...not with a hot poker or anything.
I am currently on a course that is covering everything you need to know about marketing yourself. This has resulted in my trying out every font imaginable to really see what encapsulates 'me' to the point where I have written my name out so many times it neither looks like my own name nor even recognisable words anymore.
This is one of the things I hate about being an actor: how incredibly self involved and pretentious is this whole process?! I have been staring at my CV and headshot all week looking at layouts and I keep thinking of all the writing I could have done during this time - I have a whole host of sketches eating away at my frontal lobes giving me a comedy lobotomy at the moment.
It's all so expensive too. I have been out of work for a while, so I need to focus my career and in turn perhaps make money, but I need to spend money on marketing material to hook perhaps a new agent and definitely show myself to casting directors - I refer to this as the Vicious, Impossible Cycle of the Entertainer - or VICE - which is what I'm gonna have to turn to soon just to pay for fricken business cards and headed paper...
Thursday 3 November 2011
Friday 7 October 2011
Impro
Last week I played an impro game called 'Yes Let's' with a group of 5-7 year olds. The game is quite simple as you shout out somewhere exciting to go, for instance, "Let's go to the moon!", everyone shouts "Yes Let's!" and we mime going off to the moon etc. After a few goes I started taking ideas from the audience as it were:
"Johnny, were do you think we should go next?!"
Johnny's 6 year old face turned from pleasure to surprise to constipation; "...er...." "never mind Johnny I will come back to you. Hannah, where are we going next?"
"Let's go to the land of sweets!"
"Yes Let's!" everybody chants and off we go on our mime to eat some sweets.
"Johnny got any ideas yet?"
"....oh...ummm..." the pain of his brain trying to think of something exciting coming across his face.
"It's okay Johnny I will come back to you! Brandon where shall we go?"
"Let's go swimming!"
"Yes Let's!" And off we all go swimming around the room.
"Right Johnny do you have an idea now?"
"...ummmm....Let's all....get in a box?"
"...yes...let's..." the class utter, confused but compliant.
Now you could argue that considering the imaginative premise of the game that Johnny was actually thinking "outside the box" metaphorically speaking; but from the look on his face I could see that the pressure of being creative on the spot was enough to reduce him to wanting to get into a mimed box and rock there.
And that is what he did.
I wonder if politicians were like Johnny at 6...
"Johnny, were do you think we should go next?!"
Johnny's 6 year old face turned from pleasure to surprise to constipation; "...er...." "never mind Johnny I will come back to you. Hannah, where are we going next?"
"Let's go to the land of sweets!"
"Yes Let's!" everybody chants and off we go on our mime to eat some sweets.
"Johnny got any ideas yet?"
"....oh...ummm..." the pain of his brain trying to think of something exciting coming across his face.
"It's okay Johnny I will come back to you! Brandon where shall we go?"
"Let's go swimming!"
"Yes Let's!" And off we all go swimming around the room.
"Right Johnny do you have an idea now?"
"...ummmm....Let's all....get in a box?"
"...yes...let's..." the class utter, confused but compliant.
Now you could argue that considering the imaginative premise of the game that Johnny was actually thinking "outside the box" metaphorically speaking; but from the look on his face I could see that the pressure of being creative on the spot was enough to reduce him to wanting to get into a mimed box and rock there.
And that is what he did.
I wonder if politicians were like Johnny at 6...
Sunday 11 September 2011
TFL
The F does not stand for 'For' as I discovered this week.
I don't mind trains normally. They are a reasonably less stressful alternative to driving around the city and they get you where you want to go...most of the time. Last weekend was a small exception.
The Met line had work on between Harrow and Baker Street but, ya know, all was okay as the blessed Chiltern Line was on and even running extra trains as that's the kind of stand-up organisation they are. They are normally my salvation after a long day auditioning, or taking classes rather than taking the bumpy Met line surrounded by grammatically challenged graffiti.
On this particular evening I had enjoyed some comedy by Adam Buxton on the South Bank and I was making my way back to Marylebone when I received a text alert letting me know Chiltern Railways had severe delays so "don't travel unless you have to". Well I had to. And 'delays' just means they are going but delayed right? Oh no, this is not the definition currently held by Chiltern Railways; when I got to Marylebone the trains were all cancelled. Bugger.
A grumpy, vocationally challenged Customer Service Assistant stood advising people that if they needed to get back to Gerrards Cross, High Wycombe, Beaconsfield etc then they were paying for taxis to get you home. However if you were wanting Amersham or Chesham, plus any of the stops along the way, to hold on there in the station as they were going to run a solitary train to Harrow for us to pick up the Met Line. Apparently all the signals looked like disco lights and kept flicking between red and green, hence knowing they could now run just the one train on the tracks.
I decided to hedge my bets by flitting between the taxi rank and the station concourse, thinking if a taxi could get me as far as I could go for free I would pay the rest - I just wanted to get home by this point.
As I reached the taxi queue, I say queue I really mean 'bunch' quickly turning into 'mob', it was close to going tribal as they certainly weren't appreciative of the man with the clipboard as their leader. A woman desperately shouted at the man that she needed to get to Seer Green; as if none of the 30-odd people around her wanted to get to their home.
A taxi finally approaches as the group of men, women and children grows to 40 strong. The driver tells the man with the clipboard that he is destined for Gerrards Cross. "Seer Green!" shouts the woman from the middle of the crowd as if the driver got it wrong, I suspect she is a fan of the persuasive techniques of Derren Brown.
Several people silently, with daggers in their eyes, place their hands in the air for Gerrards Cross, climb in the taxi and leave us mere mortals. Another comes along: "Anyone for Beaconsfield?" "That's next to Seer Green!!" Several more hands go up and reach the car before this mad lady can push through. She is about 40, well dressed and I would hazard a guess she would refer to herself as a 'Yummy Mummy'. I leave for the station concourse, not wishing to hear any more.
I am walking up to the platforms when I half hear a, slightly jollier, Customer Service Representative defusing a hostile take-over. He is explaining to some grumpy commuters about the situation before leaving to find out the latest news.
I was stood by a smug-looking, bespectacled 50-something year old man who was apprehending a slightly confused looking South American girl. "Where do you need to go?" he enquired loudly and clearly as if she were a deaf, 70 year old.
"Oh um.. Rickmansworth" she replied in almost accent-less English.
"Ah...you need to ask the man with the clipboard"
"Yes it doesn't look like my train is running any more"
"Yes you need to talk to the man with the clipboard" he said loudly and slowly, this time accompanied with a patronising mime. "I'm going back home to Aylesbury"
Silence from the girl.
"Have you ever been to Aylesbury?" the man continues.
"Er no I don't think so..."
"Oh you should it's just lovely. A beautiful place is Aylesbury" he tells the exotic beauty who is probably from a place that is so beautiful it would have bullied Aylesbury had they been to school together.
Who actually says that about where they live? And about somewhere that is a big development building site at present and for the next few years? Yes a lovely new theatre has been built there but without a car park and next to a building site for Waitrose. Rio it is not.
I am ashamed to say I had a certain amount of pleasure knowing that if this girl held on a few more minutes for the train I was to get on, she would easily get to Rickmansworth on the Met Line. Mr Smug Aylesbury was screwed.
We eventually made it onto the train towards Harrow and whilst sat there I remembered a conversation I had overheard on the way in where the man sat in front of me actually said the word 'Width' 24 times in one minute. I kid you not.
"It's like a length but shorter. Wid-th. Wi-d-th. No not 'with'; Width! W, I, D, T, H." And on the hilarity ensued.
I couldn't tell if he was on the phone or talking to the poor girl sat in front of him, but the conversation then went onto him explaining the wonders of buying vegetables on the market:
"Honestly it is the most economical way to get your vegetables. My friend has a big family, and he buys them on the market for not just his family but another family too and you wouldn't believe what he gets for £20. You can get carrots and onions and broccoli..."
Already I am wishing I had investing in noise cancellation headphones. Is this man really going to slowly recall every vegetable he knows?! Oh yes he is. Luckily for all of us on the carriage he ran out after four types and went back to carrots. Carrots came up three more times in this conversation. I could feel myself start to rock.
So back to my late night journey home and I have made it to Harrow on the Hill. An hour later than I had expected, but I was halfway home. I am told to go to platform 2 where the next train that will get me back to my car isn't for another 20 mins at 23:47. I sit reading my SFX magazine for a while and a guard comes up to me and asks: "Are you waiting for a train to Amersham?"
"Yes Amersham" I simply reply.
He looks at me, slightly concerned and asks: "not any further along the line then? You don't want to go to Aylesbury?"
It took every fibre of my being not to say: "I've heard it's lovely"
What is with people and Aylesbury?!!
Finally the train rocks up and we sit in the cold carriage awaiting our safe return home.
And time ticks on...we are still sat there.
The driver announces that this is the 23:59, which granted is only 12 minutes later than we had previously been told by the guard on the platform, but it is the last straw when you hoped to be home an hour before and it is freezing sat on a train with all the doors open for 12 minutes.
A confused lady makes her way past me to the driver's open door and asks:
"What time is this train going?"
"It's an eleven fifty-nine train" he said in a very hostile tone and standing to his full height over this diminutive lady.
"Sorry I was only asking" replied the lady;
"Humph!" growled back the driver.
We surely have a transport system second to none.
I don't mind trains normally. They are a reasonably less stressful alternative to driving around the city and they get you where you want to go...most of the time. Last weekend was a small exception.
The Met line had work on between Harrow and Baker Street but, ya know, all was okay as the blessed Chiltern Line was on and even running extra trains as that's the kind of stand-up organisation they are. They are normally my salvation after a long day auditioning, or taking classes rather than taking the bumpy Met line surrounded by grammatically challenged graffiti.
On this particular evening I had enjoyed some comedy by Adam Buxton on the South Bank and I was making my way back to Marylebone when I received a text alert letting me know Chiltern Railways had severe delays so "don't travel unless you have to". Well I had to. And 'delays' just means they are going but delayed right? Oh no, this is not the definition currently held by Chiltern Railways; when I got to Marylebone the trains were all cancelled. Bugger.
A grumpy, vocationally challenged Customer Service Assistant stood advising people that if they needed to get back to Gerrards Cross, High Wycombe, Beaconsfield etc then they were paying for taxis to get you home. However if you were wanting Amersham or Chesham, plus any of the stops along the way, to hold on there in the station as they were going to run a solitary train to Harrow for us to pick up the Met Line. Apparently all the signals looked like disco lights and kept flicking between red and green, hence knowing they could now run just the one train on the tracks.
I decided to hedge my bets by flitting between the taxi rank and the station concourse, thinking if a taxi could get me as far as I could go for free I would pay the rest - I just wanted to get home by this point.
As I reached the taxi queue, I say queue I really mean 'bunch' quickly turning into 'mob', it was close to going tribal as they certainly weren't appreciative of the man with the clipboard as their leader. A woman desperately shouted at the man that she needed to get to Seer Green; as if none of the 30-odd people around her wanted to get to their home.
A taxi finally approaches as the group of men, women and children grows to 40 strong. The driver tells the man with the clipboard that he is destined for Gerrards Cross. "Seer Green!" shouts the woman from the middle of the crowd as if the driver got it wrong, I suspect she is a fan of the persuasive techniques of Derren Brown.
Several people silently, with daggers in their eyes, place their hands in the air for Gerrards Cross, climb in the taxi and leave us mere mortals. Another comes along: "Anyone for Beaconsfield?" "That's next to Seer Green!!" Several more hands go up and reach the car before this mad lady can push through. She is about 40, well dressed and I would hazard a guess she would refer to herself as a 'Yummy Mummy'. I leave for the station concourse, not wishing to hear any more.
I am walking up to the platforms when I half hear a, slightly jollier, Customer Service Representative defusing a hostile take-over. He is explaining to some grumpy commuters about the situation before leaving to find out the latest news.
I was stood by a smug-looking, bespectacled 50-something year old man who was apprehending a slightly confused looking South American girl. "Where do you need to go?" he enquired loudly and clearly as if she were a deaf, 70 year old.
"Oh um.. Rickmansworth" she replied in almost accent-less English.
"Ah...you need to ask the man with the clipboard"
"Yes it doesn't look like my train is running any more"
"Yes you need to talk to the man with the clipboard" he said loudly and slowly, this time accompanied with a patronising mime. "I'm going back home to Aylesbury"
Silence from the girl.
"Have you ever been to Aylesbury?" the man continues.
"Er no I don't think so..."
"Oh you should it's just lovely. A beautiful place is Aylesbury" he tells the exotic beauty who is probably from a place that is so beautiful it would have bullied Aylesbury had they been to school together.
Who actually says that about where they live? And about somewhere that is a big development building site at present and for the next few years? Yes a lovely new theatre has been built there but without a car park and next to a building site for Waitrose. Rio it is not.
I am ashamed to say I had a certain amount of pleasure knowing that if this girl held on a few more minutes for the train I was to get on, she would easily get to Rickmansworth on the Met Line. Mr Smug Aylesbury was screwed.
We eventually made it onto the train towards Harrow and whilst sat there I remembered a conversation I had overheard on the way in where the man sat in front of me actually said the word 'Width' 24 times in one minute. I kid you not.
"It's like a length but shorter. Wid-th. Wi-d-th. No not 'with'; Width! W, I, D, T, H." And on the hilarity ensued.
I couldn't tell if he was on the phone or talking to the poor girl sat in front of him, but the conversation then went onto him explaining the wonders of buying vegetables on the market:
"Honestly it is the most economical way to get your vegetables. My friend has a big family, and he buys them on the market for not just his family but another family too and you wouldn't believe what he gets for £20. You can get carrots and onions and broccoli..."
Already I am wishing I had investing in noise cancellation headphones. Is this man really going to slowly recall every vegetable he knows?! Oh yes he is. Luckily for all of us on the carriage he ran out after four types and went back to carrots. Carrots came up three more times in this conversation. I could feel myself start to rock.
So back to my late night journey home and I have made it to Harrow on the Hill. An hour later than I had expected, but I was halfway home. I am told to go to platform 2 where the next train that will get me back to my car isn't for another 20 mins at 23:47. I sit reading my SFX magazine for a while and a guard comes up to me and asks: "Are you waiting for a train to Amersham?"
"Yes Amersham" I simply reply.
He looks at me, slightly concerned and asks: "not any further along the line then? You don't want to go to Aylesbury?"
It took every fibre of my being not to say: "I've heard it's lovely"
What is with people and Aylesbury?!!
Finally the train rocks up and we sit in the cold carriage awaiting our safe return home.
And time ticks on...we are still sat there.
The driver announces that this is the 23:59, which granted is only 12 minutes later than we had previously been told by the guard on the platform, but it is the last straw when you hoped to be home an hour before and it is freezing sat on a train with all the doors open for 12 minutes.
A confused lady makes her way past me to the driver's open door and asks:
"What time is this train going?"
"It's an eleven fifty-nine train" he said in a very hostile tone and standing to his full height over this diminutive lady.
"Sorry I was only asking" replied the lady;
"Humph!" growled back the driver.
We surely have a transport system second to none.
Wednesday 17 August 2011
Applecart
So last week I went to the Apple Cart festival in Bethnal Green just as rioting was gripping our capital.
The trip was a bit last minute after chatting to my friend Lucy in the morning and deciding to pop in to meet her and her boyfriend. I had actually flirted with the idea of open toe shoes, jovially laughing at the silly people on Twitter discussing the practicality of wellies; oh how stupid was I...?
I may point out at this juncture that I'm not exactly a girly girl: a singing teacher actually once said, whilst trying to sort my character 'type' based on clothing style and personality that I'm not exactly a tomboy but I am "rather boyish"; therefore I'm not a tomboy which is a girl that is a bit boyish, oh no I am actually 'boy-like' - thanks.
I decided to go in cloth 'Babycham' trainers which ended up covered in mud: IDIOT. I spent half my time jumping over puddles and walking like I was wearing 6" heels, trying to not slide over and having horrible flash-back visions of an incident when I was 9 and I fell in a big muddy puddle, caking my beautiful blue duffle coat *Shudders*.
As well as moaning about the mud I REFUSED to use the port-a-loos. Even when I found the much nicer ones hidden in the quite posh 'folk music' area (why was that?!) Luckily I have the bladder of a camel. Not in a jar or anything.
It may sound to you that I just moaned all the time, au contre! I had great fun being out with adults for a change, although I did feel a bit of a disproving granny about the constant smell of weed everywhere. It was a family festival so kids were running about and I had an internal struggle with feeling all teacher-like and protective of the children around all the druggy-ness, juxtaposed with the desperate need to be as far from a child as possible on a day off. Every time I heard a jolly laugh or moan from a small person I wanted to dash in the other direction. Don't get me wrong, I do really love performing at parties and teaching children but my word I do not envy parents. I know I probably will change my mind soon enough - my friend Louise is very pregnant right now and she is convinced that I will end up with my equivalent of the Von Trapps. Hmmm I think 7 maybe a bit too many thanks very much.
I watched, amongst others: Tim Minchin, Jon Richardson and the very clever Abandoman, Irish impro hip-hoppers.
I did see an alarming amount of very 'loved-up' couples - I think the sunny weather brings them out. Now I normally would be oblivious to this in the same way that (bad analogy alert) someone over the age of 12 would walk past alphabetti spaghetti in the supermarket without noticing it; you had a it a while ago but you kind of grew out of it and got busy. But seeing it all around I started to wonder, what's so bad about pasta shaped like letters? Why do I choose hoops? I bet they taste the same. (Actually reading back this weak analogy I think it makes me sound like I had chosen to be a lesbian and now thinking of turning straight again which isn't actually my point). What I mean is I have been single for a long time. A long, long time. Out of no more reason than I've been a bit busy. At least I think that's the reason; it's been so long I don't really know why. At the festival there were couples just everywhere, including some incredibly new babies, and I did actually start to think, "am I missing out on something?".
All the romance of the day quickly faded though as, at one point whilst trying to watch Tim Minchin, I was treated to some inappropriate groping happening between a couple stood in front of me. That took the shine off it.
The trip was a bit last minute after chatting to my friend Lucy in the morning and deciding to pop in to meet her and her boyfriend. I had actually flirted with the idea of open toe shoes, jovially laughing at the silly people on Twitter discussing the practicality of wellies; oh how stupid was I...?
I may point out at this juncture that I'm not exactly a girly girl: a singing teacher actually once said, whilst trying to sort my character 'type' based on clothing style and personality that I'm not exactly a tomboy but I am "rather boyish"; therefore I'm not a tomboy which is a girl that is a bit boyish, oh no I am actually 'boy-like' - thanks.
I decided to go in cloth 'Babycham' trainers which ended up covered in mud: IDIOT. I spent half my time jumping over puddles and walking like I was wearing 6" heels, trying to not slide over and having horrible flash-back visions of an incident when I was 9 and I fell in a big muddy puddle, caking my beautiful blue duffle coat *Shudders*.
As well as moaning about the mud I REFUSED to use the port-a-loos. Even when I found the much nicer ones hidden in the quite posh 'folk music' area (why was that?!) Luckily I have the bladder of a camel. Not in a jar or anything.
It may sound to you that I just moaned all the time, au contre! I had great fun being out with adults for a change, although I did feel a bit of a disproving granny about the constant smell of weed everywhere. It was a family festival so kids were running about and I had an internal struggle with feeling all teacher-like and protective of the children around all the druggy-ness, juxtaposed with the desperate need to be as far from a child as possible on a day off. Every time I heard a jolly laugh or moan from a small person I wanted to dash in the other direction. Don't get me wrong, I do really love performing at parties and teaching children but my word I do not envy parents. I know I probably will change my mind soon enough - my friend Louise is very pregnant right now and she is convinced that I will end up with my equivalent of the Von Trapps. Hmmm I think 7 maybe a bit too many thanks very much.
I watched, amongst others: Tim Minchin, Jon Richardson and the very clever Abandoman, Irish impro hip-hoppers.
I did see an alarming amount of very 'loved-up' couples - I think the sunny weather brings them out. Now I normally would be oblivious to this in the same way that (bad analogy alert) someone over the age of 12 would walk past alphabetti spaghetti in the supermarket without noticing it; you had a it a while ago but you kind of grew out of it and got busy. But seeing it all around I started to wonder, what's so bad about pasta shaped like letters? Why do I choose hoops? I bet they taste the same. (Actually reading back this weak analogy I think it makes me sound like I had chosen to be a lesbian and now thinking of turning straight again which isn't actually my point). What I mean is I have been single for a long time. A long, long time. Out of no more reason than I've been a bit busy. At least I think that's the reason; it's been so long I don't really know why. At the festival there were couples just everywhere, including some incredibly new babies, and I did actually start to think, "am I missing out on something?".
All the romance of the day quickly faded though as, at one point whilst trying to watch Tim Minchin, I was treated to some inappropriate groping happening between a couple stood in front of me. That took the shine off it.
Monday 15 August 2011
Edinburgh Blues
Well...it's that time again, the Edinburgh festival is here. I usually go every year and spend my days pretty much in the Traverse watching new writing. This year, alas, I cannot afford it. It wouldn't be so bad if it was not being referenced EVERYWHERE. It's like breaking up with someone and having to see them everywhere you go - am I being overly dramatic? A bit. Next year, though Edinburgh, I'm all over you.
Sunday 7 August 2011
The Perfect Shuffle Part 2
I forgot to add to my little story of joy from yesterday: I had to go shopping - now anyone knowing me will be aware I'm not the best shopper, not enough patience and I don't really like the general public, especially those that go to the certain shopping mall I happened to be on on Saturday (yes I'm snobby I know, my Grammar school had ponies, it's just the kind of girl I am, deal with it* I have been told to make an amendment here and just state my tongue is firmly in my cheek, and also that they were fat little ponies that I never went near!) but anyway I needed a bag with a proper strap and the one I had been lusting over for a few months was on sale from £35 to £26. Now I'm such a penny-pincher when it comes to this kind of thing I was umming and ahhing until I threw caution to the wind! I get up to the till, I buy said bag and it's....only a tenner!!! A dance of joy immediately followed, and considering this is a kind of emo-come-goth shop I fear it may be the first and last time this happens there.
Right! Now onto the next painful task of finding a wallet. Still at the age of 26 I tend to rely on 'Claire's Accessories' to supply me with a cheap PVC one that doesn't really close properly but is big enough to hold all my rubbish plus not cost the stupidly high prices of real 'lady' shops. For the two instances I have had to buy a wallet in the past approximately 8 years I have managed to find something on sale to suit my needs.
I browse round 'New Look' only to come across the PERFECT wallet for me- everything I'm looking for in size, compartments and colour. I have been looking for such a wallet for a year and yet I glace the price tag and it says £16.99. I'm sorry but I have never been prepared to part with that kind of money in New Look, cheap as I sound. Where do they get off charging such prices.
Again I umm and ahh and my Mum says, "Oh just get it, you won't find another", "Yeah but Mum, honestly I have never spent more than £6 on a wallet - I just don't know". "For goodness sakes get in the queue girl, we need to get home for the dogs." So, begrudgingly, I get into the annoyingly long queue awaiting my turn to greet the surly shop assistant. When I get to her, I hand over the wallet and reach into my bag for my credit card, muttering to myself all the while. Out of the corner of my eye I see the price on the till display...no it can't be..."That will be £6 madam"
Right! Now onto the next painful task of finding a wallet. Still at the age of 26 I tend to rely on 'Claire's Accessories' to supply me with a cheap PVC one that doesn't really close properly but is big enough to hold all my rubbish plus not cost the stupidly high prices of real 'lady' shops. For the two instances I have had to buy a wallet in the past approximately 8 years I have managed to find something on sale to suit my needs.
I browse round 'New Look' only to come across the PERFECT wallet for me- everything I'm looking for in size, compartments and colour. I have been looking for such a wallet for a year and yet I glace the price tag and it says £16.99. I'm sorry but I have never been prepared to part with that kind of money in New Look, cheap as I sound. Where do they get off charging such prices.
Again I umm and ahh and my Mum says, "Oh just get it, you won't find another", "Yeah but Mum, honestly I have never spent more than £6 on a wallet - I just don't know". "For goodness sakes get in the queue girl, we need to get home for the dogs." So, begrudgingly, I get into the annoyingly long queue awaiting my turn to greet the surly shop assistant. When I get to her, I hand over the wallet and reach into my bag for my credit card, muttering to myself all the while. Out of the corner of my eye I see the price on the till display...no it can't be..."That will be £6 madam"
Saturday 6 August 2011
My Favourite Joke
So the BBC have decided to do a TV show based on the comedian's favourite jokes, mainly from the comedy greats such as Morecombe and Wise, Pete and Dud etc. And they have decided the best, most appropriate time slot is 11:05pm on a Friday night?! This is almost as annoying as the stupidly annoying editing that has been conducted on said programme in which the comedians talking about each sketch interrupt the footage and spoil the joke. Well done BBC. I have nothing against listing to these comedians speaking about their idols but STOP QUOTING THE JOKES AND LET US WATCH THEM.
I have decided to add in my favourite jokes today
'Andrew Preview' Sketch with Morecombe and Wise
Vitameatavegemin from I Love Lucy
Jeff has too many legs in Coupling
Hiphopopotomus
Roller Skating with Frank Spencer Although I could have chosen so many of these for the sheer braveness of doing all his own stunts.
The Man Drawer Sketch Michael Mcintyre
Dead Parrot of course
Ken Dodd is equally someone you could use anything from The same as Tommy Cooper.
I dare say the best Two Ronnie's sketch although there is so much to choose from
I do love the series 'How I Met Your Mother' but that isn't so much jokes as brillaintly written series. Sometimes the Big Bang Theory has excellent Set-ups and Pay-Offs.
Daniel Kitson's story shows have to be some of the most beautiful and hilarious pieces of theatre I've ever seen and I URGE anyone with the chance to see him to SEE HIM.
Night all,
Mx
P.S. I almost forgot about Danny Kaye and this brilliant sequence from The Court Jester
I have decided to add in my favourite jokes today
'Andrew Preview' Sketch with Morecombe and Wise
Vitameatavegemin from I Love Lucy
Jeff has too many legs in Coupling
Hiphopopotomus
Roller Skating with Frank Spencer Although I could have chosen so many of these for the sheer braveness of doing all his own stunts.
The Man Drawer Sketch Michael Mcintyre
Dead Parrot of course
Ken Dodd is equally someone you could use anything from The same as Tommy Cooper.
I dare say the best Two Ronnie's sketch although there is so much to choose from
I do love the series 'How I Met Your Mother' but that isn't so much jokes as brillaintly written series. Sometimes the Big Bang Theory has excellent Set-ups and Pay-Offs.
Daniel Kitson's story shows have to be some of the most beautiful and hilarious pieces of theatre I've ever seen and I URGE anyone with the chance to see him to SEE HIM.
Night all,
Mx
P.S. I almost forgot about Danny Kaye and this brilliant sequence from The Court Jester
The Perfect Shuffle
'Every day I'm shuffling'
WELL today is a day of note. Today is a day of the perfect shuffle. No I'm not talking about those crazy LMFAO chaps but of the dangerous world of the ipod's shuffle function. I say dangerous because as anyone who uses their ipods for work, namley teaching children, will know there is a whole chunk of music on that thing that you do not want to be stuck listening to on a crowded, standing room only train when you can't reach your ipod to skip or, indeed, just can't be bothered. I know this sounds vaguely lazy, and maybe it is, but the perfect shuffle is without the need to skip tracks and it is incredibly rare with the ticking time-bomb that is my itunes music library. I could be one minute listening to something great and the next minute I may have to contend with, 'The Wheels on the Bus' or anything from Hannah Montana's oeuvre. This being said, of course I have some guilty pleasures on there. The first that springs to mind is he soundtrack to 'Summer Holiday'; I'm sorry you try listening to that album and not gain a spring in your step for the day ahead.
So today I am on the train and I decide, "Why not? Let's try the shuffle function, I haven't dabbled in a while, what's the worst that can happen?" On comes the first song...'No Scrubs' by TLC, Oh My Word I have not heard this song in years! I have instantly been transported to being a teenager again, bliss. Next up, Ash 'Oh Yeah' and Oh Yeah I am staying in my teenage years and I'm happy until up pops 'Rebel Rebel' David Bowie - Oh I could not have planned it any better unless it was Magic Dance from the Labyrinth soundtrack. This is going too well though - surely a skip is going to be in need soon...but no here we go, 'BOOM SHAKE THE ROOM'! I'm already planning the celebration blog of which you are reading when up pops, 'Spiderwebs': No Doubt, 'Set You Free': N-Trance, 'Don't Look Back into the Sun': The Libertines and then only to finish on the 10minute version of 'Bat out of Hell' by Meat Loaf. A 'No Skip Day' and apparently, I later hear on the radio, today is the 'happiest day of the year'.
WELL today is a day of note. Today is a day of the perfect shuffle. No I'm not talking about those crazy LMFAO chaps but of the dangerous world of the ipod's shuffle function. I say dangerous because as anyone who uses their ipods for work, namley teaching children, will know there is a whole chunk of music on that thing that you do not want to be stuck listening to on a crowded, standing room only train when you can't reach your ipod to skip or, indeed, just can't be bothered. I know this sounds vaguely lazy, and maybe it is, but the perfect shuffle is without the need to skip tracks and it is incredibly rare with the ticking time-bomb that is my itunes music library. I could be one minute listening to something great and the next minute I may have to contend with, 'The Wheels on the Bus' or anything from Hannah Montana's oeuvre. This being said, of course I have some guilty pleasures on there. The first that springs to mind is he soundtrack to 'Summer Holiday'; I'm sorry you try listening to that album and not gain a spring in your step for the day ahead.
So today I am on the train and I decide, "Why not? Let's try the shuffle function, I haven't dabbled in a while, what's the worst that can happen?" On comes the first song...'No Scrubs' by TLC, Oh My Word I have not heard this song in years! I have instantly been transported to being a teenager again, bliss. Next up, Ash 'Oh Yeah' and Oh Yeah I am staying in my teenage years and I'm happy until up pops 'Rebel Rebel' David Bowie - Oh I could not have planned it any better unless it was Magic Dance from the Labyrinth soundtrack. This is going too well though - surely a skip is going to be in need soon...but no here we go, 'BOOM SHAKE THE ROOM'! I'm already planning the celebration blog of which you are reading when up pops, 'Spiderwebs': No Doubt, 'Set You Free': N-Trance, 'Don't Look Back into the Sun': The Libertines and then only to finish on the 10minute version of 'Bat out of Hell' by Meat Loaf. A 'No Skip Day' and apparently, I later hear on the radio, today is the 'happiest day of the year'.
Return of the Mack
Return of the Mack, Return of the Mack....
Guess who's back...back again... and other songs about returning! I am back in the world of blogging and I have chosen both the criminals Mark Morrison and Eminem to speak for me as we share such a close affinity. So the last time I 'blogged' I was off for a singing job in Norfolk in Christmas 2009 and all was well, a pretty devastating bereavement then occurred and that was it for blogging for me; it felt trivial. Until Now.
So almost two years on from my last blog, but what have you missed? Well where to start, where to start...the rowdy pensioners starting fights during my speed-awareness course? The child that told me 'we should be happy with what we've got because some people don't have a home and can't even speak properly'? I could launch straight into the incident of the time I was waiting to go into an audition and started chatting with a part-time actor-come-community support officer who decided to explain to me about the tricky-ness of finding those pesky severed heads after decapitation from jumping in front of trains. Hmmm maybe more of that later.
The thing that has sparked my engine, as it were, was reading Jon Richardson's 'It's Not Me, It's You'
WELL, talk about 'Killing Me Softly' (and no I don't actually want anyone to actually talk about that stupid song: 'yes apparently it's about Barry Manilow', 'oh how interesting', 'he used to play for Bette Midler, didn't he?', 'Oh I love her, she's fabulous') I could identify with a lot of this book, although I'm only half way - there could be a big twist as yet and it could all be a dream or he was dead all the time, but I doubt it. Now obviously anyone knowing me and knowing something of the comedian Jon Richardson would say, "WTF?!" (they would say full words, obviously, but I don't like bad language on my blog thank you very much) "Jon Richardson is quite obviously incredibly clean and tidy and if we remember your room in Uni/drama school correctly it somewhat resembled the junk yard the scary lady in Labyrinth lived in, minus Sarah's replica house." 
Ok I will give you that, BUT what I did feel a similarity with was not just his discomfort in the discussing of bodily functions - THANK GOD SOMEONE IS FINALLY SPEAKING OUT ON THIS HORRENDOUS OCCURANCE IN POPULAR CULTURE; neither was it because of his neuroses (I have recently started my own party business and I have to take two of everything: double the amount of balloons and prizes, two iPods, two Ipod docks plus back up Cds and player plus on top of this I not only pack all my equipment the night before, I then check it all 5 times before setting off and half way down my road, I pull over and check it through again as, whilst driving, I have convinced myself I'm missing something vital that will ruin this 6 year old's party and it will forever be my fault that this child then needs psychiatric help and doesn't grow up to be a happy, well-rounded human being all because of the disappointment that was her 6th birthday party) - but for the simple fact he has been single for many years due to the search for perfection in everything he does. This I get.
I have had relationships in the past that have been good for a while, but then gone south. I then have had a long period of time that I have devoted to my career and it's been ok; the media would make you believe I am a complete sad-case, or that I have emotional issues, but really it's been a mixture of not being all that bothered and not meeting anyone I have liked enough to pursue anything. This would be firstly because most of my male friends are gay and secondly, and most importantly, I am seeking something that probably is impossible. Any readers of this blog will know I place most of the blame on Jane Austen, Teen Films and Musicals but is this so bad? TV would make you think that a romantic drought of 2 months is shocking, I think this is misleading and unfair; try 6 years. I might point out at this juncture that in no way do I require pity - you may all be fabulously in-love out there but I'm just happy waiting it out to meet someone that's right for me, I have other things to keep me occupied in the meanwhile - which seems to be Richardson's point (although I haven't got to the end yet so I'm not sure quite what his ramberling point is, if there is one). You may also be wondering, 'Marinda, what is your point?' Well, dear readers, I guess it's a kind of round about way to say read Jon Richardson's book, I found it really refreshing to find I'm not on my own, especially when it comes to a love and demand of proper grammar and the distrust of menus with incorrect apostrophes. He also is not a fan of B&Bs and having to make awkward breakfast chit-chat - I know this may surprise a lot of you as I am Little Miss ChatterboxTM during most hours of the day and was only complemented this week on my excellent telephone manner, but this is probably one of my top ten hated things, ERGH!
Guess who's back...back again... and other songs about returning! I am back in the world of blogging and I have chosen both the criminals Mark Morrison and Eminem to speak for me as we share such a close affinity. So the last time I 'blogged' I was off for a singing job in Norfolk in Christmas 2009 and all was well, a pretty devastating bereavement then occurred and that was it for blogging for me; it felt trivial. Until Now.
So almost two years on from my last blog, but what have you missed? Well where to start, where to start...the rowdy pensioners starting fights during my speed-awareness course? The child that told me 'we should be happy with what we've got because some people don't have a home and can't even speak properly'? I could launch straight into the incident of the time I was waiting to go into an audition and started chatting with a part-time actor-come-community support officer who decided to explain to me about the tricky-ness of finding those pesky severed heads after decapitation from jumping in front of trains. Hmmm maybe more of that later.
The thing that has sparked my engine, as it were, was reading Jon Richardson's 'It's Not Me, It's You'
WELL, talk about 'Killing Me Softly' (and no I don't actually want anyone to actually talk about that stupid song: 'yes apparently it's about Barry Manilow', 'oh how interesting', 'he used to play for Bette Midler, didn't he?', 'Oh I love her, she's fabulous') I could identify with a lot of this book, although I'm only half way - there could be a big twist as yet and it could all be a dream or he was dead all the time, but I doubt it. Now obviously anyone knowing me and knowing something of the comedian Jon Richardson would say, "WTF?!" (they would say full words, obviously, but I don't like bad language on my blog thank you very much) "Jon Richardson is quite obviously incredibly clean and tidy and if we remember your room in Uni/drama school correctly it somewhat resembled the junk yard the scary lady in Labyrinth lived in, minus Sarah's replica house." Ok I will give you that, BUT what I did feel a similarity with was not just his discomfort in the discussing of bodily functions - THANK GOD SOMEONE IS FINALLY SPEAKING OUT ON THIS HORRENDOUS OCCURANCE IN POPULAR CULTURE; neither was it because of his neuroses (I have recently started my own party business and I have to take two of everything: double the amount of balloons and prizes, two iPods, two Ipod docks plus back up Cds and player plus on top of this I not only pack all my equipment the night before, I then check it all 5 times before setting off and half way down my road, I pull over and check it through again as, whilst driving, I have convinced myself I'm missing something vital that will ruin this 6 year old's party and it will forever be my fault that this child then needs psychiatric help and doesn't grow up to be a happy, well-rounded human being all because of the disappointment that was her 6th birthday party) - but for the simple fact he has been single for many years due to the search for perfection in everything he does. This I get.
I have had relationships in the past that have been good for a while, but then gone south. I then have had a long period of time that I have devoted to my career and it's been ok; the media would make you believe I am a complete sad-case, or that I have emotional issues, but really it's been a mixture of not being all that bothered and not meeting anyone I have liked enough to pursue anything. This would be firstly because most of my male friends are gay and secondly, and most importantly, I am seeking something that probably is impossible. Any readers of this blog will know I place most of the blame on Jane Austen, Teen Films and Musicals but is this so bad? TV would make you think that a romantic drought of 2 months is shocking, I think this is misleading and unfair; try 6 years. I might point out at this juncture that in no way do I require pity - you may all be fabulously in-love out there but I'm just happy waiting it out to meet someone that's right for me, I have other things to keep me occupied in the meanwhile - which seems to be Richardson's point (although I haven't got to the end yet so I'm not sure quite what his ramberling point is, if there is one). You may also be wondering, 'Marinda, what is your point?' Well, dear readers, I guess it's a kind of round about way to say read Jon Richardson's book, I found it really refreshing to find I'm not on my own, especially when it comes to a love and demand of proper grammar and the distrust of menus with incorrect apostrophes. He also is not a fan of B&Bs and having to make awkward breakfast chit-chat - I know this may surprise a lot of you as I am Little Miss ChatterboxTM during most hours of the day and was only complemented this week on my excellent telephone manner, but this is probably one of my top ten hated things, ERGH!
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