Sunday Evening Sulk (otherwise known as The Day She Ate Cous Cous Mixed With Pasta...)

Reader, do you ever have one of those evenings where you just want to fling your hands up in the air in exasperation, lock yourself in a padded room and eat Rolo yoghurts whilst scowling at the door? This evening has been one of those.

 

this is a blobfish. He doesn't like Sundays either)

Granted, it is a Sunday evening, and despite being freelance and Sundays not meaning the same as what they do to most people, I still find find them utterly irritating. Not because I have work tomorrow (for I had work today, so it's not too painful to just carry on working) but because the rest of the world has decided that on Sundays, EVERYTHING MUST CLOSE EARLY. And no one is working apart from me, so I have to wait EXTRA LONG to hear back from anyone. Which, for an incredibly impatient person like myself is a death sentence.

So I was already a little uncomfortable anyway. Not helped by the fact that my knee socks kept falling down and my slip kept riding up. The whole way into and back from Central London I was tugging at my clothes like something out of a Carry On film.

Then I spent all afternoon playing a woman in the depths of an emotional and psychological breakdown. Which meant accessing some not very nice feelings which are not that easy to shake off. (You know when an actor does a really realistic bit of acting where they are really, really sad? They are often actually making themselves feel those emotions, so don't take it to heart if they're a bit weird with you afterwards). I love love love acting and I love love love the particular part and speech I was doing today, but it's rough on the old emotions.

Which is probably why, when I arrived home, exhausted and vaguely tearstained, my nap gave way to a particularly horrific and intensely realistic dream (one of those ones that not only reminds you of heartbreak you'd been trying to ignore in a very visceral way, but also shows you things that shouldn't be shown in an 18 rated horror film because they were too shocking and then takes a big ol' crap on something you were very excited about? Yeah. One of those.)

'But this is fine!' Thought I. For today was the day I could be lenient with my diet! And I was going to watch films and eat Chinese food with my lovely housemate! That would cure my ills!

Not so. My poor housemate got back so late that the restaurant wouldn't deliver, and because it was Sunday and everything was closed, including the Asda up the road (again...grrr....) I ended up having a pathetic 'treat day' dinner of cous cous, pasta with slightly gone off pesto salad dressing, stale cheese and a sausage. Which was only a 'treat' because it was carby. Now I feel stodgy and I didn't particularly enjoy it. And have to wait another week for my next flexible diet day (I am a massive foodie so this is a very sad thing for me).

So I had a bath. Only, our hot water is rubbish and my 'luxurious hot bath' was actually a tepid bath, where the bubble bath didn't bubble properly and simply sat in a slick on top of the water like a natural disaster. The bath mat my mum got for us to stop me falling over like an old codger again has decided that whilst it doesn't like being removed from the bath, moving along the entire length of it is fine and dandy, so whenever I shifted I'd be flung halfway up the tub, and then, when I finally (grumpily) got into bed, my fitted sheet decided to do that irritating thing where one corner makes a bid for freedom. I was so cross that I didn't even fix it. I just lay on top of it and started this blog entry. The thing is, on a day where I was in a good mood, none of these things would have bothered me, in fact, I would have laughed gaily at them as I skipped past and not given them a second's thought. I think I'm just in a foul mood today. Luckily, I have realised that it's not the fault of anyone else, so I haven't been too whingey. (and then this blog entry happened...whoops...)

Ah well Reader. As Scarlett O'Hara so wisely says 'Tomorrow is another day!' Maybe I'll wake up on the right side of the bed when my alarm goes off!

Till then, I'll leave you with the vlog I released earlier today about things I think when I get drunk: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=M7eCgcUNQJk

Sleep tight Reader! And have a marvellous tomorrow!
Ash
x

10 ways to tell you're turning into a Manic Pixie Dreamgirl....

Reader, a Manic Pixie Dreamgirl is essentially the last thing you want to be (apart from dead. Or a woodlouse or something. Well, I'm exaggerating, shut up). There was a brilliant article written about them in the New Statesman (read the article, it's bloody brilliant). Essentially, we're the supporting lead characters (the character that really should be a lead but is only there to affect change upon the male lead's life) who wander around being a bit kooky and dancing in the rain to Nina Simone whilst knitting a hat for our pet banana. Were this the olden days we'd be locked up. Now we get seen as veritable Oracles for skinny boys who like vintage clothes and independent coffee shops.

The thing is, I (like so many girls in their twenties) did not realise I was a MPDG until fairly recently, when I realised how utterly irritating it was. I sew, I bake, I flirt awkwardly, I name things round my house (we have a pillow called Archimedes, a sewing machine called Bellatrix, a computer called Archie and we live in Bag End) and I have a terrible penchant for vintage style underwear. I also like tabletop gaming and have weird eating obsessions (mac n cheese with pulled pork and maple syrup anyone?). Which is all just ME. None of these things are things I cultivated, they're just aspects of my personality, but that doesn't stop people tossing 'New Girl' quotes at me when I talk about the healing qualities of cupcakes or wear fifties dresses to the pub.

I didn't realise how much I hated the MPDG tag until I realised that people were putting me in a weird, uncomfy box sort of thing because of it. Boys wouldn't ask me out, instead talking about me like I was some kind of bloody unicorn. I wasn't the girl that got grabbed and kissed at parties, I was the girl that kissed the boy then ran away, leaving them fairly confused (this has happened more times than I like to admit). I was the girl that boys would have long intense conversations with, looking soulfully into each others eyes (before they went out with the fairly normal girl who worked in an office, wearing clothes actually in fashion in the last 10 years or so). People didn't take me seriously at work, assuming I was constantly daydreaming (ok, so that one is partially true, but only because I could do the work with my eyes closed and it was INCREDIBLY dull). People make assumptions about you when you're perceived as a MPDG, and they're not always good. But look Reader, I'm going to help you out here. Here's some warning signs that you're turning into a MPDG, so you can stop before it's too late. (Don't ask me how, it's too late for me, I've already planned an adventure in New York and New Orleans for next year and am planning on wearing Victorian lace up boots tomorrow. SAVE YOURSELF).

How to tell you're turning into a Manic Pixie Dreamgirl

1. People keep oversharing with you

You are that girl that people SEEK OUT at parties, at dinners, on the freakin' street, to tell about their deep, psychological issues. Or sex stuff that kind of makes your ears burn so hard they are close to exploding into ear-y catherine wheels. And then they look at you as if to say 'what should I do about it?' Most of the time I have NOWHERE NEAR the life experience to adequately answer these questions so I quote some literary or film character at them. Seems to do the trick. As does 'what does your heart tell you?' Which when it comes to Tinder related issues, has occasionally been changed to 'What does your foof tell you?'

    2. You are expected to bring cake everywhere you go

Reader, I bake. It's what I do. I bake in times of sadness, I bake in times of joy, I bake because it's a Thursday and WHY THE HELL NOT. But of late I have had to stop myself. Why? Because people have got to the stage where they EXPECT my delightful baked goods. It's got to the point that if I don't bring my delicious peanut butter brownies, people are OFFENDED. And does anyone ever bake me a cake? NO. (Ok, so my gran made me biscuits today, but still...). Also, there is a terrible thing where you're expected to both make cake all the time AND stay skinny enough to look good in high waisted shorts. Which is hard when you're an hourglass like me anyway! So I am now on cake strike. And a diet for the next two months in prep for my next film, my costume for The London Film and Comic Con and a stint at The Fringe. (There has been a lot of cake in my life of late)

    3. Guys will keep you up till late looking at the stars and talking about life, the universe and everything and then go shag the girl who wears nude shoes and goes to a salon to get her hair done

Sound familiar? This is the JOY of being a MPDG. Men will do the unrequited love thing, then worry that you are too flighty, too pure or too out of their league. Then they'll go for the girl who is higher maintenance but has heard less of their secrets. We do all the hard stuff, getting the guys to a point where they feel better about themselves, then they scurry off and ask someone else out. Story of our lives. The good thing about this is that you learn to get ok with asking people out yourself. Because you can bet they won't do it (they will assume you don't feel the same way. I didn't think this was a thing, until my male friends came to me for advice about women, and did EXACTLY THAT-go out with the easy option, who they feel less intensely about, but who earns a steady wage and doesn't ruin their bathroom with hair dye experiments. Meanwhile, my fabulous yet quirky friends were left going 'What did I do?!')

    4. Your wardrobe resembles a costume department more than a real person's clothing supply

I have ballgowns, petticoats, corsets, tights adorned with skulls, a crown, many many hats, fake flowers, all manner of 50's dresses, a Pat Butcher coat and a batman mask. You know what I don't have? Any clothes that are a) ironed or b) make me look like a grown up. Do I care? No. I love my clothes. Very dearly. And it may make more sense to buy some nice chinos and a cute shirt but let's face it, people are going to remember my cherry red fifties dress more than your various neutral tones from French Connection...even if you do look like you dressed yourself instead of letting a 7 year old do it...

   5. You know more songs that were popular before you were born than songs that are popular now

My mother knows more current music than I do. My voice agent asked me to do some impressions for a voice job and all I could think of was Monroe, Billie Holiday and Bette Davis... My I-pod is largely Sinatra based and I got super excited when I recently recognised a rap song on the radio-only to be told that it was 10 years old...

    6. Your life is one big adventure

The nice thing about being a MPDG is that you see excitement and hope in everything. Everything can be an adventure, so you approach life with zeal and zest and a fair amount of hyperactivity. You have about 10 escape plans at any given time and you have a list of VERY IMPORTANT THINGS you have to do in your lifetime. You know exactly what you would do if you won the lottery, and most of it involves running away. You also know that adventures don't have to be international ones. Marriage is an adventure, so is motherhood, so is your career. You just have to approach it in your special, unique way (which usually involves a spotted kerchief with cake in it and your favourite book)

   7. You live your life by the lessons learnt in books

Pippi Longstockings, Anne Shirley, Jane Eyre, Princess Kitty, George Kirrin, Nancy Drew, Matilda, Sara Crewe-we lived their stories along with them. And they now live in us. Which means occasionally we have a 'Look how puffy these sleeves are!' moment of joy in shops that people don't quite understand, find mysteries that we ABSOLUTELY HAVE TO SOLVE where there aren't actually any there and get urges to jump in the sea fully clothed or climb trees in our frilliest dresses (which we will always do, no matter how impractical). Books gave us our moral compass and our favourite quotes. We revisit them like old friends (Summertime is Lolita, Winter is Jane Eyre and anything Dickens, when I'm sad Roald Dahl brings me cheer and Oscar Wilde is always good for a giggle) and as such it would be churlish to ever have less than two books in your bag at any time (I get panicked if I'm stuck anywhere without a book for company, and my biggest decision when going on holiday is how many books can I pack) 

    8. You often get caught singing a song you made up about whatever task you're doing 

Baking, peeing, sewing, writing, editing....you name it, I have probably sang a little song about it. It won't have rhymed, nor been tuneful, nor will I know I'm doing it (apart from the times that I do, and in those times I'm pretty convinced I'm going to win a Grammy of some form)

    9. Your dancing is more like an old man at a wedding than a lithe young lass

I was not one of those girls who got asked to make up dances in a group in the playground. If you've ever been to a club with me, you've probably already worked that out. Knowing how to do the mashed potato more than twerking (still not entirely sure what that is) is a hallmark of MPDGs. 

   10. You keep getting cast as the emotional vunerable girl next door



You know what? I actually don't mind playing these parts, they're interesting, and complex and rarely straightforward. But I do get a bit tired of seeing in every script that this incredibly interesting character, who has her own rich life and stuff going on, is only there to influence what happens to the male lead. In Great Expectations I was Estella (perhaps the ultimate in weird emotionally buggered up girls next door who influences the male lead), I have played women who have awoken sexuality in men, women who have encouraged the men to be better people, women who spend the entire film or play talking about men. Which is pretty weird, because in real life, I don't make decisions based on how it impacts men. And I have quite a healthy emotional state. And I'm not really someone who has to have dead dramatic relationships or anything like that-but I get the feeling people sort of expect me to. If you're an actress in your twenties and you're even SLIGHTLY kooky, chances are you probably feel the same way. You have little choice in the matter. One look at your showreel and they KNOW. Girlfriend roles for the rest of your days...

The thing is Reader, I probably bring it on myself. I refuse to stop buying cute teacups, I am starting to accidentally build a wicker picnic basket collection and every valentines day I make tiny valentines monster pictures to give to my friends. My plans for next year include a trip to New York and New Orleans for a few months and my biggest quandry is how I'll keep my hair it's usual tangerine shade when I'm so far away from Superdrug (I may have to bring a supply with me-going back to having brown hair is NOT HAPPENING). I'm more excited about going to a comic convention than to most of the weddings I have booked this year. And I'm going in costume. Oh dear.


Anyway Reader, true to form, I'm off to dye my hair whilst I work and listen to some Elvis in the background...
Ash
x

Dramatics...

Reader, last night I did a show (which sold out thankyouverymuch), had one drink with the lovely friends that had come to see it, waved farewell to my wonderful, talented cast and crew, kissed the man I'm seeing goodbye and tottered home to bed in advance of today's 9am voice job. Although I still only got 5 hours sleep, I'm feeling pretty self-impressed. I'd also been up and out of the house by 8am that very day to do some Bikram Yoga, so now I also have aches and pains which give me a smugness boost every time they twinge (whilst simultaneously making it totally acceptable to be eating left over chocolate cake with a spoon right now). The voice job went well, and I headed straight home for an afternoon of work (both acting and resting-job related) which I did (along with a short nap and a bowl of quinoa with feta). Now I'm still working and mulling over putting on a load of laundry. I can't quite decide if I'm atrociously dull or commendably grown up.

The thing is, I didn't used to be like this. As I did online admin and planned my family weekend earlier, I remembered what the night after a show used to mean for me. When I was younger (specifically at university), it meant shots of various flavours and colours, dancing like a lunatic, smoking 40 fags in the garden with my girlfriends as we sent death rays at the boys who were pissing us off at the time (there were always a few, generally because they couldn't/wouldn't get their acts together and snog us), playing ill advised drinking games (always seeming to require a jug filled with mystery booze combinations that would end up with a rugby player's sock in it), yelling at the moon, being sick on someone's shoes and finally tottering home at 5am with someone else's jumper and cheesy chips from the local kebab shop. At that age, I was convinced that life was like a film and pithy one liners (inevitably said with a drink in one hand and a Richmond Superking Menthol in the other) would mean that I'd end up getting the guy, being remembered as a hero and building memories and...well...that was just the way one did things, wasn't it?

I remember giving someone a particularly elegant one liner about wishing him well (or something equally obnoxious), looking at him with a slight side smile, taking the drink out of his hand and sauntering off into the crowd-which would have been TOTALLY COOL had he not come over and started drunk-dancing with me (I loved it back then but I'm pretty certain we looked ridiculous). I remember sitting on stairs with friends, gazing moodily into the night as I puffed away and said things that I thought sounded Very Grown Up but now I think about it, were completely ridiculous (and mostly ripped off from old David Lynch films and episodes of Sex and The City). I remember sitting in a puddle of mud and refusing to move until I'd finished singing my song. I remember doing shots of tequilla at 5am and then falling over on the hill home, then sending a number of ill advised texts at 6am. I remember one deeply awfully sober night where I stormed out of a club in tears (never go to a club after the funeral of someone you care deeply for, no matter how much you're pleaded with. It NEVER goes well.) and then sat crying in my living room with packs of fags surrounding me (like fishes talking to Ariel or something) and all the lights off. Yes. I genuinely was TOO SAD to turn the lights on. How melodramatic is that? To be fair, it had been a sad day and I was very tired and thought I was heartbroken (I wasn't, turns out real heartbreak isn't melodramatic, it's just dreadful and sore and mind numbingly dull).

I won't say that those nights stopped at university, because they didn't. While I was at drama school they petered out (you just don't have the time or energy to get drunk when you're doing that many hours a day on top of a commute) but they came back with a bang once I did my first national tour. I even had one rather dramatic night at the beginning of this year. But since then, even when I get super drunk, I don't want to get dramatic. It's just too much. You say things you don't mean, you do things that haunt you for months afterwards and you inevitably have a cracking hangover. I've never been the type to be the crying girl at the party, but even so, I think there comes a point when you'd just rather let things lay and NOT confess undying lust to the guy who's oh so totally wrong for you, or vomit in a bush, or throw a jug of Snakebite over someone's head. It's just exhausting.

But would I change all of those dramatic, cringeworthy, messy nights of my past? Not a chance in hell. They gave me some of the best stories I have.

So Reader, may your nights of drama not be too painful in the present, but bloody hilarious in a few months time and your mornings hangover free!

Ash
x

Roads and paths and potential...

Reader, today was such a beautiful day. The sun shone and in North London, everyone looked brighter and prettier. Even the football yobs looked cuter and less gruff. Meanwhile, I could not settle. Which seems to be a metaphor for my life at the moment. As an actor, life is never going to be simple and straightforward and easy. I know that. At the moment I am struggling a bit with it though. The thing is, I'm in my mid twenties and all my friends are starting to settle down. I am fully booked with weddings this year and I have a lot of new babies to meet. Mortgages are being bought, people are earning enough to go on nice holidays and invest in pensions. While all that is going on, I am facing the possibility of having to move back in with my parents in August, trying to decide if a short term move to New York would make sense for my life at the end of this year/beginning of next, waiting to see 3 films I've shot this year and waiting to hear back about the feature film that is potentially a career changer, that I've been promised a main part in but don't have a contract for.

Life feels like it's very wispy at the moment. Which doesn't make me want to give up being an actor, even though it's a bit scary. It makes me wish I wanted to do something else. But I don't. I have to be an actor. I can't even contemplate doing anything else (believe me, I've tried). It's difficult to think of my life being so transient when I'm older, which is why I'm trying to come up with more ways to keep money coming in (like writing and vlogging-hopefully things which will keep me acting for longer if I can work out a way to monetise them). The thing is, I think I could handle being skint and flighty forever-if it wasn't for the fact that I want children. If you're a regular reader, you'll know that I had a health scare a couple of years ago that led to me being forced to work out quite fast if I wanted kids or not and the positive that came out of an unpleasant situation was that it helped me realise how I needed to be a mother. But you can't be a mother if you can't support the child.

Saying that, some things give me hope. My mum told me recently about how she sat in her car once when I was very little as the radio told her that interest rates on mortgages had gone up and just cried because she was convinced they were going to lose our house. Then she thought about it and realised that she could always move (with me-aged 6, my father and my baby brother aged 1) into the top bedroom of her parents home. She was in her mid thirties at that point and it really reassured me. Yes, I have chosen a career that will take me up and down and all around the hedges, but if my mother (the strongest woman I know, who now runs an incredibly successful business and lives in an insanely beautiful house with my dad) in her mid thirties was married, had a 'proper' job and was not in the middle of an economic depression and STILL dealt the prospect of moving back in with her parents (with two kids and a husband no less), then maybe I shouldn't give myself so much of a hard time about the idea of moving back in with mine for a couple of months. Especially when doing so could mean moving to New York for a while (and thus fulfilling one of my big dreams).

The thing is, if I could afford holidays, a house and knew EXACTLY where my life was going while working in a 9-5 job that I wasn't really passionate about, I truly believe I would end up killing myself or shaving my head in roughly a week. Life as an actor may be really difficult sometimes and I may be so poor that I have to accept food parcels from my parents on occasions, but the pay-off, getting to feel completely fulfilled every time I go on stage or see one of my films on the big screen or tv or hear my voice at an awards ceremony or on the radio, is worth it. The moments when I'm sitting in a recording booth or playing out a scene make every time I've worried about my bank balance, cried over a boy, felt fat or been lost out on jobs suddenly not matter. Because I know what I'm doing. And I feel incredible. I feel high, like I've taken the worlds best drug or spun round in a circle for an hour. I can't even explain it. I'm addicted. It's better than sex or chocolate or winning monopoly. It's even better than finishing the Evening Standard crossword by myself in less than four stops on the tube.

Which is why, even though I'm scared about the future, I can't kick the habit just yet. Because it feels much, much too good. Acting is like having an incredible affair with James Bond. He's not always in the country but when he is-DEAR GOD.

Get it Reader?
Ash
x

Ten happy things...

Reader, I've been doing the '100 Happy Days' Challenge now for just over a month and it's really nice. At my low moments, I can look back over the pictures I've taken and know that even in stressful times I've managed to find time to make myself happy each day, if only for 5 minutes. I'm an avid believer in the idea that if you share happiness you'll be happier yourself, and today I am feeling rather tired and a little doleful (I don't cope with tired particularly well). So I thought that I would share 10 happy things with y'all that should give you a flash of the warm fuzzies!

TEN HAPPY THINGS!

1. Otters hold hands when they sleep so that they don't float away 

Look at them. Look at their little faces and their upright arms and the fact that they are HOLDING HANDS. This is so freakin' cute. I would like an otter please. Bonus cuteness-otters play catch with stones when they're bored!

     2.  Sloths have a poo dance 

You know what that gif is? That's a baby sloth, in a babygro, doing a poo and being REALLY HAPPY ABOUT IT. You're welcome.

     3. Carly Rae Jepsen is 28 years old

And she still managed to have a teenybopper hit. I initially thought she was 18 and was quietly grumpy about younger people than me doing so much better, but 28? 28 is ENTIRELY ACCEPTABLE. And in the video for her song, 'Call me maybe', she is being totally juvenile. It's not just us guys, it's all twenty somethings....phew!

    4. This tiny lizard exists. And he is beautiful.

 

LOOK HOW TINY. SO TINY! THE LITTLE TAIL?! GAAAAWW....

   5. This pie is a real. We could eat it.

Look at that glorious bastard. It's a brie and cranberry pie. Holy moley. I want it in my belly THIS INSTANT.

    6. Animals wrapped up like burritos

LOOK AT THE BATS AND TELL ME YOU ARE NOT HAPPIER KNOWING THEY EXIST.

7. This baby is doing a Patrick Stewart impression. And doing it well.

8. Cows have best friends

Sometimes I remember this and it just makes me happy. Cows form friendships and spend each day with that other bovine. They will seek them out in a crowd. Their mood is better when they're around their chum. GAW!

  9. This child has just discovered bubbles and he think's they're FUCKING ROCK AND ROLL!

He might explode at any second. He is THAT happy.

10. This little boy talking about love

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=UehSJlOQj2I

Isn't that just wonderful? His little face at the end!

Well, I hope that brought you cheer Reader,

Have a wonderful day, and remember to let yourself laugh! Remember to watch my latest vlog, in which I do the Dating Profile Tag which you can see here https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8j3LCZSh4uc

Ash

x

Oh the things I could do...

Reader, I am in a bit of a pickle. When my rent comes out this month, I will be back in the overdraft that I fought so hard to get out of when I left education, and because my income is so low, I have no idea how I'm going to lever myself out of it this time. The thing is, this month has been unexpectedly expensive for me. Spotlight is due to be repaid (that time of year when all actors panic about the £200 they don't have and don't know where to find), our sky bill has just gone up because we're out of the introductory phase, our water bill came out and I've had to pay to get my showreel fixed up, which ended up costing me £80. On top of council tax bills, electricity and gas, rent, and the fact that the early part of the year is when all my family have birthdays.

I hate panicking about money. It makes me feel constantly stressed and a bit sick to my stomach. And as an actor, the annoying thing is you know you're only ever as far as getting a tv ad away from all your money problems being solved.

I'm trying to find ways to boost my income ASAP without resorting to mugging or sending emails pretending to be a Nigerian prince, but finding something that will boost my income without taking away time from the stuff that normally earns me money is quite difficult. At the moment am just working all the hours I can for my Mum's business so that at the end of the month my paycheck is bigger than usual, and applying for writing jobs on top of the usual acting jobs that I could do at night.

The thing that keeps weighing on my mind is the overdraft. Because now I'm not a student, the bank will charge me two pounds a day to be in it. Which doesn't seem like much, but might be just enough to keep me further and further into it each month.

The thing is, there are things I can do. I just went to EE and got a much cheaper contract on my phone, which will save me around £20 a month. My housemate and I need to sit down and work out how we can get a cheaper deal on our tv/internet and I need to be careful about eating out less (which means investing in more protein bars to carry around with me on days I have auditions and meetings and having more dates at home). I quit smoking a few months ago, so at least I don't have to feel guilty about that anymore and I don't really spend money on booze. I got some underwear the other day in Primark (which I'm now feeling guilty about spending much needed money on) but I'd just had to throw a few sets out.

The thing is, Reader, it's not too far in the future till August. Which is scary, because in August me and the curly one find out if we can stay in our beloved Bag End or have to move. And if we have to move, that is an incredibly expensive process, with lots of fees and hiring of vans and deposits. And because of the housing market, rent has gone up, so we will have to either find somewhere much smaller, in a worse area, in a house with lots of strangers or move back to our parents. And none of those situations are ideal.

So dear gods of the acting world and fate and purse strings-please land me a really incredibly paying job today. One of those ones that takes a day to film and keeps your bank manager happy for a year. Or let me magically find £600 (the magical figure that would instantly solve this month's problems) in a gift wrapped box on the end of my bed.

Till then, I'll keep plugging away, eating the contents of strange tins at the back of my cupboards and not buying anything at all while I work as much as humanly possible without going completely insane. And I'll do it all with a smile. No more whingey blog entries from me Reader, just had to get this one out of my system! The next one will be funnier and full of gifs. Promise!

Tarrah loves,
Ash
x

The heady heights and heroics of heels....

Reader, today, Stylist magazine declared high heels were 'OVER'. To this, I toss my hair, laugh, and strut away on my 4 inchers. Yesterday I cracked out my high heeled boots. I was trying to embrace feeling all womanly and fabulous despite being a little heavier than usual (as per my last blog entry which you can see here) so I picked out a dress that always makes me feel cute and whacked on the stilts. And you know what? Even though my walk to the station was a little bit like Bambi learning to walk, it totally worked. By the time I arrived in Angel, I felt like a DIVA. I even caught myself doing the 'through the eyelashes' look at people on the train, and a side smile, as if I knew something no one else did (yes, when I wear a damn fine pair of high heels I start thinking I'm in a Flake advert...). By the time I made it home, even though my make up had inevitably smudged all over my face thanks to a very hot theatre auditorium leaving me looking like a cross between Claudia Winkleman and a crack addict, I still felt like a saucy minx. Isn't that incredible? That a pair of shoes with (essentially) a stick attached to the back can make you think you're a catwalk queen? It may not be very fashionable to love high heels, but brogues just don't make me feel as wonderful. So here, for your reading pleasure is:

10 Reasons Why High Heels Are Heaven 



1. You are on eye level with most people. Or you are taller than them.



When (like me) you have a large bosom, taller people can't help looking at it. Because they have to look down to look at you. In a way, it's like a visual trick-because they're looking directly down into your cleavage, your boobs are more distracting. I love being on eye level with others, partially because of the boob thing, but also because you have more power if you can look someone in the eye or stand taller than them (ever wondered why the boss has the biggest chair in meetings?). If I feel like someone thinks for whatever reason, that I am incapable of doing something (usually because I sounds and look a lot younger than I actually am) I make sure to wear power boots and a smart outfit when I first meet them. It may just be that I feel so confident in my amazonian outfit that I emit waves of hypnotising 'agree with me' enzymes, but often, I find that it works!

2. Instant 'Leg Stretch' sex appeal



There's this thing. And it's BRILLIANT. I've used it, a million times to get a guy's attention. The best thing about it is it's so subtle you'll look like you have NO IDEA you're doing it (ok, sometimes I actually don't realise, at times like that I probably have foot cramp.) You cross your legs, dangle one foot in the air and slowly rotate your ankle. Veeeeerrry slowly. And you pretend to be completely busy with something else. For some reason, the men in the room become tranfixed by your ankle (surely not a sexy area?) I don't know why it works, it just DOES. And it only seems to work in stiletto heels. Or barefoot (but you'll need nicely painted nails and an anklet-which I never have either of).

3. Posture



Reader, my bed is my office. I learn scripts there, I write there, I edit vlogs there and I do the freelance admin work that pays my bills there (one day I hope to scrap that last one and just do the others for money). As such, I find that I have TERRIBLE posture. Genuinely awful. High heels make all that go away. Suddenly my back straightens up, my shoulders drop and my neck elongates. I'm a ballet dancer bitch.

4. Legs



You know what? No amount of Bikram is going to remove the fact that I am a curvy lass. And I'm cool with that. The nice thing about heels is that they sort of elongate everything and make me look more like Christina Hendrix and less like Gimli. Cute though ballet pumps and sneakers are, they just don't do wonderful things to the leg like a pair of spikes.

5. Stomping



When you leave a room peeved off, not only will you be doing it with grace and elan, but your ass will also look amazing. You may be sulking about the fact that you just lost an argument, but at least you won at being a DIVA. Also, if someone REALLY pisses you off you can sexily ('accidentally') stomp on their toe as you leave. Heels as a weapon, fo sho.

6. Variety (is the shoe of life)



I'm sorry, I don't mean to be shoe-ist, but all flats kind of look the same to me. Apart from boots (which are an exception to EVERY rule and yes, I do want a pair of flat boxer boots very very much), I don't think I've ever gone up to any woman and told them their flats were amazing. Heels, yes. For some reason, designers are just more inventive with heels. Maybe it's the inherent sexuality attached to them. Maybe it's the fact that grown ups who love fashion and are prepared to fall over a lot wear them. Maybe it's that they are the skyscraper of shoes. But go into a shoe shop and I can guarantee you that the heels will be more enticing than the flats. Buying flats always feels like a utility purchase to me. Heels are pure luxury.

7. The come hither saunter



Ok, so I realise that I've talked about walking a lot-but there are so many different walks one can do in heels that there is quite a bit to cover. The saunter away, with a look back over the shoulder and then a bite of the lip is what we describe as the 'come hither saunter' and it only really works in heels. Think of it as what Jessica Rabbit would do if she was trying to get someone's attention or Monroe or Michelle Pfeiffer...can you imagine them doing their thang in a pair of flats, however glittery? No! They value their stilettos-or they go barefoot! (Like most high heel fans, I love being barefoot just as much-I would much rather be barefoot than wear flat shoes in fact!)

8 Shoe pride



Saying you can walk in a pair of heels is a LIFE SKILL. It's hard work. I feel you should be able to list in on your cv. There's nothing nicer than the smug feeling of seeing someone who can't walk in kitten heels, when you've just made it look easy in stilettos *although I fall over in flats, so I can hardly talk*

9. You walk slower, so you take in more of the world



You actually do. You're forced to be languid and you get to see more of the world around you! *or floor around you, if you're the girl who can't walk in kitten heels...* (pic related-it's a sloth. Yes, ok, so this one may have been just an excuse for me to feature an extremely cute baby sloth picture, but do you REALLY care?)

10. THEY MAKE YOU FEEL LIKE A MOTHERFUDGING PRINCESS



Did Cinderella wear glass ballet pumps? NO. It's all about the heeeeeels baby!

So yeah! Heels win and that's that! Now, I'm not saying I don't own flats. I do! And they are comfy and for that I love them. But they will never fill my heart with the simple joy of a pair of wedges.

But then Reader, apart from vast amounts of food, very little does!
Ash
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