Come in. Be safe. Make friends. And family. Grow here. Grow up. Then fuck off. twitter.com/paddyashdown/s…
"Mum, I think I can talk to birds", says my nearly nine year old son first thing this morning. "Wow. That's cool!" I reply, "What do you say to each other?" "Well it's kind of hard to tell you, because, well ... we don't talk human". And he procedes to make some soft cooing and burbling noises. "Ah, is that pigeon?" I ask. "Yup". "Is it pigeons that you talk to, love?" "Well I talk to a lot of different ones, but mostly pigeons and doves" he says, before adding "because they're I think they're kind of most like people". "And what happens when you talk?" "Well I listen to what they're saying and then I say something back. And then they talk back to me. And a lot of times they come up closer to me. One even let me touch it once. I htink they like me". "Oh that's great, love. Do you mean it's a bit like when Harry Potter speaks parceltongue to the snakes?" "Exactly!" he says. "Mum, what was the first bird I ever saw?" "Ooh I"m not sure, dude." "What's the one you've told me about before?" "Aw. I know the one you mean. You never actually *saw* that one though. You mean the barn owl that swooped over our car the night you were born, yeah?" "Yeah the barn owl! Like the one I held at the Owl Centre one time". "Uhuh, she was beautiful. Do you know in Gaelic she's called The White Faced Old Woman of The Night? So she's sort of a wee bit like a white witch." He pauses for a moment to absorb this. "Mum, do you think she's the one that gave me my bird-talking powers?" I absolutely LOVE my son. I think he is amazing and wise. I think he's a brilliant listener, a thinker and a gorgeous compassionate wee soul. And maybe he doers to talk to birds. And maybe they do talk back.
Media legitimisation of personal jibes. Patronising arsehole. Is that it, that's what passes for intelligent debate? #BattleForNumber10
Awfie chuffed and relieved that my new show "Wind Resistance" for Edinburgh International Festival and Lyceum Theatre is touching a wee heart spot in some folks. Thanks to everyone who's come so far. And apologies to those unable to get tickets for this run (but worth mentioning that I think there are returns some days ...) This is a show about the essence of teams, and the life and death necessity, beauty and elegance of collaboration and community. And so MASSIVE thanks from me to the mighty creative team who have made this WITH me. Talking about you David Greig, Wils Wilson, Pippa Murphy, Milla Clarke, Janice Parker Projects, Ben Seal, Sandy Butler and the dear Mark Whyles Management and the braw Liam Hurley. And an ARMY of babysitters and spirit-keeper-uppers most especially Anne Polwart, Emma Jackson and Inge Thomson. I've been fair blessed with some lovely reviews too. Ocht, I'd be a pure liar if I said I was immune to them! It's genuinely gratifying (and also a gift denied to others who've had less support than me) to have people from a world I don't ordinarily inhabit (i.e. theatre) assess my work and feel moved by it. Phew. Here, for example, is some words from The Stage ... Link