A Wrap on Felafel

I had planned oh-so-many in-depth, behind-the-scenes, special-extras type of posts about He Died With a Felafel in His Hand.

Then the whole thing sort of sprang up, and before you know it, it was October 6 and the whole bally show was done and dusted.

It wasn't that the production and performance week was a blur; more that it would've been nice to slow time down just a little. Just a smidge. Just a fraction.



The adventure began, of course, about six months ago, when I confirmed production dates with the Brisbane Powerhouse.

It continued throughout the warm winter, rehearsing every Saturday, then ramping it up through September.

On Sunday September 29 we bumped into the beautiful Visy Theatre, following it up with rehearsals all day Monday and Tuesday, before the Tuesday evening preview.

Having an audience was a blessed relief and a joy. Their energy fed us, boosted us, made us work harder and hit our comedic beats even better. The actors revelled in their roles, and I delighted in watching them squeeze every last laugh, giggle, groan, howl and squeal out of their audiences.

We then had wonderful houses all week, including sell-outs on both Friday and Saturday nights.

So many people supported the show by coming along. I'm yet to get all the final figures, but at this stage I'm confident I will make the money I invested back. That makes me so proud: of Brisbane theatre-goers, of the cast and crew, and even of myself.

The experiment has given me some faith that I can apply myself to fairly ambitious projects and, with the help of good people, make them happen. Don't get me wrong - I have many skills still to acquire. I remain too easily stressed and upset when problems arise, and some of my technical and budgeting knowledge needs to be improved.

But still, it all got done in the end. So while I'm not launching into another theatre show straightaway, who knows what the future might hold?

Dressing room wig shenanigans.

Finally, I'd like to throw up some links to people who helped along the way:

Author John Birmingham, obviously - his Cheeseburger Gothic website now also comes complete with a podcast.

My friends Dan and Aurelie Beeston let me abuse their talents in the way of graphic design and photography. Do check them out at CivicNet and Elysee Photography. Their level of talent should be illegal.

Heath Carney generously took fantastic production shots of the show; you can see them and more at his website.

Despite my renovations being finished, my builder Craig generously donated his time and expertise to help build our set pieces. I would highly recommend Corella Construction.

The lovely Heena from The Blue Lotus Retreat came and gave the cast massages and professional make-up on our final day. She is just a gorgeous lady, and I can recommend her if you're looking for a beauty treat.

Ben Tantari is a local Brisbane filmmaker who put together our teaser trailer.

One of our actors, Michael Fitzhywel, is a talented artist who has cool designs for sale on Red Bubble.

Another actor, Elizabeth Best, runs a great movie review site called Super Quick Reviews.

Thank you, once again, to everyone who supported the show. Thank you so much.

Lying on the Visy Theatre stage.
Didn't want to leave.

Lost in Translation, or, Chinese Whispers

I have thousands of pictures in my iPhone's camera roll. Occasionally I try to go through and delete batches of them, but still they mount up.

During one such attempted clean-out while standing in a queue this weekend, I found shots from my trip to China earlier this year, which I had always intended to form into a hopefully-interesting-sort-of-post.

One of my favourite things about visiting China is seeking out odd products, and even better, the mistranslation of product descriptions into English. I think it's because Chinese is a very visual, descriptive language, and the transplanting of those concepts into English is either innately pretty or hilariously off-putting.

For example: These wax strips are described as "Depilate Sacrificial Paper", and when you think about, that kind of makes sense. You are, after all, offering up your unwanted body hair to the temple of beauty. Note: these strips work best on human body limbs, so forget about waxing your ... cat.

Here's a helpful product to stop the waste plastic bags create. My favourite is the pleading catchphrase at the bottom of the pack.

This one was for some sort of music festival. I've got no idea what's going on.

A still picture doesn't really do justice to the "Shrilling Chicken". When you squeezed this toy, it let off a sound that can only be described as a busty soprano being steamrolled by a boiling kettle.

I'm pretty certain the "There are no ugly women only lazy women" line is credited to Coco Chanel. But who came up with "Clothes is women's face job", Buffalo Bill?

If memory serves, these didn't taste half bad.

And then there was this one. Again, no idea.  I almost bought this one, because I wanted to try to work out exactly what it was. My best guess was an ice-block mould in the shape of the dog turd. But I chickened out of forking over my hard-earned yuan for it because of the SWASTIKA EYEBALLS. I just didn't want to answer odd questions at Customs on the way back into Australia.

These next ones were my favourite. We took a day trip out to the Mutianyu section of the Great Wall, and our driver decided the best way to entertain us on the hour-long commute would be to whack on his pirated copy of noted singer Sarah Brightman's 2008 opus A Winter Symphony.

I can say that it was pirated because - beyond the obvious joke - the English lyrics to the songs were fantastically wrong. As in, I could sit here for days and not come up with a funnier match of song title and actual lyrics.

That's the lyrics of Jumpin' Jack Flash by the Rolling Stones, NOT Ave Maria. And it's followed by I Believe in Father Christmas, which bears a striking resemblance to Sisters Are Doing It For Themselves. As I said, comic fricking genius.

But the best was this one - and sadly I don't know the name of the song, but Canto Della Terra sure got a lot fruitier than Ms Brightman probably intended.

Have you got any good examples of strange products and crazy translations?

Felafel on Film

Today marks three weeks - three weeks! - until the curtains come up on He Died With a Felafel in His Hand at the Brisbane Powerhouse.

Of course we're in the Visy Theatre, which is a thrust stage, so there are no curtains, but you get the general idea.

I must admit this date makes the situation quite stark - while I'm happy with our progress so far there is a metric truckload of work still to be done.

In the meantime, please enjoy this wonderful Felafel taster film, courtesy of the very talented and very generous Ben Tantari.

You can book tickets to He Died With a Felafel in His Hand online now, or check out the backstory of how it all came about.

Thunderclap

My father retired recently. He's still working the odd job as a marine pilot, but he now finds himself with a whole lot more spare time to spend at the pokies beating The Man at his own game.

I am being cheeky here of course; my Dad is the eminently sensible kind of person who insists I put extra money into my superannuation, and so I'm sure his trips to the Kedron-Wavell Services Club are kept entirely within affordable means.

One of his retirement gifts was an Apple TV which, being a gadget nut, he had set up within 24 hours of receiving it.

I popped over this evening for dinner and to welcome my Gran, the esteemed Queen Pat herself, into town on her latest visit. She assures me that her arrival from Vanuatu was all about seeing family, and absolutely nothing to do with the recent seizure of 750kg of cocaine in Port Vila.

Après le dîner, my Dad busted out the YouTube app on the Apple TV.

"Oh! I have the YouTube," said my Gran cheerfully, still impressed with her recently installed broadband WiFi connection. "I've been watching Yes, Minister, and The Two Ronnies."

Gran picked at her cuticles as she told me about the YouTube - that's Yoo Tyoob in her English accent, not the ocker Yew Chube - and I picked at my cuticles as I listened.

The family resemblance is strong.

Dad found the clip he was looking for, and it started playing.

"The Grom!" he yelled triumphantly.

"The what? Your Daddy was on the Grom," said Gran.

"Yes, look, here it is!"

My grandfather, Maciej, was an officer in the Polish Navy, part of the section that escaped after the German invasion and put themselves under Allied command.

Ellouise

This is a genuinely nice story.

I met Ellouise at a pub in Brisbane's west two weeks ago. She was hosting a function to raise money for a Ride to Conquer Cancer event she was due to take part in the following weekend.

She'd been expecting sixty guests. Only ten came.

I felt desperately sad for Ellouise. I've had that horrible sinking feeling when you've planned something, made an effort, tried so hard to capture people's attention... and fallen short of what you wanted to achieve.

The Most Amazing Shop

It wasn't always The Most Amazing Shop.

"Originally it was Carol's Shop," says Carol, owner and manager, cutting plastic-covered sea shells from protective foam wrapping and placing them onto the counter in front of her.

"But people kept coming in and saying 'This is the most amazing shop!', so eventually I changed the name.

"People come in here for something odd. Something different."

The Most Amazing Shop delivers.

BATTLE PIG!

I can't remember exactly why the phrase 'Battle Pig' entered my mind, but I know I was mucking about with my mate Dazzler, who I tease relentlessly about his workout schedule.

See, even right then, there was no need for me to mention the fact that Dazzler loves his gym like a drowning alcoholic loves an oxygen cocktail.

But he *is* Dazzler and he *does* like to pump iron, so it must be mentioned.

Dazzler and I were spitballing on some other topic when the phrase 'Battle Pig' arose.

I just loved the mental picture of a really cute, bubblegum pink porker, wearing an army helmet and carrying a gun. It soon progressed from 'Battle Pig' to 'BATTLE PIG' to 'BATTLE PIG!'.

Problem is, I can't draw, so it took a while before I could corner some artists, thrust paper and pencil into their hands, and demand they bring BATTLE PIG! to cartoony life.

But now, here he is, in all his majesty:

Thanks to my friends Paul (drawing) and Dan (colouring) for donating their skills.

Now I think BATTLE PIG! needs to have his own comic. Or a meme. Or at the very least, some high quality puns. Feel free to add your own suggestions, create your own situational artwork for BATTLE PIG!, make tribute films, etc etc. Let's make BATTLE PIG! the new bee's knees.

I hope you all had a great Christmas, and I wish you a happy, BATTLE PIG!-y 2013

An Apple in Burma

I thought I'd share this series of photographs I captured in Bagan, Myanmar (Burma) on the 15 October.

We were waiting to watch a local performance, and my father was using his iPad as a camera. This young lad, in his father's arms, had lovely responses to whatever my Dad was showing him on the screen.

As a side note, the yellow-ish paint on the boy's face is thanaka, the natural beauty product/sunscreen/mosquito repellant that is still worn by the vast majority of Burmese women and children (and some men, but not so much). It comes from wood of a tree related to the lemon tree, ground down and mixed with water to form a paste. The sensation is rather like having a clay mask on your face - when I rinsed my trial application off, my cheeks were left rather red and blotchy! The most common application of thanaka is to the cheeks in a sweeping motion with a finger, similar to how Western women might apply blush. But there don't seem to be any rules - it's also applied to the nose, forehead, the whole face sometimes - and it can also be shaped into patterns like leaves or love hearts on the cheeks.

I rather liked one of the other reasons it's worn commonly - it's seen as a sign of mental health. If a women doesn't take the few minutes every morning to apply her thanaka, it's seen as sign something could be wrong. As village life is still the predominant way of living in Myanmar, there's no doubt your friends and family would follow that up.

Pagoda WiFi FTW

God damn I love the modern world.

Here I am, in Old Bagan, a 42km square world heritage site containing 2237 pagodas, stupas and temples... And there's a free wifi hotspot.

The Irrawaddy River 'Boomer Cruise' as I've come to call it is progressing nicely. There's a punishing schedule of relaxing, eating and sight seeing everyday. It's a bit unfair - for at least one meal a day I actually have to choose my main course. That requires actually making a decision. And it's all delicious. Talk about a white man's burden.

Jokes aside, this is a beautiful country with lovely people. Bagan is an absolute wonder, rivalling Angkor in Cambodia in scale and beauty. (Similar eras, but different styles).

In the tourist attractions like this, the touts and spruikers are relentless. Getting through them to a temple entrance is like running a trinket gauntlet. My best strategy is ignoring them, but I feel horrible doing it. They are tying to make a living and nothing is very expensive (although I do have limited backpack space).

Yesterday we visited a couple of local villages, reasonably untouched by fat white westerners like me and the Boomers. The kids scrambled about us, holding our hands, laughing and playing. One little girl refused to let me out of her sight. She even grabbed my camera strap whenever it slipped from my shoulders. 'Watch out, watch out,' is what she seemed to say.

I felt like a pudgy Angelina Jolie.

The ship's crew ask that you don't give gifts, so the children don't come to expect presents from tourists. Nevertheless, I felt so guilty receiving this fandom, I felt I had to do something. So I may have started a high five craze, and the old 'breaking thumb' trick got a good workout. I wished to Buddha that I'd learnt how to pull things from behind people's ears.

I tell you what else happens on a Boomer cruise - early nights. Everyone's in their cabin by 9:30pm, and as yet nobody's been keen on my suggestion of a Texas Hold'Em tournament.

Maybe somebody can teach me bridge.

I bought an iPad before I left Australia, but all I loaded onto it before I went was True Blood Season 5. That's about old people too, in a way, so I guess it's kind of appropriate.

Still, I am getting a fair amount of sleep, which is grand.

Ok, WiFi is fading. Mingalabar.

Watch This Face

I took in an almighty dinner and show while in Beijing last week, which left me not only full to bursting with Peking duck and mandarin fish and pork pancakes and gungbao chicken, but confident in exactly why the Chinese pick up so many gold medals come Olympic time.

The performance that accompanied the meal was a display of precision timing, athleticism and skill. For example, is it any wonder that China trumps the field in rhythmic gymnastics, when this woman did some ribbon twirling - with dough?

I don't recall competitive tea-drinking at the London Games, but there's got to be some reason why this fella has trained so hard to become a flamboyant Nespresso machine:

I thought alcohol reduced your motor skills, but it turns out not for this bloke:

And finally, nearby, there was a cat sitting on cigarettes, while other animals watched on:

OK fine, that wasn't part of the show, but HOW CUTE IS THAT PHOTO NO REALLY YOU GUYS LOOK IT'S A CAT SITTING ON CIGARETTES.

Anyway, the big showstopper at the restaurant turned out to be the Face Changer. The commentary was in Chinese, but I think his name was Yoshi. And he was AWESOME. Seriously cool stuff.

Now, I've yet to Google this particular art form and find out spoilers, so I'm theorising two possibilities on how it's done.

1) Sleight of hand. The masks are hidden about his costume, perhaps magnetised, and just attach onto his face when he whips his clock across.

2) Gadgetry. The masks are on a rollback springy type device hidden in his hat, and through the use of some sort of button, he's able to shift them up and away as needs be.

How do you think the Face Changer does it?

Changing Times

I don't really believe in fate, destiny, kismet, etc, but as someone said to me recently, sometimes things have a way of falling into place nicely.

I'm happy to announce that I have been appointed the new entertainment reporter for Fairfax digital paper brisbanetimes.com.au.

The move comes after nearly seven years with 4BC/4BH radio, which became part of the Fairfax group in 2007. It means that I am staying in 'the family' as it were, which is great because my radio newsroom colleagues are pretty special people (even if they are obsessed with Big Brother and Carly Rae Jephson).

The opportunity came as a surprise, and given my interest in the arts, is a great fit. I look forward to features and other longer-form writing that the print form allows, and developing my knowledge and skills in a new area. Plus the new colleagues are fairly incredible too (even if they are obsessed with soccer and The Bold and the Beautiful).

Having said that, I will miss the state political beat that I have been walking for two years now (and on-and-off for two years before that). But the challenge ahead of me is irresistible, and anyway, you can never truly escape politics!

The timing is quite remarkable; I had already booked five weeks of leave, starting this Saturday, when I jet off to China with The Wah for two weeks.

I'll return for a week in October, just in time to host what promises to be a blockbuster show - the Theatresports Grand Championships. Produced by ImproMafia, it will feature teams from Sydney, Melbourne, Canberra and of course Brisbane, battling it out to see who can be the most captivating and entertaining on stage.

Saturday 6 October. One show only.

As an aside, I have in fact been pondering potential conflicts of interest within my new role. After all, ImproMafia and the Brisbane Arts Theatre are great loves of mine. However, I've always fully disclosed my role with these companies. I also think a conflict of interest is more pertinent when you  actually MAKE money: ImproMafia is not-for-profit; the community-based BAT scrapes by with only its income from box office sales (no government or corporate support). I'm always keen to promote these companies; but I'm always keen to promote the live arts in general. Hopefully what my own experiences will give me is some insight and contacts within the sector.

After that, I head to Burma of all places, travelling with my parents and ever-impressive Gran.  In fact, the old girl and I will be sharing a cabin during part of the trip downriver from Mandalay. It'll be just like that time she was in the WRNS in World War Two (with less vomiting, hopefully).

After those adventures are done and dusted, I will start with brisbanetimes.com.au in late October.

It really is shaping up to be a lovely spring.

Thanks to everyone who reads girlclumsy.com - I can't wait to share even more tales of clumsiness with you.

Critically awesome

I wanted to share some wonderful pictures with you, courtesy of Kris Anderson.

After each performance of Critical Hit, Kris would ask for our performers to stay back after the show had finished, and let him take pictures of them in costume, and in different poses.

He was planning something, but none of us were exactly sure what.

A few days ago, he finished his secret project - which was to turn our fun improvised comedy show into something altogether more epic.

It's just amazing, isn't it? You can see our "real life" players just off to the right of centre, with the Games Master Billy (in the green shirt). Behind them are their characters: Nameless, the thief; Ky the warrior; and Melcor the wizard. To the left is an array of other characters that featured throughout the season. In the background, you can see the outline of part of the Critical Hit Map of Ages, that grew each night as we explored a different part of the world.

Impro is such a transient thing; it's lovely to be able to have images like this to really remind oneself - yeah, that was a thing I did. We're even looking at getting prints done, which will be lovely.

Next up from ImproMafia is our take on the classic 1001 Nights. All of our shows this year have had key images, featuring one of our performers. For this one, I got to dress up in genie pants and veil to portray the story-teller Scheherazade. Kris, in a creative masterstroke, decided to do some composite moon work, boost some colours, and so:

An Arabian Night will be Sunday 2 September, 7:30pm at the Brisbane Arts Theatre. Tickets $12, and you can grab them at the door. 

And while I'm talking all things BAT - make sure you head up there to see The Body Snatcher, a spine-tingling gothic thriller directed by the one and only Wah.

You can also head over to Facebook and like Kris Anderson's photography page.

D20 Destruction

Critical Hit wrapped up last night; thanks to everyone who came along to support the show and bestow their laughs on the performers.

If you didn't make it along, you may not have realised that our set piece was a giant twenty-sided die, known in role-playing parlance as a "D20".

It wasn't actually a full die, but the facade gave a pretty good appearance of solidity. I say "appearance", because we had to dismantle it after the final performance:

To be honest, the destruction had begun earlier, during the show, when I was playing a destructive demonic creature known as a "Magic Moose-ile". Left onstage to run riot (narratively appropriate, of course), I realised that we didn't need the D20 anymore. So I jumped into the space behind it and started kicking it out from within (which is why it's already half broken in the video above).

I must say I really loved doing that. There's something very satisfying in destroying something in the full knowledge that there are no repercussions for doing so. The set would've been broken up anyway; I just did it in a speedier, more flamboyantly violent way.

We also finished our Map of Ages! Six different locales within the world of Delphar, as the lands of the Critical Hit universe came to be known.

Original map outline by Dan Beeston
Locale art by Paul of Ace Comics & Games

And finally, I'd like to share this captivating character montage by our musician/photographer extraordinaire, Kris Anderson:

Pretty darn amazing, and just as entertaining that Dungeons and Dragons!

You can check out more about ImproMafia here. As always, I'm very proud of this company - full of good people with great ideas and brilliant stage presence. Thank you all again!

On writing plays & role-playing

For years, I've been meaning to write a one-act play and enter the Brisbane Arts Theatre Drama Festival.

Every July it comes around, and every July it passes me by. Lack of time, lack of ideas, lack of any real knowledge about how South-East Queensland's festival circuit works.

Not this year.

The deadline for entries was June 30. That day, I dropped in my entry form and $35 entry fee. I even wrote down the name of my play: Downsize.

What I did NOT include was the script. Because I didn't have one.

Luckily for me, I know peeps up at the BAT, and I was able to bully convince them I would have a script ready by the festival, three weeks' hence. If I didn't and had to withdraw... well, I'd lose the $35. That deadline and mighty cash risk was enough to scramble my journalist brain into action.

The first hurdle was finding a second actor. After spending a week in text-message talks about whether I could just do it myself, which would allow me to, you know, improvise a fair chunk of it (honestly, scripts are for wimps), I was unequivocally told that there HAD to be at least two people in the play (not just me in a series of wigs), and that festival judges could deduct points if you veered off script too much.

So I HAD to write something. And I HAD to get a second actor.

I solved the second problem first by sending up the Elizabeth Best signal. I've known Lizzie for years, and many readers may remember her star turns in my productions of The Tasmanian Babes Fiasco and How To Be A Man. She's talented, clever, has great comic timing and is incredibly stylish, a key component for character I needed her to play. Thankfully she turned out to be just crazy enough to sign on for the task of learning a script and blocking in less than two weeks.

The first problem - writing a script - took a little longer to resolve. I'd had this idea for a two-handed comedy about an extreme diet that ends up producing a very weird side effect kicking around in the old noggin for a while. Finally I forced myself to start cranking it out. Unusually, I did this by moving my typing location to the couch, rather than the messy desk I usually set my laptop on. I cranked out the first act of the play in about three hours on a Wednesday night.

I sent it off to Liz with a note saying "Just so you know it's not all in my mind". When I received a text from her the next morning saying she loved it, I was chuffed. I finished the second half off on the Saturday, then took it all around to Liz's place for a rehearsal. I was encouraged by her laughter as we read through the script. That's always a good sign, particularly when you've been writing and you're tired and you can quite work out if a joke is funny anymore. Or was funny in the first place.

By day Liz works as an editor, and these skills came in very handy after that first read-through. She offered some great advice on how to ramp up the tension between our two characters, and I was able to rewrite sections to better effect.

We compared diaries and worked out another two times we could meet up to rehearse. Monday, then Thursday, the night before our allocated performance time on Friday 20 July. In between then, we crammed lines.

On Friday night, we turned up for our first-ever Drama Festival play.

When I submitted the entry form, there was a section asking for the name of our performance group. I had no idea what to call us. I looked at the slightly embarrassing form, with my name listed under "Playwright", "Director" and "Performer". Gawd, I thought. I don't have a name for this group. It's just my stupid vanity project.

BOOM.

As we went over our props and starting getting ready, we got a bit nervous. Would we remember our lines? Would the audience laugh? Would we get punished for not making the 30 minute minimum run time requirement?

In the end, as I've said so many times before theatrical productions, you just have to go out and f*** that puppy (Don't hate me, animal lovers, it may be cruel but it's succinct). So we did.

In a lovely gesture, a bunch of our friends had showed up to see us. I was incredibly grateful for that, because they were taking a chance on something that could very well be a steaming pile of unf***able puppy vomit.

Thankfully, they seemed to enjoy it! Liz and I both remembered our lines, and the audience seemed amused by both our back-and-forth banter and our slapstick physical gags (which included me eating a bunch of weird things; and Liz spilling milk all over herself). We got some lovely feedback from audience members and the adjudicator, Xanthe, who suggested we submit the show to other festivals around the South-East corner.

The festival continued, but I couldn't get to see much more of it, because of rehearsals and set construction work for Critical Hit, ImproMafia's newest season. Did I mention that I was rehearsing that while writing/rehearsing this little play? Well, I was. Yes, I'm that awesome/a complete idiot.

However, I did get back up there for the Sunday night prize-giving ceremony. And lo and fricking behold:

We won Third Best Play! Out of 12 eligible plays in the Open Section, we came in third! Very surprising and quite delightful. I also won an Adjudicator's Award - for what, I'm not entirely sure!

I must say a huge thank you to Elizabeth for coming onboard. She's now writing for a great new website called Super Quick Reviews, which I strongly recommend you check out. I'm so pleased she agreed to take a big leap into the unknown with me. We're hoping to put "Downsize" on again at the Sunshine Coast Theatre Festival from 17-19 August.

Until then, I'm back into the unscripted world with the SENSATIONAL new season from ImproMafia: "Critical Hit". It's totally inspired by geek culture - role-playing, D&D, high fantasy, Game of Thrones, World of Warcraft, you name it. We're doing SIX shows over two weeks - starting TONIGHT!

You can check out more and buy tickets here. As always - thanks to everyone who comes along and supports what I do onstage. Your time is honestly the greatest gift and compliment a performer can ever hope for. Your laughter is a sweet, sweet bonus.

Endorsed by Zookeepers

Do you ever picture in your head what the coolest-looking version of yourself would be?

In my head - and in my dreams - I get around the place like a cross between James Bond and Xena. Effortlessly stylish, but powerful and deadly, like cobra tie. The reality generally involves untucked shirts, tatty scarf-wearing and shoes ill-suited to my bizarrely shaped feet. I am a proponent, it must be said, of "buffoon chic".

Which is why I was more shocked than anyone to see that while playing for Queensland in the 2012 Theatresports National Championships, I may have accidentally combined the Xena/Bond asthetic to look the coolest I will probably ever look in my life.

Note to self: more corsets.

I had the privilege of being one-third of the Queensland team for the competition, and had even lightened my hair to better match Wade and Tom, and fit in with our fascist/steampunk "Team Hindenburg" concept.

The June Dally-Watkins modelling course
I did when I was 14 finally paid off.

The night featured teams from Victoria, New South Wales, Western Australia and the ACT. The performers are all top improvisers, with many of them achieving legend status. It was an absolute joy to share the stage with them; to jump into their scenes when required; and to rely on them to support us - in one scene, literally, when we chose to do a physical challenge where our feet couldn't touch the ground, forcing the others to carry us around the stage!
 
Our very first game was an "I Love You" scene, and the suggestion our gorgeous MC Rebecca de Unamuno received was "giraffe".

Now the Enmore Theatre is fairly big, and there were around 1000 people in the audience. Sometimes in a space that big, your brain just goes a bit blank and you can't think of something sensible or clever to say - if you can say anything at all. That's kind of what happened as Wade and Tom left the stage and I looked out at the lights. I didn't really have anything in my brain, so I launched into my dodgiest giraffe impression. I used the heels of my boots to shape a lope across the stage in that languid, giraffe-y style. I actually really love giraffes, and always like staring at them whenever I visit zoos. So in between lopes, I stopped and gave my lips a big lick, sticking my tongue out as far as I could.

I must have been out on the stage by myself for a minute, not speaking, just... attempting to be a giraffe. The audience seemed to enjoy it; and the scene got more fun when Wade came on as a lion who just wanted to eat the giraffe. After some discussion, we resolved to put the long-running war between giraffes and lions to one side to take on our true enemies, poachers. Wade threw out the brilliant line "But our alliance cannot just be political, it must be sexual," prompting an "I love you" and a big giraffe-y tongue pash. It was a really simple, charming scene.

Lion. Giraffe. Art.

At the end of the night, we were shocked and amazed to be announced the 2012 Champions. It was extraordinary. This sounds like forty-two types of bullcrap but I honestly wasn't expecting it. So I think we were all very chuffed!

Woot!

As we returned to the stage after the show wrapped up to have our photos taken with the Championship Belt, four young women in the middle of the auditorium starting yelling and waving at me. I couldn't hear what they were saying, so I ran down the steps at the front of the stage and up the aisle to meet them. They were all in their 20s or 30s, still carrying drinks, obviously not yet finished their night.

"We all work at Taronga Zoo!" they cried as I reached them. "Your giraffe was SPOT ON!"

It was one of the best compliments I've ever received. Girl Clumsy: Officially Endorsed By Zookeepers.
 
You can see a full gallery of the show at the website of photographer Stephen Reinhardt, and a special thanks to Stephen for letting me use some of his images here. I must also thank the wonderful Impro Australia for all their support, and for putting on a professional and energetic show.

Wade and I returned to Brisbane around lunchtime on Sunday, to prepare for his show Jorogumo at the Brisbane Arts Theatre.

I'm really pleased with how this performance went - based on Japanese monsters and fairytales, I thought it was a wonderful format with shades of light and dark.

Wearin' whiteface and kimonos. That's how we roll.
Thanks to Paul Harris for the picture.

Life is swings and roundabouts though, as I spent much of Monday and Tuesday this week pondering whether I'm actually any good at impro at all. That's not me trying to fish for compliments, it really isn't. I think you're often your worst critic, but in my case, I felt slightly undeserving of the Nationals win, and felt like I should have done bolder work in Jorogumo.

I'm hoping this feeling is a good one though; the day I think I know everything about impro and can't improve is probably the day I should give it up.

Our next big show is on the Gold Coast! That's right, we're doing a one night only Theatresports show at The Arts Centre Gold Coast on Saturday 2 June. If you live near the coast, I highly recommend the show - tickets are only $20 and we'll even bring down the Championship Belt to show off just how good ImproMafia really is!

Four Legs Good

It's nice when a fairly selfish desire turns out to produce quite a happy day for many people.

Video by animal and heavy metal lover Andrew Saltmarsh.
You can read his take on the day here.

I received so many thank-yous from people today, that you'd think I'd have done something impressive. But all I did was book a baby animal farm... so I could play with baby animals for a few hours. As we set up the enclosure this morning, and I sat on the grass with goats clamouring over me, I called out to The Wah, entreating him to come in and play.

"Someone has to take charge out here. You've already lost all cognitive function."

And he was right. They had me at "Here are the piglets."

You complete me.

I think it was the enthusiasm with which others embraced the idea of the Baby Animal Farm that made it something truly impressive. By the time the petting zoo officially opened at 10:30 Saturday morning, there was already a decent gathering of 15 or so. That swelled over the following hour; at its peak, I reckon around 100 people were milling around Hardgrave Park, enjoying the picture perfect autumn sunshine, the sausages and cupcakes, and of course, the calm and happy animals.

It was lovely to welcome the RSPCA Qld community outreach volunteers on site as well, selling fundraising merch and raising awareness about their excellent Adopt-a-Pet program.  This was enhanced in no small way by the addition of two beautiful Irish Wolfhound puppies, both up for adoption.

I'd say I knew or recognised perhaps half of all the people who attended; a testament, I think, to the power of a charming idea and social media. It wasn't so much a case of the Horse Whisperer, as the Hey-There's-Two-Shetland-Ponies Shouterer.

But whether I knew them or not, it was the surprising sweetness of a communal affair that proved the most satisfying. A whole lot of people just chilling out and having a nice time doing something a little different. Something that just happened to turn the cuteness right up to 11.

Which one of these creatures is not acting the goat?

The money aspect was icing on the cake. You might remember from my original post that I spent the $700 required to hire the petting zoo, hoping to recoup costs through a "Choose Your Own" donation strategy. With general donation entries, plus $2 a pop Shetland pony rides and $1 cups of feed - I wound up making $400 profit. All of that will go to charity; I'm planning $200 each to RSPCA Qld and Best Friends Rescue.

I'm starting to get reports about just how generous some people were, and it's enough to make one come over all heart-bursty. I am very, very grateful to you all.

Props.

I mentioned above how the real success of the day was its true community feel, and that was due to recruiting eager local small businesses, non-profits, charities and volunteers.

I can highly recommend Brisbane Pony Parties if anyone else in South-East Queensland is looking to hold their own animal farm. Sandra was professional, helpful, fun and incredibly generous with her animals. You could tell the critters are well looked after, and their behaviour was delightful. I dubbed one of the piglets "Hyper Piggie" due to his exuberance in the paddock, and the only roughness I saw were a few sly kicks aimed at him by Missy the month-old calf.

A bunch of dedicated Brisbane Arts Theatre members ran the tasty sausage sizzle. There are some great productions on at the theatre at moment: Rosencrantz and Guildenstern Are Dead, as well as Pinocchio for children. Coming up in June is the hugely popular comedy musical Avenue Q. The BAT gets no government or corporate support, so when you buy a ticket and see a show there, you truly are supporting a community organisation that gives creative people space to perform and develop skills.

RSPCA Qld has been great to me during this whole adventure; and again, I would urge anyone looking to get a pet to consider adoption. Thanks to their community outreach volunteers for sharing their time - and their puppies! - with us.

Greg and Dan - aka science podcasters from Smart Enough to Know Better - came up early with me to help set up, and along with the delightful Simm and Sarah, did the bulk of the collections work. A number of others took turns holding the fort so others could play/leave. Thanks to you all.

Kate Rohde rose to my challenge to bake cupcakes for the event admirably. Kate's developing her own small boutique cake business, and her delicious wares quickly sold out. Congratulations, Kate.

Thanks must go to my electrician, who's been waiting on the $700 I owe him for installing new lights for a few weeks now. Turns out I found another use for it; and I didn't feel too bad because you know you messed me around a bit (that's a whole other post right there). The good news is, I recouped the cash! So you'll get your pound of flesh next week, freshly laundered through the goodwill of punters and goodwool of animals.

Most importantly, I'd like to thank EVERYONE who took some time out and came along, and who were so brilliant in spreading the word. Your enthusiasm and kindness means a whimsically foolish idea I had turned out to bring more smiles to my face than I could have imagined; and even better, a bit of extra dosh for animal welfare groups, a very good cause indeed. 

Finally, it would be remiss of me to not credit that person who mistakenly sent me that email with quotes for a baby animal farm. That one action set in motion a chain of somewhat fantastical decisions that resulted in today's amazing experience. Most unwanted emails are spam... this one actually proved to be real ham.

The Trouble With Bochenski

Growing up with the surname "Bochenski" meant a constant battle against mispronunciation and mispelling. One day I'm going to write a one-woman stand-up comedy show called "The 'C' Is Silent", which will act as a stern warning to those who would CHOOSE to give their children stupidly spelt names, particularly first names.

But it seems this is not a modern problem.

In Vanuatu this week to work on the memoirs of my esteemed Grandmother, Queen Patricia Zhindhu Khambatta Bochenska (the "Queen" being the only made-up bit), I have discovered proof of the English-speaking world's inability to handle this simplest of Polish names.

My Gran married Maciej Tadeusz Bochenski in Plymouth on April 28, 1948.



Pat and Maceij in the centre; the woman in the enormous fur coat
to the right of my Gran is her mother, Eva.
I suspect the woman knew how to make a statement.

The happy couple received a stack of congratulatory telegrams, which I discovered while snooping through Gran's album collection. They're lovely things, slips of yellowing paper, topped with the crown symbol of the Post Office, almost 64 years old to the day. But gee, they make for jolly reading.

It's somewhat heartwarming to think of all those confused exchanges at the Post Office, between well-wishers and telegram operators, struggling to work out if there's an extra "z".

I've discovered all sorts of other fun facts about my grandparents' wedding and first flush of marriage.

Gran stopped in at a bakery in Padstow, waiting for the change to Plymouth, to order the cake, as she'd heard there was a good bakery there. It turned out the baker had been a navy chef, and knew Gran when she was with the WRNS in Beirut. He made her a nice three-tiered cake.

My Gran and her mother took the 4 o'clock train from Plymouth back to London, so she could get "demobbed" from the WRNS. So there was actually no wedding night, and in fact, it would be FIVE months before they were actually reunited for a proper honeymoon. The merchant ship Grandad had got a job on changed its mind and refused to take Gran as well. So she returned to London to live with her mother, until she was eventually able to get a seat on a converted Lancaster bomber and fly four days across North Africa and the Middle East to join him in Bombay.

Grandad booked them a honeymoon in the hills near Bombay, where Gran had holidayed as a girl growing up during the Raj. While they were there, a devastating hurricane hit Bombay, sinking around 15 ships, including Grandad's. All their possessions, navy clothes, wedding gifts and more went down with it.

And BEST of all! When my Gran first met my Grandad and they began courting, he was known as Rocky. Apparently, the Polish mariner used to rock from side to side while standing. Perhaps it was his remarkable sea-legs getting used to land, who knows. But the whole time, she knew him as Rocky. It eventually dawned on her that she should probably ask him his real name, in order to, you know, pledge her life to his at the altar and all that. When did she finally do it?

Why, on their wedding day of course.

April 28, 1948. A day for getting married, and finally finding out your beloved's first name.