A stormy start to the new tour

Despite all my good intentions of writing my blog every Monday, three weeks have passed and not a dickie bird from me! In fairness to myself, I, along with the rest of The Rudes' team, have been in a Herculean battle with nature. Our final dress rehearsal fought out at Friston Place in a gale bent a piece of the pageant wagon off, blew the double bass over and flattened the bridge and was very unkind to a totally innocent banjo. Since then we have lost the battle to perform at Steyning and Wimborne because of rain, gales and understandably reluctant punters. But we bared our chests and took on the elements at Mannings Heath - and got through unscathed! I am now certain that our supporters are without the capacity to feel pain or cold, but sat through our Mannings Heath performance huddled like Antarctic penguins taking turns to hedge against the wind and rain. Wonderful, brave and possibly bonkers.

Somewhere along the line the idea of sitting outside watching a play became associated with warm summer evenings, wine and cucumber sandwiches. What a thought! Where on earth did that idea come from? Why else would people still come when gales and tempests threaten? But they do. Perhaps it's because there is something entirely elemental, even primaeval about being there: ourselves, our fragile little folding chairs, our hampers, our macs and umbrellas and the demonic trees howling and clattering and threatening to fall on us - and the wild wind about to bend our puny little front of house tent any minute. All so that when the actors with their strange white faces come out to play, we will be there to see it and wonder. It must be important to us. And a great compliment to The Rudes that it matters so much to be there.

For me the same process takes place every time: First, frustration at the struggle. Second, terror at the thought of our vulnerability: No performance, no money. No money, no wages. No wages, no actors. No actors, no Rudes. But then third, awe at the absolute indifference of Nature and its capacity to terrorise us when it will - and warm us when it will. And ultimately it always does. So fourth, just wait. Listen to the rhythm of the world. Watch it turn - and be there when it does.