Lessons in home sharing

So Reader, as you will have read in my last entry, I recently moved in with one of my best friends. It's a brilliant thing to do, I would highly recommend it to anything. And I feel like I have learned a lot from it. Here are some of the things that have come from the educational process of flat-sharing.

1. There need to be rules

We have had to institute a list of rules. No, not normal things like 'We will wash our own dishes and pay our bills on time', more things like 'We will always stop each other sending ill advised texts to ill advised people after an ill advised number of drinks' and 'Ash is not allowed to do the washing up after 9pm' (because for some reason my washing up skills go to pot after a certain point in the evening) and 'Vicki is not allowed to talk before she has coffee in the mornings'. They are important rules. Necessary rules. Rules carved in stone.

2. The Wall of I Would is very essential

The Wall of I Would is an important part of everyone's life. For couples, it's called 'the allowed list' (where if they met certain celebs they would be allowed to cheat), for roomies it's about working out who gets who. Ours goes on for two long pages and we have had a number of disagreements (Vicki shotgunned Rupert Grint, which devastated me. We would have had beautiful ginger babies!) and also lots of laughs at the others expense. Both of our lists include: films stars, musicians, people we have fancied in the real world but whom we have never got with (in my case purely through making an utter tit of myself at various parties), comedians, dead people (I mean come the shag on, Jimmy Stewart?!?!),  gay people, Ugly Sexies (Depardieu anyone?) and people that don't actually exist (Eric from The Little Mermaid is MINE BITCHES). It's a bonding experience.

3. Catch ups become an everyday experience

Being apart for a day constitutes an hour long discussion on everything that happened and exactly how we felt about it

4. Different chores for different people

Vicki is brilliant at washing up. I am not. I love cooking and baking all the time. Vicki is more than happy to indulge my Delia habit. Vicki excells at making her bed. My bed usually looks like there is someone sleeping in it due to the amount of junk on the left side. I am obsessive about making the sofa symmetrical. Vicki sees the ruffled blanket and sits on it anyway. Vicki remembers to buy loo roll and diet coke. I remember to buy baking ingredients and pesto. Essentially, between the two of us, we cover all areas.

5. We are not grown up yet

We are still working things out. For example, why does dust exclusively live in bathrooms? And did you know that boilers need to be put on gradually instead of on full heat right away or they might die? And How comes you can only pay council tax annually? And why is life so expensive when we earn so little? And where are all the men who have grown up jobs and lives? 

6. Watching Friends never gets old

I suppose that one is quite obvious. 

7. You always have dating advice on hand

Now that I'm single again, I'm having to navigate the confusing and scary world of dating for the first time since I was roughly 17 and it's all a bit different now. Luckily, when I lose my head, I run to my roomie and she gives me feedback, informative books and outfit advice. And tells me to shut the hell up when I'm being ridiculous. And gives me hugs when I watch a very specific episode of Friends that reminds me of sad times. She is genuinely like a life coach. It's a bit brilliant.

Anyway reader, I have a busy old day tomorrow and have been on set all day today, but here is to living with one of your best friends, and all the brilliance that it entails! 

Ash 

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I'm BACK BABY!

Reader, I know, I know. You're staring at me and shaking your head with disappointment. I haven't written a new entry in a kazillion years and my last one was all serious-I have LET YOU DOWN. I am writing this from the naughty seat in the corner.

In my defense though, life has been a bit intensely mad this year. It all started with getting booked to do a couple of short films for a channel on SKY. Then was swiftly followed with two shows in London and a break up of my long term relationship. Which was then followed by a trip to Ireland, moving in with one of my best friends and landing a small part in a TV series that I've watched for years. And then the two short films for SKY turned into five short films, one of which I was commissioned to write as well as act in. I haven't had time to have a bath longer than 2.5 minutes for as long as I can remember and I haven't seen a current film at the cinema for about as long. BUT ALL IS WELL.

So life has changed a bit! I lost loads of weight with the whole break up thing (then gained it all back with the whole 'I'M SINGLE, I'M GOING TO GET DRUNK AND EAT ALL OF THE POTATOES' thing), I now live in a sweet little flat (which I can barely afford but love too much to give up), I've spent most of my days on set in my trailer reading and prepping (I showed myself up on the first day of filming by being overheard on the phone to my mum going 'I HAVE MY OWN TRAILER, THIS IS THE BEST'. No cool points at all.) and I'm fully embracing being ginger again (albeit with rather intense roots from filming).

Now that my internet is finally fixed in Bag End (the name given to our flat given that we are alcoholic hobbits) I'll be back blogging a bit more regularly with any luck, so keep your eyes out!
Tarrah for now Reader!
Ash
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Cause I'm freeeee, to do what I'm paid to do...

Reader, I feel like a weight has been lifted off my spangly, sequin wearing shoulders. I have left the jobbing job at the callcentre of doom. Never again will I try and sell wine or other goods over the phone to patronising men who call me 'dearie'. Never again will I have to explain that, yes, if the customer wants 4 crates of booze delivered, they will have to pay for the delivery. Never again will I have to fake-laugh at the awful joke of 'is it free?' when I tell them there's a deal on. Nor explain that fruit and veg goes off if you leave it next to a radiator so we probably can't give them a refund for that.

Fingers crossed anyway.

As well as the acting malarkey going quite well at the moment (by which I mean fairly regular auditions and little paid jobs, sadly no juicy feature film, west end work or tv parts as of yet!), I've been doing some work in HR. It's being a pretty interesting swap, from working in a job where my brain was slowly rotting with every minute I had the exact same conversation with someone on the phones to a job where I need to essentially learn a whole new working language and be up to date on all the legal, cultural and employment news asap. It also makes me laugh a fair bit. On reading lots of journals and magazines on HR, I have come to realise something. People think that workers on zero hour contracts are basically people who couldn't get any other jobs due to visa issues, lack of education, poor work skills or other random failings. I've got to tell you folks, that most certainly isn't the case. Yes, being on a zero hour contract is crummy. You have no paid time off, no sick leave (meaning if you are sick you have to decide between not being able to pay your rent and recovering, or feeling like death every day for a month and scraping by), no maternity leave, no bonuses for hard work, no sense of stability, no right to notice of dismissal and added to that it's rarely connected to anything even remotely interesting. But nearly no one in the call-centre of doom did it because they couldn't get any other jobs, on the contrary, they were bright, fully educated people (more often than not with more than one degree). Our lunchtime conversations were often about feminism, culture, writing and theatre. We simply sacrificed having job satisfaction because it's the only way to earn money whilst trying to reach your dream career. The thing is, it's limited. Anyone with half a brain can only do it for so long before they suddenly go 'I work really bloody hard for a job with no pay-off apart from flexibility. I get patronised and yelled at by the same customers who willingly gave us their numbers and asked us to call them. I get told not to complain by the management because of the economic climate and because 'it's just the way it is' and my talents are completely unappreciated. I can't do it any more or my head will fall off.'

I've seen at least 10 people I really respect and got on with in the last 3 months or so leave for just that reason. Two things finally tipped me over the edge (apart from the pure joy of getting more paid acting and HR work).

 1) One of my best friends at the company got let go, for a really really silly reason. Doing the job without his dry humour to keep me going just felt a bit...well...crap to be honest. He'd worked for the company for two years, but was shown no loyalty, nor given any notice. It made me start to think about what I'd do if put in the same position, and I realised that I almost wanted to be fired.

2) A new rule came into place. Nothing was allowed on your desk. No books, no scripts, no crosswords, no pens and paper. Nothing. Which meant staring at the same screen for hours and hours on end. We were allowed access to a couple of acting and news websites, but let's be honest, there is a limit to how much you can read off a computer screen without your eyes going a bit dodgy and/or the call of the wild beckoning . I did a few days with a bare desk, and I've got to tell you, 8.5 hours a day of the same conversation over and over with no real distraction makes a gal go a little psycho (not dressing up as my mother and attacking soapy people psycho, more glaring at my managers, eating the contents of the vending machine and biting my nails sort of psycho).

3) I ran 5km (raising £1,300 for charity and beating my fear of my asthma), organised a legal training day for a small group of people who had collectively saved the U.K. billions of pounds, had a script which more than one production group want to produce, auditioned for a L.A. television pilot and had two requests to blog for film/casting companies. I suddenly realised that I could do better than being a phone-drone and that I was doing myself a disservice by doing a job I hated, selling for a company that I had started to question the ethics of.

The thing is, I saw a huge shift in how the job was when it started (a bit crap, but a lovely, small team with lots of incentives and very flexible) to how it was becoming (rules on top of rules, bloated workforce, lack of communication between clients and management and again between management and employees, no incentive apart from a very small amount of money, no sense of team spirit). And in that, I also saw a huge dip in morale. Every conversation I had included someone saying 'I wish I could leave' or 'They're cheating us again' or 'I might just lie and go home early'. I realised that I felt sick at the prospect of having to go in and kept searching for excuses not to work. Which is silly when I need the money so badly.

But now I'm free. I'm delighted! And working in a mentally stimulating job! Which is still as flexible as the old one! And I get paid more for it! And I won't have to get a monthly travel card any more! I am full of relief. I guess the lesson here is one for employers: It's all very well giving your workers flexibility, but when that comes at the cost of any semblance of job satisfaction, you will find yourself with a disloyal work force and a bad reputation.

Now Reader, I'm off to bed. I have to be up early tomorrow to research Employee/Owner's and George Osborne's ideas on giving up employment rights and then in the evening I have a rehearsal for a play I'm doing. I'm rather looking forward to it.

Until next time,
Ash
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Hit by the crimble bomb...

HoHoHo Reader!

       O.k. I know. It's November. Which means half of you are probably about to close this page down and throw darts at a handily placed photo of my head. But hear me out-Good Housekeeping just released their Christmas special, which I read in front of a roaring fire, with my favourite Yuletide tv channel on in the background (if you couldn't guess...Christmas 24 does it for me. Just watched The Nutcracker, followed by Eloise at Christmas). I've already brought the majority of my Christmas pressies for this year, and have been feeding my Christmas puds (wheat free and so boozy the smell of the vapours alone disinfected my cupboards) since mid October. Last week my Nan dropped off a bunch of twig blasted with gold glitter (and bizarrely smelling of star-anise. I'm not even convinced I know what that is) an they're currently decorating my fireplace in a twinkly festive sort of way. Essentially, I am prepared. Come at me bro, as the internet population of boys under the age of 19 would say. I feel as if I'm courting some kind of disaster by being so ready, but I'm also waaay to excited. I've noticed that my neighbours already have their tree up, and while I'm mostly horrified (it is only November after all) I'm also slightly impressed. And it's quite nice to walk past twinkly lights on my way home from work etc when it's dark. Not that I've been at work much of late, I've been horribly ill for weeks, my voice vanished completely and I've been having issues getting energy for anything other than walking up the stairs. I've literally been sleeping for 10 hours a night and am still needing naps and am only just beginning to come out the other side. And thank goodness because a whole load of acting stuff has started coming in. I'll be doing a one night show in December (a rather funny short play about....Christmas!), am starting modelling for an artist on Friday and am shooting an audition for pilot season in the US tomorrow (fingers crossed chaps, it's for a really groovy one). All rather busy! 

I've got the Woman and Home and Good Food Christmas specials still to come, and I'm not going to lie-the excitement is killing me. Sometimes I get so happy that Christmas is just round the corner, that I just sit and shake a bit. I haven't put my jingle choons on my ipod yet, I'm not a nutter after all.

I am burning Christmas scented oils though. And I got caught humming 'Baby it's Cold Outside' today...

I am like a reverse Grinch. I am so Christmassy that if I did a blood test right now, it would sparkle with joy and spirit and the faint noise of Reindeer sleigh bells.

I am a sick sick woman Reader, forgive me!

Until next time,

Ash

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My womb is not marked with your name sir.

Just as a pre-warning: This is not the promised ice cream blog, nor does it have a picture of me looking sweaty after a run to show you how hard I've been working. This entry takes prescience because as a woman, I can't ignore my horror at recent events. I feel like men in suits on podiums have decided that they know my body better than me. I have witnessed boys, barely men yet, claiming that a girl being sexualised meant that she deserved the suicide that ended her short life. By staying silent on these things I betray myself. I betray my sex. This is not a blog entry to amuse.



Dear Men,

No. Not all men. Specific men. Middle class men who through some kind of religious or social delusion think that having a vagina means I am unable to make my own decisions. Men who seem to believe that us flighty, feminine members of the weaker sex are so stupid that we think abortion is the 'easy way out' or 'a form of contraception'.

I'm sorry chaps, but have you personally created my vagina? Is there a small tag on my womb that says 'TM A Man'? Have you ever had to face the prospect of your body, your life, your persona and your dreams changing dramatically at a far too young age because of what crimes; a ripped condom, a split second decision or a convincing but equally young and idiotic boyfriend? No?

Then you do not get to tell me what is easy. You do not get to tell me that I am not allowed to walk away from a pregnancy when you can-with so much more ease than I.

Abortion is not easy. Most women have periods of deep, agonising depression after. They have to wear thick sanitary pads to catch the flowing blood from their damaged insides. The complications can mean infertility, infection and deep psychological scarring. It is NOT an easy decision.

If I were to fall pregnant in the situation I am in now, with a partner in full time education, living with my parents, just starting my career as an actor, living below the minimum wage line-awful though the concept is, I would have to have the procedure. I would be unable to give the child anything but love, and despite what the Beatles once said, love is not enough to be a parent. My parents would have to take the financial and emotional burden of a child when they are still dreaming of a well deserved retirement. Yes, I would hurt, yes I would be horribly depressed and find it difficult to live with my decision  But I know that I am not ready to be a mother by any means, just as I know that one day I will make a bloody brilliant one. I will not be ready then either-but I will not be a terrible mother as I would now. I would not resent the child with every ounce of my being as I would if I had one now.

Dear American chauvinists; Guess what? Making a woman look at a picture of her foetus prior to an abortion is more than sick. It is emotional torture. Do you not think that each and every girl and woman who has walked through the doors of a clinic has tried desperately not to let herself think about being a mother because she know that she cannot be and that to let herself think so for just one second would bring devastation?

We have made huge, tremendous advancements in contraception over the past few years. The implant, for example, has changed my life. But I had to do huge amounts of research before I got it, so shrouded in mystery did it seem. It should be shouted from the rooftops that here is something that will stop you getting pregnant for three whole years, the most powerful contraceptive so far with practically no side effects and a minimal fail rate. Make contraception like this common knowledge, take away the fear of the unknown, rather than damning girls who have to go through abortion when schools do not offer enough reasonable answers on a level about contraception. Let them ask silly questions like 'will it make me fat? Will it make me moody? Will my sex drive go away?' and read out stupid urban myths that we all believed once upon a time. Speaking of contraceptives-the new 5 day pill has male (and-why?-female) politicos sqwaking that it will encourage us to use it instead of condoms or usual contraception. Anyone who has ever had to be asked the cringey questions of the morning after pill will know that once done, it is rarely repeated. Yes, there will be girls who are dim and use it more than they should, but they are the exception rather than the rule-and there doesn't seem to be the same level of shame cast upon men who won't use condoms on one night stands because 'it doesn't feel as good'.

Another moment of horror. Amanda Todd. Tragically killed herself after bullying got too much. Her schoolmates found out she had exposed herself on the internet in a chat room, not once, but numerous times. She had a relationship with another boy her age who was in a relationship. Teenage boys on the internet (most likely teenagers who go to chat rooms like that to ask girls to strip for them, buttering them up until they think it's daring and grown up of them) have slammed the girl, saying that because of these factors, her suicide is not a tragedy and does not deserve coverage. Wait. Because a girl was sexualised, she does not deserve pity and grief? Surely, if anything, she deserves even more? Amanda Todd was a victim of a society that told her that this was how to get attention and affection. She asked for help and was instead trolled by people with no understanding of depression or her situation. She was stalked for years by a man in his 30s who threatened to expose her. She died because she was guilty, scared and did not know where to go. And now, even after death she has been turned into a villain. All because in the minds of the public, if a girl knows about sex, it means she is evil.

By not letting us control our bodies, our own sexuality-you tell us that we are not worthy of independence  By the same rule, surely we women should rule that men MUST have a circumcision. Or can't be allowed access to condoms, because it will encourage promiscuity. We do not assume to control your bodies. Do not assume you own ours.

Sincerely, but not yours
Ash


p.s. I feel it is also essential to point out that desperate women will always find a way. Think of the Victorian era-women died in pain in illegal clinics. Impose ridiculous restrictions and they will again.

p.p.s No, I personally have never had an abortion. This does not make me better, it just makes me luckier. I have seen many friends go through them, helped nurse them better and seen the aftermath. I have also seen the process leading to the decision many times, and every girl in my friendship circle has had to at least consider 'what if?'. Abortion is something we all face, whether we have to experience it or not.

Running scared...

Ok Reader, so I promised that if we got over £700 on the sponsorship, I'd post a picture of myself post run. Well, We're about £8 away from £1000, so it looks like I might have to put that picture up a little sooner than I'd hoped. I was slightly hoping that by the time it came to post the picture, I'd have run so much I'd be seriously skinny and the photo would show me gleaming with health (sweat), washboard abs and a bottom you could bounce a penny off. Unfortunately, no one told me running makes you really hungry. So I'm now just sweaty and a bit fat (not helped by all the yummy recipes on Pinterest). Which isn't quite what I was hoping, but sod it, at least I can run for 5km now without dying.

The thing is, I know it's an impossible dream, but I'd love to be able to be really slim for a long period of time. I've done it before, it's incredibly difficult and bloody boring being on 1200 calories a day or something ridiculous like that, but I looked flipping amazing in clothes and out of them. The problem is, I'm a foodie and I hate having to say no to delicious food just to fit into a size 8, and I'm also really social, which rarely goes hand in hand with eating healthily. I was dreaming that just by running a few times a week I'd suddenly be at my 'happy weight', but since that's not happened, I guess I'll have to make do with being fast and strong. Which is pretty ok. Maybe I'll cut down on all the buttery toast too...

So today I'll be taking a picture of me after my run to show you all just how heinous running for 40 minutes is for a slightly unfit, size 12 asthmatic. It will be from the shoulders up. It will still be dire. Keep an eye out for my next entry and it will appear there.

In other news, the count down has well and truly started for mine and The Lad's holiday! Two and a half weeks to go...brilliant! I intend to bring my running shoes with me and do some early morning running before the heat of the day kicks in. Then I can eat all the yummy Cyprus food I fancy! (Oh dear...let's face it Reader, I may never be truly thin if this is my mentality!)

I've also written another blog for the lovely people at casting website ThePageUk.com, which you can access here:http://thepageuk.tumblr.com/tagged/actorsworking It's about a bit of a dodgy experience I had fairly recently (and I promise, there's no running or dieting talk in that one!)

Tarrah chaps!
Ash
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Facial imperfection...

Reader, I have got spots. 4 spots to be exact. I think this is from all the running and sweating I've been doing whilst training for the October 5km. And all the chocolate to 'reward' my running sessions. But still. Spots.

Reader, I am not used to spots. I have Good Skin. Skin that has been moisturised and cleansed every day and exfoliated once a week (at least) since I was 12. I have been nice to my skin (if we ignore the 4 years of being a smoker). My skin should not be allowed to turn on me like this. Frankly, it's not fair. It's not even as if I'm skinny with spots. That I could deal with. Nope, I have a fat arse and spots and I'm getting up at 7.30 to run and sweat some more.

This hardly seems fair.

I just read a book that told me if I ran 4 days a week (the number 4 seems to be sponsoring this entry), I could eat whatever the hell I wanted. Not true. I am eating what I want and I am lardy. Maybe the author assumed what I'd want would be protien and veg. Nope. Bread and cheese. Chips and pesto. Carbs and fat. She also said eventually I would enjoy running though, so clearly she was a bit mad. No one can enjoy running. You can enjoy telling people you run and feeling smug about it, or going 'god, I'm getting up early for a run tomorrow' and doing something for charity earns MAJOR smugness points, but enjoy running? Never. Saying that, I am only on week 2 of training, so I could just be not at that point yet. I am at the point where I'm hungrier and spottier than usual and tired from getting up early.

RUNNING IS TORTURE.

And that's why you do it for charity. There's a sick, repressed, lapsed catholic part of me that goes 'yes! You deserve this! Feel the pain! Catharsis!'

I try to shut it up with ice cream though

If you want to sponsor me on my run (which is for injured soldiers and their families) please do at http://uk.virginmoneygiving.com/fundraiser-web/fundraiser/showFundraiserProfilePage.action?userUrl=AshandAngela&isTeam=true

If I reach £500 I will post a picture of myself after a run. It's comedy gold. I look like a teapot in a sports bra.

Ash
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