I’m not sure that I knew what to call the title of this blog, since yet again, I will not be able to tell you the biggest thing that has happened. I will soon, though. But the process of my life feels as if it is all in a similar groove as one in which you let droplets form on a surface so that they eventually glide into a container, leaving you with a pure, sharpened essence of whatever it was you were distilling. Or perhaps crystallization is another word I could use, for when crystals slowly form over time, when placed in the right environment. What I am inarticulately trying to describe is how my life feels; that it is permanently a process, as opposed to a set of experiences with anticipated results. As an example, about a decade ago, I made an attempt to write a sitcom pilot, called Flaminia and Jane, due to there being some sort of BBC competition on. Within a day I had written a half hour episode about two very different actresses, one who was naïve, chubby, unsavvy and eccentric, Jane, and one who had been a child actress, was anorexic, sharp, connected to everyone and anyone who was useful and a bit of a celebrity, Flaminia. The unlikely pair end up sharing a flat and of course, through various rows and incidents become good friends. I was told by producers that it was too “niche”, that not enough of the public would be able to relate to it. Despite it being very funny. A decade later we see Doll and Em on Sky. A sitcom about two unlikely actresses who become good friends. Somehow, the producers did not think their version of it was too niche, as it has been commissioned by Sky. But then, Emily Mortimer, whose work I enjoy, is a real life celebrity, and I suppose that may have aided the decision making process. So, I have moved on, you will be glad to know. I have written (in the space of a morning) a sitcom based on an all female office. Since Ab Fab covered that territory a while back, I am not worried about the idea being copied, as the more roles for women we can create for stage and telly the better. I tried out 8 minutes of it at the Hospital Club’s Co-Lab, organised by Mia Mackie and originated by Orion Lee. We had a cross generational and cross cultural cast of women lined up for the audience, and the experience was refreshing in comparison to the streams of all male comedies, mainly two handers that we now see on the box. If I were to pitch it, I would say that it was an all female Dad’s Army meets The Office and Ab Fab. The problem is I need backing and encouragement. Bringing that many actresses together into a space and rehearsing needs motivation on their part, and that means being able to offer some sort of pay to develop it. Anyone who is out there who thinks they can help get in touch. I am on Twitter and Linked in, and my agents are the marvellous Sharkey and Trigg. So the crystals and droplets are forming. With no visible result yet. My play (a three hander, one female, two male, under an hour long) is on hold at the moment while I make investigations into how or where I can workshop it. I was hoping to do so at the RADA. My acting career which is all I really care about, seems to have slotted into being on hold to the point that I am trying very hard not to think about it. While people say that I should be going for plenty of castings, I couldn’t agree more, but I am not sure the work is actually out there. If it is, there are currently no bites. Anyone reading this who is in a position to change this take my advice: Bite. Bite. Go on, bite. A weekend away a month earlier than our actual wedding anniversary pleased the Captain and me. His drought of work has broken, taking him to Berlin for one job, Shoreham for another and recently to Prague for a U.S series, so he is in a much better mood. As a result we got in the snazzy car (the Captain’s guilty secret) and drove off to the white cliffs of Dover to hop on the ferry to Calais last Friday. Seagulls, with their mouths slanting upwards, kept us company for most of the journey, so that an hour later in complete holiday mood, we zoomed along the empty French motorways towards the surrounding countryside. We stayed the first night at Chateau Tilques, which has sadly been taken over by the Najeti chain. The beds and sheets had all the signs of mean cost cutting, but the staff and food were adorable, and the spot was very quiet with a swimming pool to wake us up. We took off for Rouen, where the two star Hotel Cardinal were meant to receive us. It turned out to be be a delightful hotel with very clean comfortable beds looking straight from our balcony to the Cathedral, but the couple who ran it seemed too exhausted to be at reception when we arrived so we had to call them to let us in. I am Mrs Malaprop when I speak French. I think I said that were were waiting at their “starters” ( as in food) instead of saying that we were at the entrance. The weather was breezy and sunny, producing the nonchalance that only the French do genuinely well. We had a brasserie lunch in an open cobble-stoned market place, the women’s French perfume mixing enigmatically with the tempting smells of fried butter and garlic. We ambled around, had an afternoon doze, woke to early twilight and stepped into the Cathedral de Rouen to find a choir and orchestra (being directed by Clarisse Bertucci) who while being filmed, were beginning the rehearsal of Mozart’sRequiem, which was so flawlessly executed that we stood spellbound, the Captain transfixed, myself with a face wet with tears. I even lit a candle, which, having a convent education, I have shied away from for years. We ate supper at a quaint brasserie called LesMaraichers, which was so sumptuous and so cheap that I defy anyone to bother with England anymore. The Captain and I have watched plenty on the box. We particularly loathed Whiplash as a film, especially after seeing the perfection of the French choir and orchestra. We found it pretentious and indulgent, the implication being that perfection must be achieved at all costs. It reminded me,in it’s extreme values which slid unavoidably into camp tones, of The Red Shoes. It left us with the conclusion, that you either have it or you don’t, and if you do, it shouldn’t be so impossible to attain. The last series of Mad Men was a joy to consume, and the last episode was so clever and inspiring that it made our spirits soar to feel that we had experienced it. My parents had it with Mash and Hill Street Blues, and we have had it with Mad Men among the numerous golden age of shows of HBO. Nashville keeps us interested in a casual sort of way. I watched two films that I stumbled on and enjoyed, The Clouds of Sils Maria in which Juliette Binoche confirmed herself to be one of my favourite film actresses. It had a very interesting premise, I thought about it a lot afterwards, which is a good sign. I also enjoyed a Korean film called The Day He Arrives, filmed all over Seoul where my parents used to live. Filmed in a glossy black and white it felt like a Korean Woody Allen, compelling me right to the end. At the theatre, I have seen Sunspots at Hampstead, and Now This is Notthe End at the Arcola. Both plays had themes to do with dementia and family strife. It appears to be the zeitgeist. I found Sunspots slightly over written but otherwise very well executed, and Now This is Not the End was too ambitious with it’s theme, so that it’s dips were hard to take, but with some good acting in it. Fleetwood Mac awaits us at the O2 courtesy of my brother next week. A gay wedding in Wiltshire also is pending. A forty-fifth birthday as an outdoor festival camp is on the cards. A fiftieth birthday and a reunion with my oldest Italian school friend and her daughter. When August comes, we will drive and ferry to Spain. And so the droplets keep distilling. It’s going to taste very good when it is eventually ready.
Kate Terence's Letters from London 