Shining

24 hours to go until I next tread the boards, and this time there are no excuses. In my fledgling acting career this is probably the smallest stage role I've yet had, and yet by far the most preparation I've been through. Yesterday's full dress rehearsal of "The Shoeshine" went extremely well, and a decent audience turned up to encourage us. Thanks, guys.

With Friday now sold out and a second venue expressing interest, writer/producer Richard Lloyd is now talking about sequels, including my character. Exciting times.

Press PLAY On Tape

BBC4's Micro Men was an enjoyable poke-around in the Retro attic; but a few authorial decisions left the guilty aftertaste of "infotainment".

By far the most worrying was the characterization of Clive Sinclair. Alexander Armstrong seems reckless casting for such a role, as there was so much scope for his own character to swamp the part. Sinclair was duly portrayed as a joke figure; a pompous, squawking demagogue with a tenuous grasp on reality, given to bouts of sheer weirdness that terrify underlings, and alienate friends and colleagues. In contrast, Martin Freeman's Chris Curry was the quiet everyman, very much the victim of Sinclair's worst excesses.

From what is known about the real Sinclair, the character doesn't seem inaccurate so much as wildly exagerrated, and mostly for comic effect. There were some clumsy set-up gags that interrupted the story, and when Armstrong started to wind up the engine, he came across as a kind of poor man's Davros; an impression reinforced by the overused image of him maraduing about Cambridge in his C5 electric cycle. For a piece that was ostensibly in admiration of his achievements, this seemed more than a little disingenuous; Sinclair was always an easy target for ridicule, and the C5 is the most obvious, laziest possible way to do it.

There were some fine touches though, such as the lovely image of Curry's Acorn crew eating Chinese takeaways using laboratory tools as chopsticks. The use of archive news and documentary footage was creative and charming, and overall there was an upbeat reverence to the pioneering spirit that justified the exercise.

The closing metaphor, unsubtle as it was, nonetheless amused. Driving his C5 down a "road" (that was, painfully obviously, a disused runway - perhaps a deliberate riff on 80's TV?) Sinclair was suddenly passed by huge lorries, bearing the logos of Hewlett Packard and Microsoft. Once again the show had veered closer to sketch comedy than drama, but this time, it worked.

Carry The Card

It was a day of cookies, ewoks, and bodysnatching.

Only the latter is worth reportage, methinx. The ever-excellent Fluellen Theatre had a rare outing in The Grand's main auditorium, with an adaptation of Dylan's "The Doctor & The Devils". It concerns the "resurrectionists" of 19th Century Edinburgh, and the moral dilemmas faced by both them, and their academic patrons. It's about how we draw lines, and then turn them into smudges. How Principle can become Dogma, and how Dogma can subvert Principle.

As my colleagues Julie-Anne & Steven Grey were in the cast and crew, I'm no longer an entirely disinterested party in Fluellen's affairs. So I'll just say that it was tremendous fun, though-provoking, and very imaginatively staged, and if you get the chance to see it on its short tour, you won't be disappointed.

No, really, you don't want to know about the ewoks.

Not in Bristol

I'm not in Bristol today.

This makes me special.

Bloomin' Article

It vexes me much when folks refer to bands improper-like.

Take those moody coves from my manor, The Manic Street Preachers. Now, let's think for a moment about what their name means. They are likening themselves to preachers, who practice their vocation on the street, in a fashion characterized as "manic". They are, thus, "Manic Street Preachers". There is no such place, either in the real world or the imagination of Nicky Wire, as "Manic Street", and thus no-one is known or even believed to preach there. There are no "Manic Street Preachers".

Manic, Street Preachers. Say it to yourself a few times. It will be like a cloud lifting from your mind.

While we're at it, check out Eagles. They are also a band. They liken their spirits to birds of prey circling in the dry, clear skies of their homeland. They do not, however, profess themselves, as individuals, to be birds. They have never been "The Eagles". They are just a band, called Eagles.

To my dismay, I note that "The" Bangles have recently given in on this issue. Darn it. Their proper name conjured a pile of cheap sparkly jewelry, lying piled in a box or strewn on an unmade bed, awaiting selection by a girl (or boy) off on a hot night out. It's a great name for a band. But Susannah Hoffs is not "a Bangle" - that's just plain silly. One can understand the symbolism of four Beatles, three Thompson Twins or two Krankies; but four Bangles? That's just like the contents of a Royal Wedding mug at your local car boot sale.

None of my old albums say "The Bangles" on them. So there.

Filler

I'm baking a rhubarb, apple and ginger crumble and editing photographs of my niece-and-nephew-in-law.

It's not exciting, but it's my life.

Excellent Bottom

We don't get that much Shakespeare out here in the colonies. So, when some comes along, it's best not to be too picky. I've never been a fan of A Midsummer Night's Dream, but in the spirit of supporting local(ish) theatre, on Thursday night H&I accompanied some friends to watch Black Rat Productions blow us away with the fairies.

Boy, were we glad we made the effort. Breathlessly physical, joyous, sexy and bloody funny - I never knew there was so much in it! Whether entwining their bodies to the rhythms of the text, convincingly punching each other's lights out, or nibbling cheese sandwiches with impeccable comic timing; they couldn't put a foot wrong.

My only regret? It was the last night, so I couldn't tell everyone I know to go see it. But in case you have a time machine; Thursday 2nd July 2009, Grand Theatre Arts Wing, Swansea. You'll be glad you did, even though you... er... didn't.