What if Connor was boring?

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Eleven years this week. Since that day. That morning.

I’ve dreamed about Connor two, possibly three times during this time. Fleeting absorption, the tantalising, sadder than sad touching, holding, smelling, holding on to, almost knowing within that dream state it isn’t real. Or knowing so immediately after waking, a scrambling to hold onto disappearing feels, smells, warmth. 

How is it possible he’s dead?

Two, possibly three, clairvoyant type people have been in touch during this time to say Connor’s been knocking about their space with something to say. I’ve not replied. I don’t know what to say and it doesn’t feel comfortable. I kind of think the boy was savvier than a lot of us and would have worked out some way of getting in touch if he could. 

I don’t know how to make sense of his death and as more time passes, I realise words don’t exist to do so. This is probably ok. Well intentioned people talk about models or stages of grief, trying to coax the unsayable into coherence. This maybe important for some. A bit of a roadmap, guidance, perhaps hint of an ending at some point to the searing pain. 

I clamped Connor to my heart. He’s just there. I think I did it a year or so after he died, walking to walk one morning along St Giles in Oxford. Looking at the enormity of an endlessly blue sky along that wide stretch of road. Teasing through the agonies and incomprehensible sadnesses for a billionth time. Knowing his woodland grave lay a mile or so ahead on the edge of town. Bus 2, 2A, S4, X4…

Gotcha matey. As I should have.

I sit in work meetings where we discuss the lives of people with learning disabilities or family carers, with people with learning disabilities and family carers, aching for the days when work meetings happened in person and I had a regular ponder about what Connor was doing at school. Reading his school diary; a mechanism of communicating info and an unrecognised at the time log of his thinking. 

We have been looking at how Hindu’s celebrate for Diwali. Connor said he is a Pagan and Pagan’s worship Stonehenge, Vince Noir and public transport.

The countdown to July 4 seems different this year. Maybe we because we got over the 10 year mark. Instead of doubling down at home with family and friends, we smashed Kinder Scout with a picnic last year. 

Maybe it’s different because of the joy and distraction of Laughing Boy and everything that came with the production. Alfie Friedman (Connor) and Daniel Rainford (Tom), had a joke about what if Connor was boring. Apparently Daniel would say his lines with enthusiasm with Alfie’s lacklustre response;

‘You loved buses didn’t you, Connor?!’

[Silence and a shrug…] ‘They’re ok.’

I chuckled when I heard this. I mean what if Connor was boring…? ‘Mum, am I boring, mum?

That people are talking about Connor in this way all these years later is astonishing. The play did its job in very publicly sloughing off the destructive coating of the learning disability label, presenting Connor as pretty much who he was. A beautiful, funny and thoughtful young person with a strong sense of justice. Once again, thank you to Steve Unwin, the cast and creative teams, and both theatres. Memories of the whole experience are warm and dazzling.

So, I’ve been cooking a storm for a feast tomorrow as the kids/partners head this way. And here’s a photo of Connor and his cousins on holiday in France back in the day. The attire that year, disposable shower cap and turquoise swimming goggles.

Love him.

But does it bollocks?

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Connor’s headteacher and two (more) staff members saw the play last week. Sally Withey, now retired, posted on facebook, remembering ‘that call’ in her office nearly eleven years ago. She commented “and of course […] love for our Connor – we shared lots of stories of him during our day together.”

‘Our Connor…’

Connor sprinkled more than his share of stories across his school years and beyond. I don’t think there was a ‘formal’ meeting which didn’t include a right old belly laugh relating to something he’d done or said. This blog became a mechanism for capturing some of this magic, his humour, his righteous, beautiful ‘outlandishness’. Tales of teaching staff and Connor chuckling at the latest mydaftlife blog post at lunchtime, the absorption of school diary entries and more.

On Saturday, Rich and I were tromping in the peaks with Sid when the matinee was about to start. We bumped into a couple (doubling the number of people we’d seen in two hours of walking) on Revidge hill and got chatting. A semi retired journalist and headteacher. With a 21 year old autistic son now in a supported living gig after an unspeakable spell of sectioning. Talked about against a backdrop of impossible beauty, space. And sadness.

I’ve developed a Laughing Boy ritual before each performance (when possible). I listen to songs from LB’s mixtape (played to the audience pre-show), watch the #107days intermezzo and look forward to the daily show report/post-show comments a couple of hours later. Descriptions of rapturous, warm and tearful applause in the report and more detailed personal accounts on social media…

Then there are the selfie opportunities. Last night, Caoilfhionn Gallagher KC and Molly Osborne added to Michael Buchanan and Norman Lamb’s Daniel Rainford hall of selfie fame photos.

I don’t want to preempt a final London performance selfie with Lee Braithwaite and a certain silver fox… or Charlie Ives and George Julian at Bath. Let’s see what unfolds.

Tonight, listening to Chumbawamba’s Tubthumping from LB’s mix tape before the second performance of the day, I finally listened to the words spoken at the start of the song. Turns out it’s Pete Postlethwaite from Brassed Off:

“Truth is I thought it mattered, I thought that music mattered. But does it bollocks! Not compared to how people matter”.

Connor was clearly writing the script way back then.

Love him beyond words.

Laughing Boy, Crunchie the support dog and more…

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Extraordinary responses to Laughing Boy continue post performance by performance. Some of this captured by two kickass posts by George yesterday; Witnessing solidarity: the power of Laughing Boy and Evidencing Difference: beyond Laughing Boy. I’ve seen the play four times now and the moment when this beautifully crafted and devastating photo montage by Matt Powell (with London Transport font) and Holly Khan’s haunting melody is shown, is the stuff of pin drop silence.

The audience and cast share intense horror with respect too often brutally absent.

The juxtaposition of JusticeforLB magic alongside this horror continues. The London South Bank University Annual Lecture was organised to celebrate the play with Rosemary Garland Thompson as an extraordinary guest speaker alongside Peter Cronin, who generated more pin drop moments in a chilling exercise in understatement.

A coach trip organised by the Manchester Met Department of Social Care and Social Work ferried students, self-advocates and staff down to London in a mammoth 10 hour round trip. Feedback included “I had an absolutely brilliant time yesterday, aside from the river of tears that went along.”

Theatre attendees continue to be cheerfully photographed with cast members outside the theatre, while documenting their awe of the play. As Michael Buchanan tweeted;

The play is magnificent – funny, moving & infuriating. If you are in London or Bath, I thoroughly recommend seeing it. As for my fleeting appearance – what an honour. It’s not often you hear a Hebridean accent on a West End stage – well done

My mate Ulla flew over from Finland to see it with me and George. A Danish colleague who randomly sat next to her said (when I ‘properly’ met her at work yesterday), Ulla watched the play with such raw and audible emotions adding further authenticity to the performance. She began sobbing at Alfie Friedman’s opening line and continued between laughter exclamations that reverberated around the tiny space, almost flattening the indefatigable cast.

We fell into the nearest pub after joined by cast members and jabbered till closing time.

‘We need another drink’, Ulla, George and I chorused and moments later were transported to a basement club in Soho with Charlie Ives, Daniel Rainford, Alfie and Rose Quentin, the sweetest enabler. George’s suitcase stashed in a cupboard by the hoover.

People are tweeting their journey to the play, their position in the theatre and more.

I bumped into this bunch in Euston Underground hours after this photo was tweeted. And there, waving in the background is Lloyd Page who also spoke at the London South Bank event. A couple of spare tickets were shared on twitter and Lloyd attended with Steve Hardy (in the blue and green t-shirt).

The daily show rehearsal reports continue though we are on a countdown now with only a week left at Jermyn Street, and four days at the Bath Theatre Royal. [Sob] Apparently the cast, and I suspect theatre staff, are loving the relaxed performances.

Audience participation involved Crunchie the support dog wandering on stage at a matinee performance on Tuesday.

Life. As it should be.

Laughing Boy. The ‘around’ stuff…

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‘A technically tight performance, LX, SND and VIDEO. All cues fired correctly…’

Back to a Susi Petherick photo of the #JusticeforLB quilt to see some detail of the intricate artwork involved in the making of it. Layers of working around individual patches to create something more than the sum of its patches (as brilliant as each one is). People tend to concentrate on patches when they look at it. The around stuff becomes less visible despite being central. The better the around stuff is done the less visible it becomes…

I mean, what about the colours, intricate joining stitches, shapes, tufts, busy and invisible beauty?

Laughing Boy has an extraordinary ‘around’ cast of brilliance in Holly Kahn, Matt Powell, Simon Higlett and Ben Ormerod. Music, video, set design and lighting.

Matt has come round a couple of times to talk about and collect files, links and the quilt. To show how the tech stuff is developing. Home movie clips of Connor as a tot have been beautifully folded into new footage of school children recording Louis Armstrong’s Wonderful World at a school in London. Headphones, concentration and wondrousness (possibly never seen before on a London stage).

The careful arrangement of photos of children, young people and adults who have died since Connor presented with meticulously selected fonts and sizes.

The intermezzo countdown of the 107 days campaign to mark the time Connor spent in the unit is an extraordinary blend of the colour, reach and content of that phenomenon, accompanied by Holly’s haunting and visceral composition.

I’m only just recognising the power of set production and lighting, thank you Simon and Ben for this.

Realise I’m kind of going full on theatre critic now which may be hilarious or horribly grating. No apologies either way or anywhere in the middle. It’s been a blast and privilege to follow the workings and working outs of this production and see the love, care and attention paid throughout.

https://www.alexbrenner.com/

Post preview and tales of the unexpected

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Sorry, so blinking behind on these posts. Full on absorption during the course of the play wasn’t expected and is unexpectedly cool. Pre and post show tweets from audience members, daily show reports, messages, jibber jabber, awe and regular ‘what the actual fuck’ moments? I mean WTAF…?

I walked slowly round the block taking in Piccadilly Circus, St James’s Square, Haymarket before one performance. An unusually warmish evening with a slight breeze and constant flow of passing London buses. Thinking about Connor and what he would think of the extraordinary anchoring of him, his story in this way to his favourite place.

Laughing Boy at Jermyn Street Theatre… So beautifully, breathtakingly executed.

On Tuesday (April 30) afternoon, official Laughing Boy photos by Alex Brenner were unexpectedly released by Jermyn Street Theatre (though referenced in technical reports). Dazzling images to treasure alongside Charlie Ives‘ artwork of cast members sketched while tech (lights/audio/visual cues) were sorted a week or so ago.

(c) Alex Brenner.

Rich and I gave Press Night a swerve in the end. Attending the first preview night, late, late night drinking, chatter and laughter with the cast/creative team followed by a day with Rosie, Jack, Owen, Catherine, Tom and Katie walking the Walthamstow wetlands and nosh was enough. [Will and Kiyora much missed and watching from Japan.]

And then the critical reviews… I didn’t anticipate the anticipation of the publication of play reviews on Wednesday.

About 10am, Rich called upstairs “Guardian review is on the website… 3*.”

[Gulp]

A day peppered with reviews appearing and shared on social media. 3*, 4*, 5* reviews…

Peer review is an integral part of being an academic and here are theatre critics doing a kind of similar yet unfamiliar process. Sending their reviews directly out into the public domain.

‘This is what I think about this production…’

Boom.

[As an aside I love how the International Journal of Disability and Social Justice is asking for non-traditional contributions about the play. Boundary blurring and joyousness.]

There were so many reviews, links flying around messages and Whatsapp. I lost track in the end.

Comments from audience members have been unfailingly wondrous. Personal experiences, life, connections and meet ups between people – self-advocates, family members, allies, journalists, human rights experts, health, social care, education professionals, politicians – on a nightly (or afternoon and nightly) basis. Warmth, love and awe.

Annie Kershaw and the Jermyn Street Theatre team have designed and implemented a set of shifts and tweaks so that people can attend. [I wrote so many different versions of this sentence each of which had problematic words or associations. Could be a whole separate blog post…] Relaxed and captioned performances, audio and visual stories, and more. The lack of wheelchair access is grim and insurmountable, the commitment to ensuring people can come and feel comfortable and welcome is impressive. The JusticeforLB quilt at St James’s Church a minute or so up the road offers further grounding and a space to think and be.

Photo by Susi Petherick

There are more stories to tell though I’ll leave it here for now. It all starts again tomorrow.

Previews and voucher lives

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The official first week of Laughing Boy. Tonight the play will be reviewed by theatre critics. I’m ambivalent about the reviews. The play is political to its core. It’s being performed against an unfolding backdrop of the further brutalisation of disabled people and proposals for (selective) ‘voucher lives’. It’s likely, at least possible, the glimpses of family life portrayed will be unfamiliar to critics and it’s impossible to know how it will land. At the same time, I hope they are as blown away as numerous other audience members have been by love, humanity and righteous anger.

Meanwhile, the layers of care and love at Jermyn Street continue. The willingness of staff (a tiny team) to make sure people are comfortable, help with ticket mix ups (gulp) and answer questions. The visual story to familiarise people with the approach to the theatre and setting. The Spotify playlist of Connor’s favourite songs in the background as people take their seats. The quilt displayed at the church next door for the London run (and then in the Theatre Royal, Bath).

We went to the first preview on Thursday night. Tears, sadness and laughter. A friend messaged yesterday ‘And I did cry all the way through, but as 80 others were doing the same thing I didn’t feel alone.’

The seven (yes, only seven) extraordinary actors are a family, and their love for each other shines in stark contrast to the absurdity and inhumanity of the public sector response to the unthinkable. The behind the scenes work of the creative team has generated an astonishing and breathtaking visual and audio feast.

In a truly moving and hopefully never to be repeated moment, I was encouraged onto the stage during the standing ovation for a heartfelt tribute by Janie Dee. It is hard not to love this bunch.

Then an after show party in a pub around the corner. Joyfulness, chatter, play dissection, analysis, thought, thinking, more talk and laughter. Connor. Always Connor.

Randomly, we ended up in the early hours in a David Bowie pub. The boy still working his magic and the latest I’ve been to bed in yonks.

So break a leg tonight! Not sure there is anything you could do better which is really quite something. ♥️

One more day…

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Ooof. Almost here. There. The first preview of Laughing Boy is tomorrow. Updates about production progress and the sharing of gems of film and music magic projections continue. A family whatsapp jibber ujabber earlier sparked a playlist of Connor’s favourite songs for when audience members take their seats. Another tumble into joyful memories. The bus trip from Oxford tomorrow afternoon will include Connor’s favourite sarnies; cheese and pickle and sandwich spread [don’t judge]. Among the audience will be Connor’s babysitter Izzy, and two of his teaching assistants Sue and Jude, as well as family, friends and campaigners. Funny exchanges with the theatre box office as Penny Horner cheerfully juggles our chaotic ticket sales, returns and more. The #JusticeforLB quilt will be on display at St James’s, Piccadilly for the next five weeks.

I still blink in awe at the insights this gig offers. It seems like the (cosy?) 4 weeks in the rehearsal room has a ritual ‘ending’ (last Saturday) when a van picks up traces/props and moves the team to the theatre for the final few days of rehearsals. The set designer, video creative, composer and music designer move in with tech gear and spend 12 hour days working, with the cast in out in out, costumes on and shake it all about, to a final dress rehearsal tomorrow afternoon. Wincingly sharp timelines seem to be calmly absorbed by everyone.

Work. Expertise, absorption, creativity. Commitment.

Photo of the creative team sitting at the back of the theatre, laptops and a jumble of wires.

Media coverage has continued with thoughtful contributions from John Harris in the Guardian and Victoria McDonald on Channel 4 News. Re-watching the Sloven director being carefully questioned by Victoria McDonald in a news clip from the end of Connor’s inquest was quite something. Nearly nine years on it offers brutal clarity around the absurdity and ignorance of those involved who should have known better and done better.

This coverage led to several people getting in touch. People who have experienced ‘similar’ failings, old friends, acquaintances and colleagues, names and faces from the distant past before life took a turn. People involved in the campaign. A warm wash of well wishes. [Thank you.]

The play is, as Steve Unwin has consistently said, political. It highlights wider systemic failings that should be the making of scandal and action. Over and over again. Following on from The Lonely Londoners, the play will, through its writing, direction, design and execution make audiences (and those involved in the production) take notice, think and question. As we all should.

Right now though, I’m thinking about this…

A week to go and so much more…

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The first play preview night is a week today. Not been back to the rehearsal room for practical reasons, so I’ve been absorbing rehearsal reports from stage manager, Daisy Francis-Bryden, updates from Steve Unwin and messages from the cast/creative team (language/terms are now well bedded in.)

No props originally, there are now mobile phones. Daisy shared a photo of this development; ‘I hope this brings you joy the way it did me.’ [It did.]

And a bus. Discussed in many a rehearsal report. The size, colour, tone, finish. Where it will be on stage. (On the floor, no shelf needed.)

Alfie shared this photo earlier.

Just love.

Last night, Jermyn Street Theatre shared an eight page visual story info document to help people find the theatre, have some idea of the layout and other important stuff.

A document that demonstrates more thought and care than Connor received from many health and social care professionals. In a work meeting earlier, we puzzled over the why (how) of this. Why (how) is this level of thought, sense and attention so often absent, and yet clearly doable in this space? [In a week in which George Julian is reporting the inquests of Marcus Hanlin and Fern Foster, and Dawn Cavanagh and allies organised a #StolenLives protest outside the Senedd, Cardiff.]

Matt Powell, video designer and Holly Kahn, composer and music designer have created a piece of brilliance packed into 75 seconds of film capturing #107DaysOfAction. An intermezzo. I watch it and rewatch it, wondering how this magic is possible, how the hell we pulled it off, and what an extraordinary cast this play draws upon. Literally hundreds of people.

There’s a section about the play with pieces by Saba Salman, Ramandeep Kaur, Steve Unwin, George and me in the latest edition of Byline Times. And other media stuff brewing. Oh, and a book of the script is in preparation. A playtext.

I’m quietly confident it will be a smasher of a play. Setting aside the extraordinary brilliance, commitment and experience of the cast/creative team, I know in practical terms Jermyn Street team thoughtfulness has already helped people. There’s been a shuffling of tickets and attendance behind the scenes. Becca has her (funeral) clipboard back out to organise a bus from Oxford and a large chunk of those in the play will be in the audience on that opening night.

It is really quite something.

Laughing Boy: the countdown

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Approaching the end of Week 3 of rehearsals. The first (preview) night is two weeks today. It feels surreal writing these words. Enormous, unfamiliar, extraordinary, sad.

Documenting random stuff is probably easier than trying to make sense of it.

The script. A whole new world of different folders/formats. How do you physically hold the myriad pages of scribbled over text that will dominate your working life for the next few weeks or months? Ring binders, folio type holders, free style and held together pretty much with a ring tag. Script pages were the glue the two days I was in the rehearsal room in Week 1. My copy was held together with the same metal slider gizmo my dad used to make our homemade childhood holiday scrapbooks (pale grey textured soft card cover, a mix of plain and lined paper with dividers for each day). My over zealous page seeking in the script editing sessions soon dented the flat slide mechanism and I tumbled back into a holiday cottage in the Yorkshire Dales, carefully detailing in giant letters what I’d eaten/done that day.

Scampi And Chips. Ice cream. Sweets. Bed.

Work on the script is an exemplar in collaboration. Everyone in the room involved in poring over a bumpy line, thinking about meaning, language, context and how it may be understood by the audience. Is it even necessary? Cut.

Beautifully forensic scrutiny.

Associate Director Ash Gupta

The people. It’s hard to describe the atmosphere of the Rehearsal Room. There’s a cast of seven actors, the director, two associate directors, video, set and music designers, stage manager and more. The first morning there I answered a series of cheerful and curious questions with laborious answers that I’d forgotten were all in the script. I literally recounted the script to a room of quiet respectfulness.

Then there was a read through of the script. Sitting on chairs and acting, not reading. Eh? Where did that come from? My ignorance was hitting the high ceiling of the room, trying to bounce into the Lion King rehearsal next door while I sat tight. And listened.

It’s off the scale of weird to watch your life being played by a group of people you’ve just met. That they are such a likeable, sensitive, committed, thoughtful and laugh out loud funny bunch was something else. Connor palpably mattered in that room.

The next day. Owen and Tom came along. They had plans to graze record shops after dipping into the rehearsal for a couple of hours. Mid afternoon, after more script revisions, a full read through of the script and lunch, they were also cheerfully and curiously questioned about their childhood, Connor, and what happened. The cast sat around on chairs, laying or sitting on the floor while Owen and Tom chatted about funny and joyous memories, moments. And more. The quiet respectfulness I’d experienced the day before was energised with laughter, life and stories. Stories that sat outside of the script. Life from a sibling perspective.

Now. I get daily rehearsal reports I’m going to miss. Glimpses of the magic of play production and development, hints of the brilliance, the labour, the love and the care. The opening night is too enormous to think about. The production is a joy.

Further info and tickets https://www.jermynstreettheatre.co.uk/show/laughing-boy/

https://www.theatreroyal.org.uk/events/laughing-boy/

Laughing Boy: the production

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26.3.24

So, rehearsals started yesterday…   

It’s a massive deal. I bounce between sadness, incredulity and awe (I mean what the actual fuck?) and a strange, unformed somethingness I can’t pin down. Maybe there are no words. 

What would Connor say? 

Mum, mum… is there a play, mum? Is it in London, mum?  Does it have buses in it, mum? 

Yes. And yes, it does. And so much more… 

Stephen Unwin and the wider team are deeply committed to the production in ways that are moving and reassuring. He’s also welcomed repeated comment on the script which is comforting. It feels like a collective endeavour, as it should be.

I’ve loved gaining insights into stage production, the mechanics, expertise and magic. Contributions from the casting director, set designer, video designer, sound composer, timings, processes including the daily rehearsal call document which lays out the timetable and attendees. The Rehearsal Room is a space I never considered… And there’s a daily show report.

Who knew? 

#JusticeforLB magic has reawakened from a light slumber/cat nap.  The chaotic and brilliant archive of campaign artwork, screen-grabbed Tweets and outlandish ‘comms’ is being curated and shared by George Julian. Tickets are being bought and other support offered by J4LB campaigners who stepped up a decade ago.  

I spoke with John Harris from the Guardian. We talked about similarities between his son, Connor and our experiences of services. Keep an eye out, I said, when he described the odd turbulent time.  

An eye out for what?  

Not losing sense.  

We didn’t bring Connor home from the unit because we were waiting for The Multi-Disciplinary Team meeting. An ‘important’ meeting with people we naively thought central to Connor’s future in terms of support. It was finally arranged on July 8. Four days after Connor died. This now seems absurd. Though we didn’t know the half of it back then.

The play with its breathtaking pace, humour and searing satire captures the unthinkable, the then, now and in between, with love at the centre.

As it should be.

Tickets are available from Jermyn Street Theatre and Theatre Royal Bath.