69 Shades Of Black - not '50 Shades Of Black'

A mate rang me today to ask if I had a play touring, as she thought she saw one of my titles.  The play in question was called 69 Shades Of Black, and I had a short play at Soho Theatre 'Terror Night' a while ago that did very well and had some great reviews called 50 Shades Of Black, so that’s where the confusion came from.  Thing is I’ve been trying for bloody ages to get a producer/director interested in me rewriting the two-hander as a two act play, but have met with utter indifference.  It’s frustrating when you know you have a good idea and even one with a decent pedigree to discover that finding another home for it is for someone like me, a struggling playwright, near impossible; I’m not even sure if I had one response or acknowledgment, and so after a while I gave up trying with that one.  I guess it was only a matter of time before someone else came up with a similar idea, so - best of luck!  I was approached by someone who was interested in making my play into a short film though, so you never know it might still have a further life.  Anyhow, below is one of the reviews from my production in the Terror Season; this one, Charles Spencer for The Telegraph…

There are four short plays and three of them are no great shakes. Robert Farquhar’s No Place Like proves an entirely damp squib but comic actor Mike McShane’s Representation does at least achieve a couple of shivers with its tale of vampires in Hollywood. There is also a characteristically nasty and disconcerting piece from Mark Ravenhill about sinister experiments on children in which the narrator seems to be confusedly recalling a bad dream. This one does indeed haunt the memory but never delivers the required final punch.

Alex Jones’s Fifty Shades of Black however achieves exactly the required jolting impact. It stars the two likeable cabaret performers, Desmond O’Connor and Sarah-Louise Young, as a pair of lovers who, clearly influenced by 50 Shades of Grey, are engaging in a spot of S&M. They set about the domination and submission routines with nervy embarrassment and it all feels like a risqué lark. But suddenly the mood changes with a payoff that really does shock and terrify.

The fact that this deeply disconcerting moment comes from two artists who have come to seem like reassuring friends in the course of the show proves a genuine theatrical coup in an evening that is otherwise not nearly as scary as one might wish.

Stephen Sutton - an inspirational kid

Apart from my caring work, I have also been busy recently writing audio trails for the National Trust, and when I am at home I generally go for a walk before settling down to write.  So I dropped Sarah off at the school where she works and set out nice and early on a beautiful May day for a stroll.  I usually trudge up the Malvern Hills behind our house, but today I decided to go downhill instead and take in some of the beautiful woodland walks in the valley below us.  The grass was wet with dew and the birds were singing their hearts out; I saw a woodpecker and heard a cuckoo too as I made my way through the trees and flower meadows, and just had to stop now and again to take in the various amazingly beautiful scenes and vistas on my way; the bluebells were still there, although fading a little now, but the tiny white flowers of wild garlic and peppery yellow celandines lined the pathways everywhere.  I didn’t see a single soul, apart from a few horses galloping away in the distance, and a roe deer furtively making its way through some undergrowth.  And I got to thinking about how I felt when I came out of hospital following my cancer surgery, and how I had blogged about how surviving that trauma had made me appreciate the commonplace and ordinary things in life more, and speculating if after a while life would just become normal again and routine…  Well I guess you do have to settle into life’s little routines and find a way to earn a living and pay the mortgage and stuff, but my perspective in life I realise was changed forever by that experience, and I really don’t take moments like these for granted anymore – I’m very lucky to be here still to see and hear the beauty of the natural world as I walk around the woods here, and experience… well as a million other things too.  On returning home I switched on the radio and heard the news that Stephen Sutton, the teenager who had raised over three million pounds for the Teenage Cancer Trust had sadly passed away.  I kind of had an affinity with this kid; when I first saw him on TV, he was lying back in bed and you could clearly see the long surgical scar right down his abdomen – I have a replica of my own.  He was an amazing guy; a teenager who in spite of being diagnosed with a terminal illness still managed to have a positive outlook on the life he had left.  He achieved his bucket list, and along the way raised an incredible amount of money to help other young people who are suffering from cancer too.  He like me had bowel cancer, and in an interview he talked about how unfortunate it was that his illness was diagnosed too late to save his life.  It seems that doctors weren’t able to believe that a young man could be suffering from a disease that usually affected people much, much older.  And even though I myself am much, much older, this is what I was told too – “You’re not old enough to have bowel cancer, and you don’t smoke; I have other patients who are far more at risk than you.”  In my case, persistence paid off – I’m still here, and am grateful for every precious moment, and grateful too for inspirational people like this young man who didn’t waste a second of what life was left for him to live, and who has left behind a legacy of hope for other young people who may be in a similar place.  Sometimes life can be cruel and totally random tragic stuff can happen; but as he said – “When life gives you lemons, make lemonade”…  God bless you, kid, I give thanks for your presence here on earth however brief it was – you made a difference, and not many of us can say that.

Poem of the week - 'Marriage Vow'

A mate of mine got married recently and I was asked to do a reading as part of the ceremony.  She asked if I had any suggestions and I mentioned that I had a piece that I was asked to write for another friend’s wedding many years ago.  So I read the piece on the day and it went down really well; ‘hitting the emotional spot’, I guess.  Afterwards one of the guests told me that she loved that poem, and that a friend of hers had used it at her wedding too.  I remember that the girl I wrote it for asked if she could pass it on to someone else who wanted to use it, and apparently it has somehow become a bit of a favourite piece for wedding readings, being emailed on and on, I suppose. So if anyone out there is using it, perhaps you wouldn’t mind just acknowledging the author?  Anyhow, it’s called ‘Marriage Vow, and here it is…

Marriage Vow

There is now,

There is here;

The two of us before so many

Saying “We are here together

Sharing a word;

A word that brings us together”.

And so we say to all of you

“Here we are - the two of us

Now,

Now and always”.

And so let this be our vow:

That we, imperfect people

In an imperfect world

Will strive for that word:

That single word, perfect in its simplicity;

And our lives from here on

Are as husband and wife,

Man and woman

Linked together until death

By a pledge before you.

Witness us,

Bear witness to us

As we say to each other

“I love you”.

For what more can one person say to another?

So bear witness

And share this moment with us

As we pledge our troth,

As we sign our names on paper

For some official to record and mark in time,

Not knowing how we feel now;

Standing before you, our witnesses,

Sharing with us

This ceremony that brings us together

And these words that bind,

This word,

This single word

That brings us here together,

This word -

“Love”.

Poem of the week - Hello Sarah

The momentous revelations last week about the origins of the big bang and the existence of gravity waves really fired me up; it’s such an exciting time we’re living in scientifically.  And so I found myself one night unable to sleep, turning it all over in my head, and suddenly I felt inspired at 2.am to get out of bed and write this poem, which oddly enough isn’t just about inflation, the big bang and gravity waves, but is also about the creation of my wife, Sarah… whom in case you haven’t guessed, I quite like.

HELLO SARAH

An eye blinks a universe into existence,

The thud of passion sending waves of fear and possibility through the void –

White on black,

Red on white,

Fireworks ripping into the fabric of space-time.

And there,

Right there in the moment of inflation

When time begins to click its idea into substance,

There,

Right there in the centre of a fireball,

In the melding of atoms,

Right there

In the red hot blistering crucible of creation,

There…

There’s a spark,

A fuse that ignites a star,

A star that will one day explode in a blaze of light,

A stardust sparkle of galaxies that holds the essence of you.

Who would have thought that gravity waves could be so creative?

There,

Right there

You stand,

Your eyes shining, so human and frail,

Eyes twinkling with the dust of stars,

Your smile a greeting from the beginning of time,

A smile 13.8 billion years old –

Hello Sarah.

Trapped in the floods.

Struggling a bit financially (what’s new?), so I’ve decided to go back to my caring job and have been doing some shifts at a children’s home out in the sticks I’ve never worked before.  They are mostly boys there, and when the manager explained that they were somewhat challenging I sort of knew what to expect.  Sure enough within half an hour of being there, I was pulling two lads apart as a fight broke out, and throughout the day things were kicking off almost every hour.  But later on I went out with them and another carer and we all played snooker together, and gradually I got to know them, and they me I suppose.  By the end of a long, long day they were laughing and joking and I was showing them some riffs on a guitar one of them had.  Yeah, they’re challenging and boy it was one of the most difficult shifts I had worked for a long time, but essentially these kids are hurting inside, and have been let down by the adults in their lives, so unfortunately we carers sometimes have to take the brunt of their disappointments and anger full on.  I went back to do a double shift this weekend gone, and as the weather turned bad, one of the carers rang in and asked me to do his sleep for him as he would struggle to get in.  The kids were kicking off and it took us ages to get them settled, but eventually I got to bed just before midnight; although they did get us up a few times during the night.  The next morning however, the manager told me I couldn’t go home as it had rained so heavily overnight, the home was completely surrounded by flood water and no other carers could make it in.  Food stocks were also running low and the kids were expecting to be taken to a skate park for the day, so somehow we had to keep them occupied and compensate for the loss of their day out. So I baked cakes with them, played chess, monopoly, guitar, pool, watched as one kid showed of his casting techniques with his fishing rod into the lake that had overnight appeared in the garden, played drama games (mostly Cinderella) with the only girl there, cooked a sort of dinner with the remnants of food I could find in the freezer, and then at the end of the day one of them pelted me with tomatoes and fruit, while another spat full in my face.  It took ages for the floods to recede enough for me to get away, and on the way home I stopped at a garage and bought a bottle of wine!  Strangely I somehow find this work somehow fulfilling… but I think I’ll wait a few days before booking another shift.    

Poem of the week - Mars And The Milky Way

I wrote this poem about a faraway memory of when I used to stay the night together with my family sometimes at my aunt’s house, which was always exciting because my brothers and my sister and I would play mad, dangerous games with my crazy cousins, that sometimes involved jumping off bridges and running along railway tracks, pretending to be cowboys and Indians.  Strangely enough none of us got hurt… well not really hurt.  We were dirt poor, and so when we were bought chocolate it was a real treat.  Even then I was fascinated by the night sky and loved looking at the stars; dreaming probably of one day becoming an astronaut; a tall hope for a Black Country kid on a rough estate, but at that age nothing seemed impossible.  Anyhow, after a day of games and mayhem we’d all be crowded together, three or four in a bed, and on that particular night I just couldn’t get to sleep, so I crept downstairs and discovered my mum and aunt chatting together and scoffing chocolate..!

   

MARS AND THE MILKY WAY

I'm sitting on my mum's lap.

Two, maybe three years old,

The stars are spinning,

The stars are spinning.

I'm at my aunt's house,

My brothers and sister are in bed.

I can't sleep,

I can't sleep -

The red curtains that look like carpets, slake across the window,

But the moon pours in -

I'm awake.

I'm three years old,

I've been jumping off railway bridges,

I've been jumping off railway bridges into straw,

Listening for trains with my ear to the rail, like Indians do -

How old am I?

I'm two, no three - maybe four years old,

I'm sitting on my mum's knee - the telly's off,

The men aren't around,

Perhaps they're up the pub?

The conversation is soft and pink and funny,

I don't understand it.

My mum is eating some chocolate; she gives me a bite -

It's not a Milky Way; it's a Mars Bar,

Something different, more expensive -

Toffee, caramel...

My mum's eyes sparkle with love, like stars in the sky,

My aunt's childish laughter at my surprise makes me smile;

The stars outside, I know,

I know,

I really know

Are big and sparkly, and like big jewellery, sparkly...

Stars - shining.

I'm a kid hugging a mum,

And I don't know if I'm two or three or four,

But I'm eating a Mars Bar and the stars are shining outside,

And my brothers and my sister and my cousins

Are all asleep upstairs,

And I'm eating a Mars Bar with my mum,

And the Milky Way is spinning away, and Mars is big and red,

And Auntie Eileen says "He likes a bit of chocolate!”

And I take another bite of a Mars Bar, looking at my mum,

Who smiles back like the moon.

Poem of the week - Signing Love

This poem is from my Tango Apocalypso collection.  It’s called Signing Love.  I have worked for many years with people with learning and physical disabilities, and have sometimes (rather clumsily) had to use sign language myself to communicate, and have always been inspired by the beauty of signing; the movement of the hands when deaf people communicate, the expressive contact of their eyes and face.  As a few of the actors I was working with were deaf, it made me want to write a love poem about two deaf people declaring their love for each other through their own language of signing… I hope you like it.

SIGNING LOVE

Your fingers are lips

Your arms a ripple of passion

Your mouth moves

And I can hear your silence whisper to me

Your hands are moving so delicately

Like butterflies

Like birds in a bell-jar

You are signing your love for me

And it's beautiful!