Archives 2001/2011
Some whi
le ago, coming to the end of a long running musical in this part of the world, I was about to say goodbye to two of my latest visitors. They had been with me for quite a long time and we had become pals if not bosom buddies. I reflected on the many different type of people who had stayed under my roof. This time they were not actually “turns” but valuable members of the crew, one mainly concerned with the technical production and all attendant problems and the other an ASM of some years experience. Both real pearls but from very different oysters. One must be from a Dublin Bay oyster – a lover of real ale/stout and real late nights, who staggers downstairs to breakfast in the afternoon on black coffee and a gasper. His complexion had the tell tale hue of public bars and late night haunts. His clothes were also dark. The other was a pearl of a more delicate hue, maybe a pacific oyster. He was a caring, fragile pearl of the vegetarian persuasion. His delicate lobes pierced with many rings, his smokes of the self-rolled variety. His clothes had the air of the handpicked afghan Oxfam style.
My Dublin oyster read the tabloids and his room still had the air of anonymity it had when he arrived. My delicate pearl had volumes of well thumbed poetry, Sebastian Faulks “Birdsong” and photographs of his beloved plus numerous cards blu-tacked to the wall. Chalk and cheese but both delightful in their own ways.Each new production brings its’ own surprises and I have been fascinated to see how my weekly shop has changed. It used to be the staples of life, our life – my daughter and me and didn’t hold too many surprises or exotic purchases. These days my shopping lists are a testament to how things change. Tea, coffee, sugar, milk, milk of magnesia, dish washer tabs, Resolve, Paracetamol (Oh how I wish they still sold them in 100’s) fruit, veg, salad, pregnancy testing kits, washing up liquid, loo paper, bathroom cleaner, condoms, chicken, bread, orange juice, depilatory cream (for a shy but hirsute young actress) shampoo, conditioner, hair dye (for an ageing would-be Lothario. I don’t ask too many questions when handing over purchases and pocketing the money for said items.
Initially people’s reactions on being told that I am a “Landlady” range from the surprised but interested to the downright put out. The surprised but interested are agog to see who comes in next and the down right disgusted will never get over the shock that I take in LODGERS. I think the latter feel sorry for me and wonder if my late husband didn’t leave me so well off after all!!
On the subject of people’s reactions to this landlady business, let me tell you of a time when I really dug my own grave four fathoms deep. I was at a ladies lunch given by a Lady who Lunches. It was quite a grand affair with several worthies and women of a certain age, decked out in their designer gear or classic clobber and some wearing trophies of the trophy wife variety. One Lady opposite brayed at me “And what do YOU do”. I replied that I did a bit of this; a bit of that and that I also took in “luvvies” (I really don’t mean that in a pejorative way it just seemed the right word at the time). Well that is what I said but not what they heard. “Yes” said I “It is really very interesting, some stay for a week or so, some longer blah blah, it helps dilute the mother/daughter thing, another blah”. There was a stunned silence around the table but I gamely battered on. “The cash comes in handy and it is good for daughter to meet so many interesting people”. Jaws were dropping but unstoppable I carried on “It’s a good way to use the house, the company is great and the crack hilarious”. I stopped at this point as one of the ladies said “How refreshingly honest of you”. I was perplexed to say the least and could not understand why everyone was looking so shocked. Lunch finally over I asked my hostess what was so outrageous about what I had been saying and when she stopped laughing she said “Darling, I think “THEY” think you said LOVERS. My reputation has never recovered and it went around this part of town like a dose of ..Whatever!!
On the other hand it has become – amongst some of the more enlightened of my pals and some of the impoverished aristocracy – quite a “fun” thing to do. Now I have a raft of telephone numbers where I can redirect folk to when I am full, happy in the knowledge that all the places I can recommend are great places to stay, lovely homes opened up by welcoming people, happy to provide top digs at reasonable rates. Perhaps it is time to open an agency.
Of course apart from the entertainment value there are added extras. I get to see the shows, good seats sometimes for free or at house seat rates. I see shows, plays, musicals etc that I might never have bothered with and life is all the more colourful for it. I never cease to be amazed at the variety of interpretations of, say, Richard 111. I think the most ambitious project I have seen was the putting of Aldus Huxley’s Brave New World to music and dance. This was done by a small touring company who travel Europe in a large van, bringing these brave new productions to the European masses. It was terrific, energetic and very, very different. This same company has also done The Canterville Ghost in a similar vein.
I see this Landlady experience as one that enriches my life (aforementioned daughter has now moved to flat in basement of house) and has provided hours of unbridled hilarity and pleasure. Like the night some of a certain show joined my friends and I on my annual Burns Night. On arriving after the show they sat down and joined in with great gusto, pouring whisky from jugs into their bottomless glasses, unprompted they added to the entertainment. Reciting Scottish verse and displaying great virtuosity on the piano, fiddle and penny whistle. One singer (who is coincidentally the greatest Judas ever to set foot on stage) showed us the “majesty” of his voice while he proceeded to delight us with bawdy ballads. The following morning was a whispered affair with aching heads and much consumption of black coffee and orange juice with much resorting to a variety of analgesia.
I have discovered that there is much falling in love on tour. I have been privy to many a maiden in the first flushes of love, crying, “it’s real this time, I know it” from the doorway to my bedroom, clutching onto the door handle with all her might, faint from passion (or lust). Some of these loves survive the run, some survive the week, and some only survive until the real light of day. So far we have had two weddings, three engagements, many causes for divorce plus several lasting relationships. In my opinion this touring business is for the young and unattached. It is easy to fall in lust with someone you see nightly in full war paint and beautifully lit. The combination of theatrical magic and madness together with the elixir of proximity and availability can be heady and dangerous stuff. Weekends loom and tours end and hearts get broken. But hopefully they mend quickly because next week another town, a new cast member and who knows……….this time………it could be the real thing. For a week. For a month.
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