My womb is not marked with your name sir.

Just as a pre-warning: This is not the promised ice cream blog, nor does it have a picture of me looking sweaty after a run to show you how hard I've been working. This entry takes prescience because as a woman, I can't ignore my horror at recent events. I feel like men in suits on podiums have decided that they know my body better than me. I have witnessed boys, barely men yet, claiming that a girl being sexualised meant that she deserved the suicide that ended her short life. By staying silent on these things I betray myself. I betray my sex. This is not a blog entry to amuse.



Dear Men,

No. Not all men. Specific men. Middle class men who through some kind of religious or social delusion think that having a vagina means I am unable to make my own decisions. Men who seem to believe that us flighty, feminine members of the weaker sex are so stupid that we think abortion is the 'easy way out' or 'a form of contraception'.

I'm sorry chaps, but have you personally created my vagina? Is there a small tag on my womb that says 'TM A Man'? Have you ever had to face the prospect of your body, your life, your persona and your dreams changing dramatically at a far too young age because of what crimes; a ripped condom, a split second decision or a convincing but equally young and idiotic boyfriend? No?

Then you do not get to tell me what is easy. You do not get to tell me that I am not allowed to walk away from a pregnancy when you can-with so much more ease than I.

Abortion is not easy. Most women have periods of deep, agonising depression after. They have to wear thick sanitary pads to catch the flowing blood from their damaged insides. The complications can mean infertility, infection and deep psychological scarring. It is NOT an easy decision.

If I were to fall pregnant in the situation I am in now, with a partner in full time education, living with my parents, just starting my career as an actor, living below the minimum wage line-awful though the concept is, I would have to have the procedure. I would be unable to give the child anything but love, and despite what the Beatles once said, love is not enough to be a parent. My parents would have to take the financial and emotional burden of a child when they are still dreaming of a well deserved retirement. Yes, I would hurt, yes I would be horribly depressed and find it difficult to live with my decision  But I know that I am not ready to be a mother by any means, just as I know that one day I will make a bloody brilliant one. I will not be ready then either-but I will not be a terrible mother as I would now. I would not resent the child with every ounce of my being as I would if I had one now.

Dear American chauvinists; Guess what? Making a woman look at a picture of her foetus prior to an abortion is more than sick. It is emotional torture. Do you not think that each and every girl and woman who has walked through the doors of a clinic has tried desperately not to let herself think about being a mother because she know that she cannot be and that to let herself think so for just one second would bring devastation?

We have made huge, tremendous advancements in contraception over the past few years. The implant, for example, has changed my life. But I had to do huge amounts of research before I got it, so shrouded in mystery did it seem. It should be shouted from the rooftops that here is something that will stop you getting pregnant for three whole years, the most powerful contraceptive so far with practically no side effects and a minimal fail rate. Make contraception like this common knowledge, take away the fear of the unknown, rather than damning girls who have to go through abortion when schools do not offer enough reasonable answers on a level about contraception. Let them ask silly questions like 'will it make me fat? Will it make me moody? Will my sex drive go away?' and read out stupid urban myths that we all believed once upon a time. Speaking of contraceptives-the new 5 day pill has male (and-why?-female) politicos sqwaking that it will encourage us to use it instead of condoms or usual contraception. Anyone who has ever had to be asked the cringey questions of the morning after pill will know that once done, it is rarely repeated. Yes, there will be girls who are dim and use it more than they should, but they are the exception rather than the rule-and there doesn't seem to be the same level of shame cast upon men who won't use condoms on one night stands because 'it doesn't feel as good'.

Another moment of horror. Amanda Todd. Tragically killed herself after bullying got too much. Her schoolmates found out she had exposed herself on the internet in a chat room, not once, but numerous times. She had a relationship with another boy her age who was in a relationship. Teenage boys on the internet (most likely teenagers who go to chat rooms like that to ask girls to strip for them, buttering them up until they think it's daring and grown up of them) have slammed the girl, saying that because of these factors, her suicide is not a tragedy and does not deserve coverage. Wait. Because a girl was sexualised, she does not deserve pity and grief? Surely, if anything, she deserves even more? Amanda Todd was a victim of a society that told her that this was how to get attention and affection. She asked for help and was instead trolled by people with no understanding of depression or her situation. She was stalked for years by a man in his 30s who threatened to expose her. She died because she was guilty, scared and did not know where to go. And now, even after death she has been turned into a villain. All because in the minds of the public, if a girl knows about sex, it means she is evil.

By not letting us control our bodies, our own sexuality-you tell us that we are not worthy of independence  By the same rule, surely we women should rule that men MUST have a circumcision. Or can't be allowed access to condoms, because it will encourage promiscuity. We do not assume to control your bodies. Do not assume you own ours.

Sincerely, but not yours
Ash


p.s. I feel it is also essential to point out that desperate women will always find a way. Think of the Victorian era-women died in pain in illegal clinics. Impose ridiculous restrictions and they will again.

p.p.s No, I personally have never had an abortion. This does not make me better, it just makes me luckier. I have seen many friends go through them, helped nurse them better and seen the aftermath. I have also seen the process leading to the decision many times, and every girl in my friendship circle has had to at least consider 'what if?'. Abortion is something we all face, whether we have to experience it or not.

Running scared...

Ok Reader, so I promised that if we got over £700 on the sponsorship, I'd post a picture of myself post run. Well, We're about £8 away from £1000, so it looks like I might have to put that picture up a little sooner than I'd hoped. I was slightly hoping that by the time it came to post the picture, I'd have run so much I'd be seriously skinny and the photo would show me gleaming with health (sweat), washboard abs and a bottom you could bounce a penny off. Unfortunately, no one told me running makes you really hungry. So I'm now just sweaty and a bit fat (not helped by all the yummy recipes on Pinterest). Which isn't quite what I was hoping, but sod it, at least I can run for 5km now without dying.

The thing is, I know it's an impossible dream, but I'd love to be able to be really slim for a long period of time. I've done it before, it's incredibly difficult and bloody boring being on 1200 calories a day or something ridiculous like that, but I looked flipping amazing in clothes and out of them. The problem is, I'm a foodie and I hate having to say no to delicious food just to fit into a size 8, and I'm also really social, which rarely goes hand in hand with eating healthily. I was dreaming that just by running a few times a week I'd suddenly be at my 'happy weight', but since that's not happened, I guess I'll have to make do with being fast and strong. Which is pretty ok. Maybe I'll cut down on all the buttery toast too...

So today I'll be taking a picture of me after my run to show you all just how heinous running for 40 minutes is for a slightly unfit, size 12 asthmatic. It will be from the shoulders up. It will still be dire. Keep an eye out for my next entry and it will appear there.

In other news, the count down has well and truly started for mine and The Lad's holiday! Two and a half weeks to go...brilliant! I intend to bring my running shoes with me and do some early morning running before the heat of the day kicks in. Then I can eat all the yummy Cyprus food I fancy! (Oh dear...let's face it Reader, I may never be truly thin if this is my mentality!)

I've also written another blog for the lovely people at casting website ThePageUk.com, which you can access here:http://thepageuk.tumblr.com/tagged/actorsworking It's about a bit of a dodgy experience I had fairly recently (and I promise, there's no running or dieting talk in that one!)

Tarrah chaps!
Ash
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Facial imperfection...

Reader, I have got spots. 4 spots to be exact. I think this is from all the running and sweating I've been doing whilst training for the October 5km. And all the chocolate to 'reward' my running sessions. But still. Spots.

Reader, I am not used to spots. I have Good Skin. Skin that has been moisturised and cleansed every day and exfoliated once a week (at least) since I was 12. I have been nice to my skin (if we ignore the 4 years of being a smoker). My skin should not be allowed to turn on me like this. Frankly, it's not fair. It's not even as if I'm skinny with spots. That I could deal with. Nope, I have a fat arse and spots and I'm getting up at 7.30 to run and sweat some more.

This hardly seems fair.

I just read a book that told me if I ran 4 days a week (the number 4 seems to be sponsoring this entry), I could eat whatever the hell I wanted. Not true. I am eating what I want and I am lardy. Maybe the author assumed what I'd want would be protien and veg. Nope. Bread and cheese. Chips and pesto. Carbs and fat. She also said eventually I would enjoy running though, so clearly she was a bit mad. No one can enjoy running. You can enjoy telling people you run and feeling smug about it, or going 'god, I'm getting up early for a run tomorrow' and doing something for charity earns MAJOR smugness points, but enjoy running? Never. Saying that, I am only on week 2 of training, so I could just be not at that point yet. I am at the point where I'm hungrier and spottier than usual and tired from getting up early.

RUNNING IS TORTURE.

And that's why you do it for charity. There's a sick, repressed, lapsed catholic part of me that goes 'yes! You deserve this! Feel the pain! Catharsis!'

I try to shut it up with ice cream though

If you want to sponsor me on my run (which is for injured soldiers and their families) please do at http://uk.virginmoneygiving.com/fundraiser-web/fundraiser/showFundraiserProfilePage.action?userUrl=AshandAngela&isTeam=true

If I reach £500 I will post a picture of myself after a run. It's comedy gold. I look like a teapot in a sports bra.

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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More tales from the callcentre of doom...

Reader, this is an actual conversation I had today

Me: Hi Mr. Oldfart, it's just Ash calling from your wine society. How are you today?

Mr. Oldfart: Who?

Me: Your wine society Mr. Oldfart. Poshies Wine. You've been with us for 7 years.

Mr. Oldfart: What are you saying now?

Me (speaking veeeeeery slowly): IT'S ASH FROM YOUR WINE SOCIETY.

Mr. Oldfart: I don't want any groceries.

Me (trying not to be rude but failing miserably): No sir, we sell wine.

Mr. Oldfart: What language are you speaking? Bloody Indians.

Me (now pissed off): Sir, I come from England. I am calling from London.

Mr. OldFart: Are you from the library? 

Me: No, I'm from POSHIES. Would you like some wine? With a discount?

Mr. Oldfart: I haven't taken out any books.

Me: Sir, shall I call back later? You seem to be having trouble hearing me.

Mr. Oldfart: Stop mumbling! No, I can hear you.

Me: You can?

Mr. Oldfart: YES. I'm not deaf you know.

Me: Oh no Sir, I was just saying would you like some wine from us?

Mr. Oldfart: From the library?

Me: No sir, from Poshies.

Mr. Oldfart: I've never got wine from them

Me: Yes you have Sir, you got a case of reds and whites in march.

Mr. Oldfart: No. I buy from Poshies.

Me: That's us Sir.

Mr. Oldfart: No, you said you were called something else.

Me: No, definitely Poshies. Did you want some wine Sir?

Mr. Oldfart: I'm not deaf you know!

Me (groaning inwardly): I wouldn't suggest it Sir! What sort of wine do you like?

Mr. Oldfart: I haven't got time to talk now, call me back tomorrow!

Me: Ok sir.

(AS HE PUTS DOWN THE PHONE)

Mr. Oldfart: Bloody callcentres in bloody India.

I can't win. On the plus side, I managed to plan my outfit for the wedding today between calls! Still no idea what to wear for the hen do though. What does one wear to a hen do anyway? Feathers? I'm going to wear feathers. And possibly a beak.

Ash

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Roast spectacular...

Reader, on Sunday I made a truly awesome roast dinner. It took me six hours (not including the prep work I did the night before), but it was so ridiculously amazing that there were no left overs. None. Not even a scrap. So I felt it only right that I share with you how to make some of the best bits of it.

MENU

Lemon and Garlic chicken
Wheat free Gruyère and caramelised onion tartlets (we also have these at Christmas, they're a fab veggie alternative to meat for a roast as they work brilliantly with gravy and trimmings)
Twice roasted potatoes
Mashed potatoes
Carrots (boiled)
Broccoli (boiled)
Yorkshire puds
Gravy
Wheat free apple and date pie


I'd never made a roast chicken by myself before, what with becoming a veggie at 16, but it was actually a lot easier than I thought. I completely ignored the cooking time on the package and prepared it three hours in advance, then kept it warm in the oven. Before that I stuffed the chicken with half a lemon and three crushed garlic cloves and rubbed it all over with said ingredients. I then massaged it with olive oil and poured a little inside. I baked the chicken on gas mark 6 for an hour and a half before turning it over (there were quite a lot of juices at this point) and cooking again for 20 minutes, then I raised the chicken above the residual juice left in the baking tray and kept it on a low heat of gas mark 2 till we ate. The carnivores of the family said it was very moist, flavoursome and perfectly cooked so something went right!


The pies are slightly more work, I originally found the recipe in Delia Smith's Christmas Cookbook, which is an old one we've had since either the late 80s or early 90s I think. It makes 8 small tartlets

YOU WILL NEED

175g plain flour
75g butter (room temp)
50g strong cheddar cheese
1/2 teaspoon mustard powder

For the filling-2 eggs (beaten)
175ml single cream (I used low fat)
1/2 teaspoon mustard powder
75g Gruyère cheese
25g butter
240g red onions
salt and pepper to season

Heat oven to gm 4 (180 degrees C). Firstly make up the pastry by rubbing the butter into the flour till it  looks a bit breadcrumby, then add grated cheddar and mustard powder plus enough water to turn the make a smoothish dough. Shove it in the fridge for 20 mins (ten mins will do in a pinch). Roll out really thin and line greased patty tins, before baking in the oven for 15-20 mins or till pastry is airtight but still pale. Cool to the side, while you caramelise the onions in butter and sugar over a low heat, till they've turned all gooey and golden brown, then take off heat. Brush pastry with a bit of the beaten egg, then put back in the oven for 5 mins (stops them getting soggy). Mix beaten eggs with cream, mustard and salt and pepper. Spoon the onions onto the pastry, top with grated Gruyère and then carefully pour the eggy mix over each tart. Bake for 30 mins or till golden. I tend to do mine the day before and then reheat them, they are also amazing cold with salad.

With the potatoes, I boil them till practically falling apart. While this is happening, I'll have a deep baking tin (Or two) in the oven doused in olive oil, salt and pepper on full temperature. Drain the potatoes, let them dry for five mins, then (wearing oven gloves and standing away from the oven) pour them into the tin. Be careful at this point, hot oil is really not your friend. Stir them round the tin and flick some knobs of butter on the top, then leave cooking for 45 minutes. Come back and toss them and then leave in oven on middle shelf for up to 3 hours on gm 3. They're ridiculously crunchy and soft on the inside-killer!

Hope you guys enjoy if you get round to trying these little methods!

Ash
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The first of many

Reader, I have about 6 blog entries I need to write. This is mainly my own fault for not writing one for so long, but then between trying to earn money, looking after my family, keeping my relationship in a happy place and feeding my ever growing Pinterest addiction, there hasn't been much time for typing up my thoughts and ideas. But I have realised that when I don't write them down, they are a lot harder to keep coherent in my brain, so I shall make much more of an effort to update weekly. Apologies for the long absence. Again.

So...updates!

The week before last was ridiculously full. Maybe I should make headings? That way I won't end up just mixing everything up in a big haze of bleh. Here goes..

Buffy on a big screen


So the lovely (and jaw droppingly young to be so wise) SJ had a birthday. As she works in a cinema, I found myself spending my Sunday night dressed as a geek in oversized glasses watching one of my childhood  favourites, Buffy 'Once more with feeling' (AKA the musical episode for those not acquainted with the series) on a big screen. Along with people dressed as Hans Solo, Lol Cat, My Drunk Kitchen and that masked guy from Watchmen whose name I can't spell (Rawshak? Raushack? Bollocks. I could look it up, but it's almost more fun not knowing.) Bloody brilliant. It reminded me of how good a role model Buffy (and indeed the majority of women in the series) is for young girls. I feel a bit sorry for the current generation of tweens actually. I mean...they have Bella in Twilight. I had a kick ass teenage vampire slayer. Who still found time to look after her mum and sister and do her homework. And choose bad men, not because they intrigued her with their sparkly male enigma-ness, but because if they took a step out of line, she was perfectly capable of breaking their pretty little necks. And because they were pretty (Oh Spike! Be still my beating heart! That awful accent....that gelled peroxide hair!) On reading The Hunger Games of late though, I was struck by the thought that Katniss kicks quite a bit of bum too. But there are only three books. Ideally, we need a weekly TV show with a strong female role model. I want my 8 year old cousin Daisy to aspire to fight her own battles, not to hope she'll be rescued in the nick of time by some randomer on a horse...

Retraining


Because the lovely fruit and veg account I was on at work has suddenly and unexpectedly downsized (major bummer), I spent much of the week before last training to go back on wines. I very nearly died of dull. It's not that the subject matter is boring, on the contrary, I'm actually quite into finding out about stuff like that. It's more that I did the exact same training nearly a year ago. And although it's very much needed, it was all stuff that in my heart of hearts, I knew. So although my brain needed to hear it so it could remember, it was also going 'uber yawn...I've HEARD this before!' I'm hoping that soon I'll get a nicely paid acting job that will take me away from the dreaded phonelines for a few months at least. Or maybe I'll get a promotion so I'll have to talk to people on the phones less. I am quite possibly developing a phobia of talking on the phone, having worked at the office for a year (in between various acting projects). Going away for four months to do my tour actually made it harder to come back I think! Having done something I adore for so long, going back to the daily monotony of phoning people was like going back to jail after a holiday in the sun. And speaking of holiday in the sun...

Holiday


An exciting thing has happened! I've just booked my first ever holiday with just me and The Lad (apart from our two nights in a dodgy Britannia hotel in Brighton last year, which was lovely, but more mini-break than holiday). In September we'll be spending a whole week in sunny Cyprus, eating nice food, lounging by a pool, dozing in the sun, frolicking in the sea and generally hanging out. I am so excited that I've already started making a list of the perfect holiday capsule wardrobe. It will be a short list since I'm only allowed to bring hand luggage, but I feel this means it's essential to get planning early. I'm even getting a Kindle so I can bring loads of books and not have to worry about not having room for clothes! Can't wait!

Film festival


A film I made got featured in The East End Film Festival! And people seemed to like it! There was applause and everything! There was a bit of a scary minute when my sex scene came on (I'm always worried I'll overhear someone talking about how mad my sex face/noises are in it) but everyone seemed to just take it as part of the film. And no one noticed me giggling nervously into my shirt and hiding my face while it was being shown, so I didn't look too uncool. Hopefully. There were so many great shorts that night, it made me really excited about the short I'm writing at the moment, about which you'll probably hear quite a bit more over the next year or so, but for now, I'm keeping mum.

Dreams


Coming back to the callcentre has made my dream life go crazy. At the moment I'm having vivid dreams every night about everything from primary school, to exploring alien planets, to cooking, to The Lad, to family, to little ruby babies with rabbit ears, to castles in the sky, to eco systems and worlds based around having water fountains everywhere, to weddings (of which I will be attending a lot next month), to acting, to poems by Blake, to dragons with opal stone scales. I'm not complaining because they're brilliantly interesting dreams, but they're a bit mad. It's like my daily working life is so boring now that my dream life has to be super interesting in comparison. Lets hope soon I have an acting job I can flood it all into!

Spiderman


I saw Spiderman. I kind of expected to hate it. But I loved it. I cried. Rhys was brilliant and green. I'm a little in love with Andrew Garfield right now (super strong, super cute, has big eyes and floppy hair, brings you flowers and stutters a little? Erm....yes please. Also, his and Emma Stone's on screen kisses look HAWT). On a less teenage crushy level, Garfield is a great actor. I saw him years ago at the National playing an American kid thrust into a massacre abroad and he was off the charts brilliant. He gives Spiderman something that I felt Toby Magwire lacked, a kind of teenage boy appeal that is very truthful (despite him actually being older than me). He gets bruised and battered, he can't form words without a slight lisp appearing, he walks like he's only just shot up to six foot whatever and still isn't used to it and he has a charming teenagey clumsiness to him. And Aunt May! She's so much more interesting in this film. In the last set, I always felt like she was a very 2D image, in this film they don't offer huge amounts of back story to her, but the relationship between her and her husband is so real and silly and touching that the tragedy (trying not to spell it out for anyone who somehow doesn't know what happens) is a huge blow when it actually happens. The mystery surrounding Peter's parents was also great and left me wanting more. The inevitable Stan Lee cameo was hilarious. In fact, the only thing I didn't like about the film was the teaser after the credits. It felt poorly structured and rather than exciting me about the next film (as the Avengers teaser did) it felt like an unnecessary nod to the fact that they still hadn't rounded off the narrative. Apart from that, damn fine show.

Fringe


I have a fringe now.

I guess that's about it for now! Hopefully there will be another post from me tomorrow eve, quite possibly about the family day I'm going to be having!
Tarrah Reader!
Ash
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