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'. 

My first London Premiere

So yeah, while I haven't been writing here I have actually still been working away at theatre stuff! More specifically the play I wrote a couple of years ago, and have since been updating and workshopping at various UK festivals, finally got itself a London Premiere. From February 25th to March 15th 2014 Rachael's Cafe was at the Old Red Lion Theatre in Angel, produced by my company Little Fly Theatre and starring the original actor Graham Elwell. As I'm updating this in retrospect I imagine the immediate emotions and adrenaline associated with the play won't come through quite as much as they might have done had I updated at the same time. If you want something along those lines you might want to read the stuff I was writing at the time for Broadway World UK and The Public Reviews*. However, let it be said that it was a totally new and tiring experience for me, jam packed with all sorts of new fangled terminology, monetary figures and complicated logistics. In short, it was great! 

Putting on a show in London is a vastly different project to putting on comedy shows. I'd say it's perhaps more satisfying creatively for me - there were a lot more aspects to the show which needed my attention and input than there are on my comedy nights where I have a certain degree of creativity but ultimately set the stage for the comedians to fill with their work and talent. On that note, however, it's a lot more scary and requires a great deal of work to create a single show. So the pressure really is on to make the show brilliant! I found that I had a really split response to the whole experience. Half of me was saying 'never again!' on the basis that it's actually very scary, particularly in today's economic climate, to put on a show in London. The other half was eager to have another go as soon as possible, moaning at myself for not having been putting plays on left, right and centre for the past few years so as to learn my lessons bit by bit. I never felt ready before but, as Hugh Laurie said this week of his new musical career, 'I don't think anyone's ever really ready'. 

I also never realised before what a sensitive soul I am. I thought that being a writer would be a less painful experience (if your audience didn't like it) than being, for example, a stand-up comedian where you're completely on show. I have to admit though that I found being the playwright so much more difficult than being the actor in a show. As an actor I face every night as a new show. I'm annoyed if I don't give a good performance, but I know that the next one will be happening within hours and I can give it another go. As a writer I feel much more confined into delivering a final product that performs consistently. When an audience have enjoyed your play, or are moved by it, you feel pretty awesome. Constructive criticism also isn't an issue - especially when it's your first play. But there are, of course, always people who don't like your play and I was surprised by how painful I found that. When you've found a topic or person you're passionate about and put your effort, time, talent and money into creating a show about it, it's surprising how hard it can be to accept that, frankly, it's not going to be everyone's cup of tea. If you were able to half-ass it, to spew out twenty plays a year then it might be easier to cope with mixed responses. But when it's your one work so far, when it's become the main symbol of what you do with, you know, your life then it's not as easy as I imagined to go 'Oh you didn't like it? Not to worry. Maybe next time.' 

So yes, it was a great experience overall. There were days when it exhausted me, when I worried about the financial side, when I felt frustrated by how difficult it feels to make waves in theatre land and when I compared myself to everyone around me. But there were also days when we got sales reports of a spike in ticket sales, when a five star review came flooding in and audience members searched us out post-show to tell us how much they loved the show. These were all incredible experiences that I feel bowled over to have been the recipient of and they're the ones that, in the end, will mean I'll do it all again. 

★★★★★ The Upcoming 

★★★★ WhatsOnStage

★★★★ Islington Gazette

★★★★ The Public Reviews

★★★★ Middle Peg Review 

★★★★ Theatre & Performance Magazine

'Elwell is captivating' - Middle Peg Theatre 

'this indelible play is a must see.' - The Upcoming

'Humorous, touching and truly uplifting' - UK Theatre Network

'As fascinating as anything in the West End at the moment' - LondonTheatre1

'This debut by Lucy Danser simply gets it right on every level' - WhatsOnStage

'A moving and thought provoking piece, devoid of sensationalism and infused with humour' - A Younger Theatre

*Broadway World UK - Rachael's Cafe Blog

The Public Review - Rachael's Cafe blog

Blogging - What's it for?

At the end of 2012 I congratulated myself (publicly - in my end of year sum up) for increasing the consistency with which I wrote on my blog. I saw this as something, in a profession where it's sometimes difficult to work out how you're progressing, as something I could keep tabs on, as a sign that I was improving or at least disciplining myself a la Seinfeld into working consistently on a skill set. I then proceeded to write far more sporadically during 2013 before disappearing completely. I made a cameo appearance in November 2013 during which I wrote a single blog -about writing blogs- entitled 'I'm back' and then disappeared altogether once again. Until now. So I can see why you might not (providing you care at all of course) have great faith in my return to the uh, small screen of blogmanship. 

But that's okay. 

As someone who is still finding their unique voice or purpose or whatnot, a blog is a perfect way to train myself in all the necessary disciplines and skills without hanging too much importance on it. I don't yet write with any regularity and nor do I have a specific subject or style that I stick to. Sometimes it's theatre but then it might just be something I've been working on and want to mention, or perhaps a response to something I've read or seen. I don't have a huge readership, just my stalwart supporters but, when something does work, it seems to find its audience naturally. For example, my piece on the Oscars, when Seth MacFarlane hosted it, got shared quite widely around the UK and the US while the blogs following the transformation of the actor I used for my play Rachael's Cafe got a massive number of hits from people interested in the trans community or cross dressing. Sometimes feedback points me in the direction of how I could improve my research, brevity of the posts or the way in which I structure my information which is very helpful and always appreciated - honestly! 

You see I'm one of those people who gets very caught up in trying to label a project before I've even started it and so, ultimately, giving up. I think ideas through for plays and stories so much and am full of enthusiasm until, putting the first sentence onto paper, I freak out when I realise how it's not going to match up to exactly what I had figured out in my head. David Mamet mentioned this syndrome in his book Theatre, pointing out that writers are prone to 'bemoaning or exploring (which are the same) the difference between the draft and the (actually non-existent) ideal foreseen version of the play'. I seem to go one better, never even finishing the blooming play itself because my mind leaps straight forward to get to the 'bemoaning' that bit quicker. Similarly I foresee myself playing a lead in a play and then find it complicated to work out how I can possibly progress to that point if I find myself only cast in the ensemble. Devising and improvisation are beyond me, simply because I have a need to know how it's going to be structured rather than being prepared to make that structure out of the created chaos. I know it's important to break free of a mindset which is obviously so over sensitive to its OCD love of filing things properly that it is, ultimately, fatal to creativity. 

So although I'd love, of course, to have a readership ready and waiting to devour my every word, to be one of those hot shot freelancer bloggers who have streams of comments down below each post, I realise now that that's not what the point of this blog is at all. It's just a place (that isn't, thank heavens, as personal as a diary) but where I have the flexibility to write about what I want and to do so in any way I'd like. I suppose that if it gets to the point where I am starting to develop more of a theme to my writings or to what I do then I'll think about starting a new, more professional looking blog. In the meantime I just need to remember to write in this one a bit more often. And if anyone out there is reading this...that'd be great. Thanks! 

PS On that note - I imagine there'll be a few more blogs than anticipated over the next couple of days as I catch up with all the stuff that's been happening without having taken the time to write any of it down or reflect on it.