Fanciful about Food...

Reader, when it's breakfast, I am deciding what to have for lunch. When it's lunch, I am deciding what to have for dinner. When it's dinner, I'm working out a way for us to have snacks later without me being the one to overtly suggest it. I am obsessed.

The first thing I ever baked in my current flat

The thing is, food really does shape my life-most of my memories as a kid are tied around food-the worlds best banana pancakes in Bali when I was 3 that spoiled me for all other banana pancakes forever, ranbutans [sic?] eaten from paper bags in muggy hotel rooms with my parents whilst in Asia then being horribly disappointed by them back in the UK, my dad's ice cream floats (drunk on our front doorstep with all the neighbourhood kids), my Irish nan's roast potatoes that I will never be able to fully replicate and my English nan's date slice (for which I have the recipe, kept safe in a book, written down by 11 year old me and with everything spelt grossly, luxuriously wrong).

I knew I was head over heels for my boyfriend when I didn't even think about food on our first date, then on our second insisted on taking him to an Irish pub so that he could try red lemonade. I wanted him to be able to taste the drink that was the memory of so many childhood trips to Kerry because I knew he was important, even then. I was so delighted when he liked it that I threw my arms around him and kissed him.

For me, food means more than just nutrition-it's logged with emotion, nostalgia and memories. I've never been great at dieting for that very reason (which is a shame given that staying trim is part and parcel of being a screen actor). I grieved when my favourite Chinese take away closed down (I've never really recovered that particular betrayal).

In recent years more layers have been added-I know that at some point I want to have kids, so I know I have to keep my body fit and well, which means not only avoiding the wrong foods, but making sure I eat the right ones too. The past few years have had be eating meat and fish, discovering that my severe anaemia (despite my 17 year old protests) was linked to my vegetarianism and that steak is delicious. I don't just eat veggies because I have to now, I eat them because I love them and feel pretty rough if I don't. I make sure protien happens in every meal and that it's not always cheese. The older I get, the less food I can get away with eating without drastically changing size and shape. Which isn't to say that I don't still have huge pizzas and burgers-of course I do-but they had better be worth the damn calories. Frozen pizza doesn't cut it these days, it has to be the real deal or I feel cheated.

I can't tell you any dates from history but I can tell you what I ate the day we went to my first ever football match (smiley faces with soy sauce and ketchup-we were out of salt), or what me and my housemates talked about the first night we got drunk together and ate free buttery toast from the Christian tent ('Sorry man, we don't want to talk about god, we're mostly here for your food'). I can tell you the first meal Rob and I ever went out for (Thai food, which we barely ate because we were too busy laughing and doing Eddie Izzard impressions), what was served my first day on a proper TV set (veggie chilli and rice and loads of treacle sponge to ward off the cold), what I ate after my first proper break up (quorn hot dogs, one a day for 2 weeks. I lost almost a stone and looked DREADFUL), what I ate my first night in New York (TGI friday popcorn shrimp), what I ate when I found out my great uncle died (a really bad pizza from Pizza Hut), the drink my dad made me when I got mugged (very sugary tea, even though I hated tea, he said it was good for shock), what I ate the first time I was hungover (beans and chips, which I then threw up).

I feed people when they're sad-mashed potatoes, as Nora Ephron once said, are the best thing to treat melancholia. I also feed people when they're happy, celebration recipes stolen from Delia or Ottolenghi. I feed people to express my love for them, making Rob poached eggs on spinach and avocado is often my way of saying 'thank you for being incredible', cooking for my mum when I visit is my way of saying 'thank you for giving me a day job and being great at advice' and my dad's favourite carrot cake spells out how grateful I am for him putting up with all of my madness as a child (the man cut toast into pirate ships for me for god's sake)

So what's the moral of this blog post?
God, I don't know. I must be hungry. I think it's probably that food is a beautiful and special thing and we're lucky we have so much of it or something. Ask me again after lunch.
Ash
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Hoots mon! (etc. etc....)

Well Reader, it is 8am on my third day at The Edinburgh Fringe and the sun is shining! Which is very exciting, because yesterday I was flyering in the rain all day and ended up having to buy an incredibly attractive mould coloured cagoule and some sensible shoes. And you know how I feel about sensible shoes.

So far I've been trying not to go too crazy at the fringe because a) I'm skint and b) I really don't want to make myself ill. Saying that, the first night here I stayed up till 4am drinking and reminicing with long-lost university friends after their show (The Noise Next Door at The Pleasance Venue 2, doing their Comedy Lock In-go see it, bloody fantastic), which was awesome but made yesterday's flyering doubly hard. Today I have had a full eight and a half hours sleep so am feeling more ready to face the day with a smile on my face and a skip in my step.

Audience feedback has started coming in about the show and so far it's been amazing-one person described it as 'the best thing I've seen. Wept like a baby' and we've had loads more like that. We overheard an audience say, as they left the space yesterday 'That was so fucking good!' which made all of our days. Long may it continue!

I haven't seen many shows so far, but today I'm going to change that with one this morning and another after a launch party I'm going to. Then I'm rather intending to go drink cocktails and sing karaoke if I'm entirely honest...

So far I have discovered the following about the fringe

• You will probably find it hard to eat healthily-everything is deep fried and DELICIOUS. My favourite thing so far has been a crepe with cheese and peperoni...mmmm...
• The Mile is intense. Think hundreds of drama students with hangovers. Some really cynical comedians who won't do flyer swaps, a dotting of incredibly young students who can't quite believe they're there, a terrifying duo in white clown make up and inevitably someone pretending to be crazy dressed in period clothes.
• There are NO POST BOXES. It took me an hour and a half to find one yesterday! 
• The free fringe has some blooming brilliant stuff on it. Today I'm going to see a comedian who (like us) is supporting Death on The Fringe who we saw an excerpt of on my first day. She talks about the love of her life dying and her coping with it (she's only 33) and it is the most hilarious, tragic, bittersweet stuff I've ever seen. Will be bringing tissues and fresh make up.
• I am very good at flyering. I am quite smug about this. Scratch that. I am HUGELY smug about this.
•  I am already a little bit homesick for my local giant 24 hour Asda-Tesco express doesn't really cut it
• I should not hug friends just before they go on stage, because I will inevitably spill my drink on them (sorry Tom Livingstone!) making me look drunk even when sober. Scotland has done nothing for my hand-eye coordination it seems.
• I get lost very easily. Yesterday, not only did it take me almost 2 hours to get home (usually a 30 min trip), I also go disorientated on The Mile and forgot which end my theatre was at...
• Drinks are brilliantly cheap. Dangerously cheap.
• Sleeping on a mattress topper on the floor actually isn't too uncomfortable
• Sometimes you'll be half an hour into conversation with an eccentric when suddenly you realise that they're in character.
• Lots of tourists come to Edinburgh during the Fringe to NOT watch theatre or comedy. They are clearly eegits. 
• There is a ghost bus here. I want to go on it SO MUCH.

More updates to come (unless my liver implodes and I get scurvy or trench foot)

Ash

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Not every first kiss is a First Kiss...

So Reader, I was recently told that my high expectations for a first kiss were pretty terrifying. This is fair. I expect great things from a first kiss, and if they're not great, I tend to lose interest fast. But it was while mulling this over that I realised something-not every kiss is a First Kiss.



Ok, so hear me out. When you kiss someone for the first time, sometimes it's one of those kisses that just doesn't make something click inside you. And you realise that you probably won't be kissing them again after today. Those kisses cannot be classed as First Kisses, since they are also (at least in part) last kisses. They don't mark the start of something that might carry over into another day, week, month or year. It's not a kiss that you'll remember 10 years down the line, when you're kissing them on your way to work or when they bring you a cup of tea done just right. It's a first kiss. Not a First Kiss.

So what constitutes a First Kiss? Because a first kiss lowercase is not the same as a First Kiss uppercase.

A First Kiss is the beginning of something new. It's that moment where you are stepping off a cliff because you're 65% sure there's a bouncy castle at the bottom of the fall. It can only really be judged in hindsight-if you can't remember your First Kiss then why did you have a second? A First Kiss does not have to be perfect (contrary to my high expectations), it just has to make you want to kiss the person again and again. A First Kiss shouldn't be really tricky, it should be something that you want to tell passers by about 'Oh, excuse me-I just had this INCREDIBLE kiss' and then they should applaud. That should be a thing. When I am Emperor of the Universe I shall make it so.

A First Kiss doesn't have to be the beginning of a long term relationship-but it can be the start of something else, the First Kiss of an adventure abroad, or of a fling you'll remember for the rest of your life.

Your First Kiss should be on the DVD constantly playing in your brain of your top ten relationship best bits. Maybe your top 20 if you've had a particularly interesting life. Because some kisses are meant to be held on to and replayed over and over.

A First Kiss should be so good that a brilliant song plays in your head

although possibly not THIS song

But more importantly, a First Kiss should be perfect even if it's not. Because it's with the right person, who enjoyed it just as much (and hopefully also wants to kiss you lots more).

I hope you have some truly brilliant First Kisses Reader!
Ash
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p.s. Don't forget to check out my vlogs! I release a new one every Tuesday and Friday!

Filming in the countryside...

So Reader, I've just returned from a few days working on 'The Kepler Deception' for Sky Sci-Fi channel in the wilds of Dorset with the fantastic people of Scanach Media Productions. Filming in the countryside is always interesting, from the people (we had a taxi driver who was best friends with Ray Mears and spends 3 months a year living with the Masai tribe!) to the weather (flooded roads meant our trips to set sometimes took twice the time they should have) and the locations (it was like filming Lord of The Rings. So much greenery...). I'm hoping the film is going to look rather beautiful, as the setting was fantastic!

We were staying in a couple of cottage/villa type houses on a working dairy farm, the crew in one house, the cast in the other and there was nothing in walking distance. And by nothing, I really do mean nothing. No pubs, no newsagents. Nothing. So making our own entertainment was an important part of the experience. Luckily, we're a resourceful bunch and every night made a group dinner together (my chef night recipe was caramelised onion and Gruyere tart with all the trimmings) and took the mick out of the people on tv a lot. One terrible thing did come of this though-I am now slightly addicted to Take Me Out. I'd never seen it before, and it is truly awful programming, but making fun of the people on it is a truly joyful experience. They are so cheesy, and so brilliantly, brilliantly thick. But now I want more. So far I have resisted the urge to watch another episode, but I don't know how long I'll be able to hold out! Send help!

Now I'm in serious recovery mode. After three days of getting up at 6.30 and working till late in rain soaked, windy conditions and travelling all the way to Dorset, I seriously need a break. In fact, I'm planning on booking a day of massages, manicures, pedicures and sofa time next week-I've had a headache for the past two days so some downtime needs to happen. But have some lovely things coming up-it's my gorgeous mum's birthday this weekend, so I finally get to give her the spoiling she deserves, Saturday I'm babysitting for my adorable godson AG, who I'm planning on giving all my cuddles to (he's at the age where he'll let you hug him, so I am taking full advantage) and during the day I'll be trying on bridesmaids dresses with The Bride and some of the other girls as well as a lovely lunch!

For my latest vlog on my filming exploits, go here (if you click on my picture below the video, you'll also find all my other vlogs too!) http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=s7Fi1IOBcNk

Tarrah chaps!
Ash
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The death of customer service...

Reader, I get a bit funny about customer service. I think it's something to do with years of working in the service industry. But a phone call this week really made me think-why do so many areas of industry assume that they have no customers?

Essentially, my lettings agent assured me and the curly housemate from the start that they were sorting out the transfer of our utilities and council tax. They told us that in the first two weeks or so we'd have letters from gas, electric, water and council telling us how to set up direct debits etc. After two and a half months, we'd had a water bill and that was about it. Over the course of the two months we started with polite phone calls asking what was going on (to which they assured us something would turn up and to leave it to them), then polite but slightly more formal emails (to which they didn't respond) then turning up at the letting agent offices to check if they had any idea yet (to which, again, they said not to worry, it was their responsibility and they'd sort it out). Eventually, just to make sure, we called the council, who told us that they'd messed up the change and had just put the council tax in the landlord's name and given them no other details, meaning that instead of lots of money being spread over 6 months, we now have to pay it over 4. Piqued to say the least, curly housemate emailed again, politely but wrathfully explaining how disappointed we were and how it made the lack other utility bills even more worrying, so we'd be grateful if they could respond ASAP. I then got a phone call from our (very young) letting agent who explained that they used a intermediary utility company to sort it all out and so really it wasn't their fault. To which I (very civilly) replied that, whilst that may be the case, we had been asking them for two and a half months to follow it up, and as of yet, they hadn't. I also expressed how disappointed we were that this had not been resolved yet. He assured me that he was on the case and would have an answer by the next day. A week later he got in touch and said he still hadn't figured it out, but was still searching. He then, again, tried to shift the blame on to the utilities company. I got quite cross at this stage and said that although it may have been an issue on that end, they had been told about the problem by us several times, and so this did not reflect particularly well on their company. 'This is, first and foremost' said I, 'a customer service issue'. To which he responded (and to which my jaw dropped)

'Well, it's not customer service. You're not our customers. This isn't retail'

Yes Reader, despite us paying the letting agency for a service they are supposed to provide, we are apparently not their customers. (The situation was made markedly worse by him constantly saying 'Well I'm sorry that YOU FEEL THAT WAY' and 'I'm sorry IF THAT'S HOW YOU FEEL' and not taking any responsibility, then after I spoke to the manager, hearing her bitching about me in the background of the call, but that story can wait another day).

The fact of the matter is, if you are paying someone for a service, you are their customer. Patients are the customers of the NHS. The public are the customers of the police service. We are the customers of MPs. And dentists. And utility providers. To say that someone 'is not the customer' of a service you provide, means that you do not care about them. Also, the FIRST rule of customer service is that the customer is always right (which may have escaped him, since he clearly just assumed I was someone not linked to the company at all, who was perhaps squatting in the flat rather than paying thousands over the past few months in admin fees, deposits and rent). When you do not take responsibility for the customer's issue, you are making it seem like there is no point in you picking up the phone to them. And that the issue is their fault. We generally don't like that.

GRRRRR.

Anyway Reader, onto happier topics. I did a wonderful rehearsed reading the other day which was mentioned in The Guardian (oohhh, I know!). The play I was in was by brilliant journalist, playright and generally fab human being Yasmeen Khan, who wrote Don't You Know Who I Am (with lovely and very talented Irwin Sparkes of The Hoosiers) and Break The Floorboards. I do a lot of new writing night performances (I'm also a regular at Genesis Cinema's monthly NWN-which is on tomorrow at 7.30 in Whitechapel if you fancy seeing me do a bit of the ol' acting malarkey) and this was a particularly awesome one. The Rehearsal Room Presents at Tara Arts in Earlsfield featured Pawn by Melody Bridges, a set by band Chains, an interview with the writer of '100 Great Plays for Women' and of course, Yasmeen's latest script 'Actually Love', an affectionate satire on British Rom Coms, featuring Raphael Bar as Rob Stanhope (a spoilt rom com actor whose star in swiftly waning, who decides to write an AWFUL script to keep himself on the film scene), Irwin Sparkes as Ollie (a well meaning, adorable but slightly shy second AD who is lovesick for Rob's PA) and me as Beth (Rob's long suffering PA who is also rather in love with him and has to deal with all his ridiculousness) was directed by Adam Morley who directed me two years ago in a national tour of Great Expectations. We got brilliant feedback and I can't wait to see where the script takes Yasmeen! It's only a second draft, but it's already totally readable and performable! If you haven't seen or read her work-look her up! Blooming talented woman!

Tarrah Reader!
Ash
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