Harry Potter according to Victoria Cotton

A little too long ago I went on a 'blog sabbatical'. It has been 6 months since I said I would post something soon and I have no excuse...

Also my computer broke. As I'm writing this on a iPad, I am unable to put any pictures up to accompany this so it isn't going to be as colourful as my future posts but I'll have a bash at it. As soon as I can access a computer I will put up a post with an assortment of photos to accompany.

Technology and I have always had a pretty difficult relationship. My ex-flatmate would put it down to the fact I am blonde. When we were at university I once flew into his room in a dramatic flourish because my computer just would not switch on no matter how hard I tried. Turned out I just hadn't plugged it in. He plugged it in, pointed to my hair and left the room without a word. Unfortunately, this excuse no longer applies as last weekend I finally succumbed to the 'rich mouse'/'dirty blonde' non-descript colour that nature intended for me.

Anyway, this post is a bit random, but my sister, her friend and I were chatting about Harry Potter and I thought her interpretation was unique and therefore worth sharing.

I should point out that unlike me, Victoria Cotton has never been a reader. I found her take on Harry Potter books incredibly amusing so I thought I would share...

VICTORIA: "I don't like Harry Potter or Lord of the the Rings and things like that.  I don't mind the normal bits but it's the parallel universe stuff I don't like...

ME: "What do you mean the normal bits? It's all in a parallel universe?"

VICTORIA: "I mean I don't mind the Hogwarts stuff but it's the bits with fairies and goblins in I don't like"

ME: "Harry Potter doesn't have fairies in it?"

VICTORIA: "Yeah it does.. There's that one in the bathroom"

VICTORIA'S FRIEND: "Who? (Long pause) Moaning Myrtle?? She isn't a fairy!"

VICTORIA: "Well, I'm pretty sure she has wings?

I just don't see the point of the plot. I've read the first four books and they all have the same plot.

Basically, they all start at someone's house. Either the Weasley's house or 4 Dorset Drive. Anyway, they all have a chat and do their muggle stuff and there's a little bit of magic. Then they go to Hogwarts. Whether they get there in a car in the air, or through that wall at St Pancras, or a train or whatever, they always get to Hogwarts. Then they go *clink clink* yeah cheers to Gryffindor! cheers to Gryffindor! And then there's a hat and it decides what college you go in - so Slytherin, Hufflepuff (that's for all the slow ones* I think) or Ravenhope... And then there's a bit of intercollegiate bitching and then there's a bit of mayhem and then Harry finds out someone wants him to die. And he's like uh-oh. Which is stupid cos it's hardly a surprise cos someone wants him to die in every book. Then he doesn't die and then it's the end and then it happens again in the next book.

And then we find out that Snape's really Voldemort..."

Anyway, bit of a random blogpost but just thought her take on it might be interesting for any hardcore Harry Potter fans out there.

*not the words she used.

Be back soon

This blog is undergoing a bit of maintenance. I have been on a sort of blog sabbatical.

I promise to be back shortly.

Recalls...

As I mentioned in my last post, the standard of auditions last week was phenomenal. Last night was no exception. The energy was electric. I think we were all so glad we weren’t in Pippa and Rebecca’s position because we genuinely wouldn’t have been able to cast the show.

We started off with the Buttons recalls. Each different auditionee really had their own take on the role. One minute we were ‘awww-ing’, the next we were crying with laughter. Next we moved on to the Ugly Sisters. There were six sets of sisters: some vulgar, some thick, some overtly sexual, some crass, some TOWIE, but ALL hilarious. One of my favourite moments was when Justin Jeffreys (Oscar, Sweet Charity, Shaw Theatre 2012) looked at Pippa and Rebecca and said (in a camp but evil Only Way is Essex accent) “What I want to know is why we’re standing here auditioning for these parts when we’ve got two ugly sisters sitting right in front of us… What? Think you’re too good to get up and audition do ya?…  Cat got your tongue?… dya know what? At the end of the day, whatever.”

The brilliant thing about the ugly sisters was that despite the fact they had been given a script, everyone was ad libbing like divas and so there wasn’t a moment of boredom. This did also mean that the recalls took longer than anticipated! The fairy godmothers were next and they ranged from those with a broad Yorkshire accent, to motherly, to street, to posh, to a Welsh Dandini, to a forward rolling Dandini and a thigh slapping Dandini, to a soul Wicked Stepmother, to an alcoholic Wicked Stepmother, to a scathing cow. No two auditions were the same. And I loved watching every minute of it!

In the words of Anna Bosanko (Charity, Sweet Charity, Shaw Theatre 2012): “Honestly I haven’t laughed like that for so long!!!! At one point I nearly choked on my own tongue I was laughing so much!!!! Hilarious!!!!!!!”

I’ll be keeping you updated on panto progress, but in the meantime, put it into your diaries now.

15th and 16th December.

Have you written it in there yet? Hmm?

Dya know what? At the end of the day, whatever.

Masterclass and Auditions

We had a few weeks off after Sweet Charity. We were feeling edgy. We had itchy feet.

The thing about being in a musical is that after it is over, there is such a sense of loss that you do everything you can to cling to it. In a lot of cases, this was texting each other lines from the show on a daily basis, bursting into song in the office or, quite frankly, bursting into tears.

But it was time to move on. The City Academy Panto auditions were about to begin and the songs had been uploaded to the Dropbox (a marvellous invention which allows us to share tracks with each other). Then the decision process began. Who did we want to audition for? We could pick two characters. I genuinely think the most stressful part of the lead-up to auditions was actually deciding who to go for. The  ugly stepsisters? The Prince? Cinderella? The Wicked Stepmother? Dandini? Fairy Godmother? Baron Hardup?

The first week back was a dance technique session. Still crutch-bound, I could but watch as the group re-remembered corner work and our amazing choreographer Rebecca Wicking did the brilliant warm up we all have come to love. As an observer, I can truly say that at the end of the warm up, people looked so much happier than they did when they walked into the room. After a long Monday afternoon, everyone was full of energy and ready for the second half of the class when we looked at some ugly sister scenes.

Week two was a masterclass. We all had to pick a song of our choice and sing to the class. Pippa O’Brien (director extraordinaire) and Rebecca (paused for the week from choreographer extraordinaire to also be director extraordinaire) would then give us direction and then we sang the song again. The song choices were diverse, from ‘Just you wait’ from My Fair Lady to ‘Gethsemane’ from Jesus Christ Superstar; from’Electricity’ from Billy Elliot to ‘Master of the House’ from Les Mis. Pippa and Rebecca then gave each person an exercise to improve their performance, tailored to their needs. Whether it was singing to a group of people as if telling a story, pulling the song away from the context of the musical and making it about another situation or feeling instead of thinking, we learnt a lot about the audition process.  It was so good to see people sing by themselves and perform in a way none of us had seen before.

I sang ‘Tell Me It’s Not True’ from Blood Brothers. And I sang it as if I was Mrs Johnstone in Blood Brothers. I was asked to remove that context and imagine that somebody had rung me up and told me something awful that I didn’t want to believe. Also, one comment was that I was almost too aware of the audience and so was performing too much. I needed to make this song private and I suppose to feel it as opposed to acting it. It was hard to find a balance between thinking about something that was so raw  that it would upset me too much and something that I could think about and which I could channel whilst singing. It was really valuable advice as wasn’t something I had really ever considered and I have enjoyed working on it since.

Monday = D-Day. Or at least that was the sentiment of the kind text I woke up to from Dom Conte (Daddy Brubeck, Sweet Charity, Shaw Theatre, June 2012). I must admit, I was feeling incredibly nervous. It is so bizarre, because as soon as I have an audience and in fact, as soon as I start singing, my fear evaporates and I feel completely confident and comfortable. But the lead-up was terrifying – twitchy legs and sweaty palms (an attractive combination).  It is very silly that I felt nervous at all, because the wonderful thing about our group is that everyone is so supportive of each other. It is good to be a little bit nervous anyway because it turns into adrenaline and gives you a real boost.

All the performances I saw on Monday were brilliant. Everyone had a different interpretation of the characters which made each performance so refreshing and exciting. The ugly sisters caused much hilarity and it was fascinating to see how well all the men walked in heels!  Recalls on Monday and it’s all we’re talking about.

I, for one, cannot wait for 15th December.

PEN it into your diaries now.

Sweet Charity

So, I haven't written on this for months. Mainly because I have been very busy and important having mumps and straining ligaments. 

So I'm going to cheat a bit and post posts that I wrote over the last few months for a different website. So I have another passion apart from travelling and that is musical theatre. I was recently in a production of Sweet Charity. 

Ignore the weird white background to this, website has gone haywire!

Here is the post I wrote post-show...

If They Could See Me Now…

Saturday night. I put a (only just acceptable) purple sparkly dress and a very large pair of showpants and made my debut as Helene in Sweet Charity.

There’s Gotta Be Something Better Than This…

Rewind 18 months. Life was rubbish. I was at the end of my tether. I typed in ‘musical theatre’ to Google. City Academy popped up. I rang and they asked me to audition the very next day. I was terrified. I had done quite a few shows over the last few years at the Bloomsbury Theatre when I was at UCL, but the thought of auditioning for a proper show made me feel sick. You see, the problem is, whilst I tootle along fine on the old singing and acting front (I was sent to Speech and Drama from an early age by my mother to prevent the onset of a Mancunian accent), I am a veteran of the vertical school of dance (ie jumping up and down on the spot) and was unsure that I would be able to keep up. The wonderful Vikki Stone called me in to audition and I sang my classic audition piece from South Pacific ‘I’m Gonna Wash that Man Right Out of My Hair’. I remember when she said I had made it and was in the Company, she said “Just so you know, this group is full of big personalities”. She was not wrong.

I could see you were a (wo)man of distinction..

First Impressions. And so it began. I walked in on a group of people who were very loud and had already established friendship groups, so it was pretty daunting. We were doing Rent and I was to play Mark’s Mom. I later learned that Justin (Oscar in Sweet Charity) thought that I was “very RADA” and that he imagined that I probably walked around the room reciting poetry or Shakespeare, and Jen (costume mistress extraordinaire and Fandango girl) thought that I was one of those types who got up at 5am to make sure my hair was that messy. She has since learnt that my hair is just genuinely that messy.

The Minute You Walked in the Joint…

Fast-forward a year.  40 people sat in a circle. The tables had turned. I was one of those really loud ones and put together with more loud, dramatic people it can be pretty intimidating.  But we played a game and soon everyone relaxed. The great thing about City Academy is that people are from all walks of life: laywers, doctors, make-up artists, animators, students, creative directors, publicists, the list goes on. Some people have trained professionally, some have dabbled and some people have taken the Beginners and Improvers courses at City Academy. Everyone just loves performing.

So let me get right to the point…

It took 6 months of epic rehearsing, sourcing props, learning harmonies (in about seven parts in Rhythm of Life), building walls, shortening dresses as high as was acceptable in indecent society and a dollop of good old-fashioned enthusiasm and Sweet Charity was ready to rumble.

Pippa O'Brien and Rebecca Wicking (our wonderful director and choreographer) had double cast the show so Charity, Nickie and Helene in each show were to be played by different people and we could interpret the characters as differently to each other as we wanted. They were both so supportive and encouraging of every single member of the group and we have all learnt so much over the last six months under their tuition.

Team Matinee was Emma Slater (Charity), Laura Hayes (Nickie) and Natalie Duarte(Helene).  Emma, usually an investigative journalist, shone as quirky lovestruck Charity and ever the professional in the face of adversity (namely when a wardrobe fell on top of her mid-show), Emma carried on as though nothing had happened.

Team Evening was Anna Bosanko (Charity), Joanna Reyes (Nickie) and Me (Helene). It’s hard to believe Anna only started Musical Theatre a year ago with a taster class at City Academy – her performance was outstanding. But shows aren’t proper shows without a little glitch and ours came a few minutes in when we couldn’t find the middle of the curtain to leave the stage. Some very, shall we say, ‘colourful’ and ‘in character’ acting from me sorted that one out a treat and after much laughter from the audience, we did a stride of pride to the bar for Big Spender. Working with the multi-talented Jo was an incredible experience and I just wish we could do it all again tomorrow.

Oscar, Charity’s nervous, twitchy love interest was played by Justin Jeffreys, one of the original members of City Academy’s Musical Theatre Company. Justin’s talent was spotted at a young age when he made blink and you’ll miss it appearances in Grange Hill and Saving Private Ryan. His scene in the lift with Charity had us all crying with laughter. Justin truly excels in every performance he gives, even (especially) as the creepy old man in the park scene at the beginning of the show (although perhaps that wasn’t acting). The beautiful Kim Cimino and charming Cyril Michelet played the gorgeous couple Ursula and Vittorio Vidal and newcomer Dom Conte made his City Academy debut in the role of Daddy Brubeck.

The ensemble was just incredible and so professional. The tight, polished dancing was absolute perfection. When I have looked at photos and videos of the show since, I am just awestruck at how uniform the routines were and yet everybody had a character: a back story and personality. Aaliyah Johnson wow-ed us once again with her Fosse dancing as part of the Frug: a dance of epic proportions. The quick costume changes, the number of roles, not to mention the time it took to find the stage through the maze of corridors: the teamwork was flawless.

Helene was a challenging character to play. She isn’t quirky like Charity or as ballsy and authoritative as Nickie. She can be funny but she is often sarcastic and perhaps slightly world weary. I think she had a pretty rough past and has hardened herself to life as a result. Before Helene, I have always been cast in exceptionally funny roles or a role where really straight serious acting is required (although worryingly, I have often been cast as a prostitute..). I feel so lucky to have been given the opportunity to play a more complex mixed up character like Helene and strange as it sounds, I have missed having her around this week.

Being part of the Fandango Girls was like being like part of a huge gaggle of (slutty) sisters. We all really looked out for each other. The thing about spending so much time with the same group of people is that you become really close.

It was the same with the whole company. A big fat family. We laughed like a family, we argued like a family; some people had diva tantrums, others looked on disparagingly; some people mothered us, bought us food, clothed us, did our hair, others fought for attention. No matter what we did though, we had each other’s backs. And the result was that we produced a pretty damned amazing show.

I can’t even begin to describe the buzz of being on stage. They always talk about having butterflies in your tummy when you are nervous. I get twitchy leg syndrome which always appears to prompt the question ‘do you need to go to the toilet?’. When stage manager Cynthia Schwartz gave us the 5 minute call, the adrenalin was pumping through my veins at lightning speed and my leg was near to detaching itself and careering off my body, but it seems the moment I step on stage, I’m just no longer me. It’s like a wave of calm washes over me. I’m in my element. Nothing else matters. I don’t even really realise the audience are there. I’m just caught up in the world we have created over the last six months and I love every single moment of it. I don’t think anything really matches the feeling I get when I am performing or when the audience begins to clap and cheer.

I start to sniff, please let me use your handkerchief

The last few days have been about moping.

I woke up on Sunday in denial.

On Monday, my colleagues told me I had never looked so awful.

By Tuesday, reality had set in.

Justin asked me if he would ever smile again and Anna asked me if she was maybe actually depressed.

Nobody panic.

We are plotting ways to take Sweet Charity on tour.

We may commandeer a stage.

We may take an iPod and dock to Clapham Common and bust out the show to passers-by.

Or we may just sit tight and wait for the Panto rehearsals to begin.

That should be good because apparently the Prince always holds one of his balls at Christmas. And from what I’ve heard, the Prince’s balls are massive.

Hmm, we’ll need to start thinking about what to wear. Jerkin on or Jerkin…?

Oh no I didn’t.

(Oh yes (unfortunately) I did.)

A few little tasters…

Jo and I singing ‘Baby Dream Your Dream’

http://cityacademy.jumpyjump.com/sweetcharity2012/performance/12-CharitysApartment/Evening

Jo, Anna, Me and the Fandango Girls singing ‘There’s Gotta Be Something Better Than This’

http://cityacademy.jumpyjump.com/sweetcharity2012/performance/07-TheHostessRoom/Evening

Saw the Queen, woo Jubilee it?!

I feel it is only right, what with me being British and all, to write a post about the Diamond Jubilee.

I have had an epic day.

Let me start from the beginning - a very good place to start.

I awoke at 9.30 to the sound of tolling bells. A very pleasant dinging worked its way into my dream. Fifteen minutes later they were still clanging and I resigned myself to getting up. I rang Mummy Cotton and sang a rousing rendition (if I do say so myself) of 'Happy Jubilee to you'. She cut me off to midway to say that it was not a happy Jubilee and the weather was horrendous.

This was not going to stop me.

A morning of Mad Men in my dressing gown set me up very nicely for the festivities ahead.

I tubed to Shad Thames where a friend had kindly offered to host the celebrations. The road is beautiful. Old warehouses have been converted into maisonettes which back onto the river. We had a feast fit for a Queen: coronation chicken, fig and cheese tart, quinoa with pomegranate, salmon, cake, cake, and more cake, Prosecco and Pimms.

We watched TV and played 'I love the Queen because' which is basically a variation on 'my granny went to the shops and bought'. We soon tired of it but it was very insightful as to what people really thought...

I apparently love the Queen because (of)

All her diamonds are very lovely
her Boats
the Coronation
her Double Delicious hats
the Empire
she's Fucking Fantastic
she's got Great Guns (the girl who said this said she meant the guns on her boats...)
her Houses
I think she is wonderful
she's basically Jesus
her Corgis with a silent K (Faye was adamant the Corgis got a mention, even if that did mean changing the spelling of the word)
her Lineage
she's a Magnificent Monarch
she's Not a murderer (this was me - I think at this point I was running out of steam)
all those Other guys (Lewis (Faye's brother) waved in the vague direction of the TV)
Pimms is in abundance at every Royal party

Q proved to be difficult because we banned the answer 'because she is the Queen'. Livvy eventually decided upon 'the Queen's keys'. We were dubious. I'm pretty sure the Queen doesn't carry her keys to the Palace around with her in her handbag. I doubt Buckingham Palace even has 'keys'. We were tiring of the game so at this point so we let it slide. Besides, it was nearly 4pm and HRH was soon to be arriving in our neighbourhood.

We got on our clobber. Faye, Lewis and I were wearing blue trousers. I decided to leave my very 1990s Kag in a Bag at the house and we wandered down to Butler's Wharf. An action I would later regret.

Mayhem ensued.

One fat security woman and a clueless security man blocked the entrance. We had envisaged this. Our hosts had a bill and their passports ready for their residents rights. Said fat woman had a grump on. Mainly because people were being either very thick or really irritating. I hope the latter in some cases, as one man came up and said

'Oo-er there are a lot of people. Is there something going on? I wanted to go to the Design museum'.

Let it be noted that this man was NOT a tourist. He was plain old English. Tantamount to treason I say.

FatSecurity had the weight of the world on her shoulders. Her furrowed brow said it all. She was not to be trifled with. Thrice or more we were told we were too large a party to go through. Faye saved the day. Either that or she just struck gold because as she ventured forward to tame the beast, somebody put a cup of tea into her hand. We silently thanked Earl Grey and his brother English Breakfast and prayed it would sooth her. It did. She waved us through in a world weary fashion, all her principles crushed in a sip of sweet nectar.

We ran through. We wooped, we tooted*, we kicked our legs in the air and we ran to the banks of the River Thames. Where we were greeted by a wall of people.

As I have mentioned many a time, I am not blessed with height. Some might say I am vertically challenged. They might be right. But I can jump.

All 5 foot 5 of me jumped in a crazy fashion. I saw split-second's-worth of water and flags and heads and I got tired of jumping. But I have failed to mention that we were in fact a stone's throw from Tower Bridge. And as little children wailed and screamed and the rain began to fall, we found ourselves closer and closer to the front. And lo and behold, the Royal Barge docked directly opposite us.

We saw a white blob with an umbrella descend the steps. It was Her Royal Highness Queen Elizabeth II. I squealed. Much like the squeal of Faye in India when we repeatedly didn't see a tiger.**

We saw a red blob with a red umbrella. It was Kate. We squealed. The whole rat pack followed. It was glorious. We waved. They waved. They stood on the boat balcony directly directly and thrice directly opposite us. Granted, we couldn't see their facial expressions or read their lips but had we had binoculars, I'm sure they would have been discussing how fine the drowned rats on the other side of the river looked and how perhaps, if only they could send a carrier pigeon, they might invite us to tea at the Palace.

But alas, no pigeons were available. Probably because of the lashing rain.

We stayed a long time.

Boats went passed playing 'Oh when the Saints', steam ships went past honking their foghorns and giving us all a heart attack. I was relieved to see an ambulance following them in hot pursuit.

We were very wet. I was under the spoke/spike/spindle of the umbrella of the man next to me. This was most unfortunate. Rain juice gathered in the aforementioned device kept pounding onto my head in a very wet and unpleasant manner. My gloves had molted and stuck to my rain-washed face so I was covered with a black beard of fluff.

When the ships piped down a bit, we gave a rousing rendition of God Save the Queen. It was melodious and wonderful. We cheered. The Queen et al (also probably) cheered (we can't be 100% certain because the rain and the wind were whipping in our ears) but they definitely waved. Especially the man on the end with the white gloves, which we later found out was Prince Philip (although Faye maintains it was Wills and I am not one to disagree).

Some people were getting cold. So we left the poor 87 year old lady battling wind and rain and went to watch her in the dry of the flat.

Drowned as a drowned rat. Happy as a bitch.***

*NB this is not passing wind, this is singing songs such as Rule Britannia to the word 'toot'
** This is a good squeal because Faye was repeatedly convinced it was a tiger when it was a deer, or in fact, a tree stump
*** Derives from the expression 'hot as a bitch', coined by Victoria Cotton, meaning 'very hot'. We were very happy. But that just doesn't have the same ring to it.

Lastly, the title of this piece is very clever. I won't hear a word against it.

Blogger's block - lost in the fat-cheeked wilderness.

I haven't written for a while.

The problem with feeling like you have been punched in the face, is that you feel like you have been punched in the face. This means there is a throbbing sensation, in this case, in my jaw. The throbs pulsate up the right side of my face. My right eye feels droopy. I can't feel my right teeth. My right cheekbone joins in the merry throb. All is not right.

When you have a throbbing face, the ability to sit still goes out of the window. I seem to have developed what I like to call TLS (twitchy-leg-syndrome). My right leg is constantly on the move. What it hopes to achieve, I know not. It spasms involuntarily and causes a huge amount of irritation.

When all's said and done, this whole fat face, pain malarkey is a bit of a bore.

Back I go the week after next. Sedation round two. This time they will cut my face open and remove the scar tissue. Whilst they're at it, I might ask them to actually punch me in the face in the hope I regain sensation in my teeth. The dental surgeon may have left my wisdom, but he took my dignity.

And my ability to form and finish sentences.

My jaw is really stiff where they sliced and sewed up. The surgeon's answer = chew gum. I have become a serial gum chewer. Mainly because it momentarily removes the taste of blood and metal in my mouth. But I have also become a Chain Chewer - an addict if you will. The next one goes in before I finish the last. Chewing gum 24/7 is actually probably the most tiring thing I have ever had to do. Including the half marathon I did last year. Including childbirth.* Try chewing for an entire minute without a break and then multiply that effort by 1440.** This would be if I chewed in my sleep. Considering how little I sleep anyway, it isn't an unrealistic notion.

Insomnia has always been an issue. Add a throbbing fat dead face into the mix and really there's not much hope. I still function though. Not sleeping a night until I was five was good preparation for what was, quite frankly, a really shoddy decision.

Let me impart my wisdom once more. I pray thee take it. Do not get your wisdom teeth removed. In fact, do not let anybody with a cutting device, be it scalpel, scissor or swiss army knife, within a mile of your mouth. It will only end in tears.

Well, it would end in tears if I could feel my face.

Which I can't.

So it won't.

I don't mind if you want to cry for me.





*Obviously, I have never given birth to a child, but I popped this comparison in for dramatic effectiveness.
** This is probably a miscalculation. Maths, as we well know, is not my forte.