Tag Archives: blogging

Peter Brush – Dreams with Advert Breaks: A Review

Bunbury Magazine Rating – ★★★★

Peter Brush is not your ordinary comedian and his show, Dreams with Advert Breaks, is not your typical comedy show.

Peter’s show is all about dreams – more specifically, his dreams, and whether, looking back, he is getting his dreams and his memories confused with one another. With this premise, he sets off on an hour of playing around with some delightfully silly ideas, well-crafted and well-landed jokes that take in everything from being in the womb to playing rock-paper-sciccors.

He uses the room to his advantage too, making the very best use out of the intimate nature of the space to engage with the audience on a more personal level. He was once described in another review as not looking ‘like he’s meant to be on the stage’, something which, again he uses to his advantage. (By the way, we disagree with this!)

Peter’s is a well-rehearsed performance. What we particularly admired was the ending of the show, which brought back all those flights of fancy he takes the audience on and ties everything together. This is a deeply imaginative show about how we should embrace our imaginative side and is very funny indeed.

Dreams with Advert Breaks was on in The Banshee Labyrinth at 1310 as part of the PBH Free Fringe.

Joz Norris – Hello, Goodbye: A Review

Bunbury Magazine Rating – ★★★★★

From the very start – not just the start of the set but from walking in to the room – it is clear that this will be a show of comedy with a difference.

Hello, Goodbye is a tale of love and death that takes in everything from Beatrix Potter to Van Morrison with a surreal look at what motivates us moving forward in life.

Joz is a very confident and charming performer. His work with the audience – involving them with the show and drawing them in to his wonderfully imaginative world – is first class. He makes brilliant use of props and music to craft his story and plays around with different forms of comedy to create a layered and unexpected narrative.

It was wonderful to see his subversion of these comedic forms – his subversion of character and improv comedy were very well thought out.

His dedication to the craft is admirable and he really does have a massive future ahead of him.

Hello, Goodbye was on at The Hive at 1840 as part of the Heroes model.

Dave Chawner – Circumcision: A Review

Bunbury Magazine Rating – ★★★★★

Bunbury Fringe Award – The From The Hood Award

Straight from the top of the show, it is clear that Dave Chawner is a confident performer who brings a great deal of cheek and charm to the stage.

This cheek and charm are deployed to fantastic effect whilst dealing with some very sensitive issues – this show is the story of Dave’s circumcision at the start of this year. As the story unfolds, the audience are taken on a journey through mental health issues and eating disorders, all of which are dealt with with the utmost respect and sensitivity. It is clear that Dave knows how to put an audience at ease with excellent delivery.

He even talks about sex in a way that had us in stitches but without being overtly graphic – for the most part – which is a very difficult skill to master.

The entire show had a great rhythm and flow, moving through the narrative with a natural pace that allowed the story to build momentum. There was a very clear message to take from the show, an uplifting message which we will not spoil here but we left knowing we had seen something brilliant from one of the loveliest people we met in Edinburgh.

Circumcision was on at Cabaret Voltaire.

Gary From Leeds – Garibaldi: A Review

Bunbury Magazine Rating: ★★★★★

Bunbury Fringe Award: Best Show Title

One really nice thing we have found at the Edinburgh Fringe in the last few years is that spoken word is taking more of a centre stage. As much as we love comedy here at Bunbury, we do also love a finely-crafted hour of spoken word.

Garibaldi, in our opinion, straddles both comedy and spoken word in a very clever way.

After some startling statistics on the decline of The Gary, Gary From Leeds spends the next hour performing sharply-written poems in an attempt to ‘Save Gary.’ He references everything from the Andrex Puppies to Giuseppe Garibaldi himself whilst taking the audience on an extraordinary journey through his words.

Gary makes brilliant use of props throughout the show as well – the palm reading is a stroke of genius (we won’t give it away!) as well as utilising music very effectively. One of the highlights is a poem so bereft of hope yet set to the ‘second jauntiest TV theme of all time’ (again, we won’t give it away) that, yes Gary, it did leave the audience with a net depression. And we loved it.

This is spoken word at its finest and funniest.

Garibaldi was performed at Silk in the Upper Room.

Christopher Writes: #NaPoWriMo Day One – A Lune

Christopher here. We’re trying to plan a wedding at the moment and in the choas of trying to organise wedding invitations, I completely forgot about the start of National Poetry Writing Month. I remembered today so here is the first post in catching up with the first three days before attempting to do it like a sensible person.

I am using the site http://www.napowrimo.net/ for the prompts.

Here is a poem.

A Lune

The feather drifts on,

bound by the

constraints of freedom.

Editor Christopher Writes – #PoemADayForAYear: 12/10/15

Here is a poem.

Cut my smooth, unbattered flesh

and I do not bleed blue, gold nor red.

My words do not profess nor betray

any strong opinions or judgements.

My thoughts will never change the world,

my deeds will not shape history.

My ancestors backs do not carry scars

of whips and a world of weight and fight.

My existence has never been defined

one straight, sign-posted road, more a series

of light-and-shade dirt tracks.

 

Every morning I slip in to pre-tied trainers

and scroll through the Recently Played

list for something soothingly familiar

to listen to whilst walking to work

for someone who keeps the roof over my head,

gas in the pipes and ambition caged.

Walking under cherry trees which darken the path

with its tributaries, I use the flap of the tobacco

pouch as an umbrella for a cigarette.

 

The main road parades a torrent

over me on the corner junction

as a dust-red Vauxhall chances

the last amber half-second.

 

On the other side of the junction,

a fray-haired mother uses half her

effort to put the rain cover

up over her already sodden child

whilst gazing through the window

of another beauty salon.

The cars beep her back to reality,

informing her to cross over.

 

On the main high street, one-third of the shop

shutters are still down, displaying vulgar graffiti.

A homeless man pulls at one of the shutters,

fingers grimly clawing at a rusted padlock

before giving up and moving on to the next.

 

Cut my smooth, unbattered flesh

and I do not bleed blue, gold nor red.

My veins do not run with riotous

glimmer nor within my mind does

not reside the cure for cancer.

 

As one hand cups a half-smoked rolly,

my other is deep in the pocket of my rain coat,

finger-tips idly toying the engraving

of a pocket-watch I received as a birthday present,

and I know I am loved.

Editor Christopher Writes – #PoemADayForAYear: 09/10/14

Here is a poem, cutting right to the chase after an interminable shift in work.

Intro.

Hello, my name is Chris and I am calling from

a number that will be ignored.

Intro.

Hello, my name is Chris and I’m

wasting my breath apparently.

Intro.

Hello, my name is Chris and I’m calling

because after 7 years of study

this is the only job I could get.

Intro.

Hello my name is Chris

and in an employer’s market there

are no transferable, desirable skills,

irreplaceable people or loyalty

to anyone’s need to eat and pay rent.

There is simply a revolving door

and a detached middle-manager

on the end of a phone telling you

that you are no longer needed.

Intro.

Hello my name is Chris and I’m calling from Quantum.

Pitch.

As I said, I am calling today because

I cannot get any other job.

I have 10 years of sector experience,

a degree, A Levels, all manner of training

but the job market has created a situation

where there are dozens of people for every job

and the majority of jobs are apprenticeships

or zero hours contracts with no guarantee

there will be a job at the end of a fixed-term

contract and no guarantee that you

will not be treated like a caged animal

by superiors and CEOs that know

how to interpret ‘human rights’

through loopholes.

Does that sound like something you could help with?

Could you help me today pay my rent by listening to

some words that have been placed in front of me,

printed in dispassionate font that I am

reading in a dispassionate tone?

Does that sound like something you would be interested in.

I fully understand your need to call me a cunt, I

really do. I know that I should be ashamed of my job.

The thing is, this is my intro, my pitch.

It may not be the one for you but it really is the only one

that I have.

Editor Christopher Writes – #PoemADayForAYear: 08/10/14

So, it has been a little while since I have done this. In fact, I think it is fair to say that I have failed the challenge of writing a poem every day this year, given I haven’t done one since the end of July. I knew it was ambitious and I over-stretched myself but I am glad I tried it. I think out of the 100-200 poems I did write in that time frame – I was writing more than one a day at one point – I maybe have about 3 or 4 that I can actually work in to something which is a success of sorts.

I actually started doing this challenge in January because I was in the midst of a depression, I had not written anything for months and wanted an exercise to get me just doing something, anything again. Getting some words down. That is something I achieved whilst doing this from the start of the year to July. I did write some things. I managed to get myself out of the depression too. I came off the antidepressants and things started looking up.

It has not been plain sailing of course, nothing is. I am still fighting my depression on a daily basis. I have just had to take a new job in a call centre of all places because my previous job were a horde of succubi. Since the start of the year though, we have released 3 really strong issues and have another one we are just about to start editing. I finally obtained my degree, after seven long years and we have started planning our wedding. That’s right, the very beautiful Keri and I are shackling to each other next year, on my 30th birthday until the day we are either raptured or eaten by raptors. those are the only two logical endings as far as I can see.

We also spent an incredible (almost) week up in Edinburgh for the Fringe festival where we saw some incredible shows, made some brilliant friends and had a few cheeky beers on the way. Not too many. Have you seen the cost of a pint up there? We’re not collectively Rockefeller!

Anyway, enough of the amble, pre or otherwise. I’m back with a poem. Since the start of July, I have not really written much and after 8 hours today of being called a cunt on the phone, I do not really have much in my head but I am going to force myself to write something to kick this off again because writing is too important. I would also be a fool if I did not chose today, National Poetry Day, to actually write some verse!

Here is a poem.

Take my hand and fly with me,

above the trees, amongst the birds.

Forget the words that you have heard

that humans were not meant to fly.

Take my hand and up we’ll go,

above the clouds to kiss the sky,

climbing higher and higher again

until it all just fades to black

where we can feel the hot, pure sun

upon our backs.

Take my hand amongst the stars

through galaxies and supernovas

sailing on to the unknown

where there are no words

to hold us down

tether us to weakened ground

because human beings were meant to fly

up to the sky and far beyond.

Take my hand for this I know and one thing else,

that flying on through asteroids and dancing on infinity

is well and good but I could not ever imagine

doing this alone.

Down in the pits of real life

I have a deep foreboding of

the things that might lurk in the dark

but up hear in the silent black

all my fears just melt away

because on one very special day

you took my hand and flew away

with me.

Editor Christopher Writes – #PoemADayForAYear: 20 – 22/07/15

20/07/15

Here is a poem. The prompt is ‘drift’ from #Soulwords.

The first of the day

is blown too quickly

away amongst

drifting wrappers.

21/07/15

Hi, my name is Christopher and I

am an addict.

It’s been two hours since I,

um,

last used.

It’s got to a point now where I’m using at work,

on the bus,

on the toilet even.

Once upon a time

it was just something to take the edge off,

relax after a hard day.

It was a great escape,

a break from the prison of reality.

Now it feels as though I’m living on mars.

You can sit there and say,

hey,

it’s all good man.

It’s not. It’s like my own

personal horror story.

It’s causing damages,

stripping me down to the bones

in numbers,

and saying anything would

be a lie to me.

A pretty little lie.

Now I’m doing it every chance I get.

Cigarette breaks, toilet breaks,

behind the counter.

It’s even worse when I’m at home,

on a day off. Up at 8A.M,

by nine I’m already on the third rock.

Doing it when I’m washing up.

Sorry, I know I’m not making much sense.

I’m deep in the thick of this.

I don’t even care what it is anymore;

uppers,

downers,

feel goods,

weepers,

those ones that make you feel

like you’re the one being watched.

I think I need a doctor who understands,

who can help me slay this thing,

to chuck the habit,

because doing this on my own

is like chasing fireflies.

It’s the cost too.

Sure, the first sample is free

and that’s how they get you.

After that though, you pay.

Pay every time, like clockwork.

So, I,

I don’t know,

um,

I don’t know what else to say

other than,

Hi, my name’s Christopher and

I’m addicted to Netflix.

22/07/15

Here is a poem. The prompt is ‘quiet madness’ from #MadVerse.

Our attention is always drawn

to those who scream and destroy

publicly when it should

be on those who boil

the shadows in quiet madness.

Editor Christopher Writes – #PoemADayForAYear: 17-19/07/15

17/07/15

Here is a poem. The prompt is ‘bittersweet memory’ from #DSPoetry.

The phrase ‘no resit’

jolts the heart, sets it

on a path until,

seven months later, the heart

is captured and can be at rest.

18/07/15

Here is a poem. The prompt is ‘breathless second’ from #WrittenRiver.

‘How do you think I feel?’

rapid breaths condense

into fogs of silver.

‘I’ve been training for

four fucking years!’

19/07/15

For the million and one moments

after you escape, each one

is sumptuous. Each mouthful

of fresh, clean air tastes

as sweet as anything can.

In delirium, you start

to rebuild a shattered life.

You do all the things you

always said you would do

but never got round to

before you were taken,

locked away for months.

Then, as it does,

reality’s dust starts to settle over you,

infinite particles gradually weighing

and bringing you back down to earth.

The smallest things no longer feel

like the greatest things you can do.

You start to take them for granted.

Then you realise that when you were taken,

irreplaceable things were taken too.

Things you will never get back.

Even things that you can get back.

Your phone was broken in the struggle.

Not a massive deal but it is the inconvenience

and the cost that are really annoying

and that is when the resentment truly kicks in.