I’m in the middle of writing a large post. So large that it is in the process of being split into a number of smaller ones, which I will post in due course.

However, with news today that the “UK Economy Comes To A Standstill” to quote the BBC Business News website’s headline, I find myself editing my post yet again.

You see, with all this doom and gloom on the economy, and in my mind we should be reading between the lines anyway, these ‘official figures’ from the Government are becoming a bit of a farce.

A few weeks ago, when I first started writing my forthcoming post (working-titled ‘2012′) it was announced that the UK was the only European country to record a positive growth in the last quarter; Apr, May, Jun. A meager 0.2% admittedly, but a positive growth none-the-less, and thus shunning the economists who reckon we are already beginning our decline into an inevitable recession.

Funny then, that that figure was just an estimate, and today the Office of National Statistics admitted “the economy stalled, showing no growth from the first quarter of 2008″ ending “a run of more than 15 years of consecutive growth in the UK.”

Yep. The growth in our economy was, allegedly, exactly 0%. Zero. Nothing. We did exactly the same amount of business in the first quarter as we did in the second. We didn’t grow by a tiny, weeny, little bit of a percentage point and nor did we shrink by a tiny, weeny, little bit of a percentage point. Nothing. No change whatsoever.

Doesn’t that strike you as a little odd that over a period of three months nothing can change at all in our economy. No change at all, either up or down?

Does me. Very odd. How can the movement of billions of pounds in our economy result in exactly the same as in the last quarter. When was the last time the economy didn’t change at all from one quarter to the next?

Here’s my take; here’s my “reading between the lines”.

The widely regarded and often used technical definition of a recession is two quarters of negative growth in a country’s economy.

Of course, our Government does not in any way shape or form wish to alarm the population of this country by mentioning the dreaded word ‘recession’ and so they do a very clever thing to buy themselves some time.

Assuming we have a very small positive growth in the second quarter (as in the reported 0.2% a few weeks ago) and a widely predicted, all the signs are there, negative growth in the third quarter, hopefully then, the government can sort things out during the forth quarter and everything will be hunk-dory because we never actually had two months of negative growth thus no defined economic recession. Yes? You following?

Ah, but what if we did have a very minor negative growth in the second quarter (even -0.05%) followed by a widely predicted, all the signs are there, negative growth in the third?

Whoops! Two consecutive quarters of negative growth and bang, a recession, as technically defined. The media will have a field day. Not good.

So what does our esteemed Government do? Yep, release a figure of 0% growth. Easy really when you think about. It’s not negative is it? It’s not positive either, but that’s beside the point.

Nuff said. I’m not an economist, but I know there’s a problem. House prices couldn’t keep rising with wages not keeping up in anyway shape or form. How long could the average house price possibly maintain a multiple of nine times the average salary? Didn’t add up, still doesn’t.

Where I live, a ‘villiage’ just outside of Woking, two estate agents have recently closed.

The main agency still there, Mann, owned by the country’s largest estate agency group, Countrywide, has six windows in which to display its property for sale. Only one of those windows has property in it. The rest are now filled with adverts for mortgages, house insurance, and the like.

The property insert inside our local freebee paper (an actual publication in itself) has shrunk considerably recently. The agents have much less property to advetise, and I suspect that most can’t afford to advertise what they have got.

We are going into a recession. And wether it is technically defined as happening at the end of this quarter, 30 Sept, or the end of the next 31st Dec, we are definitely going into one.

Probably better to prepare now isn’t it? Rather than waiting for the Government to admit it sometime in mid February when the growth figures for the last quarter of 2008 are announced?

Mind you, what are the odds of us having that magic 0% growth this quarter as well, huh?

Now that would be funny.

Goodnight.

Well that’s a good start - not.

I’m in bed typing away on my MacBook at 6.30am after a night mostly devoid again of something called sleep, and I’m already pissed off ’cause my so called wireless broadband is only wireless horizontally and not, it appears, vertically.

I had intended to update my facebook status before I started writing.

Something like;

- Paul knows the answer definitely isn’t 42, but kind of wishes it was.

Oh well.

Here I am, as I’ve said, typing in bed, with my laptop, funnily enough, in my lap. Apparently, or so I learnt the other day, it’s not very good for us men.

Fries the balls and lowers the sperm count.

No problem there then. Not as if my sperm’s going to fulfill it’s potential is it? Lol!

Mind you, there are times, like for some odd reason today, that I really wish it could.

You’ve probably grasped that being gay means having children is little harder when you can’t use conventional methods.

My problem is, the older I get, the more I want them, and the more I have to accept I will never have them. And that’s just the most plain fucking annoying thing there is.

When I was younger, like eleven or twelve, way before I knew I was actually gay, or even what gay was for that matter, I used to think I would grow up, acquire a wife (blonde hair, blue eyes) and have kids.

A wife, not incidentally, that would die very young and leave me quite contented to bring up the children on my own.

I knew way back then that I wanted kids, but it was very clear somehow that a woman just wasn’t part of the mental picture, other than the act of actually producing them. Weird, but that was how my brain was working at the time. Obviously, I know why now, but I certainly didn’t then.

So there you go, in my state of depression, yes I’m down again, I’ve finally admitted to the electronic ether we call the world wide web that I really, really, really want children, but will never have them.

I want to help a baby become a toddler; a toddler become a young child who goes to school; a young child become a teenager who loves me and hates me at the same time; a teenager become an adult who leaves home and starts the process all over again.

I want to help a life go on to achieve everything in this increasingly stupid world that they want to be able to, knowing full well I will always support them in whatever they choose to do.

I always have. Always.

I have worked with young people ever since I was one myself.

I helped out in playgroups when I was at school as part of my community service (my excuse for getting out of games during O’levels). Loved it.

Helped to teach kids to swim while I was at college.

Even worked as a nanny when I left home during my A’Levels. (They call them manny’s now!) Was even offered a place at a teacher training college in the Lake District. Just needed two D’s to get the grant, but only managed an E in Maths on the second attempt. (Though at the risk of seriously pissing off some of my younger readers I’m reliably informed that E is the equivalent of a B these days!)

When I left college I worked in a secondary school as a non-teaching assistant looking after a handicapped boy (rip Stephen, I still think about you) then I spent many years as a part-time youth worker in Surrey and Hampshire, and I now volunteer at a Youth Theatre every Sunday.

I adore spending time with my best friend’s 10 year old son. I pick him up from school sometimes, take him out to the cinema in Staines, go shopping for Doctor Who stuff in Toys’R'Us in Woking, even take him on day trips to London during the holidays - I love it when he asks if I can take him out. He’s great fun!

I have two neices, 7 and 9, and a nephew, 13 and I even have what I consider to be close friends who are young enough to be my children.

But I want to be a father. A real father. I’m happy to be a substitute, but it’s not the same. It’s not the same at all.

I’m crying now.

We all have to make sacrifices in this world. We can’t have everything we want.

I know, I can hear you; Being gay doesn’t stop a man from being a father. And yes, you’re quite right.

But Richard is the most important person in my life and he will simply never have children. For him they are fine if they are somebody else’s, and they behave, and they are at a distance. Generally, spending time with them (and never alone) is only done when we are at some sort of family function; one that we haven’t been able to get out of.

We have a wonderful home. Those of you who have seen it will know that Richard has always taken great care and pride in his surroundings. His interior and exterior design skills are second to none, and you can actually see him having some sort of internal mental fit if a child is in, or for that fact anywhere near the house. (Our neighbours have young children who are always playing nearby.) He puts up with it, just, but I know how much he hates it. And I respect that.

I love Richard dearly. We have been together now for nearly thirteen years. And both know full well that we always will be. I’d be long dead now if it wasn’t for his love and support.

There is nothing in my life that I would change, even if I could.

Yes, there are times I wish I wasn’t gay, like when I have the unfortunate displeasure of being in earshot of the complete and utter ignorance and intolerance of the other human beings in this world who have the stupid fucked up assumption that I have either ‘chosen’ to be gay or that I’m some kind of biological mistake that should be eradicated in case I corrupt innocent children or infect the rest of the human race with some incurable disease. Who the fuck would ‘choose’ to be gay with people like that around anyway?

And yes, there are times I wish I wasn’t bipolar, though at least my downs aren’t quite so bad now since I’ve been on this medication. My ups/downs are far less frequent and not as severe so my 100mg tablet of Lamotrigine every day is doing the trick. I still get a little depressed at times, like today and yesterday, but it’s bearable. Just messes the sleep up and leaves me lost.

So overall, I am happy. I wouldn’t change anything even if I could, except that I’d definitely be even happier if I had children. Even one would be sufficient. I’m not greedy.

And it’s not the passing on of the genes that really matters to me either. I’d happily foster if I could, (ironic since that’s my surname), even adopt. Thought about it loads of times. All this bollocks about a child having to have two parents of opposite sex is just that, bollocks.

No, it’s the passing on of the wisdom, the understanding of the world, the being there, the helping, the nuturing, the supporting, the loving, the caring, the hugging, being a shoulder to cry on when it all goes wrong, or the taxi when it’s all going right, being the ‘father figure’ that they can look up to, be proud of, be thankful for, and the knowing that I did the best I could to give this human race another human being who could make a difference in this world.

Yes, I’m thankful, very thankful that I can do this for other people’s children in some degree or other, and on a very part-time basis, it’s just that there is a deep, very deep biological instinct thing which I can never fulfill and the older I get the more it hurts. How’s that for a mid-life crisis? Most men want a Harley. I want a child!

Though I guess if you are in the lucky position of having the option of having children, if indeed you want them, then you’d probably have no idea what the fuck I’m feeling or how deep that pain really is and how much it is screwing with my mind.

I’m crying again.

Never really appreciated how much this meant to me. Must be this I’m nearly fucking forty thing.

Oh well, ho hum.

–

Mid afternoon.

Still feeling fucking shit about all this.

Given up on the ironing, Jon.

Listening to Erasure now.

Blues Away is on repeat.

can you see this predilection
rushing through my head
was a morning full of circumstance
i was seeing red
put my blues away

navigation gone astray
went any way i could
havent got the time of day
cannot see why i should
put my blues away

always had my reservations
who am i to blame
walked into the ring of fire
heart in a wall of flames
put my blues away

my emotions running riot
through the neighbourhood
screaming in the dead of night
i wish to be understood
put my blues away

Thanks Andy. Couldn’t have said it better myself.

With the 50th Anniversary Production of West Side Story making it’s way from Sadlers Wells to Woking next month, my interest in producing/directing my own version has again been rekindled. I played Anxious in my first school production at Eggar’s in 1982 and have loved the musical ever since.

Anyway, I thought I’d start with a little bit of research and typed ‘West Side Story’ into Google - like you do. I immediatley came up with the stage script, which I certainly didn’t expect to find - especially when you consider it’s actually on a movie scriptwriting site!

Thinking you may be interested too, here’s the link: West Side Story Script

Highly Commended in this prestigious award were…
Alex Dowding and Rob Fuzzard both with 405 friends on Facebook.

Third Place goes to Adam Pollington with 431.

In a close Second Place is Lianne Dempsey with 489.

But the award for Paul Foster’s Friendliest Friend on Facebook goes to…

(cue drum roll)

Nick Hampshire with 504 friends!

Well Done Nick!!!!

So are you one of them?

Well I’ve been on facebook for a one whole week now - Thanks, Tom - and so to commemorate the occasion of gaining my fiftieth friend - Rob, that was you - I figured I’d find out how many friends all my facebook friends currently have and see how well I’m doing!

So in alphabetical order of surname with number of friends in brackets (as of approx 8-10.30pm on 23/07/08), here’s the definitive list of my First Fifty Friends on Facebook!

And a big hello to all of you!

Tom A (103)
Adam A (99)
Alex A (252)
Frances B (251)
Anna B (215)
Suzi B (178)
Thomasina B (316)
Paul B (34)
Elizabeth B (43)
Fiona C (61)
Graham C (37)
Paula-Jane C (16)
Adam D (347)
Rianna D (202)
Lianne D (489)
Alex D (405)
Kay D (36)
Neil F-S (219)
Mark F (232)
Andrew F (98)
Zandr F-L (52)
Rob F (405)
Georgy F (6)
Chloe G (218)
Clare G (337)
Andrew H-C (86)
Nick H (504)
Wilf H (45)
Ian H (14)
Emma H (164)
Aaron H (172)
Bruno H (305)
Mark H (79)
Claire H (143)
Tracy K (91)
Claire L (307)
Dylan L (20)
Paul L (48)
Peter M (98)
Linda N (56)
Charlotte O’D (241)
Phil P (117)
Adam P (431)
Mark P (33)
Rowena T (75)
Paul T (56)
Claire W (180)
Amy W (211)
Peter W (101)

Had brilliant weekend. I was actually working and earning some much needed dosh, but it was great fun. I really don’t mind working when it’s fun.

I do some ad-hoc work for an event management company and this weekend, as a slight departure from the norm of managing corporate hospitality staff at major sporting events, I was helping out at a picturesque restaurant on the hampshire/berkshire border.

The New Mill at Eversley, though no longer a water mill, has been around since 1577. The River Blackwater flows past leisurely and the water wheel inside still turns with all the mill’s workings on show.

Primarily a restaurant serving fine food and well chosen wines, the venue is available for exclusive hire for all manner of occasions.

On Saturday I was helping out at one of the 76 weddings booked this year.

I was impressed with the organisation and it almost appeared to be ‘laid back’ though I have to stress that this is purely down to the immense efficiently of the considerably few staff. They work very well as an intricate team, and as an ‘agency manager’ contracted in for a couple of days to cover for a vacant restaurant management post that is due to be filled shortly, I was made to feel very much a part of that team.

The food service of a three course ‘Wedding Breakfast’ (No, not bacon and eggs - it’s called a breakfast since it’s the ‘first’ meal after the marriage.) went like a dream. I was amazed at how quickly we were we able to serve 95 guests on ten tables and the food looked stunning. (And tasted good too, since I was able to eat the salmon fishcake starter for my dinner during the speeches.)

Whilst coffee was served in the lounge, we changed the restaurant into a disco and the guests danced and drank themselves silly to midnight.

Oh, and a word of caution for anyone attending a wedding this summer. Don’t take your own champagne!

A small group of guests decided to sneak in a few bottles of Veuve Clicquot. We knew something was going on when a guest asked for some flute glasses. One of the staff gave them some without realising, and we spent the next couple of hours playing hunt the bottle.

We found one, then, not long after I found another and took it to the bar. We thought that was probably it, but then I found yet another one and this one was half full! Off it went to the bar.

The guest naturally complained, and when the Stephen, the General Manager, explained that he would be charging the bride’s father corkage, we thought may be he would have got the hint.

Er, no…

Half an hour later I spotted another bottle hidden by a curtain. Three of the women that had been drinking the champagne all night saw me clearing glasses and rather obviously started dancing in front of the bottle thinking rather naively that I was stupid enough not to have noticed it.

It wasn’t long before I discreetly nicked that one too.

Funny then, that come the end of the evening, all the guests are departing and a small party are mysteriously left to wait a while on their own as we set up for Sunday Lunch - Their taxi was over an hour late!

–

Sunday, and after a few hours sleep at home and a mammoth journey negotiating the queues of Farnborough Airshow traffic on the M3, I arrived back at the New Mill for luncheon.

We had a number of bookings including two large parties and a couple of smaller birthday celebrations.

The beautiful Garden Room, with floor to ceiling windows overlooking the terrace and the river flowing serenely to the side, was booked - which sadly didn’t please one of the other guests who was under the impression she’d been eating in there.

On entering the restaurant, this rather rotund women with huge dark sunglasses demanded to see the table she had been ‘moved to’. Though still with a view of the river, it simply wasn’t good enough for her.

- “I wish to be seated in the Garden Room,” she said with the air of someone who never gets what they want in life because they’re far to rude to deserve it. “It’s far too dark here.”

- “I’m very sorry, Madam”, I replied in my very best ‘I’d really like to help you but your being an arse’ voice, “but the guests in the Garden Room are having a private function and have paid a room hire charge.”

Not at all happy, she moaned yet again about her table being ‘far too dark’.

- “Well you fat bitch,” I said to myself whilst smiling the biggest fuck off grin I could get away with, “If you took your fancy fucking sunglasses off, you might just be able to see your table!”

Sunday Lunch was lovely; again, incredibly efficient, with that laid back feeling. And at £22.50 for a superb three course lunch I though it was great value for money too.

Okay, so you’re much more likely to find me having a £4.59 veggie-burger and chips with a free drink in Wetherspoons, but for a special occasion, I’d certainly go to, and indeed recommend the New Mill at Eversley.

I finished the day about half seven, and subsequently got caught in the Farnborough Airshow traffic going home on the M3! Oh well.

–

And finally…

As a good-will gesture, the bride’s father wasn’t charged corkage, though he did tell us his wayward guests had allegedly stolen the champagne from a corporate event the previous day!

Oh, and Miss Dark Sunglasses, 2008?

Well she kept them on throughout the entire meal and left the restaurant afterwards still wearing them. Allegedly, her ex-husband was also among the diners on the table; and he’d bought along his also allegedly younger, slimmer and far better looking new wife!

Perhaps that’s why she never took her sunglasses off!

So thanks to Steve, Rouve, Bruce, Popeye, Chef and the other staff for making me feel part of an effective, efficient and excellent team. It was great weekend. Thank you!

So, me thinks I might have invented a new verb! Well, Alex, you read it here first!

For those who wish to be illuminated, the term playwright is not a variant spelling of playwrite, but something quite distinct: the word wright is an archaic English term for a craftsman or builder (as in a wheelwright, cartwright, or shipwright). Hence the prefix and the suffix combine to indicate someone who, like me, crafts plays.

So, since the term playwrighting means crafting a play (as being distinct from writing a play, since the act of crafting a play requires learned skills and is much more than the specific act of writing) I have taken the noun ‘wright’ to also be a verb: ‘to wright’ meaning to craft.

And so, to quote my facebook profile (seven friends and counting, and at the rate of adding one friend every two hours!) being a playwright, I guess I wright plays.

Yep, looks like I’ve succumbed to Facebook. (Thanks Tom!) I should be in bed, very busy few days ahead, but here I am trying to find some friends to add to my very short list.

Amazing to find some old school/college friends. Wonder what they’re all doing now…

Anyway, any one out there feel like adding me to their list of friends then feel free. Search for “facebook-at-pafoster.com” as an email and you’ll find me. I think there’s a widget thing-a-me-bob-do-dah-whotsit that will post my blog entries there too!

Oh and there’s bound to be a Mac dashboard widget thingy too.

Oh dear…

And Rich is already complaining of being a Mac widow - I daren’t mention Facebook!

Sunday, and after a Saturday of not much at all, I went to Sunbury for the Riverside Youth Theatre’s AGM.

I was elected onto the committee as the publicity officer and after an hour’s meeting it was time for the post AGM entertainment: A live Who’s Line Is It Anyway? style show.

I’ve spent the last six Sundays running an Improvisation Workshop where the young RYT members have been learning a variety of improv’ techniques.

It was brilliant. We were in the studio at the Riverside Arts Centre and had set up some staging and even had a some proper lighting too. (Thanks Aaron!)

I hosted and about a dozen or so members performed a variety of games from the show: Foreign Film Dubbing, Dating Show, Press Conference and some hilarious Alphabet Scenes.

The members were all brilliant and audience was great too; All willingly chipping in various locations and character styles for the actors to improvise with on cue.

It lasted forty five minutes - too short as we could easily have gone on, but we had too stop for some lunch.

A good time was had by all, with some really pleasant comments from various parents afterwards too.

We were supposed to have had a picnic afterwards, but with our great British weather as it is we ended clearing the studio and having our lunch inside, during which it was announced that Lewis Hamilton had one the Grand Prix.

Another good day for me in Sunbury. I do love spending my Sunday afternoons over there. There such a great bunch of people; adults and young people alike.

Next week it will be our last Sunday before we break up for the summer. I’ll be having my first committee meeting and the members will be rehearsing for a show they are putting on for the Shepperton and Sunbury Arts Association - a week of various arts related workshops and shows put on every summer in the centre. RYT will be performing an evening of drama and songs on Friday the 18th.

And when they return in September? Well it’ll be straight into auditions and rehearsing for the next show, a production of three one act plays to be performed in December.

Oh, and yours truly will be directing one of them: Lunch in Venice by Nick Dear. More on that later.

Right, now I’ve done my blogging and indeed a whole host of other things on my MacBook today (including my Nuffield homework), I’m off to bed; some of us have to be up early in the morning - like five o’clock! I’m off to Warwick Racecourse for a couple of days; more corporate hospitality supervising. (Think I may just take my MacBook.)

Just thought I’d do a quick blog post about last Friday; My day at Silverstone and practice day for the British Grand Prix.

Well it was brilliant.

I arrived at the clubhouse of British Racing Drivers’ Club (BRDC) half way through the first sitting of lunch. Diners included BRDC President, Damon Hill OBE and Vice President, Sir Jackie Stewart OBE. After a couple of hours there supervising the waiters I went on over to the BRDC marquee next door.

But not before I’d had a quick five minute visit to the first floor club lounge and then the roof terrace with a fantastic view of the whole circuit. One thing I hadn’t appreciated was the noise. The word ‘deafening’ doesn’t quite do it justice.

In the marquee I helped supervise the setting up of the BRDC Grand Prix Ball. 450 guests were due at about 7.30pm after a champagne reception on the lawn, including the board and their guests and other patrons.

After various management and staff briefings, we were ready for the off. A three course meal, with speeches from Damon Hill (not happy with Bernies decision to pack the British Grand Prix of to Donnington in 2010) and a visit from David Coultard (oh, and another driver whose name I can’t remember, but I do know he was foreign and had just turned 21.)

It all went rather well. Though to be honest I didn’t think much of Bjorn Again; the band hired for the after dinner entertainment. They were okay, I suppose. It’s just that I’d heard them doing all their sound checks and stuff while we were setting up in the afternoon. They were, of course, english, but when the evening came, they actually pretended to be the band members of ABBA, took their names and even put on fake Swedish accents. Oh and I’m not sure why they performed a couple of Status Quo numbers half way through, though there was a Rick Parfitt Jr on the guest list.

The patrons started leaving (along with half the staff) at about midnight, leaving us managers and the other half of the staff to set up for breakfast. Amazing to watch the whole stage set up and lighting rig in the marquee all come to pieces and disappear out the side exit as we were laying up tables.

At three am, the rest of the staff went too, leaving three managers and myself (oh, and a security guard who spent most of the time asleep) to finish off. We finished at 6:30 am as the next shift of managers and waiting staff who were doing breakfast arrived. The marquee had been transformed and it looked great.

Luckily for me, I wasn’t needed for Saturday, so after my marathon 18 hour shift, I drove the hour and half home, told Rich all about it, and climbed into bed for a well earned sleep.