Here's the proof, in case anyone thought I was lying about my triumphant skiing...
Thursday, 24 April 2008
J'Adore Chamonix
In my last entry, I referred to the Alps, and last week I was in the Alps - a nice little ironic twist of fate! One of my oldest friends is coming to the end of her snowboarding season in Chamonix and after a rather devastating break-up with my boyfriend, my sister and I jumped on a bus to see her for a week of snow, ski and sun...
A bus?!!! Yes, a bus. We don't agree with flying, and buses are cheap! I will not pretend that it's the ideal way to travel, but it can be fun and you see so much more, feel closer to the land you're travelling over. You certainly meet some characters as well, including a tour guide who is definitely going to be the inspiration for my next short film script, and a crazy French man who wanted us to go with him to Alaska and frequently swapped from English to French during sentences just to confuse us! He also wanted my email address, but got the message when I told him I'd conveniently lost my pen...
It took just over 24 hours to reach Chamonix, crossing through Paris, Geneva and then back into France. Having never been anywhere snowy, I was immediately impressed by the mountains gravitas. The air so clear, the light so bright. Chamonix is a bit like a bubble of purity; I can see why so many people stay here for a season and then don't leave... you feel safe, healthy and protected by the vast mountains on all sides. Surely nothing goes wrong here? I didn't witness anything untoward, except of course for the after effects of excessive consumption of alcohol... but that doesn't really count.
I felt a sense of achievement at attempting to ski for the first time, all-be-it on a baby slope, progressing to an off piste blue slope by the end of the day. Iris taught me, bossed me around - making me concentrate, push harder and use my feet instead of my head. I was extremely hungover and uncooperative at first, but as soon as I got the gist, and controlled my erratic left leg, things started to make sense. There really is nothing else like being alone near the top of a slope, surveying the terrain you have to conquer, gliding along with the sun on your back with only the sound of the skis to remind you that you're not flying.
So tempted to do a ski season next year, but I will probably get some professional lessons first though, so I don't have to embarrass myself in front of the three-year-old pros on the baby slopes ever again...
A bus?!!! Yes, a bus. We don't agree with flying, and buses are cheap! I will not pretend that it's the ideal way to travel, but it can be fun and you see so much more, feel closer to the land you're travelling over. You certainly meet some characters as well, including a tour guide who is definitely going to be the inspiration for my next short film script, and a crazy French man who wanted us to go with him to Alaska and frequently swapped from English to French during sentences just to confuse us! He also wanted my email address, but got the message when I told him I'd conveniently lost my pen...It took just over 24 hours to reach Chamonix, crossing through Paris, Geneva and then back into France. Having never been anywhere snowy, I was immediately impressed by the mountains gravitas. The air so clear, the light so bright. Chamonix is a bit like a bubble of purity; I can see why so many people stay here for a season and then don't leave... you feel safe, healthy and protected by the vast mountains on all sides. Surely nothing goes wrong here? I didn't witness anything untoward, except of course for the after effects of excessive consumption of alcohol... but that doesn't really count.
I felt a sense of achievement at attempting to ski for the first time, all-be-it on a baby slope, progressing to an off piste blue slope by the end of the day. Iris taught me, bossed me around - making me concentrate, push harder and use my feet instead of my head. I was extremely hungover and uncooperative at first, but as soon as I got the gist, and controlled my erratic left leg, things started to make sense. There really is nothing else like being alone near the top of a slope, surveying the terrain you have to conquer, gliding along with the sun on your back with only the sound of the skis to remind you that you're not flying.
So tempted to do a ski season next year, but I will probably get some professional lessons first though, so I don't have to embarrass myself in front of the three-year-old pros on the baby slopes ever again...
Monday, 7 April 2008
Alpine Flurry
What astonishing weather we had yesterday...
Undeterred by the cold, I decided to go for a run in the morning - it was sunny, with a brisk wind. I ambled up the hill towards Kings Cliff Woods, oblivious to the chill as the sweat started to gather around my brow. As I approached the crest of yet another steep hill to the upper car park of the woods, it began to snow. Soft, light and charming flakes descended, the first I'd encountered for the entire winter!
Like I said before, I wasn't cold due to my rising temperature on the slopes, but it felt very strange to be running in bright, bright sunshine, accompanied by unseasonably timed snow. As I descended the biggest hill on the circuit, I looked East towards Glastonbury, and the hill tops were covered in snow! I could have been mistaken for being on the alps for a split second! (Obviously the hills needed a bit of extra height, but I was happy with my momentary illusion.)
Undeterred by the cold, I decided to go for a run in the morning - it was sunny, with a brisk wind. I ambled up the hill towards Kings Cliff Woods, oblivious to the chill as the sweat started to gather around my brow. As I approached the crest of yet another steep hill to the upper car park of the woods, it began to snow. Soft, light and charming flakes descended, the first I'd encountered for the entire winter!
Like I said before, I wasn't cold due to my rising temperature on the slopes, but it felt very strange to be running in bright, bright sunshine, accompanied by unseasonably timed snow. As I descended the biggest hill on the circuit, I looked East towards Glastonbury, and the hill tops were covered in snow! I could have been mistaken for being on the alps for a split second! (Obviously the hills needed a bit of extra height, but I was happy with my momentary illusion.)
Friday, 18 January 2008
A Cloud Over Town Plans
What disappointing news - after the excitement and hope raised at the afore mentioned Madness gig, it was revealed yesterday that Sedgemoor Council have NOT been awarded the Big Lottery grant they applied for to rejuvenate the town hall. And after the controversial story the Bridgwater Mercury ran this week about Julien Temple supposedly brandishing the town as a "Drug Murder, incest den, full of darkness," in a brief given to the band, it is little wonder that morale is low in the town.
The Mercury story:
http://www.bridgwatermercury.co.uk/mostpopular.var.1964448.mostviewed.storm_over_incest_and_drug_murders_claims.php
The story bring to the forefront some sensitive matters, but at least people are getting fired up bout it. There must be at least 50 comments tagged on to the end of the story (see link), of an evenly weighted bias. Some people think the Engine Room should be closed and the "outsiders" should move away. Others praise the work of Temple and the Engine Room. I hope that the context of the brief given to Madness is ironed out for the locals to make their own minds up about it and that the Mercury haven't just printed it out of context to sell a few more papers.
Instead of moaning about the 'bad' features of the town, these final blows should bring locals together to fight the system that is letting us down. There must be other pockets of money to be found and good old fashioned fund raising will undoubtedly bring people closer together for a better, brighter cause. I would be very surprised if ANY town in this country didn't have a few drug-related murders or the odd case of incestuous behaviour, so it shouldn't come as such a shock to hear about in a local rag. But, I guess to make the front page, and because it involves a world-renowned filmmaker, no one was going to let it lie without a few kicks.
Now everyone realizes the town deserves more, I hope something more creative will come out of these soured words.
The Mercury story:
http://www.bridgwatermercury.co.uk/mostpopular.var.1964448.mostviewed.storm_over_incest_and_drug_murders_claims.php
The story bring to the forefront some sensitive matters, but at least people are getting fired up bout it. There must be at least 50 comments tagged on to the end of the story (see link), of an evenly weighted bias. Some people think the Engine Room should be closed and the "outsiders" should move away. Others praise the work of Temple and the Engine Room. I hope that the context of the brief given to Madness is ironed out for the locals to make their own minds up about it and that the Mercury haven't just printed it out of context to sell a few more papers.
Instead of moaning about the 'bad' features of the town, these final blows should bring locals together to fight the system that is letting us down. There must be other pockets of money to be found and good old fashioned fund raising will undoubtedly bring people closer together for a better, brighter cause. I would be very surprised if ANY town in this country didn't have a few drug-related murders or the odd case of incestuous behaviour, so it shouldn't come as such a shock to hear about in a local rag. But, I guess to make the front page, and because it involves a world-renowned filmmaker, no one was going to let it lie without a few kicks.
Now everyone realizes the town deserves more, I hope something more creative will come out of these soured words.
Saturday, 12 January 2008
Sheer Madness
“This is not a hoax: Madness are in the building,” roars film director Julien Temple to the Ska-hungry crowd. To many sceptics, it could well have looked like an elaborate farce – after all, why would the baggy-trousered granddaddies of British Ska take time out of their UK tour to play (for free!) at a town that is more famous for its teenage pregnancy rate and low-income households than its cultural merits?
It turns out there’s a very good reason: Bridgwater, (like many Costa-ized middle-England market towns) is suffering from a major identity crisis and a number of the town’s organizations are doing their best to get the Town Hall and it’s adjacent offices turned into a vibrant hub of cultural activity. It just so happens that Temple is a local and one of the avid supporters at the helm of this project - and he also happens to be able to draw big names, like Madness to the area. The BBC’s Creative Director, Alan Yentob also put in a brief appearance to draw the winners of the raffle prizes and to make his position as patron to the town hall project known to the town’s folk.
Full to capacity and bursting with hot, buzzy energy, the Bridgwater Palace appeared to be the perfect venue to host such a worthy, grass roots event. Of the three support bands (Shoot The Moon, The Royal Males and Kid Harpoon) that battled it out for the chance to be nurtured by music charity Sturmmerville, Sedgemoor locals Shoot the Moon were victorious. As hosts to this event, Strummerville had a dually significant reason to put on this rare bonanza – it’s five years this winter since the death of self-proclaimed rebel and front man to the Clash, Joe Strummer. As Strummer spent his final years at his home just on the outskirts of Bridgwater, it seemed fitting to have a celebration of his life and work on the same night.
Strummer was a regular at the Bridgwater carnival and played a gig in aid of the opening of the town’s Engine Room media centre just months before he passed away. After an electrifying set consisting of old school Madness numbers, the band paid tribute to Strummer by mustering up a cover of London Calling. Suggs’ vocals didn’t quite do justice to Strummer’s raspy drawl, but it was a touching performance none-the-less. Other highlights included a surprise cameo from Roxy Music’s saxophonist, Andy Mackay, who took command of the stage during a few numbers.
Temple hopes to make this kind of star-spangled evening a regular event in Bridgwater; and with such an enthusiastic crowd of locals, it shouldn’t be difficult to raise the town’s morale and make people aware of the rejuvenation scheme. And if the pubic funding grant the council have applied for gets turned down: the underdog spirit of the town will no doubt triumph in the end, even if it takes longer to set in motion. It’ll be an arduous and drawn out process, but as the Madness gig proves – the town is prepared to fight for their right to party and deter the property developers who will invariably want to claim the town hall island site for themselves.
It turns out there’s a very good reason: Bridgwater, (like many Costa-ized middle-England market towns) is suffering from a major identity crisis and a number of the town’s organizations are doing their best to get the Town Hall and it’s adjacent offices turned into a vibrant hub of cultural activity. It just so happens that Temple is a local and one of the avid supporters at the helm of this project - and he also happens to be able to draw big names, like Madness to the area. The BBC’s Creative Director, Alan Yentob also put in a brief appearance to draw the winners of the raffle prizes and to make his position as patron to the town hall project known to the town’s folk.
Full to capacity and bursting with hot, buzzy energy, the Bridgwater Palace appeared to be the perfect venue to host such a worthy, grass roots event. Of the three support bands (Shoot The Moon, The Royal Males and Kid Harpoon) that battled it out for the chance to be nurtured by music charity Sturmmerville, Sedgemoor locals Shoot the Moon were victorious. As hosts to this event, Strummerville had a dually significant reason to put on this rare bonanza – it’s five years this winter since the death of self-proclaimed rebel and front man to the Clash, Joe Strummer. As Strummer spent his final years at his home just on the outskirts of Bridgwater, it seemed fitting to have a celebration of his life and work on the same night.
Strummer was a regular at the Bridgwater carnival and played a gig in aid of the opening of the town’s Engine Room media centre just months before he passed away. After an electrifying set consisting of old school Madness numbers, the band paid tribute to Strummer by mustering up a cover of London Calling. Suggs’ vocals didn’t quite do justice to Strummer’s raspy drawl, but it was a touching performance none-the-less. Other highlights included a surprise cameo from Roxy Music’s saxophonist, Andy Mackay, who took command of the stage during a few numbers.
Temple hopes to make this kind of star-spangled evening a regular event in Bridgwater; and with such an enthusiastic crowd of locals, it shouldn’t be difficult to raise the town’s morale and make people aware of the rejuvenation scheme. And if the pubic funding grant the council have applied for gets turned down: the underdog spirit of the town will no doubt triumph in the end, even if it takes longer to set in motion. It’ll be an arduous and drawn out process, but as the Madness gig proves – the town is prepared to fight for their right to party and deter the property developers who will invariably want to claim the town hall island site for themselves.
Tuesday, 4 December 2007
Bridge Over Troubled Water
Despite using pictures from the WBA exhibition (Mothers Lost in Childbirth) to accompany my article about the Bridgwater Town Hall Island Site, it is up and live!
www.stranger-mag.com/news/ear-to-the-ground/bridge-over-troubled-water.html
Check it out for an interesting story about a planned regeneration project that will rock the socks of any other (if it goes ahead...).
www.stranger-mag.com/news/ear-to-the-ground/bridge-over-troubled-water.html
Check it out for an interesting story about a planned regeneration project that will rock the socks of any other (if it goes ahead...).
Wednesday, 28 November 2007
Master of the Arts
It's been a while since I posted, but then I've had a lot of celebrating to do...
On Saturday I graduated as a Master of the art of writing - which sounds very clever, but I nearly didn't make it at all. To recap, I spent the previous week in Bristol, working as a volunteer at Encounters Short Film Festival at the Watershed. Met lots of lovely people, watched a ton of extremely descent films (for free), drank lots of (free) wine, and fully exhausted myself in the fuggy haze that is the film industry.
The Film Council hosted a closing party on the Friday night, and as predicted one was suitably inebriated by the time they kicked us out. I staggered back to bed in Bedminsted with my newly acquainted friend, Kerry. As my phone battery was thoroughly dead, Kerry kindly offered to set an alarm for me. 6.00 am, fine I thought, not much earlier than I'd been getting up the past three days...
The next time I opened my eyes, it was light outside, and I knew something was horribly wrong... I was supposed to be back at home by 8.00 am, ready to get my bits together for the important day ahead. It was already 8.15, and I was still in Bedminster. Shit. I launched out of bed, chucked everything in my bag, didn't even look at the sprawling lines of running makeup clogging up my eyes and wild hair that had taken on a life of its own, but hey - it didn't matter, because if I didn't get a train in the next hour, I'd miss the big event.
I ran (like an absolute nutter) all the way to Bristol Temple Meads - thank god there weren't too many people around to witness that! Got to the station and waited (mildly) patiently for my turn at the kiosk, whilst utterly embarrassed about the steam that appeared to be rising from the top of my head (not joking, it was frosty outside and I was like Xmas roast turkey). My only lucky break came when I realised I could get on a Virgin express and it was leaving in 5 minutes. Perfect, surely? But then I still had to phone the rents to tell them my huge cock-up, ask them to pick me up en-route and furnish me with fresh (smart) clothes and shoes.
But I didn't have any change for a pay phone.
There wasn't time before the train left to find change, so I boarded the train and almost cried. Not because the ceremony was one of the most important dates of my life, but it was the fact that EVERYTHING had gone wrong from the moment I woke up.
Onboard, I borrowed a phone from a fellow passenger, got the message across to mum, and tried to scrape off last night's makeup. Feeling a little fresher, I began to calm down a little inch. Suddenly I was in Taunton, off the train - half an hour earlier than I'll told the rents. Brilliant! I'll go to Morrisions and get some tights, coz I know mum'll forget those!
Got the tights, got some water, headed back to find the Wicks clan pulling into the car park. We were in Falmouth in double quick time, had enough time to change, rearrange hair and makeup before up to Tremough campus for the day's events. Us MA Prof. Writers certainly stood out from the rest of the conforming students in gowns (the main reason being that conforming in the black get-up costs £50.) The moment of handover was less gratifying than I'd thought it would be, but we jazzed up the hour of (mostly boring) speeches and relentless clapping by randomly whooping, shrieking and whistling at people we didn't know going up on stage to collect their fake certificate.
The college funded 'after party' was a bit cheesy, cheap sparkling Chardonnay and cardboard pastries a-go-go. At least they gave us something for free I guess... Things got considerably better off campus, when we all congregated at my favourite cocktail bar The Taproom. The rents and my sister joined us and we pretty much took over the whole place, with the smokers sprawling outside onto the terrace with blue blankets provided by the management. (I personally wouldn't encourage such privileges, but hey...) Most of us went back to Frea and Andy's house, after a quick stop at Bayside Kebabs. (The floor outside used to be soooo greasy that the council have forbidden them from letting their customers eat their goods outside the establishment!)
At Frea's we sat in the cozy living room and played Sing Star till about 4.00 am. Not exactly my cup of tea, but it's funny to watch the quieter members of the group come out of their shells a bit in front of a mic. Miles walked my sister and I back to Kellie's empty house and I slept solidly until 11.00 am. Didn't really get a chance to properly say goodbye to everyone, so in that respect it felt strange to leave so soon, but R&R was a little more pressing at that moment.
Since then, I've had a host of ideas for shorts, which I am going to write up tonight, organised a few freelance jobs, interviewed Lucinda Mellor (Joe Strummer's widow and organiser of Strummerville), and booked myself onto a two day film event at the Engine Room for the end of next week. Phewwwwww.... and breath!
On Saturday I graduated as a Master of the art of writing - which sounds very clever, but I nearly didn't make it at all. To recap, I spent the previous week in Bristol, working as a volunteer at Encounters Short Film Festival at the Watershed. Met lots of lovely people, watched a ton of extremely descent films (for free), drank lots of (free) wine, and fully exhausted myself in the fuggy haze that is the film industry.
The Film Council hosted a closing party on the Friday night, and as predicted one was suitably inebriated by the time they kicked us out. I staggered back to bed in Bedminsted with my newly acquainted friend, Kerry. As my phone battery was thoroughly dead, Kerry kindly offered to set an alarm for me. 6.00 am, fine I thought, not much earlier than I'd been getting up the past three days...
The next time I opened my eyes, it was light outside, and I knew something was horribly wrong... I was supposed to be back at home by 8.00 am, ready to get my bits together for the important day ahead. It was already 8.15, and I was still in Bedminster. Shit. I launched out of bed, chucked everything in my bag, didn't even look at the sprawling lines of running makeup clogging up my eyes and wild hair that had taken on a life of its own, but hey - it didn't matter, because if I didn't get a train in the next hour, I'd miss the big event.
I ran (like an absolute nutter) all the way to Bristol Temple Meads - thank god there weren't too many people around to witness that! Got to the station and waited (mildly) patiently for my turn at the kiosk, whilst utterly embarrassed about the steam that appeared to be rising from the top of my head (not joking, it was frosty outside and I was like Xmas roast turkey). My only lucky break came when I realised I could get on a Virgin express and it was leaving in 5 minutes. Perfect, surely? But then I still had to phone the rents to tell them my huge cock-up, ask them to pick me up en-route and furnish me with fresh (smart) clothes and shoes.
But I didn't have any change for a pay phone.
There wasn't time before the train left to find change, so I boarded the train and almost cried. Not because the ceremony was one of the most important dates of my life, but it was the fact that EVERYTHING had gone wrong from the moment I woke up.
Onboard, I borrowed a phone from a fellow passenger, got the message across to mum, and tried to scrape off last night's makeup. Feeling a little fresher, I began to calm down a little inch. Suddenly I was in Taunton, off the train - half an hour earlier than I'll told the rents. Brilliant! I'll go to Morrisions and get some tights, coz I know mum'll forget those!
Got the tights, got some water, headed back to find the Wicks clan pulling into the car park. We were in Falmouth in double quick time, had enough time to change, rearrange hair and makeup before up to Tremough campus for the day's events. Us MA Prof. Writers certainly stood out from the rest of the conforming students in gowns (the main reason being that conforming in the black get-up costs £50.) The moment of handover was less gratifying than I'd thought it would be, but we jazzed up the hour of (mostly boring) speeches and relentless clapping by randomly whooping, shrieking and whistling at people we didn't know going up on stage to collect their fake certificate.
The college funded 'after party' was a bit cheesy, cheap sparkling Chardonnay and cardboard pastries a-go-go. At least they gave us something for free I guess... Things got considerably better off campus, when we all congregated at my favourite cocktail bar The Taproom. The rents and my sister joined us and we pretty much took over the whole place, with the smokers sprawling outside onto the terrace with blue blankets provided by the management. (I personally wouldn't encourage such privileges, but hey...) Most of us went back to Frea and Andy's house, after a quick stop at Bayside Kebabs. (The floor outside used to be soooo greasy that the council have forbidden them from letting their customers eat their goods outside the establishment!)
At Frea's we sat in the cozy living room and played Sing Star till about 4.00 am. Not exactly my cup of tea, but it's funny to watch the quieter members of the group come out of their shells a bit in front of a mic. Miles walked my sister and I back to Kellie's empty house and I slept solidly until 11.00 am. Didn't really get a chance to properly say goodbye to everyone, so in that respect it felt strange to leave so soon, but R&R was a little more pressing at that moment.
Since then, I've had a host of ideas for shorts, which I am going to write up tonight, organised a few freelance jobs, interviewed Lucinda Mellor (Joe Strummer's widow and organiser of Strummerville), and booked myself onto a two day film event at the Engine Room for the end of next week. Phewwwwww.... and breath!
Wednesday, 24 October 2007
Morris Men on the loose in Glastonbury
As promised, here are the rowdy bunch of Morris Men we encountered in Glastonbury (Where else would you find such curiosities?!)
They came in swaggering, they drank cider as they danced and then departed high spirited, jangling around like court jesters.
Saturday, 20 October 2007
Town Hall Island
Met up with Phil Shepherd of the Engine Room, and coordinator of the Island Project. What a lovely, passionate man. We talked about the practicalities of the business-side of the redevelopment, his aims for the new improved Engine Room and a possible fund raising gig that is being talked about for December. All exciting stuff, can't wait to be a part of it.
Here's the impressive artist's impression of the regenerated Island Site:
Just got back from a cider making demo at the Rural Life Museum in Glastonbury - how hilarious, there was a gang of misfit Morris men and people dressed as weird animals that were going round scaring children, oh ok, maybe it was just me that was scared... (I'll post the pictures for you to judge yourselves) The smell of the apples being pressed in a cold barn was strong and autumnal. Didn't get to taste the stuff though, apparently it needs a couple of mouths to ferment.
To top off the slightly eccentric day, as we were passing through the Hamp Estate in Bridgwater, a grey cat walked across the zebra crossing right in front of the car! What a sophisticated feline...
Here's the impressive artist's impression of the regenerated Island Site:
Just got back from a cider making demo at the Rural Life Museum in Glastonbury - how hilarious, there was a gang of misfit Morris men and people dressed as weird animals that were going round scaring children, oh ok, maybe it was just me that was scared... (I'll post the pictures for you to judge yourselves) The smell of the apples being pressed in a cold barn was strong and autumnal. Didn't get to taste the stuff though, apparently it needs a couple of mouths to ferment.
To top off the slightly eccentric day, as we were passing through the Hamp Estate in Bridgwater, a grey cat walked across the zebra crossing right in front of the car! What a sophisticated feline...
Mothers Lost
Last week Brigid McConville, a close friend of the family, and fellow writer, invited me to an exhibition held in London this week. Brigid is not only a writer though, she is also a film maker, international journalist and coordinator of the White Ribbon Alliance for Safer Motherhood (www.whiteribbonalliance.org). Curious to find out more about the WRA, and with the intention of writing a piece about the exhibition, I set off to London for the preview.
‘A Promise to Mothers Lost’ is a multimedia exhibit of artwork produced in response to mothers needlessly lost in pregnancy and childbirth by the communities and families left behind in developing countries such as Africa, Asia and South America. The exhibit will run until December, held at the Royal College of Obstetricians and Gynaecologists near Regents Park. Before I tried to find this slightly obscure venue, I had another appointment to keep at Soho House near Leicester Square.
I arrived in London on Tuesday at 2:00, thinking I’d have plenty of time to faff around before meeting Annie Gosney at 4:00. But by the time I’d got my bearings, signed up to the EveryChild charity with a persistently sprightly street haggler (he had an American STOP! sign drawn on the palm of his hand and stuck it into my face – how can you possibly say no?) and found some lunch, it was time to search for Soho House on Greek Street (v v exclusive members’ club/bar/venue for the entertainment industries lovies).
Now imagine the scene: I’m hot and sweaty from the hall-ass around London, a bit lost and a bit nervous. I find the building and start pressing the buzzer on the wall, but nothing happens. Ok. I then watch as a man breezes past me and into the building, no problems. Do I go in, or wait for the person behind the buzzer to make himself know. (Annie said I’d have to buzz!) Knowing full well I should just go in, I take a quick peep inside and decide I should just go on up.
I went up a flight of stairs and found a smart, young man behind a desk and several posh looking waiters hanging about close by. There is a list in front of the man. I lean on the desk and say, “I’m here to see Annie Gosney.” He looks at the list, strikes a pencil line through my name and tells me to go upstairs, “She’ll either be in the second floor bar or the third floor…” I’m already not really listening and instead, worry about not being able to find her in this huge building of a rabbit warren nesting thespians and countless people I kind of recognised, but couldn’t quite put names to…. very disconcerting.
Luckily, Annie has positioned herself close to the second floor doorway, so easily recognisable to me. We move into the bar, which has to-die-for wallpaper, leather sofas, an island bar in the middle and huge glass chandeliers. Feeling a tad bit out of place in my too-big-jeans, grey cardigan and crappy black plimsoles, Annie is very entertaining and makes it easy to settle into a fun gossip-led conversation. Tim McInnerny and Annie have been invited to the press night of Swimming with Sharks, staring Christian Slater. (I heard today that she got on famously with Christian at the after party and is seeing him again tonight…lucky lady!)
What a life – parties, meeting GOOD celebrities and press nights… am I jealous? Maybe a little, but it does all feel a bit fake somehow. Annie treats me to a large glass of wine, and I’m starting to wish I’d eaten my sandwich before I came in here – too late, I’m a bit tipsy! It’s fine though, I’ve got the trusty Dictaphone on, and I only had to seek some contacts from Annie to help me along with my Stage commission. Lovely. Annie had to leave at 5:30 to prepare for Christian (and the play of course!), so we said farewell and promised to keep in contact over Christmas.
Warm, a bit fuzzy, and in the dreadful rush of crazy-hour traffic, I had to gather my wits for the next leg of this mini adventure. On the tub, off at Baker Street, down the road the wrong way for about a mile, I got the feeling I was in the wrong part of town… and I was right. I re-traced my steps and just about found the Royal College of O & G before the daylight faded completely. In the courtyard stood two proud (static dancing) ten-ft willow women with small contained fired burning on the ground beneath each. What an entrance.
Inside I found Brigid’s oldest son, Arthur and one of my housemates, Dean on the decks, playing some welcoming reggae. I met Brigid’s daughter, (one of my oldest friends), Maeve on the stairs. Maeve has been heavily involved in the press side of the event, as well as being a general runner for her mother. We went up stairs and grabbed a free wine and some tasty, worldly nibbles. Actress Diana Quick introduced the exhibition, followed by the coordinators of the WBA, RCOG, United Nations Population Fund and speakers to tell the stories of some of the women lost to maternal mortality. To lighten the tone, celebrate the cause and the news that the Bill & Melinda Gates trust will donate $1 million for the exhibition to tour the world, Tanzanian pop star Stara Thomas performed “Play your Part” with her live band.
There was laughter, dancing and a general feeling of hope in the vast room, which was very well attended by a diverse cross-section of humanity. I took some time to take pictures of the varied and often stunningly beautiful art works with more friends involved in the exhibition. By this point I was feeling pretty exhausted, but enjoying the atmosphere none-the-less. In the information pack I collected at the end of the evening, I noticed a range of post cards with paintings of ‘mothers lost’ on the front. I was horrified to see a girl the same age as me staring back. Rita Egwe died in July this year because the poverty she faced on a day-to-day basis in her homeland prevented her from receiving the treatment she deserved to deliver her baby.
My best friend, also Rita’s age, had her first baby four weeks ago. Oscar was born four weeks premature. Although the conditions at our local hospital are considered to be sub-standard (over-crowded and under-staffed), Oscar is now fit, well and the normal size for his age. Rita didn’t even have the basic right to transport to take her to a health centre or hospital – even the terrain of her surroundings prevented her from living. This is wrong, so wrong. Why is it that even now, steadfast traditions, lack of support, training and medical provisions in developing counties leads to a woman a minute dying needlessly. I hope the exhibition stirs the hearts of as many influential people as possible from across the globe – giving life should not equate with death.
The following day, I offered my services to help with setting up an adjacent exhibition at the Excel centre, along with Maeve, Arthur, Dean, Harry, and another friend of the family, Julian. First, we set to work erecting the willow women from the previous night. It took about eight of us to hoist them upright, but they looked just as magnificent inside the aircraft hanger style room of the centre as they had outside. Then we had to decide what artwork to put on the exhibit spaces, erect two comment boards, and a cinema. That’s when everything seemed to go wrong.
Brigid and John left to go back to the college and then pick up some materials to help us hang the pieces. Julian was kind of in charge, but this didn’t seem to make complete sense. Lovely man, but god – some people are just useless organisers! Maeve should have been in charge, girls are generally better at such things. So, we got the comment boards up ok, taped this weird sticky material on to them then later found out we had to take them down for ‘health and safety’ issues! The Excel people were worse than useless: they wouldn’t lend us any bit and pieces for the displays, watched out every move as if we were complete armatures (not far wrong, but still!), and set us back by at least a couple of hours due to the comment board disassemble. Everything was taking too long, the only thing that was going right was the cinema, but that was nearly a disaster due to the screen stand being too tall – we had to hang the screen off the beams of the makeshift tent instead.
I had to leave just before five, and all we’d really done was assemble and take apart a few boards, place some art work against the panels ready for hanging and, and that’s it! Apart from six fabric panels on one wall, which probably also had to be taken down for some kind of H&S reason... I haven’t even dared to ask Maeve how it panned out yet… she’s probably feeling a bit bitter about it. Considering we started at noon and only had a fifteen-minute break, we didn’t have much to show… I hope they got it sorted without too much hassle.
When I returned home, I found an email from Christina. It was my (unofficial) MA result. I passed! With 64%! Lets hope it doesn’t change before the official verdict next month… I love you tutors!
Monday, 8 October 2007
Continued...
I’m continuing on from the last blog which I had to stop abruptly because I clocked Julien Temple (late by half an hour, but very apologetic) striding towards the Engine Room café as I was inside, writing. I guess I should count myself lucky he remembered our meeting at all. He is working on three films, and championing the Town Hall Island project at the moment, and I am made to feel increasingly nervous as I realise a very famous film director is standing in front of me with his trademark shades still masking his eyes. He keeps them on for the duration of the interview, and I soon realise that the shades are not there to make him look cool, they are there to mask the fact that he is just as nervous as me, if not more so…
Not what I was expecting at all, and when my Dictaphone decided to use up all its memory ten minutes into our interview, I’m really worried the hour we had to talk would be dramatically cut short…but miraculously, I controlled the situation by giving him a copy of Stranger magazine to browse whilst I fiddled with the damn thing, erasing items willy-nilly. Interviewing Julien was very different to interviewing Tim McInnerny, and I guess I wasn’t expecting to have to work harder to make Julien feel comfortable. Tim was a naturally entertaining, talkative, exuberant person to interview and probably could have talked about himself for hours more. But Julien, although passionate about the project, wasn’t overly forthcoming and took longer to settle into the interview.
I asked him questions about his involvement in the regeneration project, about his connection to the town and the next steps of the project. He was most happy talking about his segment of the project, the Black Lamp Cinema, which will (if the project gets the funding it deserves), show independent films from across the globe to a broad spectrum of audiences both old and young. I’m personally very excited about this idea, and think it’s exactly what the town has been screaming out for years, if not hundreds of years…
I’ve just written up the transcript and written a 750-word feature based on the interview for Stranger. (Check out the stranger website for full article next week: www.stranger-mag.com) I think this piece will act as a base for an extended feature I want to write once I’ve got more impetus to tantalize a national publication. By impetus, I mean more names. Alan Yentob is the patron of the project, so I really want to try and get hold of him – it should be pretty easy considering he lives just outside of town. A close friend of my parents who is a VERY close friend of Julien’s is trying to set me up a meeting with Lucinda, (Joe Strummer’s wife) which would be great because she’s chief organiser of the Strummerville music charity.
Damien Hurst is putting his name to the gallery that will feature in the project, but I’ve been told that that’s pretty much all he’s prepared to do, which means it’ll be near impossible for me to contact him…never mind, I hear he’s a bit up himself any way… There are also a few council members I need to talk to about the practicalities with, funding etc, and the coordinator of the whole shebang, and head of the Engine Room media centre, Phil Shepherd. I also will have to do a certain amount of research on the town, its traditions, history and modern economical shifts. All of which I will enjoy immensely, as the town is full of curious secrets.
I know that I am making a name for myself with the movers and shakers of the project, I was even told by Jill that they (project coordinators) had been talking about me in their board meeting, which I was a bit worried about at first – maybe I’m jumping the gun, getting excited before anything is confirmed.
But then I’m essentially acting as a publicity machine for them, writing about the project before anyone else realises there’s a damn good story here…at least I think that if I don’t do it now, I’ll miss out. And whilst I’ve got the time, I couldn’t think of anything I’d like to be dong more than boosting my home town’s cultural profile as well as meeting a host of interesting people and hopefully producing some good writing?
I’ve also got three other projects on the go – a green light on the sixixis profile, a green light on the Backstage piece and a review for a journalist friend for an exhibition she’s putting on in London next week. Brigid McConville is a close family friend and provided me with my first inspiration as a writer. She’s involved in an international organisation called The White Ribbon Alliance – helping to liberate women in developing countries, by giving them the chance to get their voices heard by the rest of the world.
This exhibition is a collection of materials handmade by women in Africa, depicting messages with “a promise to mothers lost” as the theme. Brigid will be touring the exhibition internationally and she has been invited to 10 Downing Street to show some of the exhibits. Brigid has asked me to review the exhibition and have a think about where I would like to place it. I was thinking about Mslexia or Red Pepper, but I will ask Brigid's opinion before I pitch, in case one of her freelance friends has already pitched to them.
After the exhibition on the 16th, I will be returning with Brigid’s youngest son Rory to look after him for the rest of the week in their beautiful family home in Enmore. It will be the perfect opportunity for me to finish off all my projects and get the true solitary writer vibe in this huge house in the middle of nowhere…I secretly can’t wait, it’ll be amazing.
At the time of writing I have also just finished filling in an application form for a digital shorts competition, and a rough draft of the Stranger feature. I’ve got a million phone calls to make tomorrow, but I don’t want to think about that right know. Bed is calling, but not before I’ve had a brief glimpse at Style mag…
Not what I was expecting at all, and when my Dictaphone decided to use up all its memory ten minutes into our interview, I’m really worried the hour we had to talk would be dramatically cut short…but miraculously, I controlled the situation by giving him a copy of Stranger magazine to browse whilst I fiddled with the damn thing, erasing items willy-nilly. Interviewing Julien was very different to interviewing Tim McInnerny, and I guess I wasn’t expecting to have to work harder to make Julien feel comfortable. Tim was a naturally entertaining, talkative, exuberant person to interview and probably could have talked about himself for hours more. But Julien, although passionate about the project, wasn’t overly forthcoming and took longer to settle into the interview.
I asked him questions about his involvement in the regeneration project, about his connection to the town and the next steps of the project. He was most happy talking about his segment of the project, the Black Lamp Cinema, which will (if the project gets the funding it deserves), show independent films from across the globe to a broad spectrum of audiences both old and young. I’m personally very excited about this idea, and think it’s exactly what the town has been screaming out for years, if not hundreds of years…
I’ve just written up the transcript and written a 750-word feature based on the interview for Stranger. (Check out the stranger website for full article next week: www.stranger-mag.com) I think this piece will act as a base for an extended feature I want to write once I’ve got more impetus to tantalize a national publication. By impetus, I mean more names. Alan Yentob is the patron of the project, so I really want to try and get hold of him – it should be pretty easy considering he lives just outside of town. A close friend of my parents who is a VERY close friend of Julien’s is trying to set me up a meeting with Lucinda, (Joe Strummer’s wife) which would be great because she’s chief organiser of the Strummerville music charity.
Damien Hurst is putting his name to the gallery that will feature in the project, but I’ve been told that that’s pretty much all he’s prepared to do, which means it’ll be near impossible for me to contact him…never mind, I hear he’s a bit up himself any way… There are also a few council members I need to talk to about the practicalities with, funding etc, and the coordinator of the whole shebang, and head of the Engine Room media centre, Phil Shepherd. I also will have to do a certain amount of research on the town, its traditions, history and modern economical shifts. All of which I will enjoy immensely, as the town is full of curious secrets.
I know that I am making a name for myself with the movers and shakers of the project, I was even told by Jill that they (project coordinators) had been talking about me in their board meeting, which I was a bit worried about at first – maybe I’m jumping the gun, getting excited before anything is confirmed.
But then I’m essentially acting as a publicity machine for them, writing about the project before anyone else realises there’s a damn good story here…at least I think that if I don’t do it now, I’ll miss out. And whilst I’ve got the time, I couldn’t think of anything I’d like to be dong more than boosting my home town’s cultural profile as well as meeting a host of interesting people and hopefully producing some good writing?
I’ve also got three other projects on the go – a green light on the sixixis profile, a green light on the Backstage piece and a review for a journalist friend for an exhibition she’s putting on in London next week. Brigid McConville is a close family friend and provided me with my first inspiration as a writer. She’s involved in an international organisation called The White Ribbon Alliance – helping to liberate women in developing countries, by giving them the chance to get their voices heard by the rest of the world.
This exhibition is a collection of materials handmade by women in Africa, depicting messages with “a promise to mothers lost” as the theme. Brigid will be touring the exhibition internationally and she has been invited to 10 Downing Street to show some of the exhibits. Brigid has asked me to review the exhibition and have a think about where I would like to place it. I was thinking about Mslexia or Red Pepper, but I will ask Brigid's opinion before I pitch, in case one of her freelance friends has already pitched to them.
After the exhibition on the 16th, I will be returning with Brigid’s youngest son Rory to look after him for the rest of the week in their beautiful family home in Enmore. It will be the perfect opportunity for me to finish off all my projects and get the true solitary writer vibe in this huge house in the middle of nowhere…I secretly can’t wait, it’ll be amazing.
At the time of writing I have also just finished filling in an application form for a digital shorts competition, and a rough draft of the Stranger feature. I’ve got a million phone calls to make tomorrow, but I don’t want to think about that right know. Bed is calling, but not before I’ve had a brief glimpse at Style mag…
Wednesday, 3 October 2007
Backstage
So, I've got another commission with The Stage, this time writing a smaller article for the Backstage section of the magazine. I pitched the idea as another profile, this time writing about Tim McInnerny's partner, Annie Gosney. She started off as a theatre designer and stage manager, then made the transition to producer. She's got some fantastic stories about her trade, and a wealth of advise for aspiring backstagers. Unfortunately, Ken (Freelance editor of Backstage) didn't think a profile was appropriate, so we agreed to change the angle to a more generalized piece about the transition some designers make into the producing side of the business.
I don't have a fixed deadline for this commission, but I wanted to make a start on some research. I found a number of women who had made a similar leap into producing, and wondered if it might be more appropriate to concentrate on the diversity of women's roles in theatre production. I have emailed Ken with this suggestion and await his opinion. I have no idea if this is common practice to chop and change, but I can't imagine it'll be too much of a problem, as this one seems to be a bit more of a relaxed interaction.
I am waiting to hear back from Matilda at the Ecologist about the pitch I sent to her three weeks ago. It's a piece about my friend's bespoke furniture company, sixixis. He makes beautiful sustainable steam-bent wooden furniture in Cornwall, to the very high end of the contemporary design scene. I know Matilda is interested, but I guess she must be caught up with going to press or something.
Another exciting project I'm working on is a kind of publicity mission for the Bridgwater Town Hall rejuvenation project, which is why I'm anxiously writing this in the Engine Room cafe, waiting for my interviewee to arrive...
I don't have a fixed deadline for this commission, but I wanted to make a start on some research. I found a number of women who had made a similar leap into producing, and wondered if it might be more appropriate to concentrate on the diversity of women's roles in theatre production. I have emailed Ken with this suggestion and await his opinion. I have no idea if this is common practice to chop and change, but I can't imagine it'll be too much of a problem, as this one seems to be a bit more of a relaxed interaction.
I am waiting to hear back from Matilda at the Ecologist about the pitch I sent to her three weeks ago. It's a piece about my friend's bespoke furniture company, sixixis. He makes beautiful sustainable steam-bent wooden furniture in Cornwall, to the very high end of the contemporary design scene. I know Matilda is interested, but I guess she must be caught up with going to press or something.
Another exciting project I'm working on is a kind of publicity mission for the Bridgwater Town Hall rejuvenation project, which is why I'm anxiously writing this in the Engine Room cafe, waiting for my interviewee to arrive...
Tuesday, 11 September 2007
Latest Reviews
There are some links to my up-to-date reviews for Stranger Magazine:
http://www.stranger-mag.com/reviews/music/heavy---jazz-money.html
http://www.stranger-mag.com/reviews/
http://www.stranger-mag.com/reviews/music/heavy---jazz-money.html
http://www.stranger-mag.com/reviews/
Sunday, 9 September 2007
Strike Two
It's not just fluke - I may well be able to pass myself off as a freelancer!
About the same time as making my final arrangements for the Serbian expedition I received an email from the Green Pages editor (Matilda) of the Ecologist, saying she was interested in my idea for a profile on my fashionista sista (see Fashionista Sista blog entry). She wanted 1000 words in the first person, and I quote her here, "and we would write 'as told to Holly Wicks' as the by-line, I think that would be more powerful." Which all sounded bloody great to me! Writing about my sister, without having to leave the comfort of my own home! Bonza!
How wrong could I be.
Firstly, my sister was away in Devon on an animation course when I completed my first draft, so I had to email her the copy to check, and wasn't sure how easy it would be for her to find time/computer to read it. Then she read it and was not a happy bunny. I quote here here, "It makes me sound pretentious and naive, and some of it isn't true." Well, I didn't agree. I was only using stuff from the transcript from our interview after all. But, I didn't want to hurt her feelings, or create a monster.
However, I was on a deadline and sent the copy to the ecologist before Lilli read it - thus making things worse. I felt terrible. I waited till Lilli came home and we had a good chat about what to do next. We agreed that certain things needed changing and we went though the first draft together and altered it to make her sound less 'pretentious'. I sent Matilda the second draft and she said she'd look at it.
We then went to Serbia both feeling happier about the situation. There was a Internet cafe at the EXIT campsite, and I thought it best to check on developments with the piece. Matilda wanted more. We sat in the sweltering heat of the day, beside an archaic, dusty computer and added loads more copy. Then the next day (even more hung-over and hotter) we checked again, and Matilda wanted captions for the photos (which they never used) and spent more time on that.
Two weeks ago, Mum picked me up from the train station after an appointment I'd had with my script supervisor in Falmouth and told me the Ecologist had arrived at home. Then she dropped the bomb. "Oh, it's great - except your name's not on it..."
I was angry, especially after Matilda's promise that my by-line would be 'more powerful'. I stewed about it for a couple of days, and tried to get hold of my tutor to ask for advice. In the end I phoned a journalist friend of my parents' and he said there wasn't much I could do about it, as "yesterday's news in tomorrows chip paper", too true.
So, baring in mind that I would like to work for the Ecologist again, I thought it best to approach Matilda with a more subtle tone. I let her know that I was disappointed, but that I hoped this would not jeopardise our working relationship. She wrote me an apologetic reply, blaming the mistake on a sub-editor who missed it and proofed it whilst Matilda was away. They are (hopefully) going to print an apology in next month's edition, which is a slight consolation.
I've already got another idea to pitch to Matilda, so I hope this one will escape any major editorial glitches. Considering I was writing about my sister and I didn't need to go anywhere to research it, this piece was a hell of a lot easier (apart from the emotional sibling strain) than the McInnerny piece, and for the same price too! I will not dwell on it now, and I can always get busy on Photoshop to correct their error myself...
**************************************************************
Now that the MA is out the way, I actually have time to write for pleasure rather than necessity. Not that writing a screenplay isn't pleasurable. It's just learning a whole new (visual) literary world and writing the full shebang in three months was challenging to say the least. I will give it some space now, and go back to it next month, the ending still needs a lot of work. I think I will work on a radio play next, and also short films, because I feel like I need to go back to basics again before I attempt another screenplay.
I am now thoroughly enjoying some leisure time, thinking about life and my place in it. I have four or five feature ideas bubbling away, ready to pitch now I have the time, and now that my bank balance is threateningly low! I will be updating my website (www.hollywicks.co.uk), and looking for jobs, as well as catching up on some reading and exercise...
What a fabulously productive year I've had so far - I honestly cannot believe how much my writing has improved, and the amazing amount of industry information I have absorbed. I will miss my college clan, and my Three Mackerel co-workers in Falmouth, but this is the season for change, and I'm ready to embrace it now!
About the same time as making my final arrangements for the Serbian expedition I received an email from the Green Pages editor (Matilda) of the Ecologist, saying she was interested in my idea for a profile on my fashionista sista (see Fashionista Sista blog entry). She wanted 1000 words in the first person, and I quote her here, "and we would write 'as told to Holly Wicks' as the by-line, I think that would be more powerful." Which all sounded bloody great to me! Writing about my sister, without having to leave the comfort of my own home! Bonza!
How wrong could I be.
Firstly, my sister was away in Devon on an animation course when I completed my first draft, so I had to email her the copy to check, and wasn't sure how easy it would be for her to find time/computer to read it. Then she read it and was not a happy bunny. I quote here here, "It makes me sound pretentious and naive, and some of it isn't true." Well, I didn't agree. I was only using stuff from the transcript from our interview after all. But, I didn't want to hurt her feelings, or create a monster.
However, I was on a deadline and sent the copy to the ecologist before Lilli read it - thus making things worse. I felt terrible. I waited till Lilli came home and we had a good chat about what to do next. We agreed that certain things needed changing and we went though the first draft together and altered it to make her sound less 'pretentious'. I sent Matilda the second draft and she said she'd look at it.
We then went to Serbia both feeling happier about the situation. There was a Internet cafe at the EXIT campsite, and I thought it best to check on developments with the piece. Matilda wanted more. We sat in the sweltering heat of the day, beside an archaic, dusty computer and added loads more copy. Then the next day (even more hung-over and hotter) we checked again, and Matilda wanted captions for the photos (which they never used) and spent more time on that.
Two weeks ago, Mum picked me up from the train station after an appointment I'd had with my script supervisor in Falmouth and told me the Ecologist had arrived at home. Then she dropped the bomb. "Oh, it's great - except your name's not on it..."
I was angry, especially after Matilda's promise that my by-line would be 'more powerful'. I stewed about it for a couple of days, and tried to get hold of my tutor to ask for advice. In the end I phoned a journalist friend of my parents' and he said there wasn't much I could do about it, as "yesterday's news in tomorrows chip paper", too true.
So, baring in mind that I would like to work for the Ecologist again, I thought it best to approach Matilda with a more subtle tone. I let her know that I was disappointed, but that I hoped this would not jeopardise our working relationship. She wrote me an apologetic reply, blaming the mistake on a sub-editor who missed it and proofed it whilst Matilda was away. They are (hopefully) going to print an apology in next month's edition, which is a slight consolation.
I've already got another idea to pitch to Matilda, so I hope this one will escape any major editorial glitches. Considering I was writing about my sister and I didn't need to go anywhere to research it, this piece was a hell of a lot easier (apart from the emotional sibling strain) than the McInnerny piece, and for the same price too! I will not dwell on it now, and I can always get busy on Photoshop to correct their error myself...
**************************************************************
Now that the MA is out the way, I actually have time to write for pleasure rather than necessity. Not that writing a screenplay isn't pleasurable. It's just learning a whole new (visual) literary world and writing the full shebang in three months was challenging to say the least. I will give it some space now, and go back to it next month, the ending still needs a lot of work. I think I will work on a radio play next, and also short films, because I feel like I need to go back to basics again before I attempt another screenplay.
I am now thoroughly enjoying some leisure time, thinking about life and my place in it. I have four or five feature ideas bubbling away, ready to pitch now I have the time, and now that my bank balance is threateningly low! I will be updating my website (www.hollywicks.co.uk), and looking for jobs, as well as catching up on some reading and exercise...
What a fabulously productive year I've had so far - I honestly cannot believe how much my writing has improved, and the amazing amount of industry information I have absorbed. I will miss my college clan, and my Three Mackerel co-workers in Falmouth, but this is the season for change, and I'm ready to embrace it now!
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