Haiku 16.02.09

What sad eyes he said
Two clear pools of endless blue
They glitter with tears

Haiku 13.02.09

Knot in my pocket
Unwanted stitch in the seam
Til rage burns the thread

Haiku 11.02.09

As a little experiment, I've started writing (or attempting to write) some Haiku. Here's my first effort:

Memory buzzes
An electric fly catcher
I swim to the light

The Rise And Fall of Marcus Reeves and The Shameless Plugs from Streatham Hill

At the time of writing, I should be doing the Charleston. Let me elucidate (gosh what a big word for a five foot seven part time tranny)…

In just a few short weeks I will be celebrating my thirtieth birthday and will mark it by looking back at what where I’ve been in my little-legged life so far, in the form of my new solo show, three zero. The piece is a sort of ‘introspective retrospective’, featuring highlights from all my solo shows so far, from my first play with songs, Cut Out and Keep… which told the story of my mother’s family, to the drama behind the scenes of my infamous flop musical Postcards from God via some poems and songs new and old.

Stuart Burrows, who directs and choreographs the London Gay Mens Chorus amongst other things has kindly taken me under his wing and is choreographing one of the sections. Me dancing doesn’t happen much (unless I’m a little ‘jolly’) and I’ve never ever done it on stage, so it was one of the challenges I set myself when I started work on the show.

The premiere will take place at the Royal Vauxhall Tavern, where I’ve spent many a drunken and disgraceful night and I will be joined by some friends old and new, all of them favourites of mine – bearded ladies Timberlina and Le Gateau Chocolat, scrumptious pop art munchkin Dickie Beau and one of my all-time heroes Clementine The Living Fashion Doll. All rounded off with a soundtrack from my friends DJ Sina Evil and Ian Aitch. After all that I will probably fall over in a great heap and have to be carried home on a stretcher.

But before any dancing, drinking or falling over, I have allowed myself one treat for the month – the latest event from the one man powerhouse that is Rupert Smith AKA the House of Homosexual Culture.

I’ve already enjoyed Julian Clary’s induction into the HOHC Hall of fame (where he ate Paul Burston alive), had fabulous fun at their Quentin Crisp do and of course crowned my Christmas by doing a festive turn at their yuletide cabaret in the Clore Ballroom (marred only by falling asleep and leaving my very valuable Christmas Tree costume on the night bus afterwards. Ouch.).

Next up is an audience with Leee Black Childers. Who? I hear you ask. Heathen! I first came across Leee (so to speak) during my formative teenage years spent not doing my GCSE homework and reading any and every Bowie biography I could get my podgy little hands upon. He witnessed Warhol’s milieu (I must stop using all these posh words) first hand, photographing the gay underside of glam and punk rock culture and immersing himself elbow deep. He’s promised a few saucy anecdotes – I for one am waiting to find out whether Bowie really was all talk when it came to ‘Sweet Head’ and what really happened at the Stonewall riots – was it as anarchic and revolutionary as popular history claims, or are the accounts that I’ve heard true, where blood was shed, but not as much as you’d think – and not a lot really ‘went down’?

Rather like Rupert’s Holly Woodlawn event at the Drill Hall, I can’t turn down the opportunity to bask in the glow of an icon and will be there with bells on (though not Christmas ones - I left them on the night bus).

Now, back to the Charleston. Where did I leave my boater?

three zero premieres at the Royal Vauxhall Tavern on Tuesday February 3rd, Doors 7 pm, Tickets £5.00 – visit www.reevescorner.co.uk/threezero

Leee Black Childers hits the House of Homosexual Culture on Friday 30 January 2009 at the Purcell Room, 7.45pm, Tickets £20 – visit www.southbankcentre.co.uk

Paper roses and faded dreams…

On Saturday I had the great pleasure of seeing Pebbles On The Beach, written by Joanna Pinto and presented at the Old Red Lion by Weaver Hughes Ensemble. I first met Tim and Julia who run the company a few years ago when I was working at the Brockley Jack Theatre and we crossed paths again recently. They are a highly prolific couple, who usually have at least two if not three theatre projects on the go at one time. I saw their production of The Six Wives of Timothy Leary up at the Edinburgh Fringe this summer and was very impressed, but found Pebbles a much more weighty and moving piece.

The story is that of Leo, a young man who, as a child, found out that he was adopted. In the course of the play he attempts to piece together the fragments of his fractured life and finally make some sort of sense of it.

Brighton beach opens up to space and time and using an array of simple props, Timothy Hughes weaves a dream-like world where fathers become grandfathers, girlfriends become teachers and pregnant actresses become playground bullies without any sense incongruity.

The motif of life as a beach was perhaps a little over-used in the text and there were a few moments that zipped by so fast I couldn’t quite catch them, but overall it was a very well-written play given a very inventive and witty staging. Michael Armstrong played Leo with a winning mixture of cruel arrogance and endearing naivety, the rest of the ensemble playing multiple roles as they created all the people who had touched his life in some way.

I was intrigued by the piece as I felt there were some similarities between it and my new play, Single Numbers Only.

The theme of adoption is important, but in some ways a bit of a red herring. Pebbles seems to me to be a puzzling piece about life and its inter-connectivity, showing that chance can have as much of a devastating effect as pre-meditated action. Leo’s anger at his adoption and rejection of the fact that his new parents really did love him as if he were their own leads him to ruin not only his own life, but the lives of the people he meets on his chaotic journey, a search for his own sense of identity. It’s not until his final reconciliation with those close to him that he can let go of that anger and the ghosts of memories that haunt him.

Having seen (and been in) my fill of ‘pub theatre’ and ‘studio’ productions, I can say that there was little to fault with this production, which was effortlessly and impressively slick. The design, direction and lighting were first class, with the actors giving genuinely moving and intimate performances, reduced to tears themselves (and having the same effect on me) at the show’s poignant finale.

(Production photos by Angela Larotonda © 2008)

Boy George 8 out of 10, David McAlmont 20 out of 10

Last weekend was really exciting as I got to see two of my all-time heroes in concert. After a Friday night watching the pitiful excuse for light entertainment that was BBC’s Children In Need it was exactly what I needed - Fern Cotton gurning away for five hours non stop isn't exactly my idea of fun (BTW – WTF has happened to Stephen Gately’s face?)!

On Saturday night I went to see Boy George at the Shaw Theatre. I was looking forward to it as I saw him play at Bush Hall a few years back and he gives good show. I must say that the Shaw is a very odd venue, as it’s part of a hotel – and certainly feels that way. Chaos reigned and the show started late as people wouldn’t stay in their seats and stood down the front (though I must admit I went down to the aisles after a while too after lots of fat people stood up in front of me).

George was a little sniffly, which he said (and I hope really was) a cold but was otherwise on good form. If there was one criticism it was that he really didn’t hit any of the high notes in much of his material (and there weren’t that many to start with), instead doing that ‘jazzy’ thing that many artists do in rephrasing their melodies at a lower pitch. Apart from that it was a lengthy and amazing set, with lots of Culture Club hits along with some of his more obscure solo material (including my favourites Stranger In This World and Unfinished Business) as well as some spirituals and his most recent single, the upbeat Yes We Can. His backing singers totally stole the show with solo turns and in a handful of duets with him. I think George’s music has become really good in recent years and it’s a shame that press attention on his personal life has eclipsed his talent at times.

Support was from the wonderful Declan Bennett who one day will be my husband (a boy has to have a dream).

On Sunday, my old friend from ushering days Aaron Paterson came round for a lunch and we had a yellow-sticker vegetarian feast, followed by a stroll around the streets of Streatham Hill (which was a lot more interesting than it sounds).

That night I went to the Jazz Café to see David McAlmont, who was performing the whole of his album A Little Communication to celebrate the tenth anniversary of its release. I have been following David’s music since his work with Bernard Butler and was lucky enough to meet him at an event by the House of Homosexual Culture last year. He was at his best with this show, relaxed, confident and telling a lot of funny and candid stories.

Every time I see him live he gets better and better. He had a few guests playing with him, including Martin Sakutu of The Laurel Collective and pianist Jon Regen whose style I totally loved. I really want to check out some of their music.

I am always amazed by the skill of really good musicians, in that they can make a totally different sound from the same instrument and convey their own style and emotions so effortlessly. Something to aspire to there I think!