I arrived in Barnstaple yesterday lunchtime. I’d spent the train journey listening to an audio recording of my show and going over the finer details in my mind, so the journey didn’t seem so long. Went immediately to one of the cafes on the riverside, ostensibly just for a cup of tea, but because I’d taken up one of their outside tables (for four), I felt obliged to order a sandwich. When it arrived, I didn’t know whether to ask for a knife and fork or a stepladder. I don’t know how people were meant to get their jaws around it. Perhaps that’s the motto of Barnstaple, that it always gives you more than you asked for. In previous year’s I’ve spoken about the wonderful community ethos which comes with being a part of the Theatrefest. I went from the cafe to a bar / nightclub called Junction 27, where the taster session was scheduled, and I had a part in it. Within seconds of coming in through the door, I met two people I’ve known for quite some time, and quite a few people who chatted and showed an interest in my show, and whose shows looked genuinely interesting to me. I performed the ‘Who Wants Fame?’, song from my show, and it seemed to go down well. I was glad about this, because it was only the second time that I’d performed it at an actual gig. It was the dance that goes with the song that they seemed to like the best. I saw lots of other snippets from shows which I made a mental note to try and get to see. The chap dressed as a tiger who did some mime / clown work, which immediately spoke to the clown part of me. The comedian with a show called ‘A Wank In Progress’. (‘Difficult to flyer for that one’, he said. ‘You’ve got to choose who you give a leaflet to very carefully. Also, be careful when you’re doing a Google search’). And a show based around Moby Dick, the odd thing about this being that Moby Dick was one of the subjects I’d thought of doing a show about. I’m quite glad that I didn’t, now! During the afternoon the thought occurred that a part of the show in which I have a conversation with someone would work much better if I had a puppet. I went out around Barnstaple with the intention of looking for a puppet, only to discover that, in a bizarre freak of circumstances, I’d already packed one. I’d hoped to incorporate it into my act the week before in Brighton, but I’d scratched it due to time, and just left it in my luggage. I did my first performance of the show at 5pm at St. Anne’s arts centre. I was worried that there wouldn’t be anyone coming along. It was a baking hot day, and I thought, well, who’s going to want to watch a show at 5pm on a Thursday afternoon? As it was, I had quite a respectable figure. Indeed, if this had been Edinburgh, then I’d have been over the moon with the ten people who turned up! And the show went well. They all laughed at the bits that I’d hoped they’d laugh at. And I only stumbled over my words once. And that was during the Who Wants Fame?, song, the very same song I’d sung that afternoon at the taster session! I was particularly glad with how the other fast-paced banger, Fabaranza, went. Indeed, this got one of the biggest audience responses of the show. And the bit with the puppet? It went down very well indeed. I went back to my hotel for a bit and got changed, as I was drenched in sweat. Three costume changes is probably a bit too much for an hour fringe show, and wearing a sequin jacket, feather boa and top hat on a very hot day, and dancing around a stage, is probably not a good idea! In the evening I went out to the Queen’s Theatre and I watched a wonderful performance of the David Mamet play ‘Duck Variations’. The last time I’d seen a David Mamet play had been on Broadway with Nathan Lane starring. But Nathan Lane wasn’t at the Barnstaple Fringe. It was a wonderful show in any case, and on the way home I bumped into five people that I know. A photographer, a comedian, a magician, and two actors. That’s the kind of great community there is here. There was due to be a social event at 10pm but I was too tired. I go to bed most nights around 9, and I knew I’d be dead to the world if I’d gone along. As it was, I was probably asleep by half nine. And now here we are, Day Two. I’m going to have fun, see as much as I can, and try to get people to come along to the second showing of Bouncer at 7pm tonight!
My father passed away in 2017. In the days immediately following, I wrote a long poem based on the stories he would tell of his time working in the Australian outback. He was based in a township called Mary Kathleen, which is no longer there. Although the township was there to accommodate workers at a nearby uranium mine, my dad was there helping test armoured vehicles in the heat of the Australian desert. (He would next be posted to the jungles around Cairns, and then the frozen north of Canada).
I wrote this long poem remembering the stories he would tell and the characters he worked with. It’s set in 1969.
In 2018, the Artizan Gallery in Torquay were kind enough to let me perform this piece, and I asked a friend, Sharon Hubbocks, to accompany it on her violin. I also asked my friend Becky Nuttall to perform on the night. We had a lovely evening. We were later invited to perform it again at the Teignmouth Poetry Festival in Spring 2020, but we all know what happened in Spring 2020!
This recording has been on my phone ever since. Apologies for the sound quality, but it’s a nice little reminder of the night. This would be the only time I’d ever perform this piece.
The poster below was painted by my father, David Garnham, some time during the 2010s, and shows the accommodation huts where he and his colleagues lived.
This is a poem from my show, ‘Bouncer’. During this part of the show, the contestants who’ll be taking part in the TV talent show are walking into the holding area.
And here they are, the hopeful, Sequinned dreams and face paint schemes And a yearning for whatever might Lift them up from the 9 to 5 drudgery.
In their eyes, the excitement, for this is Their day of literal reckoning, Fame and fortune are beckoning, A tinsel moment in a life of grey, A chance to shine and dream no more.
If only they knew that it was just a game, These tortured fools with hopes of fame, Plastic sheen obscuring the humanity beneath, Nervous faked smiles and white white teeth.
But you can sense it, The hunger.
And who exactly have we got here?
A clairvoyant, who has no idea what’s coming. A performance embroiderer, who’s got it all sewn up. A man who looks uncannily like the late Cliff Mitchelmore. How is that even a talent? I could do that! If I looked like the late Cliff Mitchelmore.
A woman who jumps down holes in the floor. It’s just a stage she’s going through. A man who sold himself To become an opera singer. He was a tenner. A woman who eats office supplies. It’s a staple diet. Mind you her career was going nowhere. It was stationery.
A ventriloquist who was always drunk. I couldn’t tell if it was him or the beer talking. A gymnast Who was head over heels just to be there.
All hope to navigate this showbiz labyrinth Around whose spiky corners, the fickle nature of Public opinion Waits to jump out with either a hug Or the jab of complete indifference, Instagram memes and hashtags of cruelty, Or else, even worse, The means to make them Be forgotten entirely.
Robert Garnham 