Wednesday, 26 August 2015

Laughter for Levi

You will notice this post isn't about this year's camp yet (that is still coming!) though it's related. In 2014 Pathfinders fell in this week, so it is in remembrance of the night we spent at Woodlarks, waiting for updates on our dear friend Levi and then holding each other through the tears that came with the news of her passing. Whilst I am overwhelmed with disbelief that it was a year ago today already, as we were at her absence last week, however, I have attempted to make this day as full of laughter as I possibly could - because that's what she would want. She'd probably just laugh watching me crying, actually, and then shout and tell me off until I stopped. 

Laughter was definitely much more her style, so we tried that at camp, too. Laughter in the loos, in the pool, in the tent, in the woods. Laughter when mattresses squeaked and it sounded like something else, laughter when it was something else. Laughter at the dinner table, around the campfire, and at the sinks when we were supposedly washing up but in reality were having a water fight. Laughter as we did circus skills and the spinning plate landed on my head - multiple times. Even laughter as we went to find a suitable spot for the gorgeous memorial bear our friend Emma had organised (I'll try and find a photo somewhere soon) because Nori very appropriately blasted out some JLS on her phone. Then we laughed because we'd started crying, and we knew what she'd think of that - as I am doing now, writing this.

So, lovely Levi:

I hope you don't mind those mingled tears, gorgeous girl, since they were the same as those we both cried as I walked to you for a hug -  overwhelming joy tinged with the subtlest of sadnesses. I hope you felt you were with us, and I hope you know that you always will be, in the stone teddy that now bears your name (forgive me the pun, dear, but I thought you might like it) and in our hearts. I hope you know we miss you, a year on, and I hope we did you proud.

I'll light a candle tonight. Love you always - thank you for the laughter and memories xxxx


Friends are nothing 'til they've grinned together...

Monday, 24 August 2015

Doggy mummy worries

A proper post is coming soon, I promise, and hopefully the one about camp. Today, though, I have a brief one about hospital visits and anaesthetic...not for me, but for my (littlest) dog. Georgi hurt her paw whilst we were away, so we took her into the vet this afternoon, and it turned out to be an abscess. In order for them to drain it they had to put her under general anaesthetic. She's fine now, if feeling a tad sorry for herself, as you'll see from the photo below. I, however, have gained an understanding of my Mama's feelings every time she's had to watch me go under and then wait for me to come around. So thanks, Mama, for looking after me (and my dogs) when I need you most - I appreciate it, and you, so much.


Saturday, 22 August 2015

Returning home

A short (and sleepy) post to mark my return from camp. Sleepy because it's only ten to seven as I start to write this and I could quite happily go to bed right now! Short because I probably will do just that very soon and I want to save the majority of my thoughts until I can do them justice. However, I also want briefly to acknowledge what is, for me, one of the most striking aspects of camp.

The significance of the title I've chosen is twofold - for, whilst it fits with the fact that I'm now back home in London, it would be equally apposite as a description for the beginning of my holiday. Going  to camp each year is synonymous with going home - going home to my favourite place in the UK, and perhaps even in the world. Returning to the fold of my Woodlarks (and, more specifically now, Pathfinders) family - a constant yet ever-changing and -growing circle of people and love. So, although I'll be extremely happy to snuggle up in my nice, warm (indoor!) bed tonight at a reasonable hour, I'll also be missing the late night (early morning!?) chats with fabulous friends - some of whom I've known for over a decade and others I only met this week but will hang on to for life.

More detailed and less philosophical words soon but I'm already counting the months, weeks and days until we can be there again!


Wednesday, 19 August 2015

For Eva (and eva and eva and eva)

Dearest Eva Weva Diva

(I hope you enjoy my attempt at a 'street talk/text talk' pun on your name in the title of this post - you always teased me about my refusal to shorten words when sending you messages. I've still got your number in my phone and it will never leave.)

As I typed that bracketed bit, what struck me is it being in past tense. Obviously it would be - two years ago today you closed your eyes - but I guess I still think of you as very firmly in the present and it's so odd to be reminded that you're not. Except, as I wrote last year, of course you are - in all the leopard print I noticed when I went to Camden the other day, in every Rhianna song I catch on the radio, and in every time I laugh at something only you would find funny too.

I'll be at camp when this goes up, as I was when you passed away, and though I won't have anyone with whom to share my thoughts of you I can assure you that they will be there. Just like our secret, signed, conversations I'll stare up to the starry sky and smile - a moment of silent thanks for having known and loved you, and for having been known and loved by you in return. We have a song we sing around the campfire called 'Friends are Nothing', the final verse of which is as follows,

Friends are nothing
'til they've parted together
with a tear in their eye,
as they wave their friends goodbye,
and they swear to meet again someday...

Now, I'm not sure that we'll meet again in the literal sense, as that isn't really what I believe. The almost oxymoron of 'parted together' is something I can hang on to, though, because I do feel as though we are apart and yet always together. So thanks. I feel you here even as I miss you. I hope you feel me somehow - perhaps our atoms are mingling.

Love you foreva and eva, darling Eva,

Jessi xxx

Monday, 17 August 2015

#Wheelchairperks no. 2

(A less sarcastic one, this time, I promise - and it's on a Monday to balance out the rest of the week as there'll be a post on Wednesday.)

When you realise that, in three (or four) years, you'll have the same title as the majority of the medical professionals involved in your life - and that thought fills you with glee and confidence. Bring on the doctorate!

(Due to this post falling on this Monday, I must add a very happy birthday to my aunt Lucy! Much love to you in SA)

Saturday, 15 August 2015

Form an orderly queue

Just a quick note today to say that, as I'm off to camp, this will be the last post that I'll put up on social media for a week (until Saturday 22nd). I'm not one overly to push people to read these ramblings of mine (except for a status or a tweet) because that isn't the point of writing them, necessarily. 

That said, if you would like to read the duo of posts I've scheduled for this week, then you are very welcome to subscribe using the little box to the left of this post - simply enter your email address and you'll get them delivered straight to your inbox! Otherwise you can just keep tabs on www.wordyandwheely.blogspot.co.uk.

Either way, thanks for reading, I hope they will interest you whilst I'm under canvas!

Much love!

Friday, 14 August 2015

Briefly back to the 'Bubble'

Yesterday was bizarre. I made a very fleeting trip up to Warwick to be shown around several (I thought) possible campus rooms for me to live in from October - hence my not mentioning that I'd be there on any form of social media, because I wasn't sure how much time I'd have free. (Thanks to Roxanne for the impromptu hugs in the foyer of University House, and apologies for not letting people know.) There ended up being only one potential room, which I unfortunately won't be taking, because I could barely fit down the corridor, let alone into the room itself. So I'm going to be looking in Leamington and hoping that it, as a Spa town, has something to offer this eighteenth century geek - preferably sans stairs! (Thanks to Lauren for the short visit, puppy cuddles and bus route tips.)

But the room isn't the point of this post. I didn't think at all about what it would be like to be back - especially in the middle of the summer break - and it was really weird! Buildings and pavements were at once well-known and completely alien, and it felt both like coming home and going as far away from it as I'd ever been. Almost like being a fresher again, which I guess is what I will be as I start my PhD, but that sense of anticipation was oddly mingled with nostalgia. 

The place is filled with memories, and it took me from my teens into my twenties, but I'm not that naive little girl now - in part because of how it (and the friends I made there) helped me grow. It was as though I'd stepped ('wheeled'? Nah, 'stepped', because I always walk in my dreams and I was in a dreamlike state) into a sliver of my past but also been granted a fraction of my future. I'm excited to find out what these old haunts have in store for this new me!

Wednesday, 12 August 2015

#Wheelchairperks no. 1

An extra post today, to bring you the first in the series of #wheelchairperks, companions to #wheelchairproblems. Hope you enjoy this tidbit from an outing earlier:

When you go to Camden market to get stuff for a costume for camp, and most of the storeholders apparently feel so sorry for you/superstitious of you that they knock everything down to less than half price, but really it's you who should feel sorry for them because their pity has only cost them money. Teehee.

(Thank you to the woman who didn't do this and was genuinely helpful in finding what I needed. I'll be coming back. I mean, I'm definitely not gonna complain about getting cheaper clothes, but, well, there are ways of being nice without being condescending - and today isn't the first time this has happened.)

Tuesday, 11 August 2015

Something to do

So...after finally expressing my genuine angst about a lack of structure to my time, days and life, I might just have found something to assuage it in the intervening period between coming home from camp and heading back up to Warwick.

Yesterday, mum and I met up with some of her old South African friends, who are over from their current home in Germany for a while. We went to another friend's concert (Beethoven and Mozart quintets, delicious!) and then took them to our local slice of eighteenth-century 'country' splendour - Kenwood House, once home to Lord Mansfield and his family, and set on a hill literally up the road from us in Hampstead. I love it - the house played a huge role in my childhood, thanks to primary school trips and summer holidays filled with concerts in the glorious grounds, even before I became an enthusiast of the era. During one such trip, our class was allowed to lie on the floor of the library and stare up at the ceiling - joy!

I hadn't been since they completed the renovation, though, so I was delighted to discover not only that they have restored all the lower rooms to their original Georgian glory (as designed by the celebrated Robert Adam) but that there is now a (surreptitiously installed) lift, which allows me to get upstairs! It also means I can at last properly contemplate the possibility of volunteering there, something I've considered for a while, and actually put my most recent degree to use. They're always on the hunt for new guides, and it would be absolute bliss to prattle on about my passion all day in a place so intimately connected with it (and with Dido Belle, one of the era's most fascinating characters) so I'm going to apply and offer my services for any of the next few holiday periods.

Georgian Christmas, anyone?

Sunday, 9 August 2015

Sunday sunshine and solemnity

I've been writing poetry today - not for this blog, nor for publication anywhere else (yet!). The only reason I mention it is that I'm not sure where the pieces I've written might fit, because they're very haphazard in their adherence to form or structure or narrative, and that's rather how I feel in myself at the moment. Sitting in the glorious sunshine on the Heath this afternoon, I realised that this summer is pretty much the first time in about five years that I've not had something around which to organise my days, whether that be essay and dissertation writing, classes, workshops and rehearsals to attend, reading for the next phase to study to do - or a broken wheelchair. That's not to say I'm completely idle - I've got plays to watch and books and articles to read in preparation for my PhD (and, as I've documented here, I've even written bits already!) - but there's no pressure. 

It's novel, and lovely (of course), but I must confess I don't quite know what to do. I'm so used to having plans and deadlines that I feel pretty guilty just 'being'. Obviously part of me is aware that that is utterly ridiculous - my mind, but especially my body, was so burnt out that this is exactly what I need. I think, though, that the guilt might actually be more like anxiety - because my busyness up to now has been a way to stop myself from thinking. I don't mean thinking in the academic or intellectual sense (I'll never want to stop doing that) but in the manner of dealing with certain aspects of my physical and mental health, both related and unrelated to my disability. Throwing myself into work at full pelt was, and is, an attempt to quiet some of the chatter and dissonance on my personal playlist (to use a contemporary metaphor) or the whining of my self-esteem's cassette tape as it gets stuck because I don't have a pencil on hand to rewind it (to use a metaphor from my childhood that I much prefer). 

The point of this ramble is that my absence from this blog last week was not so much due to tiredness as to me forcing myself just to stop and to take stock. In all my excitement about my new chair and the freedom it's offered me, I don't think I fully appreciated the impact that the last little while (and the fifteen months leading up to 1st July in particular) has had on my stamina and my ability to function fully (whatever that means). 

So, I stopped.

That's why, even though my chair is sorted, I've not organised all the social things I have been so waiting for. 

Sorry - but I think I'm nearly out of hibernation, so let's make plans. I've missed everyone.

Friday, 7 August 2015

#Wheelchairproblems no. 2

When you're on Hampstead Heath with your dogs, just minding your own business, and four white and fluffy miniature poodles (who have clearly never encountered a powered chair before) think it is both their right and duty to surround you and bark in an attempt to prevent you from moving...which you then can't do anyway because you're laughing so much.

(I have no photo or video evidence for this, sadly, but it was hilarious!)

Thursday, 6 August 2015

A rush of revivals

At last some thoughts on theatre - not quite when I hoped and, in fact, a full week since I last posted. However, having revived sufficiently after several quiet days and some good nights' sleep, it seems only fitting finally to write about the shows I saw last week, since they were/are revivals themselves. The first, which I watched on Saturday 25th, is Poet Laureate Carol Ann Duffy's adaptation of the anonymous mediaeval morality play The Summoning of Everyman, in this incarnation simply titled Everyman. The second, which I saw on Tuesday 28th, is a period dress production of George Farquhar's early-eighteenth-century comedy The Beaux' Stratagem. These are two plays that have not been overly present in the public consciousness, much those who study them (like me!) might wish they were and despite the fact that previous casts have included the early brilliance of greats such as Maggie Smith (now Dame), so I was excited to find out how they'd been reimagined for a new generation of audiences. They're also at opposite ends of the spectrum of possibilities when it comes to revival, and they're in repertory in the same space, which (in my head, at least) makes them ripe for comparison.

I should start off by saying that I absolutely loved both - and by assuring you that this is not just an unconsidered blanket statement. I don't love everything I watch, and I'm very ready to be critical (in the academic sense of the word) but I have very eclectic (and sometimes apparently incompatible) tastes in theatre. These two pieces were hugely different which, to my mind, leaves me ample room to enjoy both - and to illustrate that I am perhaps a bundle of contradictions, equally enamoured with the 'old-fashioned' aesthetic of a play performed 'as its writer wrote it' (if that is ever truly plausible) as with a production which might be termed 'modern', 'postmodern' or even 'post-postmodern'.


Forgive me if that seems pretentious (particularly that last bit with all the inverted commas and jargon) but it brings me to the essence of my joint review. The principal dramatic and critical concern when it comes to revivals is (yet another buzzword for you) 'relevance'. Will a 'Restoration' comedy about an impecunious aristocratic dandy hunting for a convenient fortune (and wife) meet well with current sensibilities? How does one approach presenting a mediaeval man's struggle with God and Death (both capitalised to emphasise their personification) as important in today's largely secular society? These productions, in my opinion, provide ample answers to such questions, as is underscored by the repeated presence of phrases like 'fresh' and 'thought provoking' in reviews for them both. As is in keeping with their seemingly disparate styles, of course, they do so in vastly different ways - a few of which I'll explore below:


Where The Beaux' Stratagem exhibits its theatricality through casual asides to the audience, slapstick humour involving obvious disguises, and lively songs and dances, Everyman does the same through its inclusion of video montages, wind machines (!) physical theatre and a combination of mediaeval-inspired music on period instruments and more modern dance tunes like Donna Summer's 1977 disco hit 'I Feel Love'. Whilst these strategies may appear to be worlds apart, though, they actually have  a similar goal, namely the creation of spectacle by way of the technology available during the eras they are attempting to capture - in these cases, the first decade of the eighteenth century and the second of the twenty-first, respectively.


Moreover, and aptly for productions that are sharing a stage for their runs, they achieve this spectacle in much the same manner - through their use of space. In Everyman, for instance, God (a woman, brilliantly played by Kate Duchenne!) opens the play by mopping the entire stage, as a trigger for her monologue about the divine duties of cleaning up after humans. Then, when Chiwetel Ejiofor enters as the titular character, he does so on wires from the flies, descending as if into a deep pit - an actual hole in the stage. Similarly, in The Beaux' Stratagem, the sense of constant change and deception (with nobody really sure who or where they are in life at any given point) is conveyed and maintained by the fact that much of the action takes place on the central staircase and its landings. Even the scene changes keep pace with this flurry of movement, in fact, because the difference between the coaching inn (where the titular duo, Aimwell and Archer, leave their horses 'ready saddled') and the big house (where they practise their guises on Dorinda and Mrs Sullen) is denoted only by the presence or absence of a seemingly flimsy wall.



The aura of simultaneous distance and immediacy evoked by this wall brings me to the linguistic elements of the two productions - because, as is only right in a properly put-together revival, one often finds oneself listening to the words of the characters and wondering exactly which era one is in. You might suppose that this would occur less frequently in Everyman, since it is an avowedly modern adaptation of the original text, and on a certain level this is true. The principal concern of Duffy's (brilliant) script, and consequently the 'reckoning' that drives the play, is the environmental impact of humanity. This is seemingly a striking addition to the ethical and moral dilemmas of the mediaeval protagonist (antagonist?) and its topicality is slyly conveyed through moments such as when God laments that the Earth has been 'fractured - fracked'. Nevertheless, even amidst all the plastic bags (and the wind machine that blasted them into the audience), I couldn't help but think of A Midsummer Night's Dream and its 'the seasons alter' speech. Of course, the monologue is there to emphasise the magical mechanics of the play, but its vocabulary is so specific and evocative that one wonders about the relationship of Shakespeare and his predecessors with the planet. (There are probably already essays upon essays upon articles on this subject already. I'm going to do some research. I'm a geek. I know.)

Potentially tenuous intertextual links in Everyman aside, all of The Beaux' Stratagem's fidelity to the bosoms and bustles of its original context served, in my mind,  only to heighten its 'modern' (or, more accurately, subversive) nature. I say subversive because that's what it is, and was, however subtly. The combination of Mrs Sullen's lines, for instance 'Agh! Matrimony!'*, and the play's concluding suggestion that she might remarry following a divorce were both genuinely novel in the period. (As they still are today, indeed, to many people in many societies.) For me, though, the crucial connection between our time and Farquhar's arose in (the suitably nebulous space of) the epilogue, and through a single word - 'consent'. Its presence in the script obviously alludes to the mutual agreement on separation made by spouses but, when uttered by a (modern) actress in a (modern) auditorium it necessarily carries connotations of other (legal and non-legal) agreements that are vitally important in a society still imbued with, and entrenched in, rape culture.

So...those are my musings on two raucous and refreshing revivals, exceedingly different and yet somehow decidedly similar. Hopefully they'll both make us think - and I hope my own (long-overdue) thoughts have not bored you, at least.

*I haven't got my copy of the script in front of me, so that quotation is probably incorrectly transcribed.