Home from home, the BAC

So we spent a little R+D time at Lavender Hill last week. For those of you who are out of the loop and suppose Lavender Hill is an idyllic retreat in the suburbs for over worked artists such as ourselves, and that R+D stands for 'Rest + De-stress' then you would be wrong. Lavender Hill is the street which houses BAC (Battersea Arts Centre) in Wandsworth, LAHNDAHN TAHN (colloquial speak for the City of London ....Oh do keep up. I can't hang around for the aged amongst you to get on the train of NOW with the rest of us...tsk tsp)

We arrived in sunny LAHNDAHN and found ourselves in the hub of BAC somewhat left to our own devices. We were given a rehearsal space in which we would house ourselves for the few days we were in residence and after at least... pfff... I'd say 10 minutes, we had asked for another one. Now this may seem as though we are difficult to please, old and grumpy, but I can assure you that despite those things being true, we also realised very quickly that the set up for our new work in development 'Third Person (Redux)' needs a lot of table space and potentially some projection distance. The fact that I had just turned 29 and was being invited to produce work in a space entitled 'Old Producing Office' was at no point the issue and point of departure... honest.



We were very quickly offered another space which was more than adequate spatially. The 'Members' Library'. Yes. It was much more suitable and made us feel... well, like members of the cool ship BAC! It was large with beautiful wooden floors and perfect for the new direction the work seems to be taking.



Shortly after we had unloaded all of the necessary Proto- gubbins in the space, we were escorted to our humble abode, aptly named 'Ladies Retiring Room'. Hmmm. As you can imagine I was in no way taking any of the age references to heart and felt the need to document it merely as a big jape which we could all look back at and laugh about later. Ha. Ha. Ha...



Anyway, our shared bedroom was tucked away at the top of the building, far from the hub of day to day activity. It felt like a secret gang hut, much like I might imagine the attic space in Home Alone Two would have been (you know the one in the Opera House, where the Irish Pigeon Lady [and relative of mine own] resided) were it decorated in a kitsch adorable fashion and had it a beacon of light such as the dome of the Great Hall at BAC to light your way to the toilet late at night. And sans pigeons of course.



Now despite our illuminated gang hut hide out being far from civilisation, we had a very interesting encounter on our last night. As you may or may not know, the Grand Hall at BAC can be hired for private functions, and there was one hell of a bash happen' last Sunday night! Clad in our scabby jeans and unwashed t-shirts (well, I was anyway) we responded to the knock on our door with an element of confusion, for not only had someone taken the trouble to track us down, but there were 20 of them! All of varying ages dressed in white satin gowns with hats, the like of which I have not seen out with the context of a posh kitchen... say, Jamie Olivers' par example. Not satisfied with our explanation that this really wasn't the toilet and really was a gang hut, sorry, bedroom, they wanted to see for themselves. Forcefully. Now, share and share a like I say, but having adorned our doorstep with popcorn and jambolia there were liberties being taken and a plan needed to be hatched amongst team proto. We needed food. Badly. There were a hundred curious chefs outside and they did not want to feed us, they just wanted in. The plan was hatched... we would leave via the back door, swing on to Lavender Hill and make like fish to the chip shop. We would return with greased goods and the chefs would lose interest and go home at a civilised time of approximately 10pm. Just in time for a last game of trivial persuit or a last round of the 'Fifty- Nifty United States' song we are somewhat taken with at the moment. NOT THE CASE! They were waiting, bare-foot, popcorn at the ready... We sat up quite late listening to the thumps and bumps and screams and "Oh ma days!!!" (closest interpretation I can think of is, uhm, "Oh my goodness gracious me!!!" said with an air of complete incomprehension of the events that are unfolding) Not even the globe of light from the dome can suppress my need to go to the toilet in the middle of the night but I held it in like some sort of wee smuggler... until about 6am when I awoke to complete silence and a belief that the coast was clear.

No Chefs. No hats. No gowns. No fear. Just chicken in the toilet. And the shower room. And my toilet bag. And a happy happy cat-in residence.

We may never find out exactly what happened that evening but I can assure all, these legendary urban tales will out-live us all! Which is interesting, because Third Person (Redux) has taken a hand brake turn in to the territory of decay and memory and... I can't divulge much more I'm afraid but it is most certainly a relevant link I am making!

To sum up our stay at BAC, we had a wonderful and fruitful time. We were treated with great kindness and we made some interesting discoveries creatively.We had some interesting visits from some chefs, from artists, from some cleaners, with a few visits from pluto the kitty who is permanently in residence there which was nice. This does however beg the question, where did BAC get all the cash to have someone doing a life-long performance dressed in a tiny cat costume in their building?