How time flies ...

I realised at the time of writing my first post here that it'd make sense, every so often, to look back on events long past. It's not merely out of pure nostalgia, as I would hope any such reflections would help anyone who cares to understand me better. Throwing you in at the deep end is all very well, but some background information can only help!


A confession to kick things off: the photo to the left (originally my profile photo here) is one day short of ten years old, when I was about ten days shy of my 21st. (As soon as I get a digital camera I'll get an up-to-date one up - the main difference is that the glasses have gone as, sadly, has a good deal of my hair - but that's not my purpose here.) The occasion was a performance of a play by Ionesco to which I made a substantial contribution: adapting it from a series of sketches entitled Exercices de conversation et de diction françaises pour étudiants américains (you can make out some of this title on the blackboard behind me), directing it and, as the photo suggests, acting in it to boot.

This was during my second year at the University of Stirling (a place now known to most thanks, rightly or wrongly, to Braveheart), which I'd started with the intention of directing the annual French Society play, little expecting that I'd end up President of the society as well, no-one else being interested in the post. Being President had its frustrations which rehearsing for the play amply made up for: the sketches being among Ionesco's earlier work, there's a wonderful playfulness about their language which we worked hard to reflect in the staging. In one scene, two of the main characters were given incredibly convoluted directions for getting to the hospital, so we gave them a carboard cut-out for a car, in which one of the others members of the cast, hidden from sight, made all the sound effects: screeching tyres, bad gear shifts, sudden braking, you name it. One insult thrown out at a passing motorist still brings a smile to my face: the next time you get annoyed with someone, try calling them a carotte gelée (frozen carrot).

It wasn't quite a sell-out, but made for great pre-exam entertainment and was by far the most profitable event of the year - a fact which made me all the happier as there'd been problems between me and the rest of the committee, all of whom were first-year girls who seemed to think they knew better. They didn't exactly grovel an apology afterwards, but the look on their faces when they realised how successful the evening was was very pleasing.

For the record, my character (Thomas) was a bit dim, and that's putting it mildly. In the scene from which this photo comes, he was telling his teacher about his holiday in Paris, more particularly going to the theatre, where nothing could puncture his wide-eyed enthusiasm. He'd clearly never been to the theatre before, as he assumed the falling chandelier, the ensuing fire, the rows full of dead bodies, the collapse of the entire building in fact, to be part of the play. The one thing he couldn't fathom was why, when he went back next day, there was nothing but a pile of ashes ...