Invisible Soup

Ten years ago, following a relationship break-up, I found myself literally adrift, living in a tiny twenty foot boat with only 12 feet by 6 feet of living space (roughly 8 square metres) into which was crammed my bed, kitchen, cooker, toilet and shower. It was February and the steel boat had no wood burner. On freezing nights the cabin temperature would be the same as outdoors and I would wake to a ceiling covered in frost or ice. As the sun rose the ice would begin to melt, the water raining desultorally on my face. My only (and sporadic) income up until that point had been from a theatre company operated by my ex-partner and myself. Having broken up, I felt I had no alternative but to part from the company and found myself suddenly with no income whatsoever and in the worst period of winter. 

I have always struggled to claim state benefits. The imposed humiliation, bullying and control has always been unbearable to me and I soon clashed angrily with the Jobcentre staff and dropped my claim. My bank, who I will refrain from naming, helped a little extra by closing my account. 

In panic and despair I took my boat across London onto the River Lea and moored with some friends who, on a bitterly cold, miserable night, invited me to their warm boat, fed me and gave me a hot water bottle for my bed. 

That night, lying in bed, numbed and despairing, I reflected on my desperate state. I had no bank account and no job. Without a job it would be difficult to get a new account; without an account it would be difficult to get a job, since most employers insist on paying into a bank. I had less than three pounds in cash, no food, no heating, no income and no hope.

I was in a bad place and in panic. I lay there in bed thinking 'It's all over - I'm finished. I'd be as well to put an end to myself'. At the back of my mind some part of me was nagging 'You're a professional actor, you have street theatre experience. You ran a company, you should be able to do something about this.' As sometimes happens in these situations, I found some dark amusement in my predicament. I laughed inwardly, lying there in the night, and thought 'What are you going to do now?' 

I often think in dialogue, and my 'other' voice replied 'Beg?' I laughed and 'replied' 'What with? I don't even have a bowl!'

'An invisible bowl?' asked my annoying optimist self. 

I laughed inwardly again. 'What can you put in an invisible bowl?' I replied. 

'Invisible soup' says my optimist. 

'Oh shit! That's it!' I shouted. I quickly leapt up, scrambled out of bed and found a large piece of white card and black marker and wrote myself a sign: 'INVISIBLE SOUP! FEED YOUR IMAGINATION!' I went back to bed feeling I had made a discovery. 

The next morning I counted the little change I had and came to the conclusion that I had enough for a tube fare. I put on some reasonably smart casual trousers and a shirt and jumper and (my only concession to 'costume') a pair of plain glass spectacles. I took the sign and a plastic cup and went to London's South Bank. 

There was a limited stretch of the South Bank where busking was permitted and I had decided to go there to try my idea. It's always difficult to work on one's own, especially if trying a new idea in public; a booking or contract has the amazing power of granting confidence and psychological 'permission'. Without it, there is always the fear of being just another 'nutjob' on the street. 

I found a space facing the Thames and, overcoming my fear by not allowing myself time to think, began setting up an invisible stall. At that point I had never worked in a market stall, so everything had to be carefully imagined. I unfolded and set up my invisible table, taking note of small marks on the ground, a daub of paint, a junction between slabs, a bit of bubble gum, that would mark out the boundaries of my table. When working with invisible props it's important not to spoil the illusion by walking through them! I added and connected my invisible gas bottle and placed a couple of large invisible soup urns on top of the table - not easy considering their weight. I laid out invisible spoons and invisible boxes of ingredients and my invisible pepper, taking care to imagine them clearly so that I knew where they were. More tiny marks on the ground made useful pointers. I placed my sign behind me against a wall together with my cup. Now I could get on with the business of making the soup. 

Invisible soup can be made from a couple of very basic stocks, the full recipe being of course a secret. The amazing variety of the actual sold product comes from the ability of the stock to accept the late addition of a very large range of ingredients. I turned on my burners and began making my two stocks, stirring frequently and checking the gas flame, occasionally dipping and licking my finger. (Food safety doesn't apply to invisible products). At this point a gentleman passed by on his way to work, glancing in my direction. 

'Invisible Soup, mate.' I said, continuing to stir. 'Not ready yet. Come back in about twenty minutes'. He laughed outright and called 'I'll make a point of it!' 

Eventually, people stopping to look from a distance, my soup was ready and my sales pitch energetic and upbeat. 

'Invisible Soup, ladies and gentlemen! Feed your imagination! Comes in amazing flavours!' I offered some to a passing man, stepping towards him around my invisible table. 

'No thanks, mate. No cash on me' he said quickening his pace and giggling with an edge of panic. 

I pressed my offer, pursuing him at a jog, sample held out. 'Free sample!' I called enthusiastically. He screamed slightly and  broke into a run, drawing a laugh from some of the onlookers. 

At one point a young woman stopped, wanting to know what I was selling. I explained and offered a range of flavours, none of which she wanted. She asked if I had chicken and I said I could do some specially. She immediately drew my attention to the fact that my invisible chicken had escaped and proceeded to run around the stall and help me recapture it. 

One elderly lady who sounded Eastern European and had been watching from a distance, came over and gave me a pound saying 'I have to give you something, because you are a very great actor!' Another group of tourists sent one of their number over with a collection of change. He told me 'My friends and I have been enjoying your performance - we wanted to give you this.' 

Probably my best experience was when I was approached by a young girl, perhaps seven years old. Her parents were watching from the rail by the Thames and she walked very slowly and shyly over to my table, her chin, I noted, just reaching it's invisible edge. Amazingly she gave me the distinct impression of being able to see the table and my implements, her eyes seeming to range across the table before meeting mine. 

'Hello.' I said 'Would you like some invisible soup?' 

She nodded slowly and seriously, 'Yes please'. 

'OK, I have all kinds of flavours - I have chocolate and giraffe, carrot and crocodile, I have banana and tortoise or strawberry and butterfly'. 

'Em, just strawberry please'.

'You just want strawberry on it's own? OK, I can do that for you.' She watched carefully as I prepared her soup. 

'Do you think your mummy and daddy would like some too?' 

'Yes, I think they would.' 

I poured two more invisible cups. 'Let me give you a cardboard tray for that' I said. 'It will make it easier.' I told her to be careful because the soup was hot and I asked her to put the invisible cups in a bin when empty as I would get in trouble if they were left lying around. Gingerly picking up the invisible tray, she walked very slowly and carefully back to her parents, who raised their cups to me in appreciation. A few minutes later she came walking slowly back to me. 

'Em, my mummy and daddy really liked your soup. They told me to give you this.' and she handed me another pound. That pound was worth more than any other pound I earned that day. 

The weather on the two days I performed was cold, grey and wet, with a little improvement on the second day. Performing during a time of personal hardship and stress, in poor conditions, alone with no backup was not easy. But I made enough not to have to walk home and I ate both days. When times are hard you have to be good at counting your blessings and recognising the positives. 

Busking in February as a lone physical performer wasn't great as a money-making strategy. I don't recall exactly how I got through the following months, but it most likely had a lot to do with the solidarity of the boat community in which I live. Early that Spring, more 'magic' occurred to boost my spirit, but that can be the subject of another article. My little experiment in Invisible Soup, became a life lesson and a major pillar of my personal philosophy. It taught me about the incredible resilience of imagination and that something can always be created, even out of nothing. A little girl taught me that such creations can be seen and appreciated by others. 

The final lesson of Invisible Soup came when, in the spur of the moment, a man hurrying past grinned and called sarcastically 'Nice one, mate! Invisible Soup! Do you make much from it?' 

'Hey,' I replied, laughing, 'I live on it!'