Holiday in de sun...

Reader, I am so ready for a holiday. It has been about three years since I've been somewhere sunny and let that yummy yummy heat soak through to my bones. Even longer since I've been away with my family (4 years, 5 maybe?) Reader, I fear that I may have had my very last childhood holiday. Now, I do realise that I am 23 and this is surely old enough to be going on holidays myself (If I had the money that is, which I defo don't), but I didn't realise that my last family holiday would be, well, my last family holiday. If I had known, I would have relished it far more! You see Reader, my family holidays were like holidays written about in Enid Blyton novels, only with more boozing and less searching old shipwrecks for gypsy gold. Traditionally we'd rent a villa on one of the Spanish islands, close to the sea but near enough away from the tourists (snobs, us?) to avoid WKD and condom littered streets and afford us a little peace and quiet. We'd stay up late into the night drinking local liqueurs and eating tapas, then walk hope in the humid evening, slightly pissed and extremely rotund. I'd always wake up earlyish to have a swim in the morning without anyone else in it, then I'd lay by the pool with one of the 20 books me and mum would smuggle into the suitcases until lunch, when we'd feast upon local produce, breads and olives and cheeses and fight over the crisps. Afternoons would be blissfully spent by the pool or wandering round old cobbled towns searching for leather goods and the perfect place to have dinner that night. They were holidays that truly rested the soul, we'd come back a good stone heavier, but so chilled we could pass for rastas.

*Sigh* I miss those holidays. If a fairy wanted to wave their spangly wand and give me another one, or at least a lottery win so that I could afford to take my parents on one, I'd be much obliged.

In other news, I have an audition next week for a really interesting thriller project, fingers crossed for me eh chaps! I also have a job interview this week for a call centre job selling wine, which is ironic given that I don't actually drink the stuff...oh well, it pays more than my last job! What else has happened? Well, I visited my lovely mentor before her show in Leicester Square the other day which was great and then sent her links to my graduate film and the music video I recently did for my very talented Russian director friend and she gave me such amazing feedback that my head has genuinely swollen to about double it's size and my cheeks are constantly blushing with pride. I may print it out and frame it actually. I won't tell you what it said, because that would be boasting (what, because that whole paragraph wasn't? Shut up Ash...). Also, today I went to see two films. The Hangover II and POTC4. Both were unexpected delights, although I now have slight tunnel vision from too much cinema time. BLB is busy revising for his A levels and The Lad is gearing up for the Pokemon Tournament he's dragging me to in Birmingham (god help me). So all good really!

More blogs on their way, sorry for the lateness of this one, I've been seriously pooped of late
Bysie bye Reader!
Ash
x

Things that make me squee and things that make me pull a messy sort of face

Reader I was with a very lovely friend today (who by the way, put me to shame with her L33T hostess skills, she served honey roast cashews and olives and made me dinner and everything!) and I thought 'Yes. This is a thing I like a great deal. This makes me feel glowy and happy in my belly. I could do with more of this.' But in order to go and see said lovely friend, I had to take a very long, very smelly, very rubbish filled bus, which made me think 'No. No, I could live without this MOST easily. In fact, this makes me think we should have invented instantaneous travel through space or time already. Or I should learn to drive maybe.'

These little thoughts made me decide to make some lists for your reading pleasure (and also so you know what to put in my path and what to steer me clear of, should the opportunity ever arise.)

Things that make me squee with delight

• Bread. With real butter. I don't care if it makes me fat, I want it, and I want it now.
• Videos of naughty kittens.
• Videos of baby sloths.
• Videos of slow lorris' being tickled.
• When my cat comes and looks at me and tries to talk. ('Yaaaawwwww' 'what's that benji?' 'Yaaaaaaawwww', 'you want to do what?' 'Yaaaaaaaawwwww' 'Who's in the well?' 'YAAAAAAWWWWW' 'Oh right, you want food')
• Pulpy Anne Rice style novels that I have to hide under more intellectual book covers.
• Ben Elton books.
• Top Gear (but don't tell my brother or dad)
• When my mum takes me shopping round Primark and pays for it (Heaven!)
• The smell of turf in Ireland. Ditto Tayto crisps, red lemonade and watching The Rose of Tralee.
• Diet coke on tap with ice.
• Minstrels and cheese and onion McCoys. 
• Seeing my lovely lovely friends. I have a number of different 'groups', all of which are wonderful. There's  The College Group who are very bohemian and awesome and who I adore so much I could see them every day, but we all live in different corners of London, so our meet ups are somewhat rare. But when we do meet up, it's always so epic you could write novels about it. We go to Eastbourne a lot, and once to Dunster. And there are lots of cultured museum trips with dressing up. There's The Oldies who are my oldest friends, one from primary school, one from high school and a friend from my old neighbourhood who I have known since she was 2 and I was 5. We're a very odd bunch and on first viewing shouldn't really have much in common but for some reason we've really stuck and have regular pub meet ups where we laugh about our lives and gossip about everyone we know and some people we don't. It's a chilled, no pressure environment with lots of fond memories. There's The Huttonites who are the people I lived with at uni (and 2 girls I didn't live with but who we adopted because they were too fantastic to let leave the flat). I spent the three most emotionally frantic years of my life with these guys and they're genuinely like my family. Some live in Kent, some in Sussex, some in surrey and some are just plain MIA at the moment, but we know although we don't get to see each other very often at all, we will always be in each others lives, because we couldn't live without one another! There's The T:24 bunch who were people I met through the drama soc at uni; possibly the strangest, funniest, sweetest group of people in the world, who I have been so drunk with I have had to block out many memories, but the ones remaining are fantastic. They're people that have truly educated me about theatre and the arts, better teachers than any of my lecturers! And finally there's the new lot, The Drama Schoolies who are still pretty new to me. Drama school wasn't the easiest place to make friends for me to be honest, there's something about the vibe there that made me pretty socially pathetic, maybe it was having to have my emotions on my sleeve the whole time. But I have met some very cool people there, who I will definitely keep in touch with. I find that the longer I am away from drama school, the more friendly I have become, the more I actually want to talk to my friends from drama school and the more I really miss them! Luckily, I've been able to work with a number of them on projects since leaving, huzzah! Gosh, this post ended up being longer than expected. On to the next point!
• Rimini (a really nice pizza place near me that I go to a lot with The College Group)
• Awful trash tv (e.g. Maury, Made in Chelsea, The Only Way is Essex, One born every minute,The Hotel)
• David Lynch films
• Mother of pearl
• Antique furniture
• Vintage fashion
• Ikea
• Losing weight (obvo)
• Dyeing my hair (and my god, it literally is dying with every colour)
• Film nights with my family (particularly horrors, because then my mum squeaks amusingly)
• Making my godson smile (no mean feat, he is a very serious baby who disproves of grown up malarkeys)
• Gossip
• Ian Banks books
• Comedic feminist poetry 
• Bette Davis films
• Brightly coloured shoes
• My bed.
• Phone calls from people I haven't seen in ages
• Phone calls offering me parts in films
• Scripts that get me excited about acting
• Compliments that are well aimed 
• That advert with the polar bear in the freezer (I really REALLY want one)
• Seeing my dad a bit pissed and trying to hide it 

Some things that make me pull a messy sort of face in fury

• Alsations and German Shepards (I got attacked by one when I was a kid and have never forgiven the entire breed)
• Parsnip (It pretends to be potato, then tastes all bitter. Unforgivable.)
• Beetroot (It's smug)
• Expensive clothing that I can't afford but really really want.
• Muggers and that chav that stole my handbag
• Jersey Shore
• Tory MPs
• When my mum interferes in my cooking (which she often does. To get her back, I often interfere in hers)
• My room being messy (as it often is)
• Losing things (often because of the above)
• My boyfriend pretending to be angry with me (It's never amusing)
• When my brother used my loo and leaves strange smells behind
• Diva behaviour 
• Teenagers playing tinny music on their phones on the bus and for that matter
• Buses
• Tfl
• Nationwide's terrible treatment of anyone with an overdraft
• Halifax losing my bank card and then my pin number
• Daddy long legs
• Salmon
• People eating tuna sarnies on the train (come on, they smell!)
• People not offering me seats on the train, especially when I'm pretending to be pregnant (I do a great impression of a pregnant woman, how dare they!)
• Calories
• The price of learning to drive, and subsequently, driving
• Not being able to sunbathe in late May.

Well....that took a fair while. Anyway, just to change the subject, here is a link to a chap called Richie's website   www.ashwinmusic.co.uk   He's just released a single called Holiday Romance and I was an extra in the background! I'm barely visible in it, but if you keep a beady eye out, you might catch glimpses of me dancing etc. Anyway, it's a very good song, he's in talks with Universal and you can buy the single on Itunes, so please go ahead and do so! 

On that musical note Reader,

Goodnight and tally ho!

Ash

x

Religion, running and a rockin' good time

I am in pain Reader. Why am I in pain? I shall tell you. I am in pain, because today I did my second jog of the week. Now, if you've been reading this blog since the early days, you will know that I am about as athletic as a potato with a bit of rot sitting in. I gave the whole running thing a try earlier this year when I was getting into character for my graduate film from drama school and that nearly killed me, but for some reason, I have agreed to go running every other day with my mum, round our local park, in ugly clothes and trainers. I look like an asthmatic chav.

Why have I agreed to do this hellish task? Well, to be fair, it is for a very good reason. Recently, a friend of the family passed away from cancer, the second mother of a friend to have done so in a few years. So mum decided to do the Race for Life. And in a moment of weakness, she reminded me what a great cause it's for. I thought 'yeah, you know what? I haven't done much good for charity, save giving some money here and there. This might be a really good thing for me to do, in memory of the wonderful women I know that have passed away.' The thought of losing some weight was also pretty tempting. The thing is Reader, that I had forgotten that running is actually jolly hard work. And after two sessions, my calves have frozen in fear, my arse is throbbing (I think I need sports knickers if such a thing exist, to reign in my wandering flab) and going up stairs is agony. Plus, I'm not sure it's going to help me lose weight, I'm eating more than usual to compensate for the exercise! Although saying that, it is quite nice going round the park and seeing all the baby swans and stuff. Even though the other lady joggers (who, by the way, are scarily buff and toned and never seem to sweat or get out of breath) look at me pityingly. I think they can tell that I'm not cut out for the whole running thing...but I shall persevere. After all, it's for a good cause so I'd look pretty mean if I backed out now! 

The other slightly astonishing thing I did today was go to church. Now, anyone that knows me will be able to tell you that although I'm quite spiritual, I'm not the most religious of people. I was raised by agnostic/atheist parents, who were over-ruled by my heavily catholic Irish grandparents. So I lived in a very chilled house religion wise, but still did my communion and confirmation. For a stage when I was 14, I even wanted to be a nun. Then I did my confirmation classes and had a whole bunch of arguments with the nuns about how wise it really was to tell a bunch of Tottenham teens that contraception was a sin. I mean, really. Then I started a debate about why God would have given women clitorises if he didn't intend sex to be for pleasure, and what constituted as abortion. Needless to say, I was not their favourite student, and it put me right off really committing to religion. I also travelled a lot as a child, and when I came back, my understanding of faith was a little odd. My gran got very worried when I started asking her where the offering tables were in mass one sunday when I was about 5. She asked me what I meant and I replied 'You know, the tables with the food and incense for the Gods, so they make the sun still come up every morning'. Poor Nana. So now I believe what I want to believe. Which is basically that there is a higher power who loves us all, there is a heaven with everything good in it (including deep fried brie, seasides and horror films) but no hell (hell is just the absence of heaven), that if you're good to your fellow humans and animals then good things happen to you too, Karma exists, prayer works and deep down, everyone has something good about them. Which is enough for me really. I don't like to be dogmatic. But going to church today was nice. I like the traditions of lighting candles for people, singing the hymns out of the old dog eared hymn books and kneeling in the pews to pray with the soggy wafer on your tongue, trying really hard not to chew it. It's all quite comfortable and pleasant. Saying that, there were so many depressed looking people there, I wanted to get them all cheering and energetic with a Sister Act style gospel sing-a-long! 

Right Reader, it's late and I'm knackered, so for now, tarrah!

More later 

Ash

x

Old old old I'm so very very old

Reader, BLB (Bratty Little Brother for those new to the blog) is today 18 years of age. He has been wandering round the house in a state of what can only be described as shock. But I don't think he can be any more shocked than the rest of us!

You see folks, BLB has turned out rather well. He's about to sit his final exams at college (and great things have been predicted for his results), he's got offers from all of the uni's he applied to, he's got a girlfriend who is also in education and he's very polite to old people. He even washes occasionally. This is amazing. Why? Well, this was not a future we envisioned for 4 year old BLB.

4 year old BLT was a demonic hell child, made all the worse by the fact that he had the face of an angel, with his big blue eyes, white hair and rosy cheeks (complete with dimples Reader, DIMPLES!). You'd look at him and think 'Aww, what a sweet child!' He'd smile sweetly at you and you'd get tricked into approaching. Five minutes later, you'd be nursing a bleeding bitten hand, he'd have smashed some prized ornaments and be screeching on the floor, wiping his snotty nose on the carpet, his face roughly the colour of a slightly over-ripe tomato. And it probably all stemmed from you mentioning Marks and Spencers or Tesco. BLB was not a fan of large shops. Or indeed, any shops, apart from toy shops or the local newsagent where we used to spend our 50p a week pocket money on pick n mix. BLB did not like the world. He was quite convinced that the world, in fact, was out to get him, and it was as if he decided to get the world first. Nothing could please him *and oh god did we try*. We gave him a Nintendo. He got angry when he didn't understand the games at once and hurled the controller across the floor in a fit of fury. We took him to Disneyworld (every child's dream!) and he got an unexpected bout of homesickness and shouted every day 'I wanna go back to the house with the chimney!'  He also hated every ride with the exception of the Star Wars one (no child was as obsessed with Star Wars than BLB and he made us go on it 3 times). He got frightened by Pluto and screamed at the poor man in the suit as if he was a demon sent from hell to reclaim him. He got given the lead role in his christmas nursery play but when it came time for him to go on stage screamed 'NOOOOOOO' and sulked behind the curtains.We got him a really cool space style bunk bed. He hated it and slept on the floor. BLB was, to put it mildly, a difficult child.

Saying that, it has made for some seriously hilarious memories, which tonight, when we go out for his birthday meal, I am in no doubt we will tell to one another and fall about in hysterics, as we always do on evenings out. And thank God, we can now, because he has gone from being the demon child from hell to a very fun to be around teenager, who's great at taking the piss out of himself and others, is very witty and political, polite to old people and charming to strangers and who lets his family tell all those awfully embarrassing stories without getting too huffy. Plus, he was actually quite cute as a kid, like the time in Disneyworld he got star struck by Mickey mouse and hugged his leg and wouldn't let go. And when he'd fall asleep with his plastic builder's belt on. Or maybe that's just the rose tinted spectacles of hindsight!

So on that note, I wish my BLB a happy 18th and say goodbye dear Reader
Till next time!
Ash
x

Positive thinking and dream mapping for the cynical generation

Right, so as anyone from my year at drama school will tell you, positive thinking is key. We even had a lesson in which a woman who trained in positive thinking came to tell us how important positive thinking is. Now, Reader, I subscribe heavily to the whole 'think happy=be happy' philosophy. I read The Secret, I watched Oprah! I even do visualisation exercises sometimes. I am generally an irritatingly happy shiny person. I have very little concept of sarcasm and when I try to use it, it's hardly biting satire, more grumpy 12 year old saying 'well, duh!' But let's face it Reader, in this age of grumpy celebs selling sob stories, po faced newsreaders and pouting being sexy, positivity is frankly unfashionable. I tried to start a trend for it, which seemed to fail abysmally. There's also a thing with actors, if you say 'yeah everything's AMAZING, I frickin' love life and I wouldn't change a thing' other actors hate you. Literally want to tear out your eyeballs and shove salt in the sockets. It's far more acceptable to go 'well, life isn't too bad, but then it's not great. I mean I'm not getting the auditions I want, my agent's a shit and I might as well give up and become a librarian'.

I think I'll stick to being unfashionably cheery. I've been watching Buffy the Vampire Slayer of late (yes, I am a huge geek), and think, hey, if Willow can do it, I can! Now, one of the things I've learnt from all of the positive thinking stuff is that you should make a 'Universal wishlist'. It's a list of all the things you want to happen, and it makes the universe sit up and go 'hey now, that's a great idea! Well sure, if you want I'll just fix that up for you under the grill.You want fries with that?'

So, in the interests of positive thinking, here is one of mine (yes Reader, I have many)

1. I get picked up by my perfect agent. They finally get to my email and letter and go 'hey, you know what? That girl with her slightly angular nose and freckled forehead is EXACTLY what we need! Let's take her on and make her insanely A list!'
2. They pass on my details to the following directors: Everyone who is talented.
3. This very blog gets picked up and made into a column (well, one can dream) and possibly a film starring Zooey Deschanel doing a really really bad English accent (n.b she may have to put on some weight and lose the fringe. Potentially also wear a prosthetic nose.) 
4. Talented directors get in touch and audition me for many many projects, which I then get to pick and choose
5. I get cast in screen, stage and radio. All varied and rewarding roles that I can really get my teeth into. I get paid absolute buckets (obvo)
6. With the money I buy a lovely house for me and the lad, with a garden, a 50s style kitchen (with a red smeg fridge because we once saw one in a magazine and now we're obsessed!) and period features. I pay off my parents' mortgage and get them the villa in Majorca they've always dreamed of. I set up a trust fund for my brother, invest in my Mum's business, build a rehearsal/performance space back in Kent for my old Drama Soc and buy my Irish grandparents a house that's not in the dodgy end of Tottenham, a personal chauffeur and a woman to clean the house and cook occasionally. 
7. I keep getting work. Good work, not just poo things that I only do to be able to survive and keep myself in diet coke.
8. Mine and The Lad's relationship continues to flourish and be lovely. 
9. We travel to exotic places all the time, drink cocktails out of coconuts on beaches and generally live the life of Reilly. 
10. Mum's business BOOMS and she is on the cover of The Sunday Times magazine she's so fab. Dad wins loads of great contracts for work and is names 'Housing person of the year' (for lack of the correct/real terminology), Brother gets a first and a brilliant job in Criminology (with a sideline in drawing comics). The Lad works as a primary school teacher but also opens up a comic book store/cafe with performance space for our comedian friends and quiz nights.
11. I win a Bafta, Oscar, Tony, Mobo (shut up this is MY wishlist and I get to ask for whatever the hell I want!)
12. I am a size 8 with perfect teeth and hair. I am remarkably slim but in some miraculous way do not lose my boobs nor need plastic surgery or diets. 
13. I get cast as Hedda Gabler in a film version of the Ibsen play.
14. I win more awards.
15. Dad starts presenting a TV show about scuba diving and fishing (his two favourite things ever) which gets similar viewing figures to Top Gear. The public enjoy his combination of dad jokes and punk attitude. Mum writes a book which is seen as being the best feminist fiction to be published since Fay Weldon.
16. My family, friends and I are so happy and healthy that we're actually quite sickening, but this is obviously not picked up on by the media or public, who simply adore us.
17. World peace (just so I don't sound too materialistic...)

Right, so now that's all sorted, I shall expect to start having it all appear in my lap shortly. I'll just wait here watching Buffy till it does.
Will keep you updated Reader!
Ash
x

Fuckles for my feet

Reader, I have no fuckles.

No, I didn't know what they were either. Right, take your sock off, curl your toes. Now look beneath them, sort of just below where the toe meets the foot on the topside of the foot (not actually underneath your feet). Do you have a sort of knuckle? Well goody for you. That is a fuckle. A foot-knuckle.

Until I realised I don't have them, I didn't know everyone else did. I was made aware by The Lad who was talking about how beautiful his own feet are (they're not that amazing, he's just got a case of foot vanity) and comparing them to mine. He's quite proud of his feet and got a bit annoyed when I couldn't see what was so jaw-droppingly gorgeous about them, so pointed out that I have strange, vaguely webbed feet lacking in (you guessed it Reader) fuckles. Now, most of this is just plain cruelty and I imagine, a touch of hurt foot pride, on the Lad's front. But I am sorry to say that actually he is quite right. You see Reader, my feet are really very odd. I'm a bit of a flower child, and so walk around barefoot as much as I possibly can, therefore the soles of my feet aren't all lovely and soft and feminine like most girls (and The Lad's incidentally) but rather hard like good quality leather, and usually slightly green from grass stains. They're ridiculously smooth and flat (possibly one of the reasons why I got kicked out of ballet at the tender age of 5) and my index and middle toes on both feet are slightly (just a teeny weeny bit) webbed together, which I always thought was a bit sweet and mermaidy, but is apparently more monkey-alien. My index toes are also longer than my big toes and my toenails are inevitably coated in chipped mad nail polish colours.

Poor feet. Oh well, I like them! They're good feet. They may be clumsy and look like some kind of monkey/frog hybrid's feet, but they're mine and they work pretty well!

In other news reader, I am considering taking up Vlogging. Which for you non cool kids, means video blogging. It looks like fun, I am mainly considering it because I have seen some very amusing vlogs recently. However, the thought of myself on camera just being myself and not a character does not really appeal. And I can't edit for poop. Which is a shame really. Maybe I should get The Lad to train in the ways of filming and editing and he can be my one man slave-crew. I could pay him in pokemon cards!

What else has been going on? Hum....? Well I have a job interview tomorrow, so keep your fingers crossed for me! I may even tidy my room in the morning, just to make myself feel businessy and organised. Oooh, and my little brother turning 18 on friday! I can't believe it, he's so much younger than I was at that age. I used to go clubbing up London every week when I was 17, we used to photocopy our passports and then photoshop the bit with our dates of birth on. I'm not convinced he's ever actually been to a proper club...But then boys do mature 3 years later than girls. Plus, he's just got a proper girlfriend. Which, let's face it, I didn't achieve till quite a bit later. I would love to say that I was casting my wild oats, but I was busy making them into cookies and being scared of most boys till I went off to uni (and even then I was no great shakes at the dating game, for a very long time I persistently ignored the very nice single boys that got crushes on me, and instead followed with puppy like devotion the difficult, taken boys who'd pat me on the head like you would with a devoted toddler. Eventually I got a bit bored of being the only one not getting to have kisses in the student union and spending my evenings pining and jumped The Lad. Quite literally.)

Actually, I was awful at the brother's age with my love life. Mainly because back then I didn't know any boys. And when I went to uni, I did really cringe things like get drunk and be sick on their shoes if I liked them (as happened at one notorious house party. Then I sat in the mud and demanded that one of my friends sing to me. I am a fun drunk.). I was however, quite good at flirting. In fact, I had a bit of a reputation for it. Now I only get to use my skills if I'm trying to get a free drink from the bar staff on a night out or get into a pub in Camden on a friday night with no id (I look like a 17 year old). The Lad finds it quite amusing when I try to flirt with him, and he ends up winding me up. I usually end up sulking in these instances, and have to be coaxed into a better mood with small bits of chocolate and compliments.

Right, on that tangent, I'll be off to watch an episode of Buffy the Vampire Slayer and eat toast in bed. Nom nom nom.
Night night Reader!
Ash
x

Grumpy gizzard and her gallows grin (snogging Harrison Ford)

Reader I am so peeved tonight and I really don't know why. I am sitting here in bed in my hoody and The Lad's trackies (I refuse to buy a pair myself, but his are ridiculously comfy) with a box of Green and Black's chocolate and have had a great day where I got to wake up with the Lad, see one of my most favourite people in the ENTIRE WORLD who I went to uni with and who is like my sister but Italian, and then I got to go to my Dad's work picnic and play with little babies who made duck noises. But I am still feeling hugely dejected. On the verge of lip wobbling tears in fact. And I don't know why. I might put it down to hormones (which is pretty easy as I think I've probably got about 5 women's worth of hormones in me given the extreme girlishness and penchant for chocolate. Me and my friends did a test once to see how our testosterone/hormone rates were, everyone else's were pretty even but my scales looked weirdly tipsy. Can't even remember how we worked it out now. Probably something to do with leg hair.) but that almost seems too straight forward. I mean, can a simple chemical imbalance be the cause of such misery? I feel like a teenager again! Mopey mopey. In a minute I'll get my old Nirvana cassettes and my diary out and then it'll be just like it was when I was 14...

I think it's mainly because I am unemployed. And also am slightly annoyed that acting work hasn't been served to me on a plate. I'm not saying I expected Mike Leigh to come offer me a role in his next film but....oh, hang on, wait a minute, I think in part of my head I probably did. It was just hidden behind the sensible 'hurry up and get your voicereel together' bit.Which is irritating, because I have always prided myself on being a very sensible young woman when it comes to my aspirations, yet here I am, slightly huffy because no one's offered me a huge film job yet. I only have myself to blame. I have been seriously slack Reader. I haven't even been sending out headshots or anything. I keep putting it off, telling myself I'm waiting for my showreel but the truth is I'm probably just a bit lazy. And worried that no one will reply of course. However, I'm hopefully having a meeting with my mentor soon, who's landed an awesome role in a show in London, so I'll ask her for some advice and words of wisdom (she being a very smart actress who knows her stuff and has worked with the greats!). I like the idea that I have a mentor. It makes me feel like I'm in Star Wars training to use the force and maybe have a cheeky snog with Harrison Ford *one of my earliest crushes*.

However, something great happened recently. I got listed on IMBd! Twice! Three times if you count my art director role! This makes me feel very businesslike and important, but also reminds me that I need to get more up there and pronto if I want to look even better. So really I need to get cracking, print out those photos and start getting in touch with agents. There is a particular agent that I am despo to be on the books of but I won't mention them for fear of tempting fate. I will only say that I have been in touch once, and fully intend on getting in touch again as soon as I  have something else solid to show them. And then I will wow them with my charm. And possibly my chocolate brownies.

I have also just re-joined an extra-ing website that I was part of at Uni. Now, as any actors reading this will know, you should never put extra work on your cv, because it's pointless and makes you look like an idiot when casting directors say 'oh, I loved that film! Which bit were you in?' and you say 'Oh, for 0.25 seconds during the crowd scene.' but it pays pretty well and it's good to make contacts and get advice from other actors. A friend of mine has been doing a lot of extra work of late and has been managing to support himself on it which is pretty fab so fingers crossed eh chaps? Would be nice to get some money in anyway, as all this printing of headshots and posting letters is getting pretty expensive. I mean, it's tax deductible but still....

Also, tonight I watched Tron, which may be another reason I am feeling blue. Reader, I had expected so much, and it was AWFUL. So bad in fact that I didn't finish watching it. It just made me feel sleepy, like I wanted to put my head on the table next to my bowl of Cool flavoured doritos and doze off. That might just be because I'm a bit pooped at the mo though...

Anyway Reader, I'm off now to the land of nod. I actually feel quite a bit perkier now, I think it's the writing to you that did that, so feel good about yourself, you stopped me from listening to 'The man who sold the world' on repeat and cracking out my old emo eyeliner.
Much love!
Ash
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My unusually enormous head and I

Reader, the other night, my family and I measured our heads. Mine was the biggest. Well, technically, it was the joint biggest with BLB, but then he's 17 years old and a good foot taller than me so I feel slightly hard done by. Then, today, while I was having a head-cast made, the scullcap was too small for my enormous noggin. They had to use pins to secure it so it didn't ping off like an elastic band at a supply teacher. I feel like a reverse weebles wobble. I wonder if my enormous head:body ratio explains some of my clumsiness? I think it may do, putting my centre of gravity entirely off kilter in a very annoying way that causes me to walk into doorframes.

To explain my earlier point, I was having head cast made so the make up girls I know could make a bust of my head on which to model prosthetics for a photo shoot we're doing in a month or so. I am very excited about this, as I will then get to keep the bust and I may spray paint it fabulous colours and put a wig on it. Or use it to scare small children. I was so excited about this headcast reader, until that is, it was on and I started to have a serious panic. You see, the headcast is made of something akin to dentist putty, which covers your eyes, mouth and...well, everything except your nostrils really. Now, my lovely make up artist kept trying to talk everything through with me but I was utterly convinced I'd be fine and was really rather gung-ho about the whole thing. And then once it was on, I realised that all that stood between me and suffocation were two tiny little holes and I began to hyperventilate. Through my nose. Which, if you were wondering, isn't easy. I nearly tore the whole thing off my face (which would have been AWFUL because it took the poor artists so long to do!) but a very lovely lady took my hand and talked me through the whole process which calmed me down a great deal, and by the end I was fine again. Although very relieved to have the thing taken off my head. It's so strange how things like that can creep up on you, especially given the fact that I was so relaxed at the beginning and completely trusted the artists to whom I had entrusted my head! But I think not being able to breathe is defo one of my Big Fears. I once had to do buddy breathing underwater with an uncle who is a lot bigger and healthier than me, so he has a bigger lung capacity and thus takes longer to fill his lungs and he took so long I had to push myself to the surface from 14 feet down, so scared was I of fainting. On hearing how much I over reacted to such a tiny thing, my mum has told me she'd rather not be there when I gave birth, for fear the over reaction would be so ridiculous she'd get a migraine. I think she was joking.

And now I'm watching football. Or rather, sitting in a room on the internet while my Granddad and Dad watch it and groan as Spurs fail time and time again. It makes them so sad, I don't know why they do it to themselves. I gave them the last mint kit kats to cheer them up but it doesn't appear to have worked. Shame. I'm SO in the mood for a Pimms. But no-one is in my area. They're all out, or on date nights, or at uni or live on the other side of the city. That's what happens when you live in the dreaded burbs though, you have to travel for an hour for a brief catch up with your chums and a ridiculously expensive glass of booze. Instead I will sit in the garden with an amaretto and a Fay Weldon novel.

So on that alcoholic note, tarrah chaps!
Ash
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Meet my neuroses...

Reader, I know I seem to be a shining beacon of glowing confidence and self-trust but I'm afraid it's all a lie. The fact of the matter is Reader, that were you to peel back my pale, pale skin, you'd find not organs, but fears, worries and niggles, all wrapped in a juicy coating of hysteria. Here are a few that keep me constantly on the edge of hyperventilation.

1) Being Late


Oh-God-oh-God-oh-God-I'm-going-to-be-late-crap-crap-crap-why-isn't-the-train-here-yet-I'll-never-get-employed-ever-again-they'll-not-pay-me-then-a-big-scary-man-with-bad-breath-and-a-comb-over-will-shout-at-me-and-make-me-stand-in-the-corner. Yes, this is how my mind works. Even if I'm not late. Usually just when I'm not outrageously early and have to sit with a book (n.b. being early does not scare me, although I enjoy it less now that I don't smoke and it's not an excuse for chain smoking any more). This means that I now have a reputation for turning up to friends' houses when they're still in the bath, because to everyone else 7.30 means 8, but to me it means 6.45. I think it was further stressed when I went to Drama School, where they had a 'if you're even one minute late you get shut out for the rest of the day' rule, which terrified me, because I just knew if I ever missed classes because of lateness, it would be the ones that I would really learn things from. So I ended up being on great terms with the security guards, because I was always the one they unlocked the doors for first thing in the morning, even when I had later classes. This has led to me needing to go to sleep very early at night, so like a granny, at about 8.30 I start yawning at thinking of how jolly nice it would be in my bed. Employees however, love me, because I am NEVER late. Ever. And sometimes I'm actually too early (this has happened before at auditions, where I'll have arrived before the auditioners!)

2) All my hair falling out


This isn't actually that unfounded a fear. Last year, during a particularly stressful patch at school, my hair started to fall out. I am unfortunately not a natural beauty Reader, but my hair has always been rather a crowning glory. We have always had a great relationship, and even years of smoking and dyeing the stuff didn't make it lose its shine and thickness. Long days of lessons, peer pressures, stresses of work and very little sleep however, did. I'd wake up in the morning and there would be hair all over my pillow. I'd take a bath and when I got out, the surface would be covered by my hair. I felt like the mean girl in that film about witches (Can't remember what on earth it was called but am sure it started with C) only I'm not a bitchy racist cheerleader. Now, my hair is much repaired thanks to primrose oil tablets and a bit more free time, but I still have that fear on looking like a boiled egg my whole life. That would be AWFUL.

3) Spiders crawling into my mouth while I'm asleep


Urgh. I hate spiders. I watched Arachnophobia when I was a kid, and I've never really recovered. Even tiny wee money spiders provoke screams of horror and prisons made of water tumblers. They just look mean. Like evil. And they always sit on the ceiling, just out of reach, looking at me cruelly with their beady little disgusting eyes. I wouldn't even be that pissed off if they were made extinct due to some huge   spider based flu.

4) My belly button unravelling and all my guts falling out


This one stems from someone telling me that belly buttons are made when the nurse ties your cord up when you're a baby. So it makes sense that it could just untie. Right? Right? Um...

5) Forgetting that I've given up smoking and accidentally having a puff


Because that would lead to a whole fag, and that would lead to a packet and then I'd be an addict again and I never ever ever want to be that reliant on a drug ever again. I used to spend about £55 a month on fags, money that now, I'm so confused I was even able to spend. I used to live off 8p noodles, so that I could afford baccy and filters. Utterly insane. And I always smelt like a granny. And my teeth went a shade of yellow that only a hygienist could remove. When I first gave up I had actual nightmares about smoking again, and then I'd wake up and be like 'argh, ohmygod, what have I DONE?!' But am quite proud that I've given up for over a year now. I should get a pressie.

6) My cellulite being worse than I think it is


It's there, it's bit, it could hold Armenian families, and it's the reason you'll never see me in a pair of hotpants without tights or leggings underneath. But what if it's even worse than that? What if, when I wear a swimsuit or  a short dress, everyone does silent screams and vomits in pot plants. Hey. It could happen. Maybe everyone always carries tictacs just in case they see the backs of my thighs. Oh god.

7) Beetroot


It's smug and it makes you pee red. Just plain wrong.

8) Having a bogey hanging off my nose


Just awful. I've seen it happen to other people, and it's gross. In the same way, earwax on display (nothing is a bigger turn off than seeing a guy with a big yellow glob in his ear), that white gack you get in the corner of your mouth and my tights being tucked into my pants. I also have a fear of my boob escaping my bra and a nipple being on display, because the idea of going on the tube and not realising as my nipples wink at strangers is unbearable.

9) People thinking I fancy them when I don't


The problem is, I love flirting, and banter. And because I'm an actor, lots of eye contact is second nature. But people then think I have a thing for them. And if I get a sense that they think that, I get really unbearably embarrassed, blush whenever I see them, stumble over my words and act like a fool. So basically, act like I fancy them, which makes it all the worse. It's exactly the same when I get accused of something I haven't done. I blush, giggle, get shifty. Basically I am useless.

10) Loved ones being dead in a ditch


This dates back to my parents telling me that if I didn't let them know where I was going to be I could just wind up dead in a ditch and they wouldn't know. I used the phrase today when The Lad hadn't got in touch for a whole day (am I the only one that thinks that's ages, or is that just another neurotic thing about me?) and when I finally spoke to him I said 'Where were you? I thought you were dead in a ditch!' At which he was very confused and reminded me that there aren't actually any ditches in South Ealing, and had in fact been playing on Final Fantasy on his phone, hence the lack of contact. He is, of course, now more aware than ever that his girlfriend is completely bonkers. Especially since I then got annoyed because I said I missed him and he said he didn't miss me back. To be fair to him, he did say he loved me very much and would be very happy to see me every day, it's just that he doesn't feel he needs to see me every day. Which is where another of my neuroses comes into play...

11) He doesn't love you, he's just with you because you're really needy


The poor Lad is constantly fighting this particular neuroses. It's highly unlikely that he would have done a long distance relationship, meeting my mental rellies, be moving in with me etc if he just felt trapped but the fear is still there. Every so often it's like a little monster within takes over and goes 'You're completely mental! He can't possibly be attracted to an UTTER LOON like you! You keep asking him if he'd still love you if you were bald or obese or had a leg missing! Poor boy, turn your back and he'll run for the hills with that female friend of his who's much prettier than you and is really really funny and not just in a ha-ha-look-at-that-idiot-way'. I have been told this is actually quite normal. Most girls feel it at some point. In fact, lots  of girls feel like that ALL THE TIME which is a shame for them really. Anyway, I try to ignore the voice, because I think I would probably turn into a needy, snivelling little freak if I didn't. And that is MOST unattractive.

I'll end it there Reader, before I rub off on you and you go away all neurotic and stuff! After all, I don't want loads of readers constantly asking if they're doing it right or getting scared of the typeface!
Ash
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Gig, chat ups, acting updates and upraisens.

Reader, last week I went to my Very Cool Cousin's (VCC) gig. VCC is in a band called 'We Are The Ocean' who were previously called 'Dead But Still Dreaming', which I thought was lovely and romantic but have since been told that was too emo. I am from the age of goth and grunge though, and very little is too emo for my liking. They used to be quite shouty which I tended to find a bit scary, and it made me ask old ladyish questions like 'why can't they just sing a nice song without that chap yelling all the time?' but I always very much enjoyed the music and the very well written lyrics. Their new album however, is far less shouty. In fact, it's all harmonious. And I can sing along to the songs. And they're so catchy that I keep finding myself singing them. In fact, so great is this album that they are now at #25 in the album charts, and last week they played the Electric Ballroom in Camden, which is a very groovy sort of place that my parents used to frequent when they were well'ard punks and you were allowed to smoke indoors. I was so proud Reader! VCC was fantastic and I kept hearing young girls swooning over him (which made me giggle because I remember when he had ginger hair and braces and wore a football kit every single day) and the place was PACKED! Plus, people got injured in the mosh pit AND on stage, which just goes to show how hardcore cool they really are. The only downside was that on the way home a man in a suit vommed everywhere and we had to keep our feet off the ground because puddles of it kept flowing our way. And our jumpers over our noses because it smelt so icky. But that wasn't really the band's fault.

And guess what Reader? At the gig I got chatted up! A bar man said he thought my freckles were lovely! And then an old bloke with a comb over told me I was the most beautiful girl in there! And another couple of boys turned all the way round in their chairs to check me and my Awesomely Fab Girl Cousin ( AFGC, sister of VCC) out. Yes, Reader, I do realise I am taken, but we old ladies like to get noticed sometimes. And I was the only girl in the joint wearing a proper dress (I was feeling chubster after all my easter eggs, so I got into my fave 50s dress, did my hair in a quiff and slapped on the red lippy) so I slightly felt like I deserved to get noticed. Especially since most of the time I'm more of an 'Awww' girl than a 'Phwooor' girl. I'm the one boys like to protect rather than flirt with. Apart from my boyfriend. He takes great amusement in pushing me off of furniture, which seems to be a thing that happens after a while in relationships. *le sigh*. I try pushing him off furniture, but for a slim boy, he is unnaturally strong. So instead I hide bits of rubbish in his room, mwa ha ha. Yes, I'm passive aggressive like that. Anyway, where was I? Oh yeah, flirting. I've sort of lost the knack of flirting anyway. I don't even notice it's happening any more, and when I do, I get all embarrassed and sort of charge through it like a rhino rugby player and shout insults at whoever's doing it. Y'know, in an affectionate sort of way. Not that it happens often. Apart from the odd yelled comment out of white van windows, which I can never hear properly and which always make me check my outfit to see if my skirt's tucked into my pants or I've forgotten to wear a top or something. *please note, these things rarely actually happen to me, although it is a constant fear*

Lots going on in the acting stakes Reader! I've been doing a few music videos here and there, a few short films and things are sort of quite nicely falling in my lap. None of it paid yet sadly which would be very useful since I still haven't managed to replace that part time job I got fired from during the week from hell (see earlier blog, I have no wish to re-live the experience by explaining it YET AGAIN). However, it is all tremendous fun and I'm getting to work with some rather lovely people. One of those is Richie Ashwin J, who does a lot of MC stuff and I'm in his next video as a featured extra, but he's very kindly asked me to be in his next 'mini video' please give his work a look, he's really rather good and his stuff is on YouTube and Itunes I believe! Am catering a short film for some friends this weekend coming (and not getting paid a penny! The things I do for art eh?) which will be fun, it's the biggest budget I've ever had to work with as a caterer, so I am very excited.  Although I am a complete nazi when it comes to catering (in that if everyone doesn't go home fatter and impressed, I will be in a sulk the next day) so there's a lot of work to do.
Right, for the sake of my word count, I have to do the next bit in another post, so see you there Reader!
Ash
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