Mid-Life Crisis

Tomorrow will once again mark the completion by the planet Earth of an integer number of orbits around its host star since I was brought forth upon’t.  As is becoming traditional, I will spend much of this day in meetings – well, once you’ve seen a lump of rock return to broadly the same place in the local heavens a certain number of times, the novelty does start to wear off.

I am of an age when it would be appropriate to have a mid-life crisis – well, assuming I’m planning to stick around until my mid-nineties being a burden on the young of the future (and that sounds like a plan to me!).  Sadly, I still lack any interest in needlessly fast cars or the amorous entreaties of a well endowed, much younger woman (or, indeed, man – this is an equal opportunities blog, I spurn the affections of all) so I will have to find an alternative outlet for the angst due a chap of my vintage.

I’ve also rather failed to heed my genes and indulge in any procreative act, and so I cannot live vicariously through my offspring.  Nor, before anyone becomes over-excited, should this post be considered an appeal for a “partner” through which I can sire issue to inherit GofaDM.  These genes end here – though, on average, I suppose we should expect 25% of them to live on through my nephew (though I have yet to sound him out on taking over this post – in our last meeting, I mostly trounced him at the London Game).

I could perhaps start preparing for the day of judgment, but despite (or maybe because of) an O level in Religious Studies, I’m not terrifically taken with theism.  Nevertheless, I do expect to be judged: by the older me, who will no doubt be merciless in his views on how I have frittered away my forties.  All too little roaring has gone on, I fear.  Perhaps it is time to take the second act of my life by the scruff of its neck (after a suitable break for ice-cream and/or cake), so that my older self will be suitably impressed by the performance of my current incarnation.  Quite tricky to know what an elderly Fish will find impressive, given I am not the man now I was even 10 years ago – but hey, my day job is all about forecasting so this should be meat (or vegetarian alternative) and drink to me.

I have decided (well, “decided” is a bit strong – “come to a vague view that” might be closer to the mark) that I am too risk averse and just allow myself to drift through the days and years with no firm direction.  Don’t worry readers, I am not about to take up an extreme sport – way too well supplied with physical cowardice for that, hence my body remaining quite close to “mint” condition (though, sadly I have lost the box which will reduce my re-sale value).  It has struck me that most of what I do, I do alone (no sniggering at the back!) – including, for the most part writing this blog (though don’t get your hopes up, the writing will continue) – and so perhaps I should undertake something with more emotional or psychological risk and which involves other people in a more meaningful way.  It should probably also be less intellectually based (or at least using rather different parts of my decaying intellect then I typically tend to deploy) as, enormous fun though the OU was, it did rather play to my existing strengths.  Is it time to give the world my Lear?  (Edward, I suspect, rather than King).  Is it time to bite the bullet and sing with other people in a choral context (though this is more likely to work in organum than anything more recent)?  Or start my own band, religion or political party?  (I’m not really a joiner – just ask my woodwork teacher – so I will have to start my own).

The world may well be my oyster (not that I am a huge fan of the oyster, so perhaps it could be my scallop?) but what could I do with it to gain some small measure of approbation from a nonagenarian version of myself?  Answering this question is the plan for the near future – or the interval, as I shall be calling it – before I switch to become a man of action (or at least, slightly less inaction) and to hell with the entropic consequences.


A stage I’m going through…

As I set hands to keyboard, I see it is a good six weeks since I last posted.  Well, ‘good’ if you view the arrival of a new post from GofaDM in much the same way as a zebra greets the tender, watery embrace of a peckish crocodile.

This period of neglect follows a rather heavy period of work (something the regular reader will know that I usually try to avoid) which has left me with little time or energy to render my musings in electronic type.  Despite, or perhaps as a result of, this lack of new material visitors continue to come to my shop door and this has shamed me into returning to my laptop.  I also have whole heaps of plans for posts, s many that they are now keeping me awake at night and the only way to exorcise them is to send them out into the unfeeling world (or at least the only way I am currently going to try).

In a, probably vain, attempt to retain my somewhat tenuous grasp on sanity I have been turning to the Arts over these difficult early weeks of 2013.  Little do the philistines in charge of this country’s purse-strings realise what a vital role the Arts play in the continued economic viability of the UK (or at least in my part thereof).  Still, on the basis that most government policy is decided on the basis of anecdotes – at best (certainly evidence seems to be largely ignored)  – I hope this may have a salutary effect on future funding.  Whilst books, music, comedy, television and cinema are all important – the main plank of my strategy to keep the “men in white coats” (with their vans with such nicely tinted windows) from my door has been the theatre.  This would have astounded the me of little more than 18 months ago who had barely been in a theatre for more than a decade.  It would seem that the theatre is rather more addictive than is generally realised – maybe it’s the smell of the grease paint?

My theatre-going began with classics from ages past – and this continues.  Among these classics, I’ve seen two plays this year (both farces) by Arthur Wing Pinero, a character I had previously assumed was a fictional creation from the late night Radio 4 show Date with Fate hosted by the splendid voice of Charles Gray in the guise of AWP.  Turns out he (AWP not CG)  was also a real playwright of the late nineteenth century and despite choosing The Magistrate on the basis of a complete misunderstanding, it was a scream and on the strength of this example I went on to see Trelawney of the Wells at the Donmar Warehouse last week.  This was also good fun – though less farcical, but with more heart – and the interval ice cream whilst on the expensive side was rather larger than the usual theatre fare.  Interval snack mention: tick.

However, the most exciting theatre I’ve seen has been new (or at least recent) writing.  This often also has the benefit of being staged in smaller, more intimate venues.  I have come to realise that I am much more willing to take a chance on a play that may be outside my traditional “comfort zone” than I am with a film or a TV programme – rather an odd choice to make from a cost perspective as I’m taking chances with the most expensive option, but so far it has worked really well.  Most of my choices have proven to be both entertaining and thought-provoking.  Many I’ve chosen on the basis of proper, broadsheet reviews (which give me some idea of what I’m going to see) but some, as this past weekend, on much flimsier criteria.

My first was selected on the basis of a single actor (though it later transpired to include Meera Syal as well, so two actors).  The actor in question, Damian Molony, I think is quite excellent as Hal in Being Human and was also great in Travelling Light at the National last year.  However, more important than his acting chops was the fact that he is the man who introduced me, via the medium of Twitter, to 10 Greek Street – so I owed him one and the least I could go was go and see his latest play in partial recompense.  This play, if you don’t let us dream, we won’t let you sleep has the longest title of anything I’ve seen and was the most overtly political.  It has received mixed reviews – the Torygraph particularly took against it – but I found it darkly entertaining, if occasionally uncomfortable, and the most thought-provoking thing I’ve seen yet.  Criticism seem to fall into two camps: either that it would not be suitable as an undergraduate economics course (though something that was suitable would have made very poor theatre in the absence of a truly remarkable lecturer) or that it lacked character development.  This later would have been tricky to fix with more than 20 characters played by 8 actors across a mere 75 minutes.  I’d say it was highly successful at achieving the author’s aims in a very buttock and bladder friendly period of time.  The acting was also first rate and, as it turned out, I recognised fully half of the cast.  So successful was it that I went out and bought a book (from a flesh-and-blood bookshop) on economics directly afterwards – not something I ever saw myself doing.  I should perhaps note the stirling work of Tim Harford on More or Less and John Kay on a Point of View (both on BBC Radio 4) in rehabilitating the whole field of economics for me in the period prior to Saturday’s play and book purchase.  Expect the standard of economic discourse on GofaDM to improve markedly in the weeks to come (well, I say ‘expect’ but perhaps that may be building expectations too high , only time will tell).

Saturday’s second play was in the basement of the Hampstead Theatre which meant I visited Swiss Cottage tube station which is quite lovely (I’d recommend a visit), largely as it appears rather less “improved” than many of its brethren.  Another play with a long title, I know how I feel about Eve, this time chosen on the basis of a tweet by the stand-up comic Rob Rouse.  By the way, I have been to new plays with shorter titles – the previous week I went to see Port at the National (nothing to do with the delicious drink from Iberia, bur rather a reference to Stockport) which was also very good.  ikhIfaE was excellent, despite a subject matter I probably wouldn’t have chosen with greater advanced information, and in shades of the first (and best, for my money) of the latest series of Black Mirror raised interesting questions about the nature of identity when trying to replace the dead.  Again, in and out in a very reasonable 70 minutes – I find I’m rather liking these tighter plays, even though you do miss out on the interval ice cream.

Whilst I now find myself starting to becoming twitchy if I haven’t been to the theatre for more than a few days, even at my current (accelerating?) rate of consumption I cannot keep new (and old) British theatre going alone.  So, can I urge all GofaDM readers to make the effort to visit the theatre – it need not be that expensive (oddly new theatre is often cheaper than old, despite the works being stubbornly within copyright) – and they could use the money (as to be honest can the Arts more generally).  Why not try something new or just different to your normal fare?  It has certainly worked for me!  If it affects you as it has me, we can form a new take on AA – Audience Anonymous – to try and manage our condition (something Hal would certainly understand).