#Drama Centre recall

[celestinovietti]

Regarding the Pecco/Alex situation, here's my two cents. I think people are forgetting the real demon here.

It's the media and the higher ups who force riders to talk to the media when they are in no fit state to do so. As a person who actually has done motorsport media, I can't tell you how many times I saw people in media pen who weren't in the right frame of mind to be interviewed. I recall watching a certain driver being summoned to the stewards mid interview after a terrible race and whispering "Thank god" under his breath. Of course, its your job and you want to know. But media duties are usually straight after the races so people are still hurting or upset. Put yourselves in their shoes. If you were injured at work, would you want a camera in your face 5 minutes after? I remember in motogp, media WAITING outside fucking hospitals and medical centres to talk to riders who are drugged up to their eyeballs. It's not fair on them.

Instead of lying the blame at the riders, blame the system that forces people who are not physically or mentally ready to speak on such matters and forces them in front of a camera for some drama. They're human beings. They're all going to say something cunty and get dragged through the mud for it. And the fans who justify and send shit to ANY rider when they risk their lives every weekend aren't real fans.

Peace out 🫶🏻

[reluctantjoe]

Mathew Baynton on life after Ghosts

Shilpa Ganatra interviews Mathew Baynton, who explains why it’s time to end the BBC One sitcom and how new voices are improving TV comedy

“What have we done?” bemoans the decapitated head of Sir Humphrey Bone, after the nation’s favourite spectres make a defining decision in the final episode of Ghosts, which goes out as a Christmas special on BBC One. “We did the right thing,” Julian Fawcett, the trouserless MP ghost, says confidently.

The exchange nicely reflects the sentiment of the show’s creators, the Them There collective, in deciding to exorcise the BBC supernatural sitcom after five series – despite notching up several RTS nominations and maintaining an audience of around 4 million throughout its run.

The Christmas special was co-written by Them There’s Mathew Baynton, who also plays the romantic poet Thomas Thorne in the series.

“From an artistic point of view, I’ve never been in any doubt that ending Ghosts now was the right thing to do and the right time to do it,” he tells Television. “From a personal point of view, we feel a sense of loss that we’re not going to be getting together in that place at the same time of year, every year. But nothing can go on for ever.”

“That sadness tells you it was the right thing. If we carried on for another five seasons and we were all bored of it, bored of each other, and it wasn’t as good as it used to be, we wouldn’t miss it afterwards.”

The series follows in the tradition of British domestic sitcoms, centring on a young couple, Alison and Mike (Charlotte Ritchie and Kiell Smith-Bynoe). They inherit Button House, a country manor haunted by a disparate crew of spirits from across the ages, played by the Them There collective: Baynton, Simon Farnaby, Martha Howe-Douglas, Jim Howick, Laurence Rickard and Ben Willbond, plus Lolly Adefope.

The show is a logical leap from the troupe’s first multi-award-winning TV creation, Horrible Histories, which re-enacted the curiosities of yesteryear in comedic skits. Horrible Histories’ success made it “shockingly easy” to get Ghosts commissioned – the only bump in the road was discussions between the group and the BBC about the pilot.

Recalls Baynton: “They wanted to do a pilot that would go out with other pilots. We wanted to do one to figure out the idea and road test the special effects, but we didn’t want it to be aired, because then there would be a pressure to not change it.”

The compromise was to make a 10-minute taster pilot that wasn’t for broadcast. This taster tried out their initial idea of having a house full of different ghosts and playing multiple characters (as with Horrible Histories and Them There’s Sky One series, Yonderland). But the result proved this set-up didn’t create the character friction necessary to sustain a sitcom, so the band stuck to the small group of ghosts we know today, from a prim and proper Edwardian matriarch to a caveman.

As Ghosts meets its end – on British TV at least, as the US adaptation is still going strong and about to enter its third season – Baynton, who turns in a high-octane performance as Fickelgruber in the film Wonka, is turning his attention to the other strings in his bow.

At the end of January he’ll step into the role of Bottom in a new production of A Midsummer Night’s Dream by the Royal Shakespeare Company.

He’s also writing a comedy film (details are being kept under wraps) and will show off his more serious acting side in the upcoming BBC Three series A Good Girl’s Guide to Murder, a crime thriller based on the bestselling novel.

As a student, Baynton initially studied directing, earning a first-class degree at the Rose Bruford drama school in south-east London. After being drawn towards comedy, he attended Philippe Gaulier’s famously idiosyncratic clown school in Paris. “We used to say half of the fee is like a ticket just to watch him, because he’s hilarious. He plays the persona of a curmudgeonly, philo­sophical, French sort of half-wizard,” he recalls, adding: “Philippe’s got an incredible ability to help you learn what the audience sees in you.”

“If people tried to act up an idiot character, he’d say, ‘Don’t pretend to be more of an idiot than God already made you. He did a good enough job’. You don’t need to exaggerate it or pretend to look stupid. What you need to be is honest about the thing about yourself that people find funny, and then access that and allow people to laugh at it.”

This advice helped Baynton climb his first rungs in TV comedy to play Deano in Gavin & Stacey, a work colleague of Smithy (James Corden). He would go on to co-create and write the RTS award-­winning The Wrong Mans with Corden, the co-author of Gavin & Stacey. By the time Ghosts began, he had worked in TV comedy – featuring in Peep Show, Spy and The Armstrong and Miller Show, among others – for more than a decade.

“You’ll hear people saying, ‘Comedy was best when I was young’. I always think, ‘Well, you’re just not paying attention, then’. There will always be great stuff and if it doesn’t speak to you, it’s probably because it’s for people younger than you.”

While being a dad of two has limited the amount of competitor benchmarking he’s doing, he’s impressed with the greater breadth of voices in contemporary TV comedies.

“Bridget Christie’s The Change springs to mind, with menopausal women as the central characters, and the specificity of the location of the Forest of Dean. You couldn’t say that’s like any sitcom that’s come before,” he says. “We Are Lady Parts is another one, so is Stath Lets Flats.”

“I don’t know why I’m only naming Channel 4 shows, seeing as the BBC has been so good to me…”

Making comedy inclusive is no constraint to a writer, Baynton believes: “I’ve read the odd interview where people have said that creators are self-censoring to the point where they can’t be as instinctively funny. And some people see comedy’s function as being able to say the unsayable.”

“I can only speak for myself, but I know that my best work comes from writing and rewriting. What emerges is always something cleverer than I am, because in life you only get a first draft when you’re having a conversation. It’s not a bad thing to realise that a joke could maybe hurt someone, and it sounds like a better idea that I should rewrite if my intention could be misconstrued.”

As the curtain falls on Ghosts, commissioners are clamouring to find out what’s next for the Them There collective. Happily, they still have the same personnel and are mulling over their next project.

“We’re mindful that we can’t just do a modern sitcom where we’re wearing jeans and T-shirts. It just isn’t our tone,” says Baynton. “When we look for ideas, we’re thinking, what’s the playground that we can put ourselves in? Where we can do something with a heightened silliness, where potentially we play more than one character, and where there is a costume element to it.”

With this tried and tested formula as the base, their continued success seems assured. The legacy of Ghosts is preserved, too, persisting in the corridors of Button House and, indeed, TV history.

[dreaminginthedeepsouth]

Nancy Gryspeerdt: On my second day earwigging for Michael Gambon, I found myself lying under the bed in which the legend of stage and screen was portraying Winston Churchill. It was 2015, and we were on the set of Churchill’s Secret. Hidden this way, I was out of view for the camera, but not out of earshot, so I could shout out his lines for him to repeat. The idea was we’d cut my bellowing out of the scene afterwards. Earwigging is the process of reading an actor’s lines into a microphone. These are then fed into a tiny earpiece in the actor’s ear. The tech is imperfect and sometimes it fails, as it had that day when I was forced to improvise by hiding under the bed. Certain movie stars are said to opt for an earpiece purely to save the time and effort of learning lines, but I find that hard to believe. Line-by-line feeding is tricky. It can cause random pauses and actors often look distracted as they listen. The frustration Michael felt about the whole process was profound.

Michael had lost the ability to learn lines several years before. He would often recount how he’d been rehearsing Alan Bennett’s play The Habit of Art at the National Theatre in 2010 and suddenly collapsed, in fear. Memory decline was what he was afraid of, a slippery slope he would indeed begin to slide down. He was replaced in The Habit of Art and only returned to theatre once more in a one-man play, Krapp’s Last Tape, that relied upon his recorded voice more than live monologue. Developing a method for memorising and recalling lines is part of every actor’s practice. For all but the most demanding jobs, it’s a basic requirement before the real work begins, not a proof of acting talent. Occasional lapses happen, like an ill-timed cramp might for an athlete. But when an actor loses the ability to learn lines, it’s a career-ending injury. If you don’t have your lines, it is all you can think about.

Becoming an earwig hadn’t been my plan. Before stepping in to cover for Michael’s regular earwig in her absence, I was a director’s assistant and budding script editor. I got the gig because the director saw how much I loved watching actors work. It is a very well-paid role, partly, I think, because everyone involved feels reassured by the extortionate fees, as they might by paying a Harley Street doctor. The plot of Churchill’s Secret centred on the ailing prime minister being brought back from the brink after a stroke by the tough love and care of a young nurse. It’s possible that at the time of my peculiar meet-cute with Michael, the part of the nurse rubbed off on me. It was Michael’s last leading role, and the fact that Churchill’s situation spoke to his own paid off. He was proud of his performance. I continued to work with him until he fully retired in 2018, my work becoming palliative. The jobs ranged from a high-budget period drama (Victoria and Abdul), to indie projects done on a shoestring, to an almost walk-on part in Renée Zellweger’s Judy Garland biopic.

Though it was never properly defined, my job included telling Michael what the script was about and how he fitted into it. Then, we would run his lines over and over, in the back of cars and hotel lobbies, in an attempt to allay his massive anxieties. Despite this exhaustive prep, he was unable to retain much. And when we stepped on the set, we were starting virtually afresh. I would usually take my place in some cupboard within radio range and, watching him on a handheld monitor, I’d cue him, using exaggerated emphasis to suggest where we were in a sentence, while trying to keep my meaning somehow neutral.

Sometimes he’d find my intonation inoffensive; he would have less trouble interpreting the sentence and could make it his own. Sometimes he’d contort my emphasis, resulting in unusable takes for which we’d both feel guilty. He often said he wanted me to read lines “straight, like a machine”, willing me to be less of an encumbrance to his expression. But when we experimented with less signposting, he couldn’t gain sense from my sounds. Ever the precision engineer he had trained to be, he was insistent that if he had the use of his younger brain he could build the contraption he needed to compensate for its gradual decay.

Michael’s desire for autonomy was based on what he’d achieved, an incredible career characterised by versatility and power. Of his TV work, he was best known for The Singing Detective; of his films, for his role as Albus Dumbledore, the headmaster of Hogwarts in Harry Potter (a film that “changed everything”, not necessarily for the better). But his humane presence enriched movies as various as The Cook, The Thief, His Wife & Her Lover; Gosford Park; Layer Cake; The Wings of the Dove; The Life Aquatic and Quartet. In the 1960s, his work on TV series The Borderers led to him being sized up as a candidate to play James Bond. But he thought of himself as a stage actor first. Over the decades, he’d interspersed Shakespeare with Brecht, Pinter, Ayckbourn and Caryl Churchill, at the Birmingham Rep, then the Royal Shakespeare Company, then everywhere else that mattered.

[Financial Times]

[sonic-love-island-official]

Introduction / Project Overview

Synopsis:

Follow a group of gorgeous (silly) Sonic singles in their quest to find love or money on the hottest reality TV show: Love Island.

Sonic Love Island explores relationships, identity, social drama and human complexities through fun and familiar characters and settings.

Overview:

Sonic Love Island was an idea my younger sister and I conceptualised early in 2023 and this passion project is exactly as the title suggests. Our recent obsession with Sonic the Hedgehog and trashy reality show Love Island coincided and one day we began making hilarious headcanons, brainstorming what particular characters in the Sonic universe would do whilst on a ridiculous reality TV show centred around finding love and… We created a monster.

So invested in this Idea, we elected to realise it through The Sims 3 and see what came of it. We made countless sim versions of various Sonic characters, put them all in a villa, turned autonomy on high and allow things to play out how they would on Love Island, with bombshells, recouplings, dumpings and lots and lots of spicy scandal. All of which we documented via notes.

Not having even completed the campaign (in fact, we'd barely started, I recall), a document was born and therefore the beginnings of a ridiculously fun, but awfully niche fanfiction. And as of right now, the original document is nearing 700 pages and there's much more to go!

The purpose of this project is pure enjoyment, really. A load of it is taken seriously (mostly lore and characterisation) but a bunch of it is just for the purpose of being silly and having a long-term project that I, my sister, and perhaps the Sonic community (?) can follow, develop and have a laugh with! A huge part of Sonic (at least, to me) is about connections between characters. Testing those dynamics and messing around with all the different ships in the fandom, without too much commitment, aggressive biases or necessity for it to Make Sense outside of the AU is just a load of fun.

So, if you're all for that, come along for the ride 😉 !!

What to expect in future Sonic Love Island posts :

A little confusion. But don't worry !! It's a learn / follow-along-as-we-develop-type project and unless you were following my shenanigans from day dot, a lot of this will be new information! It's like a puzzle — it'll all fit together eventually :) But I'm going to make sure to keep this place completely up to date, which will include reposting all my gibberish from my old domains onto here under the tag #sonic love island re-runs. You won't miss a thing <3

Rambles about the project — such as background AU lore, characterisation rants, etc. Some rambles may include plot spoilers, just due to the fact we're nowhere near posting this fic (but the spoilers might just add Intrigue to reading the real thing once it arrives, who knows)

Posts on the creative process as this fic develops

Quotes / small excerpts from the fic

Me constantly referring to Shadow as 'babygirl' whilst simultaneously complaining about how heavily misinterpreted he is throughout other Sonic media & fanfic (I do this a lot. 2024 is the year of Shadow and I plan to do my boy some justice)

PRETTY VISUALS ! Photo dumps of character models, the villa and various re-enactment images from the sims

admin : bee (she/they, 19)

Want to know more ? See :

AO3 — Read up on the characters' shenanigans before and after the AU takes place !

SLI Character Directory — Learn more about the cast

SLI Villa Tour — See around the SLI Villa

[clubwnderland]

❛ 𝑯𝒂𝒑𝒑𝒚 𝑨𝒏𝒏𝒊𝒗𝒆𝒓𝒔𝒂𝒓𝒚 ༉‧₊˚

Life can be so messy when you are trying to organise time to get away for an anniversary. San had been trying to find the right time to book tickets to go away but no matter what he had planned, it just didn't work. Time was ticking and he didn't know what to do or where to go until his friend had told him about Nami Island.

What better way to spend the anniversary than to go somewhere beautiful, serene and where plenty of K-dramas had been filmed.

Booking a room at the hotel, taking the time off and making sure Yura knew to take the weekend off, San had prepared everything. "Pack light," he laughed softly, the summer had been brutal and didn't seem to be easing up any time soon. "It's still warm enough that we can go swimming as well."

A two hour drive filled with excited conversations and memories that would last him a lifetime. They stopped wherever they wanted to, taking photos in front of various places, made lists of little home stores to stop in on the way back, and San laughed as Yura started to record their journey. 'A wonderful little addition to the blog' she said which had San beaming from ear to ear because nothing made him happier than reading the words his girlfriend wrote.

He can recall the first time he had stumbled across her page, reading the entries and following along on the journey she had started until they became friends. Lovers.

"If you want to zipline across to the island, we can do that?" He laughed, pointing at the people gearing up to do exactly that, "otherwise we just need to grab our tickets for the ferry." San parked the car in the parking lot, and made note of the number they had so that he could register it.

The summer sun was strong, even before noon and he must admit that he was glad that they would soon be under the trees and able to take a dip in the water.

It didn't take long for them to get over to the island, Yura reading the pamphlet she had picked up at the information centre as they walked towards the car that would take them to the hotel. "Do you want to walk instead?" He asked, loading the bag in the back before looking at Yura and seeing what she wanted to do.

San had researched everything to do with the island. The water activities that are on throughout the day, the restaurants and where they were located, scooter and bike hires to explore the island and even the ostriches that could be located nearby - San was prepared for it all. "We have a dinner reservation later on but after we check in and settle into our room, we have all day to explore... all weekend actually."

The sun had started to set by the time the couple had found a secluded little lookout, hidden away from any noise of the world and surrounded only by the golden sky, crystal blue river and the green trees. Yura leans against the railing, looking out at the view as she spoke to him about how they should probably head back soon.

"Yeah," San nodded, getting his camera set up and ready. He had thought about it when they were having dinner but the way Yura looked under the glow of the setting sun had him impatient, unable to wait any longer.

She looked like a sun-kissed goddess, her dress had taken him by surprise that morning and he knew that he couldn't think of a moment where he didn't want her in it.

By the time Yura had turned to face him, had gone to ask him something, San was on one knee with the ring reflecting the light back at her. He laughed, the speech he had been practicing for weeks having gone out the window and he scrambled for words. "You are... my world. In a life where I am surrounded by the weirdest people we have ever met, you are the one who brings me home and gives me normalcy." Make sense, San, come on. "I want a lifetime of chocolate cakes, I want years filled with morning kisses and midnight confessions, I want to support you through your hardest days and lean on you when I want to quit. Honestly, I want to change your last name but I feel like we were always meant to be considering." He laughed as he smiled up at her.

"Choi Yura, will you do me the honour of becoming my wife?"

— @blogger-yura

[corpsentry]

SORRY i keep coming here to yell !! you got me thinking about cdramas (& t dramas) i enjoyed and then forgot about :"] i watched 如果奔跑是我的人生 earlier this year and the ending lost me, but i was quite captivated by its 20+ episodes before. it centres around parental relationships (asian) and, i don't know much about dance at all but a main character is a dancer and her story made me feel things. the performances were sick, in my unprofessional opinion! I'm Fine is a gorgeous ost track. btw.... i've started rewatching 不良执念清除师 again and i CANNOT RECOMMEND IT HIGHLY ENOUGH. i've been thinking about it (on ep 5 LOL) and i actually don't think the ending dropped the thread or ball or 链子 or however that saying goes (im fever SORRY.... i think it was cathartic and beautiful in the way a galaxy is— i just could not get enough of those guys T__T 不良执念清除师 is about sulky teen (??) guys moving through the world with so much heart. it's about LOVE and ART and how the living go on after tragedy, it's about how. how (PARDON ME....) we get to keep everything we've ever loved for even a fraction of a moment & what we are doing is worthwhile even if it is very small !!!!! it is a show that is, in Voice from IMBD's words, an outstanding Taiwanese drama that excels in every aspect, because it was made with so much care and love...(meta!) also, gay people

first of all No Apology thank you for coming to yell!!! you have a big heart full of love for the world and it moves me!!!! i went down this rabbit hole on m*dramalist after watching 我们的少女时代/our times (2015)-

(tangent incoming) this movie Shook the secondary 2 scene in singapore when it came out everyone and their dog was sobbing about it and i listened to 小幸运 Religiously despite never seeing it myself. Having Seen It Now, it is a sweet little thing and it makes me feel desperately old. it also made me CRY, what can i say i’m a sucker for distances and ships passing in the night and i was soooo happy when liudehua appeared and then adult xutaiyu showed up and he Fuck Ass Hair. my lord, his hair looked like SHIT. PICKLED SEAWEED……… i couldn’t cry after that because i was so busy clenching my asscheeks out of sheer despair FUCK HAIR AND. AND!!! A TOO SHORT BLACK BLAZER ON SKINNY JEANS??? I MEAN REALLY??? I KNOW 2015 WAS NINE YEARS AGO but i don’t recall fuckass hair being the in thing then…. this memory i do not have…. you have to understand how emotionally devastating this was to me…… (tangent end)

(tangent part 2) (please look at the way they styled this poor man’s fuck ass hair. i don’t care how earth shatteringly sweet they were in high school if my first love turned up ten years later and he looked like this i would simply walk away)

(tangent end)

the point is, that i then went through vivian sung’s acting history to see what else she’d been in bc she was soooooo lovely and realized that 不良执念清除师 was in said history and then remembered this ask! and your heartfelt words about its story! and i was like Oghey, i watch—

just finished the first episode and mein gott yiyong is such a Teenager…… man i look at 18 year olds and i’m like i don’t remember being like that but i Know i must’ve been, once upon a time. but the range of emotions the script wrung out of him in one episode was kind of insane and his actor is kind of vibey as hell (perhaps this is my sign from god to finally watch your name engraved herein…) and vivian sung is still epic as hell and sooo goofy and i’m excited! i think of u in my head for some reason as the epic tight as hell short chinese dramas anon, i Trust your eyes. they’re good eyes. i’ve also locked down the first 20+ episodes of the other drama you mention here, especially because yang chao yue is in it and she was Breathtaking in the double T T T thank you for the recs! where do you find all of these? i don’t know but you must be doing good out in the world. be well anon. meet a chicken

[georgefairbrother]

The Challenge was a series III episode of Yes Minister (1982), in which Jim Hacker’s Department of Administrative Affairs assumes general oversight of local authorities. As Ludovic Kennedy (playing himself as BBC interviewer) points out, Hacker is now ‘Mr Townhall as well as Mr Whitehall’.

Echoing the Thatcher government’s zeal to reform the local government sector, Hacker is determined to make councils more efficient and to curb their extravagance. The Cabinet Secretary and Sir Humphrey are not so keen, worried that any reforms, such as direct financial accountability for the success or failure of council projects, could be extended to the civil service as a whole.

To deflect his attention, Jim Hacker is urged to tackle the largely ridiculed and tricky business of civil defence, in particular the provision of public fall-out shelters by local authorities, and is sent to confront the leader of the London Borough of Thames Marsh, Ben Stanley, over their anti-nuclear activism and budget blowouts. Stanley was reportedly based on Ken Livingstone, leader of the ill-fated Greater London Council.

There are a couple of interesting cameos, aside from Ludovic Kennedy, and Moray Watson as a BBC controller. Ian Lavender (Private Pike from Dad’s Army) plays Dr Cartwright, a departmental economics boffin doomed to spend his entire career as a middling undersecretary. “I fear I shall rise no higher,” he explained sadly to Jim Hacker, “Alas, I’m an expert.”

Ben Stanley, the unilateralist leader of Thames Marsh Council is played by Doug Fisher (Man About the House), and is unimpressed by Cartwright’s suggestions on how to save ratepayers' money, which include closing the feminist drama centre, abandoning plans for a leisure centre featuring an artificial ski slope and jacuzzi, closing the gay bereavement centre, selling the Mayor’s second Daimler, and cancelling a councillors’ fact-finding junket to the Caribbean.

The episode lampoons the council’s hypocrisy in taking an anti-nuclear stance while providing fall-out shelter space solely for the leader and some senior councillors. Paul Eddington himself (Jim Hacker) was a Quaker pacifist, and in a later interview recalled that he was very uncomfortable with the way the writers (Antony Jay and Jonathan Lynn) had ridiculed the anti-nuclear issue and peace activism, and that they had allowed their own political bias to influence the story. Eddington objected, and some moderating changes were made to the final script.

[my-coven-is-claudia]

an idea for mystreet season 7

for the past two years i have been thinking over what a mystreet season 7 could look like. with the cast dealing with the aftereffects of starlight to the revelation that mystreet and diaries take place in the same universe there’s A LOT to deal with.

the general synopsis for what my rendition of a season 7 is this:

Upon finally recovering most of his long term memories and leaving behind his red scarf, Aaron begins to recall odd, out of place events mixed in with the rest of his life. So strange and bizarre that they almost seem from another time. Left unsure on what to do he begins to do his own personal research and ends up asking his ghost friend her opinion.

In the aftermath of Starlight, with the help of her head-mate Kim, Emmalyn’s memories of her life finally begin to slide and fit together. However, her years from being alive seem to be a scary parody of the past year; familiar faces and names litter her memories in all the worst possible ways and she can only think of one possible explanation.

the storyline would be set a couple months after the events of Her Wish. after meeting alina something was triggered deep inside aaron and it brought back his memories from his past life. at this point in the story he’s in the healing process after starlight and his life in general (this man has a laundry list of diagnoses now oml). despite the everyday struggle of c-ptsd and easing back into every day life,, he is making big strides and has even recently began to take off his scarf from time to time. when it comes to his new memories,, he was more bewildered than frightened. his past life memories don’t make much sense to him but he knows they’re important in some way.

kim is also doing well,, although she feels very weighed down by emmalyn’s harsh shift in personality. she always tries to cheer her up but her head-mate only seems to have negative things to say,, or nothing at all. however,, once emmalyn recovers her memories from when she was alive kim begins to understand why she’s changed, but even with this new knowledge emmalyn still doesn’t let her in as she once did. kim just hopes that something good can come out of this reincarnation business.

now the storyline would be mainly centred around aaron and kim/emmalyn uncovering the truth behind their new memories and eventually coming to the conclusion that them and their friends were reincarnated (excluding kim and aphmau - i'll get to that another time). this leads them to first divulging their discoveries to aphmau and lucinda (being the people aaron and kim trust the most) before sharing this revelation to everyone else. the rest of the season(s) would be dedicated to the journey the cast go through dealing with this lowkey insane news and possibly trying to see if any of them can also recall their past lives.

upon their initial discovery,, aaron and kim get to properly know each other and bond as they kind of lose their minds together as they try to make sense of his and emmalyn's memories. stuck in the middle of this unlikely trio is emmalyn who has grown cold after fully regaining her memories. and there's a simple explanation for this: she suffered a lot. like,, a lot. she was strung along for the diaries cast's bullshit (she ended up in the irene dimension even though she had no involvement in laurance,, garroth and aphmau's drama) and more importantly, her husband died. brutally. and was killed by someone that everyone around her considers a friend: zane.

so yeah she's not doing so swell.

a little tidbit to add here is that once aaron and emmalyn make sense of the situation and realise that them and their friends have been reincarnated,, they share stories and begin to construct a timeline. it starts from when irene/aphmau first arrived in phoenix drop until the final showdown against shad. aaron was a bit taken aback after hearing everything that happened after his sacrifice to say the least.

i have more to say but i’m tired

[justforbooks]

In 2010, Paul O’Grady broke his nose after losing his footing at his friend Cilla Black’s house in Barbados. “My nose was out to here and I had a black eye, but I said: ‘I’m not ruining my holiday,’” he recalled. “So we went out every night and were the talk of the island.” The story was typical of O’Grady, who loved to dramatise his indomitability and had an unquenchable desire to be in the public eye.

The comedian and chat show host, who has died aged 67, was once called “the Edith Piaf of day-time television” and, given its connotations of a drama-filled life, he loved the epithet.

His defiant unshakeability and desire to perform came together in his first stage persona, the foul-mouthed Lily Savage, who sported a platinum blond beehive wig, vast quantities of makeup, white stilettos, a leopard skin miniskirt and a matching fake-fur coat. Born in the 1980s in the gay pubs of south London, as a sideline to O’Grady’s day job as a care worker, Savage thrived on insulting audiences and made no effort to conceal a streak of hard-headed lawlessness (“You need two things in a riot – flat shoes and a pram”).

She also hinted at a lurid past as a down-at-heel sex worker and made the work of previous British female impersonators, such as Danny La Rue and Dick Emery, seem tame.

Savage was inspired, in part, by O’Grady’s Aunt Chrissie, a bus conductor. “She had a hard life, but she used to suck her cheeks in and fancy herself as Marlene Dietrich,” he said.

His alter ego acted as a kind of avenging angel, giving voice to the anger O’Grady was otherwise unable to express.

Savage eventually became a phenomenon, appearing on the BBC, ITV and Channel 4. She presented the BBC celebrity game show Blankety Blank (1997–99) and the ITV comedy show Lily Live! (2000-01). She even returned in triumph to her native Merseyside, and became a regular on This Morning with Richard and Judy.

But O’Grady killed off Savage in 2005, claiming Lily had “seen the light, taken the veil and packed herself off to a convent in France”. Thereafter he took centre stage as himself. As the host of the Paul O’Grady Show and Paul O’Grady Live he could be just as caustic as Savage.

In 2010 he provoked complaints to Ofcom for attacking the new coalition government during Paul O’Grady Live. “Do you know what got my back up?” he told his ITV audience. “Those Tories hooping and hollering when they heard about the cuts. Gonna scrap the pensions – yeah! – no more wheelchairs – yeah! ... I bet when they were children they laughed at Bambi when the mother got shot.”

O’Grady was born in Birkenhead to Catholic parents, an Irish father, Paddy, and English mother, Molly (nee Savage). “I was born late – what my mother calls the last kick of a dying horse,” he said in his 2009 autobiography At My Mother’s Knee … And Other Low Joints.

“There’s three of us children, but I’m 13 or 14 years younger than my brother and sister. When I look back on my childhood I have no bad memories. Our family was loving and full of affection. I never knew what divorce was until I moved to London. I was an indulged child and completely protected from anything bad.” Not quite true: he was sent by his parents to a school run by the Christian Brothers. “They were wicked, wicked,” he told an interviewer.

O’Grady left school at 16 to work for the DHSS (Department of Health and Social Security) in Liverpool, and then went on to a string of jobs – hotel skivvy, office worker at an abattoir, and clerk at a magistrates court.

In the 70s he worked for Camden council in north London as a peripatetic carer. “If a single mother had to go to hospital, I’d move in and look after her kids so they didn’t have to go into care,” he once explained. “Often there’d be a drunken father turning up at 2am, wanting to know who I was, and I’d say, mincing slightly: ‘I’m from Camden council!’ and he’d smack me. So I’d be going around with a black eye and nits from the kids.” He cited this period of his life as part inspiration, along with his Birkenhead female relations, for the Lily Savage character.

In the 80s, Savage had a solo residency at the Royal Vauxhall Tavern in London that ran for eight years. Each night his waspish patter spared no one, not even the boys in blue. One night in 1987, his performance was rudely interrupted by a police raid, one that many of the gay club’s punters took to be a homophobic attempt to intimidate them.

Thirty-five officers burst in wearing rubber gloves – this being the height of the Aids epidemic, they feared touching those they arrested. According to the veteran LGBTQ+ campaigner Peter Tatchell, O’Grady at first thought they were strippers and part of the show.

In 2021, O’Grady described what happened next: “I was doing the late show and within seconds the place was heaving with coppers, all wearing rubber gloves. I remember saying something like, ‘Well well, it looks like we’ve got help with the washing up.’” He was handcuffed and taken to the police station before being released without charge. “They made many arrests but we were a stoic lot and it was business as usual the next night.”

While working as a court clerk, he had an affair with a colleague, Diane Jansen, who became pregnant with their daughter, Sharyn. In 1977 he married Teresa Fernandes, a Portuguese woman, in order to prevent her deportation from the UK. The couple divorced in 2005.

O’Grady claimed there was always an unspoken understanding in his family that he was gay. “It was no big deal. I never stood up in the front room and said, ‘I have something to tell you!’ – but I wasn’t hiding anything.”

During the mid-80s he met Brendan Murphy, the manager of a sauna in south London. They were a couple until Murphy’s death from brain cancer in 2005.

By then O’Grady was a popular household name, and in 2008 he was appointed MBE. Three years later, the Museum of Liverpool staged an exhibition of his alter ego’s frocks. In 2011 he quit Paul O’Grady Live after becoming exasperated with his role as a chat- show host: “I felt part of the PR machine. They’d want this guest or that guest. Every question had to go through the lawyers. I was just another plug for someone’s book.”

He went on to make shows such as ITV’s For the Love of Dogs, Me and My Guide Dog, a documentary about the burlesque performer Gypsy Rose Lee, and a series for the BBC, Paul O’Grady’s Working Britain. A two-part eulogy to the British working class, broadcast in 2013, it prompted press scepticism – not least because O’Grady told viewers he still considered himself working class despite being a millionaire who owned a generous plot of land in Kent.

He lived there with 14 sheep, three dogs, two pigs, hundreds of rescued chickens, ducks, a goat and barn owls. After Murphy’s death he had a long-term relationship with the former ballet dancer Andre Portasio, whom he married in 2017.

Lily Savage returned from her French convent to perform as Widow Twankey in pantomime in Southampton in 2011 and London in 2012. In 2017, O’Grady hosted a Channel 5 reboot of Blind Date; and in 2021 the ITV celebrity game show Paul O’Grady’s Saturday Night Line Up.

During lockdown, he wrote a children’s book, Eddie Albert and the Amazing Animal Gang (2021). Last year he made a special one-off episode of For the Love of Dogs to mark 160 years of Battersea Dogs and Cats Home, for which he was an ambassador. In August 2022, he presented his last show on BBC Radio 2 after 14 years on the airwaves.

Tatchell said of O’Grady: “Paul wasn’t just a brilliant comedian and broadcast personality but a much admired campaigner for LGBT+ equality and animal rights … Paul was planning to lead our forthcoming campaign for the police to apologise for their historic persecution of the LGBT+ community.” His fellow TV presenter Lorraine Kelly said that O’Grady was “the kindest, funniest man … Dogs are the best judge of character and they loved him.”

He is survived by Andre, Sharyn, and two grandchildren, Abel and Halo, and by his brother, Ben, and sister, Sheila.

🔔 Paul James O’Grady, comedian and chat-show host, born 14 June 1955; died 28 March 2023

Daily inspiration. Discover more photos at http://justforbooks.tumblr.com

[artschoolglasses]

ArtSchoolGlasses Judges Rants About Watches the Bridgerton Spinoff!

Because why not? 

Obviously, spoilers ahead. And also, if you can’t tell, this will largely be me complaining. (And most of that complaining will pertain to the costumes and fashion history.) So if you can’t handle it when someone dislikes something you enjoy? Maybe don’t click the “Keep Reading”...

On to episode one!

Starting with a disclaimer? Okay...

“It is fiction inspired by fact.” Well, that much was obvious before I hit play, but thanks for the reminder, I suppose? The issue for me being, there’s a difference between fictional takes on history that do the research but choose to take wild liberties for a reason (The Great, Our Flag Means Death) and a show that has the clear intent to put as little research and effort as possible into a project and make it up as they go along (Bridgerton).

In compliment to the show I will say: damn good job picking out the actress to play Charlotte. So often the younger and older versions of a character look so unalike that it sort of ruins the story for me. But this was A+.

Had to pause and face palm because Charlotte is explaining to her brother how her “underpinnings” (stays) are made from “the bones of whales” and I just *SCREAMS* No. NO. Stays and corsets were not made from the actual bones of whales Jesus Christ. “Whalebone” in stays meant baleen. Which is the filter-looking bit of a whale’s mouth. It is possible—possible—that the busk inserted into the centre front of a pair of stays might be carved from whalebone instead of wood, but I can almost guarantee no one working on this show even knows what a busk is, or knows the difference between a busk and boning. (And even then, not all boning was made from baleen anyways.)

Also the fact that she’s saying “corset” repeatedly, but stays was more commonly what they were called at this time. Corset as a term only began to be used more regularly in the Regency Era.

Six minutes in and already “My CoRsEt Is KiLlInG mEeEe!!1! I cAn’T bReAtHe!! My CoRsEt Is GoInG tO sLiCe Up My InSiDeS bECaUsE oF tHe WhAlE bOnEs!!1! I’m GoInG tO bLeEd To DeAtH iF i MoVe!!” 😑

Charlotte would have, obviously, grown up wearing stays, and would therefore be used to them. Stays that would have been specifically made to fit her body. And because they would have had hand-stitched eyelet holes—not metal ones—for the lacing, she would not be able to tight lace it to the point where she couldn’t breathe. Not without damaging such an expensive garment. (Expensive largely because of the sheer amount of labour that goes into making a pair of stays.) Nor would she choose to tight lace to that extent, because women in the 18th Century weren’t all laced to within an inch of their lives. That simply wasn’t the case. Women could indeed breathe in the past, otherwise we all wouldn’t be here. Yes, shockingly, you could move when wearing stays or a corset.

Flash forward into the Regency era and Princess Charlotte has just died. Um… This was a massive moment for England and the Queen doesn’t seem even remotely touched by it? Also, really the first mention of the Queen having children that I can recall, I don’t remember seeing any of them, and isn’t the whole reason this is a Regency romance is because, you know, it’s the Regency Era and there’s a Prince Regent? He doesn’t seem to exist in this world for whatever reason? Even though the period is literally named for him?

The amount of brocade-patterned polyester in this show that reminds me of my mother’s throw pillows from the 90s…

See, the problem with knowing where a lot of these filming locations are is you know how far apart they should be in reality and end up desperately trying to stop your brain from rationalising how far and fast a carriage would have to travel to get from Blenheim to Chatsworth to Bath to Hampton Court. (This is a personal issue; all the period dramas do this, so this isn’t just me hating on Bridgerton.)

Oh my. What an introduction to young Lady Danbury. Worthy of Harlots, I believe. (That sounds snarky. I mean it as a compliment. Excellent. Love her already.)

Hairstyles on the women far too tall for the 1760s. Hair would have been worn much closer to the head. But, you know, ✨aesthetics✨.

Though I will say, if we were having this show take place in the 1770s, and tall hair was fashionable—and Charlotte was more a fan of large hair, which, she was known to critique women like the Duchess of Devonshire for hair that was too tall—I will say, they do a wonderful job of adapting the 1770s styles to include afros and braids and locks and twists in this series. So that, again, I can commend them on.

Gotta love that the wedding invitations they sent out clearly say “Full Dress” and you just have men with their 2020s hair and no wigs, no powder, no curls. Some of the older men have wigs. But younger men? No! They must be conventionally attractive from a modern perspective otherwise what is the point!!

Also, not all of these women look like they’re wearing hoops/panniers, and they should for a formal court setting.

So, George’s coat when we first meet him… The tailoring isn’t quite right and feels far too modern. There are no buttons on it except for two at the back for some reason, just buttons on the vest. Also, where is the lace? Lace was expensive. (It was time consuming to make.) You are the King of England, you’re supposed to not only buy expensive things to encourage consumption and put money in the hands of artisans, but you also need to look expensive so that people can see you are not just the King, but one to a prosperous nation who can afford these luxuries. Your dress at this time spoke for you, and right now I’m seeing a man who can’t afford to have his clothes properly tailored, or even get his hair done.

I feel like a lot of the costumes would be less egregious if they weren’t so cheap looking? There’s really just something about the metres and metres of polyester used and plastic trimmings that… just makes this look off. Plus any close up makes the modern tailoring far too apparent. Clearly no research done into 18th Century tailoring, dressmaking, sewing techniques, etc…

I think I’m going to like Lady Danbury more than Charlotte, honestly.

Close up shot of the pleats at the back of Charlotte’s wedding dress. I’m not even sure what’s going on there. I swear it looks like someone velcroed it onto her back.

Oh god, glitter fabric… No, please. I hate the glitter fabric, Bridgerton. Stop. 😭

Ah, I see. The entirety of the drama in this plot is going to be a miscommunication trope, I assume surrounding George’s health.

Another flash forward into the Regency; Oh my god Charlotte’s children exist!

And there it ends. Charlotte alone in bed on her wedding night because George won’t speak to her about, I assume, his health.

I have low hopes Bridgerton has the capacity to properly tell a story that will no doubt largely focus on mental health and do so respectfully and carefully. I do not look forward to watching them use his deteriorating health for the sake of ✨DRAMA!✨

Anyways, Lady Danbury was the most interesting character so far and she barely had any screen time. All my hopes for this show being even remotely entertaining rest on her. 🖤 An A+ for Lady Danbury, A+ for Charlotte’s casting, and… a D for everything else?

[scotianostra]

15th January 1923 saw the birth of the wonderfully eccentric and very funny Ivor Cutler.

I first found out about the wonderful nonsensical wit of Ivor Cutler somtime in the early 80's. My best friend had the album, Life in a Scotch Sitting Room, Vol. 2 and he played it one day when we were vidsiting his mum in the North of England, I asked "Where is voliume 1" "There isn't one" was the reply, and after hearing this and the album, it actually made sense to me, you just accept it.

The poems and stories from the album were also published as a book in 1984. The album was recorded by Pete Shipton of Radio Clyde at the 3rd Eye Centre, Sauchiehall Street, Glasgow, on the 7th, 8th, 9th of July, 1977.

So who was Ivor?

Born Isadore Cutler in Govan, Glasgow, into a middle-class Jewish family of Eastern European descent. His father Jack Moris Cutler was a wholesale jeweller and had premises at 85 Queen Street. He cited his childhood as the source of his artistic temperament, recalling a sense of displacement when his younger brother was born: "Without that I would not have been so screwed up as I am, and therefore not as creative." And creative he was!

Ivor was educated at the Shawlands Academy.[4] In 1939 Cutler was evacuated to Annan. He joined the Royal Air Force as a navigator in 1942 but was soon grounded for "dreaminess", apparently more interested in looking at the clouds from the cockpit window than locating a flight path, and worked as a storeman. After the war he studied at Glasgow School of Art and became a schoolteacher.

Working at a school in Paisley, however, did not agree with Cutler. He hated discipline that required the strap, having received it more than 200 times himself, and in a dramatic gesture took the instrument from his desk, cut it into pieces and dispensed them to the class.

Leaving Scotland was, he claimed, "the beginning of my life". He settled in London for a time teaching music, dance, drama and poetry to 7- to 11-year-olds. Oh how I would have loved to have been a fly on the wall in on of his classrooms.

His dour recordings bely his existence growing up in Glasgow and seeing his peers arriving at school with bare feet - a fact which, he later claimed, helped form his leftwing political views, aged five - appeared in his hilarious writings, Life in a Scotch Sitting Room Volume 2. With lines such as "Voiding bowels in those days was unheard of. People just kept it in," he used a string of fantastical untruths to expose the reality of his life and the Spartan - and sometimes sadistic - Scottish existence.

He also taught for a time at A S Neil's Summerhill school. Dubbed a hippy academy where a different approach to education was fostered, Summerhill was run with rules agreed between staff and pupils, and the premise was to educate the whole person. This alternative philosophy appealed to Cutler. He lived in the grounds of the school. Ivor married for a time, but his parenting skills did not go down too well with his then wife, they had two sons, he sent one, on his first day at school wearing a kilt, I can see that going down well in England! His son remembers his father once taking him fake fishing,taking him out in the street, with a stick and bit of string and a fork tied on the end dangling in a puddle, being his fishing line, he also says "I couldn't say I was pleased when he felt the need to walk down the street with a carpet sample in place of a tie."

During the late 50's and into the 60's he mixed his teaching with that of entertainment, managing to secure a slot on Acker Bilk Show and Late Night Line-Up. On one such appearance he was spotted by Paul McCartney, who invited Cutler to appear in the Beatles' film Magical Mystery Tour where he played the bus conductor Buster Bloodvessel, and yes the lead singer of Bad Manners took his name from this and was also a fan of Cutler.

Through music, poetry and children’s books the songwriter, poet and “unjoiner” of thoughts perfected a brand of eccentric mischief that made him a favourite of many.

His absurdist songs – sung in dour Glaswegian tones with a wheezing harmonium for company – were an ever-present on John Peel’s radio shows, second only in rotation to The Fall. His darkly whimsical eye can be seen in contemporary British artists like David Shrigley and Martin Creed. And yet Cutler remains something of a marginal figure, known only to a devoted few.

For the latter part of his career, Cutler lived on his own in a flat on Parliament Hill Fields, north London, which he found by placing an ad in the New Statesman saying "Ivor Cutler seeks room near Heath. Cheap!". There he would receive visitors, and his companion Phyllis King, in a reception room filled with clutter, pictures and curios, including his harmonium, some ivory cutlery (a pun, of course) and a wax ear stapled to the wall with six-inch nails - proof of his dedication to the Noise Abatement Society, because of which he forbade his audience ever to whistle in appreciation at his work. The bicycle was his preferred mode of transport, its cow-horn handlebars in the sit-up-and-beg position in line with his Alexander technique practice.

He could quote from Homer, taught himself Chinese and was in the habit of frequenting Soho's Chinatown, where he could display his knowledge - although, typically, he chose Chinese above Japanese because the textbooks were cheaper. With the onset of old age he was increasingly worried about losing his memory, given that his father and brother had both developed Alzheimer's disease. It was a fear that was to be tragically fulfilled. He retired from the stage at the age of 82.

His main champion in the late 70's and 80's John Peel once remarked that Cutler was probably the only performer whose work had been featured on Radio 1, 2, 3 and 4.

Ivor Cutler died after a massive stroke on March 3rd 2006 aged 83.

I could no doubt find many stories about Ivor online but will give you some of his own whimsical word instead, first up is

Born Isadore Cutler in Govan, Glasgow, into a middle-class Jewish family of Eastern European descent. His father Jack Moris Cutler was a wholesale jeweller and had premises at 85 Queen Street. He cited his childhood as the source of his artistic temperament, recalling a sense of displacement when his younger brother was born: "Without that I would not have been so screwed up as I am, and therefore not as creative." And creative he was!

Ivor was educated at the Shawlands Academy.[4] In 1939 Cutler was evacuated to Annan. He joined the Royal Air Force as a navigator in 1942 but was soon grounded for "dreaminess", apparently more interested in looking at the clouds from the cockpit window than locating a flight path, and worked as a storeman. After the war he studied at Glasgow School of Art and became a schoolteacher.

Working at a school in Paisley, however, did not agree with Cutler. He hated discipline that required the strap, having received it more than 200 times himself, and in a dramatic gesture took the instrument from his desk, cut it into pieces and dispensed them to the class.

Leaving Scotland was, he claimed, "the beginning of my life". He settled in London for a time teaching music, dance, drama and poetry to 7- to 11-year-olds. Oh how I would have loved to have been a fly on the wall in on of his classrooms.

His dour recordings bely his existence growing up in Glasgow and seeing his peers arriving at school with bare feet - a fact which, he later claimed, helped form his leftwing political views, aged five - appeared in his hilarious writings, Life in a Scotch Sitting Room Volume 2. With lines such as "Voiding bowels in those days was unheard of. People just kept it in," he used a string of fantastical untruths to expose the reality of his life and the Spartan - and sometimes sadistic - Scottish existence.

He also taught for a time at A S Neil's Summerhill school. Dubbed a hippy academy where a different approach to education was fostered, Summerhill was run with rules agreed between staff and pupils, and the premise was to educate the whole person. This alternative philosophy appealed to Cutler. He lived in the grounds of the school. Ivor married for a time, but his parenting skills did not go down too well with his then wife, they had two sons, he sent one, on his first day at school wearing a kilt, I can see that going down well in England! His son remembers his father once taking him fake fishing,taking him out in the street, with a stick and bit of string and a fork tied on the end dangling in a puddle, being his fishing line, he also says "I couldn't say I was pleased when he felt the need to walk down the street with a carpet sample in place of a tie."

During the late 50's and into the 60's he mixed his teaching with that of entertainment, managing to secure a slot on Acker Bilk Show and Late Night Line-Up. On one such appearance he was spotted by Paul McCartney, who invited Cutler to appear in the Beatles' film Magical Mystery Tour where he played the bus conductor Buster Bloodvessel, and yes the lead singer of Bad Manners took his name from this and was also a fan of Cutler.

Through music, poetry and children’s books the songwriter, poet and “unjoiner” of thoughts perfected a brand of eccentric mischief that made him a favourite of many.

His absurdist songs – sung in dour Glaswegian tones with a wheezing harmonium for company – were an ever-present on John Peel’s radio shows, second only in rotation to The Fall. His darkly whimsical eye can be seen in contemporary British artists like David Shrigley and Martin Creed. And yet Cutler remains something of a marginal figure, known only to a devoted few.

For the latter part of his career, Cutler lived on his own in a flat on Parliament Hill Fields, north London, which he found by placing an ad in the New Statesman saying "Ivor Cutler seeks room near Heath. Cheap!". There he would receive visitors, and his companion Phyllis King, in a reception room filled with clutter, pictures and curios, including his harmonium, some ivory cutlery (a pun, of course) and a wax ear stapled to the wall with six-inch nails - proof of his dedication to the Noise Abatement Society, because of which he forbade his audience ever to whistle in appreciation at his work. The bicycle was his preferred mode of transport, its cow-horn handlebars in the sit-up-and-beg position in line with his Alexander technique practice.

He could quote from Homer, taught himself Chinese and was in the habit of frequenting Soho's Chinatown, where he could display his knowledge - although, typically, he chose Chinese above Japanese because the textbooks were cheaper. With the onset of old age he was increasingly worried about losing his memory, given that his father and brother had both developed Alzheimer's disease. It was a fear that was to be tragically fulfilled. He retired from the stage at the age of 82.

His main champion in the late 70's and 80's John Peel once remarked that Cutler was probably the only performer whose work had been featured on Radio 1, 2, 3 and 4.

Ivor Cutler died after a massive stroke on March 3rd 2006 aged 83.

I could no doubt find many stories about Ivor online but will give you some of his own whimsical word instead, first up is

Born Isadore Cutler in Govan, Glasgow, into a middle-class Jewish family of Eastern European descent. His father Jack Moris Cutler was a wholesale jeweller and had premises at 85 Queen Street. He cited his childhood as the source of his artistic temperament, recalling a sense of displacement when his younger brother was born: "Without that I would not have been so screwed up as I am, and therefore not as creative." And creative he was!

Ivor was educated at the Shawlands Academy.[4] In 1939 Cutler was evacuated to Annan. He joined the Royal Air Force as a navigator in 1942 but was soon grounded for "dreaminess", apparently more interested in looking at the clouds from the cockpit window than locating a flight path, and worked as a storeman. After the war he studied at Glasgow School of Art and became a schoolteacher.

Working at a school in Paisley, however, did not agree with Cutler. He hated discipline that required the strap, having received it more than 200 times himself, and in a dramatic gesture took the instrument from his desk, cut it into pieces and dispensed them to the class.

Leaving Scotland was, he claimed, "the beginning of my life". He settled in London for a time teaching music, dance, drama and poetry to 7- to 11-year-olds. Oh how I would have loved to have been a fly on the wall in on of his classrooms.

His dour recordings bely his existence growing up in Glasgow and seeing his peers arriving at school with bare feet - a fact which, he later claimed, helped form his leftwing political views, aged five - appeared in his hilarious writings, Life in a Scotch Sitting Room Volume 2. With lines such as "Voiding bowels in those days was unheard of. People just kept it in," he used a string of fantastical untruths to expose the reality of his life and the Spartan - and sometimes sadistic - Scottish existence.

He also taught for a time at A S Neil's Summerhill school. Dubbed a hippy academy where a different approach to education was fostered, Summerhill was run with rules agreed between staff and pupils, and the premise was to educate the whole person. This alternative philosophy appealed to Cutler. He lived in the grounds of the school. Ivor married for a time, but his parenting skills did not go down too well with his then wife, they had two sons, he sent one, on his first day at school wearing a kilt, I can see that going down well in England! His son remembers his father once taking him fake fishing,taking him out in the street, with a stick and bit of string and a fork tied on the end dangling in a puddle, being his fishing line, he also says "I couldn't say I was pleased when he felt the need to walk down the street with a carpet sample in place of a tie."

During the late 50's and into the 60's he mixed his teaching with that of entertainment, managing to secure a slot on Acker Bilk Show and Late Night Line-Up. On one such appearance he was spotted by Paul McCartney, who invited Cutler to appear in the Beatles' film Magical Mystery Tour where he played the bus conductor Buster Bloodvessel, and yes the lead singer of Bad Manners took his name from this and was also a fan of Cutler.

Through music, poetry and children’s books the songwriter, poet and “unjoiner” of thoughts perfected a brand of eccentric mischief that made him a favourite of many.

His absurdist songs – sung in dour Glaswegian tones with a wheezing harmonium for company – were an ever-present on John Peel’s radio shows, second only in rotation to The Fall. His darkly whimsical eye can be seen in contemporary British artists like David Shrigley and Martin Creed. And yet Cutler remains something of a marginal figure, known only to a devoted few.

For the latter part of his career, Cutler lived on his own in a flat on Parliament Hill Fields, north London, which he found by placing an ad in the New Statesman saying "Ivor Cutler seeks room near Heath. Cheap!". There he would receive visitors, and his companion Phyllis King, in a reception room filled with clutter, pictures and curios, including his harmonium, some ivory cutlery (a pun, of course) and a wax ear stapled to the wall with six-inch nails - proof of his dedication to the Noise Abatement Society, because of which he forbade his audience ever to whistle in appreciation at his work. The bicycle was his preferred mode of transport, its cow-horn handlebars in the sit-up-and-beg position in line with his Alexander technique practice.

He could quote from Homer, taught himself Chinese and was in the habit of frequenting Soho's Chinatown, where he could display his knowledge - although, typically, he chose Chinese above Japanese because the textbooks were cheaper. With the onset of old age he was increasingly worried about losing his memory, given that his father and brother had both developed Alzheimer's disease. It was a fear that was to be tragically fulfilled. He retired from the stage at the age of 82.

His main champion in the late 70's and 80's John Peel once remarked that Cutler was probably the only performer whose work had been featured on Radio 1, 2, 3 and 4.

Ivor Cutler died after a massive stroke on March 3rd 2006 aged 83.

I could no doubt find many stories about Ivor online but will give you some of his own whimsical words......... first up, here’s some wise advice from Mr Cutler.

5 Wise Saws

1. Do not kick a grocer on the leg.

2. If you kick a grocer on the leg, make sure it’s not a green grocer.

3. If you throw a ball, it moves in the air.

4. You can not erase a love letter with a nipple, no matter how rubbery.

5. If you empty your bowels at night, a shepherd will have a red face in the morning.

Life in a Scotch Sitting Room, Vol 2 Episode 6.

’Scotland gets its brains from the herring,’ said Grandpa, and we all nodded our heads with complete incomprehension. Sometimes, for a treat, we got playing with their heads; glutinous bony affairs, without room for brains, and a look of lust on their narrow soprano jaws.

The time I lifted the lid of the midden on a winter night,   and there,   a cool blue gleam – herring heads . . .  Other heads do not gleam in the dark. So perhaps Grandpa was right.

To make sure we ate the most intelligent herring, he fished the estuary. Planted a notice, ‘Literate herring this way!‘ below the water-line at the corner where it met the sea. The paint for the notice was made of crushed heads. Red-eyed herring, sore from  reading, would round the corner, read the notice and sense the estuary water, bland and eye-easing. A few feet brought them within the confining friendliness of his manilla net and a purposeful end.

There was only one way to cook it: a deep batter of porridge left from breakfast was patted round and it was fed on to the hot griddle athwart the coal fire. In seconds, a thick aroma leaned around and bent against the walls. We lay down and dribbled on the carpet. Also, the air was fresher. Time passed. In exactly twenty-five minutes the porridge cracked, and juice steamed through with a glad fizz. We ate the batter first to take the edge off our appetites, so that we could eat the herring with respect. Which we did,  including the bones.

After supper, assuming the herring to have worked, we were asked questions. In Latin, Greek and Hebrew, we had to know the principal parts of verbs. In Geography, the five main glove-manufacturing towns in the Midlands, and in History, the development of Glasgow’s sewage system.

There’s nothing quite like a Scotch education. One is left with an irreparable debt. My head is full of irregular verbs still.

[walkswithmycamera]

Italian Escapade: revised aka Plan 'B'

If you follow my account on X (formerly known as Twitter), you may recall I mentioned we were doing some juggling of our itinerary...

Plan 'B' image source: Unsplash

The accommodations are booked!

NOTE: links to information in the blog post are in blue.

The Arrival 🇫����

NCE Airport, one night due to a late arrival and in readiness for the Flixbus journey to Genoa 🇮🇹 the next morning. It takes approximately 3 hours, depending upon your chosen departure time.

Next Stop: Genoa

Flixbus terminates close to the Piazza Principe train station in the centre of the city and from here, we make our way across (probably by Metro) to Piazza de Ferrari with its fabulous fountain.

Arriving in Genoa a little after 13:00hrs, means we should arrive at our next accommodation in perfect time to check-in to our private room with an internal bathroom at Marathon Beds and Beer Hostel.

We've never stopped in hostel accommodation even though we have been travelling together since the early 1990s.

It took me 2 days before I showed it to my husband - but we both agree it seems to have a good vibe and it's in the perfect position for the short time we have in the city.

We made our reservation through Booking.com but it's also listed on Hostel World too.

As I'm writing my 'Trip Plan' I just came across this Free guided tour on Get Your Guide.

It lasts approximately 2hrs and, I believe the process of free tours is the participants are expected to leave the guide a Tip at the end.

It sounds interesting but we will do some more reading on it, before coming to a decision.

<---0--->

We will depart Genoa around lunchtime the following day for our next destination (this is the Plan 'B').

The hostel is a few minutes walk from Brignole train station, which is very handy as our next stop is a direct route by rail.

Day 3: Rapallo (5 nights) 🇮🇹

Finally, we arrive at the destination where we will explore Cinque Terre (5 Lands), famous for their multicoloured buildings which line the rugged Ligurian coastline and are scattered over a fairly short distance from each other along a popular hiking trail.

We changed our plans completely for this part of our trip as we had originally booked to stay in La Spezia for the Cinque Terre.

We began to realise we were overstretching ourselves to make the journey directly back to the Cote d'Azur, before taking our flight back home.

It would have impacted the overall enjoyment hence, ruling out La Spezia.

So, we decided to treat ourselves to an accommodation in a most scenic spot 👇

We completed our reservation using Hotels.com as part of the OneKeyCash rewards scheme.

Here's what TripAdvisor says about the Hotel Italia e Lido:

<---0--->

What is the Cinque Terre?

A series of storied coastal towns on the untamed Italian Riviera coastline is known as Cinque Terre.

The five towns that comprise the Cinque Terre: Rimaggiore, Manarola, Corniglia not accessible by boat, Vernazza and Monterosso were first fortified settlements during the Middle Ages. Each was shielded from Saracen raiders by a castle that overlooked the sea. You can expect to see vibrant colourful houses and vineyards clinging to steep terraces in each of the five towns; fishing boats moor in the harbours; and trattorias serve up seafood specialties and pesto, the region's signature sauce. The Sentiero Azzurro hiking trail connects the villages and provides panoramic views of the sea or; you can opt to visit most of them by boat.

What Else?

Well, we're not entirely all planned out day by day, we like to make things up as we go along. 'Travel' for us - is not all about schedules and ticking boxes of 'must see' places.

But, we do know we want to pay a visit to Portofino - mainly caused by a TV period drama series a year or so ago "Hotel Portofino."

We hope to reach Portofino by one of the local ferry routes, but a lot will depend upon the seasonal weather, which will dictate the sailing operational times. If not, there's always a bus!

Back to GENOA:

Oh yes, we haven't quite said 'arriverderci' to Genoa just yet.

We've bagged ourselves a rather nice 2 bedroomed apartment, via Booking.com even though we were really looking at budget accommodation for this part of the trip - but our hearts were stolen by places we wanted to live in - permanently!

And this my friends, is why we've steered quite clear of Italy for many years - we absolutely know, it's going grab a tight hold and not let go. We're assuming there will be lots of revisits in between our other trips.

So perhaps we will get to experience that 2 hour guided tour after all... We will be located in the Centro Storico area of Genoa, which means heaps of wonderful building architecture to feast our eyes upon!

<---0--->

Final Days:

We finish up back in Nice, on the Promenade des Anglais where we will have a couple of days to explore an area that will be a 'first' for us both.

It provides us with the opportunity to wander along the promenade, or travel on the trams into the Nice Ville and Vieux Nice as well.

Nice is the second-largest French city on the Mediterranean coast and the second-largest city in the Provence-Alpes-Côte d'Azur region after Marseille. It's situated at the base of the French Alps, on the French Riviera, the southeast coast of France on the Mediterranean Sea.

It's also around 13kms distance from Monaco, which I have visited, but many years ago when I was in my early 20s.

If we like, it's an easy enough destination for us to reach from our favourite UK airport - so we can always hop on a two and a half hour flight whenever the fancy takes us.

That's all folks and thank you for reading.

The next updates will arrive during and after our travels.

[ulkaralakbarova]

John Arnold DeMarco is a man who believes he is Don Juan, the greatest lover in the world. Clad in a cape and mask, DeMarco undergoes psychiatric treatment with Dr. Jack Mickler to cure him of his apparent delusion. But the psychiatric sessions have an unexpected effect on the psychiatric staff and, most profoundly, Dr Mickler, who rekindles the romance in his complacent marriage. Credits: TheMovieDb. Film Cast: Don Juan DeMarco: Johnny Depp Dr. Jack Mickler: Marlon Brando Marilyn Mickler: Faye Dunaway Dona Ana: Géraldine Pailhas Dr. Paul Showalter: Bob Dishy Doña Inez: Rachel Ticotin Doña Julia: Talisa Soto Dr. Bill Dunsmore: Stephen Singer Sultana Gulbeyaz: Jo Champa Woman in Restaurant: Marita Geraghty Detective Sy Tobias: Richard C. Sarafian Grandmother DeMarco: Tresa Hughes Don Alfonzo: Carmen Argenziano Rocco Compton: Tommy Lister Jr. Mariachi Singer: Selena Quintanilla Judge Ryland: Gilbert Lewis Don Antonio: Franc Luz Maitre D’ (uncredited): Lorenzo Caccialanza Film Crew: Screenplay: Jeremy Leven Producer: Francis Ford Coppola Producer: Patrick J. Palmer Director of Photography: Ralf D. Bode Editor: Antony Gibbs Casting: Lynn Kressel Production Design: Sharon Seymour Producer: Fred Fuchs Costume Design: Kirsten Everberg Original Music Composer: Michael Kamen Original Music Composer: Robert John Lange Storyboard Designer: Rick Newsome Characters: Lord Byron Executive Producer: Michael De Luca Co-Executive Producer: Robert F. Newmyer Co-Executive Producer: Brian Reilly Co-Executive Producer: Jeffrey Silver Choreographer: Adam Shankman Stunt Double: Lisa Comshaw Movie Reviews: talisencrw: I realize that I gave this too many marks, but if there’s anything I have realized about cinema, it can best be said by a line that I watched, performed by Jean-Louis Trintignant, where he stated (and I paraphrase), something like, ‘I can’t remember the movie, but I can recall my feelings’, and that sums up nicely why I feel the way I do about the movie. It’s an interesting idea acted well by very good actors (a lot of people dismiss Marlon Brando’s work here, but I don’t think it’s that bad, honestly). If anything, the problem here is the movie doesn’t know where to go after it’s decent start. Reno: **He who says every woman is a mystery to be solved.** One of the earliest films for Johnny Depp and very surprising. Thematically, the film is for the grown ups, but well made without too much sexual exploit. That means you can comfortably sit and watch with your family. This is not actually about Don Juan, but kind of ‘The Fall’. I mean the flashback reveals everything and remains as a mystery. The story follows a man who himself declares the real Don Juan DeMarco, the greatest lover of the world. So he ends in a psychiatric centre for the treatment after trying to commit suicide. A doctor who is on the verge to retire set to treat him and when the DeMarco narrates his life story, the doctor too inspires to reinstate his romantic life. The remaining narration tells how they work out to solve the issue once for all. Not a masterpiece, but kind of interesting drama, particularly for how the film characters were drawn. And the story was built cleverly, till the final scene by giving out the viewers a positive message that worth living life to love and to be loved. So if you opt it for the title, not a bad choice, since the theme remains about the love, even the person you are looking for is not present. More like it is a metaphor, when it comes to the real Don Juan and the one in this film. Like people say god is everywhere, the love is as well and so the version/personality of Don Juan in every person. Johnny Depp was so good, an ideal person to play the title role. Marlon Brando was too great, in a simple way. The rest of the cast was not bad, but the entire film focused on these two than anybody else. It’s been nearly 25 years since it came out, but I feel a remake would be not a bad idea with changes in the script. Todays writer and directors are clever at doing that, but it should come fr...

[denimbex1986]

BAFTA nominated film 'All of Us Strangers' is now out in cinemas (from Friday, January 26) and anyone from Croydon - specifically Sanderstead - who goes to watch it is going to recognise many locations. The film tells the story of Adam (played by Andrew Scott) who is drawn back to his childhood home where he finds his parents still living despite dying 30 years ago - and this home just so happens to be on Purley Downs Road, in Sanderstead.

It is only after his chance encounter with mysterious neighbour Harry (Paul Mescal) that the screenwriter wants to take a trip down memory lane. It is in these flashbacks that Croydon takes centre stage. Like the protagonist, the South London borough has a deeper meaning for the director of the emotional drama, Andrew Haigh. Haigh lived in Sanderstead as a boy and the nostalgic 1980s family home that Adam returns to is in fact where Haigh grew up.

The house on Purley Downs Road was closed off for filming from June 27 to July 8, 2022. Haigh said: "I left that place when I was eight or nine and I’ve never been back. You see Adam lift up a photo [when he’s trying to find the house], and that’s a photo of me and my mum, with Claire Foy in place of my mum – I used that photo to find it. When I walked in there again, it felt like a haunted house."

Haigh recalled that during filming his childhood eczema broke out. He explained: "I thought, maybe it's the f***king house! The film is about how we store traumas, big and small, and it felt like my body was physically reacting to how I felt when I was younger."

Andrew Pavord, Croydon Film Officer, explained how they worked with locals to make sure Haigh's vision came to life. He told MyLondon: "This particular one was very difficult because Purley Downs Road is a busy road with lots of residents and they wanted complete closure.

"Eventually we reached a compromise everyone was happy with. On this occasion we had to go ahead with this place because of the historical accuracy of the story.

"The director was determined to use his own childhood home and you sort of have to understand the artistic vision. We certainly wanted to deliver it for them. It's a fantastic film and I don't think it would have had the same impact if we had made them use a different location. I think you can tell from the actors involved that they soaked up the atmosphere."

There was also filming at Limpsfield Road and Sanderstead Recreation ground. Andrew Scott's character is also seen visiting the Whitgift shopping centre with his parents.

Haigh has said he wished to have visited the shopping centre more as a youngster, which to those growing up in Croydon now may seem shocking as it is more recently connected with empty shops. As well as featuring well known Croydon destinations the film also explores different areas of London, including a scene filmed on the Waterloo & City line.

Transport features on Adam's arrival to his hometown too as he pulls in to Sanderstead station. Other destinations are not as clear, for example we are not told the location of the new tower block that the main character lives in.

The highlighting of the area in this way turns Croydon into a character of its own, demonstrating how we resonate with happenings of the past. It isn't the borough's first television or film appearance though as it has featured in TV comedies and action films and was even converted into New York in upcoming Netflix Drama American Assassin.

Andrew Pavord said it is "remarkably versatile as a location." But, it is one of the first times that Croydon's identity is not concealed on the screen.'

[grantgoddard]

One good turn deserves a cold shoulder? : 2004 : BBC World Service Trust, Phnom Penh

“I understand you’re an expert in messaging,” said the woman sat behind the desk.

I looked blank. I had absolutely no idea what she was talking about. If she meant SMS text messaging, I did not even own a mobile phone!

“I was told you are experienced in capacity building,” continued the woman, undeterred.

I looked even more blank. What on earth was she talking about? I had just flown half way around the world. This was my first meeting with the boss of the project where I was to work. Yet I had zero understanding of what she had just said. I began to wonder if the office back in London had mistakenly sent the wrong person (me) to the wrong location (Phnom Penh, Cambodia). Did she think I was someone else? I had been sent here to do radio training. Had the international wires become crossed somewhere?

It took me several weeks to understand that Giselle Portenier, manager of Cambodia’s BBC World Service Trust project, had been addressing me in ‘NGO-speak’, an esoteric language I had never before encountered. People working in such ‘Non-Governmental Organisations’ (er, international charities) apparently use terminology that substitutes long words for concepts which the rest of the world refer to with short words. Some might call this professional obscurantism.

During my first week, Portenier insisted I attend a two-day workshop organised by the Centre for Disease Control concerning drama programmes created to communicate health issues to the population. My takeaways were that NGO staff love the sound of their own voices and try their utmost to turn simple tasks into overcomplicated diagrams and flow charts. I strained to stay awake in Cambodia’s oppressive daytime heat and quickly tired of hearing NGO people talk to each other in a language that was apparently English, but might as well have been Mongolian for all I could understand. Luckily, I managed to excuse myself from a similar two-day workshop about ‘messaging’ the following week.

Why was I in Cambodia? In July 2002, I had been unemployed and applied in desperation for an advertised role with the BBC World Service Trust in Ethiopia. The only thing I recall about that interview was sitting alongside dub poet Benjamin Zephaniah (born two days before me!) in the lobby of Bush House. Having neither attended Oxbridge nor benefited from a family member or acquaintance employed in the Corporation, I was hardly surprised to receive my thirty-seventh consecutive BBC rejection letter. The Holy Grail I had coveted since childhood was receding further over my horizon with every CV submitted.

Fast forward to December 2003. I was in a dead-end job at Ofcom where my line manager Neil Stock had met me on Christmas Eve to say “there is nothing for you to contribute to” the media regulator’s work schedule during the first quarter of the next year. I had just discovered a voicemail message on my work phone from the BBC, asking if I was the ‘Grant Goddard’ who had applied for a job the previous year. My contact details had proven a dead-end and it had resorted to contacting a referee in the United States I had listed who advised that I now worked for ‘The Radio Authority’ … which was found to have closed. I phoned back, confirmed it was me and explained that I had since changed address. Would I be interested in a consultancy role lasting two to three months? Though I had accrued eight weeks’ unused holiday at Ofcom, it refused me paid or unpaid leave to pursue this opportunity … so I resigned.

Roy Head, director of the BBC World Service Trust’s health division, explained by phone that a contract had recently been signed between the Cambodia government and the Corporation to train local staff at two radio stations to produce phone-in shows around health issues. A decade earlier, he had managed the United Nations’ radio station ‘UNTAC’ in Cambodia. Head confided that, only after signing this contract had he discovered that the BBC’s ‘executive producer, radio’ in Cambodia, despite having held numerous posts within the Corporation since 1987, apparently had no experience producing a live radio programme. Neither had the Cambodia project manager who had produced television documentaries for the BBC since 1986. I respected Head’s honesty when he admitted my involvement would help him out of a very large hole. The Cambodia government was becoming increasingly impatient for the training to start, necessitating my arrival as quickly as possible. Yes, the pay (£750 plus US$100 pocket money per week) was not great because it had had to be unexpectedly eked out of an existing budget, but Head promised me better paid similar BBC work afterwards if I would solve his pressing problem.

I nearly never made it to Cambodia. The nurse I was mandated to visit at BBC White City could not locate the required ‘BCG’ vaccination on my left arm and threatened to block my departure for several weeks to redo it. Was I born in Britain? Yes. Did I have paperwork proving I had received the vaccine? Er, I was a child. Where did I receive it? In a health clinic, long gone, at the corner of Upper College Ride and Saddleback Road on the Old Dean Estate in Camberley, 200 metres from the house in which I had been born. After an extended interrogation, as a last resort she inspected my right arm and found a faint tell-tale circular mark there, and expressed astonishment that I was the first person she had encountered with it on the ‘wrong’ arm. All I could presume was that some nurse in the 1960’s had decided it would never matter as council estate children were destined to go nowhere anyway.

On arrival in Phnom Penh, my line manager Chas Hamilton invited me to homemade dinner in his flat and filled my head with gossip about his BBC colleagues. He was particularly incensed that his boss Portenier, before her recent arrival, had allegedly demanded her flat be remodelled at considerable public expense to include, shock horror, a sunken bathtub. As a short-term consultant (given BBC contract number WST001), I preferred to avoid such office politicking. I chose to keep my burning question – how is a BBC employee promoted to a radio management role without having produced a live radio programme? – to myself. The Corporation evidently worked in mysterious ways.

After a morning visit to one of the radio stations in Phnom Penh at which I would be working, the Cambodian BBC driver was en route to the office when I requested he stop for me to buy a takeaway lunch.

“I will take you to a hotel for lunch, sir,” he kindly offered.

“No, thank you,” I said. “I can buy something at one of these roadside shacks and eat it at the office.”

“But they only serve noodles, sir,” he explained patiently.

“Yes, and that is what I want for lunch,” I insisted.

Despite his complete puzzlement, he parked the BBC four-wheel-drive alongside a random food stall, translated my order into Khmer and, minutes later, I left clutching a knotted transparent plastic bag containing my freshly stir-fried order for less than a dollar. At the BBC office, I went to the kitchen, requested a plate, emptied out my food and sat at the dining table to eat it, much to the amazement of the Cambodian staff. My new colleagues found it hard to believe that I ate noodles at home all the time.

From that day forward, I joined the local staff for lunch daily in the BBC kitchen, with between five and fifteen of us gathered around the large dining table for the mandatory two-hour break inherited from French colonialists. Each of us paid the BBC kitchen manager a dollar a day to take our preferences and venture out to numerous street stalls to fulfil our orders. The food was always fantastic and the company was excellent, though I could not understand the Khmer chatter. The project’s Cambodian receptionist sidled up to me and explained with awe:

“In all the time we have been here, not one of the foreigners working here has sat down and ate our food with us, except on special occasions such as Chinese New Year.”

So where did all the ‘foreigners’ go every day? On one occasion, sat at the kitchen table ready to eat lunch, Portenier approached me and insisted I accompany her and the other ex-pats ‘out’. We were driven in several cars to an international hotel that appeared completely devoid of guests, where we were offered menus and then waited over an hour in the lobby for our dishes to arrive. The food, the surroundings and the conversation were all mediocre, though I presume that the BBC was picking up the tab for its employees’ daily lunchtime jollies to various Phnom Penh hotels. Thankfully, I was never invited again.

The BBC had initially ordered my air ticket to return to London three months later. As my work was still far from complete, I had to spend three hours sat uncomfortably on a long wooden bench in a tiny Phnom Penh travel agency that attempted to change the date … unsuccessfully. I decided unilaterally to use the ticket (rather than waste it) to fly home for a quick visit, only to discover that Roy Head, having sent me to Cambodia, was no longer with the BBC, reportedly having become ill after a work trip to Brazil. Back in London, I was called to a meeting with his successor at Bush House, a brusque woman who demonstrated little interest in my work but asked me to spy on my line manager Chas Hamilton and report what he was or was not doing. I refused. I had been hired as a consultant solely to train people in radio, not indulge in espionage. The BBC booked my new ticket to return to Cambodia a week later and gave me boxes of radio equipment to transport in my heavily surcharged, overweight suitcases.

Returned to Phnom Penh, when one of my station projects was about to launch its new weekly live youth phone-in show, I drafted a press release and asked Portenier to approve it, transpose it onto BBC notepaper and circulate it through established PR channels. She refused. I was perplexed. Surely it was positive news to herald the successful completion of part of the BBC’s contract with the Cambodia government. Apparently not. In order not to disappoint the radio station’s production team with whom I had worked so closely for months, I was reduced to secretly commandeering a BBC car and driver when Portenier was absent from the office in order to hand deliver to each of Phnom Penh’s newspapers my press releases in Khmer and English that omitted mention of the BBC's involvement.

This negative response was very dispiriting as it appeared that neither my local project manager, nor my local line manager, nor the replacement BBC manager in London seemed even vaguely appreciative of my success saving their bacon. My second radio station project was almost ready to launch too but I considered now was a good time to return home, having already spent twice as long in Cambodia as my contract had required. The local BBC staff organised a fantastic farewell party for me in the office and gave me presents. Neither Portenier nor Hamilton attended. To be accurate, Hamilton arrived at work after it had finished. At the airport, several of the wonderful Cambodian radio station staff I had trained arrived unexpectedly to see me off. They cried. I cried. They and the lovely local office staff had made my work worthwhile.

By the time I landed in London, my BBC e-mail account had already been cancelled, preventing continuing contact with my colleagues in Cambodia. I sent Portenier an email apologising (ahem!) for not having seen her before I left and thanking her for “all her help”. Her reply lacked a shred of gratitude:

“I know you were planning to do a handover report for David. Did that happen? I know he tried to get in touch in England, but failed.”

My BBC contract had not required me to write a report. Besides, in Cambodia I had been fully occupied each week spending four days from 8am to 5pm training two teams, one day in the radio studio and two days preparing materials for my next sessions, without any BBC input. Meanwhile, the project’s head of radio seemed to have spent most of his time sat in his cosy BBC office. Neither did I know who ‘David’ was. Nevertheless, I offered my services to help out for free in the BBC’s Bush House office, hoping to avail myself of future opportunities. I submitted six applications for advertised vacancies in the BBC World Service Trust during 2004 and 2005, for one of which I was interviewed, but without success. Nobody in the BBC thanked me for my work bailing it out in Cambodia or offered me the better paid, follow-on opportunities I had been promised. I had no idea how to contact Roy Head once he had left the BBC.

When I signed on for Unemployment Benefit, my most recent work in Phnom Penh was viewed suspiciously because, whilst I had been away, British tabloid newspaper front pages had splashed stories about 1970’s pop star ‘Gary Glitter’s exploits with underage boys in Cambodia. The young 'JobCentre' officer instructed me to apply for a radiology vacancy in a local hospital, not comprehending it was totally unrelated to radio production.

Giselle Portenier completed one year in charge of the Cambodia project before leaving the BBC and returning to Canada.

In 2006, Chas Hamilton lauded the youth phone-in radio show I and my trainees had created as the project’s “most popular”, noting that “all members of the production team … had no previous media experience before we plucked them from university and trained them.” His invisible ‘executive production’ role while I was there had apparently proven so successful that the BBC promoted him to manage their entire Cambodia project. I hope he enjoyed the accompanying apartment’s sunken bathtub he had seemed to envy so much.

[thissarahgirl]

Severed ties

There I was sitting on the arm of my leather couch listening to your voice on the other side of my phone and me feeling completely numb but utterly confused. My brain had shut down as it normally does in moments of confrontation. Especially when it’s conversations with you. I instantly go into fight or flight mode. I understood what was being said but I couldn’t comprehend the words. An instant feeling of confusion filled me. In this moment I knew our relationship had finally reached the fork of the road, and the wrong pathway was going to cause havoc and destruction or peace and quiet. Drama free. But how do you make that choice when it means going no contact with your own flesh and blood? Especially when she’s your mother.

In my ear I hear how you were made to feel uncomfortable, that you weren’t treated how you feel you should have been, that if this problem wasn’t fixed it would end with visits only occurring when my husband wasn’t home. What struck me the most is how you compared this situation to the relationship my dad’s parents had. I remember thinking “You’ve got to be joking!?” My grandad would threaten and belittle, he would speak with ill tone and would physically hurt. He was abusive. My husband is most definitely not my grandad! You comparing these two men just shows how little you know about my husband and any sense of understanding our relationship.

Weeks later in a heated phone call, I recall you vehemently denying you ever said that. Once again, I’m confused. I often feel like my memory fails me, causing me to constantly doubt myself, but then again that is one of your talents. I wonder how many times you have gaslit me.

Minutes, hours, days later I’m still reflecting on this conversation. My mind takes time to process such dramatic events, and it was occurring to me more strongly how this conversation was about how you felt. And how I had to fix it, it was my responsibility to fix the actions because he was MY husband. I had to make him apologise, make him see sense in what he did.

But he did nothing wrong, except express that he didn’t need any help at our son’s first birthday party. I reflect on this day by looking back at photos, and it doesn’t take me long to notice that you are the centre of every single photo. I have no photos with anyone else holding our son. Not even us. It’s just you.

I’m struck by a light bulb moment.

I do more research.

Slowly, moments in my life come back to me, triggered by my fixation of this issue as well as with conversations.

Again, more photos with just you. But there was more than just you celebrating our eldest turning 2 and then 3. What about the other family members who want to be a part of these memories? Our child will look back at these photos when she’s older and I’m sure she’s going to be confused why there’s no photos with anyone else.

You demand to have a conversation with my husband that I must organise.

The conversation doesn’t last long, even if you have written notes and emails to yourself. You’re just using your viewpoints to continue to play the victim and make my husband look the enemy. But I shut this conversation down quickly. Your demand for respect astounds me, because you may be my mother, but you will also respect my husband. What’s that Bible verse again?

“You won’t call back.” It often replays in my mind, as this moment is a constant open file in the back of my mind. You are supposed to be the one constant support in my life, and within moments you broke us, and it is irreparable.

This conversation and the actions that follow this event consume me for months. Something my poor husband has had to deal with, helping me sort through all the random thoughts that come to mind so I can make sense. My mind is warped by it and my body holds onto the damage that’s been caused.

Your slander campaign with our family doesn’t work and makes me wonder what other lies you’ve been spreading.

The funny thing is what you might have foreseen only came true due to what you have said and done beyond that conversation. The damage you’ve caused I will never get my mind around and I will never forgive you for trying to break my family.

I continue my research beyond just looking at photos. My friend Google contains a world of information, the thoughts in my mind are starting to make sense the more information I find. Of course, I have doubts in my mind, as you can’t rely on self-initiated research without professional confirmation. But my mind won’t let go of what I’ve found.

Everything points at you being a covert narcissist. You probably don’t even know you are. But I’m shocked, my personality, my upbringing, my lack of positive childhood memories – it’s all starting to make sense.

I’m still standing at this fork in the road. In reality, I know this has probably been on the horizon for a while, something that I have been trying to work around in hopes our relationships would improve. But this final action proves to me again that I need to decide.

Choice 1 - Do I continue to stay, dealing with the anxiety that weighs heavily on my chest each time I even think of calling or visiting you and confront this ugliness head on? Choice 2 – Do I break the chains, work, and reflect on myself in the hopes of breaking this wheel of generational trauma so I don’t spread this ugliness on to my own children?

Either option is going to be a hard road to choose. But I know in my soul I can’t live with this anymore. My heart is forever broken. I shouldn’t have to choose between a life with the family I made without the family I’m from, but I know that if I’m ever going to have a chance, I can’t do this anymore. This ugliness will only spread and poison more and more of my life and the most important people in it.

You’re right with one thing – I won’t call back.

So, I’m officially done.

I choose me.