Wedding survival guide for singles...

Reader, it seems like everyone is either getting married or breaking up at the moment. Lovely though the former is, my purse is paying the ultimate price and as a single woman, there's something rather gutting about your loved up friends asking if you're bringing a plus one and having to reply...'nope...just me...' Now, I actually rather like being single. I like the excitement of dating, I find not being in a relationship means I have more time to focus on my career and I have a lot of travelling planned over the next year or so which wouldn't go particularly well with commitment. But there's something about being in your late twenties which means you get a slight pitying face when you go to a wedding alone. I only know this, because I went to weddings with my ex, and it was lovely and romantic and full of hope. When you're single, it's still lovely (because obviously you're overwhelmingly delighted for your loved up friends), but it also gets an extra layer added to it. Something I like to call 'The Single Girl Veil'. So I've made a little survival guide for all you single guys and gals out there, so you don't hulk out this summer at the 10th wedding you attend...

The Ash Acting Up Wedding Survival Guide for singles...

• Bring a cereal bar. The photos take forever and you'll be fainting by the time the food (in inevitably tiny portions) appears.

This is actually good advice for everyone, but particularly the singles. You don't want to be that person obsessively talking about food, or chasing down the (ridiculously fast) canapé waiters. You'll miss all the good conversations! People in couples usually tag team and have one person looking out for food at any given time. You have to look out for yourself, kid. Survival of the fittest! Or, least famished...

• Don't get too drunk

This one is for a number of VERY IMPORTANT REASONS. 1) It's someone else's day. Don't be a selfish twat. 2) People in couples have a partner to help them back to the hotel. You do not. 3) People might assume you're getting drunk because you're sad that you're single. I know, fuck em, but they do not understand that wine is simply delicious and there was NOT ENOUGH FOOD. 4) You might accidentally get off with someone you hadn't intended to. Which reminds me...

• Don't kill the bride when she's set you up with the only other single there, who makes children cry and dogs whine when they walk past

If you're single, I can promise you that it's highly likely you'll already have been auctioned off to the highest bidder without your knowledge. And then you'll get to the wedding and there will be the most awkward introduction in the history of awkward introductions. And inevitably, in some kind of strange Bridezilla/Groomzilla meltdown, they will have remembered ONE THING that you are attracted to and attributed it to someone you would have to have consumed A LOT of booze to spend an hour with, let alone the whole night. 'We remembered you liked creative guys! Jeremy here plays the kazoo!' Even sadder than this is when you first see the guy that they've set you up with and he's gorgeous, poised and well dressed, then you talk to him and he has the personality of a mouldy pear. Remember, it's their big day, deal with the situation elegantly (and don't then get pissed and shag him anyway. I have a friend who did this and still gets hopeful calls from the bloke. Silly girl)

• Don't be bitter

This one is very important. Remember, this day will probably only come once in your friends' lives. You may have been to 4 weddings this month, but they only get one day which is all about their love. Allow yourself to enjoy the romance of it, feel hope that one day you'll meet someone who will want to be legally and spiritually bonded to you and act like a kind and loving fairy godmother/father who has come to bestow good will and charm. Sending out death rays when anyone mentions love doesn't go very well with the day. And it might give you indigestion. 

• Don't let other people shame you about how much you've spent on the gift

As a single person, you have half the income they do. You've had to spend more on a hotel room, more on the trip up and you pay more tax than smug marrieds. So what if you hand made the gift? BUGGER THEM. It's sentimental. Or something.

• Wear good pants

There is a small chance someone might see them. Sex happens at weddings. A lot. My friend was conceived at one (don't you love mums who don't know when to stop talking?). On that note, also bring condoms. There's never any shops near by.

• Don't be ashamed to crack out some classic moves

Look, let's be honest. How likely is it that you're going to meet the person of your dreams at this thing? Not very, I'd say. How likely is it that getting crazy on the dancefloor to Cotton Eye Joe will make you fabulously happy? SUPER LIKELY. Be the first person on that floor. Get everyone jumping, from the 6 year old flower girl to the groom's 82 year old great uncle. Joy is infectious! Who cares if you look like a complete weirdo? You'll spend the night laughing! 

• Don't be the crying girl/boy at the party

This may be harsh, but I have NO TIME for people who get pissed and cry at other people's events. It's not cool. If you're sad, excuse yourself and go home for a little weep. If you are likely to cry after 2 glasses of malibu and lemonade, then don't drink. This kind of relates to the point about getting too drunk and being bitter, but it's essential. Cry with happiness. Cry because the bride looks beautiful, or the groom said something heartbreakingly lovely in his speech, or at the moment when they mention a special person who couldn't be there. That's fine. But don't cry for yourself at a wedding. Or a birthday. Or a christening. Or any event that celebrates someone else really.

• Bring business cards

I know this sounds a bit cagey for a wedding, but what if you meet a supremely awesome business contact? Or make friends with someone whilst dancing to YMCA? Or meet the person of your dreams? Business cards not only mean networking is easier, but if your phone dies you still have a way to keep in touch after the party!

• Don't wear a big hat

You will misplace it. And no one will be able to see if they're sitting behind you.

Well gang, however many weddings you go to this summer, I hope you have a fantabulous time!

Ash

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p.s. Remember to go watch my vlogs and subscribe to my YouTube channel! I now bring out new videos every Tuesday and Friday!  https://www.youtube.com/user/magenta/videos

Drunken larks...

Oh dear Reader, I'm feeling a tad delicate today. Last night I had a wonderful evening with one of my best friends, Luxe Lady. We went for sushi, walked up and down the Christmas market on Southbank and then had many a drink on a boat. There was laughter, rowdy chats about sex, dancing in the rain and many many glasses of booze.

But given that I just spent a weekend in Cardiff, my night was relatively tame. Yes, that's right Reader, Cardiff is a hotbed of sin and peeing in the streets. You heard me. PEEING IN THE STREETS. Even the women. We saw such sights. Ladies in tiny stretchy dresses pulled over various wibbles and wobbles, badly tanned cellulite on show, reproductive organs out for all to see. AND A PORTALOO FOR WOMEN WITH NO DOORS. In the middle of a street. I nearly had a heart attack! How does anyone in Cardiff develop a romantic relationship when there's no mystery? The men were spitting on the floor and peeing in corners, the women were lycra clad with unfortunate folds of flab flopping about like plates of flan. It was all a bit terrifying. One night, as I was getting ready for bed and chilling out in front of the Christmas music channel, I overheard a woman's shrill tone. 'CHARMAINE! I JUST SHAT ON A BENCH!'

What. On. Earth.

First off, the logistics of that must have been fairly tricky. Secondly, I fail to believe that there wasn't one available loo nearby, or that a fully grown woman couldn't have held it till she reached the pub or home-what on earth warrants pooing on a bit of public seating out in the open?!

It's really strange, because during the day, the people of Cardiff are a delight-friendly, generous, kind and happy. Every time you go into a shop you end up having an hour long conversation with the lady at the till because she wants to have a chat about where you got your hat from, and how lovely your accent is, and do you know Suzy Puffball from London? But, much like werewolves, as night descends and the bars open for Happy Hour, they turn into something less cheery. Particularly the office workers at their Christmas parties, who are a confusing mix of Christmas jumpers, vomit, and one girl who's crying about someone called Barry and because she can't find one of her earrings in the loo.

I don't think I ever had a night out with a group of people who were all entirely blasted-I've been the hideously drunk person a fair few times, but usually I'm more likely to be the sensible sober one making sure everyone got in a cab alright, so this large group of drunken riotousness is rather unusual for me. In fact, it made me rather relieved to be going back to my hotel room each night instead of heading out for a Christmas booze up. Of course, it clearly didn't put me off drinking, since last night I was out dancing in the rain on the top deck of a boat with a tumbler of Disaronno.

And now here I am, the next day, head like slightly sore cotton wool and having a bit of a happy weep to Love Actually (which is really an insanely sad film if you watch it properly. Emma Thompson and Alan Rickman never get back on track properly, she's still really melancholy at the end, Andrew Lincon is still trailing after Keira with no other loves in sight and Laura Linney remains lonely, with her brother taking up her entire life-thanks GOD for Hugh Grant and Martine Mucutcheon and Kris Marshall for keeping things cheery!) At some point I'm going to have to get up and go shopping since we're out of toothpaste, fresh veg and diet coke, but I'm putting it off for as long as is humanly possible (the thought of having to wear non pj based clothing is making me rather wilty).

But I must eat! So to Asda I go henceforth!
Tarrah Reader!
Ash
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Clubbing (of the non baby seal variety)

Reader, I realise this is my second entry of the day, but I just realised something rather vital. On Thursday, I am going clubbing. To a club. With young people. I am in my mid twenties, have I not reached an age where I can just go and meet interesting people at cocktail bars and awards do's yet?

It's not that I have always hated clubbing. Actually, when I was in my second year of college, I suddenly got a bit trendy and started going to The Roxy every week and hanging out with bands in the NME top ten (no, you wouldn't know them, no one knew them even then). I knew all the words to all the songs, I was at that brilliant time in my life where I weighed so little that I could legitimately be classed as a 'skinny' girl and my hair was down to my bum. You could smoke inside and everyone was just enough older than you for it to be thrilling. When I then went to uni, I became the social sec, and most nights a week could be found in a cheesy club or bar on campus, dancing like a loon and challenging strange rugby players to drink offs. And then I went to Drama School and didn't really drink for 2 years. Because waking up with a hangover when you have a 12 hour day ahead of you and an hour journey each way doesn't really make for a happy student. Plus, because the course was so full on, I didn't have much time to work, so couldn't afford the door charge. Since then, I tend to prefer pubs, bars and people's houses for my down time. Or a nice night in on my sofa (shut up I know I'm boring, but I work 7 days a week quite often so I start to miss my cosy sofa and living room. I like being around all my crappy second hand stuff!).

However, I half jokingly entered this contest and ended up winning a night out in a club with lots of friends and heavily discounted drinks. I am an actor. Turning down discounted drinks is against my religion. Plus, the only member of a reality TV show that I like (and, let's face it, have a bit of a crush on) is going to be there, and since I was a runner up in the competition, I might actually get to meet him. Yes, I am ashamed of myself.

I have no idea what to wear. Unlike my 17 year old self, I no longer go around in mini-kilts and fishnets (although those seem to be back in fashion now) and I am assuming my usual 'going out' look of a full on fifties dress and killer heels is out. I am too old for fashion and skin tight material! I need structure these days! Also, I'm certain I won't know any of the songs. And will they have my favourite cocktail, a good old Amaretto Sour (hold the egg white)? And I'll need to leave by 12 because there's not a cat's chance in hell I'll be getting the night bus.

If you don't hear from me within the week, Reader, I'll have been shunned for doing a granddad dance to the hip band playing.

Tarrah!
Ash
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Half-girl-half-mattress...

Reader, I am EXHAUSTED. In the past 3 nights, I have slept in three different beds, in three different parts of England. I have taken 4 trains, made 3 underground trips, one car ride and 4 taxi rides. I have been visited by a toddler, who I didn't get to see, but did hear having a loud chat with the air at 2 in the morning, was awakened by a man in his pants, horrified an old lady into switching seats, attended a hen do, went to a wedding, fell in love with a kitten and went shoe shopping with The Lad. I'm pretty sure my limbs have all gone on strike, I have suitcases under my eyes and I've found confetti in places confetti just shouldn't be.

It was a jolly good weekend.

The hen party was that of my old uni sister from another mister (and housemate of 3 years) Jague. Now, I haven't seen Jague much since we left uni. She's been becoming a teacher, I've been at drama school and working and I'm hopeless at organising anything, so only get to see her very rarely, but dear god I love that girl. She introduced me to some of my favourite musicals, helped me through some hard times and brought me fags and chocolate when I was poor and sad. Utter hero of a woman (and gorgeous with it too). The hen party was fab (although the vast majority of the hens were hungover from a pre-hen do the night before-I don't know how they coped with the early afternoon cocktails!) and I got to meet lots of Jague's friends who I'd heard many tales of, plus see some of my old uni friends who I haven't seen in an age (including Jeffers, who has the most rock and roll life of anyone I know, Crouchey who shares my love of trash tv, and Hannah, who is essentially my more grown up twin and who my mother wants to adopt-Hannah is pretty open to the idea too), went on an old fashioned carousel with the entire hen party, discovered lime daiquiri is the best thing since pina colada (which I also had, yum!), ate so much tapas (served by a fabulously sexy lady called Lolita) that I nearly burst, and then boogied the night away in the head bridesmaid 's living room, surrounded by pictures of willies and lots of cake (I made tiny wedding cakes with pink sparkly icing and jam fillings! Next time I think I may do the same but with lemon curd filling and a lemon cream topping...mmm). The next morning it was off to a beach-side cafe, where sadly I had to leave before the food arrived (it smelt AMAZING) to catch my train, but the weather was fab and the girls looked set for a great day on the beach!

After three hours on the train, I arrived in gorgeous Surrey, all dolled up in a fifties dress, heels and toting my suitcase and cake tin. The wedding was a) the first I've ever been to of my friendship group and b) the first me and The Lad have ever gone to together. Reader, I cried like a baby. The bride (an old director and friend of mine) was so stunning that the groom did a double take when she reached the front. There were wildflowers and candles and the sun even came out for the day! The grounds of this place were gorgeous too, we spent a lot of time wandering around and talking about what our wedding will be like (when we get round to it) and who we'd have as our bridesmaids and groomsmen (for the record...our wedding is going to be friggin amazeballs). The food was amazing too, and The Lad and I got to sit on a table with a couple of the boys I did my play in Camden with a few years ago, and who I'll be working with again over the winter months on a new exciting play, and we had great fun over the delicious dinner and wine. And I got talking to a very cool vegan girl who gave me lots of great recipe ideas! After that we had to dash away for our train. On which I kept falling asleep (SO tired). I'm still pretty exhausted now actually, but have been in bed for most of the afternoon, so hopefully tomorrow I'll be fighting fit!

Ooh, and I mentioned the kitten didn't I? This morning we were awakened by a strange noise, so The Lad went to investigate then came down, shoved his dressing gown at me and went 'YOU NEED TO GO UPSTAIRS' so I did (looking rather a state), and met the cutest, tiniest three week old kitten ever. She was abandoned in a garden by her mother and The Lad's housemate (a veterinary nurse) had brought her home since the surgery was closed for the day. It was love at first sight. Am trying to talk the parents into adopting her but am having very little luck. She kept crawling under my chin and falling asleep. Too damn cute for words.

Right, I'm off to collapse now, and dream of kittens and weddings
Night Reader!
Ash
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*Zzzzzzzzz*

Reader, this has been a very long, very busy week. I have been up every day at about 5.30am and most days have not got home till around 10pm. I have been juggling acting work (that's the nice bit, one advert gig and two radio recordings, hurrah!), call centre work, promotions work, hospital appointments and getting ready for Christmas. Now I keep dozing off every few minutes (despite having had a nap earlier today...bliss) and my skin is suffering (I currently look like something in the woods parents warn their kids about) along with my stress levels (ever found yourself swearing at a fork? I have.).

Luckily, this weekend should be a surefire cure, I'm off to pick my Christmas trees with the dad on Saturday, going for my office Christmas party that night (during which I plan to get fabulously tipsy with my work friends in my new eighties style dress), decorating my trees Sunday, watching the muppets Christmas. Bliss. But first I have to get through an aerobics class tomorrow morning. Oh dear. Apart from that it should be pretty perfect though!

This week I've noticed signs that I am ageing quite scarily fast. How do I know this is happening? Well, I've become frequently aware of the commercialisation of Christmas (I had a tantrum because my Advent calender had a door in it that said 'Merry Cadbury Christmas'...you don't need to bloody promote yourselves I'M ALREADY EATING YOUR CHOCOLATE!!! It made me want to stamp on it, but I didn't because that would be a waste of delicious delicious chocolate.) If I had a choice, my Christmases would be Dickensian affairs with candles everywhere and real trees (none of this fake pine crap), there would be carol concerts every night and Christmas films on every channel. To be fair, this is remarkably close to what my family Christmases are like. Bloody marvellous. Although I'm increasingly finding I can't venture to the local shops because I get hulk stylee angry at cartoon character Christmas decorations. There are some things I am willing to overlook. Yes, we all know santa's real clothes are green, and it was his deal with Coca Cola that made them red, but given that not every santa costume has coca cola advertised on the bum, I'm ok with that. Ben Ten tree decorations are just plain wrong, and I'm sorry, but whoever came up with the idea of a Christmas Justin Beiber range needs a good kicking. Ok. That's THAT rant over.

The second reason for knowing I'm getting old is that I've become increasingly aware of customer service. I do work in the service industry, so that probably doesn't help (especially because I'm a stickler for making sure customers get what they asked for), but I get driven mad by bad phone advisers or sales people. I've stopped going to Patisserie Valerie altogether because the service is always so bad, and I've become one of those biddies who complains if she's not altogether delighted with the service and sends a letter of congratulations (with glitter) if people are friendly and quick. Two organisations in particular keep cropping up for me. One is Amazon, for good reasons. Every time I've dealt with Amazon, they've been polite, well meaning and fast. Just today I called them because of a package that hasn't arrived (which turned out to be the fault of Royal Mail) and they were sensational, instantly apologising and arranging for a solution, reducing my irritation by about 250% and leaving me with warm fuzzlies. Then you've got completely the other side, the NHS. You do get the rare gems in there (I have two local GPs who I adore and feel very comfortable with and would go to every time if I could) but for the most part, there is far too much lack of customer care, because yes, we ARE customers, even though we pay through our taxes rather than direct to them. Today was a prime example. I had an appointment at 8.30 in the morning, I turned up at 8.20 (early as ever) then had to wait half an hour to be seen (the nurse didn't even show up till 8.45 and I didn't receive an apology for her lateness, which isn't really even a customer service thing, just a politeness thing). There were cracks in the ceiling, strange Frankenstein style stains down the walls and the waiting area was freezing. Now, don't get me wrong, I am pro-NHS. I think we are very very lucky to live in a country that has a health system through which you don't have to pay for an ambulance or a heart transplant. But it needs improvement. I've been to NHS hospitals that are gorgeous, clean and spacious and full of lovely friendly workers. But there does seem to be a trend with the London ones where standards are slipping, and it isn't good enough. Maybe I should send a letter to someone. Is it too much to ask that the hospital shop sells nice food? Or that there are a couple of magazines for people to read? I don't think so!

Rant over, back to christmas joy and jingle!
Hurrah!
Ash
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