Oh, no it isn’t… oh, yes it is - the panto!

OH, NO it isn’t… oh, yes it is.

It’s a blog about the annual British pantomime – or ‘panto’ for short.

This past weekend saw my Mexican wife’s latest induction to her new life in England.

For those of you in the US and overseas, the dictionary definition of pantomime is this: ‘a theatrical entertainment, mainly for children, which involves music, topical jokes, and slapstick comedy and is based on a fairy tale or nursery story, usually produced around Christmas’.

After sitting through the hour-and-a-half performance at Plymouth’s Theatre Royal, Jacky’s definition of a pantomime is simply this: ‘It’s crazy’.

The Christmas panto is a British tradition. It’s as British as you can get – and its roots reportedly go all the way back to the 16^th century.

Men dress up as women, women dress up as men, they sing songs, tell rude jokes and just have a laugh.

It’s bonkers, bizarre and quite brilliant in its silliness.

I hadn’t been to the panto since my mum won tickets in a newspaper competition when I was about seven or eight.

And boy did I NOT notice the sexual innuendos back then.

The kids love the audience participation, and the colour and ridiculousness of it all – not least the songs and chorus of ‘he’s behind you… oh no he isn’t, oh yes he is…’ lines.

The adults love the clever (but silly) jokes, the double entendres, the forgotten lines and mistakes, and the occasional glances from the stars referencing how ridiculous it all is.

I couldn’t help but glance over at Jacks throughout the whole ordeal, sorry show, to check that she wasn’t horrified by what she was seeing.

The expressions on her face spoke volumes of her enjoyment of the show.

Panto selfie

Huge credit has got to go to the entertainer (and true star of the show) Bobby Davro who – on greeting the audience and revealing how happy he was to be back in Plymouth, went on to he’s the only entertainer of his age left who “isn’t in prison” (referencing the ongoing sexual abuse scandals rocking the British entertainment industry).

Fair point.

And if the panto itself wasn’t crazy enough, the annual panto after show party made for a pretty wild night.

Here, on the top floor of the venue, saw a mix of panto stars and theatre employees, footballers, journalists and city businessmen – with a large shot of something very alcoholic.

“You’re hungover…?” friends asked us the morning after the show with a look of equal part disbelief and horror.

“You went to a kids pantomime and got drunk?!”

“Have you been to a panto recently…? Wow…” I smirked.

“Times have changed…”

A journalist colleague of mine told me recently that one year one of the previous stars of the Plymouth panto asked if he could do his interview “lying down”.

The interview just so happened to take place the morning after the panto party.

Anyhow, watching the Christmas pantomime is another tick on the list.

Now we’re set for our first Christmas together in the UK.

Oh, yes it is… it’s CHRISTMAS!

Merry Christmas everyone!

Twitter: @tristan_nichols

Winter is coming...

I HAVE thick skin.

At least I do compared to my wife it seems.

I must have.

Do I need to sleep underneath TWO thick winter duvets in the middle of the British summer to fend off the cold??

I do not.

My wife it seems, does.

Over the centuries our British bodies have adjusted to living in the northern part of the world.

So our idea of a 'nice' summer, is not the same as a North American's idea of a 'nice' summer.

For about five minutes in August, when the old Victorian house was so warm that no amount of open windows or doors would shift the heat, Jacks was happy and content.

Even our chili plants were happy (who knew you could REALLY grow chilis here? In Devon??)

This WAS summer.

But this was not actually summer.

This was in fact an anomaly. A climatical mirage if you like.

For the two months gearing up to us moving to the UK I pre-warned her of the "cold, damp, fairly miserable conditions" which she should be prepared for on a "daily" basis - basically "year round".

It became a running joke when we were watching the HBO series 'Game of Thrones'.

When we heard the slogan "winter is coming" I said: "It is... when we move to England".

When we found out we were actually moving back to the 'shire (that's Devonshire – not Hobbit-land) we set about preparing Jacks for nothing she had ever experienced before.

We visited store after store in San Diego trying to find something called a 'coat'.

No luck.

"You need to visit a different state for that... maybe Alaska, or the East coast maybe?" store staff would suggest with a wry smile.

"Why would WE need coats here?!"

Fair one. With a year-round average of 21.5 degrees Celsius in Southern California why would you need a winter coat?

So I prepared my wife for the worst, we jumped on a plane at the tail end of April and what happens…? We experience one of the best summers in years with 'above average' temperatures month after month.

It was so nice and warm and lovely that day after day we were blessed with glorious sunshine.

It got to the stage where we didn't actually need a forecast because everyday seemed to be the same day after day.

Our chili plants re-flowered, every day seemed to be a 'beach day' and people began to smile more (as they only do when its sunny).

Let it grow, let it grow, let it grow

Feeling the heat - another of our very happy chili plants

Chili farmer

But then in the space of what seemed to be just a few hours, it appeared to get darker with the nights drawing in; our chili plants half died; I grabbed my brolly (that’s umbrella for you guys outside the UK); and Christmas decorations, treats and adverts began appearing in local stores and on the TV.

The view at Tesco - never one to miss a trick (Sept 9th)

So now the true shock is about to settle in for my Mexican wife.

As the storm clouds gathered over our Plymouth home, I declared: "This IS England".

Incoming... the view over Plymouth Sound

The view a few minutes later...

"When's it going to be warm and sunny again," I can hear her asking in a few days, if not minutes.

Um... 2015... maybe in May...2015?

Yes, you try telling a Latin girl that that's it for a while. Show's over.

The sun is on holiday for a bit.

In San Diego there's a saying that goes: "May grey, June gloom".

That saying doesn't actually mean it's going to rain.

Californians are just weird.

It means it'll be 23 instead of 25. Oh, and it'll be a tad cloudy.

I'm not sure what the saying is here... "summer (usually) shit, autumn (generally) bleak, winter downright evil?"

For the seasoned Brits these seasons are a piece of cake.

Step one: Pack up the board shorts, 90 per cent of t-shirts, flip flops and sunglasses. Oh, and the factor 30 sun block you didn't use.

Step two: Unpack the hoodies, jeans, down jackets and gloves and scarves.

Simple: Change summer wardrobe for winter wardrobe.
As Oscar Wilde wrote: "Wisdom comes with winters".
It goes with the territory.

If there's one way to test the resilience of a wife and all that "for better or for worse" jazz then it's this.

Batten down the hatches sweetheart, I'll introduce you to a seasonal friend we call 'central heating'.

Update - Oct 13th - 7.15pm.
Jacks' first ever experience of central heating. Remarkable.
I think she'll be sleeping here in the hallway tonight.

That warm fuzzy feeling

Follow me on Twitter: @tristan_nichols

The things we do for Christmas... (and love)

"Can you tell me where your Christmas tree baubles are please...?" I pleasantly asked a frenzied-looking shop assistant in a store at the weekend.
Laughter ensued. Loud laughter in fact.
In fact the kind of laughter that upon diminishing, would have normally seen said sales assistant beckon to other sales staff to come gather for a good old laugh at the silly Brit.
Once the laughter stopped she pointed over to a small stand in the corner.
"That's what we have left," she said still smirking.
Had it not been the 'season of good will', I would have slammed my sticky iced cinnamon roll in her face.
Believe me I thought about it.
But instead I strolled over to the stand with Jacks now in tow.
"What did she say?" Jacks asked.
"That's all they have left," I answered.
"Seriously?"
Seriously.
Now I was warned about the 'holiday season' starting on Thanksgiving - aka November 28th - but I admit, I didn't really pay much attention.
I didn't hear the start gun, Christmas isn't a sprint... it's a marathon. Surely, I thought.
Wrong.
It seems that Christmas does indeed start on Thanksgiving... midnight on Thanksgiving Eve to be exact.
Overnight every retailer under the warm Californian night sky puts up every twinkly glittery decoration they can lay their hands on.
Overnight San Diego becomes a Santa's grotto.
As I've since explained to many American people here, traditionally retailers in the UK 'kick off' Christmas and it's frenzied consumer-led chaos in November.
For many people in the UK, Christmas doesn't really feel like, well... 'Christmas', until at least December 20th.
This is normally around the time when you read leaked details of the Queen's Christmas Day speech in the national tabloid press, and the likely inclusion of 'Indiana Jones and The Temple of Doom' and 'Love Actually' in the TV listings (AGAIN).
Up until then it's Christmas for the sake of Christmas. It's only when families begin to come together that our traditional UK Christmas begins.
I digress...
So there we were trying to buy a Christmas tree, some fairy lights and some baubles, on December 7th - two-and-a-half WEEKS before Christmas Day.
But it didn't matter.
We were late for Christmas.
A deep-rooted feeling of regret and sadness filled our tummies.
Had we seriously missed the boat? We didn't get the memo! Had that ship largely sailed?!
Pants.
Fortunately (because every Christmas story has got to have a happy ending right?) we found a bunch of people selling Christmas trees in the parking lot (or 'car park' as we call them).
And then of course the traditional husband-wife conversation began...
Me: "Which one do you fancy?"
Jacky: "That one!"
Me: "That's way too big."
Jacky: "THAT one."
Me: "Look at the size of the tree's TRUNK."
Jacky: "Okay... THAT one. It's small compared to the other ones."
Me: "Well, it's smaller than the other one..."
Sold.
$20 = bargain.
Now, I should mention at this point that we currently don't have a car here, and we usually rely solely on the good nature of friends and public transport.
Everyone else who bought a tree from that parking lot picked up their trees, placed them on carts and pushed or pulled them to their nearby cars.
As we didn't have a car to push or pull a cart to, I opted to carry the monster.
Of course being a man - a man who shirks at the idea of carrying two grocery store bags in favour of ALL of them at once (because I'm a man and that's what men do - albeit stupidly) - I hoisted the tree up and onto my shoulder, nearly taking out the tree-selling staff in the process as I spun around to locate the nearest trolley (San Diego's train) stop.

No I can't hold THAT pose

'Did Jacks help...?' I hear you ask...
Not unless by 'helping' you mean by taking photos and laughing uncontrollably.
All that was going through my head was 'it's our first Christmas as a married couple, it's our first Christmas as a married couple'.
With friends out of town and unreachable, we decided to try and use the trolley to get the bloody thing home.
Cue further comedy.
There are signs, clear signs, on just about every trolley carriage stating the size of things which may or may not be carried on said trolley.
Somehow, in the listing they forgot to mention that 'no Christmas tree over seven feet tall and three feet wide should be allowed on board'.
Yep, they missed the trick there.
Clearly no-one would be crazy enough to attempt such a feat...? That is until last Saturday.

Where's Wally?

So there I was at the trolley stop, roughly ten stops from the nearest stop to home, thinking there is no WAY we are going to be allowed on the trolley with this beast.

"Not a chance..." or so I thought

But then magic happened. The trolley arrived, we got on (well, I 'stumbled' on), I wedged the tree up against a seat and the trolley's ceiling and I smiled at the other passengers pretending that it was the most normal thing in the world to do.

En route

The 'magic' revolved around two transport police looking up at us, and simply ignoring the tree.

"Nothing to see here..."

It was a strange moment. It was like it was invisible.
And as weird as the rest of the journey was, it was also wonderful in equal measure.
In our crazy randomness we brought a fair amount of Christmas cheer to that carriage attracting smiles and nods of approval from every passenger who happened to get on, or off.
A couple of people commented about how great the tree smelt.
"It's smells like Christmas," one man said before thanking us.

Are we nearly home yet...?

So yes, we made it 'home' seemingly leaving half of the tree's needles on the trolley, in the elevator, and along the passageway to the front door.

Once in the apartment I grappled with the tree to raise it up, cut the string which had held it so tightly together, and then looked on with some amount of smugness as my aforementioned views were realised that this was indeed no 'small' tree.

Oh dear lord...

"Oh my gosh..." Jacky said.
Long story cut short... it looks amazing.
We found some baubles (around 60) from a store across the road at a discounted price because it's 'past-season' (?!) and we bought 75ft (yes... 25ft x 25ft x 25ft = 75ft!!!!!) of lights.
I could have covered my entire house in England with that length of lighting!
Still.
It does look pukka.

Twinkle twinkle in the Casa de los Nichols

America does Christmas well.
And now, so do we.
Now, if you don't mind, I'm going to go and be horizontal for a while and try to soothe this aching back.
Happy holidays everyone!

@tristan_nichols

Shop 'til you drop

WALKING to work yesterday I couldn’t help but feel like I was involved in a particularly dramatic scene from the latest Hunger Games movie.

My decision to divert from the usual daily route to the studio, and wander through Fashion Valley mall was a tad silly on reflection.

Black Friday?

Tsk. More like ‘black and blue’ Friday.

Americans do love their contact sports but wow.

Check out this video taken yesterday in Texas...

During the course of yesterday's national shopping holiday a few shoppers got punched and bundled over; someone got stabbed; someone got shot; and someone actually got stun-gunned… I mean, TASERED… by a female shopper.

How does someone actually come to the decision when leaving their house that they need to bring something like that when they’re going shopping.

I mean, keys – check; purse – check; 3,800K volt stun gun – check…

Er… tis is not the season to be ‘jolly?’ Peace on earth and all that jazz?
Anyway, yesterday morning on my way to work here in San Diego I forgot it was ‘Black Friday’.

That was until I was met by a scene akin to The Walking Dead.

“Hey look at THAT guy jumping the line…” one infuriated guy shouted in my direction as I criss-crossed through the sheer hordes of eager-eyed bargain hunters in the mall.

“I’m not queuing, I’m trying to get to bloody WORK!” I replied with desperation now distinct in my voice.

I almost felt the need to shout that I just wanted to “survive”.

Shopping at any other time of the year is one thing. But shopping on Black Friday here… there’s a fevered intensity bordering on insanity.
People line up outside these stores for days. Literally DAYS. Some have tents. I even saw one with a generator so he could cook meals.

And I’m told that the ‘holiday season’ deals here run almost daily up until Christmas.

Joy. Maybe I’ll stop by a local sports store and stock up on some NFL padding and a helmet.

During these sales people seemed to line up outside every store in the country.

Sony, Gap, Zara, Macy’s… these I kind of understand.

But Target?! Everything’s so cheap in that store any way, staff must have been literally handing out free stuff.

Sure there are deals to be had but is it really worth risking your life over?

I always find that most of the things I actually want to buy are never on offer in any case. Typical.

It’s also impossible to drive anywhere around these malls because of the traffic.

By the time I got home to the apartment last night, I wanted to walk in the door, lock it, and declare to Jacky: “do NOT go outside”.

Here’s an idea for bargain-hunters. Instead of shaving years of your life through stress dealing with the craziness, why not just shop online?

The deals are the same, most stores boast free delivery, and there’s less of a chance of being attacked by a woman with a frikkin stun gun.
If you need any more reason to lose faith in humanity check out these stories: http://www.buzzfeed.com/jordanzakarin/17-black-friday-stories-that-will-make-you-lose-faith-in-hum.

So yes… Thanksgiving.

It was my – and ‘our’ – first Thanksgiving in the States.

I can tell you that the level of excitement was not really shared by me, an Englishman, or my wife, a Mexican.

My only real link is that the Pilgrim Fathers left from my home city of Plymouth.

Judging by the conversations I’ve had, I think I actually know more about what Thanksgiving is, than most Americans.

“Turkey” seems to be the most popular answer when you ask someone here what ‘Thanksgiving’ is all about.

Interesting answer.

"Football," too.

“Family”, is the answer which seems to come in a close third.

It made me miss my mum and dad, and the weekly Sunday roast.

We roasted some veggies and some chicken.

Veggie-tastic

Oh, and ate an apple pie donated as a Thanksgiving gift by a Mexican friend of ours.

And I skyped ma and pa.

Good enough right?

Personally the occasion did make me feel thankful for everything I have here, and at home in the UK.

And now, sitting here in the apartment I’m also thankful for a decent Wi-Fi signal to allow me to shop from the safe confines of home.

Be nice to each other America.

@tristan_nichols