I’m consistently amazed at how good the Brits are with using a minimum amount of words. I think my favourite is saying half seven instead of half past seven or even seven thirty. Plus lots of words are shortened—choc for chocolate, for example. Yet at other times, a seeming unnecessary syllable is added—aluminium rather than aluminum.
Left work at 4, and two people asked directions of me…and I was able to supply them. Hooray.
Took the Metro to Manchester Piccadilly (station). Saturday I’d been at Piccadilly Gardens but hadn’t made it as far as the station. It was cool. A modern, huge facility for both Metro and trains. The Chorley train (Blackpool North) was on the farthest track. But being a Bozarth, I’d allotted plenty of time since this was my first trip there. Our family has a genetic disease that forces us to be early.
It’s funny. Metrorail is basically the honour system. You buy a ticket (or not) and you get on. There are signs that say the fare is 20 pounds if you are caught without a ticket. So that’s nearly a $40 fine. I wondered if they ever checked for tickets. Well yesterday on the way to Manchester. The announcement came on, “Prepare to show your tickets.” We stopped and several uniformed people got on and checked everyone’s tickets. I looked outside and there were at least 10 people standing by officers, getting tickets written, and none of them were smiling. My car didn’t have one cheater. I smiled at the officer and said, “We’re the well-behaved section.” He laughed and said, “You are absolutely correct.”
Bron picked me up at Chorley. She’s a 25 year old, cute-as-a-bug, redhead, who just finished her masters in video and film. She not only heads up CSz UK, but directs childrens’ theatre as well. Nice, smart, and funny. Unfortunately her car makes really scary noises. Really scary.
Since I was early (see comments above), we stopped at the Chorley Theatre prior to going to practice. Nice, old theatre that was a cinema until the ‘20s. She’s directing a play there, currently in rehearsal.
Then we walked over to St. Mary’s Parish Hall where they do CSz practice. So funny. Bron is older than all the members of the troupe, yet I’m more than double her age. Yet I fit in. The kids were lovely (and talented), and they accepted me right off. I loved it. We played games and I was allowed to teach a few new ones, plus they taught me several that I didn’t know. Next week instead of rehearsal we have a two day workshop with people from Oregon I think (Pat and Ruth Short). I was going to go both Wednesday and Thursday nights but I just noticed that my flight from Dublin doesn’t get in until 8 PM on Wednesday and the workshop is from 7-10. I wouldn’t be able to get there until 9:30 or so. Shoot. Well, I’ll just go Thursday if they let me.
It was a different experience with younger players. Bron does a great job keeping them in line, and the kids are good kids. But the energy level bounces off the ceiling. I thought my group at home had lots of energy. No comparison. I really had fun and can’t wait to go back. Bron sent me a text message when I was on the train going home. She really made me feel welcome. And heaven knows I can use the practice. I’ve really missed this.
On the train ride from Chorley to Manchester, there was a very strange couple. I thought they were really drunk, but later decided they were high, and I think tripping. The young woman was hallucinating. She kept screaming instead of talking. Then when her boyfriend wanted her to get off the train, she screamed that she’d get off when the train stopped, and yelled, “Stop the train!” Of course it was already in the station, but not for her.
He finally convinced her the train had stopped and she jumped off. As they walked by, she put her face up against the window glass and acted as if she was kissing the guy across from me. Passionately kissing. He and I just laughed. I said, “That was probably the most fun you’ve had all day.” He said, “Certainly the most interesting thing that’s happened.” What a riot.
I hadn’t eaten since noon so at Piccadilly I grabbed some chips (fries) at Burger King. It was 10:30 and I was starving. I took the bag and happily munched—took the walk to the Metro section. Heard someone say, “Jeri?”
Can you believe that? In a city of nearly a million people, where I don’t know anyone, I hear my name. It was Carole and her husband, Derek, returning from Brighton. They’d been there all week, where Carole was attending training. Brings new meaning to “small world.”
posted by Jerilyn Dufresne, author @ 16:50
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