What Would You Do If You Won The Lottery?

I heard a man ask his girlfriend this on a tube escalator the other day, and I think its one of those conversation topics which bind us as humans. It combines the thrill of gambling with the joy of winning and then plays on an inherent fear of the future. I've had the conversation many a time, and the answer is always changing. Some topics will never be ignored - the house in one place, the flat in another, the charitable donation, the paying back the parents for all of their time which eventually got you to this miraculous windfall, but its once you get past the cliches that you really learn about a person.

For me, at this stage in my life, I would have a house in York; a flat in London; a donation to charities including (bit not limited to) the WWF, the RSPB, the Samaritans, and Cancer Research; buy my parents a house in Germany (or somewhere else if they preferred); and then I would put myself through a year of drama study, offer some money to my brother to help him (and my parents) pay for his university degree, put some into businesses friends of mine are starting up (provided I get a share of the business in return) and then go on holiday with whatever I have left. Hopefully the drama education would allow me to earn a living doing what I love, the house in York could be rented out to students or friends, and the business returns would mean I had more to play with on the investment market. Overall I don't put a lot of thought into these things, but I always have the dream at the back of my mind.

Not that I play lotto since they doubled the ticket price.

Mind The Gap - Things About The Tube Which Make Me Smile

Aside from the fact that it connects every part of London with every other part of London, and ignoring the maintenance (I think people should just pay attention to the updates) the Tube can be pretty cool at times. Here are three little things which have happened to me since I moved here which made me smile while using the Underground.

Boombox 

Just after I'd moved here, during the time I was struggling with the new job and settling in, I was having a really bad evening. I was on the tube on the way home and there was music playing. Not background-y shopping centre lift music either, but 80s power ballads. At first I thought I was on some sort of awesome new train, improved for the modern, night-life loving age. Then I began to wonder if anyone else could hear the music, or if insanity was finally finding its way into my brain. Eventually, after staring long and hard at the ventilation to make sure the sound wasn't coming from there, I looked down to see a rather untidy man with missing teeth and a rucksack on his lap, out of which was poking the corner of a silver Bose speaker, which I deduced must have been battery-powered (which accounted partially for the size. Most of it will have been filled up with C batteries with the odd 9V grafted in for good measure..) Either way, after a day which couldn't have been much worse, the upbeat, not-too-loud-but-definitely-noticeable tube music made me smile.

Charades

Yep. This happened today. After a good day at work I was heading home on the Piccadilly line and a group of work colleagues in the other half of the carriage were playing charades. I tuned in part way through to the phrase "The _____ Story", staring in wonder as the actor was gesturing wildly into the distance and a girl was guessing, 'The Long Story.. The Really Long Story.. The Tube Story?' While another man (presumably the one who had set this challenge) was laughing hysterically to himself. He looked at me as I started laughing. 'Do you know it?' He called down the carriage. 'Of course, I've hardly been listening and I recognise it.' I replied. 'If you guess it, you can have a go!' I couldn't resist that one. 'The NeverEnding Story?' Rapturous applause and an invitation to join them followed. I said I didn't have long, so they started me off on Top Gun; an easy mime, though the girl guessed 'Top Shoot?' before anyone else could get a word in, which made everyone laugh. Then after I ousted the next guy with the clues of 'three words' and 'third word: jacket' (Full Metal Jacket) he handed me Mary Shelly's Frankenstein. And insisted I use the full title. It was a challenge, and I enjoy challenges. I won't reveal how I managed it, but they got the full thing before I got to my stop. I left the guy after me with Cabin In The Woods and would have loved to have heard the guesses, but alas I had to switch trains.

Moron

A wonderful word, 'moron'. It aptly describes so many types of people and yet is completely child-friendly. It was especially amusing when used on my second tube journey of the day. The scene is as follows: a young man hops onto the train as the doors are closing and stands next to me, flicking through his Evening Standard - I noted a story about a film showcasing a daredevil sky-jumper's fatal fall which I reminded myself to look up when possible - and when finished with flicking, he moved to dispose of the paper on the back of a seat, as one is inclined to do on the tube. The gentleman on the seat, a man past his prime but as confrontational as ever, seemed to take some sort of offence to this - possibly the intrusion of personal space, or maybe something about his back, I couldn't hear properly - and started giving the young man a heated lecture on somethingorother. At which point a middle-aged man, who had been standing between the youth and the older man, told said older man to do something akin to 'put a sock in it' and reached over to retrieve the paper the young man had just put down. This further infuriated the older man, who then had two targets to aim his aggression towards. Amusingly the younger gentleman immediately - if sarcastically - apologized and ignored the rest of the bickering, which involved the use of the word 'moron' from the eldest gentleman, and a classic retort from the middle-aged man. It may have gotten more heated were it not for the 4-year-old sitting across from them both, or the passengers around them (myself included) starting to giggle.

So the tube isn't that bad. It brings rare moments of unrivalled joy, mainly because said joy is in such an odd and generally dreary atmosphere. Next time you're on a not-too-busy tube, why not start your own game of impromptu charades?

One Month Later...

It's been just over one month since I moved permanently to London, and almost exactly a month since I found a room and was able to start settling down properly. In that month nothing much has changed. I'm still knocking doors, though now I'm also in charge of which doors are knocked and I have to keep all the nice personal forms safe and secure. The pay is good, the hours are unsociable, but that's kind of what I signed up for. Still waiting for the first Dick Whittington read-through this time next week, but to keep me going I've got a film role (as I'm sure you've probably already heard)!

Rock Band VS Ninja Strippers Vampires

It's a feature-length film and all; huge (and funny) script, lovely cast and crew, very relaxed and excited so far. Filming for me could be a while yet, but in the mean time they've got two weeks to raise the final few hundred pounds of their £7500 budget. That, dear readers, is where you come in (and where I get to demonstrate my charity pitch skills), here are some figures that are mostly made up:

£1 will buy a cup of tea for every person on the set during one day's filming (though I would imagine everyone could easily get through a few cups every day..)

£3 will earn you a hug next time you see me. (True)

£5 will get your name featured in the film's credits as a Bronze Benefactor. This is the best option for those who prefer alliteracy in all things.

£7 will be put to good use in some way.

£10 will get your name in the credits and a personal download link for the finished film. (Silver Benefactor)

and if you're still scrolling looking for the sign-up amount which better suits you, then hello Sir Richard Branson! Apart from the various other Benefactor levels available, we have the Associate Producer tier for a mere £200, a good investment as it would have the chance of a share of the profits.

Either way, dear friends, this is a one-time payment and there are only 13 days left in the drive. So far I've managed to badger about £17 out of people but I'm almost certain I can do better. Give generously and remember that everyone who donates will get personalized behind-the-scenes updates from myself about what's going on. Also, don't forget to like the facebook page for up-to-date information from people other than me. Thanks in advance! 

The Going Gets Tough

It has been about a week and a half since I upped and moved all I had to the city of London. I have to keep reminding myself that a week and a half is not long enough to judge anything by, and that although I would love nothing more right now than to pack my stuff and move right back up to York, that I told myself it would be hard. I said to myself (hell, I said to everyone) that it will be tough, that I wasn't kidding myself into thinking it might be easy, that I would have to work through a lot to get anywhere, and now I have to say that to myself again. That a week is not a long time. That it will get harder before it gets easier. And I know that's true. And that scares me.

But what good is complaining? Now more than ever I have to take my own advice, I have to put everything in perspective, I need to straighten out my tangled thoughts and ideas.

What can I say for certain right now? Well, I have a job. It may be a job I have never done before, one which I have had no previous direct experience, and a job whose workers I have scorened in the past, but a job nonetheless. And I'm enjoying it. Sort of. OK, I won't lie, today was rubbish, yesterday was no fun whatsoever, but Monday was brilliant! Unfortunately one good day doesn't make a good job. Or a good employee. Targets are never something I've wanted to work towards. OK, that's a lie, I love targets.
Back in the theatre, targets were a monthly financial intake, something we had a small amount of direct control over, but which in the end was down to the number of customers and shows we had. Here, targets are much simpler. Sign up this many people every week. Doesn't sound hard. in a five-day week the target is seven sign-ups. And they make it sound easy, even enticing - every sign-up after those seven grants you a bonus! If signed up just two people every day, I would be rolling in it! Trouble is that it isn't always that easy.

Last week I got two sign-ups in three days. I was OK with that, I was new, I was getting my head around it, I set the bar at a reasonable level. On Monday I got two sign-ups and was thrilled. This was going to be my week! Come Tuesday I was bouncing, smiling at everyone, confident that another signup would be coming my way. Now it's Thursday; I still have two sign-ups for the week. It could just be the area, it could just be bad luck, but I can't help thinking about whether I really want to be doing this job.

And then one shift turns everything on its head. Tonight I managed to get three sign-ups and all in quick succession. If I'm honest, I feel elated. I've proven beyond most doubt that everything boils down to luck; today I was very lucky. The odds ran in my favour, doors quite literally opened to me and people openly offered their support. I barely had to introduce myself to a towelled man before he invited me inside while he ran to put some clothes on.. all right that sounds odd but for an eager donation of £10 a month I wasn't going to complain if he'd come back down in a full gimp suit. But luck is still the prevailing force here, save for possible devine intervention, and I remember days at the hotel which were wonderful, when I would leave smiling, but looking back on the overall experience: it was crap. I'm not saying this is going to be a crap job, but I won't let one excellent day pull the rose-coloured wool over my eyes. This is a tough job, and if I want to keep it I will have to be brilliant at it.

So that's what I've been up to for the past couple of weeks. Not very exciting, I know, but what did you expect? I have a full time job and I'm still searching for a room. I've got some viewings tomorrow so if any of them blow me away I will take it immediately. To be honest if any of them seem habitable I'll take them right away.. beggars and choosing after all.

The Journey Begins in Earnest

Tuesday was relaxed, and spent mainly in Canterbury wondering the city and having a lovely cooked lunch. The highlight of the day came conveniently between the main meal and dessert when my phone rang. I recognized the number as London but had no idea who it was.

I crossed my fingers as I answered.

But since this is a blog rather than a short story I'm not going to go through the whole conversation. To cut it short, I've been offered the opportunity to get a job as a door-to-door fundraiser. I passed the initial interview and pending two days of training I should be knocking on doors in no time. The pay is good, the hours suit me and the company seems great so here's hoping! Now all I need is to secure that room.

Ended Up Being A Rather Relaxed Day

Well it is often said that the best layed plans of mammals small and large often end up veering from their original goal. Day 1 in London seemed to prove this proverbial rule. Not that anything went wrong.

The day started early. Far too early for my liking, but the option to choose when my lift to the station - Charlotte's dad - would leave the house was not in my hands. As such we arrived in Seven Sisters around 8am and fortunately had managed to contact an occupant of a flat which had advertised a cheap room in the area. I was instantly taken with the warehouse flat/commercial circus space, with its slightly dilapidated appearance, very hungover but still incredibly friendly (especially for such an ungodly hour) occupants which include two cats.

The room is being 'built' this weekend - a real brick wall is being put up, rather than the current makeshift divide comprised of bookshelves and curtains, so moving in may be slightly delayed.

After that we met the ever-wonderful James for a late breakfast at Starbucks before I had to dash off to my first interview of the day, with a recruitment agency, Evolution Recruitment working on behalf of Shelter. It was an informal interview with me, two other applicants and an agency worker. It didn't exactly fill me with hope or inspiration, but that's probably for the better.

After lunch in a park and arranging a 4pm room viewing in Stratford I headed to my second interview at Home Fundraising. I knew nothing about them and assumed they were another recruitment agency, but it quickly became evident that there were quite a few differences. First off, they knew how to engage with the room of 11 interviewees and how to learn almost everything about us within about 10 minutes. The whole thing took about an hour and a half, so by the time I got out my phone was dead and there was no chance of getting to the last room viewing. So we went shopping.

The highlight of the day was the evening at the theatre, seeing my good friend Martin Barass perform in One Man, Two Governors alongside Rufus Hound. A tremendous show, but I shall save reviews for a different blog. When its been written, you'll be able to find it here.

The Busiest of Days

Tomorrow is my first day in London.

Well, sort of. Its a day of job interviews and room viewings crowbarred into a long weekend which was supposed to be a holiday.

How did I get here? Well, it starts back in April. I decided that staying in York for another year just wasn't going to get me anywhere and if I wanted to be serious about acting I would probably need to knuckle down and start looking seriously at Drama Schools. I stopped looking after I checked the fees.

Still, London is the place to be for actors aspiring or seasoned. So began a sweep of rooms and flats in the Greater London area. However looking in April for a move in July/August didn't look promising. The only email replies I received advised me to ask them in July, a few weeks before I was wanting to move.

So, disheartened, I ignored my plans, leaving them to future me.

Now future me has become present me, and is very stressed. But we're not at today just yet, past me did some good.

After I made the decision to move to London for certain I had two tasks: find a room, find a job. Easy!(er said than done).

To apply for jobs in London, you need a London postcode. To get a London postcode, you need a profession. The situation quickly became a Catch-22; I called up room advertisements, they asked me what my job was, I said I was looking for one, they put down the phone.

I was disheartened. I was upset, stress was rising and time was not slowing down. Time is like that. Ruthless. The key is not looking at it, getting on with what you have to do. After some reassuring pep talks I set to work. Acting jobs are few and far between, and not well advertised off subscription-based websites, however London as a city is teeming with opportunities if you're willing to move a little out of your comfort zone. Reed is a very useful website, for any type of job, and its completely free. I sent off quite a few CVs and was contacted by thee companies, two of which offered me interviews on Monday - the one day I have free.

But I couldn't sofa-surf for long, despite the various good friends who've offered me floor space in London. No, I needed my own bed, and after some help from the Yahoo! Answers community, I got to intoLondon.com, a very useful website with some very clever search features (I wanted a room in zones 1-3, preferably on the Victoria line. The website had hundreds.) Again, I winged off some emails and even a few texts to my favourite choices and hey presto: I managed to get some room viewings for Monday!

So. Tomorrow is going to be my busiest day. Two interviews. At least two houses. And a West End show in the evening. Should be fun!