Immersive Theatre

I'm a massive fan of Punch Drunk and all things immersive. About six years ago, I dragged the kids to a production of the Mask of the Red Death at the Battersea Arts Centre, where we had to wear silly masks and follow actors around a massive building. I recall being scared out of my brains, as a few of us were locked in a small room, and one of the actors announced, 'We're going to have a seance'.

Shit, no.

It was fine though, as one of the kids, P, lent over and said, 'Hello, Billychica.' I can't remember exactly, but I'm sure that scared the living daylights out of me.

Roll on a few years and I'm based in New York and have been to a few more of these immersive thingies... Punch Drunk have a long-term production called Sleep No More and also did a short run in London, which I managed to catch when I was home.

Similar to six years ago, I dragged friends here to a production called Speakeasy Dolls House, which was set in a bar with spirits served in teacups and beer served in mugs. That was fun, as we were given lines and parts in the play.

Drowned Man in London was immense. Huge, incredible, you would need to go 4/5 times to make a dent in it. Punk Drunk, they are getting fancy.

Baby sister is in town again and was her birthday last night, so we took her to Then She Fell. A play based on Lewis Carroll's story and set in a former hospital. The amazing thing with this production is that there are 14 other people in the audience. You are number 15. I spent a lot of my time going, 'This guy is acting just for me, wow!'

Of course, there might only be 14 other people watching the play, but somehow there is always that eager beaver who has to get up-close-and-personal to the actors. There was one woman, tall, massive hair, who got moved out the way by an actor in the first 10 minutes. Moron!

Anyway, I love immersive theatre. Drop me a note if you hear of others...

A Homeless Dude

I could blog about the wonderful visit I had from my Uncle and Aunt, when I ate everything that New York had to offer and saw them properly sozzled for the first time in my life - they could barely focus. Or I could blog about my favourite FIL's visit, during which he seemed to walk 10,000 miles, as he seemed to miscalculate how far everything was.

Instead, I'll blog about a crazy situation that has been playing on my mind over the last month. The Clinton Global Initiative was taking place at the end of last month here in NYC. I and a colleague had a meeting with someone from the State Department's Office to Monitor and Combat the Trafficking of Persons at the swanky Sheraton hotel near Times Square. We talked about how people become trafficked, with particular reference to children who leave home, as I work for a not-for-profit focusing on children's care and protection.

On the journey home on the subway, this young lad got onto the train, clearly having spent a long time sleeping rough. He opened his mouth and began, 'My name is X and it's my birthday today...' To which a fellow passenger, clearer agitated, sighed loudly and gestured for him to get off the train. '... I am 27 today and I have been sleeping on the streets for over nine years...' X continued, ignoring the man's aggressive behaviour.

Fellow Traveller then said, 'I've seen him so many times before... Always the same spiel...'

I was just a bystander, but I felt so caught between the two. Earlier that day, I was talking about how we are failing children by not protecting them - whilst sitting in the plush surroundings of a New York hotel in midtown. The next I'm on a dirty train, caught between the awful tale of a young man, who is being accused of talking bollocks. I felt awful; I didn't want to be unworldly, too trusting, but at the same time, I didn't want to be heartless, too much a big-city girl.

My face betrayed me as I caught the eye of Fellow Traveller, who looked wounded and embarrassed. He mouthed, 'I'm sorry.'

Billychica's Back

I've been nudged as I've been remiss in blogging recently. Not a lot has happened, but I'm not sure whether it's because life has become ordinary or whether I associate blogging with miscarrying so I've have stayed away...

In any case, I've buckled up and am back. We've had a crazy few weeks and have a few more ahead of us. We went to Montreal where we sat in a hot tub, by a fire and ate lots of cheese and drank wine over a long weekend. The thing that boggled my mind the most was that it was essentially like flying to Scotland for the weekend. But I've another stamp in my passport, which is extraordinarily exciting because I've wanted to go to Montreal for years. Still to go to Montreal proper but that will come, I'm sure. The highlight was getting lost on the road to our friend's log cabin, asking for directions in French and realising that I hadn't lost that much of my French after all. Spending all that cash on a degree wasn't a complete waste of time after all.

Straight after that was a visit from my Uncle and Aunt. Uncle and Aunt are the same in New York as back home, which is remarkably comforting. it was funny seeing my newly unemployed (aka retired) Uncle talking about retirement. The look of incredulity of not having to save anymore. I can only imagine.

We also went to the World Trade Memorial Museum. I'm still trying to work out what I think about that. Definitely not Auschwitz or the Peace Memorial Museum in Hiroshima. Need I say more.

Onward to visits from the FIL and the sister. I will blog...