Sad But True

It's a sad thing to know that, here in the UK, whilst I am technically free to move from country to country (Wales, Scotland, England and Northern Ireland) my health limits my options.

Being as reliant as I am to the NHS (which David Cameron is all but destroying) when considering a move I must first and foremost consider what the health services are like in any particular area/country. I'll say here now that I have not the slightest interest in moving to Ireland and that's not because I dislike it. It simply doesn't appeal to me for whatever reason.

Out of the remaining three it seems that Scotland is the best health-wise as they have free prescriptions (as does Wales whilst England charge more than £7 per item!), excellent services and waiting times are not excessive (in Wales they can be). Were I to live in England the mere cost of the drugs I have been prescribed this past year (and which have had no effect on me - and, no, I don't continue to take them when that is the case. Rather I trial a drug for a period and then move on if need be) would have set me back several hundreds of pounds which I am no position to afford. Yes it's true that those on benefits do not pay for prescriptions in England but were I to be in a low paid job then the cost of drugs would put me off putting in the prescription in the first place. And I don't think the waiting times are as good as in Scotland (correct me if I am wrong). I would not be doing myself any favours, in other words.
When I lived in England previously I also came across quite a lot of xenophobia which also puts me off living there again, although there are many parts of England which are not so biased. In fact England, indeed all countries that make up the UK, have much to offer ranging from countryside to culture and arts. And were I a healthy man then, perhaps, I would look to move back into England.
But I am not a healthy man and as such I must put my health first.

I love the UK, I really do, and it angers me so much to see all the divisions and differences - policy-wise etc. - that exists between the nations. It also angers me that the current government seems to be intent on ripping up all that the things that the UK should be proud of - a national health service, the ability to help those in need with compassion and empathy (this the current ConDem government has none of).

There have been times when I have thought about moving abroad but then I am faced with that same wall - money and health. If I were born in a time before the NHS then I would have been left to fend for myself, unable to pay for the most basic of medical care. I would have been left to rot.
What frightens me now is that Cameron is on the road to bringing such times back to this country. And that is indeed frightening to me and anyone else in my position.
We are able to have some, basic, standard of living because of what the UK was able to do in the past century. I just hope that this century doesn't undo all the good that has gone before and that this dark period is but fleeting moment in time and that the Sun of humanity will reveal itself in the not to distant future, restoring the qualities of old so that I can once again move about without having to ponder the differences in services and quality that each country has to offer. In other words; I hope that the separate countries of the UK can celebrate their uniqueness whilst being in harmony when it comes to the public services they offer.

The Reality Of Friendship And Being Ill

I'm sure that every person is guilty of having let time pass them by without them realising it; letting many months pass between meetings with a friend, unconsciously forgetting to get in touch etc. etc.; I know I am!
But I have come to realise that, since fibromyalgia has really started to affect my day to day living, my friends have, perhaps not intentionally, distanced themselves and have made little effort in continuing our relationship, despite my own efforts.

I wonder if it is all too easy to put aside the person who is 'ill' and who is rarely able to attend social gatherings or 'nights out', after all when one is in the hubbub of the excitement and events of such occasions then the person or persons who are not present are usually the farthest things on the mind. But it appears that this constant fact, no doubt repeated since the 'ill' person is rarely ever able to attend, becomes habit and the lack of thought extends into the every day.

When these friends are reminded of one's existence one is usually met with an 'oh, it's been too long' response together with a half-hearted attempt at a reunion. Which, as yet, has always led to nothing.

That is not to say that I don't still treasure my time with my friends, when it does happen, but this is all too rare and human companionship is a vital part of life. I have all too few friends who I see on a quasi-regular basis and loneliness is a major factor of my life these days.

Making new friends is, perhaps, even harder since the ways in which one usually meets new people, at social gatherings, through other people etc., are not always available to me because of the condition I was blessed with. the fact that most of my existing friends have metaphorically moved themselves away from me further exacerbates the fact.
These days I am virtually reliant on the internet and its online world. Making friends of any value online is almost impossible and I do not truly count any association made online as a 'real' friendship. After all, what is friendship? I mean, real friendship? Think about it.

And to further the discussion; I have all but given up hope of ever finding a romantic partner as a) it is difficult to meet new people (see above), and b) the mere mention of an illness (I will not lie) is enough to either put people off entirely or reduce me, in their eyes, as someone unequal to themselves who should be pitied - and any partnership that I want means one of equal stature.
I will probably never be able to earn like any future (if only) partner or have the quality of life and all its experiences that the other may want and obtain. So, I wonder, could any future romantic involvement be an an 'equal' one?
I wonder, indeed.

But I am thankful for small mercies. I am grateful that, when the weather is good, I am able to look at the world and see the beauty and glory that exists; beauty and glory that most people overlook.
In my life being involuntarily slowed-down I can look and experience, almost at leisure, the simplest things that another might take for granted.
And most of the time I can observe people and their interactions with their friends and with their partners without jealousy. Most of the time.

"An Appointment With The Wicker Man", Glasgow Theatre Royal, 1/3/12

This is only the second production I've seen from the National Theatre of Scotland (I think) and though I'm sure there are those who believe 'National' companies should produce more worthy and artistic work than this (why? Theatre should be as varied as possible) I enjoyed this production far more than their atrocious butchering of 'Peter Pan' a while back (for which I can never forgive them).

The plot is quite simple; a small amateur theatre troupe is staging 'The Wicker Man' and have called in a pro to take the part of 'Edward Woodward' as the original actor has mysteriously vanished.
As the rehearsals proceed the action off-stage starts to parallel the 'Wicker Man' story.

The writing is witty and funny even if some of the situations and surprises are old hat. The cast perform well and the direction is appropriate.
As an homage to the original film it excels, especially in that, rather than make laugh at the film (though the recreations of scenes from the film are quite funny) we are laughing at the people performing and the lengths they will and will not go to.
The play also has moments of real psychological horror especially in the in the latter half.
The performances of the songs from the film (which is really a horror musical) are among the highlights of the evening as they were performed sincerely if staged rather flamboyantly at times (intentionally so - the 'amateur' choreography and performances are a hoot).
The play is also a charming nod to the amateur circuit and the social importance of such groups. Indeed the characters are written as something akin to caricatures of 'amateur' performers yet I have been witness to such people and performances in reality.

The play begins as if we were actually watching the amateur performance, complete with cardboard boat, flat direction and wooden acting before moving backstage to rehearsals (complete with shoddily put together set pieces). We then begin to see the lines blur between play, rehearsal and the 'reality' of the situation (as seen by the pro whose presence echoes that of the character he plays). The blending of these written and directed especially well so that one bleeds into the other without any obvious transition.

While the play may not have anything to really say about the importance of amateur groups and their role within communities (or in keeping theatre alive) or anything important at all, it is still an enjoyable trek complete with laughter, sex and a little bit of terror thrown in.
If anything, despite this being a 'comedy', this does make me think that a fully staged, 'serious', crack at 'The Wicker Man' might be something truly magical.
Maybe one day ...

'An Inspector Calls', Theatre Royal, Glasgow, 22/2/12

After more than a decade has passed I have finally seen the legendary Stephen Daldry production of J.B. Priestley's play. Thrilling, exciting, mesmerising and ultimately theatrical, this is a production that surpasses anything that cinema could never hope to emulate.
The reason I have never seen the production before was that whenever the production toured I would always miss it or it would miss me - I recall that it went to my hometown for the first time in 1999, a week after I moved to London! But such is life and all good things ...

It is, of course, a given that any touring version will be a slightly reduced production where all the elements that make up the design are, usually, on a smaller stage and here that was the case. I recall seeing original production shots many years ago and even the original set model (as part of the touring 'Make Space' exhibition) where the stage (the National Theatre!) seemed vast and the design elements of telephone box, cyclorama etc. were more spread apart than here. Here it appeared that some of these pieces were repositioned although none of this detracted from the production itself which was still dominated by the three story, doll-house-like, Birling family home; a physical manifestation of the wealth and security of the people who reside within. Ian MacNeils' designs and Rick Fisher's lighting compliment each other whilst the music by Stephen Warbeck sets up atmosphere, mood, and tension well (though I felt, at times, it bordered on excessive).

The sheer scope of the concept and design serves the play superbly, pulling it out of the box set of old. Indeed much has been said over the years since the premiere in 1992 of this production about such things that I shan't go on about it. But it is testament that the production still appears fresh, although it is a production that now dwarfs any further productions of the play which, inevitably, seem stale hearkening back to the original proscenium arch, one room production. Daldry creates a never ending feast for the eyes with the stage becoming the metaphoric landscape for the devastation of the Birling family. As the family is torn apart, so does their world crumble where once they sat, content in their doll house shielded from the rain that pours onto the world outside.
From its framing device of the Second World War (a nod to the period in which the play was written) Daldry's conception grips you and the interweaving of the observers of the 1940s with the events of the play which occur in 1912 was such that one never questions the different time periods living side by side. The play is a moral one and here we become part of those who observe and ultimately judge the actions of the people onstage. The 1940s 'supernumeries' (as listed in the programme) invite us to ask of ourselves whether the time period we live in or the class we may consider ourselves to be are reason enough to abandon those who are in need, to be selective in our morality and actions.

The cast were excellent but Tom Mannion as 'Inspector Goole' was a stand out whilst Karen Archer as 'Sybil Birling' perfectly encapsulated the toff attitude of privilege. Geoff Leesley as 'Arthur Birling' and John Sackville as 'Gerald Croft' were also wonderfully cast. Kelly Hotten as 'Sheila Birling' and Henry Gilbert as 'Eric Birling' shone as the siblings who, though spoilt and selfish, ultimately come to realise the truth about themselves and that lessons are for learning. Janie Booth as maid 'Edna' may have had few lines but she was in danger of stealing the spotlight with her wanderings onstage and her simple, uncomplicated facial expressions. Of the 'Supernumeries' Dino Molinari as 'Small Boy' stood out although all served the production well.
I am glad I managed to catch this wonderfully theatrical piece and hope to do so again when next it tours.

Lethargy Is Fun. Really.

One of the major drawbacks in having fibromyalgia is the lethargy that washes over you when you least suspect it.
I have yet to find a way to combat this symptom which comes upon you in a matter of moments leaving you weak, your mind foggy, your vision often blurred and you feeling simply like crap!
It is as if the positive essence of yourself is drained out of you in a few seconds, leaving you empty and hollow and at the mercy of some unknown foe.

I wouldn't wish this on anyone.

Finding the positive ?

It is often said that the challenges one may face in life are, in actuality, life lessons that are placed before us so that we may learn from them, that they can be seen as tests of a person's character. And while it may be true it has to be said that not everyone can face these challenges, that some people simply don't have it in them to deal with such things, especially if challenge follows challenge.
I believe I am one such person: I do my best to cope with obstacles and the things that life thrusts at me but I fear that there is only so much I can take.

This is not to say that such people as myself are weak in character or any such thing but, rather, that due to circumstance we are unable to accommodate such drastic changes or events as easily as another person.

What I am talking about is mental illness - depression and the such - which renders some people unable to cope with such challenges which, to any other person, may be a mere frustration or an annoyance. Indeed people with mental health issues (not to mention any other health problems they may have!) may not be able to see beyond the event that is presented before them, unable to see the positive in the great big negative that rears its ugly head.

I do try to look at things as a lesson and sometimes, usually some time after, I can find a positive but, as each day passes, as I am frustrated at my body letting me down, my mind progressively stalling, at my frustrations with my personal flaws, I find it harder and harder to find any real purpose to these events: I cannot fathom the good that might emerge from these incidents.
And I do not like tests - I often crumble under such situations and my coping mechanism is utterly buggered when I need it the most.

I speak of this because there has been numerous an occasion when such things have happened to me. Yes, I've come out the other side but not necessarily stronger. In fact, I often feel utterly drained and exhausted, as if another piece of me has been chipped away by life and its apparent unfairness. And each time it gets harder.

Oh, boo hoo, I guess. But I do honestly feel that some people are luckier than others and that there are those who cannot get a break in life, despite all their positive actions and thoughts. I realise life isn't fair but it's also true that life is much more of a struggle for some. The smallest thing can be a mountain to face and when one reflects it isn't so easy to be proud of an achievement that would be a mere trifle to another person.

'Fishmonger's Wife' and 'Disco Tastic'

Here are two songs that were written, performed and recorded in 1999 by Performing Arts students at Swansea College (and, yes, I was one of them):

The first is 'Fishmonger's Wife' which was written very much with our tongues in our cheeks, hence the innuendo laden lyrics.

The Second is 'Disco Tastic' which is my favourite. This song was originally intended to be a love ballad but my best friend and I really loved the idea of a word being repeated throughout an entire song and the word we came up with was 'Discotastic'. Thus the ballad become an homage to the 70s disco movement. 'Discotastic' was also relegated to the refrain so the constant repeating of the word was limited.

This was also the time when vocal distortions (a la 'Believe') were being used in pop music and we thought we'd have some of that.

We had fun coming up with the lyrics although some of the original ones we came up with were a bit risque so were substituted ('I'm not what I appear' is an example. My friend Les came up with the original as a joke but we all loved it. However it was decided that it should be replaced. Care to guess what the original was?).

Hope you enjoy listening to them as much as we did making them.



'The Iron Lady', 7/1/12, Odeon Cinema, Ayr

I'm not going do an in depth review on this film. Suffice it to say that it's an interesting film that showcases the outstanding acting skills of Meryl Streep who you very nearly forget is playing the Enemy/Hero of the people in a film that quite smartly essays the love and hate relationships the British people had with Thatcher.

While not really a political biography it does punctuate the highlights of Thatcher's career and is also an intriguing look into the loneliness that follows when one has reached the pinnacle and loses that position. Indeed this is the most controversial aspect of the film for most political figures today.

The supporting cast is a fine one with Jim Broadbent leading the troops with a performance that balances the film against Streep's overwhelming performance which is amongst the best ever seen.

The film is well constructed and is done so around Streep, much to the film's credit, which allows the focus to be, rightly, centred on her whilst also creating an idea of the magnetism thatcher must have generated.