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The Daisy Chain
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Last Seen Blogs
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The Ocean at the End of the Lane | REVIEW
Thanks, as always, to the Bristol Mag for putting my words out there | https://www.atgtickets.com/venues/bristol-hippodrome/
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One Man And His Cow | Review
Living Spit’s latest musical-comedy is an accomplished show with proper heart.
Pigs might fly – and, according to Living Spit’s latest fun-filled musical, cows might talk.
One Man And His Cow tells the story of Trevor: a farmer whose life has, thus far, been of the pretty-standard-variety. He gets up, tends to his animals, and doesn’t think a huge amount more on the matter. Until he discovers that his prize cow Judy can talk, that is.
The pair form a fast friendship and begin to while away the hours chatting in Judy’s stall. But when Trevor is given just months to live, he’s faced with a problem: to which of his three offspring should he bequeath the farm – and more importantly, its talking cow? Unable to decide who is the most worthy, Trevor devises a cunning test. Dicken, Greg and Maureen (none of whom know about Judy's special talent) must each spend one day looking after their father’s prize cow – and the child by whom Judy feels the most pampered will receive their father’s farm. Unbeknownst to Trevor, however, the chatty bovine has an ulterior motive, and soon sets to work sabotaging his plan.
Told through slick, rhyming couplets and merry song, One Man doesn’t put a foot (and/or hoof) wrong. Ian Harris (Trevor) and Stu Mcloughlin (Judy, Dicken, Greg and Maureen: phew!) riff off of one another with ease and pitch perfect timing. Clocking in at one-hour-forty, One Man is fairly lengthy for a two-man job – but the script is handled with such confident hands that it remains buoyant throughout.
In a way, it’s odd that the show works quite so well as it does. Since when does a man frantically switching between a cow hat adorned with cardboard trinkets, a wig of golden curls and an oversized beanie get such a raucous audience response? Since now, apparently. Because the odds are firmly defied – and a piece of rather excellent theatre delivered. The whole thing is made all the more impressive thanks to Harris and Mcloughlin's musical ability. Whipping out a violin here and an accordion there, One Man moves to the beat of its own highly original rhythm.
One Man is a self-assured, immensely charming show that had my companion and I laughing in a must-hold-back-the-hoots sort of way. Good, silly, wholesome fun.
Old Man And His Cow is playing at The Bristol Old Vic until Friday 5 May. Tickets from £8, available at bristololdvic.org.uk/whats-on/one-man-and-his-cow.
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The Weather With You
I look up the weather where you are
I’m fucked
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Morning Windows | Daisy Game
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Character Splinters: 1
She used holiday allowance like she used Monopoly money - saving it and saving it and saving it - until eventually she was knocked out of the game altogether. And then she was a loser with all this money she couldn’t spend.
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Tiny Love Stories: 3
They met in the winter, around Christmas. Because of this, everything the did together was cold. They went on cold walks and drank cold pints in cold pubs; they wore layer on layer to stay warm. He ended it in the early spring. He would never know her in the warmer months. He would never know her wearing just a t shirt, no bra, and an old pair of shorts. He would never know her wearing just moisturiser and perfume. Never know her lying on the grass with her hand on her bare stomach and her legs tucked. He would never know her.
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Tiny Love Stories: 2
We’d been seeing each other for two months, and the small talk of getting to know one another was all but done. I knew where he worked and who he lived with; where he’d been to school, and whether he ate meat or not. When we met, I could see that he wasn’t sure what to say. There were more empty spaces in our conversation than there had been. But I didn’t mind so much - I was still interested to see how he functioned in the world. I liked to watch him order a coffee, or bump into a friend on the street. I wanted to do my weekly shop with him - or go to the laundrette with him. I didn’t even use a laundrette.
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sunday morning pancakes
photo | Daisy Game
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Artist's Retreats
Where: Hydra
Who: Leonard Cohen
Slow living is the name of the game on this sun-and-star soaked isle. Cars, scooters, and buses are a no-go : port-side donkeys await the bag laden visitor. As a fan of Hydra’s let’s-do-something-by-doing-nothing attitude, Leonard Cohen spent a good portion of his life kicking about the island. It’s no chore to follow in the singer-songwriter’s footsteps; many happy hours can be spent hiking the island (which clocks in at a wee 50km squared) in search of a rocky beach or cool pew of one of Hydra’s stone monasteries. And in the evening? Sip on some chilled Ouzo, pick at a bowl of olives - and keep an eye out for the ghost of Cohen: last seen singing with the donkeys...
📷Pottering through the olive groves in Greece | Daisy Game
Where: City Lights Bookstore and Publishers, San Francisco
Who: Alan Ginsberg
Whilst the Beat writers may have found their footing in Greenwich Village NYC, this bunch of disenfranchised youths (Diana Di Prima, Alan Ginsberg, Jack Kerouac etc) also spent time in the land of ‘no cultural advantage’ (!) : kicking the sidewalks of Los Angeles and San Francisco. A little grungy and anti-establishment-y, SF’s City Lights was an early Ginsberg backer – stepping in to publish the poet’s now-considered-seminal work, Howl. Today, the bookstore is still swaying to the rhythm of the written word, inviting visitors to indulge in both its history with the Beats, and in its present as a still-up-and-running seller. Calling all ‘angel headed hipsters’ out there - this is the one for you.
📷 Greek waters | Daisy Game
Where: Charleston, Sussex
Who: Bloomsbury Set
Virginia Woolf, Vanessa Bell, Duncan Grant - during the second world war years, the infamous clique retreated to the sisters’ Sussex farmhouse. It wasn’t anything luxurious – winters were notoriously icey, and there was no hot water to thaw sketching/writing fingers – but the creative-crew proceeded to transform their new home into an artist's wonderland. Walls were covered top to bottom with painted murals, furniture covered in velvet and roses trained to climb the garden trellis: it’s all pretty fabulous. Today, Charleston is open to visitors and hosts an annual Literary Festival - it’s surely the dream destination for any budding Bloomsbury enthusiasts.
Where: Aix En Provence
Who: Paul Cezanne
Fruit bowls, tree lined avenues and hot, hazy French houses : father of post-impressionist painting (...discuss) Paul Cezanne found inspiration in his home town of Aix. You can visit the ‘atelier de cezanne’ – where the painter worked from 1902 until his death four years late - and play an immersive game of spot the difference : lavender, crickets, shaded coffee tables, cobbled streets, warm red wine ... if you can spot it, Cezanne probably painted it.
📷 hot skies and green trees | Daisy Game
Where: Shakespeare and Co., Paris
Who: everyone?!
Established in 1920 by one Silvia Beach, Shakespeare and Co might just be The Ultimate in creatively conscious retreats. Acting as a kind of unofficial ‘Salon’ through the 20’s and 30’s, Beach’s store hosted the likes of Ernest Hemingway, Ezra Pound and James Joyce (yes, really!) The spirit of Beach’s hospitality lives on through (now in its second, relocated guise) Shakespeare and Co’s Tumbleweed Programme : in exchange for a few hours work in the shop, aspiring writers are welcome to tuck themselves into beds-amongst-the-bookshelves, and sleep in the shop free of charge. To think that a place like this exists is - in my humble and forever bookish opinion – proof of magic in the world.
Want to see this article laid up by yours truly? Click this link.
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Arnos Vale Cemetery: cracked tombstones & plump blackberries
Two truths and a lie : I love the smiths, I don’t love the smiths - and I love the smiths. There’s something about Morrissey’s fantastically pessimistic outlook which speaks to me now - as a fresh-out-of-uni graduate - in a way it never quite has before: heaven knows I’m miserable now.
Perhaps, then, my it's my new-found penchant for Cemetery Gate ( ‘I’ll meet you at the cemetery gates…Keats and Yeats are on your side, Wilde is on mine…’) that found me on a number 1 bus headed toward Arnos Value cemetery, Bristol this Sunday afternoon.
Saved from the money grabbing hands of private builders in the late 1980’s, this deathly destination is now stewarded by a group of guides and volunteers, and acts as a morose - but merry - community hub: hosting everything from dance and theatre events, to wedding ceremonies (!). Such is Arnos’ transformation from the neglected to the beloved, that it has become something of a Bristol must-see: featuring in guidebooks and blog posts galore (111 Things in Bristol You Shouldn’t Miss, Visit Bristol).
Entering the cemetery through its Bath Road entrance, there are several walking trails to choose from. The Discovery loop is the most compact option: leading you past the impressive Anglican chapel and then back toward the café (more on which later) in a matter of minutes. Those looking to delve deeper into Arnos should take the Woodland walk, which leads up (up, and up – it’s a hilly one!) toward the northern fringes of the graveyard.
Having battled with both bramble and beast (twig and squirrel) to complete both routes, I’m not sure I gained a huge amount from taking the (less enticingly named?) Woodland Walk. Granted, it gives you an idea of Arnos’ pretty vast scale - the 45-acre site is home to a staggering 300,000 graves - and it is quite nice to have a wander in the friendly community garden found next to the Cemetery Road entrance - but the really interesting stuff (the chapels, the entrance gates themselves) lies closer to the entrance. Beyond that, and its mostly just a large collection of blackberry patches (the fruits of which are morbidly plump ... Cemetery Crumble, anyone?).
Other facilities include the Clever Chefs café, which is small and functional: a welcome pit stop after a few hours spent grave rambling. Serving up toasties and teas, it’s a cosy addition to a more chilling destination. There is also a shop for those interested in a little graveyard retail (guidebooks, maps, and other similarly practical offerings), and a Visitor Centre for the educationally inclined.
*A word to the wise: wander from the marked trails at your own peril. It’s easy to get a little lost and loopy amongst the headstones…*
Pottering about Arnos’ unruly plot – weeds rule OKAY at this Victorian underworld, with some areas dubbed ‘in disrepair’ by an apologetic welcome sign – I did wonder if the cemetery would be a better version of itself during the chillier Autumn or Winter months. To see its cracked headstones coated with a layer of copper leaves or January frost would, I think, lend this grand scale resting place a much needed dose of ghostly romance. The weather on the day of my visit – overcast and muggy – has a habit of making the very best of places look a little ‘meh’, and Arnos did suffer a little in my eyes as a result. To be properly appreciated in all its ghoulish glory, a crisp morning-or-evening walk is in order.
Final thoughts on the bus ride home: Arnos Vale is worth a visit, if for nothing else but to gawp and gulp at the sheer size of the place - but pick your day, and your weather, wisely. I plan to return in the chillier months for a hot chocolate fuelled potter in the gloaming - or perhaps to see a play set amongst the tombs.
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Tiny Love Stories : 1
We stood at the bus stop, and I told her that I was afraid. That because I hadn’t ever been in a romantic relationship, I would ruin my first. I would meet someone important - and I wouldn’t know how to go about it : how to go about the ‘it’ of ‘him’. How best to love him – how to let him love me. She told me that all relationships have one thing in common: they’re relationships. You’re a good friend, she said. Why wouldn’t you be a good girlfriend?
We stood at the bus stop.
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