Forbidden Books!

My local library is great. Despite my previous local being Zadie Smith's old haunt, by the time I got to use it the variety of the books in both fiction and non was lacklustre, the noise from resident mother and baby groups distracting and the local area inundated by groups of loud teenagers uninterested in bookings or in 'keeping it down'. So, although I was firmly against the libraries being shut down after more than 200 closed in 2012, I have to admit I'd long stopped going to the any that weren't attached to my universities. And this is despite being an avid fiction reader and longing for a way to get my hands on good books without spending 60% of my paycheck at Waterstones. I moved house four years ago and, shortly after, the local library had a make over. I popped in to have a look, joined on the spot and, for stretches at a time, practically live there now. It's not perfect by any means but it's books on offer are fantastic. The selection stretches from the classics to bestsellers, cook books, history, self-help manuals and tons of poetry and some plays. I've not always found what I wanted but they do have cheap reservation and ordering services. I've picked up loads of books I probably would never have come across or spent the money on elsewhere including Anna Funder's Stasiland and Joanna Limburg's The Woman Who Thought Too Much. I've never attended any of their talks or workshops but I'm a big fan of the time the staff take to make displays of recommended books, highlighting specific genres or tying them in with world events. My favourite display was 'Forbidden Books' last month to coincide with Banned Books Week. I thought I'd share some snippets of it with you because I found it a pretty interesting addition to that day's visit. Hopefully you'll think so too!

The Grapes of Wrath by John Steinbeck
Published in 1939 and banned and burned in many places in the US for its social and political view.

The Da Vinci Code by Dan Brown
Banned in the Lebanon by Christian leaders as an attack on the Roman Catholic Church and for historical and scientific inaccuracy.

1984 by George Orwell
Banned in the USSR until the 1980s for its allegorical depiction of the rise and fall of socialism and Stalin's totalitarian regime. Ironically it was also banned in the US for having communist text in the introduction.

The Lord of the Rings by JRR Tolkien
Banned in various areas for being satanic and burned by members of a church in New Mexico in 2001. Tolkien however was a devout Christian and scholars note many Christian themes in his work.

The Diary of Anne Frank by Anne Frank
Banned in the Lebanon for portraying Jews in too favourable a light.

The Wonderful World of Oz by L Frank Baum
Banned by libraries in many US states - in the south because of witches being referred to as 'good' and under McCarthyism for its perceived socialist values.

The Unbearable Lightness of Being by Milan Kundera
Banned in Czechoslovakia until 1989 due to its depiction of life under Communist rule.

Black Beauty by Anna Sewell
Banned by the South African government during Apartheid because of the word 'Black' in its title.

Harry Potter and the Philosopher's Stone by J.K. Rowling
Banned and burned in many US states for promoting witchcraft , and also banned in some Christian schools in the UK.

A Prayer for Owen Meany  by John Irving
Banned in some US states for its views of religion and criticism of the US government for the Vietnam War and Iran-Contra.

The West End is Alive & Kicking!

I remember, during my Drama degree, sitting in a class where my teacher sadly told us that Peter Brook's categorisation of 'The Deadly Theatre' could best be exemplified by the work that takes centre stage on Broadway and in the West End. His argument being that whether due to financial reasons or alterations in attitudes to art, the only shows people are willing to spend their money to see, and so the only shows theatre producers are willing to take a risk on, are large scale, unambitious projects featuring big name actors, dependent on expensive sets or technical effects and favouring old stereotypes in the styles and story lines rather than making a go at inventing something new. The only option, he said, was for some sort of theatrical apocalypse to take place so we could start afresh. 

I have always been far too in love with both Broadway and the West End, and adoring of lots of these tried and tested productions and styles anyway, to take this sentiment seriously. I suppose I'm not even sure how seriously he took it. I still think that a lot of demanding, outstanding, risk taking performances do take place on these stages and even if the majority of concepts employed aren't necessarily ground-breaking they are, usually at least, incredibly perfected versions of something tried elsewhere. When you're in these large theatres, producing the show will always be expensive and naturally you need something that will appeal to a large enough number of audience members to fill these theatres nightly for long runs. It's only natural that you get as close to a 'sure thing' as you possibly can. 

As I'm London based it's harder for me to cast aspersions on what happens in the US but over here I have to admit that lately even I've noticed that the array of shows brought to the West End stages are starting to get a bit predictable. That's not to say that some, or many, are not enjoyable or well put together but having paid over-the-top prices to be disappointed with too many celebrity led, bland or lazy mass appeal productions I was starting to understand where he was coming from. Again, while I'd never embrace fully that all theatre on the West End stage was 'Deadly', it's true that fringe theatre was impressing me more and more, daring to present ideas that actually mattered to me and depending more on the words and their presentation rather than fancy lighting or sets. Plus, as an actor and playwright, there seemed to be such a chasm between the unpaid fringe theatre that was just about accessible to me and the oft longed for West End. It seemed to be that this, potentially, could be part of the reason why the gap between the newer, fresher work being created and that which actually made it to the West End was so wide. Some of the things I've enjoyed the most have been those that have come from subsidised backgrounds such as the National Theatre's production of Curious Incident of the Dog in the Night Time but it's rare, with notable exceptions (Stones in His Pockets, 39 Steps, Handbagged, Kat and the Kings), that anything comes from anywhere smaller and only one of those 'noted exceptions' is recent. 

Which is why I'm so delighted, for so many reasons, about Mischief Theatre's production of The Play That Goes Wrong which opened last week at the Duchess Theatre in London's West End. It's a sort of rags to riches story, now routinely rattled off in press coverage of the show, but no less impressive a tale for it's repetition. While the company behind the show have now been working together for over five years performing their work at theatres and festivals around the UK and abroad, they're still relative newcomers in the world of theatre and it's a testament to their hard work and the quality of their show that, in a mere 19 months, it has made it's way from a sixty seater pub theatre to sell out shows in the West End. No one has pulled strings for them or given them preferential treatment. Quite simply their work has spoken for itself. Having said that, kudos must go to producers Mark Bentley and Kenny Wax, both for watching what's being produced on the fringe and for taking a risk on a group of completely unknown writers and actors. Admittedly, although something so significant is taking place and happening to our talented friends within touching distance, for the rest of us plodding along on the fringe a similar outcome for our work still seems out of our reach. However, if nothing else, The Play That Goes Wrong taking its rightful place in the West End signifies an important potential moment in theatre history and practice. Not only has this play been on an unprecedented journey but so much about the way in which this has been managed is important. The fact that no actor or director was replaced with a 'name' actor, the way in which Mischief Theatre and it's directors have been allowed to remain very much a part of the production team learning from, and working alongside, the more established industry members and the fact that so much of the original, tiny production still remain are all so important. It's stories like this that make a difference. That make the West End, such a central part of our industry change from something we were starting to resent, to something we can fall in love with all over again and still hope to be a part of one day. Because, finally, it's starting to represent theatre that's being created right now, shows that our contemporaries want to make and, obviously, that audiences long to see. 

I think my former teacher will be pleased to see that there's nothing deadly about the West End at least. It's alive and kicking! 

RIP Joanie Rivers

RIP Joanie Rivers.

I have loved Joan Rivers for a while - although she could be crass and dark with her humour (which isn't usually quite my style) she did so with such an obvious depth of humanity and understanding about the need for and role of humour in life. Just watch the routine she did about the death of her husband: it was one of the most wonderful and most shocking performances I ever saw. That was the thing about Joan Rivers - she had many a flaw but they were always right there on the surface (which is amazing when you think of how completely she sought to cosmetically hide her physical 'flaws') and that's as refreshing now as it was years ago. I remember driving to work everyday for a month and listening to a CD of one of her shows back to back every single journey. She was hilarious. She was mad as a hatter. She was hard working. She hung on to her career through thick and thin. As a woman she was a pretty solid role model: gutsy, strong, ballsy, doing what she loved and giving everyone around her a run for their money. Saying all this though I was still pretty disappointed to watch the videos of her words about the Palestinians. It's sadly the first thing that I thought about when I heard she was ill. There's a lot to take into account about that situation (which I'm not really doing here) and the suggestion that it was taken out of context (although I'm not really sure how) and I struggle a little to stop it seriously affecting my view of her. However there is so much happening in the world right now, situations so complicated and so much hatred flying around that I'm cautious to dismiss everything else I know about her, her history, her personality, her views, her work, in light of one incident. So although this particular example of her 'honesty' has certainly cast a cloud over my view of Joan Rivers, in light of everything else I know about her I feel secure in determining that I don't think I will allow it to discount how I feel about her many qualities as a person, as a performer and as a bloody funny woman. I'm sad I'll never get to meet her.

http://www.bbc.co.uk/news/entertainment-arts-29072417

LGBT Theatre: Margins or Mainstream?

I'm reblogging this last article that I wrote in 2011 for a website called TheGayStage due to the fact that they've closed down (and, it seems, sold their URL to a gay porn site so let's see how that affects google searches of my name in the near future!!). 

In my last article I talked about how, in writing and staging a play about someone I met who inspired me, I unexpectedly ended up producing what is being considered by most to be an ‘LGBT play’.
I wonder if it shows me up as ridiculously naive that I found this instant labelling quite surprising. Frankly, for reasons other than the desire to ‘get my name out there’, I really wanted to produce the play in a mainstream arena. I wanted it to be produced alongside all kinds of other work rather than solely in theatres and festivals expressly designed for Gay Theatre.
This doesn’t mean I’m not thrilled that we’re performing at the Brighton Pink Fringe or the Dublin Gay Festival. I think it’s important that LGBT Arts exist and that there is a place to discuss the issues that are pertinent to this particular community. But for any tight-knit community, whether that be centered around sexual orientation, religious beliefs or anything else, I strongly believe that it is essential to communicate with mainstream society.
This, for me, is the only way to take that next step. To go from discussing and sharing important ideas and truths amongst ourselves and then expressing them articulately to others. There is no point in the LGBT theatre talking about homophobic bullying in schools if the people responsible for this behaviour are not exposed to the play in question.
Likewise, when I was first dallying with the idea of writing the play and I read out my first interview with its subject to my University classmates, I can’t say that it evoked any more interest from the LGBT members of the group than it did from the others. In fact it’s the latter to whom it was a whole new world, and thus something they might only experience and find out about through a play.
They say you learn something new on every piece you work on. I think perhaps I learnt a little about what it feels like to be pushed onto the margins while working on this play. I’m used to working on Shakespeare, on British and American famous plays, on contemporary political theatre, stand-up comedy. When I tell friends what I’m up to they go, ‘Oh yeah, we might come and see that, sounds interesting’. When I say, ‘I’m working on a play about a pre-op transgender’ there’s a much bigger percentage that go ‘Sounds...interesting. Good luck with that.’ I’ve had kind, gentle, normally easy-going friends who’ve assured me they’d love to come and support what I’m doing but really, frankly, they just wouldn’t feel comfortable. But the ones who’ve come? They’ve said, ‘We didn’t know what to expect but we loved it. Really, it’s opened our eyes’. And that’s great but, like they said, they didn’t know what to expect. They were the ones who risked it anyway and it paid off. What might the others have learnt? How are they going to behave if and/or when they meet a transgender person? Would seeing this play have helped them behave or feel differently? If the Daily Mail didn’t print things like Kelly Osbourne’s outburst ‘“Ex fiance cheating with a transsexual was my most humiliating moment ever...I’d always thought that the worst way to get cheated on would be with an ugly girl...but when someone is a chick with a d**k?”’ and instead printed advertisements for the Drill Hall’s next season, perhaps the general British public wouldn’t be so certain that they weren’t interested in what these people had to say.
To produce a play you need money, and to get this money I decided to go down the sponsorship route. Whilst I had plenty of funding from friends and people who heard about the play, I couldn’t get a single company to touch me with a foot long pole. After pitching the show to various companies I decided to ask friends if their work places might be interested in funding the show. I got fervent yeses until it was time to explain the subject of the show, at which point every single person said, ‘My company would probably not be interested in linking their name publicly with a transgender show’.

I’m not saying that LGBT isn’t represented in the mainstream media. Of course it is. But I’ve definitely noticed much more resistance and much more need to persuade people than I ever have before. It’s a Catch 22. No mainstream company wants to be the first to put themselves out there and say ‘I support this’ but, until they do so, neither will the vast majority of the mainstream population. So, yes, I’m thrilled and excited to be performing my LGBT play at the LGBT festivals, but I really wish someone else would invite us to perform on the basis that we’re talking about a human being from the real world. And that’s the world we’re all in. 

Malik, Music & Me.

I've never had a serious love affair with music. There I've said it. I've always wanted to but it's just ...never happened for me. 

I enjoy music certainly, I have my favourite artists and have, in the past, attended concerts or gigs. I'm not saying that I'm impervious to music - it's more that I very rarely manage to connect meaningfully to it regardless of how much I want to. With very few exceptions, I go to concerts when someone chooses to take me to one and my catalogue of preferred artists is small, unfocused and uninformed. I rarely choose to listen to music over spoken word podcasts or go to a concert over a night at the theatre. I'm bemused, although envious, when people can lose themselves in music, naturally feel and follow a beat or return from classical concerts flushed with happiness and emotion.

Thankfully, however, there are the odd exceptions. This won't improve my image but I'll admit that musical theatre songs almost always work for me - although that's probably because they're so lyric centric. Jazz and old Torchsongs hit me where it matters and so make up a vast majority of my iTunes collection. Yeah, when I find what works for me I never let it go. Which is why I instantly bought both of Sixto Rodriguez's albums when I first heard them and continue, over a year later, to listen to them on a constant loop. I've gone alone to his concerts and bought the DVD of Searching for Sugarman, the documentary that brought him back to our attention. And it's why I can't stop thinking about the recent suicide of the director of the film Malik Bendjelloul. 

I think that for many people a particular song is important, not just for the music itself, but for its connection with an emotion, event or person. The way in which I was introduced to Rodriguez was incredible enough to create all those lasting connections for me instantly. I went to a Secret Cinema event, where you don't know what you're seeing, and it was a preview of Searching for Sugarman. We were at the beautiful Troxy in East London and it was packed. The film, in which Bendjelloul uncovers the amazing story of Rodriguez's iconic status in South Africa was responsible for bringing the singer-songwriter back to fame, delighted the audience. The soundtrack was Rodriguez's music and, by the end of the film, you loved him and his music. So when, in an outstanding finale, the real Rodriguez came onto the stage and played a concert you felt like a hardcore fan who'd waited forever for this opportunity to see him live. People were crying, surging forward and running close to the stage to touch the icon himself. Behind a curtain, just left of the stage, was the quiet, humble man responsible for making all this happen. Bendjelloul had chased this story for four years, using his iPhone when he ran out of money and never giving up. He'd told an amazing story beautifully and given Rodriguez the opportunity of a lifetime. 

Midway through the concert, exhilarated and joyous, I confidently drew back the curtain and reached out to Bendjelloul. Although enjoying the success of his film, he was defiant about ensuring Rodriguez got the lion's share of the attention and accepted my praise humbly. This was before the film shot to fame and won an Oscar so he was conscious about networking and, although I'm in no way a big fish, when I pitched the idea of the film becoming a stage musical he eagerly swopped cards with me and we began an email correspondence on the idea. Of course the film took off massively and he set off on a huge tour and heaven's knows what else. There was a big dip in communication but then, after a while, he got back in touch. He was busy and had next to no time but he just sent a sweet, polite email to let me know why he'd gone quiet and to thank me for my support. Him being so nice was the icing on the cake - there was nothing I didn't love about the film, the music and the people. 

Since that night I've found that listening to Rodriguez's music gives me that rare feeling of emotions bubbling up, memories of the night, the atmosphere of the larger story associated with the film and the first time Rodriguez stepped onto the stage. I'm not always conscious of the separate aspects of course, just of the overall feeling of wellbeing, excitement and connection when the music starts. I've taken the album on long drives, train trips, listened while working on hard projects...it's a great companion. I've started listening more closely to lyrics, understanding the metaphors and the aspects of songs I rarely stick with long enough to notice. Although Malik is not responsible for the music itself he is irretrievably tied up in my experience of it and so, when I heard that this young, handsome, ambitious, talented, humble man had died I was shocked. When I heard it was suicide, due to depression, I was beyond words. 

Look, there's recently been a spate of high profile suicides and early deaths and a lot of debate about whether the public outpouring of emotion is misplaced and phony due to the fact that, for the most part, we didn't even know these people personally. I don't have a clear opinion on this either way. I do think it's a bit ridiculous to mourn so publicly for a stranger but I'm also aware that these people were still presences in our lives, and those who seemed young and untouchable, so shock and sadness is a natural response. I knew next to nothing about LeWren Scott or Peaches Geldof but I was still saddened by their deaths. I didn't know Malik either, I met him but I didn't know him. However I felt, and still feel, a sadness on a different level for his death. My thinking is full of cliches such as 'such a waste', 'he had so much going for him' and on and on. Of course I know nothing about his personal life or his experience of depression. Regardless I haven't stopped thinking about him. Perhaps it's as simple as a man I met, whose hand I touched and who was nice to me committed suicide and I can't understand why. Maybe it really is just a normal human reaction to that simple fact. Maybe it's because his work affected me so much and I'm mourning the impossibility of more of this. Or maybe it's just that he was a young man who, despite achieving what so many only dream of, was so desperately unhappy. 

Whatever the reason may be I know that he made his mark on the world and in my life. Either way it seems fitting that as I wrap this article up, having listened to Rodriguez's albums while writing, the song I Think of You is playing. 

To you, Malik.

The Triple A - Actually Acting Again!

It's been so long since I've put on my acting hat. Not just stepped on to a stage or in front of a camera, but even applied for jobs, attended auditions. I've done nothing. No new headshots. I wasn't even sure whether to renew my Spotlight this year. It's odd when you consider my number one aim has always been to be an actress. 

When you tell your parents you want to be an actress they are rarely over the moon. Although I'm lucky enough that mine do find the whole theatre thing exciting and are very supportive, they're also two extremely practical entrepreneurs who made me think over every possible alternative to such a tough, unstable career. They've never blindly applauded my talents, only congratulating me when they've actually enjoyed a performance. They've suggested becoming a barrister (ensuring me "It's just like acting!"), discussed possible second strings to my bow and drummed the adage into me "Be an actress if it's the only thing you can imagine doing with your life". I do agree with this statement and so, as someone with a good education and a degree, I have wondered numerous times whether there's another route I should be taking. It's not that I think I'm better than anyone else, truthfully I want desperately to be standing on stage night after night. It's more that sometimes I think that it's a selfish route to take. I know that entertaining people or finding a way to illuminate others and their situations in itself is not selfish, but entering a profession where there are already more than enough talented people able to do the same...well that feels like I'd be better use elsewhere. 

A combination of that and my natural impatience to see something happening means that I've spent my first few years out of university flitting around various roles within the entertainment industry. I've written, directed, produced, promoted and performed. I've essentially done anything to make sure that I have something substantial to my name. If I can ensure getting a new show of good quality and entertainment value to the stage as a producer I'll do that rather than attend audition after audition. After a while of doing this I figured that maybe I'd found my 'second string'. That acting was not the only thing I could see myself doing and therefore, following the logic through, not what I should be doing. 

There's only one problem with this. I miss acting. I try to pretend I don't. I don't really call myself an actress. I'm not pushy and feisty at auditions, I haven't created a vehicle for myself and I'm not willing to give up everything else and hedge my bets I'll 'make it'. Regardless,  there is nothing else that gives me the same feeling as giving a kick ass performance to an appreciative audience. Perhaps my issue is that I don't see myself as multi talented. I don't dance, I'm not fantastic at accents and I'm pretty shy about putting myself forward for things. Perhaps my issue is that I quite simply haven't had the opportunity for a really long time to be in a quality production. There's a lot of unpaid, profit share, slapdash work that it's easy to get involved in. The last thing I was in was at a small London fringe theatre last year and, although it was great to be given the opportunity to hit the stage and the team was very passionate, there was a real lack of focus, of strong directorial vision and of pace. It was difficult for a lot of the talented actors involved to shine in their roles and the play suffered from this. When you can't afford to flit from one unpaid role to another it's important that the opportunities you get are powerful enough to keep you going. This wasn't and, for that reason, I fell back to being behind the scenes and, by now, heading towards my thirties (eek) I thought this is where I'd stay. 

Auditioning recently for Rikki Beadle-Blair's takeover of the Bush Theatre was a pointed act of desperation on my part. I drove the whole process: finding the casting call, applying immediately, checking obsessively for responses and taking a five hour journey to the audition for an unpaid, small, one off role. I was ill on the day of the audition, so ill that I passed out on the train and considered cancelling, but forced myself along. I'd read the entire play, learned the side sent to me and arrived an hour early. I didn't get the role. It was a week later that I noticed another role come up and so, the day before the first rehearsal I emailed at 11pm and secured myself a tiny part. It felt crazy to be putting so much effort in for something so tiny. It's the kind of thing that actors have to be doing daily and the reason why I find it so difficult to work with so little control over what you're offered and who you get to work with in the end. Truthfully it could have been another big disappointment and, if that was the case, I have no idea how I would have felt. But I was lucky. This time my hard work paid off. The script I was given was very funny, the director was the awesome Rikki Beadle-Blair and my scene partner a thoughtful, hard working and easy going guy. Rehearsals were good fun and the people I met all passionate, supportive and talented. A lot of the time I felt quite shy and a bit of a fish out of water. So many of the other actors had just done one show and were going straight into another. Or they'd been to drama school. I was terrified. The good news is...it went really well. The audience was packed, I was on the blooming BUSH THEATRE STAGE (!!!) and our performances got lots of laughs. For the first time in about three years I felt that acting high I thought I'd never feel again.

Hopefully it's enough to make me give it all another go. Step 1: I've renewed my Spotlight. Step 2:...all advice appreciated!

Update: I DID get paid for this. It wasn't unpaid acting work. I'm thrilled! I mean, I didn't know at the time and, if anything, this has showed me to be a tad sharper on discussing fees and whatnot but, come on, I was excited! Thanks again to Rikki Beadle-Blair. 

What just happened!?

Look, I don't live a particularly crazy lifestyle. I'm a pretty boring kind of girl. Mainly into reading, quiet evenings at home with friends, movie nights with my boyfriend and late night theatre or comedy rehearsals/shows wherever and whenever possible. I'm not 'cool' (Please don't protest, I've been told so on too many occasions to mention) and I'm painfully aware of times in which my sister and her friends, when younger, have asked me to stop trying to fit in and be like them. So I rarely get myself into interesting scrapes.

I've had a lovely evening tonight, thank you for asking. I met my friends Owen and Louise for dinner at a pub in Finsbury Park, followed by many a drink and lots of gossip. It was, quite frankly, delightful. I tottered home at 11:45 with one thing on my mind. Chips. Yes, I know, I'd had dinner only two hours before and I'm trying to lose a bit of weight. This is all true. On the other hand, my local and most renowned fish 'n chip shop had just reopened after a major refurbishment and I was looking forward to my first opportunity to sample their new (and I'm told improved) fried potatoes whilst soaking up a bit of alcohol in preparation for an early morning tomorrow. So I was understandably disappointed when I popped my out of the station and saw they were already closed. Picking up the pace, I slammed the book I was reading on the tube shut and walked quickly towards home. Rounding the corner I noticed a figure in the middle of the road. 

Dashing towards it I confirmed it was a human being and realised he/she was shouting something. That something turned out to be 'I'm going to kill myself if someone doesn't call an ambulance'. 

No one appeared to be taking any notice so I dashed into the middle of the road and asked, 'Why? Why are you going to kill yourself?' 

'Because I am,' they replied 'unless someone calls an ambulance. I've taken sleeping pills'. 

'Okay,' I replied. 'I'll call an ambulance'. 

'Really?' they replied. 'Of course,' I said. 'Just get out of the road.' 

'Thanks', they replied, and immediately and obediently made their way over to the front of a shop, sitting down on the empty fruit and vegetable display case. 'Thank you'. 

'That's okay,' I said. 'What's your name?' 

'Maria,' she replied. 

'I'm Lucy,' I said. 

'What's your name?' she said. 

'Lucy' I repeated. 

'Thanks Lucy,' she said. 

I dialled 999 on my phone which instantly lost the tiny bit of battery life it had left and died. So I ducked into a nearby phone box and did it again, getting through to a call centre and requested the ambulance service. 'This is the London Ambulance Service. All our lines are busy are the moment'. I began to inwardly curse but the phone was instantly answered. I tried to explain that I was with a stranger, a woman named Maria, presumably in her mid-thirties who claimed to be suicidal. I told them she'd taken sleeping pills. 

'Which ones?' they asked. 

'I don't know, I'll ask' I replied. I popped my head out of the phone box. 'Maria? Maria!' I got her attention. 

'Yes?' 

'What pills did you take?'

'Huh?'

'What sleeping pills did you take?'

'64?'

'What?'

'64'

'64 sleeping pills?'

'No, ten'

'Ten sleeping pills?'

'No, ten 64?'

'Oh!' It dawned on me. 'You had Kronenburg?' 

'Yes.'

'How much?'

'Ten.'

'Ten pints?'

'Yes. Ten.'

'And sleeping pills?'

'No.'

'No sleeping pills?'

'No, just ten pints'. 

'Sorry,' I said into the phone. 'She's now saying she didn't take sleeping pills, just ten pints of beer. But she's saying she's suicidal.'

'Is she alert?'

'What?'

'Is she alert. Is she conscious?'

'Well, yes.' 

'Is she aggressive?' 

'No. Just assertive.'

'What?'

'Not aggressive, just assertive. Clear and adamant that she wants an ambulance.'

'Okay. We'll send one.' 

'Thank you.' 

I went back to sit with Maria. We chatted for a while about her life. She was pretty personable, telling me about her drinking problems, about her daughter in foster care who was six months old and she saw every weekend and about her alcoholic boyfriend who was in trouble with the police. She told me she lived locally. 

'Are you okay?'

'I've been sick.'

'I'm sorry.'

'I'm an alcoholic. I'm trying not to drink but they keep giving me drink.'

'Who is they?'

'My friends.'

'Oh.'

'I've been drinking all day. I just went back to my flat and was sick. I've changed my trousers 'cos I didn't want to be all pissy. Now I want the ambulance. No one will help me, that's why you found me sitting in the middle of the road. I'm grateful you stopped. I go to DWP. I want to go to detox, but they won't send me.'

'What's the difference?'

'Detox they help you get off the alcohol?'

'And DWP?'

'They just tell you to'. 

'So, detox is residential?'

'Yeah.'

'And that's what you want?' 

'Yeah.' 

'What happens when detox is done?' 

'They just send you back out again.' 

'What, so you just have to try not to drink again?' 

'Yeah.' 

There were a few minutes of silence. Then. 'The problem is I've been drinking on an empty stomach all day too.' 

'Do you want some food?' 

'Yeah'. 

'Okay, I can buy some next door if you wait here?' 

'Yeah, thanks. A chicken burger?' 

'I'll see what I have the money for'. 

I came back with chips apologising that that was all I could afford. She took them graciously. 

'That's all right'. 

We sat silently, side by side, eating chips. She started to flag. After half an hour I went back into the phone box and called the ambulance service. 

'Hi, I called half an hour ago. I know it's maybe not the utmost emergency but there is a suicidal lady here. I was just wondering when the ambulance might be due.' 

'We do have a note of that here. They will come but we're quite busy tonight. Is she conscious?' 

'Yes. Actually let me check. She's lying down. I can't tell.' 

'Go and check.' 

'I mean, I'm in a phone box. I don't know her.' 

'Put the receiver down.' 

'Okay, hold on a minute...yes she's conscious but she keeps trying to sleep.' 

'Are you going to stay with her?' 

'Of course'. 

'Well if you're going to leave just...'

'Of course I'm not going to leave but I just wanted to know if someone was on their way.' 

'Just keep her conscious and someone will be.' 

'Okay.' 

I returned to Maria. A while later I saw an ambulance go by. I waved at them and they stopped. 

'Are you here for Maria?' 

'No, we're here for someone further down the street'. 

'Oh okay, just we called over half an hour ago now. Is it urgent?'

'What's this for?'

'That woman there curled up outside the shop. She says she's suicidal. Is your's urgent?'

'Yeah, apparently it's someone who might be fitting'. 

'Oh my God, okay go.'

'Okay, but listen...'

'No, please, go.'

'Just listen. It's Saturday night. We're very busy. Call the police and they'll come and pick her up.' 

'Thank you. Please go.'

They left and I turned towards the phone box and Maria again but stopped when I noticed a young man staring at Maria. I waved at him and said 'Do you live here? Don't worry, I'm dealing with this'. He walked towards me and began speaking confusedly in broken english. I tried to explain the situation. Finally, confused as to whether he should go home or stay with me, he picked up his phone and called the ambulance again. 'Please don't,' I said. 'They told me to call the police.' He ignored me and called the ambulance, chatting away and answering all their questions. 

'They're coming' he assured me. 'I'll stay here too'. He immediately disappeared into a shop. 

I sat next to Maria and woke her up three times. Finally she screamed 'Let me sleep'. I was shocked because she'd been so personable up until now. 

'But Maria, you asked me to call an ambulance for you. We're waiting for it.'

'Leave me alone, I'd rather be by myself,' she snapped. 

'You've not eaten any of your chips, have some'. 

'No,' she yelled, hitting the chip packet and making some tip over the edge. 'Leave me alone. I'd rather be without you guys. I don't want that guy near me.' George had returned by this point and sat by her, smoking and fiddling with his phone. I strolled up and down in front of them and fiddled with the edge of the phone box. After about five or ten minutes I strolled up in front of the two adjoining shops. When I turned around, seconds later, she'd disappeared. 

'Where is she?'

'What?' George's head shot up abruptly. 

'Where's she gone?' 

We both looked around. I ran up and down the street, across the road and didn't see a trace of her. George, more reluctantly, gazed up and down and then back at his phone. I ran the few minutes home, plugged my phone in and called 999 again. 

'Hi, I've called a few times in regards to a woman named Maria. On Kilburn Lane.' 

'From the phone box?' 

'Yes, that's right. Well, she's disappeared.' 

'So she's not there now?' 

'No, she's just walked off. I turned my back for a second and she's gone.' 

'Where are you now?' 

'Nearby. I live nearby. I left my address on the system. This is my number. I'm nearby so I can go back out and look for her if you want.' 

'Thank you.' 

Then I sat down and began writing this. About halfway through my phone rang again. It's now over an hour since my first phone call to the emergency services. 

'Hello this is the London Ambulance Service.' 

'Oh hi.' 

'You called earlier from a phone box about a woman called Maria?' 

'Yes.' 

'Are you still with her?' 

'No, I called ages ago and said she'd disappeared and I'd left.' 

'Oh okay. Well we're sending help so we'll stay in touch'. 

'Thank you. I'm sorry, I have no idea where she is.' 

'Don't worry, thank you.'

'Thanks.'

I wrote most of this blog and then my phone rang again. 

'Hello, this is the London Ambulance Service.' 

'Hi.' 

'You called about Maria?' 

'Yes.' 

'Are you still with her?' 

'No, I've called twice now and said I left her over half an hour ago.' 

'So is she still in the area?' 

'I have no idea.' 

'Is she still by Moros?' 

'What?' 

'By Moros?'

'That's not where we were. It's called A---' 

'That's the name of the restaurant?' 

'Yes.'

'Okay. So is she still there?' 

'What? I don't know. I left twenty or thirty minutes ago. She disappeared. I explained this. I have no idea where she is.' 

'So should we still send an ambulance?' 

It's now over 1.5 hours since I first called for one. 'I don't know. I don't know where she is. She was a stranger but she asked for one.'

'I need to know if she's still there, otherwise I won't send an ambulance.' 

'Look, as far as I know she's not, but she should still be in the area because she asked for one and she lives near here. But I don't know. I explained this.' 

'So I shouldn't send one?' 

'I suppose not. I don't know!" 

'Okay. I won't. Bye.' 

'Bye'.