Ocelot

I'd never heard of one until last night, but from now on I'll never be able to forget the "painted leopard". Thanks to my ignorance, we lost the pub quiz by only half a point - much worse than doing really badly. Ant had known, or had a hunch that Ocelot was the answer to the question of "what is the name of South America's most common wild cat, also known as the painted leopard?". I'd never heard of one, so stupidly insisted on "jaguar" and Ant was understandably pretty cross when he realised I'd lost us the game. We shouldn't be so competitive about it, but when you've won a few times it becomes addictive. Obviously I need to brush up on my wildlife knowledge. To rub salt in our wounds, I knew the tie-breaker which none of the 3 co-winners could answer when played the first few bars of 10CC's "Dreadlock Holiday". I was particularly on the ball, as I've been listening to a groovy remix of it on the Radio Soulwax album by 2ManyDJs, which is a 'versus' with Destiny's Child.

It was a jolly evening up until the downfall, although I stupidly drunk one too many red wines and am suffering for it today. Well at least it's Friday.

If you don't know what an Ocelot is either, visit: Big Cat Rescue and you'll be enlightened!

The Wonder Stuff at Concorde 2

I spent most of Saturday night trying my best to feel 15 again. Donning my Doc Marten's boots, a hippy skirt and plenty of black eye-make up, and accompanied by Ant, Rob & Sarah, I finally got to see The Wonder Stuff live. I had waited 15 years for this night! When I was 15 (half my lfe ago!!), I'd wanted to go to their gig at the Brighton Centre, to which lots of my school friends and anyone who was anyone was going. Unfortunately, the evil tyrant Howard, my mother's boyfriend of the time, was still living with us, and forbade me to go. I fear he judged all men by his own standards, and thought that I would end up being corrupted, molested or worse still, might even have enjoyed myself.

Giddy with anticipation, I entered the Concorde 2 and promptly ordered myself a pint of cider. Well, I was trying to be 15 again. It certainly got me in the mood for a mosh, and once the mediocre support band were out of the way, I was raring to go. Their set-list was a mixture of recognisable classics, new material and more obscure backlist. The strangest thing was seeing the once iconically-floppy-haried Miles Hunt with short, neatly slicked-down hair. Thankfully though, the ballsy attitude was still firmly in attendance. When asked by one of the audience how he'd hurt his finger (as it was quite obviously bandaged up) he sneered back "It got infected after I stuck it up the arse of the last bastard who didn't mind his own business" or words to that effect. Same old Hunt.

The band played a tight set - I would say their talent as musicians has strengthened over the years - and although the new material didn't have the same familiar-catchyness of the old favourites, there was some interesting stuff. Plenty of po-go-ing, moshing and stomping ensued as we all enjoyed our own personal teenage reminsicences to classic such as 'Circlesquare', 'Radio Ass Kiss' and 'Size of a Cow'. Two ethusiastic encores later, the last 15 years started to catch us up. Ant's knees couldn't handle the po-go-ing and I was suffering from a stitch in my shoulder. As Hunt himself said (possibly in reference to his evident paunch), time hadn't been kind to any of us. True, the venue was packed with ageing 30-something hippies, indie-kids and goths, showing each other pictures of their kids on their mobile phones instead of snogging each other, but the atmosphere was bouncy and upbeat. As the band left the stage after the final encore, I was exhausted but elated. It had been worth waiting for.

To Do Everything in Truth

When I was a teenager I used to listen to songs I liked over and over again, largely because my record collection was rather modest. I still have the lyrics of many of them stored in my head - Eddi Reader, Sinead O'Connor, Guns n Roses... These days I've close to a thousand albums, so the rotation between listenings tends to be longer, but equally there hasn't been a song for a long time that I felt could stand repeated playings, until now. I've found myself listening to the brilliant 'Bloody Mother F*$~ing Asshole' from Martha Wainwright's eponymous debut album on a fairly regular basis since I was given it for Christmas. There's something addictive about her raspy, gin-soaked voice belting out the expletive-laden chorus with the spine-tingling conviction of a woman scorned. I've promised Ant that if he dies before me, I'll sing it at his funeral. So I looked up the chords and started to learn it on the guitar, but my style of singing just doesn't do it justice. Sitting on the train this morning, I was hankering to hear it again, and so stuck on my current playlist of favourites, which also includes Lorna Bennett's version of 'Breakfast in Bed', Nina Simone's 'Break Down & Let It All Out' and 'Fancy' by Bobbie Gentry. Though these are all from different eras and genres, they hang together for me as songs of this moment in my life. Martha's album has evoked in me a long-forgotten enthusiasm for music that appeals directly to a given personal era, satisfying a need, enhancing an existing state of mind. It's not about the lyrics or the sentiment even (neither of which particularly apply to me), but the atmosphere it conjures just speaks to something inside me. More soon please, Martha.

Down with Daytime TV

I've been home sick for the last few days, and am starting to get bored. Ant's been off too, but with a different ailment - I had a stinking cold and he had a 24 hour stomach bug. We're both fed up, but at least we've had each other's company. Today I had to go for a blood test for anaemia, as that might be the reason I'm getting ill so often. I'm under pressure at work not to be off sick anymore, and am anxious to find out why I seem to catch eveything going, when I lead a pretty healthy life. The doctor said I looked pale, but he wasn't my usual doctor. I just want to be well.

We've been watching Smallville Season 4 on DVD, which is excellent. But more than 4 episodes in a row can get waring. I've joined LoveFilm.com, as part of my mission to be more cultured this year. We should get our first DVD through the post tomorrow. When I'm back to full health, I'll think about booking some theatre and music gigs.

I'll probably try and go back to work tomorrow. Daytime TV sucks.

Reggie Craig Roberts

Last night I finally made it round to Natalie's to meet her new arrival - three weeks after he was born. A series of unfortunate events had kept me away until then - first Nat had been poorly and then I came down with a cold and didn't want to spread germs. So by the time I was driving over to Eastbourne, I was longing to meet the little fellow. I managed to stall myself long enough to stop and pick up some pressies on the way - flowers, chocs and champers for Nat and Steve, a My Little Pony for Lulah and the ubiquitous cuddly toy (in this case, a lime green sheep that baas when squeezed) for Reggie.

The atmosphere at the Roberts house seemed wonderfully serene considering they're not getting much sleep and are adjusting to the chaos of having two kids to look after. It might be the contrast of a joyful event after the relentless sadness last year. They both seemed really chilled out and happy. Lulah's not sure about her little brother yet, but then he doesn't really do much! I had a long cuddle and it felt very natural. He's quite a small, delicate little bundle, and was mostly asleep. I didn't stay late, as they're getting to bed early at the moment. I came home to an empty flat, as Ant was out playing wargames with Matt Smith. So I watched ER - sad chimp episode - and made myself a tasty salad for dinner.

I'd intended to get an early night, but found myself reading back through old diaries and becoming engrossed. Originally I'd been looking through to try and jog my memory about old Waterstone's colleagues who Joe and I are trying to track down for a reunion, but it's amazing how much you forget, and astonishing how much I managed to fit into my life back then (only 1998/99). It made me want to be more sociable/cultured/active and all those things that go out the window when you're 30 and stuck in a 9-5 job. The fact that so many friends are now moving into the next phase - having kids - makes me feel even more suspended in time and space. Nikki and John were down with little Rowan on Sunday - a nice surprise - and we're having Isaac to stay this weekend (apparently he's walking properly now). Everyone else is doing it...why can't we?

Running Hot & Cold

Woke up this morning full of cold and with swollen tonsils. My heart sank. I've managed to avoid getting ill all winter and have been feeling generally quite fit and well. I blame the combination of a tiring week last week, lots of germs flying around at work and two nights in a row down the pub. Damien's birthday 'do' was in the Queen's Arms - how original - and it does get horribly smoky in there once it fills up. We didn't stay long, but I am afraid the damage was done.

So I've spent all day in my pyjamas, running hot and cold and filling myself with various remedies. Ant went out on a mission for Neal's Yard tincture, fruit and other good things to help me get well. I wrote a book review (see my other reviews blog) and tinkered on the laptop while he was out. When he got back we watched the DVD of Lion in Winter, which we've had for a while but couldn't bring ourselves to watch before the play. It was a very mixed bag - poorly cast - especially Richard, played by a wooden and distinctly un-attractive Anthony Hopkins, complete with dodgy stick-on beard. Ant was rather heartened by this, as he was SO much better and much more handsome. It was very odd watching the film version which was almost identical in dialogue, but played very differently by almost everyone.

We were meant to go over to Eastbourne this evening to see Nat and the new baby, but obviously I didn't want to spread germs. So we stayed in and got a curry and listened to folk music. Dad emailed me the review of Lion in Winter which was in yesterday's Herald. It was better written than the average Berald piece and praised our production in almost every way, under the heading "More Soon, Please". Very gratifying.

Ant has received the first issue of 'Make' magazine, which I subscribed him to for his birthday, so is happily reading and planning geeky endeavours. Poppet is looking very comfortable sitting on him, gradually sliding down between his legs, she doesn't seem to care.

The Show Must Go On

This is the first chance I've had to sit down and compose my thoughts following an eventful week last week. The play went well - Ant remembered all his lines and gave a stonking performance. In fact everyone gave their best, and a few minor fluffs were expertly covered so that even those of us who were familiar with the script didn't notice. The publicity obviously worked, as we had decent houses every night - a virtual sell-out on Friday and a very respectable 75+ on the other nights. It was my first experience working front of house and I felt a bit out of it at first - but it was nice to say 'hello' to lots of familiar faces and chat to people in the interval.

As expected in show week, it wasn't without its traumas... The weekend before, Gareth was spiked in a nightclub and collpased. Apparently his speech was slurred and incoherent on the Sunday line run, but he carried on in character as normal. Then on Tuesday I got a call from Ant saying that Mum had been taken into hospital becuase Megan couldn't wake her up. I was up in London at a meeting, so I rushed home and we headed over to Eastbourne. She was home and doing OK, if a little shaken. They couldn't say for sure what was up with her, but she has to go back for a CT scan to see if it was a minor stroke or something. Scary stuff. Like a real trooper she insisted that the show must go on and so the dress rehearsal went ahead as planned - and in fact went extremely well.

When I switched my phone back on after the rehearsal, I had a text from Natalie saying that her baby had arrived - Reggie Craig - and that all was well. Happy news indeed, but I also felt a certain sadness that Craig won't meet his namesake

On Thursday night Ant's Mum and Dad came down to see the play and Damien, Mat and Tim also turned up. Ant didn't know about them, so it was a nice surprise when we met in the pub afterwards. His parents seemed genuinely impressed with his acting, and with the play in general - and his Dad was particularly taken with St Mary's as a venue. On Friday lots more friends came - Jo, Joe, Jenny (and her sister Vicky), Sarah, Rob and Richie. Rich had a migraine headache and had to go and lie down for the second act - so they didn't stay for drinks. But Jo and Joe met us in the Lamb and then came back to ours for more booze and jolly banter.

We took Joe for a nice pub lunch at Coleman's Hatch before dropping him at Hayward's Heath station on Saturday. The last night and get-out went well and a few people piled back to Mum's for drinks, including Tom Purser, who had come to see the play. Everyone was justifiably on a bit of a high, but Ant had agreed to drive, so we didn't stay late. There was an 'official' after show do at Jood's on Sunday, which was pleasant, but fairly sedate. I made mini-calzones which went down very well.

Ant hasn't shown any signs of being in the post-show comedown as yet, but he has already been entertaining thoughts of future productions, despite having said 'never again' on a number of occaisions during rehearsals. I'd love to see him carry on with it, as he seemed to take to it so easily. Perhaps a comedy role next time? Maybe this year will be my stage comeback too. Here's hoping...

Daydreaming

Ant drove me to work this morning, as he had a meeting in Havant, just up the road from Chichester. He got unnecessarily cross with another motorist who pulled out in front of us, and snapped at me for commenting on the situation. I find it disturbing when he loses his rag - and it set me up to feel bad for the rest of the day.

Now he's late to pick me up again and we're going to be late for rehearsal in Eastbourne. His two worst traits are almost certainly his time-keeping and his temper. Though I should be and am grateful that he has many, many other wonderful traits. I just tend to pick out the negative ones when I'm feeling down.

Right now I'd love to be back in my old room in Eastbourne, listening to music and daydreaming, with no-one to please but myself. But here I am, 30 years old and a homeowner. At least I can still daydream now and again.