Double Life

Well, obviously it's been too long, so like old lovers let's not discuss that, it'll be awkward. The only reason i'm back, is after many months I am finally sat at an office desk again, answering phones and typing in data. It's been a long time since I answered to my real name, and found clothes that said nothing about me. A long time since i blended into the sea of black wool coats that swim towards the oyster barriers each morning. All of us grim faced, tired, and basically walking asleep towards hundreds of offices waiting for us to sit and stare at screens.

I mean it's not so bad. I could be melancholy about it, or I could accept it's what I have to do at the moment. Which is fine. It's just an adjustment. There is nothing stranger than, making tea for people and typing numbers into boxes for pie charts and then distantly remembering that it wasn't long ago you were whirling around on a stage in front of 100 people, pretending to be a dead woman, or dancing to the charleston while schoolchildren gasped. Not that these worlds are so far apart, i'm not working in a cotton factory now, but it's a strange existence, to do a job for just long enough to feel like this is how your life will now be.

I act under a different name, due to being too young when someone made me choose, so the two personalties of actor and 'normal' person always take me a while to switch from. And the nature of theatre being it's temporary-ness, so even if you stand on the streets and insist of screaming to people that you were once in a show and it was funny, like those girls wrapped up in their hemogenous coats, they would simply blink and ignore you. Not that you want attention of course. I guess it's like people knowing it's your birthday, you don't want to shout it out loud, but if no one says anything it's a bit sad, that's why there are badges, clearly stating 'it's my birthday'.

Perhaps I should get one saying 'i am actually an actor'.

Or maybe just 'look at me'.


Pics from Sabino via here.

bear

Just wanted to share the original and the best duffel coat wearer there has been.

paddington

I have a new coat. It's this but in black. I'm on tour at the moment, which can at times feel magical, wonderful, lonely, cold, hard and faraway from all that you love. So at these times, i am snuggling into this coat from topshop and hiding myself deep inside it. And so far it's worked.

the continuing life...

...of a busy person.

It's odd to be busy, so much of this blog used to be about procrastination, that to have no time even to write it feels like an oxymoron. But i have decided to be kind and write when i can and not feel bad, so stop making me feel bad please. that's my brain not you invisible reader.

I am currently in rehearsals for my next show, gosh like a proper actor with a job. Currently i spend the day with bandages around my legs, pretending to be a russian scientist in the 20s. Some jobs require too much explanation.

Today in the process of research i found out Benjamin Franklin wired up his house with lightning bells, that would ring as he conducted electricity into the house, through a series of kites. And on stormy nights the house would ring with bells and his wife would ask him to disconnect it. I like the image of an electric house, charged to it's limit, with all it's occupants unaware of the danger.

Which got me thinking about the fire festival we saw in Fuji, the streets were filled with small pyres, burning stacks of logs, while either side of the road were stall upon stall selling, bright pink toffee apples, noodles, and pikachu shaped donuts. And occcasionally the logs would collapse, spilling flames onto the tarmac, children jumping out of the way squealing with fear and delight. Then the men in green fire shrouds would appear with bells and water, quench the flames and dissappear to keep an eye on the next burning mass amongst the throngs. And the people walked on by, not touching or bothering the pretty mounds of flames. And it was hot and smoky and looked like a riot had taken place, and no one seemed to be aware of the danger, but just full of celebrations of the end of the climbing season.

too long

Oh of course, it's been too long since i updated, but i have pockets full of excuses, namely the edinburgh festival, rehearsals and then 2 weeks in japan. There's no time yet for a proper download so i thought i'd visually show you what's been occurring.

j'aime...

Oh it's been a while again. This is beginning to feel like my diaries i wrote once a year when i was small, the most exciting entry being how i learned to make tea. But i'm here now, so that's good. What busy times, i intended to record these busy times, so i would remember them, but i forgot that when you're busy you don't get time to record it.

Rehearsals finished, and in 3 weeks we've written a show. It's funny and rough around the edges but mainly it's silly and fun, which is what i wanted. I got back from Paris yesterday, where i did nothing. Yep, nothing. Was blissful, i walked around, watched movies, ate gateaux, macarons, tartes, chocolat and mainlined sucre every day. It was beautiful, and warm, so warm. Not just sunny, a warm breeze, which you don't always get with a summer, indeed.

I also fell in love with ice tea. Hence the photgraphic halo around it above. Oh nestea, lipton tea, your peachy sugary goodness is all a girl needs to get through a hot day. The phrase j'ai voudrais un nestea sil'vous plait is pretty much all i said. The fella is now worried as if i start loving something, i usually consume it non-stop for a month and then announce it's disgusting and shall never be mentioned again. I do intense very well. He said he doesn't mind. He's very, very nice.

And today, well today i woke at half 4 in the morning, as i have to do a show all afternoon at a festival and then head further north to edinburgh, to get my show exisiting in a theatre as opposed to in our heads and scraps of paper. i'm tired and stressed and a bit frazzled, but essentially ok. essentially.

I woke up so early as i dreamed a fat man was trying to steal my fella's jacket in paris. and then i lay there for a while, doing my 'download'. this is where i sit, stare for an hour and review everything i've seen and thought recently, it genuinely feels like my brain is downloading information onto it's hard drive for later use, or memories as some call it. once it's started doing this, i can't really stop it, however tired i am, it's off and won't stop till it feels it's clean.

Whether any of this makes me seem odd, it's too early to tell. As long as i have nestea...

Gercha

Life continues to be busier than a bee at me this week, so posts are low. Rehearsals continue, scripts are written, much tea is drunk, laughter is had and then told off, as some sense of order into chaos takes shape.

It's hard to sum it all up really...so instead i'll tell you about my mother. She is a cockney by birth not by voice, and most of the time quite a reasonable woman. On Monday i was typing away, writing, editing page after page when i heard a loud bang. I've been next to quite a few fuse explosions so i stared at the computer thinking, what is it, the printer, the light? What's exploded? But nothing has, so i stare some more and then look out the window. My mother is in the garden, looking guilty and with a mischevious grin on her face. I open the window and she says, 'i wasn't aiming for you!' i think and then realise, 'mum did you just throw a stone at my window?', 'yes but i was aiming for the birds on the roof!'.

It's when you hit that kind of logic that you understand the complex nature of man, guilt and families. I pointed out that if i had done this she would have gone mad, what if she had broken the window, 'well, i didn't!' she says in an ever increasing cockney tone. She then picks up another stone and pretends to throw at me, while making what is commonly described within the family as the 'gercha' noise, this signifys disgust and a general awaywidya attitude. 'i don't like those crows', she says, 'they're on my aerial it's disturbing the phone line!'

My mum hates crows. She think they peck out lamb's eyes, and so do i. I have no evidence for this, just 27 years of being told they do, which i unquestioningly believe. Until i explain this story to my friends and they then question me. I realise she might be wrong about the crows.

A few days later, my mum says, ' i suppose you're going to put that on your blog are you, about me throwing stones at you.', i wasn't but what a good idea i think. 'i wasn't aiming at you anyway' she says. She's told her friends about the story, they said it's her house she can throw a brick through my window if she wants. This is seen as another logical argument against my protestations of no things thrown at glass please rule.

So i have, and since she reads it, she will i imagine have words about this post, which i will happily record in another post, as she says at least she's good matierial. Thank you mumsy!

pic from this lady's lovely etsy shop.