Last Dance, Last Entry

Finally, we come to my very last full day in London, 4 June 2012. I can’t say anything truly eventful happened throughout the course of the day (though the evening was a different story—more on that momentarily). It was still part of the four-day Diamond Jubilee Weekend, though not much was happening—the big flotilla had been the day before, and the true celebration, including the huge concert, would happen on the 5th. Mostly, people were quiet and involved in setting-up or staking their seats for the next day’s events.

As for me, I just wandered around all my favorite haunts, snapping photos of places that I had spent the last six months loving and building memories in.

I began my meandering walk at the Piccadilly Circus stop, and moved my way through China Town, which, neighboring the local gayborhood, I had spent a fair amount of time in. One of the places I knew I’d have to get a photo of was Little Wu’s, where I had shared more than one meal with friends.

Little Wu's

Passing through China Town, I made my way into Soho, where I captured images of places I had mentioned but not visually archived yet, including Lupo’s, the salon where Youssef, the hot Palestinian guy used to cut my hair, and the Moroccan restaurant I enjoyed with TS and BH. I also ordered one last cup of coffee from LJ’s, and took my time pursuing thorough the typical coffee shop stack of magazines (<-- foreshadowing).

Alas, I was too chicken to take a photo of Youssef.

Following that, I made one more stop at the awesome comic shop Forbidden Planet, where I finally worked up the nerve to take photos of their awe-inspiring toy display before making my way to Covent Garden and the museum area near Trafalgar Square. And, as I learned upon arriving at Trafalgar Square, I wasn’t the only American in the neighborhood concerned with the festivities…

The entryway...

Robin Roberts and the blonde woman from Good Morning, America!

Finally, I began the long walk the Mall toward Buckingham Palace. As noted earlier, people were already staking out their seating claims for the next day. They were ready with food, drink, chairs, and tents. Final touches were being put on the concert stage, which now encircled the memorial to Queen Victoria, and cameras were being set up along the top of the palace. In all, there was a great feeling of excitement in the air.

Concert Stage

Since it was so close, I also hopped over to St James’ Palace, so I could snag one last photo with the Queen Alexandra state I love so much, before doubling back for more photos along the Mall.

And, of course, I took some photos of birds and the surrounding area from my favorite bridge in St James’ park, a fitting end to my last full touristy day in London…but I’m not done yet! As I mentioned, there was still the night ahead!
 

 

While at LJ’s earlier in the day, I had stumbled upon an advertisement for a special Diamond Jubilee-themed party kicking off later that night at Heaven. Now, as I’ve made abundantly clear throughout this blog, I love(d) Heaven!!!! In fact, it was my favorite club in London! But, I knew there was no way I was going to that—after all, my flight to come back to the U.S. was early the next morning, and the last thing I wanted to do was fly with a hangover…

But then I saw the name of the performer playing there:


Lonnie Gordon.

See the red wax bubble in the middle-right.

I am a huge fan of Lonnie Gordon, and have been for years! I first got hooked on her music owing to the song “Bad Mood,” and I haven’t been able to get her out of my head since. Unfortunately, she’s never really been as big in the U.S. as she was/is in the U.K. and elsewhere abroad. She also had a pretty scary cancer scare a few years ago. So, the long and short of it is this: I had long-ago reconciled myself to the fact that I would never be able to see her perform live.

And now this.

I spent the afternoon vacillating, unsure if I should say “to hell with it” and go to Heaven that night, or if I should do the responsible thing and stay in. Ultimately, with the encouragement of Nic, KG and MM, I decided to go. And I’m so incredibly grateful that I did!


I got there super-early, in the hope that she’d perform early and I could leave. Alas, that part of my plan did not come to fruition. It seemed to be no different from any other night at Heaven, with the sole exception of a drag queen coming out dressed as Queen Elizabeth and singing “God Save the Queen,” and other than the posters there was no indication of when or if Lonnie Gordon would actually go on tonight.

But I kept waiting… And drinking. And drinking. And drinking. And then, around 1:30 AM, just as I was about to call it quits, she appeared:

She was wearing a tight fitting, long-sleeved, short, sequined black dress, and she worked the stage, stomping around in fierce black stilettos.

It was magical, even though she didn’t perform for long, and I was enraptured.


She started with a powerful rendition of “Last Dance” in honor of the recently passed Donna Summer—a fitting choice (for me), because it was indeed my last bout of dancing in London, and also because it’s my favorite Donna Summer song. Next, she launched into a Gordonesque rendition of Earth Wind and Fire’s “Boogie Wonderland,” followed by a third song that I didn’t know. And that was all, but it was more than enough.


You can see most of it in the video below (though it sadly cuts off in the middle of the third song). You can also catch a glimpse of me in the video below if you look closely enough—I'm standing right next to the person at the right-hand foot of the stage shooting video on their mobile at around the 1:29 mark.

But the best parts about her performance were the following:

First, during one of the moments when she leaned over the railing (around 8:30 in the video), looking at the audience, I seized the opportunity to yell for her attention, to which she responded by looking directly at me with her sparkling hazel eyes and mile-long lashes, and said “Hey, baby.” Sure, you can't hear it in the video—but I'm telling you, that's exactly what happened.

Shortly after that, I blew her a kiss—I was all queer-drunken-fan-boy by this point. I was sure she saw it, though she didn’t respond (for obvious reasons, i.e., she was in the middle of a song and also she doesn’t know me!)—but I knew I had done it and she had seen it, and that was enough for me. But then, after walking off stage at the end of her set, she came running back for her encore cheer, ran up to the edge of the stage, leaned over to where I was standing at the front of the pack, and blew a kiss back at me! Sadly, this is not in the video either (it cuts off before the end of her third song), but, again, I know that it happened!

Oh.

My.

God.

(That.

Can.
Dance.)


I could not have asked for a more perfect end to not only the night, but my experience in London as a whole.

And so it is on this note that I bring this travel-blog to a close. Though intended primarily as a tool to help me remember this experience, I hope that, if anyone else has read it, they’ve enjoyed what they’ve found, and perhaps been inspired to do some traveling themselves. I also wish to take a second—without blathering on or saying too much else—to just say “Thank You” to all of the people who made this trip possible, and made it so special. You all know who you are!

Cheers.

Some Beautiful and Not-So Beautiful Things...

On 29 May 2012, with my time abroad quickly drawing to a close, I decided to spend some time just wandering around central London—plus, I needed to find some sort of crown to wear to a Diamond Jubilee-themed tea party I had been invited to. Because I saw so much, but nothing really new (for the most part), what follows is basically just random snippets of interest.

Let’s start, as I did that day, with an early morning visit to Buckingham Palace. I had been alerted by EN to the fact that construction had begun on the decorations for the Diamond Jubilee concert. Even so, I was not quite prepared for the radical transformation that had taken place. 

Around the large Victoria Memorial, work had begun on a staging area, from whence performers such as Sir Tom Jones would eventually perform. Similarly, all around the circle, tiered stands had also been erected for those lucky few who had been able to secure tickets to the event. (I tried, but being a non-British citizen I was not able.)

Stage and Bleachers

From the palace, I made my way down the Mall and across St James’s Park—as I have done so often during my stay—and then over to Westminster Abbey by way of Horse Guards Road. I had hoped to find some sort of suitable crown in the gift shop there but, alas, no luck. 

Leaving Westminster, I walked by the Horse Guards Parade and on over to Trafalgar Square (with a brief stop-over at Heaven which, although not open, I wanted a photo of nonetheless). 

Continuing my walk, I swung by the National Portrait Gallery—I had wanted to check out their new exhibit on The Queen, which includes a holographic version of the picture seen below, but didn’t have time—and Leicester Square (where I got a picture taken with the blue M&M), before moving over to Piccadilly Circus and then Soho.

One of my favorite images of HM The Queen!

Do you suppose he's related to Aki T. Fish?

Aside from the usual interest in the Soho area, I specifically wanted to swing by Soho Square so I could finally take a photo of the bench dedicated to singer Kristy McColl. After being killed in a freak boating accident, McColl was memorialized in Soho Square owing to a song she wrote about the area. However, I’m familiar with her through the songs ‘Fairytale of New York’ and the awesomesauceyness that is ‘In These Shoes?’

From Soho Square I trekked onward to the ritzy Mayfair area, where I finally used the  Easter money Mom sent me to buy chocolate form Charbonnel et Walker, official chocolatiers to The Queen. It was delicious!!!

We Approve of Charbonnel et Walker Chocolate!

While there, it hit me: I would get my crown from the gift shop at Buckingham Palace! So, I circled back around—passing St James’s Palace en route—and visited the shop within The Queen’s Gallery. Sure enough, there was the perfect (toy) crown! Mission accomplished!

By now, it was getting lateish, and I had plans for that evening, so I headed home to drop off my stuff and shower, before turning around and heading back out. You see, my friend LD had agreed to cut my hair and add some red low-lights. The only problem: he lives all the way on the east end of London.

But, since I had to go out that way anyway, I decided to finally take a side-excursion to a place even further to the east that I hadn’t made it yet: Thamesmead, the filming location for ‘Beautiful Thing’! 

It took a bit of time, but I finally found the exact building and area where it was set. Unfortunately, I wasn’t comfortable staying too long—it was a highly sketchy and run-down area, and I was actually a bit afraid (something I hadn’t experienced at any other time or place whilst in London). This meant I wasn’t able to re-enact my favorite moment from the film, when Jaime and Ste slow-dance in the courtyard. Ah, well, at least I was there. 

The real thing...

The best still I could grab--with the amazing Linda Henry!

And I even took the 180 bus to get there, which was kind of a big deal only because of its connection to the film (i.e., Jaime and Ste take the 180 when they go to their first gay pub, the Gloucester).

After snagging those images, I set off for LD’s, where he proceeded to give my hair one final trim before the return home.

Barbecue, Gardens, and People of Iron

What an exciting, fun week it’s been! 

In the last 7 days I have visited France, Belgium, and The Netherlands; spent two delightful evenings and one lovely afternoon with various friends; and proudly watched from afar as my sister graduated from MC to UMBC, my parents celebrated their 33rd wedding anniversary, my partner competed in and conquered his very first Iron Person race, and my Aunt Peggy celebrated her 50th birthday!
 

I’m positively exhausted!

I’ll speak more about my travels anon, but for now I want to focus on a few of the things I’ve done in the London area this week, specifically yesterday.

In addition to being my parents’ anniversary, yesterday was Nic’s big race! I knew I would go stir-crazy if I just sat there refreshing the athlete tracker all day, so I decided to try and keep myself as busy as possible. (This was a wise choice on my part since the stupid tracker stopped doing its job after the 56th mile on the bike.) 

So, after starting my morning off with a 5 mile run—don’t forget, I’m training for my own big race (and still looking for sponsors to help me raise $440 by July, which you can learn more about here)—I took my ever-generous host / flat-mate MM up on his offer to go walk around Kew Gardens, where he works. 

I had been meaning to do this for a while now, but with the recent weather it hasn’t really been an option before now. MM and I spent most of the afternoon there—it’s such a lovely park—but my camera battery was low because I forgot to charge it after I got back from my trip, so I didn’t get many pictures. 

Highlights included seeing: Kew Palace, where King George III lived for part of his reign (and which is featured in the film The Madness of King George); some wonderful sculptures hewn from dead trees and created by Kew’s artist-in-residence, David Nash; and, seeing the amazing greenhouses like Temperate House, which is the largest surviving Victorian glasshouse in the world!

The backside of Kew Palace

Temperate House

By the time MM and I returned from Kew Gardens, it was almost 6:00 PM—yet, with the time difference, I knew it would be another 9 or 10 hours before Nic was done with his race. This meant I needed to find something to pass the time last night as well.

Fortunately, my friend TvH invited me to join him, LD, and KS for a night of frivolity at my favorite London club, Heaven. Since Heaven doesn’t open until 11 PM, though, we had some time to kill and went to Lupo first.

————

I’m going to stop talking about last night for a second, and jump back to Thursday.

On Thursday afternoon, TvH and I met up for coffee at LJ’s so we could catch up on the respective trips we had both taken the previous weekend, while enjoying delicious coffee and amazing (albeit messy) caramel shortbread thingies.

Around 5 PM, we set off for Village, where we were to meet-up with LD for cocktails—and just a few at that, because I was determined to avoid a repeat of the prior Thursday’s sloppiness! Unfortunately LD was denied entrance because he forgot his ID and so, after TvH and I finished our wine, we headed someplace where LD knew he could get in: Lupo.

I had never been before, even though it was right down the street. It wasn’t bad, though most of the clientele seemed to be yuppy straights who didn’t quite know what to make of the three of us, bouncing around flamboyantly on our bar stools to the music. On the flipside, the bartender—a lovely Melbournian named Dominica (Dom, for short)—seemed to adore us, and it was in large part because of her that we wound up staying there as long as we did.

Lupo--we sat at the bar. [NB: This image is not mine!]

Eventually, our bellies reminded us that we were famished, and so we set off in search of food. We finally found this barbecue place called Bodean’s. (BTW, check out that website—it's awesome!)

It. Was. AMAZING! 

Seriously, it was some of the best barbecue I’ve had—far better than most of the stuff I’ve had in the US, even! I swear, they must have imported their sauce from the Carolinas, or Memphis, or some other similar place known for its BBQ! (My mouth is watering just thinking back on it…)

Anyway, back to last night…

————

So, I joined LD and TvH (and later KS) at Lupo. Our lovely bartender from Thursday was on-duty again, and provided us with a series of killer drinks and shots! 

Finally, around 11 PM, it was time to head over to Heaven, where the four of us spent the remainder of the night dancing our little queer asses off. We even made it into the VIP area before the night was over (though I didn’t think it was so great, personally—at least compared to the main floor).

All the while, though, I kept a close eye on the time!

I knew I wanted to be home by around 3:30 AM, as that was Nic’s ‘best case’ finish time, and with the inevitable drama that plays out on London’s night buses travel frequently takes longer than expected. Sadly, despite my careful attention to the time, the buses nearly thwarted my plans last night. 

The bus that would have had me home in plenty of time was too full so I wasn’t allowed on, and the next one—20 minutes later, which would have been cutting it close but still an option—never showed. (I can only assume there was drama aboard and it stopped somewhere until the situation resolved itself, as the drivers are wont to do.) 

Finally, I managed to get on a bus at about 3:13 AM. Since there weren’t many passengers, the trip took a lot less time than expected, and I found myself walking in the door at about 4 AM—happily, I returned just in time to learn of Nic’s successful completion of his race as it was happening!

Whew! What a day, not to mention week—but more on the rest later!

A Big Ol' Gay Blow-Up Man

Time for another exciting(?) entry in ye olde blog—namely because I’m in need of another break from academics. This time the focus will be the evening of Monday, 16 April 2012 (through the early morning hours of 17 April).

But I need to back up for a second. You see, two of my modules over here—‘Realism, Fantasy & Utopia’ and ‘Cultural Politics’—have enabled me to meet some really cool people. In fact, the majority of new friendships established since coming to London have been borne of the former.

One of said-friendships is with a lovely young woman named RAS. I was fortunate enough to snag a seat next to her on the first day of class, and during a group exercise that same day we got to chatting after I complimented her on the fabulous silver scorpion ring she was wearing. The rest, as they say, is history. Over time—and through RAS—I have come to form friendships with most of the others who sit in the front row. (And yes, we do represent the stereotypical front row kids—to the point where DS preempts us from answering her questions by automatically saying that she’ll ‘come back to the front row’ after giving others a chance to answer.)

Anyway, I’ve gone off track…

Relatively early in the semester, I was shocked to learn that RAS has never been to a club before. Ever. Not a straight club; not a gay club. She’s over 21 years of age—how the bloody hell does that happen?

So of course, I set about trying to rectify this grave oversight. It took time, to be sure: a constant mixture of guilt over my impending departure, and reassurance that I would protect her like a drag queen protects her tips. 

Eventually—on 16 April—I succeeded!

That night, we met at Village (which is tied with Heaven for my favorite queer London haunt), where drinks were half-priced all night. The only downside was that the level with the dancefloor was closed off, and the DJ I like so much there (Ray Isaac) wasn’t playing. 

At any rate, we were joined by two others from the ‘RF&U’ module—AR and (later) SV—as well as another of RAS’ friends, SB. Thus, the good times (and drinks) began to roll…

Me, AR, RAS, and SB

 The fact that my London drink of choice was only £2 that night, coupled with the other fact that the bartender seemingly thought I was cute and was therefore being generous with the vodka-to-juice ratio, led to a quickly tipsy Brettsy. Fortunately, I was still fairly in control at this point, and so the pix RAS snapped throughout the night aren’t quite as…problematic as they became later in the evening.

Sober Brett

Drunker Brett

 Eventually, both SV and AR had to leave (they had classes the next morning), and soon thereafter Village started closing down for the night. So, the question became: shall we go elsewhere, or head home? Fortunately, her first venue successfully visited sans-drama, RAS agreed to go elsewhere.

We wound up at G-A-Y, which we didn’t stay at for too long—only long enough for one drink apiece, as I recall. But, at least we could dance for a bit…

After G-A-Y, we still weren’t ready to go, and so the decision was made to walk toward Heaven, where I figured we could dance the night right away... Unfortunately, the lesbian doorguard had other plans. Said-doorguard let RAS and me in with no problem, but for some reason she decided that SB was under the influence and therefore could not come in. (For the record, SB was probably the most sober of us all—I think the doorguard was just jealous of her Troll Doll hairband.) At any rate, we were advised to go to the nearby McDonalds, get food, and come back in 20 minutes, at which point we would be allowed in.

So, we headed to McD’s—something I have avoided them like the plague since coming here—and got a quick meal. We sat there for the required 20 minutes, eating and chatting, and (in my case) being repeated punched in the arm by a drunken Frenchman whose friends kept trying to distract him from beating me and apologizing on his behalf.

Upon finishing, we headed back to Heaven…but, again, the doorguard refused SB entrance (and added insult to injury by pretending that she had told SB specifically not to come back). Well, their loss was G-A-Y Late’s gain, ‘cause that’s where we headed next.

This, our last stop of the evening, turned out to be a nice mix of the earlier chilled atmosphere from Village and the dancing opportunity offered by G-A-Y. We wound up staying until they closed, dancing badly—mostly on the elevated platform—to equally bad songs seemingly chosen by a straight man. 

There’s video of all this, but fortunately (and thanks to a few death threats) it will never be seen. (Apparently, when intoxicated to the point I was that night, I lose all arm and wrist bones, and turn into one of those blow-up figures used to sell used cars…a big ol’ queer, purple one! It’s a problem!)

One of the less-problematic photos to come from this night...

Sadly, the time came eventually to depart. I had zero desire to take the bus all the way back to Newham, and so I took SB up on her kind offer to crash at her place along with RAS. For anyone interested in a fun mental picture: just imagine me—fully dressed, because I wasn’t planning on staying out all night—sandwiched between a straight woman and a lesbian in a full-sized bed. It was quite the sight to behold, I’m sure!

And on that interesting note, another entry comes to a close. I suppose now’s as good a time as any to get back to the academic writing that I should be doing right now… 

Ciao!

"Is it Drunk, Ye Are?"

[Yes, that title's a reference to Darby O'Gill and the Little People. It's still practically St Patricks' Day, so bite me if you disapprove of my obscure 'Irish' references.]

I have definitely been paying homage to my Irish roots this weekend, and I know my liver will be quite happy to return to a state of normality over the next few days. But, an awesome time was had throughout, and I was able to engage in some much-needed catching up with friends…

Friday (16 March) found me meeting up with my friend EN—the other student from Columbia who’s attending UEL—for a late dinner. And I mean late! Initially we had difficulty finding anyplace that was still serving dinner because it was after 10 PM. Finally, on the verge of absolute starvation, we stumbled into a place called Maxwell’s in Covent Garden...what we didn’t catch was the blub about it being the “best American restaurant in London.”

Seriously.

After we caught on—somewhere between seeing the large portrait of ‘Aunt Jemima’ that loomed over my shoulder, and the giant, golden Presidential Seal that was visible over EN’s shoulder—I was forced to ask her why it was that we kept winding up in American cafes? (You may remember from this post that the first time we toured around London together we also wound up in such a setting—quite by accident, I assure you!) We never did come up with an answer.

You can actually catch a glimpse of the 'Aunt Jemima' poster on their website! *SMDH*

At any rate, the food was both okay and reasonably priced. Sadly, the waiter sucked—he was so busy schmoozing with the table behind us about his time in Italy that it took almost 20 minutes (I was timing it) to get his attention so that we could request the check. In the end, we didn’t leave Maxwell’s until about 12:15 AM. That’s right: A.M. Suffice to say, I won’t be rushing back to dine there anytime soon.

Freed from Maxwell’s, we headed to Soho—turns out EN had never been to a gay club before, and I was determined to rectify this grave oversight in funness. (Yeah, I know that's not a real word.) Though EN and I had wristbands to get into G-A-Y Bar from earlier in the night, they were already closed, and so we headed to Village instead. We had enough time for exactly one drink, accompanied by a bartop performance of Aretha Franklin’s ‘Think’ (the 'Blues Brothers' version, one of my favorite songs) as rendered by a queen and some scantily clad men, before Village too shut down. Le sigh. A bit disgusted, we called it a night.

Whereas Friday wound up being an early night (relatively speaking), last night was anything but…but I’ll get to that in a moment.

First things first: my Saturday night started off with a trip to Leicester Square Theatre in order to catch the divine (and problematic) Joan Collins in her one-woman show ‘One Night with Joan.’

Two Sexy Bitches?

It was everything I expected it to be, and more! 

Basically, the gist is that you have an auditorium filled with middle-aged gay men who are hootin’ and hollerin’ as Collins sits back and tells them (us) about her sordid life—everything form her childhood, to first-husband Maxwell Reed’s attempt at selling her to “an Arab sheik for £10,000”, to Marilyn Monroe’s advice about the Casting Couch. In all, no big shocks there, and pretty much what you would expect from such a performance.

But it really was funny in that uber-campy way! Her stories about run-ins with the likes of Joan Crawford (her namesake) and Bette Davis were riotous, and she never once hesitated to make fun of her own acting abilities and/or the roles that she's accepted during her career! (And yes, she did make a dig at Linda Evans/Krystle, and joked about the shoulder pads being so large that the women had to enter rooms sideways.) There were so many names dropped during the show that I was tripping over them as I left. Also, putting her ‘bitch’ reputation on display for the audience, Ms. Collins started heckling a drunken guy in the audience during the second act for the way he laughed—that's right, she heckled an audience member. Fortunately he didn’t seem to mind. 

And how could I talk about the actress behind Alexis Morell-Carrington-Colby-Dexter-Rowan-Colby without addressing her ensemble? Ms. Collins spent the first act in a heavily sequined, black, off-the-shoulders number that was highly reminiscent of the Catwoman costumes from the Adam West era. (NB: This is different from the costume seen in the video and picture above.) And then, for the second act, she switched into a white-and-gold gown that could have come from the Dynasty costume department. Awesome!

As for the theatre itself, it was super-small! My ticket—though it was billed as being off to the side and near the back—was practically in the center and only twelve rows back, owing to the size of the place. I could see everything perfectly, including the little puff of smoke (vapor) coming from Ms. Collins’ cigarette. Also related to the performance space, I have to give major props to the Leicester Square Theatre staff for getting in on the fun: the announcer's voice at the beginning—the one that tells the younger people to silence their cell phones and the older people to unwrap their Wearther’s Candies—concluded with, “[If we catch you taking pictures] our staff has been trained to go the 'full Alexis' on you!” HA!

In the midst of my night with Joan I received a text from TvH asking me if I wanted to “drink like the Irish do?” For some reason, at the time this struck me as a challenge to my Irishness by my German friend, so I replied that I would meet him and his friends at Village following the show. Thus began my St Patricks’ Day shenanigans in earnest…

In total, the seven of us went from Village, to another place with overpriced drinks that we never caught the name of (and which  might have been a club for straights), back to Village, to G-A-Y Late (circa 1:00 AM), and, finally, Heaven (around 3:00 AM). By the time I left Heaven and made it to my bus, the sun was coming up.

Shockingly, I got up before noon and didn’t really feel any negative side-effects. Mind you, I also didn’t try to do anything mentally or physically challenging, opting instead to spend most of the day in bed, watching old episodes of ‘Come Dine with Me.’

Then, a little before 5 PM, I made my way back down to central London for the third time in as many days, this time to meet K&M at a pub called The George. The pub’s roots date back to (at least) the mid-16th-Century, and it has been connected to Shakespeare, Dickens, and even Chaucer’s The Canterbury Tales. Of course, I simply had to celebrate the history surrounding The George with a couple of Guinnesses (Guinni?)—it would have been rude of me not to. In all seriousness, though, it was great to finally have a chance to catch-up with K&M—they’re such wonderful people, and have been so kind to this lonely American abroad in so many ways.

The George [NB: This is not my photo!]

So, yeah: crazy-long weekend, but one filled with good times and great friends! 

How Meeting Patrick Stewart Sent Me to (Gay) Heaven

As soon as Nic ‘heard’ that I was in a funk a couple of days ago, he dropped what he was doing and insisted that I call him right away—he’s so wonderful! We spent some time chatting, and while we were doing so he was determined to find something that might cheer me up: he succeeded.

Nic found out that the incomparable Sir Patrick Stewart—favored by me particularly for his portrayal of Captain Jean-Luc Picard—was starring in a play called Bingo not far from me! And, doubly fortunate, there was one open seat available for last night’s (3 March) performance. Within moments, I had a ticket for said-seat.

NB: This is not my photo!

 So, last night I found myself headed to the Young Vic, sister-theatre to the famous Old Vic. Not surprisingly, I got there about an hour early (I prefer to be early rather than late), leaving me a bit of time to wander around and enjoy a glass of wine, since the theatre itself is attached to a pub. 

That’s when it happened…

I had just received my wine and was standing off to the side of the bar (people-watching), when a door to my right whispered open and out stepped a bald man, sporting a thick but well-manicured white beard, in blue jeans and a casual yellow-and-green-checked shirt.

No way, I thought, that can’t be him!

The man moved to the bar and proceeded to order two drinks: ‘Tea. Earl Grey. Hot.’ (By the way, can I just note how amused I am that there's a YouTube compilation of that?)

At any rate, I didn’t actually hear the man order ala Picard—and at this point I still wasn’t sure that it was even really him, because no one else in the entire place seemed to notice him except for me—but the man was given two carry-out cups of some hot liquid, which he paid for out of his own pocket just like an ordinary customer (and not like a knighted star-performer who surely has minions for dealing with such tasks). 

Having paid, the man took his two cups of (hopefully) Earl Grey tea and turned once more toward the door from whence he had first emerged. As he walked by me, our eyes met—for the briefest flicker of a moment—and I knew in an instant that it really was Patrick Stewart standing less than three feet away from me! 

Holy Lwaxana Troi! 

Fortunately, I had enough of my wits about me in that moment that I didn’t just fall to the floor and start begging him to do the ‘Engage’-flick-of-the-wrist-gesture, or ask him if I could polish either the Enterprise or his sexy-ass 71 year-old dome. 

Instead, I offered him a coy smile that simply said, ‘Yes, I know who you are—I recognized you at once—and I’ll be right here after the show if you’re looking for someone who’ll do all of those things that Beverly refuses to.

Alas, he did not smile back—he’s probably already got an army of equally sexy Will Wheaton-types making that offer on a daily basis—but, damn it, our eyes met and in that moment we were soulmates (even if he doesn’t know it).

But enough about my ‘encounter at farpoint’ with the sexiest (male) septuagenarian I can think of. Let’s get on with the show itself…

NB: This is not my photo!

 [NB: I’m going to talk about the show in three parts: the story, the set, and the acting—I think this is the easiest way for me to describe the whys and hows some aspects of the show were wonderful and others were decidedly less-so.]

Bingo was written in the 1970s by a playwright with Marxist leanings named Edward Bond. As such, on top of being a tale about William Shakespeare’s later years and death, Bingo also contains a cautionary—or, at the very least, a disapproving—note about the wickedness of greed and class disparity. 

Sadly, Bingo could have been so much more than what it actually turned out to be. (This is especially true when viewed in the context of our current, global socioeconomic situation, and especially when paired with something like the Occupy movement.) Instead, it seems as if Bond doesn’t know what he wanted the show to really be about: is it a play about the frustrations of a popular artist? is it about greed? is it about mental illness? is it all of these things and, if so, wasn’t there a better way to weave them all together? 

In fact, the Shakespeare character himself—though onstage for almost every moment—is given so little to do and say that it wasn’t until halfway through the second act that I realized Bond was portraying him as a villain, and not someone (as I had been led to believe through earlier words, gestures, and staging) who was trying to thwart ‘the man’ from within.

As regards the set and staging, they did a really good job. Like Les Mis, Bingo uses a revolving stage. Throughout the course of the show, the stage goes from being a garden, to a public square, to a pub, to a snow-covered hilltop, and finally to Shakespeare’s bedroom. 

The usage of color and simple signifier props was very aesthetically pleasing in the outdoor scenes (e.g., in the hilltop scene, the only decoration(?) is the freshly fallen ‘snow’ and an all-black background—and I don’t know what they used to make the snow, but Patrick Stewart and another actor were able to pack it into something that looked and eventually ‘exploded’ like a legitimate snowball). 

Shakespeare with his daughter. [NB: This photo is not mine!]

 On the other hand, the interior sets were all heavily paneled, and had that air of controlled clutter that we tend to think of when we imagine interiors from the Elizabethan era. They were equally appealing in their lack of simplicity!

As wonderful as all of the sets were—the hilltop and the pub being especially well-executed (I swear I’ve been in that exact pub before!)—my favorite setting was the public square.

Before I can say why, however, it is necessary to provide a bit of exposition. In the first scene we are introduced to the character of a nameless young woman whose family has just died, and who is in search of food or money. She’s trying to make her way to another town where, she explains, she has an aunt who will take her in. Shakespeare immediately agrees to give the young woman both food and money—this is one of the first things that confused me about his ‘true’ feelings—but before he can help her, a series of events leads to her capture by Combe, the town magistrate (and the most clear-cut villain of the piece). Combe has the woman brutally whipped and beaten—to the point where she is left physically and mentally handicapped. In revenge, she begins setting fire to buildings around the town. Eventually, Combe recaptures her (after Shakespeare once again tries—and fails, thanks to his obnoxious daughter—to help), and she is publicly executed.

So, the public square set consists of the actress—whose appearance has been made-up to look like someone who’s been dead for some time—hung upon a gibbet near the back of the stage, approximately 12’ above the other actors. Though the actress never speaks—her character’s already dead—she is the undeniable focal point of the set. Even from the balcony (where I was sitting) one cannot help but escape her lifeless gaze, and the impact of its attendant commentary on issues of class, gender, and societal controls.

Finally, we come to my thoughts on the acting...

In some cases—such as with the men who portrayed Combe and Son—I’ve borne witness to better acting in high school plays. They were awful! That being said, Patrick Stewart and JohnMcEnery were phenomenal!

McEnery—who also played Mercutio in the famous 1968 film-version of Romeo & Juliet (among other things)—plays the role of Shakespeare’s gardener. His wife speaks highly of their time together before he was abducted by a press gang. At some point during that period, the gardener tried to help someone who was about to be executed, and was struck in the head with the blunt end of an ax. As a result, he has been left with (what his wife describes repeatedly as) ‘the needs of a man and mind of a child.’ The effect is a character that is often portrayed as mischievous and fun. 

In fact, one of the funniest scenes within Bingo takes place as a drunken Shakespeare is crossing the snow-covered hilltop described earlier, delivering the start of a heavy monologue, when suddenly a snowball thrown by the gardener pelts him hard in the back. What ensues is a ‘snowball fight’ between the show’s best actors—which Shakespeare inevitably loses because (much like Nic) the gardener’s ‘score’ is increased exponentially every time he announces it.

Sadly, however, McEnery’s character doesn’t fare any better in Bingo than he did in Romeo & Juliet, and by the end of the hilltop scene he is dead.

The Gardener and Unnamed Woman [NB: This is not my photo!]

Finally we come to Sir Stewart’s performance. In some ways, this is like me trying to describe my longing to be with Nic again—it seems a ‘futile’ endeavor.

He’s Patrick Stewart, and he’s amazing as always. The only problem is that he is so severely underutilized. True, he’s onstage at almost every moment, and through his gesturing and facial expressions he ensures that the audience never forgets him despite those long moments wherein we don’t hear him speak—but he nonetheless seemed constrained by a convoluted script.

But when he is allowed to speak, it’s phenomenal! During the third scene (the one in the public square), he yells at the gardener’s wife about people’s seemingly limitless ability to inflict pain upon others. As part of this powerful monologue, he describes the vile ‘sport’ of bear-baiting that was so popular at the time. For almost five minutes, Stewart rails in highly descriptive detail about the bears being blinded, chained down, stabbed, and set-upon by vicious dogs that tore at their throats—all the while throwing in approximations of the sound a whip makes (‘lash! lash!’) and violent gestures for emphasis—all of this going on, Stewart's Shakespeare laments, whilst the crowd cheered and ‘The Virgin [Queen Elizabeth I] cheered them on in shrill Latin!’ 

The Patrick Stewart in this scene—and in the hilltop scene, once the gardener leaves and he’s allowed to finish the monologue he started—is the one that I am so in love with. This is the Patrick Stewart that agonizingly refused to see five lights when there were only four!

Shakespeare in the Snow [NB: This is not my photo!]

 And so, after 2 ½ hours in this legendary man’s presence, it was time to go. I waited by the stage door for a bit after the show (hoping for an autograph), and though I saw everyone else come out, apparently Patrick left by means of a different back door. Oh, well—that doesn’t change in the least what an awesome experience it was to see him performing live!

One final note before I go: since I was already in the Soho area, and since I was still feeling the need to be around people, I went out again last night. The original plan was to meet TvH et al., but they wound up not being able to make it at the last minute. So, it was just me. At any rate, I went to Heaven, where I spent a few hours just dancing and enjoying being around so many other people.

[NB: This is not my photo!]

Nonetheless, being the shy, self-conscious introvert and crowd-phobic that I am, I never made it too far on to the dancefloor, preferring instead to stand near an escape route at all times. However, in terms of what I was talking about the other day about desiring benign human contact, it worked out perfectly! I kept getting (politely) jostled and bumped aside by people going to and from the bar, and instead of being annoyed in the slightest, it was wonderful! I left feeling quite recharged!

Oh, also: this place is even more like my old stomping grounds than KuBar (which is the comparison I made here)! 

Okay, this one wound up being quite a bit longer than expected, so I’ll close now. Ciao for now!

PS: I'm now quasi-officially 'one' degree away from Her Majesty! YES!

NB: This is not my photo!