Sally and Michael's Fabulous Journey: HAY BLOG 1
On The Way to hay
Sally and Michael could have tumbled out of a novel. Their children tumbled out of them, as did anassortment of plays and television projects. Come to think about it where did theycome from? Sally worked at ContactTheatre in Manchester and Michael wasand still is an active actor writer and director. Both have an energy and drive as much concerned withtheir inner lives as their outer. Neither should be separated, ever. Following their noses is what Sallyand Michael do best. “Lets move two hundred miles away” says one to the other. The other thinks for a second“Let’s!”. And off they go “what aboutthe jobs” says one to the other. The other replies “what about the jobs?” andoff they go.
It may sound ridiculous and reckless for a couple with two children but on thebasis of “no benefit without risk” it was a brilliant move, genius. They are a lesson, a human pie chart, a power point presentation on how to improve your life. And watching them grow and build and hearingabout their success is confirmation ofthe indelible human spirit. They live ina village in Bedfordshire, perfect for family life. But they have a thermostatstuck right up the bottom of London, as it were
Yesterday they hadsome incredible news from a major TV production company and a major theatre with regards to two projects thatthey have been working on for at least three years. I feelpriveliged to hear it first hand on the phone as the train hurtles throughEngland and into Wales. The news isnot about simple interest from said theatre and TVcompanies but of end game decisions madeafter years of the back and forwards motion that happen between writers and thecompanies that make their work.
Moving home is a big dealbut we move for big little reasons. Imoved to Manchester at the age of eighteen years old, from a little village inLancashire. I moved on the sole basis that 99 percentof people seemed regressive and onepercent progressive. I believed that the big city of Manchester would have 198percent regressive but a whole twopercent progressive. I am aware of the ridiculous mathematic nonsesnse. 198 percent!? But you see whatI meant. I was eighteen years old. This exciting flawed math wasthe basis for one of the most exciting move of my entire life.
When I moved to London, for love not money, I got so desperately down. Michael was in town and I called him. He was a rock and just listened as we sat in a bar in in Convent garden. Thankfully I don’t drink any more. I stopped drinking a year ago. Never has it been more obvious to methat drink is a depressive, helping to prop up the artists tendency to anniahlate positive thoughs about the self. I still getdown occasionally, but nothing likebefore and my work output has doubled if not trebled in capacity. But this conversation was not about drink but friendship. I put the phone down and continue reading my paper as I leave in England.
The train is now passing through town of Honeybourne and thankfully the onslaught ofrain has stopped. Above my desk at TheSouthbank centre it reads “It ain’t where you go, It’s where your at”.The line comes from a song I wrote abut seven years ago. After all any seemingly big move has never been to find a better placeoutside oneself but to satisfy the place within.