Happy St George's Day?

There seems to be a whole forced thing about why we should celebrate St George's day. Now I say we, but with a name like Hennegan, guess where I hail from!

It could be argued it's a xenophobic backlash! Ooo the Scottish can do their thing, the noo, and the Welsh and the Irish are all so... identifiable. But not we, the English. We mustn't upset anyone. National days are not for us. Surely, though, England to the other home nations is like a big and more successful elder brother. The bastard's always beating you, but you're stuck with him. Part of the family though, and so you're not going to give him an easy ride. We English, like a big and more successful elder brother, might not like the crap we take, but we still appreciate our siblings.
And while the Tories and right wing papers get hysterical about any perceived (and usually misreported) slight to our national identity - "they're not teaching about W.W. 2 anymore" (Wrong) "We can't mention the holocaust because it upsets the Muslims" (Wrong again) I actually find this kind of attitude sloppy and lazy.
Surely England stands for things greater than national costumes and food? Democracy, for instance. Magna Carta was a moment in the world, was it not? Is that arrogant? Possibly, but that's what I think being English is about. Not arrogance, but one of the reasons I've not yet applied for my Irish passport is that to my mind the quintessential thing about being English is that we shouldn't have to worry about visible markers in the sand (or the tabloid newspapers). Being English to me is being proud of my Bangladeshi neighbours who work all the hours God sends and have introduced my Birmingham neighbourhood to a new style of food. I don't mind St George's day, whoever he was! Its an excuse to say Happy National Day. But to my mind Being English should be about being passionate, but sensitive and most importantly comfortable with being English! Not getting arsey if other nations have better dances, or flags, or attitudes to national days. Being English should be about saying, yep, we are English, but you are your nationality, and as an Englishman, I embrace that. Not patronising, but happy in our English skins. And seeing other nations having a good time. I suppose the only other Big Good Reason for St George's day is commercial exploitation. But that's another story.

And if not, feck ya all ya English gits - me Dad's from Co Mayo!

Heh!

x

Super Tuesday!

God. What a day. Today (later) Rebs has a recall for a commercial. I will hear if the only source of finance left to keep Maverick Theatre alive is going to kill us or carry on with our application for funding and I have my first ever presentation to potential commercial theatre funders at the Actors Centre in London. Watch this space. We've run out of dosh, so tomorrow will be kill or cure.

Mmm. But at least I'm not Jade Goody.

No. I had no empathy with her either. But a loss is a loss, poor them.

The Great Unwashed, Comrade Thatcher.

It's election week at Uni. I had an interesting debate - almost a row - with one of the people standing this week. I told them in 1992 I had 2 posters in my window at home in Brum - one for a theatre production in the Billesley pub - the other for John Major and the Conservative Party. She was horrified.
"How can you create a theatre for the working classes on one hand and yet support the Tories?" she asked.
A bit polarised, perhaps and, eh? Working classes? This maybe proves two points.
1) I was instinctivly creating a theatre for people on a council estate who didn't attend theatre. i.e. MY people. Working class? No one told us that. I was born and grew up on that estate. We were not stupid, but theatre have never asked us directly to get involved. So we didn't. I set up Maverick. Maverick asked. People came. Simple really.

2) Politicians or the political parties didn't ask directly either. Or, for that matter, the unions.

So in an attempt to self educate, in 1991 I wrote to the Tories, Labour and the SDP ( I think it was then.) It was a short letter, asking why I should vote for them.

I heard nothing from Labour or the SDP. But I did have a letter AND a phone call from my local Tory candidate telling me why John Major, "one of us, a grammar school boy," deserved my support. Not the nation, but just little ol' me. And they sent a poster, asking me to display it. And so I did.

So the political grandees, the powers that be, can bicker on the BBC, contradict each other on Question Time. But never forget that ignorance and intelligence are NOT the same thing.

Comrade!
x

To Blog, or not To Blog, that is the Question. OR Does Twitter and Facebook fill the gap? The Answer? Fish.

I think I've already mentioned that when I started this blog it was really a way to promote Maverick Theatre, without having to pay for a web site. And in a sense now things have moved on web wise with the Mavs, this is less justifiable. And now I Facebook and Twitter, I wonder if this blog has any personal relevance. The whole argument about WHY people blog/Twitter/Facebook is another thing altogether. But in 1997 I kept a diary about the making of a play at the Billesley Pub in Birmingham. Called ' A Ghost of A Chance', it was unusual for me, because it was the first time I had directly worked with nationally well known artists for a protracted period of time. Before that my biggest 'star' had been Sir Derek Jacobi playing my non-physical Hamlet's Ghost. But that had just been an afternoons recording at the R.S.C. Thrilling, I have to say, but just an afternoon. But for 'Ghost' I'd won an award through the Royal National Theatre, it was packed with nationally known talent even though I was still completely unknown by the industry and the co-star of the play, which, by the way, I had written, was a young boy I would have to professionally look after. So it was a fairly unique experience all round for me. I'm not quite sure why, but I kept the diary. Johnnie S as ever acted as editor and proof reader and made it into a book and we sold copies during the week long run of 'A Ghost of A Chance' and it sold rather well.


What a blog looked like before the internet. Our book cover from 1997.


I only have one hard copy of the diary now - the others were all sold - and I'm not sure what happened to the original. As I couldn't afford a new computer, it probably now languishes on some hard drive in a poorer part of the middle east. And that's one reason for blogging. The industry seems to keep them archived. I think I have all the blogs I've written on this site. And that can only be a good thing. A positive Web 2.0 initiative which means if you're a poor little theatre git as I was with knackered second or third hand computers that crash and burn regularly, you at least will still have your musings on a hard drive somewhere. Yes, I know there's always paper, but if I want to print another copy of my 'Ghost' diary, someone is going to have to sit down and retype it all. If it was online, it'd be a copy and paste, thank you very much.

On the downside, I also recently came across a Word Document (pre Apple!) I kept after we finished 'Ghost'. And it's almost embarrassing in its content about things that mattered hugely at the time and about which now I never think. The boy from the play was a huge part of my life then. I was in loco parentis and legally responsible for him, but he's a grown married man now and although I might like to know what he's up to I rarely give him a thought, unlike - my God, 14 years! 14 years ago when he had a huge profile in my life.

But then I also found a casual entry I'd written about my Uncle Mike, who developed a terminal and terribly unfair brain tumour at 49 years old. We went to see him in Hospital and I'd completely forgotten how it was. My Mom, Mikes sister, was also suffering from cancer and was in a wheel chair. We raced then both down the corridors! It was saddening to read this account. But maybe that's the glory of the blog. More detail than Facebook or Twitter. Room to expand. Time to search the soul and lay it down. The fact that a blog is out there for all to see in one sense makes it a broadcast rather than a diary or journal, which have always been perceived as something intimate and secret.

Of course the real reason to blog lies with my fish. When I announced the death of my monster goldfish, people I didn't even know sent me comments. How cool and lovely and positively human is all that then.

So yeah, I might carry on blogging. Big Respect for da Fish!

Captain, my captain.

One of my cohort on my MA - do you see how easily I slip into the language of academia now, eh? - the hugely qualified Nick (all the males on the Creative Producing MA are called Nick. A masterstroke of organisation by the Course Director, Andrew), worked out that we probably only have about 8 academic weeks left at Uni. Which is amazing really, because we only started a few weeks ago. It is actually 6 months now, but that's my point. It only feels like a few weeks. But then a strange thing is starting to happen. Because it's a course for theatre producers, our final project, obviously, needs to be a production. Now I've been brimming over with productions for about 40 years, although many of them were played out with my Action Man and in my head. I only started making them professional theatre projects in 1992. So the thought of a production project feels quite natural. And really, the problems I am facing with the final production for my MA are no different to the problems I had BEFORE uni. It could be argued the problems are greater, because not only have I been doing the academic work necessary for the MA, I've also been keeping Maverick Theatre going, with Debs help. We launched a new youth theatre this year, for crying out loud. And I need to find £25k to get Maverick on its feet - the second half of the £50k I knew we'd need two years ago. Things are getting critically tight this month. And a friend said to me yesterday, what's changed? You came to Uni knowing how to produce. Have you learned any new core skills. And I suppose in one sense the answer is no. But one thing I have learned is the sheer bloody glory of education. Being in a place where one is forced to think critically and assess one's place in the world. Looking at ones contemporaries and being able to make decisions based on instinct supported by fact. (And learning to write one instead of you. One's Mother would be very proud.)
So although I couldn't put a finger on a specific new fact I've learned from the M.A. I feel different about everything and there are numerous skills that have been honed and developed by the course and the tutors. I will, I think, be in a much better place when I graduate, pass or not, than when I started.
Life changing then. That'll do, eh?

Not only developing my Producer skills, I also know where to buy the best value Salt Beef sandwich in the West End. I'm a lucky boy, being at Birkbeck.

What a twit. Er.

First I blogged a bit. Then I got a website for Maverick Theatre. Then, yippee, came Facebook. And now I twit on twitter.

It's addictive. I only have 5 followers. I only know 2 of them. But I follow 4 others. And I really find it fascinating what Stephen Fry has had for brekkie, or that my talented mate Will is writing a new Tweenie tour on his desk top comp instead of a laptop.

The other glory of Twitter is that you only have 149 characters I think it is, to write your post. So it releases a sweep of creativity. Give it a go. It's the 'new thing' at the moment, but as I said, addictive, perhaps because you can't spend that much time updating. And, of course, my 3g iPhone means I can twitter anywhere now. It is slowly dawning on me that I might be a bit of a gadget freak. My mac book pro is a thing of beauty, (referred to as my "mac mistress" by Rebecca, my real mistress) although I am trying to run two companies and pass a full time Masters degree so electronic help is definitely needed. But twitter can be disarming in its simplicity.

I have adopted the hugely imaginative twitter name of NHennegan. Go to twitter.com and give it a go!

Must go. I've another 149 characters to use up...

With one of these you can Twitter anywhere. Check out my iPint application. Not available from any iStore.

Straight in, no messing!

New Year and time to get stuck in. So I created a new commercial production company last night, incorporated it and opened a new business bank account today. It is the next step in my plan to conquer the world. Mmmbbwaahhhh! All I need now are 80 people with a £1000 prepared to take a gamble/have a bit of fun with Hancock's Finest Hour. Easy? I'm reminded of the fact I started Maverick in the last recession. Is it just me do you think...?