Why Suffolk? My unbuttoned chest revealing my heart for the 'South-folk'.

Hello dear friends and lovers of Blather-Attack, the weekly window into life as me, Gus Blathermouth.

A label with spelling mistakes.

Many of us will have pondered the considerable benefits of labels. They allow you to easily recognise a favourite clothing brand e.g. the Edinburgh Wollen Mill, personally identify your own property, and glean instructions as to the best course of action for cleaning said garment. Yes it’s official, labels are in, and they aren’t going anywhere. However, imagine if you will, a garment with more than one label… suddenly their usefulness has diminished for there is inter-label confusion. If they could speak it would be a particularly bitter argument as both claim the right of objective truth. “It’s a 50° wash!” “How dare you! It’s a 60° with one line!” “One line!” “Yes one line you imbecile!” “Well of course YOU’D give it one line, you chicken!” “Well this jumper has shrunk from a large to a small over the past 6 months and we all know why that is Mr. I-don’t-need-any-lines-because-I’m-so-far-up-my-own-stitches!” “Watch it you or I’ll fray your edges!” and so on and so forth. Carnage, plain and simple, I think you’d agree.

However stay with this grim picture. Now imagine a jumper with many labels, too many to count. Hell! The labels war against one another with vociferous anger, it’s a fibre-bath. It’s also tragic, as the very thing that made the label so sought after, has been it’s downfall.

This friends is the reason I resist any opportunity to put a label on what I do and who I am. I admit I am tempted to call myself a “leading actor”, but then what would the director inside me say? If I don “Producer and Creative Entrepreneur” the writer inside me storms out in a huff and starts a dirty protest in the toilet. Even a tentative and generalised label of “Man of Theatre” provokes jealousy, ripost, abuse and phlegm-spitting from the “Man of Intellect” the “Man of Romance” and the “Man of Faith” within the vast cloisters of my soul.

No, labels aren’t for me. I shall humbly wear “Cultural Philanthropist” and leave it at that.

Time for this week’s question! It comes from another East Anglian, whom I sense I know somewhat but I can’t for the life of me think how.

Dear Gus, Thank you for your frankly moving account of your "call" to Suffolk. As someone who has lived in exile over the border in Cambridgeshire for most of my life, looking longingly into Suffolk but only venturing there for occasional shopping trips in Newmarket, I admire your courage, and envy you greatly. Would you be able to share with us why you chose Suffolk as your base of operations and, if I may say so, the fortunate recipient of your ministrations?
Many thanks, Mr M. Hawes, Soham, Cambs

I foresaw this was coming and I could also sense that sometime in the future it would happen. A backlash, pure and simple. The apostle Paul said “All who wish to follow Christ will endure persecution”, I am no different.

The Warsaw Insurrection (1794)

My instructions for asking questions are CLEARLY laid out at the bottom of this blog, PLEASE be careful to follow them. Mr. M. Hawes (full forename not offered) has submitted a perfectly good question with the perfectly fatal flaw of not labelling his question (As I said, I’m not anti-labels, in the right context they are useful and should be employed, especially when CLEARLY asked for by someone, i.e. Me and ignoring them is both offensive and bigoted by the perpetrator i.e. You Mr. M. Hawes (full forename not offered)).

However Mr. M. Hawes (full forename not offered) redeems himself with the rightful admiration he holds for me and I am therefore sweetened from my bitterness to pick his question among the many thousands I have received already. I trust you the readers will be dying to hear my response in your ever eager eagerness.

WHY SUFFOLK GUS?

“…be not afraid of greatness: some are born great, some achieve greatness, and some have greatness thrust upon 'em”

Twelfth Night

My arch rival yet kindred spirit William Shakespeare wrote this famous line from his transcendent play and it provides a good basis to understand why I, a tree of artistic fruit was planted in to so rich a field as mighty Suffolk. I might re-write it like this:

“be not afraid of Suffolk: some are born in Suffolk, some achieve residence in Suffolk, and some have Suffolk thrust upon ‘em”

For I, all four statements are true. Take a walk with me…

Fear of Suffolk

People are scared of Suffolk, it gives them the willies. Why? Is it because of the vast gaps in public transport? Is it the counter-cultural approach to technological development? Is it because of the stubborn village-mentality so prevalent in the region? I certainly felt a fear when I first eyed “Welcome to Suffolk” whizzing down those country lanes, my view utterly impinged by a tractor, the road oscillating beneath me, constructed in such a way that a minor miracle is required for two cars to pass each other. I felt fear when I nearly died (I don’t exaggerate) after jumping into a puddle which turned out to be a quagmire, only to be rescued by the mere strength of my arms. But each time the fear came and knocked on my door I told it to do one. Clear off fear, I won’t bow to you idol of worry. I won’t be shaken by your screeches and door-banging. I won’t let the smell of dung send me packing back to that London. No.

Born in Suffolk

West Suffolk Hospital (not to scale).

It’s true. The sweaty screaming and pushing that lead to my inevitable escape from that warm but restricting environment (the womb) occurred at West Suffolk Hospital (location evident from name). I am a Suffolkite. My blood type is Suffolk. My DNA is Suffolk. This was for me the strongest indication of my call to these lands, being that God in his wisdom chose for me Suffolk as a launch pad, a grow bag, and I hope one day a breeding ground.

Achieve residence in Suffolk

Some housing in this county is as cheap as chips (and Suffolk chips are cheaper than most chips in the rest of the country, Yorkshire notwithstanding, so those homes I refer to are very cheap indeed, being that the chip:pound ratio is lower, ipto-facto, the houses are extremely cheap, given that by the national average each chip in a Suffolk chip shop is 5.6p cheaper than in say Kent or Surrey. London of course has an extortionate amount of tax levies on chips, and due to the Londonite habit of re-branding ordinary consumable items in order to charge large amounts of money for them, the chip has skyrocketed in price to monolithic proportions. Of course housing in London is very expensive too, so to say “cheap as chips” in London still stands up, though with a much adulterated connotation.)

Other housing is this county costs the Earth (and despite a global recession in the last few years, that still represents a large amount of money).

Back in the early 90s I purchased a ‘creative ark’ near the village of Creakebottom as a place to go on artistic retreats from the theatre hell of that London. I then decided to redesign the ark after it was destroyed by storm. Due to cost and lack of planning this project was put on ice, but due to unforeseen circumstances the ice melted and the project hit the floor again. Nevertheless, I achieved my first re-residence in Suffolk out of need for breathing space and to reconnect with my birth-county.

Have Suffolk thrust upon them

Whilst I can point my fans towards many reasons for my relocation back to my motherland, I cannot ignore the timely death of my Aunt and the subsequent estate I received as sole heir. When she kicked the bucket I was living out of a Premier Inn in Woking, truly suffering for my art. The message was clear: people are dying in Suffolk, they need someone to help them live. And as soon as this became clear in my mind I did what any rational human would do, I bought a one way ticket to Ipswich rail station, got on an interlinking train to Stowmarket, caught a bus to Lavenham, walked a few miles up the road to Monks Eleigh, hitched a ride towards Brettenham and jumped off when I was near Creakebottom. Two days later I arrived and the reward of arriving at my destiny was worth the week’s travel.

Once in Suffolk, you can imagine that even on a practical level it is very hard to leave. But I had no reason to leave. Suffolk had thrust itself on me like a wanton woman, and I had accepted the romantic advance – though to be absolutely clear this is only a simile and I have never engaged in any such activity, I find it abhorrent and would rather take pity on the woman who felt she needed to sell her body to make bread, perhaps performing a monologue for free or adding her to the AMADSC mailing list, rejecting in its entirety her offer.

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So there you have it, the full scoop on all things location. If you are international reader and would like more insight into life in Suffolk, please watch this video below.

Get your questions in for next week!

Keep artistic.

G. Blathermouth

GUS' QUESTION GUIDELINES: 

Any question MUST fall into one of the following FOUR categories:

a) Theatre related
b) AMADSC related
c) Love-life related
d) Jesus related (it may be that I refer you to Rev. Wesley Biggins if my theology muscles prove too weak for the weight of your questions)

I will answer no questions on the politics of UKIP or the progress of my long-term battle with genital warts. For questions regarding the former, please read the Daily Mail. For questions regarding the latter, please watch this space for info on my companion Blog 'Gus' Nuts' for all things wart-related.

To submit your questions, simply post them in the comments section below, or on the 

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