Creeps on a Train

I don’t live in London.

I like to work in London in glittering cabaret shows, bedecked in sequins and crystals then I gather up my bags and trudge home, make up flaking, at the end of an evening. I take the late night train home, a train regularly character filled. I use those fifty five or so minutes as my decompression chamber. I take my make up off, I listen to audio books or I chat to friends on various social media platforms. It’s nice, it’s relaxing and by the time I step off the train by the seaside, I’m chilled and ready to starfish my way into tomorrow.
Tonight, my routine was interrupted by several gentlemen. Allow me to set the scene…

I stepped on to the train and assumed my usual corner seat, the one right at the front with a little table. Within a minute or so, five chaps of a rather burly description with shaved heads and assorted football wear, had claimed the seats around me.
They tried to strike up conversation but I’m rather taciturn on my homeward journey so I fended off the questions. However, now I feel bad about that, it was bad manners to not want to talk about myself to gents I’d never met, so I thought I might remedy my error and answer them right here.

Where have I been? I’ve been to work.

“You’re beautiful.” Thanks. I wasn’t looking for a late night affirmation from five men I’ve never met. I’m not sure any lone woman would welcome this sort of attention over and over again. Whilst you stare at them in a rather obsessive way. But, you know, thanks.

“Your eyes are blue. I like blue eyes. Blue is my favourite eye colour.”
And a few more times, just in case I hadn’t heard. Not creepy at all.

“Are you naked under your coat?”  No. No I’m not. It’s winter. Who wants to travel home on a train at 11pm wearing nothing but a coat in winter. And you can see my blue dress under my coat. So I’m not sure why you’d ask this question.

Am I a ghost? No. If I were a ghost, I’d certainly haunt somewhere more salubrious than a train.

“Stuck up cunt.” I’m not. I just don’t want to a) fuck you b) make inane conversation with five drunk men I’ve never met before. Who’ve already asked me if I’m naked under my coat.

Am I foreign? No. Would it make all this ok if I was? BTW, your faux-talian accent is dreadful, almost bordering on xenophobically bad.

You want to cum on my face. That’s nice. Really nice. Such a kind offer but, you know, I’m on my way home from work. I’ve done a show this evening, my serotonin and adrenaline have been absorbed by those glorious, happy faces, so I’m kind of tired. It was a Christmas show, so wrangling the audience and persuading them to my will took a lot of energy.
Also, we’ve never met.

Oh, you touched my foot. It’s ok, I can move my foot over here, closer to my other foot and further away from your feet. I’d hate for you to get the wrong idea, like I’m enjoying the taunts, jibes and come-ons from all five of you. I mean, I obviously am, right? You chaps are having a huge giggle. And me? Well, I’m stony silent, staring at my phone with my headphones on (FYI, noise cancelling doesn’t mean total noise blocking), shrinking into the corner whilst you mime something that appears to be me gargling, no not gargling, gobbling your man seed. I wouldn’t go down the mime road, if I were you chaps. Though, it was utterly clear to me so maybe it could be a career path for you once you stop hassling women on trains.

Finally, after 15 minutes of your repeated incursions into my airspace, I feel it is time for me to go and you to go down. I get up. I speak up. I tell you all what I think of you and how ashamed of you I am.

Some of you have the decency to look sheepish, some of you tell me that you were “Only havin’ a laugh, innit”. I suppress the urge to correct your English, I gather my things and stalk up the train.

It’s only when I find safe haven that I notice how much my hands are shaking.

It might not have been me tonight. It might have been someone younger, less assertive, someone who was actually from another country. Someone for whom sexual assault is not just words. Someone for whom it could have been a deeply traumatic experience.

I am someone’s daughter. I am someone’s wife. I am someone’s mother.
If those chaps had stopped for just one second to consider that, maybe they would have stopped, or not even started.

I have the right to travel home in silence.
I have the right to travel home alone.
I have the right to not make small talk with drunk men I’ve never met.
I have the right to not be intimidated

I have the right. Women have the right. Every single woman has the right.

Just take your words and your looks and your, frankly awful, mimes and just go to fucking hell, you pieces of shit.

You are not taking my right to feel safe away from me. I am woman and have the right to exist in space without the fear of unwanted, unasked for attentions.

I was worried. I was scared and I was shaken.

As I left the train, my car keys slipped between my fingers, an older gentleman, his hair in long greying braids, assured me in a lilting Jamaican accent that I had nothing to fear from him. I half smiled, it was a glimpse of something better, something positive.

I got home safely. I called the British Transport Police. I reported it.

Now my hands have stopped shaking but I blaze with a white hot rage that those ‘men’ (and I use that word loosely because there is nothing manly about their behaviour) would dare to insinuate themselves into my personal space.

They are not worth my fear. They are not worth a thing.

The Show’s The Thing (or how Adelaide Fringe created a Siren)

Tags

adelaide fringe, cabaret, gown, jema hewitt, ralph bogard, siren, songs, Vintage

When I started to gather songs for ‘Siren’, I wasn’t sure what I was creating. I knew I had to create a new show, ‘War Notes‘ and ‘Songs to Make You Smile‘ have both almost had their day (although, they are open for booking should you be so inclined!). So I knew I had to create something. Now, I work well under pressure, so given a year of procrastinating, moving sheet music from pile to pile and then arranging the piles into alphabetical order and then rearranging them chronologically I started to form the basis of an idea.

My life has been in a state of flux over the last year, I think that many cabaret performers sometimes feel the same. The work is neither consistent nor assured and although I’m often lucky to be busy and in demand, that could change tomorrow. I also had a baby, with all the added pressures and responsibility that he brings along with his toddling and giggling. My husband is often away on tour and marriage is sometimes really tough. No one tells you that when it’s all hearts, flowers and engagement rings.

So I haven’t been in the most creative frame of mind, and yet this show was booked into Adelaide Fringe way back in September. So I had to create something. Anything. I sensed a theme amongst my chosen songs, they were eclectic, but all vaguely nautical. I wanted to do something deeper, more mysterious and more enchanting. It wasn’t easy, but nothing that is worth something comes easy to you. I couldn’t find the flow, I couldn’t find the links and so a very dear friend of mine, Ralph Bogard offered to help me find my way in the darkness. And boy, did he. We worked intensively for two days and it was exhausting both emotionally and physically. We explored the song choices and the reasoning behind them and therein lay the links. Some funny, some feminist and some just plain painful. He forced me to delve deeper and share those locked away emotions and hurts that make the songs real.

I originally wanted a costume that would come apart as the show progressed and my fabulous costumier, Jema Hewitt made me the most amazing disintergrating ‘sea wraith’ dress but once I rehearsed with it, it felt contrived and I couldn’t find the truth in it. So I ditched that idea, grudgingly, let me tell you! So I was costumeless. It was a problem, as one of my techniques to bringing a show together is building from the costume. You find the perfect visual aesthetic and everything else seems to fall into place. I happened to be browsing a vintage store in Auckland and I came across this deep sea blue and green 1940’s gown. It was glamorous but a little tatty, a little fragile, coming apart at the seams – much like me (under the bravado). As soon as I put it on, ‘Siren’ was born.

Now, I’ve spent a month here at the Adelaide Fringe, it’s been really hard work but I have had good friends around to counsel. My ‘work spouse’, Mat Ricardo, has been an absolute rock. He’s been a shoulder to lean on and an ear when I needed to rant, cry or talk and we have also laughed. I think it is always hard when the material you are doing drags up from the depths of your soul the past hurts and emotions that you had locked away in a little box and buried deep. What is the quote from ‘The Go-Between’? – ‘the past is a foreign country, they do things differently there’. The past was a different country, I was a different person. In a way, ‘Siren’ has been a gift of closure of some open wounds which I had just packed with glitter and tit tape – like a cabaret war wound! It’s shown me that emotional honesty onstage can be an incredibly terrifying thing but to be able to share that with an audience and take them on that journey with you is an exhilaration. Through the show, I’ve confronted, literally, those weights laying heavy within me and reaffirmed that in my life that I have made the right decisions, no matter how painful they were at the time.

So my message this morning is don’t be afraid to use your hurts and emotional weak spots to create art. Use them, share them, allow your audience the privilege of seeing deep inside you to where those cuts are still raw. It both hurts more and hurts less as time goes on. We are so caught up in our own fear to fail, our unwillingness to commit, our emotional baggage; how freeing it is to take control of it, harness it and say “Bitch, you work for me now”.  It’s working for me, (so far, I’ve evaded the men in white coats) ‘Siren’ has grown into a fully fledged show and has been incredibly received by audiences (who have bought me gifts of songs and vintage brooches!) and critics alike and for that, I give thanks for my multiple broken hearts and wounded pride.

If you are reading this in Adelaide, you have three more chances to catch the show, get your tickets here. If you are in London, I’m coming to London Wonderground in June and you can get your tickets here.

Love.
Lili. x

Lili Wants to Make You Smile

Tags

photoshoot, richard healey, road trip, sausage dog, songs, songs to make you smile, terry mendoza, Vintage, vintage songs, What Katie Did

This week was the first time I have done a tour show since I had Rafferty. We had a show of ‘Songs to Make You Smile‘ booked in to the Swindon Arts Centre and so on Wednesday morning we were up at silly o’clock to get everything ready. In my carefree ‘old’ life, I’d sling a bag in the car and head off. Now, leaving the house, involves packing almost everything minus a kitchen sink. We decided to add a sausage dog to the equation too, why make life simple?

We stopped along the way to p p pick up a pianist! Mr Richard Healey was on keys for this show, which is always a treat because he’s bloody super. We ended up running late, which I hate, so when we made it to Swindon Arts Centre they were concerned that we had forgotten! After explanations of ‘child, dog, traffic!!’ we got to the auditorium for a soundcheck. Dickie and I have soundcheck down to a fine art, literally 3 minutes to check mics and lights. This show, we decided to chuck in a new song to amuse ourselves, (slightly risky, given that I’ve just had three months off and the last tour show we did was in November!!) so we had a quick run through of ‘Sit Down You’re Rocking the Boat’ and we were happy with it.

Backstage, I threw make-up at my face, chucked my hair into an updo, ripped my dress as I dragged it on over my new best friend, my What Katie Did spoon bust Morticia corset and had 10 minutes to breastfeed Rafferty before it was showtime! So I hit the stage slightly flustered but it was fabulous to get back into the swing of things. The show was really marvellous, with a really supportive audience and the new song went beautifully, in fact, it might be my new favourite!

This afternoon, I had a photoshoot with the amazing Terry Mendoza. I absolutely adore shooting with him. We just click, if you’ll pardon the pun! We shot a couple of new costume pieces (a fabulous hat and some Elizabethan-style collar and cuff ruffs) and tried to shoot some pictures of Rafferty, who was having absolutely none of it. Every photo had him screaming or burying his head in my shoulder. After 10 minutes, we gave up!

In other news, Rafferty is trying so hard with noises. He’s copying ‘Guh’ and ‘Brrrrrrrrr’. It’s the best time wasting thing in the world.

Until next time…
Love Lili