Shingle Bells - A Winter of Discontent

Just had a quick look at this blog. Haven’t posted a thing since Company of Ten’s magnificent London Wall.  That got more hits than a mad machine gun at a big barn door, so pretty happy. But six months ago? Come on, I ain’t died or lost the plot totally, so what has happened. In a word, shingles. That’s my excuse anyway. Six weeks of pain and six months of rashes, the latter still lingering, had blunted much of my limited social activity and some of my irrepressible humour. What? Never made me laugh, some say. Except his racing tips and, a la Harold Hobson, frequently barking up the wrong theatrical tree. Google him if you must but bear with me on the horseracing, much my main entertainment through cold months bereft of theatre and other pleasures. It culminated in a beloved Cheltenham Festival which gathered more returns than a demented polling officer at a dreary election count. A couch potato lifestyle has its compensations.

Wish I could say the same about TV in general but, showing my age, the more channels there are the less there seems to be to watch. The Moorside was very good with a couple of excellent female leads and Appletree Yard with the superb Emily Watson eminently watchable. But SSGB frustrates for its undeveloped characterisation and wavering plot, I will ignore the sound, and Broadchurch still seems to me to be little more than glorified soap. And I say that having nothing but praise for its two spiky leads. But The Killing and The Bridge they aint. None of them. So I watch Only Connect, University Challenge, and Masterchef and yearn for those days when we had three channels and a plethora of real plays. Dennis Potter, Alan Plater, Jack Rosenthal, where are you?

Given that I am a five star grump with eyesight that would challenge Mr Magoo, my general inactivity has resulted in even more book reading than usual. Putting aside The Cheltenham Festival Guide, sadly now out of date, the best of these has been Anna Keay’s The Last Royal Rebel, a riveting history of Charles II’s bastard son the Duke of Monmouth. A must read for anyone interested in the Stuart era and overfull of the Tudors. Val McDermid’s Forensics, a fascinating insight to science in murder, Michael Blakemore’s Stage Blood, wonderful lively spats at the National under Olivier and Peter Hall, and Diana Preston’s absorbingly detailed book, Wilful Murder, on The Sinking of the Lusitania, head my list of the rest. All different, all beautifully written. I could also recommend Peter Longerichs’s fascinating insight into Goebbels, based on his diaries, but I doubt if anyone other than me or obsessive students of twentieth century German history would read it. No novels, not generally my thing in reading, except on holiday when Agatha Christie, Robert Goddard, Val McDermid and Mark Billingham figure fairly high. But not Martina Cole. Love her factual murder programmes on TV but her books and unsympathetic characters leave me cold.

So having shingles has had its compensations. I have wide reading tastes, from The Beano to Fifty Shades of Grey, no don’t ask, and they and the horses have manfully filled the void of theatre. I will scribble again in the near future, whether some want it or not, probably because most of the evening TV fare is enough to drive anyone with half a brain out of the house. Saturday Night Takeaway anyone?

 

Roy Hall

 

Did I ever tell you I once met Superman?

Been around I have. Mainly because of my thirty six years in horseracing. Working for a chairman (Woodrow Wyatt) at the tote. A man who knew everyone. Explains why I once had lunch with Bernard Levin, twice met Prince Michael of Kent  – nice man who never forgot a face – and had tea at York races with Robin Cook. Leading labour politician for the ignorant. He wasn’t, but those who ain’t heard of him might be. I also avoided shaking hands with Margaret Thatcher at Ascot, delved fingers in chips with Lord George Wigg (Harold Wilson’s Postmaster General), and chatted with the Old Duke of Devonshire when he sold off some of his Canalettos. All true, as was my non horseracing brushes with the famous, most notably spending a day with Alan Ayckbourn in Scarborough as he rehearsed a first production of Confusions, and a week with Bob Hoskins in a health farm. I didn’t go with him, merely met him there, but we had lots of fun. Great chap and not snobby. But eclipsing them all, and the only one that may one day impress my grandson, was that I once met Superman. Christopher Reeves. At Towcester racecourse. I adjudicated on a horseracing competition in which someone won a car. A prize of at least £10,000 and, for some reason, the powers that be thought I was the right chap to scrutinise it. Superman (Christopher Reeves) was the man who presented the prize. So I met him. So polite and unassuming. He queued up at a tote window to place a bet on one of the races and caused a stir  on both sides of the window. I felt very sad when I read of his horse riding accident which paralysed him. It could not have been too long after his visit to Towcester. That wasn’t mentioned in the paper. As another film actor would say, ‘Not a lot of people know that.’ They do now.

This leads me on to other things a lot of people don’t know, mainly what I have been doing or looking forward to over Christmas. But somehow ‘How I met Superman’ reads much better than ‘Roy Hall’s Christmas activities.’ If it doesn’t you must be a sad and nosey lot. I saw Harpenden High Street Players ‘Tons of Money’, good directorial debut from Lewis Cox and excellent performance from Nicola Preston, took in St Andrews latest ‘Christmas is a Coming’, and screamed like mad when my 20/1 shot, Captain Chris, nearly won the King George V1 Chase at Kempton Park on Boxing Day. Pity nobody told the favourite, Long Run, he couldn’t possibly get back up on the line after such a gruelling race. Juicy winnings snatched from my greedy grasp. On the telly I enjoyed a riveting drama on Joyce Hatto (google her) by Victoria Wood and revelled in the last episode of Homeland. Not usually into such things but this gripped throughout. Claire Danes was amazing in a cast which batted very long. And now, as the festive trimmings return to the loft and snow settles on pot holed streets and roads, I wallow in the Archers Radio Four tryst of Paul and Lillian (Matt will win out in my opinion) and anticipate future local theatrical offerings. None will excite like meeting Superman but, hopefully, the following old favourites will tickle a few of my jading senses.  Given a blog that my severest critic, her indoors, says is merely a filler those whisky laced senses clearly need uplifting. Perhaps I should call Superman. Happy New Year. Roy Hall

 

Key For Two – Dunstable Rep

 Fri 18^th January – Saturday 26^th January Little Theatre, High Street South

7.45pm

Calendar Girls – Wheathampstead Dramatic Society

Wednesday February 13th - Saturday February 17th

8.00pm
Tickets £8.00

01582 629594 for details

 

And further ahead

The Female of the Species – Dunstable Rep   Fri 15^th March – Saturday 23^rd March

An Ideal Husband – High Street Players (Harpenden)   Wednesday 10^th April – Friday 12^th April

Into The Woods – St Andrews Players Wednesday 22^nd May – Saturday 25^th May (St Andrews Church – Luton)

Aladdin, Night Music, and All Weather Racing.

Interesting weekend and the main topic of conversation is snow. Judged by the queues in Waitrose I wasn't the only one stocking up on fags and whisky and the non essential five a day. The weather in February can scupper all one's best plans. Knocked out most of my beloved racing. Lingfield on plastic, or whatever, is no substitute for the jumping stars at Sandown. But I suffer and dream of Cheltenham in March. If the snow scuppers that one, I shall spit. Do it enough and it might help.

The snow, not the spit, might yet play havoc with the last flings of two shows I took in this week. If the audiences get there, it is no guarantee that the casts will. But whether they do or not, look forward to incisive and penetrating reviews next week. Failing that, pop in to this blog. A Little Night Music (Luton Light) lived up to most of its early promise and Aladdin (Stage 1 with its 26th children's pantomime) impressed for the enthusiasm of forty youngsters with an average age of ten and a half. Ciara McDermott (almost an unseemly oldie at twelve) was an outstanding Widow Twankey and Rebecca Edwards an unnervingly evil Empress. I wasn't blind to its faults but when your main notes are about the fun you got from PC's Ping and Pong and a demented camel you know you ain't reviewing Ibsen.

So, if the snow held off, the Saturday night audiences were in for two different types of treats. And if it didn't I can guess that at least one cast wouldn't care. Looking at some of the more mischevious at Luton Light it might even be two. Toboggans and reviews to follow.

A Little Night Music - Luton Light - Dunstable Little Theatre (31st Jan - 4th Feb)

Aladdin - Stage 1 - Stopsley School (3rd -4th Feb)

Horseracing 0 Theatre 1 Plaza Suite 3

September is undoubtedly my favourite month. The sun, when it shines, is rarely too hot and the days still have a little life in them before the onset of winter gloom. I go on holiday and take in some plays in far off places and the horseracing gives a steady diet of quality. My two loves combine in a veritable feast. Why are feasts always veritable? Discuss.
Can't say the horses have shone though. Or the ones I studiously selected. Ran like drains most of the time. My humour not helped by the fact that my distant brother, who I love to bits, has been knocking them in with an ease that is almost unseemly. He just missed out on the Doncaster St Leger (England's oldest classic) but Ayr Gold Cup - 11/1 winner - and Newmarket's Cambridgeshire were a doddle for him. Prince of Johannes (40/1). Easy. All I get is a 6/1 scrubber in a Class 5 staying handicap at Chepstow or somewhere. But I love it and visiting the unfamiliar payout window a couple of times recently has eased my September racing gloom. I love it when other folks win, especially that brother, but I love it more when I find them. Especially the big races. And they don't come bigger than the Arc this weekend at Longchamp. Will let you know how I, and him in Leicestershire, do.

And they also don't come bigger, in theatre terms, than a new play by Alan Ayckbourn. Saw his latest, 75th, at Scarborough last week. Neighbourhood Watch is not vintage Ayckbourn, too formulaic for me, but it was served up by a super cast who were rich in quirky characterisation. And very topical. Middle class fears of working class, did I say feral, estates twisted to absurdity. Its strengths were how the actors on stage coped with the unseen fears. Its weakness the fact that much of the angst was directed offstage. I like all my Ayckbourn angst locked in the middle class setting of a Season's Greetings, a Table Manners, or an Absent Friends. This play didn't have that attraction but it was still a rewarding couple of hours. But if amateurs are tempted to do it they will need some very skilled actors to make it work.

I am hoping for some of those when I set off for Dunstable Rep's Plaza Suite next week. This is the first play in their film season and, set in a specific hotel room, we get three for the price of one. Neil Simon has frequently been referred to as America's Ayckbourn and it is easy to see why. He has a sharp ear and eye for the idiosyncratic middle class folks of God's favourite country. Should be a treat but, whether it is or not, I shall post something here. Barbara Morton and Julie Foster direct and they have some of those acting heavyweights who, hopefully, will get them off to a good start in my handicap stakes. Didn't get to their season launch so in no postion to suggest the likely winners of this six play theatrical race. Not that it matters. My brother, if he had attended, would have done a better job on the pre season selections. And he only likes horses.

Plaza Suite by Neil Simon
Friday 30th September to Saturday 8th October
Dunstable Rep (High Street Little Theatre)  - 7.45pm