Still too exhausted to talk

but a picture tells a thousand words, so for a tale of our Winter's Tale, look no further than Arabella's flickr set of the whole shebang - backstage, onstage, all over the place. You might also want to check Charnel Doze's shots, which mainly focus on her fabulous costuming. Faaaab piccies, ladies.

All I have on my flickr is a handful of sillies, mainly from the final post-production pub sess. I realised I wanted to focus on *being* at the fantastic venue that Aleksanterin teatteri is, rather than even attempt to capture it on my camera which really doesn't even have the functions necessary for the said attempt...

And the rest is silence

...which, of course, isn't a line from our show, which is now done and dusted, been and gone, born and forever lost (sob). I cannot begin to comment or tell the (winter's, ha!) tale or anything similar yet, I am just too stunned. This is not uncommon with our shows - for financial/practical/circumstancial reasons, we have to make do with very short production periods. A mad rush of 60 hours - from get-in (set is not built, lights are not set, and you've never set foot on the particular stage yet in your life) to the final bow after three shows in two days, striking the set&getting out - leaves you with a deep feeling of "what happened?", combined with post-production blues ("life seems so meaningless now I've got my spare time back"). Johanna the (other) director saw The Ghost on row three or four (the theatre is the old National Opera, built 1879, so a Phantom is surely in order), when she went to sing onstage while the theatre was still dark. He was short, dark, with close-cropped hair, and vanished when he was sure he'd been seen. She welcomed him to our show. I ran onstage to call him back when Johanna told me, but he wouldn't show himself to me. Johanna said he only comes if you feed him. He could've had all of me...

I dream in iambic pentameter

We have rehearsed for twelve hours over the past weekend. The show is coming along nicely (and so it should, we are on stage next weekend!) but the pace hasn't left much time for blogging or indeed anything else. Prithee, gentle reader! Thou shalt go to Arabella's flickr site and there, in particular, to the "Dress Rehearsal" set, to see what it was like yesterday - the girl takes a great photo, methinks. If thou art in town, thou shalt then purchase thyself a ticket for next weekend.

*End of non-commercial commercial break*

More shame tolerance, closely followed by lick et stick

One of my first blog entries was on the topic of shame tolerance. A fine topic, worth returning to from time to time:

My cousin (of the pink-flamingo fame) gave me a pipo for my birthday present. A pipo, if you are not familiar with this phenomenon, is a certain type of knitted or crocheted hat, which the youth of today mistakenly think cool (as championed by Finland's very own Ville Valo, of whom more later) but which people my age would not be seen dead in, at least not when we were young. It was one of those items of clothing your mum would force you to wear when the temperatures dropped to -20 C, which, incidentally, makes your ears fall off unless you cover them. We would remove our pipos the latest when we got to the front door. Anyway...

My cousin gave me a pipo. The attached card said it was for "ensuring the continuation of your everlasting teens". I wear it. It's gone really, really cold. In a matter of days, we have gone from a glorious Indian summer to balls-off-a-brass-monkey weather. I wear my pipo, but make no mistake. Some young people may think a pipo makes them look like rock stars. I know it makes me look like a bag lady. Shame tolerance is the word of the day, dear hearts. At least I get to keep my ears.

Tonight, I intend to lick & stick. This means putting our Winter's Tale flyers & publicity letters in envelopes, licking them shut & sticking stamps on them. (Yes, I am sneakily using my blog as a publicity forum, too.) After that, I intend to watch telly and knit. Licking, sticking, telly & knitting. Doesn't that illustrate my thoroughly rock'n'roll lifestyle?

(Oh, and about Ville Valo. If anyone out there thinks he's hot, or cute, or whatever - don't bother. I was introduced to him a few years ago at a memorial gig for a band whose (long since dead) singer used to be my teenyears boyfriend. Ville has a limp, damp handshake. Ew.)