Thursday, 18 March 2010

A lovely visit to the past

This is an article I did for an online mag(can't remember which one) on a day in the life of. I loved it so much that I've posted it here:

A Day In The Life Of Rosemary Dun (17th October 2003)

I wake with a jolt at 6.00 a.m. Ohmigod! OK. I promised myself that I wasn't going to panic. DON'T PANIC!! First things first. I can't do anything about the fact that my main act for tonight's Big Mouth Cabaret has had to cancel – it's too early in the morning! Last night I decided not to panic but to sleep on it. Luckily James Quinn is in town. And he's brilliant. I'll phone James to confirm that he can step in and save the day - later. Too early now. I'm running my first performance poetry workshop at The Folk House tomorrow (Saturday), and have a big Big Mouth Cabaret show to get pinned down for this evening. Aaaaargh.

Turn on my computer. Check emails – great! 38 pieces of spam and 2 from poetry chums. I hate effin spam. Promise myself to work on Can The Spam poem which has now bombed at 2 slams even though Helen T assures me that it is funny and clever so I shouldn't abandon it. Hm.

Have now got 45 mins until I get my 2 girls up and ready for school. I was up til 1 a.m. last night writing handouts. I print them out. Must finish my bloody lesson plan as I'm going to be assessed by the college during the workshop. So, instead of doing lesson plan I do yet another handout. Have now got about 60 typed pages of handouts. Should make it up into a How To book. If I ever get the time. Am just printing out handout entitled "What Are You Going To Do Today & Where To Take It?" when I think - how prescient! No really, I do think that cos I've woken up the wordy part of my brain.

"I hate you!" shouts one of the kids and its back to getting the three of us washed, dressed, breakfasted, and out the house. This involves refereeing, shouting, pleading, then shouting some more, then threatening to make the kids go round and apologise to the neighbours for all the shouting. Even though its me shouting. Well, its not fair being a kid. We are about to leave the house only 5 minutes late at 8.15 when Morgan remembers that she doesn't have her saxaphone. Back into the house while Kate (other kid) mutters under her breath. All pile into the car and we do our collective prayer thing while my 2CV decides whether or not it will start.

Much arguing and muttering goes on in the car until finally I've finished dropping the kids off. Now have roughly half an hour to kill until I can get the flyers & handouts printed from the printers. Need flyers to hand out at this evening's show. In the meantime I risk phoning James. Leave a message. He's such a trouper! Last night I got him on his mobile and he promised to step in, save the show, and my bacon by performing a 20 minute set. He's got to get a friend to pop round his house in Manchester while he talks him through how to use his computer and send his poems so's he can then pick them up from an internet café. "Hi James, Rosemary here. Hope everything's still ok for tonight. Give us a call."

Quick check. OK, have now got printed stuffé. Have arranged for Kate to go stay with a friend straight from school. Have to collect Morgan from school and take her to her friends to stay the night. Have to collect Helen Thomas (one of tonight's performers) from the bus station at 2.30 and then Diké from the train station at 5.15. Then we all have to be The Folk House at 6.00 p.m.

Phone ringing – "Hi" Its Radio Bristol – they're doing some sort of roving reporter thing and want to interview me! I haven't got any time at all, I insist down the phone – is now 12 p.m. I have to have a nap otherwise I'll die. Am still not fully recovered from ME but can take the edge off if I have a power nap with my relaxation tape. The reporter knows Helen T from student days and reluctantly I agree to meet her outside the bus station while I collect Helen. I now realise that the way the day is going I won't have time to get ready for this evening – I'm the MC. So quickly wash and do my hair before settling down to have my quick nap at 1 p.m.

2 p.m. Aaargh! Quickly get a cup of tea. Survey the kitchen. Is as bad as the living room. No worse. Because of the busy-ness of last few days and the getting ready for the workshop – oh, and because I am a slob – there's about a week's washing up strewn about the kitchen. Debris from breakfast and last night and the house is so untidy it looks as if it's been burgled. Oh bugger. Just enough time to grab a banana for lunch and clear a space for Helen to sleep downstairs. Diké can have Kate's room. Jump in car and off to bus station.

As usual nowhere to park legally. Hi Helen. Explain bout the interview and we wait – reporter is late. Finally do quick interview and poem about Southville on air then off back home. Helen is anxious about her set. I'm even more anxious as have not sorted what I am going to do. James phones everything ok. I try and write out introduction cards for tonight whilst Helen insists on running a few poems past me. Aaaargh! Decide that there will be no time for me to do any poems, and that because of the cancellation I offer Helen a 10 minute set instead of sharing compering. Seems easier.

Is now 3.30 and I have to set off to collect Morgan. She's late coming out of school and by the time I drop her off at her friends and get back home its 4.45p.m. Hi Helen – no time even for a cup of coffee. I don't know! I like all the poems! Oh, ok do that one! I like that one better! Oh ok then do what you think is best!

Out the door at 5.00 p.m. Forget about Friday traffic and get stuck in a jam. Late at the station – nowhere to park. Hope that I'll recognise Diké. Cut up by 2 girls in a car who then proceed to poke faces and take the piss out of me. Charming – just what I need. Phone James to get Diké's mobile phone no. – thank James effusively again and give him directions on how to get to Folk House. Dikés train delayed. He arrives looking as gorgeous as ever and he's totally prepared – knows how much time he has, is rehearsed and timed. I think that I'm in love. (Sorry …) Back home to collect Helen who still wants to check that this poem is ok. I pack what I need for the evening, quickly get changed and take a change of clothes, extra poems – just in case – pen and paper and cards. Oh shit! Still haven't planned my MC-ing duties and written my cards. I hate not to be prepared. But its been a typical single mother poet and promoter's day !!! Nothing ever goes to plan!

Get to venue and am suddenly terrified that there won't be enough bums on seats. Am all too aware that I have 5 top acts and they all have to be PAID and I have to make enough money from my cut of the door. I do not get all the door takings but just a cut. Have remembered the table cloths and ask Helen to set them out. Bless Helen, she's fab and such a help even though she teases me mercilessly. But this would be even harder to do on my own. Actually maybe I should marry Helen …

Have only just enough time to write out the cards, get changed, get myself a drink before its SHOWTIME. The whole evening is a big success. Oh, ok, as a promoter I'm never totally satisfied – a few of the acts run over which means that the last act lost some of the audience who had to make their way home; a couple of the audience members were rude. But that was all! Wayhey! And James and Diké were so brilliant and fabulously good that I wanted to not only marry them but also have their babies.

Diké accepts James' offer of a lift home, I pay all the acts and am left with about £20 towards the printing costs of the flyers. Pack up – remembering to get my table cloths. Thank Steve and the sound guy for helping everything go so swimmingly. Then Helen and I go back to my house where we have an extremely hilarious post mortem, stay up til 2 a.m., Helen asks why I don't pay myself for MC-ing and putting on the show (hmm….), and then I insist that I must go to bed because I've suddenly remembered that – oh no - have still not done the lesson plan for tomorrow's (or rather today's) workshop. Set the alarm for 6 a.m. again.

Ah well.

No comments:

Post a Comment