Had some interesting times in the latter part of last week.
I had left you on my way to Basingstoke. Some people mistakenly pronounce the name as: Bah-sin-stow-kee.
I’m just going to go out on a limb and say it: what?
We performed at the Haymarket Theatre, which is a fantastic space to work in, and the theatre staff are great.
One of the technician dudes was from Milwaukee, Wisconsin, which made me think of beer. If you can’t get drunk in Wisconsin you aren’t trying hard enough. Beer is cheaper than bottled water in Wisconsin. And it’s so good.
You could almost call Wisconsin: the Shire State.
But nobody would know what you were talking about.
So don’t bother.
Basingstoke is a pretty town, and it yielded up a thrilling (for me) sunset:
From there it was on to Sudbury
The home of cute little theatres
and humongous swans
It was a bright, bright day, in Sudbury, which made it seem all the more lovely. Even though if it had been raining I’d have still felt the same. Just look at it:
We stayed that night at Pub called the Bay Horse Inn, which had rooms for rent.
Now, my show was fun, but the real evening’s entertainment came from a wicked blues-esque band called the Smoking Hogs.
The audience in the pub went wild:
They were the best entertainment to be found in Sudbury, that Saturday evening.
Early the next day we embarked on a mammoth trip that involved six trains, two Tube subway lines, and bus to get to Winchester. “Good things come to those who wait”, or in this case: change train platforms a trillion times.
It’s was my second time back to the Winchester and the perfectly proportioned Theatre Royal.
Our B&B was very posh, covered with art and furniture fit for the home of an aristocrat. I was almost afraid to breathe too hard when I entered the place, but the Hostess (who was as charming a person as I ever met) made me feel completely at ease. I asked her if I could take a wee picture of one of the adorable drawings on my bedroom walls. (I sound like a twerp, I know) Look at her:
Much to my joy and happiness we were booked to stay in Winchester for a day off.
Instead of sitting on our arses- as we usually do- Christine and I willingly got onto a train (on our day off) and made our way to Salisbury. From the Salisbury train station we boarded a bus- all of this was made much easier as we had no luggage to carry- and went to go check out a stack of rocks.
There are moments of clarity in life when you realize that something neat is going to happen: like the first time I went up the Empire State Building, or when I performed at a giant Star Wars convention. You prepare for it, not knowing exactly how you’ll react to it- this could be the first of many times to come or perhaps this will be it.
I’d been told you can’t get close to the stones, but I thought it wasn’t bad.
If I was a bird around there I could nest in Stonehenge:
There were a bunch of sheep too (aside from the tourists):
Someone should seriously consider opening a little pub up there. Maybe an underground pub, so that the view isn’t compromised. Besides, alcohol and tourists go together sooo well.
Anyway, after seeing that ancient wonder of the world, I felt a overwhelming sense of connection to everyone:
I almost didn’t want to get back onto the bus. Most people didn’t:
On my way back to Winchester from Salisbury, with visions of Stonehenge still swimming in my head, I noticed that a rescue helicopter passing overhead looked a lot like a little water bug:
And as I stepped off the train back in Winchester, I found myself searching for the right words to express what I felt. What could I say that would make people understand?
Suddenly, I looked over and realized that a sign in Welsh must be experiencing a similar kind of angst, but directed towards me:
I have no idea exactly what it was trying to tell me. I know it was important. It might have been something that could have changed my life- even saved it someday.
What can I say?
Go see Stonehenge.
So are helicopters.