Legs 11

Reader, I do not have good legs. Ok, so, in tights or jeans they're not half bad. Maybe a 7.5 on a good day. Bare however, they have been known to provoke laughter, fear and at times worry for my health/welfare. You see, I am a pale sort of a girl (thanks to an exotic combo of irish and kentish blood no doubt) and as such, my limbs are normally a vampiric blue tinged white. This is probably a far too nice way to describe it, so don't think of Twilight vampires with their bloody perfect skin, nor Brad looking all pale and sexy in Interview with a Vampire. Instead think of some half rotted corpse, with skin like a fish's underbelly. Yeah, that's probably more like it. And you know what? Pale limbs do not look good in hot pants. Ok, I hear it, you're thinking 'bloody big whinier, being pale isn't that bad'. But I haven't finished yet. After the pale skin comes the bruises. 'The odd bruise?' you say 'everyone has the odd bruise'. Not like this. At last count I had sixteen largish bruises. On my right leg alone. It's a combination of being veggie, anaemic and very very clumsy. Therefore wearing anything bare legged makes people assume I am a victim of a) domestic abuse or b) some kind of terrible illness. The other problem with my legs are that I have terrible knees. Not cute little dome knees like most A-listers have, but weird knobbles that look like mini mountain ranges (seriously, is there a trick to getting good knees? Some kind of exercise I haven't worked out?).

Over the summer, my legs seem to toughen up a bit, and get less bruisey. I still refuse to put fake tan on (mainly after seeing a girl in high school with a handprint on the back of her calf that made her look like she'd been sexually harassed by a shedding oompah loompah....shudder). I do sometimes dream of denim hotpants without tights underneath but a) I think I may be too old for that look now and b) no. Just no.

My dear friends at school even came up with a song about my legs (mainly because I loved knee high socks but could never seem to get the right sort, so ended up with ones that ended just below the knee. And always lost my tights so had to wear said socks even in winter. The song went to the tune of smelly cat (please bear in mind I also had a terrible hair cut when I was 13 or so..)

Mushroom head, mushroom head
I see your skanky legs
all through the winter
all through the snow
mushroom head, mushroom head (repeat as wished)


A talented bunch indeed. It's a wonder we still speak. Saying that, I'm pretty sure I'm guilty of taking the mick of them a fair number of times (ahem....skintightwhitestraptopwithlipsalloverit.....ahem.....dinosaurs......ahem) so fair enough really.

Right, I'm going to hide my poor old legs in my pj bottoms (after they've been exfoliated and moisturised of course....well, one can hope!)
Much love Reader
Ash
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Last meal....

Reader, I was thinking today about what my last meal would be. You know, if I didn't have to limit myself by getting full or anything. I know, it's a bit morbid, but if I DID become a crazed serial killer in America and got caught and put on death row, and then got offered a last meal it would be the following:

Deep fried brie with cranberry sauce. Not just little measly bits, a big old wedge. And it has to be really hot, so hot the cheese is like liquid lava. Proper fish and chip shop style chips on the side to dip into the last drips of the melty cheese. And warm french bread with cold salted butter (which has to be one of the most delicious things in the whole world).

Next, I'd have home made veggie lasagne (with three kinds of cheese, mozzarella, cheddar and parmigiana). Obviously, overflowing with veggies like asparagus, spinach, artichoke, onion, black olives, chilli and garlic. My breath would have to stink after. So much so that the executioner would probably have to stand back a bit when they pushed the button, or the syringe, or...erm...ok, so I'm not great when it comes to semantics of execution, but still. 

Even though I'm a veggie, I'd have aromatic duck pancakes with all the trimmings (except for cucumber, no one wants that), I mean, it's my last meal right? Surely by not eating meat my whole life I'd have earned the right to eat one measly duck by then (apart from all the murders to warrant having to have a last meal of course). I'd also have salt and pepper aubergine and veggie noodles. And prawn crackers. There would be a bowl of rice (steamed, obvo) some veggie korma, tarka dahhl (is that even how you spell that) and something brilliantly spicy. An naan bread. Garlic. (More fun for the executioner).

There would also have to be a bowl of very buttery, peppery mashed potato. And maybe some pesto pasta (that tricalore stuff, I love multicoloured food). 

For pudding, it's all about a peanut butter and blueberry jam sundae. Or a 7 layer chocolate pudding cake from Insider Tart. Or a lemon tart, with ice cream. Or a really moist sticky toffee pudding, complete with dates and loads of syrup, with ice cream. Or Ben and Jerry's ice cream, with ice cream. Or a chocolate trolley. I'm pretty sure those exist. With ice cream. I would also have to have some fresh doughnuts, and blue candy floss.

Then some mint humbugs. Just so I don't burn the executioner's eyebrows.  Everything would be washed down with really cold diet coke. Or lucozade. Both with ice. 

I'm hungry. I'm going to go have a not last snack. With ice cream.

Ash

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Slice of cake and a glass of cold milk...

Reader, I am currently obsessed by a cake. Not just any cake, or even cake in general. More surprisingly, not a cupcake. It's a big old brick of a Christmas cake, left at my house by my grandmother. I know, fruitcake is supposed to be really dull, one of those cakes that only old ladies like, but I have a particular fondness for it, especially when it's washed down with milk. It has to be jam packed with fruit and brandy of course (and this one certainly is) and dotted with glacé cherries like little lucky dips, and although I normally can't stand marzipan, I can't deny that it utterly defines a marvellous fruitcake.

Considering that I'm trying to keep my weight down for the tour, it is not ideal that I keep coming home and sawing off big chunks of the cake to munch on, but it's so utterly, deliciously, luxuriously good. Like eating a box of charbonnel and walker pink champagne truffles all to yourself (which yes, this Christmas, I did). Eating crimble cake also gives me the delightful sensation that Christmas is not over yet, while there are still things to be greatly enjoyed from it. And having such a lovely thing to come home from work to serves to distract me (mostly) from the fact that this is the most depressing time of the year. Monday actually was statistically the most grim day of the whole year. Which is a pain, because I felt perfectly happy in the morning, but like a self fulfilling prophesy, by the end of the day I just wanted to hide under my bed. Ah well Reader, only two or so more weeks till I stop coming into the call centre for a blessed month and spend my time doing what I love with a bunch of like minded individuals. So I won't complain!

I don't think I'll be the only one to breathe a sigh of relief when it starts getting a bit warmer though. Today was so cold I had to wear four layers just so my boobs didn't look like they were saluting strangers. We were driving my younger brother back to uni (which, if you're interested, took HOURS. I left the house more than 8 hours ago and have only just got home. That's love.) and had to have both the heated seats (best invention since oil burners) and the normal heating on. What with that and my mum's talking books, we were all feeling pretty drowsy for most of the trip. Of course, my mum and I were particularly disappointed not to get to meet any of the brother's housemates, as we'd been looking forward to embarrassing him all weekend. Ah well, some other time perhaps! It actually made me quite jealous. I remember that lovely sensation of finally being alone after the holidays, in a space that I could call my own, with a packet of fags, a freshly filled fridge, Christmas pressies to put around my uni room and the promise of drinks later that night. Living with the parents may be a delight (and great for saving money), but you don't really get the same independence that living alone offers. Not that I'd ever want to move back into uni accommodation. I all too clearly remember the weird smells, bad plumbing, mess and sharing a loo with too many people.

Right, now what to have for dinner? More fruitcake perhaps....
Ash
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I fancied a serial killer...

Reader, I have discovered Dexter. I like it. To the extent that, in the past two days, I've got to the second episode of the second season. I am however, slightly concerned about how attractive I find him. Good looking and charming though he may be, he's a sociopathic serial killer who gets the sweats if he doesn't get a murder fix. Worrying. Saying that, he's very clean, has a fabulous body, a great job and is rather magnificent with children. Hmm. I'm not convinced I have to worry too much though, what with him being a fictional character and all.

I've always wondered about my taste in fictional characters though, as they tend to be slightly odd. David bowie as the goblin king, Peter pan (an eternal child who is also ginger? Weird), Christopher walken in Batman (as the baddie who chucks catwoman out of a window), Tim curry in the Rocky horror show (his legs were awesome in those heels) and Alan rickman in robin hood (what can I say? Leather trousers...). Freud would have a field day analysing my crushes. Saying that, I have a friend who fancies Danny Di Vito. Strange stuff.

Before I go Reader, here are the dates of the big tour I'm doing if anyone fancies coming to watch me playing Estella in Great Expectations! Would be lovely to see full audiences every night, so do get booking early!

9th & 10th March - Maddermarket Theatre, Norwich, Norfolk
22nd March - Coronation Hall, Ulverston, Cumbria
23rd & 24th March - Clonter Opera Theatre, Congleton, Cheshire
30th March - George Lawton Hall, Mossley, Greater Manchester
5 th April - Diss Corn Hall, Diss, Norfolk
6th –9th April - Granary Theatre, Wells-next-the-Sea, Norfolk
13th & 14th April - Seckford Theatre, Woodbridge, Suffolk
18th April - Grove Theatre, Dunstable, Bedfordshire
20th & 21st April - The Tower Theatre, Folkestone, Kent
28th & 29th April - Memorial Theatre, Broadstairs, Kent
4th May - Astor Theatre, Deal, Kent
9th May - The Lights, Andover, Hampshire
10th & 11th May - The Mowlem Theatre, Swanage, Dorset
18th & 19th May - Playhouse Theatre, Whitstable, Kent
25th & 26th May - The Lighthouse Theatre, Kettering, Northamptonshire
31 st May - Mumford Theatre, Anglia Ruskin University, Cambridge
1st & 2nd June - Fisher Theatre, Bungay, Suffolk
6 th June - St. James’ Church, Cooling, Kent
8th June - Woolpit Festival, Woolpit Village Hall, Suffolk
9th June - St. George’s Theatre, Great Yarmouth, Norfolk

Keep well Readers!
Ash
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I'm the one sitting facing the wall with my arms crossed...

Reader, I am sulking. Why am I sulking? Because I don't want to go to work tomorrow, that's why. No, it's not the first day back since the Christmas holls. That was last Thursday. No, I'm not going back to something hellishly difficult. I'm actually going to be working on a rather nice account, which is selling organic, free range, happy fruit and veg to jolly nice middle class people. And my work colleagues for this account are a rather nice jokey lot, who are rather lovely to chat to.

But the thought of being on the phones for 8.5 hours and staring at a computer screen all day (yes I realise that's what I'm doing now) is rather dreadful. The thing with being an actor is, in order to do the thing you love most, you usually have to spend 85% of your working life doing something that is not what you want to do. Unless you have wealthy, very generous parents. Some may say that actually, that's a bit of a fib, because you could be a teacher or work in a theatre related business or something, but essentially, you need to be able to drop your jobbing job like a hot chicken nugget if an acting job or even just an audition comes along. And if you work in a proper job, you'd be letting people down if you did that. I even get massive guilt over cancelling babysitting if I get an acting job! The handy thing about the company I work for is that it was essentially designed for actors. So they tend to actually be happy for you if you call in and cancel at short notice because you have an audition or a job. Which is wonderful. Although, they don't pay holiday wages, so if you DO have to take a day off, you'll really miss the pay.

The downside is that working in a call centre is tedious, repetitive work. It;s a great company, I like what I'm selling, I think my workmates are brilliant in a number of magical ways, but my god, the work itself makes me want to bash my brains out with my headset. Because on the whole, every conversation you have is the same. Yes, occasionally you get really great ones, where the person on the other end of the phone is hysterically funny and also makes a stonking big order from you then thanks you for calling them, but the rest of the time it's 'oh hi is mrs. wassername there? Oh ok, I'll try later' or 'You're not interested? Oh, ok then, no worries'. Working on a new account alleviates the dullness a little (as does finding out that there's someone vaguely famous working on the floor) but this is why actors have to do the job. Because we have something else to give our lives a bit of excitement and can go 'ah well, at least this isn't the career!' If we're still in a call centre at 50 plus, we may not be quite so cheery.

For the moment, I just need to get through the next three weeks or so. Because after that, I have a month off from the call centre, rehearsing for the theatre tour. Which will be incredible. But also scary, because it will be my first tour, the longest I'll have ever have done a play.

In other news, since Christmas 3 of my friends have got engaged. Is this year some kind of special astrology based boom year or something? It's all very nice and very romantic, but I think The Lad thinks I'm dropping hints, because every time I turn on my computer I go 'Oh, so and so's engaged' and then talking about their weddings for ages. He's been walking round with a slight scared expression ever since. To offset his fear, whenever anyone goes 'It'll be you next' I get very childish and go 'AS IF! BOYS?! BOYS ARE SMELLY!' So he doesn't think that I'm some crazy bridezilla who's despo to drag him up the aisle. Instead he now thinks I am a crazy man hater who never wants to marry. I am in fact, neither of those extremes. I am a normal person who's got lots of friends who are getting married. Oh god, I just realised how many wedding outfits I have to get this year.Wedding outfits are hellish. Because there are so many rules. You can't wear white, because that's tacky and rude at someone else's wedding and implies you wish you were the bride. You can't wear off the shoulder, above the knee or busty outfits, because people will assume you're fishing for your own hubby. You can't look too good or people will think you're trying to upstage the bride. You can't wear too much black or people will think you're terribly sad about the wedding. You can't wear massive heels or people will think it's a footballer's wedding. This list cancels out most of my wardrobe. I may just go in my yellow flowery duvet, with arm holes ripped in it. Sorted!

Right Reader, off to learn some lines
Ash
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Delusion, Day Nurse tablets and bounty bars...

Hello Reader!

Sorry for the radio silence this week, I forgot to put up links to my last blog entry on the usual sites (which is probably a good thing, since I then went back and added to it, so even if you've read it, go back, it's better than the bare bones it was before!) and then on my second day Oop North I came down with the most rotten, snotty, rank cold ever. In fact, today has been the first day since Monday that I've been able to do anything useful with myself! Which mainly involved going to work to get trained for a new account, selling posh veggies to posh people. Which is actually rather nice, because the company is all organic and free range, and really something I can believe in and be a bit passionate about. And they taught me loads of things. For example, did you know, if something's certified as being organic, it is also fairtrade and free range? I didn't till today! Not all organic things have the fairtrade logo because you have to pay for that, and apparently it's pretty pricey for the farmers. Also, pigs are one of the only animals not to have any laws attached to them for being free range. Which means people can shove them in nasty cages, they may never see daylight and live awful cramped lives, yet horrible marketers can still shove a smiley 'free range' happy pig sticker on the meat and it's not illegal! So always go for organic pork, because that DOES have very strict standards.

But I'm getting carried away! Oop North was lovely, even though I got sick. We got to hang out with The Lad's family, met his sister's new chihuahua Bruno (otherwise known as Brunolicious or Bruno-so-fabulous) who has an array of tiny coats and kept trying to make sweet sweet love to The Lad's leg. We had gorgeous dinners cooked for us, had traditional northern breakfast and went to a pub that did local beer. We even managed to go to the nearest big town and have a look at the sales (although I'm afraid by that stage I was a bit pathetic and had to keep sitting down because I was getting very weak and feverish). And then I left The Lad there for the rest of the week. Reader, it has not been fun being ill AND apart from The Lad. And The Lad being a boy, is crap at replying to texts. He'll text me once, I'll reply, he'll text again, I'll reply asking a question, and then it's like the moors swallowed him up. And being a paranoid nellie, I do assume he has had some terrible accident (probably involving a mining shaft, what with him being northern and all) and it's just that no one has thought to let me know in all the commotion. Of course, if that did happen, I'd have to make the decision whether I wanted to be in a relationship with someone who is both 5 hours away and stuck down a hole indefinitely. However, he is coming home tomorrow Reader, and I'm very very excited indeed. Mainly because I'll be able to sleep with the light off again (look, my room get's really bloody scary when there's not a slightly braver person to prod awake when I hear noises). Of course, after a few hours of him insisting on tickling me too hard and playing skyrim instead of paying me attention, I'll probably be trying to post him back through the postbox covered in second class stamps. But for the first 1.24 hours, it will be brilliant. 


Another exciting thing I did recently Reader, was go to the lovely Kate's birthday celebration. Which involved eating loads of brilliant food, dressing up in crazy costumes, and going to a Labyrinth themed masked ball and screening. Kate was resplendent in a Gothic version of Sarah's ballgown from the dream sequence, the baby of the group, Ro was manhandled into dressing as Toby (which was, by the way, the most popular costume by far), Sara was given an entirely eighties salmon dress to play the stepmother, the gorgeous Shush was dressed in the traditional Sarah outfit and I was, of course, the Goblin King. Complete with heavily stuffed crotch. It was slightly hindered by the fact that only Kate and myself had seen the film before, and the rest of the girls had to trust us dressing them up (they were suspicious till they'd seen the film!). After which we retired to Kate's and watched the Kate Middleton and Prince William movie (seriously dreadful but utterly hilarious, worth a watch!) and eventually fell asleep in the wee hours of the morning. It was, in short, fabulous.

Right Reader, it's late, I'm not entirely recovered from my bug yet and I have a small ginger cat yelling at my door, so it's time for me to off.
Tarrah!
Ash
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