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He had it coming: Burnt Up Love @finborough

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Out of the darkness and shadows, three characters emerge. Lit only with candlelight or flashlights, a gripping tale by writer and performer Ché Walker about crime, punishment, love, and loss emerges. The fast pace conveys a sense of urgency to make up for lost time, lost opportunities, and what might have been. It’s currently playing at the Finborough Theatre .  We first meet Mac (Ché Walker) in prison, serving time for a crime he committed. With only a photo of his young daughter, Scratch, to keep him company, he looks for her upon release. But Scratch (Joanne Marie Mason) isn’t the teacher, lawyer or dancer Mac imagined while incarcerated over the years she might be. Instead, Scratch is in and out of trouble, on the edge, angry and violent. A chance encounter one night with JayJayJay (Alice Walker) forms a loving bond and gives her a moment of stability. But Scratch’s demons and restlessness mean trouble does not seem far away. Scratch's random act of thoughtless violence against
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A difference of a few days Since my last update I have done the following: * See three one-act musicals * Get offered a new job and accept it * Look at a place at the fabulous location of Belsize Park. So a lot has happened. One of the pluses of where the office has moved to is that it is practically just across the river from The Bridewell Theatre . It is fringe theatre but nowadays since what passes for shows on the West End have become so bland fringe theatre seems so darn entertaining. Last night's show was "Notes Across a Small Pond" - the pond being the Atlantic and the notes being 3 short musicals from writers from both sides of it. Settling down to the first musical called "Blood Drive" it was a pointless but watchable musical about a guy giving blood. The second musical called "The Happiness of Fish" was a perplexing tale about a woman with insomnia who feels better after dreaming about goldfish. At this point there was an in
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Teething troubles Moving into the new office with sweeping views of the City and on the river Thames has come at a price. Apart from being away from colleagues I worked with at Elephant & Castle (as only half the office could move), I have found the following: * The building is a bit mid-eighties-hotel-chic. Maybe it is because of its height (11 storeys). Or maybe because it was built in the eighties. But whatever the reason it has the look and feel of a hotel with its brass fittings and pale marble floors. The cleaning products used even give it that hotel smell... There is a restaurant on the second floor with a great view of the Thames and a dodgy gym in the basement which also adds to the hotel feel about the place. * There is no Flavia coffee machine. Ok so the coffee wasn't that great, but there was a roast that was the equivalent of a Robert Timms coffee bag that I used once back home so that was enough to get me going in the morning and it was enough to r
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Okay, the last update was a bit angry. You know you're in trouble when you read that you put the words "modernity" and "shit-hole" in the same sentence. Next thing you find out that your housemates are having second thoughts about wanting you to leave... But more on that later in the week... Concorde Three Concordes flew past Elephant and Castle on Friday. It was a moment when I wished I had my camera. Not just to capture the planes as they flew past as we had a fabulous view of them from our office, but to capture the madness and the phenomenon they inspired. As each one flew by people stopped what they were doing and ran to the windows. As we could see them circle the entire city we had a great vantage point from every side of the building so people ran to every side. Of course I joined in (not one to miss a phenomenon even in Elephant and Castle). I was probably a little bit light hearted about it after the great Italian lunch we had nearby.
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The Necessary Business I am a little bit tipsy as I write this update thanks to the UK taxpayer and some farewell drinks as the office moves (I see it as a small rebate for the huge amount of tax the government takes from you here)... Anyway last night I had the discussion with my housemates that I was avoiding all week. It was the I won't be alone in a few weeks and I need to know if I should be moving out conversation. And yes I will have to move out. It was a polite sit down conversation over supper... but one that I had to have as I need to give four weeks notice and it is now less than four weeks. I have mixed views about leaving beautiful Haringey. Well lets face it the neighborhood is a shit hole because it is full of Turks and illegal immigrants who have no concept of modernity. They haven't built a community in this neighbourhood as so much as replicate a middle-eastern slum. On the other hand, Soho is only twenty minutes on the tube... There
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Things the guidbooks should tell you to take while riding the tube: * Torch. You never know when the power is going to go out and you are stuck somewhere dark and unpleasant. * Water. Not just for drinking but washing off all that tube dust when you get stuck in a tunnel and have to walk out. * Steel capped boots. So the mutant mice dont bite your feet while you are walking in the tunnel back to the station. * Crash helmet. No trains have derailed today but they seem to be happening every second day of late... * Padded clothing. You may be secure in your position but Betty next to you might be too engrossed in some tawdry magazine to be holding on to the handrails. The Northern Line has been out of action in Central London for today while they figure out how to get the train out of Camden Town station... Lets hope it doesn't take them too long to figure that one out... Squidgy knew she would get squashed is the fun news of the day... The Daily Mirror (not known
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Bar Bitches This weekend I decided not to go on an out-of-town excursion as enough excitement had happened in the week to deserve a jolly good sleep in. I did go to a funky bar at Balham (gateway to the south some may recall Peter Sellers once saying). It is zone three south London on the Northern Line - aka a bloody long way to go for a bar! What was I doing in Balham? Well it was for Helen's birthday. Helen grew up with Skye so that's the connection. Anyway I was due to meet Skye early at the place but tube delays meant I was a little late. Well over an hour late. There was a line up to get inside this bar that was probably the most sophistimicated bar in Balham. It was quite funky once you got over the fact that it was located outside a Sainsbury's car park. So I had to enjoy the October London night air. London in October is quite refreshing. Twenty minutes later and still standing in line to get into a bar however the novelty begins to wear o
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Obsessions... Recycling is not really a priority in this country. London has seven more years of landfill so that should be plenty of time to come up with a sensible solution. On train rides out of London you can spot the transfer stations by where the flocks of pigeons and seagulls are. Everything is packaged and sealed from sandwiches to cakes to three peppers (that's capsicums to you back home) red yellow and green that you can buy at the supermarket (Actually that is very of them to do that... the traffic light peppers are such a lure I almost bought a packet once even though I only wanted one). So I figure to hell with recycling. But there are two recycling bins near me however so I try to use them. But there is this strange thing that a colleague has... He insists that the staples get removed. He stressed to me a week after starting work that you must remove the staples from the paper. I had visions of staples flying out wounding helpless paper recyclers or some
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Actors of no importance I wasn't planning on going to see an Oscar Wilde play tonight. Skye made me do it. Well Skye and her friend in town for just a few more days and wanting to catch some shows on the West End. But how could one turn down the chance to see the play "A Woman of No Importance" at the Theatre Royal Haymarket (which is where it premiered 110 years ago)? The cast was Rupert Graves, Prunella Scales, Samantha "You always were a cunning linguist James" Bond and Joanne Pearce. But the real star was Oscar Wilde. In the end who cares about the actors and their rather young lookng photographs in the programmes that don't quite look like who they are on stage? Actors come and go - and some like Graves and Scales even drop a few lines under the table - but Wildes sharp observations of his time will remain. Afterwards Skye commented that it was the best show she had seen here and that was because I hadn't picked it. Well if I had it
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