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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THANK GOD FOR SEEDS!

Reader, I come to you today a far happier being. It seems that the 'full fat diet' that my mum has me on is working, because I am in a frankly delightful mood despite a summer cold, a 6.10am rise, sore feet and the prospect of work tomorrow. Is this all it takes to cheer up? Eating full fats and roasted seed mixes sprinkled liberally on everything? Well, whatever it is, I certainly approve. Onward!

I feel it would be a little churlish to avoid mentioning the strange and wonderful weather we've been having of late. Blaring sun, thunder and lightning and air that's so thick it's like walking through soup? This isn't England, surely? Have we all been transported overnight to Spanish waters, as a ploy by the Government to distract us from the economic depression? It's working if that is indeed the case. You win this time. One thing I'm not so keen on are the swarms of storm ants who seem to have taken over the world. The Metro said it's like a massive one night stand for the ants. How dare they? Come to my garden and have a massive orgy. That's shocking! If I did it, I'd be arrested! How is it ok for storm ants to go and create shag piles all over the place? What do they even do? Are they useful in some way? Are they normal ants for 10 months of the year but over the 2 potentially hot ones they grow wings and post adverts for 'fun, friendship and maybe more' in the back pages of The Sun?

Just asking.

Went for a costume fitting today for a period film I might be doing a bit of supporting actor work on *think extra work, only one step up* and was amazed by how many people of all shapes and sizes were there. Literally no two looked the same. It was like they'd gone 'one of each of every type of person please!' and then squished them all in the Spotlight building to get their waist measurements written down (I am slightly sore, since the very nice woman who took mine did not measure the smallest part of my waist so made it sound like I am enormously fat. I am definitely not.) Very good larks though, and will be great if I get to do the job, which would mean lots of lovely money in September (HUZZAH!) not earned sitting in front of a computer selling wine.

Right, I'm off, my room's a tip, so better make it habitable before The Lad returns!
From a much better mooded
Ash
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