Updates from Derren Brown and the Enigma Crew

It’s the nature of touring that you rarely get to know a city at all, even if you come back year after year. The Mayflower Theatre in Southampton is a regular venue for us: about 2300 strong, it’s a good size and always sells out quickly, despite the huge Bournemouth BIC just down the road where we play later on. As familiar as I am with the brief walk from stage door to the Waterstones in the shopping mall round by John Lewis, I still have no sense of the city. However, I have an inkling of the people.

You can get a sense of a town by two factors on tour: the audience and those people who come to stage door. The sounds and energy of the audience betray the general liveliness of the place (bright, dynamic Bristol goes mental after every routine and roars with approval when the show starts; tranquil Eastbourne sits quietly or coughs), and the amount and style of Twittering in the interval says a lot about them too. Even the local level of intelligence can be broadly gauged by the jokes it laughs most at, and this too varies hugely from city to city.

Stage door is trickier, as it is only the less casual attendees who are prepared to wait around in the cold after the show. Many of these have travelled, but the locals or locally studying are easy enough to spot. Southampton, I think more than any city so far, has provided the loveliest bunch at stage door (competition is high: you’re always very lovely to meet). Only a smallish handful of 20 or so gathered, which is a nice amount of people to take ones time with, and all bubbly, polite, pleasant and relaxed. Some were hugely excited to meet me, but none had the solemn urgency of the too-strongly-fixated; programmes were signed and snapshots snapped in a particularly congenial atmosphere. I was delighted, but not surprised, to hear yesterday from a particularly likeable cabbie (who was rueing the fact that after dropping me off at my remote hotel, he would have to drive back alone through the New Forest in the thick, eldritch mists of midnight) that Southampton has just been voted most friendly city on the UK. (Not ‘in England’ as I tweeted last night, apologies). London, of course, came proudly last.

Tonight is a return night to gorgeous Bristol, and a long day for us all. We must drive to Bristol, the crew must build the show (while I have meetings), run the show, dismantle it and then drive home around midnight. This is the first time back for quite a while, and we get to have a few days off. Tomorrow I’m filming a sketch, and on Sunday night I’m off to the Olivier Awards with my lovely Andy Nyman to lose happily Tom Whitnall’s Morecambe. Back on Monday, in Andy’s home city Leicester, with the silly, upbeat energy that always comes from not having done it for a few days.

Right. Must check the local papers to make sure that the cabbie last night got home safely and was not, as I suggested when leaving the car, slaughtered, bum-raped or both. Hugs.

x

PS Yes, I know that’s a different Southampton on the map.

(From the Agingbooth iPhone app. How I feel with 4 months left to go…)

We all had a terrific time in Hull – thank you any of you who came to see it and formed a part of a really sensational audience. We had a great crew in the theatre, which always helps, and the changes I’ve been making to one of the routines seemed to settle in okay. Participants were largely bright and bubbly on stage, which makes all the difference. I noticed on a couple of occasions around Hull that when I said ‘Hello’ to a passing child, they cheerily waved and greeted me back: something that would never occur in the places I hark from. That must be a good and happy sign. It’s lovely to see a cheery, friendly city reflected in the mood of an audience. Thank you all hugely.

One thing that Hull did bring was an inordinate amount of generously chosen gifts from people at the stage door. This was a very lovely gesture from all the people concerned: thank you ever so much. I must, however, ask that if you are one of those few who are thinking of bringing a present or bag of goodies to a future show, please save yourself the time and money. I feel bad taking them: the reality is that it’s just not possible to take most of the gifts around with us, and even bags of the most gorgeous-looking sweets and chocolate tend to remain woefully uneaten as touring does not allow for such a diet. I hope you don’t mind me saying that it means more than enough me that you would buy a ticket or even bother to stand around in the cold just say a nice hello after the show. (On this subject, I know Coops and Iain are starting to develop an abreaction to Roast Beef Monster Munch, but I say keep them coming… they made their bed and can now lie in it, crumbs and all).

After another 5 hour journey, during which some great ideas were hatched for a future TV special, we’re now in Southampton, or at least in an hotel nearby. I’m having a coffee in the ‘brasserie’ of this gorgeous old hotel. It’s rather idyllic, and has a tranquility that will not be found as readily around the back of the Mayflower Theatre over the next few days, with its train tracks and Toys ‘R’ Us. This may be the first year we do not hit the toyshop with the enthusiasm of its younger demographic: previous tours have seen us eager to stock up on soft toys to throw, and remote control helicopters with which to amuse ourselves in the auditorium. Preceding years also saw us staying in the unhappy DeVere hotel nearby, which we all remember uncharitably as the ‘Let’s Get Ou-de-vere’. That’s tricky to make work in print, but you can see what we did.

Staying in so many hotels one after another turns one into a terrible, intolerant twot. Anything other than the warmest reception at the front desk immediately makes every aspect of the place feel unwelcoming, and seeing another teak-veneer desk unit or chintzy eiderdown makes the heart sink unnecessarily. One becomes hyper-critical of slow or indifferent service and far more ready to complain about a poor steak, purely because, through no fault of the hotel’s, one has grown sick of it in previous establishments. Hateful. On top of that, though we really could not be any less rock ‘n’ roll as a touring group (our production manager once spilt ketchup on a white carpet: that’s as mad as it’s ever got), we are usually the noisiest table in the restaurant and often bundle into the most beautiful old converted stately homes in the scruffiest, most embarrassing attire, immediately sending out a message that we may not be quite right for the place. To then catch oneself calling front desk with the back-catalogue of frustration that comes from calling ten previous front desks with the same point of frustration, is to realise that one has fallen prey to the curse of the privileged: expecting other people to have nothing better to do that fit in with your own desires and make your life easy.

The wealthier you are (or the more you get used to staying in hotels on tour), the worse this becomes. As Alain de Botton has said, it’s always the arguments at the first-class check-in desk that are the nastiest. Foul.

Having said that, I’m honoured to be with such a delightful and pleasantly-mannered group. And the temptation to take these hotels for granted is a good reminder to me regarding what we unfairly expect from others.

Oh for fuck’s sake my sugar lumps aren’t individually wrapped again.

Last night was especially fun. A day off (Wednesday had been a travelling day from Eastbourne to Hull) always brings a slight scattiness to the performance, which was all part of the fun created by a terrific audience. Eastbourne crowds are lovely but famously quiet, so it was encouraging to really feel the presence of the audience again. The participants too were lively and fun – all very much appreciated. I really loved the show.

It was a real pleasure to meet so many of you afterwards too: thank you those of you who bought prezzies for me and the crew. Particular mention to the delightful Elizabeth who had brought far too many generous gifts wrapped in impressively home-produced ‘Derren Brown’ wrapping paper. Thank you all. And I know Coops was very impressed with his Roast Beef Monster Munch T-shirt last night: an excellent coup, I thought, pun intended.

It is such a sweet thing to occasionally be handed a little prezzie from someone who’s enjoyed the show, but please don’t go over the top with them. Think we’re going to need a bigger truck…

Today I must persevere with TV writing accompanied by the brilliant Iain: some pressure is on to assemble ideas into a produceable format. Together we shall pace my small room and sweat blood until a new nugget of sparkling televisual gold is alchemically formed. Or not: more likely we’ll settle on an idea that seems ridiculous in the morning. I’m also doing a TV interview this afternoon for BBC ‘Look North’, during which I shall insist on looking North. They want to do it in a dressing room, but I don’t think they’ve seen how small the dressing rooms are. I don’t have long to think of a few amusing things to have in the background… false goatees lined up on polystyrene heads, that sort of thing.

Thanking you.

x

I arrived at Bristol to find a note in my dressing room from Dara O’Briain wishing me enjoyable shows with the bright and energetic crowds of Bristol. And he was very right in his description. Bristol is famously a great house to play: the roar when I came on stage was long and deafening, and audience and participants alike were fantastic. The first night it really took me by surprise and I hugely enjoyed myself. The second night, the adrenalin wasn’t there so much and I think I was a little under par, and then the third was good fun again.
We stayed in the wonderful Hotel Du Vin, which kicks the ass of any other hotel on tour. Impeccable.
Friday we went to the Zoo and had a great tour day out. Saturday was tea round at Peter Clifford’s, whom some of you will know from The Devil’s Picturebook and The Heist. Others of you may know my dear friend from his roles in the stunningly good Shakespeare at the Tobacco Factory seasons. They’re about to do The Tempest and Midsummer Night’s Dream in the gorgeous Tobacco Factory theatre where I got started, so do go along if you can. It was a wonderful stay in my beautiful University home.

We are now in Eastbourne. It’s a very different crowd, but the shows have been good so far. A good friend has come over from the States to see the show (and Andy’s Ghost Stories) and today we had a bloating pub lunch in the nearby village of Alfriston, which I may have spelt correctly. Our hotel is a stranger to wi-fi, so I have been slow on blog entries. I type this, as I tend to tweet, face down in a steamer sat in my dressing room.

Excitingly, I am trying out something new in the show. It’s a new ending to one of the pieces that felt like it needed it. It’s really enjoyable to let it settle in and make these sorts of changes. Keeps one on ones tootsies.

ta-ta
x

Lovelies.

After the unwelcoming place near Buxton, it’s a joy to have stayed in the Malmaison on the Liverpool docks (‘malmaison’ = ‘bad house’, still don’t get that) where the staff could not be any more accommodating and delightful. I am assured by a friend who knows someone who knows someone that my particular room was once occupied by Amy Winehouse, which is very exciting. Have searched the room for any trace, but housekeeping have presumably done an excellent job in the meantime. Oh dear, we couldn’t be any less rock and roll as a touring troupe.

Liverpool has been immense fun. It’s a tricky room to play: the beautiful Empire auditorium is set far away from the stage, and sucks up most of the sound of the audience, so it takes a bit of acclimatising to realise that the audience are actually enjoying it. The tiny Buxton Opera House threw back much more noise at me. Having said that, the roar at the end of both shows here was quite something, and, if I may be so fat-headed, the spontaneous 2000-strong standing ovations looked just amazing from my perspective on the stage. So thank you Liverpool, you were spectacular. Some really touching gifts and letters from people, and a warmth and  loveliness at stage door which are hard to come by anywhere else in the country. (Having said that, the first night did bring one pissed guy up on stage in the first half, but for the brief time I kept him up there he was pretty funny).

I’ve noted that people are very kindly tweeting in the interval – please do your best not to give anything away that you’ve seen in the first half though, if you don’t mind. It’s lovely to meet so many of my Twitter followers after the show. On that subject, I hope you won’t mind me saying that it’s very hard to avoid offending a handful of Twitter followers to whom I can’t give the individual attention and dialogue they seem to need. It does take the fun out of using Twitter. I’d love to continue using it, as I do enjoy it most of the time, and I hope those few will take a deep breath and use Twitter in the casual spirit it’s best enjoyed in. Thank you all for the enthusiastic tweets after the shows – they make lovely reading and are very much appreciated. In particular I’m very grateful that you’re all good enough not to tweet any spoilers: the show is so much better when you don’t know what’s coming.

Tomorrow we’re off to Bristol, which feels like my spiritual home. To play the Hippodrome, where I queued so many nights as a student, alone, to watch touring opera companies… it’s such a delight. I shall be touring old haunts tomorrow and enjoying myself immensely.

I await my gorgeous crew for soup and booze, and then it’s an early start. I’ve just had a pizza that I should have probably avoided. And my ludicrously fancy suite has a bathtub in the front room – imagine that! To think that Amy probably sat in it, enjoying a glass of wine and watching telly.

Getting very tired. Ner-night, trust you’re all splendid.

x

Sat having a late breakfast at a brilliantly unaccommodating hotel near Buxton. Last night we arrived back after the show for our normal hotel drink and to enjoy a bit of left-over birthday cake, to be told that for health and safety reasons, we could not consume birthday cake downstairs as a group. Neither, for the same reasons, could we order sandwiches. The very stern lady at reception did, however, concede that she ‘understood the high’ that we were experiencing as ‘theatre types’. Fantastic.

Buxton last night was immense fun, and it’s always a beautiful place to explore. I visited Scriveners Bookshop, one of my touring highlights any year we pass this way, and then had weak twee tea in a little cafe, until I had to be at the Opera House. I was happy with the show, and at one point I found myself up in the balcony during the second half. A lovely group came with a coat for Coops made out of Roast Beef Monster Munch packets, which continue to be provided by audience members competing for the prize of who-brings-the-most for Coops and Iain. As ever, entries can be left at stage door, along with your contact details, before the show. Unsure if the coat consisted of the largest number of packets, but it was certainly the most impressive configuration.

One of the delights of a touring show such as this is the ability to introduce little shifts and changes. Last night we discussed a small change to something in the first half which will be immense fun to try out. Went to sleep and awoke considering possibilities.

Right – a tasty breakfast to mitigate the amusing unhelpfulness of last night. Must now do a phone interview to promote a couple of theatres for later in the run: Ipswich and Hull, I believe. Splendid.

Ta-ta,

D.

Wonderful steak lunch at Rowley’s in town and birthday treats followed by the loveliest gifts and more treats from the crew. Dressing room decked out with balloons etc, and some really touching prezzies. On top of that a zillion birthday wishes from Twitter. Lor’ Lu’mme. Best birthday ever. Rather sleepy though: wine and champagne and cake has me now dozing off into my steamer as I type.

One particularly impressive gift was this Derren Brown Enigma action figure, made by Jennie and Iain. Amazing! I do adore my group of friends. If it’s your birthday too, have a wonderful one.

Last night (Fri) was terrific: Thursday’s first half a little under-par mainly due to nervous volunteers. Which can’t be helped, and the second was much better. Tomorrow Buxton!

On the road again…

Got to Crawley rather early today, after having arrived perilously close to curtain-up the last couple of nights. This doesn’t feel like proper touring, as we’re home every night and not sitting around with flaccid sandwiches and hard licquor making each other cry with laughter after the shows. On the other hand, I’m painting in the days which, as Coops would say, is a ‘tasty treat item from Mummy’.
The shows have been the best yet. This may be helped by the fact that the theatre have a free-for-under-26s policy, which means the theatre’s joy at the sell-out dates must be mitigated by my demographic. I’m hoping there’s some government funding going on to cover them. The other night brought in a raucously delightful A’ Level group, and I believe I got their teacher up on stage, which must have caused great amusement. Interestingly, one little bit didn’t work too well with her: doubtless to do with a lingering self-consciousness that her wards were watching her and may even follow an irresponsible example. Fascinating. For me at least. Possibly just bewildering and disappointing for the thousand or so watching. (Please no spoilers…)

What could have been an underwhelming preview venue has turned out to be a real joy. Just three nights left and then we’re off to Buxton and the proper touring feeling will recommence. I have also been neglecting my book-editing for my paints: this will enjoyably resume too.

Somehow in between these things, I’m looking forward to gettig stuck into Sarah Bakewell’s enticing volume on Montaigne:

How to Live: A Life of Montaigne in One Question and Twenty Attempts at an Answer

and must spend time with Iain working on a new TV special idea: such pressures do not leave me, not even in Buxton.

Right, I must begin my regular pre-show rituals. It is time. They are as follows:

1. 15 minute throat steam into the Vicks Personal Steam Inhaler. Gets the old nodes lubricated. A hydrated throatingtons is a happy throatingtons.
2. 9 seconds of self-disgust at the amount of saliva I have produced during 1, and which now covers the base of the VPSI.
3. Change into first-half shirt.
4. Make-up. Jen doesn’t always get much time, so generally I apply the foundation while she does my hair. This we call ‘helping Mummy’.
4. Clean my teeth.
5. Get changed all proper-like.
6. 15 mins of vocal warm-ups. These would have you lolling out loud and rofling on the floor laughing if you heard them. However, through their ludicrous means, they ensure that a suitable stage-voice is in place for addressing so many of you for so long with the requisite amounts of volume clarity and energy. Occasionally ruined by munching on a chocolate biscuit.
7. Iain comes in to check I have everything I need for the show, and to let me check a certain set of photographs that have been taken for a certain routine in the show. I say they’re fine, and he takes them away.
8. I leave for the backstage area.
9. 5 mins of merry-making in the wings, dancing to own theme-tune with crew etc.
10. Walk onto stage, realising flies are undone.

Time now to begin. Expect a lot of dribble all round.
x