blaknail - July 17th, 2003
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05:50 pm
[Link] | VOLES 2003
The beginning of the age of Aquarius. 2003. Summer. July. 6th.
Sunday
Descending on Deepest Derbyshire were numerous CULES, OULES and even some wrinkled old ALES, moaning about their rheumatism and how much stronger gin was in the old days.
By the time I arrived, the sun was setting over the peaks, casting long shadows over our residence: The Barn at Flagg, in the heart of the White Peak District of Derbyshire. It was one of those old fashioned summer evenings, which, like geography lessons and acne, seem to last for ever.
The excellent Plough Inn was the first port of call, and a strong ale was needed to remove the dirt from the long road behind me and the lining from most of my intestinal . We heard on the aether that there was a powercut at the barn, but there was no need to worry. Fuses would be changed where necessary and dinner would be served by those kind enough to do so who were not tempted by the strong lure of a country pub. We relaxed. We drank more ale. Closing time came and went and yet stilll no word from the barn. When we were politely asked to leave, we staggerred up the path, and were confronted with the sight of pasta being cooked on a wood stove, with not a bit of electricity to be seen. After Keith fiddled with his trip switches, the lights came on, the gramophone started playing a merry parlour tune, and we were off on the Starship VOLES for another week of adventure. The pasta was jolly nice, and after a few small drinks, we slept the sleep of the righteous and the drunk.
Oh, and it was Sally's birthday. Though she decided not to tell us about it until it was much too late to congratulate her properly. Shameful Sally!
Monday
Monday passed in a bit of a blur; we hung around the barn. We tried to learn some lines. We went shopping. I remember a serene moment with around 15 people sitting around the wireless listening to "Just a minute"- hurrah for Radio 4.
Monday was my birthday, so I went to the nearest off-license department in the local supermarket, and bought most of it. There were a few drunken moments that night, and Sally and I even had a birtthday cake with candles and everything!
Tuesday
Writing an account of this week is extremely difficult- the minutes blended into the hours, and the hours danced happily along with the days in the sunshine. Time just seemed not to matter. We did absolutely nothing of any consequence. We may have had a rehearsal or too, and got some props together, and sat in the sun, and ate, and drank lemonade, or dozed, and chatted.
There's something about the VOLES, despite their different heritage, which makes them extremely lovely people to be with. There are VOLES that are actually secretly quite thespy, and those that have no talent on the stage whatsoever. There are VOLES that are quite alcoholic, and those that would be happier behind a herb tea. There are VOLES that are actually extremely talented in the arts, or in the sciences. Their are VOLES that are so physically beautiful that it's hard not to admire them, their are academic VOLES, their are noisy pun-filled VOLES, and there are contemplative quiet VOLES.
But whatever happens, in the company everyone seemed happy; nobody, I hope, feels unappreciated or an outsider, because you couldn't want to be with a more amicable, unpretentious, and wonderful group of people anywhere in the world. The company of others, and that easy friendship, is what makes VOLES enjoyable, and different.
In the evening, we watched The Fellowship of the Ring. Some of the most unlikely people turned out to be Tolkien geeks, and pointed out why the book was different from the film, and what, exactly, down to the double-helix level, the difference between Orc and Goblin was, and where the continuity errors were.The rest of us didn't care. We decided we were all pervy hobbit fanciers, or in fact pervy elf fanciers. We agreed we were not pervy human fanciers, even when Aragorn did wash his hair.
Wednesday
The minutes and hours still drifted happily through the day, but somewhere in the background the distant jungle drum of the director began to beat... a play was afoot, and it was to be a good one. Rehearsals started in earnest, and readthroughs took place late into the night.
In between this distance urge to rehearse, we escaped, after picking up a Rachel, to a big reservoir, where, if you had the necessary cerificate, you could sail. Lasers, I think. Or you could take a canadian canoe, and scare the ducks, or scare the sailors, or just sit by the water's edge. Or eat ice cream. I think Ice Cream was a a very important part of the whole water-voles experience.
The day also featured a wide game, a very silly game in which we were all hobbits and were transported to middle earth and had to battle through somebody's web (bits of string between two trees), then dress things up as hobbits (it was a close run thing between Noga, Duncan as a scarily convincing female hobbit, or a bench with a blanket in it. Or David, who is small, cute, and has hairy toes, and wasn't even dressing up or playing). The next round consisted ambling round a field trying to pick up cadburys creme eggs (or hobbit power beads, or something) and shooting people with water to stop them gathering such eggs. We found very few eggs and got very wet.
Our team cheated. We lost.
The evening was enlivened by a rather surreal morrocan feast, complete with belly dancing. Derbyshire in general looks on London as strange and exotic, and I was suprised that they even knew where Morocco was, let alone how to cook such wonderful food. Gorgeous roast chicken with spices and whatnot, mmm, the belly dancer, well, let's just say I think the chicken was the gamier bird. Tom then taught us to play the odd game of Baron Munchausen, where one player says to the next, "So, Grand Inquisitor, tell me about the time when you defeated the Prussian army wearing only a carrot and carrying a fruit knife", and the story continues with various embellishments in exchange for large sums of ficticious money. A very silly game that went on late into the night...
Thursday
A trip to Macclesfield was the first order of the day for the first performance of the Wind-in-the-Willows, passing the hilariously named "S+M Supplies". The lucky people able to enjoy this was a special school, followed by an old peoples home in Matlock Bath, just a mere two hour drive away, meaning four hours of travel in the day.... the organisation capabilities of the CULES yet again superlative. The old people's home was particularly difficult to find. I had to get out the special "vertical thruster" attachment to get my car up the supid hill to it, after we had spent half an hour not being able to find it, but the old people were hilarious- a dear old lady insisted in ejaculating "Bugger off" or similar every few minutes, but they seemed to enjoy it, and, my was it fun.
By this time we had gathered Rachel. Casting all others out of her way with her kitchen utensils, she took charge of the kitchen, and despite notable fine efforts by Tom and Cath earlier in the week, won lots of mens hearts by finding their stomach. And a lot of the ladies too.
Friday>
Friday was a little more relaxed- a special school and an old peoples home all within easy reach. . I still didn't know my lines, and there were some very dodgy ad-libs taking place most of the time, with some most unprofessional "little rabbit froo froo" actions designed to put us off. James joined us for the day and evening, and was spectacular in his roles as back end of the horse and random weasel, a part I'm sure he will admit he was born to play.
The ball
The main event of the week we had been looking forward to was the spectacular black tie ball. A load of preparation went into that, and amazing congratulations must go to at least Rachel, Cath, Elizabeth, and Rhi for being wonderful and able to organise a fully fledged Oxbridge ball in a small shack in the middle of nowhere. (But they do that every year at Girton- Ed).
We were joined by several one night voles, who were very welcome indeed, and the evening commenced with a wonderful pseudo-champagne reception and mediaeval banquet cooked by Rachel. How she managed to cook a banquet for 25 we'll never know, but she is incredibly talented, and somebody should marry her immediately. Those culinary talents cannot be allowed to get away. Applications to the normal address.
We passed in to the main hall, which had been done up with squillions of fairly lights, sparkling like God's daisy chain... It was magical. Rhi explained a few words of how the steps were meant to go, and the Celidh began. There was room for about 4 to dance, but we managed 16 and it was great. No serious concussions, just some bruising, and, to use an eighties saying, wicked.
Tom juggled beautifully for a while with his multicoloured flashing balls which were the envy of all the men there, and then came the comedy tent. I was apparrently compering. It was fun. We played "I'm sorry I haven't a clue", and were even joined by the lovely Samantha, who unfortunately had to leave early to get to her Shakespearian evening class. Apparrently, she's finishing off Two Gentleman of Verona.
I'd love to tell you about what happenned at the rest of the ball, but alcohol abuse prevents most of it. I remember chasing cows around a field with Andrea while everyone watched the sun come up, and I remember confiding in Kit that everyone thought he was very lovely and that we were happy that he had finally decided to try it on with <censored -ed>.
Saturday
The next morning, shall we say, was painful. My head was pounding like a plumber in a cheap swedish porn movie. I was woken with at least an hour to go before the performance, drank lots of water, and we all staggered off to do the performance. Apart from the one-night voles who had joined us for the ball, we even had a paying audience of 6, and four people joined us after they ummedd and arreed whilst we moved their umbrella. If only we had disabled their mobile phones at the same time...
The play was wonderful with even larger quantities of ad-libbing, and Willows is indeed a marvellous play and was well appreciated. And so the curtain came down on yet another fine Lightly Entertaining show.
All that remained was the banquet and the speeches. Rachel did extremely well to cook yet again another marvellous feast, and then the Mosscars began. The list of winners, no doubt will be published elsewhere, and the celebration went on long into the night. Unfortunately, it was time to up and away early the next morning, so after a brief breakfast of salt with a little bacon flavouring we were on the road back to Cambridge with a heart heavy with the pain of leaving, but lightened by some extremely happy VOLES memories.
Thanks must go to Keith for performing stirling driving duties, Chris for directing extremely well, Cath for doing much of the organdising, and Sally for sorting out venues, etc, along with lots of people whose names will not be recorded here, but will surely live on in the books of their guardian angels.
Ben Parker, 17th July 2003
"And I'd do it all again"- Toad of Toad Hall
On tour with VOLES were: Cath Howdle, Noga Zivan, Ben Parker, Ruth Weyman, Duncan Coutts, Christopher "Kit" Nairne, Sally Close, Elizabeth Baldwin, Rachel Wellman, Chris Howlett, David Waller, Rachel Harrison, Tom Garnett, Natalie ?, Keith
Also featuring were: James Needham, Catherine Sumnall, Michael ? , Tara ? , Jo Reynolds, Andrea Watts, Jenny Fawson, Mr Jenny Fawson
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