Where oh where do I begin? So much has stimulated me since last I wrote to you.
Fully-embraced three plays. One of which twice, Pole Factor - BLOW-IT-UP YOUR POLE FACTOR. One of which was my very first Shakespeare in London, King Lear - SHAKING-UP THE GLOBE. And one of which was a birthday treat, my father, Twelve Angry Men and I at The Garrick Theatre in London UK's West End -Theatre land!
Somehow I managed to find myself with several beautifully passionate, dedicated, inspirational and loving new friends. I say friends, we are still in preliminary stages of 'getting to know you.' I like to believe the genuine shared passion for words, stories, will unite us for many years to come. Crumbs have I jinxed it? Probably!
Since first I wrote I hope you by now understand if only through this page, how intrinsically important family, the countryside and good old Yorkshire down to earth, a spade is a spade'ness is to me.
Spade'ness, is this a word? . . . spade'ness, first used by RJ Wardle Copyright 2014.
Keep it real. Really does resonate.
I really do hope.
Entering into a life spent with words is after all, more than just a cosy dream. It is with every inch of my mind, heart and soul an all encompassing mind-mapped goal I strive continuously to build. Go out and create my own opportunities. Don't wait for them to come to me, find them!
As I believe I wittered on about three updates ago in WAKING - UP IN LONDON.
Some weeks ago my much loved father and I skipped along to embrace possibly one of the greatest dialogue driven plays we have seen together in years.
With a cast of, funnily enough, twelve men, all playing jury service members in a murder trial in an American Court during the early 1950's. We the audience were collectively gripped by the gritty, at times sporadically sparse, at times elongated monologues delivered in a noticeably calm and fluid fashion. As was the movement more akin to a flock of geese floating through a pond than twelve angry men stomping about a stage. I blinked and the centre-stage long desk had silently, unnoticeably turned from lengthways to sideways. Robert Vaugh, a face I know well from his day's as Napolean Solo (Great name) in The Man From U.N.C.L.E (a 1960's american television series) shuffled, and yes I do literally mean shuffled about the stage remaining largely silent. But my, how his presence radiated throughout the theatre. All eyes were on him. Where on the stage is he? What is he doing? Not a lot largely. Took a loo break, washed his hands - I believe this is known as 'business.' On this point: most the cast frequented the sink, toilet and water cooler quite a lot. Quite a lot of business. Business? Vaugh doesn't need business. Nor does he require a ream of monologues, he is within his very fibres, a solid time-served man of words. Remaining seated at the table, after his loo break of course, silently scribbling notes before coming out with mostly one line nuggets of gold, like, 'Maybe he wanted to be noticed?'
As the play climaxed, perhaps rather unsurprisingly, most the men originally . . . no wait, that would be a spoiler. And like Agatha Christie's The MouseTrap, I personally feel I should respect the privacy of the conclusion so as it remains a luxury of those that are seated in the audience to know.
Until we meet again through the page, I hope this finds you in good health and a happiness,
Warmly Yours
Peace Friends X
RJ Wardle
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