran’s Ring? Was it placed there as part of a social experiment to see how long it would take for someone to blog about it? Did someone photograph me taking a photograph of it and adding it to their blog?

At least when you see this

Nice

you know backstory is pretty obvious: “Oh sweetie! Well that’s the end of that one. Just like you father losing is hairpiece. We’ll get you another one.”

Maybe.

I arrived at the hotel with a headache.

Get out of my head.

But there was no time for that. Off to the theatre we went.

This is the theatre I’m at tonight:

Pavilion Theatre Worthing

Very nice old theatre in this very nice, laid back town. Even the local ne’er do wells I saw down on the causeway, they were throwing sandwich crusts at people walking past. I think I’ll be safe.

Even the police seem very friendly.

Cop a feel

Well, it has been a long day and it’s not even begun for me yet. The show should be fun. I have friends from Brighton coming to the show.

I just wanted to end this post by thanking two husband and wife teams who have come to the show.

These two in the middle have a map of Middle Earth mural on their living room wall. Why can't we have one?

And

This is my friend Kezia's sister, brother-in-law, and soon to be niece or nephew (see inside sister's tummy).

It’s been a great week, here’s looking forward to Swindon on Saturday and Leicester on Sunday (Valentine’s Day- boo hoo). Enjoy the Olympic Opening Ceremonies if you have a chance to catch them. And happy Love day.

If anyone cares I went to the

Sounds terrifying to me.

at the dentist this morning. He was the FASTEST dentist in entire world. The process of getting a new filling etc. cannot have taken more than fifteen minutes. No injection, no small talk, he had no personality to speak of, but he was efficient in a way that (if this filling last any longer than five days) the dentistry bar has been raised.

Plus, he may have saved my life according to his sign:

Potential Life Saving Through Dentistry Certificate

Well, I feel better!

See? Don't I look better?

I should mention and thank the woman at the Grange Hotel in Crawley, who accommodated us for the night, in the last room she had. Also, THANK YOU, to her for searching for hours to both find and get an appointment for me at the dentist. Without her

My Unknown Heroine

I’d look like this:

Sexy

So we arrived in Southend and saw some scary stuff at first:

Does this actually need to be stated?

We popped over to the

Palace Theatre

Everyone was already hard at work getting the show prepared.

The real work that goes into the show.

So off I went to the B&B, feeling a bit like an idle lump.

This dude would need a jacket.

I found it difficult to relax at the B&B.  Maybe it was the train-lag- train companies discourage getting too comfortable.

Do Not relax- even if you have no arms.

So I tried walking around the town to check out the sights:

I guess it's because I'm 12 years old that I always read "to let" as toilet. Pretty day.

And the shops.

Finally! Someplace carries pork scratchings- I've been looking everywhere.

I could help but feel empty-ish. Not even my banana was a comfort.

Every bunch of bananas had a price tag like this. How do they make money off of them?

So I went back to the B&B and figured out what, or rather who, was missing from this day. (Aside from my wife and cat) On the ground level of the B&B sat an old boy, he’s lived at this B&B for 21 years. It’s been his home and he’s had the run of it.

These days he has trouble with the stairs. So he likes to sit on a comfy chair in the front room and look out at the sea- which is something considering he only has one eye.

His name is Max and he’s 21 years old.

Max, 21 years old.

I’ve been sitting with him in the sun just looking out the window. He was immediately welcoming to me and judging by his constant purring I’d say he’s glad to have the company.

For someone like Max, Life is too short not make fast friendships. And this view is too perfect not to share with another.

The sea Max sees.

So “thank you” too, Max.