The wheels on the bus go...

Well Reader, the tour is well and truly underway. This morning I woke up in beautiful Cumbria, where the sun was shining and the birds were twittering in a distinctly northern manner. Wait....is Cumbria northern? Maybe I should have listened to Mrs. Bidewell in Geography when I was 13 instead of sniffing scented gel pens in the back seat like a rebel. Well, you get the drift anyway. Toto, we're not in North London any more.

Of course, I could have realised that from when we got in yesterday. A Booths instead of an Asda, a micro-brewery full of people seemingly outraged that a bunch of strangers were descending on their quiet night (to be fair, it was a Wednesday and rather late in the day when we turned up demanding pasta and beer) and the view from my window frames a mountain with a replica lighthouse rather than a cement school playground and a railway track. It's all rather nice! If this is touring theatre, it's pretty cushty stuff. The house we're staying in is gorgeous too, big open fireplaces and cosy chairs all over the place. Lucky actors! Only one more night here though, then we're off to perform in the Clonter Opera Theatre, where we'll be put up in a rather fabulous country estate. So far this touring malarkey is pretty good fun, but must make a mental note not to keep stuffing my face with service station grease fests because if I don't, I'll be taking up two seats on the tour bus!

The thing is, service stations remind me of holidays. Going to Devon or Margate and stopping off on the way for something decent  to last us till night time (for decent read chips and beans and possibly dippy doughnuts) so I have this pavlovian response to them. I see a little chef and I start drooling and thinking of onion rings. It's an addiction really. Other people don't seem to share my weird addiction. Someone told me it was unhygienic to eat at service stations the other day. I just stared at them, aghast. THAT'S ALL PART OF THE FUN, SURELY? Along with the moody staff, the groups of elderly tourists going on a Saga trip, resplendent in wrap-around sunglasses and cut off slacks. Marvellous.

I'd carry on talking up the wonders of service station cuisine, but I have to prepare to go to the theatre (please imagine Brian Blessed reading those final two words, it makes it far more fabulous and epic sounding),
Hope you're enjoying yourself as much as I am Reader,
Ash

Wibble wobble wibble wobble, belly on a plate!

Reader, Norwich is not doing good things for me. In two weeks, I have gone from having close to washboard abs to having a jiggly just-had-twins belly. I blame the really nice food places. And staying with people who know how to cook and do it on a nightly basis. And there being loads and loads of celebrations going on at the mo.

Ideally I need to cut right down on nice food and stick to carrots, slices of lemon and nettle tea. And other such nasty tasting food. This is slightly unlikely since a) tomorrow I am being taken to Norwich's best pizza place and b) there is a massive box of baklava in the kitchen. Both of these things have enormous power over me. Maybe I'll start being healthy again on Tuesday? *sigh* I am destined to be jiggly. The Lad loves me however I look, so long as I have pokemon cards and scratch his back. He is like a cross between an 11 year old and a dog. He is also slightly part of the problem. We celebrated a late Valentines together on Friday, and he made me an enormous chocolate pudding cake (I was impressed!), got me gourmet popcorn and fed me Chinese take away (as well as giving me a stunningly gorgeous bunch of cream tea-roses). The Lad clearly knows me very well. And then it was my lovely Dad's birthday and of course we went to our fave Italian and had deep fried cheese to celebrate! However, by the end of the weekend, I was stretched out with food like the kid in Charlie and the Chocolate Factory who turns into a giant blueberry. Maybe I should try and take up jogging again. And stomach crunches. And eat celery for breakfast. How do A-listers do it? Drugs? I have to say, the thought that they're all on some kind of diet pill that gives them all gross bum-discharge makes me feel slightly happier. All those gorgeous film stars wearing tena lady under their Alexander McQueen dresses, mwa ha ha!

Or maybe they all just say no to the third peanut butter and dark chocolate cookie....whoops....

Oh well. I'm still smaller than most of the shouty american women on Maury. Mostly. And I don't have 18 potential fathers for my unattractive baby, so that's a plus. Maury really is great viewing. If you haven't seen it, it's basically where a middle class grandfather listens to prostitutes talking about red necks and unemployed men being the fathers of their kids, and then when the men say 'uhm....naw....' they start screaming and pointing at an oversized photo of said ugly child going 'Look at these here ears! They HIS ears! Look at this stupid frowny forehead! That HIS forehead! I am TWO BILLION percent positive he's my baby daddy' then the audience does a collective 'booooooo! hiiiiissss! He A PLAYAAAAA' sort of thing. Then when the dna results come out saying that he is not in fact 'the baby daddy', the woman runs off the stage screaming and says she doesn't understand, when it's really all quite simple, she slept with more than one person without a condom, so it's possible it's someone else's problem. Then she comes back on the show 17 times, each time with a different man. I always think at that stage....how on earth did you find the time to have all that sex? Because presumably it had to be within a certain time period if she had a baby by one of them? Of say, three weeks or so? That's practically a man a day! When did she find the time to shave her legs? Or change her bedsheets? And where did she meet them all? I assume that they were not all long term partners, because if so her life would have been highly complicated (well....more highly complicated) and surely they would have mentioned that on Maury. Maury, by the way, usually sits through all this with a sort of pained 'I'm 70 years old, I'd rather be at home with a shortbread biccy watching Golden Girls' and says sensible things like 'why don't you leave that chap that keeps sleeping with transvestite 16 year olds? He's obviously not an ideal match for you' to which the women always go all gooey eyed and say 'but I loooooove him'. This is before they lamp the man in question for cheating on them yet again of course. I once went to be in the audience of Trisha. It wasn't nearly as scandalous, but I won a tee for asking the best question of the day (if you're interested, it was to a girl who was so obsessed with Harry Potter that she was convinced he was real and was saving herself for Daniel Radcliffe. I can't remember what the question was, but it was searing and witty and probably highly political. I got a round of applause and looks of admiration from all round. Trisha invited me round for tea after. This may be a slight exaggeration, but only slightly.)

Anyway, back to rehearsing tomorrow after my lovely weekend. Normally going back to work is a chore after such a great time away at home, but to be honest, I'm loving every second of it! In fact, the director isn't even in tomorrow, so we could have just chilled out in local pubs, but Haversham, Young Pip and I decided to crack on and practice some vaguely dangerous blocking on some stairs and do some line learning. My job is brilliant! Here's a sneak peak at what the show's looking like so far...

Pretty exciting stuff eh? If you want to find out more, go look up the Baroque Theatre Company. I'm not doing your job for you, go, look! It's pretty cool though, you'll kick yourself if you don't come see it. Not that I'm biased or anything. Obviously.

Hope you had a great weekend too Reader!
Ash
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Ash and Gunther against the world!

Reader, I have moved to Norwich for the month for my rehearsals. I am currently living out a few dreams of mine,

a) Being a full time actress and getting paid for it (obviously, did I even really need to put that down?)

b) Living with one of my oldest friends (something we said we'd do when we were about 11 but never got round to what with boyfriends and careers and things)

c) Living in the countryside again (I'm going to skip through some fields, y'know, when the snow goes away)

d) Doing a friggin' DICKENS story!?!

Yep, it is a good time. Of course, there are also a few negatives

a) I am away from The Lad. It is the first night and already I miss having someone to put my cold cold feet against

b) My friend (and host) and her boyfriend are brilliant cooks. And are determined to feed me up. I have to stay the same size so I'll fit in my costume. These things do not go hand in hand. In fact, they don't even nod at each other as they pass on the street. They live at the opposite ends of opposite town, one in a very nice neighbourhood with big terraced houses, and the other in the artists quarter, with posters stuck up with blue tack on the walls. I cannot, repeat, CANNOT be a rotund Estella. This would not be ideal, and everyone would be confused as to why Estella was squashing Pip. (Answer, because it is Miss. Havisham's revenge on men)

c) I am living in the countryside again. Last time I did this it caused me to take up smoking, get a tattoo and become a raging drunkard. The countryside has that sort of effect on me.

Me and my stuffed penguin Gunther are having a lovely time, despite the negatives as described as above. We were made curry and given chocolates (see point B), watched some seriously trashy tv (which made us feel smug about how much better our lives were than the teens we were laughing at) and then some 30 Rock (which made us hopeful that one day we would be as wonderful as Tina Fey who we love), talked about ancient Grecian-Egyptian relationships (in other words, old fashioned bonking) and I unpacked all my stuff to discover that I haven't forgotten any chargers (surely a first for me?) and have even remembered to bring both night cream and deodorant (I am so organised right now that I'm practically the Prime Minister of Iceland's PA-high hopes Ash). Now, we're in bed, reading some Manga (so old school) and mentally preparing for meeting a whole room of new people. Am willing myself not to say anything offensive/mind numbingly stupid/pompous out of nervousness but it's highly likely that I will do all three. Eep. I will have to make cakes at some point to appease everyone, just in case.

Anyway Reader, sleep calls, it's been a long day of trudging through snow and being on coaches and trains!
Ash
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