My shameful secret...

Reader, I have something to confess. It's an unpopular view these days, one that others may sneer at or turn away from in righteous disgust. It might cause me to get shoes thrown at my head. The thing is....

I love Valentines Day.

I know what you're thinking, 'It's alright for her though, she's stonkingly in love!', well yeah, that's true, but I loved it when I was single as well.

Here's the thing. Being in love on Valentines is amazing-this year my Partner In Crime and I spent the whole day together, just the two of us, which sounds fairly simple but given that we both lead such busy lives, it was complete heaven. We went to the cinema (no, not to see 50 Shades of Grey, we were all about Big Hero 6!), we ate bacon, we danced around the living room and drank wine while we cooked an Italian meal from scratch, we accidentally made each other the same present...it was without a doubt the best Valentines day I've ever had. But even when I was single I loved the day. When I grew out of the idea that Valentines had to be just for couples, I started spending the day doing things for myself. One year I treated myself to lunch at a cafe I'd always admired when walking past. Another year myself and curly one wrapped ourselves in duvets and watched When Harry Met Sally with a bag of doritos, diet coke and packs of cigarettes (I was still a smoker then). Last year we ate Chinese food and watched The Slipper and The Rose (best Cinderella adaptation EVER) and laughed our socks off.

Heading towards PIC's the other day, it occurred to me that the only time I've ever been unhappy on Valentines day has been when I was unhappy in a relationship. Whenever I've been happy it one it's been grand (although this weekend definitely topped them all) and when I've been single I've loved it too.

Maybe it's because my expectations aren't huge-at the ripe old age of 26 I've never had an anonymous Valentines day card, and I've never really been that materialistic. The concept that someone would have gone to the effort to make something or organise something for me is far more touching than any bunch of flowers or shiny bauble. Valentines cynics might say that the festivities encourage us to only show our love for someone on one day, but I disagree. I show my love for my partner as often as I can. Valentines is just another excuse to celebrate it-an excuse to turn off mobile phones, refuse plans and jobs, lock the doors and just be. Those days don't come round particularly often when you have busy lives, so we need to celebrate them while we can and use them as an excuse to indulge in having a real, honest to goodness day off.

Hope your Valentines was wonderful Reader, whether your were single or taken for it!
Ash
x

p.s. if you don't already, you can follow my vlogs here: https://www.youtube.com/user/magenta/videos

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
x
p.s. Don't forget to check out my vlogs! I release a new one every Tuesday and Friday!

Why I deleted Tinder...

Reader, I have a difficult relationship with online dating.

Here’s the thing. I am a true, die hard, hate to admit it, wants to be kissed in the rain whilst being told that ‘IT’S ALWAYS BEEN YOU’ romantic. The secret is out. Now, there are a number of issues with this. I set my friends up (a lot) because I want everyone to have a happy ending. When I go on dates, if that sparkle isn’t there, I just lose interest almost straight away (and those rare occasions where I have fought through and carried on dating regardless have never ended well). My underwear drawer looks like what the Brothers Grimm would have had in mind for their heroines (mixed with a little Dita Von Teese of course). I own just-in-case ball gowns. I play the ‘true love game’ on tube escalators (pretend you’re in your own rom com, and someone on the escalator going in the opposite direction is THE ONE. Pick anyone, then use your mental powers to make them look at you and ‘have a moment’. (Note; this can go horribly wrong if a) there is no one there you fancy-as you HAVE to choose someone, you might end up with someone dreadful b) you look a bit mad, as you try and make lightning come out of your eyes like Matilda c) They might get the wrong idea and think you’re angling for a shag or something) I also don’t fall in love particularly often. Actually, I don’t even fancy people particularly often. And my ‘type’ isn’t a physical type, it’s a completely personality based one-I like charming, funny men with a geeky streak (who are usually also creatively talented).

Now, part of me being a die-hard-romantic means that I’m not someone who can do casual dating very well. I don’t really LIKE dating (it always makes me feel like a kid pretending to be a grown up), and I find the concept of dating someone I barely know completely bizzare. The last guy I dated I’d worked with and then chatted to on social media for a month or so before I asked out (I KNOW! How bloody brave am I?!) and before that, my ex was someone who had been mentioned in conversations by a mutual friend for TWO YEARS before we dated (and there was a two week period where he showed up at all my auditions and socials, so we hung out a lot before anything actually happened).

So, last year, a dear friend of mine introduced me to Tinder. I had it on for three days, then turned it off, for a number of reasons. 1) I didn’t feel ready to date again after my relationship broke up 2) I kept seeing guys I knew on there 3) All of the men seemed to be really entitled. As in ‘YOU HAVEN’T MESSAGED ME IN A DAY YOU BITCH’ when I’d added them two days before. I messaged back saying, ‘I don’t know you, I don’t owe you anything. Have a nice day.’ Then logged off and deleted the app.

Roll on 10 months and I’d been in the dating pool for a while. My fantastic friend insisted on me downloading the app again so we could play it side by side in SoHo-him doing the ‘men looking for men’ version and me doing ‘men looking for women’. Reader, I won’t tell a lie-at first it was a confidence boost-I had an 100% success rate, with every guy I swiped right on having already said yes to my profile (not that I swiped right on many-when your type is based on personality quirks, Tinder can be tricky). But yesterday, at the airport, I deleted it again. Once more, without having been on a single date.

Why’s that? Well the problem with Tinder is that it makes you lose faith in romance. Can you imagine telling your kids ‘Well dear, daddy was posing topless with a doped tiger in his pic and I just thought-I know nothing about this man, but he’s the one!’ It’s all based on looks, which means it takes a while for you to work out how much of a twat someone is, plus, every time you get talking to someone, they turn out to be AWFUL.  Here are three of the worst I encountered:

    1)      The guy who looked really sweet, slightly geeky (yay!) tall and cute. Until I looked at his ‘about me’ line. ‘If you want to be dominated, you’ve found the right man. I know my way around a rope and will treat you mean’. Erm. No thank you. 

    2)      The guy who was gorgeous in a down-to-earth sort of way, sounded completely normal when we chatted, and then referred to black people by the n-word. OFF YOU FUCK.

    3)      Perhaps the strangest-a lovely property developer. A little older, wiser (one would hope), environmentally aware, dreamed of setting up home in Asia. Talked a little about how our families both came from Ireland, and we both went to schools in a similar area. Asked me if I’d like to go for a drink with him (very politely) and I said yes, but that I was busy for a week or so. Didn’t hear from him for a couple of days, till yesterday-when he sent me a photo of him in his pants. Completely unexplained. In the mid-afternoon. Nearly choked on my sandwich.

App deleted post haste.

I just don’t think it’s for me Reader. I am so confused by the whole thing-but then what was I thinking would happen when I went on a dating app based on what people look like? 

An issue I seem to have in the big wide dating world is that I look one way and am actually a bit different. I have big boobs and a wear big heels and flirt like billy-oh and sometimes wear highly glittery eyeshadow. But I am also a huge geek, secretly shy, prefer being barefoot to wearing any kind of shoes at all, am clumsy as anything, can't go out without two books in my bag, spend too much time baking and kind of want to be Batman when I grow up. Men meet me and think I'm one thing, then get to know me and get confused. So in hindsight, trying to meet someone where they judge you on appearance just would never work for me. 

So I'm going to take a risk Reader. I'm going to just hope I end up with someone the usual way. Well...not usual, I'm an actress, writer, vlogger and baker. I'm probably never going to be entirely conventional. And if that means not being on Tinder, I am fairly ok with that.

Have a lovely day Reader, and remember to check out my vlogs, new ones out every Tuesday and Friday! https://www.youtube.com/user/magenta/videos

Ash

x

10 reasons why being Irish is grand, so.

Hey Reader! It's St. Paddy's Day on Monday and I SO nearly forgot! Which would be a crying shame, because every year on St. Patrick's Day I phone my gran and we natter about awesome Irish stuff. This year (since I discovered that my local Asda has an Irish section) I will be rediscovering my love for Kimberly biscuits, cheese and onion Taytos (to me, the other flavours just don't exist) and red lemonade. And going to a pub quiz. I will probably drink quite a bit too (but not Guinness or Irish Whiskey, because despite being from the land of the black stuff, I am not a fan). You know what Reader? I blooming LOVE being half Irish. I would even go so far as to say that I feel more Irish than English, despite living in London. And here's why....

10 REASONS WHY BEING IRISH IS GRAND, SO.
(if you don't get this title, you need to spend more time with Irish folk)

1. Having an affinity with potatoes



Atkins? Get out this instant. Being Irish means an innate understanding that potatoes are the source of great joy, and to not have them with a meal is a disgrace. We have potato bread, potato cake (which is like a flat, heavy scone-amazing hot with lots of Kerry Gold butter) and a lot of the old pubs in Eire serve bowls of skin on boiled spuds with a knife and a pat of butter and some salt. Because what else do you need in life? There's a running joke in my group of friends that I'm going to have 10 kids and name them all after various ways of cooking potato. We've even come up with personalities for all of them (Dauphinoise is a bit of a snob and Mashed is really mellow. Roast likes cuddles and Chipped is hyper but really handsome). We know what it means to lose something you love (the potato famine is in my blood) so we embrace our love of the carby veg and never take it for granted.

2. When you go back to Ireland as a 2nd or 3rd generationer, it's a bit like being famous




You'll go into a shop you haven't been in since you were 6 and the shop keeper will go 'Oh Jesus, Mary and Joseph, is that Mary's girl?' (Mary is my grandmother, not my mother, but it doesn't matter how far away the connection is, you will always be 'Mary's girl'. Hell, my kids will be 'Mary's little ones!'). Then other people in the shop will come over and look at you. They'll start talking to the older person you're with about you as if you're not there 'Isn't she beautiful? She'll be having the boys all a flutter! I heard she was on the television? Mary must be so proud. Is she still living at home?' By the time you leave you'll feel like you've just been surrounded by fans speculating on your life and wanting to know all about you (the negative side of this is that they often know things about you that you barely knew yourself. Again, much like fans.) People will start dropping by the house because they heard you were 'over' as the phone chain begins, and you'll meet people who have literally never met you, but know every detail of your life. Sometimes this will also happen in London. There's always the moment when you say your grandparents/parents are from a tiny town that no one has ever heard of and the person you're talking to will say 'Oh! The O'Donnell's? From TinyGreenVillagey? How are they?' I remember being about 15 and discovering that my grandparents knew my scary Irish geography teacher from their weekly dance. Crazy stuff. You will learn that The Irish Centre in Tottenham is where all Irish People of a certain age have been at one stage or another (and you probably spent a lot of your youth drinking red lemonade in the bar there, or going to engagement parties in the big hall).

3. The Weddings



There will be some crazy ass dancing. There will be some INTENSE drinking. There will be a fight or two. There will be a number of people wandering around at 8am holding a half empty pint and wondering what happened to their shoes. There won't be a buffet (who are you bloody kidding?) there will be a sit down meal with proper food to line your stomach. The wedding service (if you are Catholic) will take so long that most people will have napped during it, or used the time to write the card and wrap the present. Not only is there a bouquet toss (in which your older relations get VICIOUS), but the groom will toss the bride's garter and whichever man catches it will have to remove it from the thigh of the woman who caught the flowers. With his teeth. (Warning: Don't try and catch the flowers, the man will inevitably be your slightly weird cousin with the scary smile). The older generation will try and match you up with someone, but you'll be too busy dancing to 'Shoe The Donkey' (my favourite song in the dance halls when I was a kid) with your distant cousins.

4. Penneys



Oh, you think Primark is good? Primark is Penneys. Penneys came first. When you go over, you bring an empty fucking suitcase, because Penneys is cheaper, better, and has more variety. I'm actually kind of pissed off Primark came to the UK because before that I'd vanish off to Ireland and come back with a new wardrobe that no one in England had, that I'd only spent half of my allowance on. Now more people have the stuff, but screw it, Penneys is still better. You go in and do a dance, because there are so many options and the Tralee one is really big and full of bargains. And because Irish people have had it forever, they are inevitably empty.

5. Puck Fair




How do I explain Puck Fair? Erm...Ok. So it's essentially a really big celebration in Kerry, where they choose the best goat and put it on a big tower/stand thing in Killorglin town centre. He is named 'King Puck' and is treated like a total don and fed really nice food and stuff to make up for being on a big stand (he is a mountain goat, so he's generally alright with heights). Pubs are open till 3am and there are way more lock ins than usual, the local gypsies have loads of stands selling beautiful home made things that break your heart when they fall apart five minutes after you buy them and there's a fun fair. Essentially the town is drunk for about a week. The reason for all this is that many years ago, a goat saved the town from Oliver Cromwell and his army. Although the story changes depending on who you ask-I remember one old chap telling me that the goat was wearing a crown and was actually a fairy king who had disguised himself, another person told me the goat was what the town ate after they survived Cromwell. At the end of the day, it's an excuse for a big party. And being Irish means you love a big ass party.

6. Pub Culture



If you're not Irish, then you probably won't understand why Irish Pubs are such a big deal world wide. In Ireland (and in England, where so many of the Irish have settled), Irish pubs are not just a place for having a natter and a pint, or watching the football in. EVERYTHING happens there. When my nan was younger, no one owned a phone, so if she was trying to reach my Granddad, she'd find a payphone and call the local pub. If he wasn't there, then there would be someone there who knew where he was. Locals would leave messages there, because everyone was bound to drop in at some stage. When I was little, my Granddad would take me to pubs while my nan had her hair done and because I was quite cute and freckly, the old men would sing a Gaelic song and get me to pretend to Irish dance on the bar like a cockney Shirley Temple in exchange for some chocolate (I still get recognised in some Tottenham and Kerry pubs...). During the war, the pubs had a roaring black market trade, in Killarney (the closest town to where my family is based in Kerry) you can still get advice on where to get the cheapest bacon or the best locally brewed (ever so slightly Illegal) Poitín. Pubs are where all the gossip is, where you see people you haven't seen for 20 years, where you can get the best Irish breakfast and if you get talking to the right people, you can hear all the local lore. Plus, you never know who you'll run into. One of the pubs that I spent most of my childhood in with my Granddad in Killarney is owned by Michael Fassbender's dad. My great uncle has had some wild nights with the man himself apparently! 

7. The Rose of Tralee



When I was little and visited my Irish rellies, you could place money on the fact that at least once, entering me into 'The Rose of Tralee' would come into conversation. As I got older, it moved from being a joke, to a threat. 'Ye're old enough now Aislinn, next time you're home, ye'll be going up for the Rose!' So, essentially, The Rose is a yearly beauty pageant in Tralee that anyone with Irish heritage can enter. It's only aired in Ireland and America (I think) but it's a HUGE deal over there. We try to go over when it's on so we can curl up on the sofa and take the mick out of it (some of the 'talents' are less than skilled...). For a month, every car in Ireland is covered in bumper stickers saying 'We <3 the London Rose!' or 'Texas Rose 2014!' and the area is flooded with US tourists and Pageant fans. I think my Grandmother would explode with pride if me or my little cousins got on the tour. The problem is, we're all a bit too sarcastic and would take the piss far too much! My parents and I always joke that my talent would be a cookery lesson on various forms of potato based dishes (in fact, the last time we were all over for The Rose, me and my dad began a game called 'Potato Fairy' where you hide potatoes in the other person's belongings. I only found the last one in my shoe a year after we'd started the game, by which point it had begun to grow other, baby spuds).

8. People who aren't Irish think we're romantic and magical



I have red hair (admittedly, it's dyed) and freckles. Recently, I was chatting to one of my guy friends and he told me that I'm the sort of girl that boys develop strange infatuations for because 'You look a bit like some kind of elfin princess from an Irish story' but that they get scared to ask me out because 'You're sort of too pure and glowy and magic'. Which has to be the STRANGEST compliment I've ever received.  a) Because I am not elfin, I am actually quite tall and stompy and clumsy b) I am not princess like, and anyone who has ever been round me when I'm either drunk, eating or hyperactive can attest to that and c) TOO pure, glowy and magical? Are they afraid that I'm secretly a fairy who might cast a spell on them and not release them from my fairy lair for 40 years? OBVIOUSLY I only do that if I really like someone. Duh. But seriously, people are very attracted to the Celtic thing. An American director I worked with last year asked me if I was Irish, and when I said yes, just looked me up and down and said 'That's hot'. I mean...what? If you've grown up in Ireland you don't really see it, because we know the truth-that most Irish people are like people anywhere else and use knickers to tie up their hair when their last hairband breaks and have days where they go to the supermarket in PJs and eat crisps in front of the telly. But it works with men too. Dylan Moran for example. Hopelessly sexy, despite acting like a right alcoholic weirdo. I blame the accent. Everyone hears his voice and goes 'oh he's a right Irish cheeky devil!' (I very rarely get this. Domnhall Gleeson  is one of the few men that I get Irish goggles over-but then he is completely adorable, so I think that's fair)

 (Look at him. BLOODY BEAUTIFUL. I would do TERRIBLE THINGS to that man.)

9. We can use it as an excuse for almost anything



Why are you eating that entire server of mashed potatoes? Because I'm Irish! Why are you drinking that entire pitcher of green cocktail? Because I'm Irish! How comes you get the last green dress in our size? Because I'm Irish! Why do you think you can pull off red hair? Because I'm Irish! Why are you so devilishly adorable? Because I'm IRISH.

BOOM. Now pass the 'Kiss Me I'm Irish' tee-shirt

10. Our history is like something out of Game of Thrones



There's a mountain range behind my house which is where a Giant lay down to have a nap and turned to stone. We had a crap ton of kings and queens, and most of their stories have the words 'and then they met a faery' in there somewhere (in fact, my name: Aislinn, comes from an ancient queen's name meaning a dream or vision). There are leprechauns, there are Banshees, there are motherfudging Silkies. We take our myths and legends pretty damn seriously. I know more about the stories and fairy tales of Ireland than I do about the real history-and I think that's how the Irish older generation like to keep it. When I was growing up, was I told about the English invasion? NO! I was told about the man on Ross Bay who fell in love with the Silkie and hid her seal skin so she had to stay on land and bear children with him, and about how when she found her skin and escaped, all their children followed her and drowned.


Frankly, being Irish ROCKS.

Have a marvelous St. Patrick day Reader!
Ash
x

Hot stuff...

Reader, I am very confused about attraction. Obviously, I can't really speak for men (or gay women) but we find some really weird things attractive, that we really shouldn't. My blog entry the other day on being 'a good girl' and the concept of liking 'bad boys' got me thinking about it and some of my girlfriends and I had a chat about the things we go for in the opposite sex. Combine this with my housemate and I's 'Wall of I would' (an objective list of the men that we would probably dribble at if we met) and you have a whole mess of 'seriously, but why?!'

WHY DO WE FIND THESE THINGS ATTRACTIVE?

1. Men who can sing/are in bands

Ok. I get it. Talent is sexy. But seriously? Why does someone standing on a stage crooning get us hot and bothered? Ok, so they're singing about love and how wonderful it is and we want to be the girl they're singing about. Or they're singing about heartbreak and we want to give them a hug. Or they're singing something sexy and....erm...Ok, so I kind of get it. But I've been involved (not that romantically really, more just flirtatiosly) with a couple of guys in bands. One had a girlfriend and wrote me a love letter. And wrote a song about me, which he then performed IN FRONT OF HER. Any residual fancying of him kind of vanished after that, it was such a douchey thing to do to a girl. Writing songs about someone you like-awesome and romantic. When you have a girlfriend and it's not about her-worthy of a punch in the face. The other guy was a talented performer but I think half expected me to make all the moves on him. Which just was not going to happen. Give me a break ya'll, I was 17! And he was in his early twenties!

    2.   Bad Boys

I touched on this in an earlier blog-but I still don't get it. In what world is a guy who's been in jail attractive? Why is someone who treats you like crap a worthy partner? Since when has a guy who cheats been sexy as hell? I just don't get it. I have a couple of friends at the moment who have long, complicated relationships with 'bad boys', and no, they don't look like James Dean and smoulder from against a soft top car, most of the time they're just guys who are normal looking who treat the girls like rubbish. And for whatever reason, the girl won't leave them. In most circumstances, the girl is so emotionally beaten by them and lacking in confidence because of their constant cheating, mean remarks or just lack of emotional availability, they don't feel good enough to leave because they are convinced they can't do better. But what made them get with the guy in the first place? In one instance, a friend first told us about her (now partner of YEARS) by saying he was a loser who tried to get in her pants. But somehow he managed to keep a hold on her. I don't get it at all. Although I can't claim to be entirely innocent of liking the wrong men-when I was younger I had a long running, intense infatuation with a guy who treated me like rubbish. I was much more naive back then but I think part of me thought that he was actually really sensitive and scared of his feelings for me and that I could sort of nurse him back to being a good person. Looking back now, I think he just liked the attention and thought it was funny to string me along like an adoring but slightly stupid puppy. Luckily, I am a lot older and wiser now and can safely say that I make far more sensible choices with who to give my heart to-nice people only need apply!

   3.   Funny Guys

Funny = sexy. I don't know why. It just sort of does. I'm not talking about fart humour or anything gross, but guys who are witty and make me laugh like a loon really do it for me. I have a lot of long standing crushes on comedians and I don't really get why. I mean, telling a joke doesn't necessarily mean you'd make a good life partner does it? Saying that-and here's the science bit-laughing releases serotonin, which is also released during sex. Maybe there's a link there! Still, I'd go out with Eddie Izzard or Dylan Moran any day....*sigh*. 

  4.   Hair

Oh god, hair. I have made plenty of bad romance decisions based on hair before. Which is so awful, but dear god, good hair on a man is a wonderful thing. Not too gelled, not too 'done'. Just. Hair. This is potentially why I fancied Luke from The Kooks. And Alan Rickman in Robin Hood. And Nicholas Hoult (shut up, his hair is ALWAYS PERFECT). Even so, from an evolutionary perspective, why is that something I go for? It's not like back in the day, the caveman with the best bouffant was the best provider. Maybe it's to do with peacocking?  Or like when lizards show the ruff of skin round their neck? Or when birds puff themselves up? I don't know! It makes no sense!

 5.  Cocky men

 No, I don't mean THAT Reader. Get your head out of the gutter! Guys with confidence are very fanciable. However, there is a line which should not be crossed. Being confident about life-great. Constantly talking about yourself-not so great. Being confident enough to make the first mood-hurrah! Being so cocky you just assume most women fancy you-ick. I suppose confidence in yourself means we think we should be confident about you as well-and who wants to date anyone (male or female) who's constantly criticising themselves? It's dull to have to keep trying to praise someone who is determined to put themselves down. But it's also quite dull to have someone flexing their muscles all day or boasting about how many girls they've slept with. So, strike a balance eh?

6.  Hands on ability

Again Reader, NO NOT LIKE THAT. Honestly, you're filthy! I'm talking about guys who can do things with their hands. Cooking for example. Or fixing things. Or sketching. It's skillful, impressive and draws ladies like a moth to the flame. So, this one I really do understand. Having a guy cook for you is delightful. Especially dishes you don't know how to make yourself. When someone knows how to fix things it's a bit like your nesting instinct kicks in and your hormones go 'he can make a good nest with me! With plumbing! And carved oak chairs and a matching bar!' when they can draw you get a bit of a 'draw me like one of your French Girls' moment. As a girl who loves to cook and has been raised with a good knowledge of DIY, it's nice when someone can match or beat my abilities, so I don't always feel like the one who has to do it all the time. And I've always been rubbish at art, so am always very impressed when anyone can produce something so fantastic. 

Feel free to add some strange things of your own. We all have them-these are quite generic ones really, but I have a friend who loves sweaty guys. Another is really attracted to Irish men. I like men with a lovely cut glass accent, but I'm similarly enthralled by a northern lilt. One friend only ever dates gingers. And one (really odd) friend has a penchant for men who are brilliant at geography. Strange that.

Tarrah Reader!

Ash

x

Things Disney films have taught me....

So Reader, I've been thinking a lot a bit about Disney of late. Mainly because Christmas is approaching and I'm anticipating some much needed sitting on the sofa watching films, and I was thinking of all the lessons Disney has taught me. There have been quite a few, not all of them correct, nor altogether good lessons.
Here they are!

Disney Lessons I probably shouldn't have learnt

• All pretty girls can sing. All of them. And they do. About everything.
• No one ever does a poo, unless it's an animal about to do one on a villain
• Even peasants wear really well fitting clothes
• Heroes and pretty girls are always thin
• Fairy godmothers totally exist and they're always over 60 and portly
• Vegetables can be used as a mode of transport
• Reading makes you special (well, duh)
• Poor people meet royalty all the fricken time, just casually
• Loads of people that can sing beautifully don't use it professionally because they just want to get married
• People's dad's die. CONSTANTLY. And no one has a mum. But step parents live forever.
• Animals are your friends. Especially wild ones.
• Ditto midgets.
• Elderly women who live alone are witches
• No one lives in a city. Lots of people live in a palace in the countryside
• Bread is just about the tastiest meal anyone can have
• Exotic pets are totally normal
• Everyone has perfect teeth. Even if they live in a cave.
• Anyone can survive certain death. Even baddies
• Trees are perfectly cosy places to live
• Cakes look like they're made of yogurt and when they're knocked, they slop from side to side
• Girls never have to make the first move
• Dancing is the best chat up line 
• Balls happen on everyone's 16th birthday
• Crabs are friendly
• Voodoo is AWESOME and creates green smoke
• It's always beautifully sunny during the day and clear and starry at night
• Wishing on starts totally works
• Having tiny feet gets you places
• No one is at all clumsy. Ever. Unless they're bad or sidekicks. Or crabs.

That's all for now Reader!

Ash

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Romantical...

Reader, I've been watching some of the films recently that highly encouraged the romantic ideals that formed me as a young un. The Slipper and The Rose, The Princess Bride, Ten Things I Hate About You, Star Wars (shut up, and again, shut up. Hans Solo for the win.). And it made me think-did romantic gestures die out or did they ever exist to begin with?

The thing is, I grew up with really romantic parents. My dad proposed to my mum by taking out a full page ad in the newspaper, and had to wait a week to get a response. She never got an engagement ring, because they were so poor back then, but then years later, at Christmas, he surprised her with the most beautiful bit of bling you ever did see. He brings her flowers on a whim, they go out on dates and she scuba dived and skied for him (things that never caught her interest but that she did because he loved them). Quite often I'll walk in on them laying on the sofa all cuddled up and laughing uproariously at a private joke. They've kept nearly every anniversary card they ever sent to each other and recently my mum told me that whenever she goes out for work evening events or away with friends, she is always thinking about him and can't wait to see him again. They set me this incredible example of what love can be, so my standards are quite high. But is it my standards that are high or the standards of the rest of the world that are low?

I'm at an age now where a lot of my friends are getting engaged, and some of the proposals have taken my breath away. Not because they were the biggest, or the flashiest, but because the proposers knew exactly how their proposees had dreamed it would happen and had managed to outshine whatever they were expecting with their thoughtfulness. Similarly, one of my university friends is with someone who isn't scared to openly say how excited he is to spend the rest of his life with her, who asks her what she'd want out of a marriage and who sacrifices his one holiday to spend it with her family, not because he feels like he should, but because he really wants to. They race home to see each other every evening and sunshine practically gleams out of her when she talks about him.

On the other hand, there's also a chunk of my generation whose love lives are almost exclusively meeting up with people for a quick shag. I was talking to a friend the other day whose romantic life has been purely based around hook ups sourced from the internet, who told me she felt like true romance was dead and that she may as well enjoy herself sexually. She also confided that if she was still doing this when she was thirty she might move to Mexico or have a nervous breakdown, but since she's in her mid twenties she felt like it was still acceptable. Another male friend told me romance was dead, and that I should just get used to it. Big gestures, he told me, just didn't happen any more.

Now, maybe I'm wrong, but when I was growing up, I never wanted my life to be a series of one night stands. I knew that it was unlikely that I'd meet the man of my dreams and have my first kiss with him and then we'd go off to his palace and get married and have lots of perfectly well behaved babies, but I expected to have at least a great deal of romance in my life. Instead, I find myself midway through my twenties, single once more, slightly shellshocked and wondering what happens next. After a break up and some romance disappointments, how do you wind up not being the bitter fairy at the party?

When I first became single again I told my housemate that in order to survive, I had to think of life alone as simply a new life filled with hope to meet the great love of my life, but I think I'd forgotten about all the inbetween bits. The thing is, contrary to fairy stories, true love doesn't just pop up out of nowhere. You meet someone, you become friends, you date, you either want to rip their clothes off straight away or it's more of a slow burner, then love sort of blossoms. And how do I reconcile my dreams of the fairy tale ending with the beginning bits of awkward flirting and not being sure stage of meeting prospective dates? Cinderella certainly never had to put up with this bollocks-although she did have to deal with her only friends being rodents. And there's so much more to consider nowadays! When I was last single and dating (at the tender age of 21), I never bothered worrying about how I would be considered and how I acted in a relationship might affect the velocity of said relationship. I just sort of got on with it. Now I keep getting told that there are all these rules. Be unavailable (not really an issue for me given how crazy my schedule is), let them ask you out, never make the first move, don't be too intimidatingly well dressed (difficult given my wardrobe is almost exclusively 50's dresses and high heels). There's a whole bloody rule book that no one told me about! You're not allowed to just sit on the couch and make out any more, you have to go on proper dates! It's perplexing! And none of the fabulous single women I grew up reading about and watching on the screen are single any more. Carrie has Big. Bridget has kids and a toyboy. Even Jennifer Aniston is engaged. I'm part of this generation of boomerang kids who are all getting engaged and settling down and for the first time in a long while, I'm single, but it seems I'm one of the only ones. Although this does present a couple of nice things. I get to flirt with the gorgeous men that previously I would only dribble at from afar. I get to be a single bridesmaid (always fun, and includes bouquet catching and dancing like a nutter whilst drunk on pimms). If Nicholas Hoult comes knocking, I'll be free for a date (I'll be waiting for that call Nicky boy). I can focus on my acting without feeling guilty. I can eat a tub of Phish Food frozen Yoghurt for dinner and not be told off for it. Christmas is going to be a lot cheaper.

I haven't given up on my belief in true love and romance yet Reader. Even though my happy ending hasn't quite happened yet, I'll go on thinking that anything is possible and being moonstruck at weddings and happy for my loved up friends. Because life is too short to be spent being the bad fairy, especially when you can be the brilliant tea drinking, chicken owning, sparkle wearing fairy godmother in The Slipper and The Rose!

Tarrah!
Ash
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Aaaaaallllll by myyyyysseeeeellllllf........

Reader, yesterday was a comically tragic day. Because I'm going back home next weekend, I decided to brave it in Norwich and stay here, thinking 'Well, there'll be other cast members around so I can chill with them. Or the guys I'm staying with!'. Had completely forgotten that the guys I'm staying with were celebrating their fifth anniversary, so offered to get out of the house for the day, which they gratefully accepted. Unfortunately, all of the cast went back to London, so I had to spend the day in Norwich, alone.

Now, don't get me wrong Reader, I like my own company. I would rather go shopping alone than with people, and if I don't get time to myself, I go a bit stir crazy. So I assumed that a day in my own company would be delightful. Of course, the other thing I realised as I milled around was that it's the weekend before valentines and the couples were out in full force. And Norwich has surprisingly few things to do when you're on your own.

So here was my proposed itinerary:

10.30am-walk to town
11am-go to wedding show to try and find vintage style underwear for photoshoot
12pm-find a gym and have a work out sesh (had trainers etc in my rucksack)
1.30pm-have a leisurely lunch
2.30pm-wander around town, get valentines pressies for The Lad and find a new handbag (mine broke) and push up bra (my costume's a bit saggy in the boob department).
5pm-have a drink in one of the many pubs, whilst reading one of my books
6pm-go to see the muppets movie
8pm-have another drink at my local, read some more
9.30pm-wander back to the house to arrive back for 10pm, which would have given the couple plenty of time for a romantic day

This is what actually happened

10.30am-walk to town
10.50am-realise am in the wedding show too soon and this is why all the stallholders are glaring at me. Leave sheepishly and go get coffee in nearby cafe run by what appears to be a group of polish supermodels. Find out Muppets movie isn't on in Norwich. I can however go and watch the new Polanski film at 7.15, so decide that will do quite nicely.
11.05am-go back into wedding fair.
11.20am-leave wedding fair, having realised that there's not much to do if you're not getting married. No vintage style undies on offer anyway. Am offered a chance to win a free bridal makeover. Consider it, before trying to work out how I'd explain it to The Lad if I won.
11.25am-look for gym
12.00pm-give up looking for gym. There is no gym in Norwich town centre. Curse myself for bringing heavy trainer/sports bra combo in bag. Decide to wander round shops instead.
2pm-having got my bag and tried on every outfit Norwich has to offer (including a gorgeous dress which the amazing mother has offered to pay for as a gift for my approaching birthday-4th March if anyone wants to buy me pretty things) I am a bit bored, and have now realised am only person in Norwich on my own this weekend, am surrounding my loads of couples snogging the faces off each other.
2.05pm-Have lunch at lovely if slightly mad cafe, where I have to share a table with another person on his own. Cafe of couples looks at us sympathetically. Waiter tries unsuccessfully to set us up. Talk to The Lad, who proves to be useless at cheering me up over the phone, as he wants his lunch.
2.28pm-Go look around amazing baking shop. The Lad texts me, asking if I needed cheering up, apologises for being abrupt before and then whines for 3 texts about his sore leg and his attempt at french toast going wrong.
2.40pm-Lad realises that complaining is not helping, given that I have ignored his texts. Sends me very sweet text about how much he loves me. Reply, slightly grudgingly, muttering about Victor Meldrew. Go pick up his valentines presents, muttering about how he doesn't deserve them.
3.30pm-End up in pub. Not hungry but decide to eat chips, as is a belgian pub and would be rude not to really.
3.55pm-Pup is suddenly very full and standing customers are giving me severe evils for keeping a table, even though I'm just drinking a diet coke and not a colourful beer.
4pm-give in to pressure and sneak out. Fight breaks out between American tourists and locals about who gets the table.
4.10pm-find a slightly scummy old man's pub. Think 'Oh well, at least it's quiet' and settle down with my book and i-pod.
4.20pm-pub fills up with football fans, here to watch some match.
4.45pm-retreat to corner of pub to hide from large shoutey men spilling beer on me.
4.55pm-realise book is really quite boring. Call family for a chat. Family are planning a really nice dinner. Am highly jealous
5.30pm-try and sketch football fan without him seeing. Fail. Spend rest of time trying to avoid eye contact with him, as he clearly thinks I was checking him out. Wasn't, he just had an interesting nose that I wanted to draw.
6.30pm-decide it's the right sort of time to head to the cinema. I'll be very early, but I can sit in the bar and spend a while dithering over movie snacks.
6.35pm-both films are sold out. Curse the countryside. Enquire about other cinemas. Am reminded that there is a Vue on the other side of town, but staff haven't been there so can't offer advice on what it's like. Traipse across town
6.45pm-Vue is in a shopping centre which closes at 6.30. Entire building is locked up.
7pm-grab trashy mags and go to local pub. Is lovely and quiet till drunk football oiks turn up, yelling about blow jobs and cider.
8pm-work out how much I spent in pubs alone. Panic slightly.
8.05pm-eat packet of salt and vinegar squares to help with panic.
8.30pm-sympathetic hosts text me to say I'm more than welcome to come home if I want to. Am out that door faster than a speeding bullet.
8.40pm-chocolate and vodka with the couple I'm living with. Much relief to be home! They ask how I spent my day. I realise the only constructive thing I did was go shopping. Laugh, somewhat hysterically.

So not quite the day I was hoping for. But today I get to cook a lovely sunday lunch for my hosts, and then go for drinks with a few of my cast. Hurrah!

Plus, I got some pretty nice pressies for The Lad, which he'll get when we have our belated valentines evening next friday. Hurrah!
Hope you all had a lovely Saturday!
Ash
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