A Hull-uva Week

I had a bad habit when I was younger of leaving pieces of fruit in my school bag.  Not just until the end of the day but for prolonged periods of time.  I have an image printed on my memory of my poor Mum pulling out a smelly splodge formally known as “banana” from my rucksack with a look of shock and rage.  This was later repeated with a plum, I didn’t mean to, I just forgot.

These memories haunted me in Hull.  Our dressing-rooms were underground and after weeks of rain they all smelt pretty damp, dressing-room number 8 in particular.  Aussie Eve and I lamented our fate as the stench grew and grew until we became convinced it must be a dead mouse or rotting corpse somewhere. 

In fact I have to say that my main memories of Hull will be entirely olfactory; strange aromas in the dressing room, on the streets and in my digs.  I have previously enlightened you about the digs debacle on tour.  You sometimes get a gem; nice people, clean bathroom etc, I seem to bypass this blessing and the stars align to strengthen my character or give me blog fodder.  Not since the limbs nestling in the Welsh topiary bushes have I giggled so much on my arrival somewhere. 



It was bigger than me

I awoke each morning in Wendy, John and Michael’s nursery as created by JM Barrie in Peter Pan.  In this revival Nana the dog was a smelly greyhound, I had a rocking horse, Victorian toys everywhere and a large window that unfortunately Peter didn’t whisk me out of towards London.  In all honesty, parts of it were quite beautiful but that much antiquity in one space is oppressive and creates a smell from 100s of years ago.  It also depressed me that the ornate dresser shook against the wooden floors as I walked past making me feel like a ten tonne Tessie.

I wish I could say that I at least woke peacefully in my nursery but I was roused on the first morning by a piercing doorbell at 7am that repeated every few minutes and culminated in a very noisy tool starting to dig up the pavement outside my window.  Grumpy was not the word and I became downright grouchy when the doorbell started again one hour later.  With no sign of my landlady, I stormed downstairs in my floral pjs greeting some poor workman at the door with a grimace and my early morning face (which even with constant Clarins-ing is pretty ghastly first thing.)  “I don’t know what you want me to do,” I raged, “I don’t live here.” The kindly workman, who was covered in rain and had been working since 7am, was much more polite than I deserved “Just need someone to move this car so we can carry on, love.”  At this point said landlady appears in a dressing gown and takes over as I flounce back to bed ignoring her calls of “I am so sorry!” 

Four hours later, in a better mood and my features in their rightful place, I went and apologised to the poor workman who was gracious once again but still continued to drill that pavement every morning from 7am.

My lack of sleep did not help my reaction to the daily enigma that was the dressing-room pong.

We were kindly moved to another room but despite our scented candles that room stank too?  The plot thickened because when we returned to room 8 it was now free from smell.  “Oh my god it’s us!  It’s us!” we screeched, pulling our suitcases apart and sniffing every item of clothing we own.

In the 30 minute run up to the show that night, fellow cast members dropped by to agree we smelt vile and gave helpful suggestions to what it may be; have you checked your shoes for mice?  It smells like off yogurt!  Do you think a mouse is maybe trapped in the lining of your suitcase?  I grew more anxious whilst Aussie Eve put on calming music and applied more eye shadow! 

So we decided to do a smell ratio test.  We would place various items in dressing room 8 to see if the smell returned and reconvene during the interval.  My cod liver oil tablets were the first to go; "no change," reported Aussie Eve in the wings; we were like the Scooby Doo gang.  Next went the bin and to our relief and horror the smell ratio in room 8 rocketed up and was wretched by the interval.  Mystery solved. 

It was the bin.

But why was it the bin in the new room when we hadn’t moved it from the old room?  There must be a common denominator?  It was at this point that I felt the heat rise up my neck as I remembered lovingly preparing some turkey and spinach at home on Monday morning in Tupperware to give me some nutrition during the week.  But instead of eating it on Monday evening, I abandoned it for a cast trip to Nandos instead and there my Tupperware stayed until I popped in the bin of our new dressing room.

So it was me and the return of my 8 year old ways.  I can hear my mother laughing through the internet, rolling her eyes that her daughter will never change.  I make a public, blogging apology to the company of Avenue Q for assaulting their nostrils and to Aussie Eve for making her doubt her cleanliness!

I have a problem with rotting food.  If I ever get back to London I will find some self-help group to help me become more socially acceptable! 

So with the pong, a Lazerquest tournanment of International standards, a pub quiz and the threat of theatre floods I can agree with a local cabby who proudly said.......

“It is never dull in Hull!”

“People always learning all through their life” Christmas Eve in Avenue Q

Beneath the puppets and smiley tunes, the musical Avenue Q is quite profound; it could be the basis for a self-help book.  The title of this blog comes from the wonderful character of Christmas Eve who, in her quest to become a paid therapist, talks a lot of sense. 

"People always learning, all through their life"

Life gives us numerous opportunities to learn; whether it is about ourselves, others or trivial pursuit subjects.  I have recently noticed that people differ, quite considerably, in how much they allow themselves to learn and develop.

As a baby you are open to learning about the world.  My nephew must learn 100s of things a day; everything is new, fascinating and deserves his full attention.  Nothing is rushed and you see his brain process, analyse and enjoy it all.  Watching this does rubs off on you;  I now shout “duck” excitedly to myself as I run along the river and am suddenly aware of the number of Nee Nahs (Ambulances/fire engines/police cars) that I see per day.  When do we lose this joy at the simplest things in life?  When does a bus ride stop being a new experience and become commuting ennui?

There is also that phase when people feel like they know it all.  You know the types; the University students awakening their sense of individuality and quote “the government are Sh*T” but can’t really give reasons why they believe this, they just do.  You also hear folks, forever in this phase, on the radio or phoning into The Wright Stuff on Channel 5 airing strong opinions about immigration or council housing but without any political knowledge, “They should all get out of our country, why? They just should.”  It is wonderful to have your own opinions and to be able to debate, argue and put them across with insight and reason, it shows an educated, well-rounded person.  Shouting loudly without substance does not.

 Maybe young people go through that “know-it-all” phase because we spend 15 years in constant education, ramming our brains with facts and figures so we conclude we must know it all. But there is more to knowledge than the National Curriculum.  An education in life is much more valuable and perhaps it is not until your mid-twenties, when life has bashed you about a bit, that you realise you actually haven’t got a clue and are just beginning a lifetime of learning.  You become humble.

As an actor we are given constant opportunities to better yourself; sometimes it feels relentless and hard to hear.  You are given audition feedback or daily notes when performing.  No-one is too talented for notes; even Meryl Streep and her three Oscars must crave direction and criticism knowing her performance will be better because of it.  But the desire to learn requires humility and seeing it as an opportunity; understanding that there are people more knowledgeable than you and being open enough to hear them.

I recently watched a documentary entitled "The Pitman Painters"; about a group of miners in the North-East town of Ashington in the 1930s who had left school at 12 years old for a life working underground.  This group of men felt they had missed out on an education so, with the help of the Workers Education Association, decided to study “something different.”  After a 12 hour shift down the mine, they studied art appreciation leading them to create works of art themselves capturing their lives.  I was struck by this desire to broaden your mind amid such toil when the majority of us would be shattered and head home for dinner and Eastenders.  Even though the subject was so far removed from their working lives this group of men had the drive to enhance and occupy their minds, not in return for a degree or adulation but purely for themselves.  It was truly inspiring.

Their story was turned into a play written by Lee Hall

So do we need to leave school at 12 to fuel the desire to better ourselves? 

There are numerous Adult Education courses now but our main concern when bettering ourselves is increasingly aesthetic; losing weight, getting more toned or tanned.  Learning doesn’t necessarily mean reading bigger newspapers or watching more episodes of Eggheads, it can be about changing your perspective.

I haven’t been able to stop thinking about the men in that documentary compared with some people I seem to encounter today; those who are bored and so just head to a pub for a day or two or those who don’t seem willing to listen to anyone else.  But this isn’t a modern phenomenon, I am sure people have always been separated by an ability to settle or the desire to strive; it is a state of mind.  We can be learning until the day we die if we want to; evolving and re-designing ourselves.

Taking time to wonder....

I know it is naive to wish everyone was like my nephew; humble, in awe and hungry to learn but maybe if we took these elements into the adult world then we would ultimately gain more.....

....and if you don’t fancy art or painting, I promise you counting Nee Nahs is fun!

(take a look at The Ashington Groups website if you fancy knowing a bit more about the group www.ashingtongroup.co.uk )

Viva For-Now - The new Spice Girls musical

St. Pancras Hotel was the perfect location to launch a new British musical where the motif, creative team and subject matter all scream national pride.  The building was actually used by The Spice Girls in the “Wannabe” video 16 years ago but yesterday the girls returned as women, in slightly more clothing with acrimonious splits seemingly behind them, to launch the musical based upon their music, “Viva Forever.”

Another pop musical? I thought we had moved beyond that fad and re-working films for the stage was the new trend.  But apparently not, despite the arrival of “9 to 5” and “The Bodyguard” musicals we also see a new Tina Turner musical and now “Viva Forever.”  God forbid, we take the box office risk of attempting a new musical with an original book and score.  But The Spice Girls musical, “Viva Forever”, could be different.  The Spice Girls may not have the longevity of Queen or ABBA but they are a modern pop phenomenon in their own right and judging by the hype around the launch yesterday, “Viva Forever” has a good a chance as any at succeeding in the West End.

“Viva Forever” has been whispered about in theatre-land for a few years now but launching it in 2012, a golden British year for Olympic Games and the Diamond Jubilee seems fitting.  The production team is all home-grown too; Producer Judy Cramer has had global success with “Mamma Mia!” and playwright Jennifer Saunders is an English sweetheart of comedy.  Cramer clearly knows how to make a pop musical work and from my experiences in “Mamma Mia!” she creates a warm and happy working environment.  Throw in the wit of Absolutely Fabulous’ Saunders, a great British director in Paul Garrington and The Piccadilly Theatre and you have a powerful British cocktail; all you need is some Pimms and a cucumber sandwich.

The Viva Forever emblem shows a girl bursting out of the Union Jack; echoes of girl power and that infamous Geri dress, it declares all things “Spice”.  The story concerns a young girl group entering a TV reality competition and all the pressures of fame and friendship that come with it.  Reality TV?  Hardly innovative Ms Saunders, but then the old formula of girl meets boy, they break up and get back together is done to death without raising an eyebrow.

So why do I think Viva For-Now?  Gone are the days of musicals that endure such as “Les Miserables” or “Phantom of the Opera”; either audiences don’t return as they once did or the pull from the armchair and 100s of free channels has become too great compared to growing theatre ticket prices.  Musicals are closing far too often but I know similar things are happening in many industries, 2012 is sadly also synonymous with financial struggle as well as great English events.

  “Everything in life is only for now” say the profound lyrics in the musical “Avenue Q.”  I sing them every night and it can be a great comfort when crying about boys, money or split ends but it also means things should be enjoyed too.  I think theatre-land will embrace this new musical not just as a new job opportunity but because of the team and ethos behind it.  My past experience of singing Spice Girls music has been limited; Wannabe in Kingston Bentalls Centre to win some Superdrug So? Perfume (remember that!!) and a dodgy karaoke version of Viva Forever in Magaluf.  But I am sure that I, along with hundreds of others, will be studiously learning six part harmonies to “Mama I Love You” and practising walking in platform trainers again for the auditions.

But can I beg one thing Ms Cramer?  You don’t need Selena Gomez or that girl from Tracey Beaker in the lead role, Mamma Mia! has done terrifically well for over 10 years with unknown musical theatre talent and “Viva Forever” seems strong enough to sell itself too, so don’t cave in to box office pressure. 

So in these precarious times in the West End it may be only “Viva For-Now” instead of “Viva Forever” but lets enjoy it; our inner teenager will totally let our adult-selves pay for a ticket even if those famous five ladies don’t make an appearance!

(This post was origianlly written for The Huffington Post) http://www.huffingtonpost.co.uk/daniella-gibb/viva-fornow-the-new-spice_b_1629842.html

The Pressure of National Pride

The nation's buttocks have finally unclenched this morning after a tense few moments last night where we all believed that this was the time; England were going to win a penalty shoot out and fly into the next round of Euro 2012. Because we did all believe that for a split second didn't we? The curse would be broken and this would be the year that we lifted the trophy.

But it didn't happen. We were gutted for a bit, sighed and then said "Well, Wimbledon starts tomorrow!" Phew, what good timing, it is as if Roy Hodgson planned it so we could all transfer our fierce national allegiance to Andy Murray without any guilt.

I cannot pretend to be a huge sports fan but like many others I do love a good International tournament. Whether it is tennis, football or the Olympics I have been known to actually switch on the TV during the summer months or at least visit the pub and not insist on my boyfriend talking to me for 90 minutes. During Euro 1996 my parents were shocked when I ripped down my pictures of Mark Owen and Robbie Williams, that I had blue-tacked with great care all over their newly painted doors, and replaced them with cut-outs from the sports pages of Michael Owen, Alan Shearer and even David Seaman! I became obsessed for a few weeks and even last night I let my "inner bloke" out and sat in front of that tense penalty shoot-out gasping into my takeaway.

Something about sporting events unleashes our national pride and the same can be said for the Royal Family in recent months. Red, white and blue face paints are no longer reserved for passionate middle-age Tim Henman fans or hoards of rotund men abroad shouting into television cameras like William Wallace; it is now cool to paint your cheeks and declare yourself a Duchess of Cambridge wannabe and walk the streets of London. I almost bought some myself the other day in a fit of patriotism.

But I do worry about those England footballers this morning. Obviously the media have swooped down on Hodgson and the Three Lions giving opinion, criticism and blame. Fans of Cheryl Cole feel vindicated and can smugly say "See I told you that Ashley was worthless" and Gareth Southgate can breathe a sigh of relief at no longer being Britain's Most Wanted as a result of our elephant-like football memory. If I get a line wrong on stage or fluff a singing harmony I don't get vilified, just a note from the director the next day. It doesn't make the theatre journals and I am merely mocked light-heartedly by fellow cast members... but then I am not being paid £60,000 a week.

So Murray is next to feel the warmth and force of a nation's support and then we'll turn our attentions to Adlington, Hoy and Pendleton. Are the red, white and blue outfits too much? Are we adding extra stress to these high-level performers with a pressure cooker of support that in reality can only lead to their failure? Or should they just buck up and bask in our admiration and practice a little sports psychology to drown us out and focus on the win?

So don't worry Andy Murray we'll pretend to turn over the TV channel and not care how you play. I won't put all my eggs in one basket or perch hopefully on Murray's Mount eating strawberries, (I can't afford them.) That way you can chill out and focus on your game and hopefully get to that final. All our trophy hopes are with you. Now, where are those blue face paints I need to perfect the St Andrew's cross on my cheeks.......?

(This post was originally seen on The Huffington Post online newspaper. http://www.huffingtonpost.co.uk/daniella-gibb/a-sporting-chance-the-pre_b_1626779.html?utm_hp_ref=uk-sport)

Tweet all about it! Tweet all about it!

As you may know, I have finally succumbed and opened a Twitter account.  It became increasingly obvious that my quill-writing and carrier pigeon form of communication had become archaic and for someone who writes a blog I shouldn’t be so moralistic about sharing online.

And like all social media it has become obsessive.  You check each day to see who is following you and get excited when you find someone new to follow.

But what is this need to “follow” and be “followed”?  People are always interested in knowing covert details which others may not be privy to.  We all love the “behind the scenes extras” on DVDs or to read a celebrity “bare all” in a Heat magazine exclusive.  Well, you wouldn’t catch me wasting my hard-earned pennies on that drivvle but you catch my drift.

We “follow” celebrities or interesting people on Twitter in the hope of catching a glimpse into their worlds.  If you play that “which 10 people would you invite to a dinner party” game, Stephen Fry is nearly always on somebody’s list and that is reflected in the 4,473,205 followers he has online (as of today’s date.)  He is so online savvy that you could argue he championed the whole tweeting thing and he has 6 blogs.  Yes 6, now I feel insignificant!  Here is a traditional wordsmith who knows how to transfer his skills online.

Photograph: Steve Forrest/Rex Features

Obviously social media has its downsides as reflected in a story a few weeks ago about a high society couple displaying their acrimonious divorce all over the internet.  It prompted a media fury about the use of these sites with columnist India Knight commenting “Never tweet when you are feeling hurt or upset, drunk or if your family is falling apart,” and Janet Street Porter in The Daily Mail to say “This modern compulsion to let it all hang out makes my flesh crawl.”  It is an opinionated but brilliant article and I have to say that I agree with the majority of it, take a look at the link below.

But the majority of people don’t use online media to tell you about their fungal infections or cheating spouses, it can be a positive, networking and professional tool.

It struck me as I was breathless with giggles about to go onstage the other night that those backstage moments are the reason people follow me and other Avenue Q-ers online, (sorry #avenuequktour if I have the Twitter lingo down!)  We have no celebrity status, but people are interested in what we do and enjoy being part of our banter.

Tweeting away at work! photo by Katherine Hall

There is a large following online for theatre folk because people are passionate about our craft.  As Michael Simkins pointed out in The Telegraph actors now “face a critic in every seat”; it is not just judging journalists we have to worry about but anybody with an internet connection and an opinion.  Various online forums provide an outlet for every Tom, Dick or Harry’s views and you learn the hard way not to Google yourself!  According to one candid Les Miserables fan I cannot act and the best bit about my performance as Eponine was that I died.  Harsh!  We live in a democracy and everyone has free speech; but that didn’t soothe me as I wept over my laptop or fellow actress Sofia Escobar who responded over Twitter to her critics prompting Simkins’ article.

You have to be tough to survive in the online world, harden that skin and put on your self-esteem armour.  Or maybe we could not go looking for such things online?  Use these tools to promote, connect and inform but maybe try not to go looking for other people’s opinions on you.  It can only lead to stress because if you believe the good ones you have to believe the bad too, whether the person is a world-renowned theatre critic or Joan from Milton Keynes who has seen Wicked 1044 times. 

But everything is just opinion and the only opinion that counts is the one you have of yourself.

So I plan to enjoy Twitter.  Yes I will nose into Stephen Fry’s day and tell the world about Trekkie’s onstage flatulence but I won’t take it too seriously and I won’t become part of the Twitterati and force my opinions onto everyone else. 

That’s what this blog is for!

http://www.dailymail.co.uk/femail/article-2156636/JANET-STREET-PORTER-This-modern-compulsion-let-hang-makes-flesh-crawl.html

http://www.telegraph.co.uk/culture/theatre/9332035/Actors-must-dodge-the-slings-and-arrows.html

Dear Julian Fellowes......

When girls are little they have to make one major decision, not if Harry from One Direction would be a better boyfriend than Justin Bieber, but whether to do horse-riding or dancing. 

You cannot do both hobbies as a child; you only have so many free hours between SAT exams and getting on league tables and you parents need money left to actually eat, but mainly because each discipline trains your muscles in completely opposite ways.  Trust me; a girl I went to drama school with had spent her youth galloping and gymkhana-ing with great skill but her plie in ballet looked rather like she was squatting over a French toilet.

I chose dancing, as the cupboards of old leotards and tap shoes at my parents’ house will testify, but I sometimes have rued this decision.  You see, despite doing exciting things in my career I still have yet to fulfil one major dream – to be in a Period Drama.  And I always thought that if I was proficient on a pony then that might just tip it for a casting director.

Until a few years ago I had my heart set on becoming the next Elizabeth Bennett in Pride and Prejudice after the wonderful Jennifer Ehle, but since Keira Knightley kicked that pipe dream in the gutter, I have a new quest.....

To be in Downton Abbey.

I want to be in Downton Abbey, dear Mr Fellowes if you are reading!  I wasn’t born with the arched dark eyebrows for nothing.  I can look haughty and conceal how I am feeling behind emotive eyes; indeed, I am told that my grumpy morning self does this quite frequently!

I have even bought a dark green 1920s cloche hat, I have only worn it to vacuum my flat in so far but it is currently touring with me in my car, in case I should run into Mr Fellowes and he requires a visual aid to my suitability.  So I have the look, the hat and a fairly posh sounding voice but I am not sure if my curvy bum would suit the flapper style frocks. But at the rate at which Mr Fellowes’ scripts steam through the decades I could be cast just in time for the 1950s!

Ah Pemberley! If you look really hard you can spot Colin Firth in the lake!

I know I am a female cliché to be drawn to period dramas but I love the stories, the outfits and the romance.  Forbidden love set against a back drop of war or intelligent feminism trapped in a pre-progressive era.  It is recipe for fine acting and compelling reading and viewing; characters in Corrie don’t go through any life drama that isn’t experienced in an Austen or Dickens novel.

As my current acting contract draws to a close and I start to reconsider auditioning and re-applying myself to a full-time writing career this is one dream I cannot shake off, heaving bosoms, pointed glances and witty asides are never far from my mind.

copyright Carnival Films

I know we all cling onto compliments if we are told we look like someone famous (although I once went to an audition and got told I was like a young Anthea Turner???) and it is pitiable how much we enjoy these moments. 

But if I had a pound for every time someone has said to me “Don’t you look the spit of that Lady Mary in Downton,” well I’d have at least a tenner.......

.......and I’d spend that on horse-riding lessons!

A Canterbury Tale.......

Avenue Q has 7 weeks left on the road; my shoulders are relieved, my bank manager is anxious and I am becoming nostalgic.  I have been re-visiting all of the cities we have seen in my mind and I think we will have experienced a fair cross-section of The British Isles in 6 months. 

Back in April, whilst wandering around the beautiful city of Canterbury, I pondered over pilgrimages as I saw the shrine of St Thomas Becket in the cathedral.  Millions of people have journeyed to this site, the most notorious being the characters in Chaucer’s Canterbury Tales to see where the Archbishop was murdered in 1170 - travellers are on my mind again!  People are inclined to travel for various reasons; so, of course, my brain began to make comparisons with my own group of troubadours.

A pilgrimage is “a journey or search of moral or spiritual significance, typically to a location of importance to a person’s beliefs.”  So where should we actors head for?  Stratford-upon-Avon?  The BBC? Or maybe Greece to holiday where theatre first began, (that’s if the Euro holds out.)  Chaucer’s pilgrims told stories as they trudged from Southwark, across the South Downs, towards Canterbury; lusty tales of adultery, money and power – Chaucer obviously felt that everyone has a story worth sharing.

My current travelling companions hail from Japan, USA, Australia and the UK and we all, too, have histories and stories to tell.  Indeed, I choose to divulge mine here online.  It is “en vogue” to tweet, blog and ‘status update’ our stories nowadays; I would hardly call my blog here classic literature but perhaps tweeting our nightmare train journeys is the modern day equivalent to Chaucer’s roaming tales.  Young Gabby in the company is a wonderfully witty tweeter @GabbyBro, especially with her #dailylesson tweets, so I have cast her as our “Avenue Q Chaucer!”

                                                                                                               

“At night was come into that hostelry,

Well nine and twenty in a company

Of sundry folk of aventure ye-fall

In fellowship, and pilgrims were they all.”

General Prologue, The Canterbury Tales            

                “Rehearsing new cast of# avenuequktour at    

@Jerwood Space, Southwark, heading to Canterbury in April” 

General Tweet via Twitter in 2012

In the “Eat, Pray, Love” generation, we often believe that escaping the humdrum of everyday life will help us find solutions to life’s problems.  After messy break-ups or crappy auditions I am sure that a month in an Indian ashram is the only answer, hoping that meditating and yoga at dawn will help heal the loneliness, insecurity and general self-loathing.  You could say that the middle-class youths rite of passage, the “gap year” is a pilgrimage of sorts; dealing with the inability to go to Uni or settle down until they have found themselves via fish-bowls in Bangkok or skinny dipping in Sri Lanka.

This beach in Cuba helped my troubled mind a bit!

I don’t mean to be derogatory because travel can truly broaden the mind as you experience new cultures, food and ideas.  That can only be a good thing for the soul but sometimes you can find new things closer to home, as I try to prove weekly with my tourist guides to Swindon and Rhyl as I endeavour to see the best in places!  A friend once said to me that wherever you may go, you will still have the same issues and troubles because no amount of air-miles will make them disappear.  Therefore running away isn’t going to help; only standing still and dealing with stuff head on will sort you out and it also saves a fortune!

We, on the Avenue Q tour, all have our own reasons for our theatrical pilgrimage; ambition, a desire to escape normal life or just paying mortgage.  We may have wheely suitcases instead of the clothes on our backs and be seeing the South Downs through a South Eastern train window instead of on our knees like poor King Henry II, but perhaps our motive are similar; to pursue a personal goal. 

I’m not sure if our journey has “a spiritual or moral significance” (I certainly found none of the above in Coventry,) but every journey and its participants deserves recording, whether it is online or in a leather-bound book.