Iestyn Edwards Wonders...is it Lumpy or Runny?

    So, here we are off to perform in London for the last time as my character Madame Galina. The decision to stop was sudden. I'm no longer able to conjure the Prima Ballerina Assoluta behind the act, her character motivations or her sense of heritage. Wien I used to imagine her dancing she was a lot like Alla Sizova. Now I see me. I would have a jumble of thoughts during a performance. Rising from the grave Giselle is cold and is waxy in appearance. Nikya in the Shades act is a wisp like cigarette smoke seen in the beam from a cinema projector. The Swan Queen is virtually motionless when the feathers turn into skin because all her energy is being taken up with the transformation - as the temperature of ice changing to water is constant because all the energy from the heat source is going into the melting process. Fonteyn would only move her head so far then make a sudden eyes-right so the audience got a flash of the whites. Maximova insisted that even a step as tec...

                View from the disused railway line between Aldeburgh and Thorpeness  Waiting for the funding to be done and for the editing to start on my Unbound Book. I'm in limbo. Sitting and waiting. Pacing and waiting. Wanting to maim my next door neighbour for yet again - how many more times does he need to be told? - leaving his balcony door ajar and his blind half down so that it continually thwocks against the jamb. And waiting. Going to the village shop for something to comfort eat while waiting and getting caught in a hail storm. Sneezing and waiting.    Walked to Aldeburgh library. Got resentful at all the books being there while mine's in limbo. Coming back to Thorpeness along the disused railway line I was behind two women.  One was striding in a billowing tweed coat with her hands in her back trouser pockets. The other wasn't quite keep pacing with her and dressed in waterproofs. The striding one was s...

    Cheers to @BenPatienceFIt for the subject.  His tweet about repeating the gym movements in your head reminded me of being told to conjure up what I was about to sing when I was taking a breath.     Via Youtube I've been an observer at vocal masterclasses. I'm getting back to serious singing in my next show - a mix of opera and stand up about some of the more bizarre situations in which I've sung over the years. I've sung in. Watch this space.    Always good to be reminded of the need for correct posture, breathing and support. A lot of the young singers shown didn't know how many pairs of ribs they have or where exactly they were. There was also quite a bit of leaning towards the audience. Some patronising attempts at covering up obvious mistakes by skipping sideways while flourishing an arm. And one bumptious baritone bounced onto the platform to announce, through a daft beard, that he would love to sing "Hai Gia Vinta la Causa"...

                                              Tom without a ukulele...   Actor Tom Clegg   listened to me quote Stacks, Royal Marine, his eyes like two-dimensional enamelled glass. He breathed before imitating Stacks back to me:    'I clearly wouldn't be standing here, would I, princess, if there was a danger of those shells coming over the wire into base? The insurgents are launching them off old bedsteads they got out of an oasis, so sit back down, stow your body armour and careful of my tea tray all laid up proper, cheers.'    Clegg is lithe and slim but when he imitated Stacks's full-on, scowling Mancunian , he seemed to be taller, fuller in the chest, and to swagger, even though he was standing still.    This happened backstage at a showcase for the Theatre in the Villages rural touring scheme. He is a fan of these sche...

  Two and a half hours of travel to London via a bus and two trains meant it was too far to go back for forgotten bits of costume and my backing tracks. I had a pair of stage manager Zoe Hunn's leggings wrapped around my head like a turban and danced my opening ballet solo to a dubstep remix of Cilla Black singing Step Inside, Love.    As I made a careful study thirty years ago of how a swan lands on water, folds its wings and preens its feathers, and muscle memory has kept these movements in my body,  I can't guilt-freely just sit for hours watching the swans on Thorpeness Meare and tell myself it's for research.    I had to hide my tutu bodice in a pillowcase when I took it down to the laundry room in case I bumped into the German gay couple holidaying in number five and we got all sisterhoody over the beading and frou-frou.  That could only end - as it always does, right? - in them inviting me for drinks, telling me about getting so carried away t...

  You can connect with the famous on social media!   Except, don't.    Don't retweet someone who's in TOWIE saying they're off to kill it at spin class. Instead react to a friend's post about their new comedy night, run of a play or of a difficulty overcome. It might help the friend along, and you'll know that you're not pissing into the ether.    

  There was a star performing at the showcase I did last night for Theatre in the Villages in Little Kimble. Actor Tom Clegg. I've only just now realised that he looked familiar because I'd seen him in And Then There Were None.    He was totally in his scene last night, nailing it - great voice - and backstage reminded me of the adage added to by journalist Paul Heiney, harking back to his farming days:   'Dogs think people are wonderful because they feed them; cats think people are a load of shit; but a black pot-bellied pig will look you right in the eye.'    Tom Clegg just needs that luck malarkey now.       

  I've been   challenged to write about something 'now' and 'sexy'. Chaturbate is nearly enough now and almost sexy.  It is to established camshow sites what Uber is to London black cabs.    You can watch a Chaturbate performer's show for free and, if you especially like something that they do, tip them with pre-bought tokens. They might smoke, for one popular example, put down their mobile phone for more than five seconds; react hilariously to their cat jumping into shot and landing just where you wouldn't want an open claws scenario.    That sort of thing.   There are rules:  No spamming. Do not insist the cam hosts to do as you please. Do not announce other rooms or websites that would conflict with this room. Avoid any argumentative and/or rude posts related to the cam viewing. Do not attempt to post your e-mail address in the public chat.   An announcement on the public chat feed from a rival performer offering free tokens ...

  Yes, it's annoying, isn't it?  Especially for me, yes especially for me. Poor little me!  Is it the same for you?   No, it isn't.  It's only been a thing for me.    I found my way to the filtered message requests today, expecting to find invitations to have skype sex, opportunities for investment in Rajasthan or offers of work on Autopilot - either an island or a state of mind, I'm not sure which.  And when I got there, OMG OMG OMG OMG, I found had missed out on being elected Pope, on the now obsolete instructions for finding the cure for cancer and a voucher for a free box of Oreos.          

  Not being very regular with this nicely blog of late, as have been crowdfunding the book My Tutu Went AWOL! as well as writing a new show called - oh, that's a thing, I have to ask the promoters that I'm showcasing it for what I told them it was called.  Have forgotten just now.    My new play (I wrote it last year) is called The Ballad of the Pant-Shaking Belter . Except it's not new, it's reworking of Along Came Bill. But it's new as far as grants for new plays are concerned.    I want a grant for a new play.   And a prize from opera diva Teresa Berganza.  I found out that she spends a lot of her time in retirement accepting or awarding prizes. Her step-grandson is a dancer with English National Ballet, and he has booked me to perform at a stag do for one of his colleagues. I've included getting a prize from his step-grandmother on my rider, along with gin, Pringles and Cadbury's chocolate fingers.         ...