In Which; Some Stuff Happens.

If there was ever a phrase by which to live life, it should be this: shit happens. I don't deny that WWJD or 'one door closes, another opens' are aspirational and can provide a glimmer of hope in some dark times, but to me nothing quite encompasses the world's misfortune as much as those two simple words. The played a small but important role in the film Forest Gump, and even before that they were words I knew to respect and use frequently.

Shit happens isn't about trying to find light in a dark situation, it's about accepting that sometimes life is just going to be dark for a while, and that you'll probably stub your toe a few times whilst fumbling for the light switch, and when you do find it, the light is one of those old energy-saving bulbs which were suddenly immediately popular in the early 2000's, but took about half an hour to actually produce any substantial amount of light. It's about acknowledging that life won't always be dark, but when it is dark there's probably very little you can do about it by yourself. You may as well embrace the darkness, kick a few table legs, and swear at nothing in particular. Above all, shit happens is a sigh of relief which lifts all responsibility off your shoulders. Yes, it's quite dark, but is that entirely your fault, probably not. Will curling into a ball and crying somehow magically turn the light on? Probably not. Will the light even work after you wade through the shit and eventually find it? Who knows. Because life, despite everything we try so hard to believe, really isn't ever entirely in our control.

It's not all doom and gloom, mind you. The point of this phrase is not to depress or agitate life's harsh realities, but to accept the bad as it comes, and know that everything is temporary. Shit happens should always be spoken with a smile, and knowledge that eventually things will get better.

This Petty Pace

Age is catching up with me. Not only am I about to turn 24, but I've done my back in by not sleeping on a proper mattress.

This isn't the first time it has happened, but it was by far the funniest. Charlotte had come down for the weekend to take me out for my birthday - she had bought tickets to the matinee Book of Mormon showing, which was a nice surprise - and so I woke up on  Saturday feeling pretty good, had a shower, lay down on the bed, and realized that was the limit of my body's movement for the morning. I was actually stuck on the bed. I had to text Charlotte (reclining in the living room at this point) to ask her to come and help me. She thought I was joking.

The rest of the day was an even mix of severe pain and raucous laughter, and in many cases the latter caused the former. Book of Mormon was absolutely excellent, surpassing all expectations I had from listening religiously (pun intended) to the soundtrack for the last few years. I was crying with laughter. Or rather, I was crying because of the excruciating pain my laughter was causing, and also because no matter how painful it was I just could not stop.

We stayed at Charlotte's parents that evening before a family wedding the following day, during which some strong painkillers, a few glasses of Pimms, and a bottle of wine significantly reduced my back pain. I took the opportunity to bring real meaning to the phrase 'throw some shapes' on the dance floor. As soon as I sat down in the car for the drive home, my various sedatives began to wear off and I regretted my rather enthusiastic dance skills.

New Beginnings Never End

In the near two months since my last life update, a lot has happened. Pretty much all of it good.

I have a new job! As of the end of April I work at The London Dungeons, with the official title of Dungeon Keeper. "Oh, so you're an actor there then?" No, I'm a ride operator. Which in many ways is preferable to a performance role, at least for me right now. I still get to dress up, slap on make-up, and play a character all day, but I have a lot more freedom than the actors to improvise and interact with guests - a lot of the job is health & safety focused, so I can shout at people if they don't listen to me - and the actors are on fixed-term contracts for six-month stints, whereas my job is guaranteed hours and permanent. Huzzah! That's not to say it can't get boring and incredibly repetitive, but the team I'm part of are absolutely top-notch and we have plenty of ways to entertain ourselves as well as guests (most recently I've developed an angry Welsh persona if anyone really irritates me. Somehow shouting with a thick accent is far more satisfying and people seem more genuinely terrified of an angry Welshman.)

In other news, I'm finally dragging Charlotte and Fin to London to live with me, and I'm barely containing my excitement at the prospect. We've managed to secure an excellent-sized flat in south east London, bartered the price down, and now all they've got to do is find jobs. Speaking of which, if anyone wants an experienced Events Coordinator or an Administrator who's done pretty much everything you can imagine, get in touch. Soon. They're going to be snapped up quick.

Now, if everyone else I know could just get on with moving to London my life will be much easier. Until I move again, and you all have to relocate with me. That's the deal now, minions.

Auditions and Job Hunts

It's no secret that I'm looking for a new job. My manager knows, my colleagues know, I've been dubbed with the amusing nickname Captain Jumpship© by one of my fellow acting colleagues (I'm determined to write a series of best-selling children's books based on this character, which he has promised to sue me for unless I give him a 50% share of the profits. I'm sure we can come to some arrangement.) Since I arrived back in the big city I've had one promising but ultimately fruitless job audition (it was an acting job) and multiple applications without response.

It is at these times that unhappiness rears its melancholy head and my trademark smile fades somewhat. Not permanently, of course, and the resulting waves of elation/mild sadness which can change hourly make me feel somewhat bipolar.

Of course opportunity is everywhere and I'm pretty certain that when I do find a new career it will be exactly what I need. And until then there is always the odd audition to keep my spirits up. Had one this afternoon for Rowntrees (the sweet company owned by Nestlé) for a fruit pastels advert. I didn't sign a non-disclosure so I see no reason not to tell you that much, but I'll refrain from saying more because that would spoil any surprise if I did get the part.

Dry Spell

Despite some obvious connotations, on this occasion this referring to my decision to give up alcohol. It's a sort of lent-post-lent idea. Yesterday was Easter Sunday, and my first day of not drinking until my birthday (25th of june approximately 3 months away.) During the course of the evening I was offered four drinks all of which I had to politely turn down and settled instead for a large pint of apple juice after work. It's a shame really; yesterday would have been a very good drinking day. I wasn't too happy overall, for some reason. I'm still not entirely sure what's wrong with me at the moment, it's probably a culmination of things, but I don't have time to sit and work through then at the moment, seeing as I'm headed back to work.

Aside from completely foregoing alcohol, I'm cutting down on two more things: fried food (especially chips from work, which I eat far too many of on a regular basis) and Starbucks. At this point anyone who knows me may be thinking, "Alcohol and white hazelnut mochas? Impossible!" But that's the truth of it. Mainly for health reasons (I'm trying to uncover the buried muscle I found during The Tour, most say I'm crazy, that it's all myth, but I know the truth) but also because my finances are not as stable as they once were and I need easy ways to not spend money.

So a favour of you, dear minion: should we be in one another's company for a period of frivolity, please do not tempt me with the above substances. And also, please forgive the lethargy which comes with losing a major caffeine intake, and the irritablness that comes from everyday life.

The Reunion

It has been a few weeks since I saw London, and longer since I had any time to enjoy the great city, so this weekend was a welcome break. Plus a tremendous chance to get as drunk as possible for one night only.

Saturday saw the AIS London reunion, an annual event which I've previously missed due to prior commitments and performances, also living in York didn't help matters. However, having been once I can safely say I will be making every attempt to return in the future. A free two-course meal and an open bar lead to my being pleasently full and more than a little inebriated. The company wasn't too bad either, the youngest attendees had finished school after Richard and I had finished university, and the oldest of the bunch had graduated before I had reached high school. A nice mix and some very interesting conversation about old friends, current affairs, and the future of the school.

One thing I felt overwhelmingly this weekend was a sort of homesickness. Not for London as such, but for weekends with friends, for pub lunches, for spontaneous artsy outings, basically for having irregular working hours and a location which allows freedom for activity during spare time. Not that I'm not enjoying this job, I'm just looking forward to being back on my own schedule.

Toilet Blogging

In today's society, I don't think anyone should be able to put their hand on their heart and say, 'I have never used my phone whilst on the John.' Mainly because I don't understand why it should such be a shameful activity?

Throughout history people have been bored whilst doing their business. In WW1, they sat around and played cards. Newspapers, magazines and books are a staple in many household lavs, to the point where there are books specifically published for bathroom reading. And so, with a lengthy and somewhat overly informative introduction out of the way, I find myself blogging on the bog.

But enough of the scenery, today marks my last day in London before I head off on my travels tomorrow at lunchtime. For those unfamiliar with my current travel plans, they are as follows: York until Sunday, then Ayr for a couple of weeks, then hopping, skipping and jumping around the Isles performing to school groups and possibly more. I've already rabbited on about saying goodbye and how much I'll miss it all and how excited I am, so now the metaphorical TimeCompass© is pointing me forward. To the future!

Echoes of 'the future' are heard around the room as glassware noisily clatters together.

Thank you. Now obviously as far as I can guess a great deal of the next six months will be spent outside of Ol' Smokey, so this particular blog becomes a little obsolete. As such, I shall be creating a new blog! With blackjack and hookers tales from my various towns and trips, sure to entice, astound, amaze and astonish! Now I've just got to pick my colour scheme...

(Click here for the new blog, minions!)