Slight Return
Gosh, I thought I’d be back here sooner than this. Oh well, here I am now.
For those of you that keep on being surprised by the fact, I have now moved into Isabelle’s I’ve been there nearly 4 months, which have pretty much flown by. My only issue with this part of town is the fact that the railway bridge means every journey requires at least 2 buses or a bus and a 15-20 minute walk. My other issue is that I do not like the cycle route from work to there. It does not feel safe. More so than the 17 mile ride from Northolt. But it’s either this or move out of London. Which believe me, I intend to do as soon as I have my MA.
Up until 2 weeks ago I had done next to no theatre since November. I now find myself doing a one woman improvisation in a cod Eastern European accent as part of a much vaunted (we made The New York Times) production of Macbeth. Three nights a week I inhabit one of the defunct drying rooms of Balfron Tower with a view of The Gherkin through its brutalist loopholes. Now I find myself sucked back into the whole acting world again. This year was supposed to be a writing year. I have had all of my ideas, I now have to sit down for the next three months and get them all written down. It’s how I write. I believe it’s also how Douglas Adams wrote as well.
For one reason or another I have not been spending much time with friends. I dunno what it’s about. The long story is that a couple of years back I fell stupidly in love with someone who wasn’t worth it and I’ve spent a year trying to avoid having any conversations with anyone about ‘feelings’ or ‘my life’. Which is an improvement, but also made me question what exactly it is that I do when I hang round with people. I don’t have very much I want to talk about at the moment and I’m not sure I can be bothered listening, either, so I’m not particularly seeking out any company. Oh, hilariously, you remember L, of the first 10 years of my LJ fame? Ahahahaha. Cock. I have endured two horribly whiny needy twuntish emails from him. The first I replied to in a ‘hang on now, I see why you think that, but actually my call history shows I have tried to keep in touch, and you - have not, but fair enough’ his final email was read and deleted immediately before I could get furious. I now laugh at it, but regret the time I wasted on him. So this year I have gathered empirical evidence that I have atrocious taste in men, possibly as a result of what I now think can be summed up as “Cockholm Syndrome”.
I keep deferring my MA application to study how to be a dramaturg*. Look, the fee payments are exactly the same as the amount I should be saving for a house. Work is fine, health is good, apart from a godawful bacterial infection I picked up from some idiot I had to act with last week who said ‘I have tonsilitis, don’t worry, it’s not contagious’ It bloody was. So work, health, home, all fine. Personal life is dull but even-keeled.
My last drink was a chilled glass of Visciolata del Cardinale 3 weeks ago to the day. I plan not to drink now until Christmas. I’m a bundle of laughs, me.
*not even dramaturgs know a) how you pronounce it b) what it really is
For those of you that keep on being surprised by the fact, I have now moved into Isabelle’s I’ve been there nearly 4 months, which have pretty much flown by. My only issue with this part of town is the fact that the railway bridge means every journey requires at least 2 buses or a bus and a 15-20 minute walk. My other issue is that I do not like the cycle route from work to there. It does not feel safe. More so than the 17 mile ride from Northolt. But it’s either this or move out of London. Which believe me, I intend to do as soon as I have my MA.
Up until 2 weeks ago I had done next to no theatre since November. I now find myself doing a one woman improvisation in a cod Eastern European accent as part of a much vaunted (we made The New York Times) production of Macbeth. Three nights a week I inhabit one of the defunct drying rooms of Balfron Tower with a view of The Gherkin through its brutalist loopholes. Now I find myself sucked back into the whole acting world again. This year was supposed to be a writing year. I have had all of my ideas, I now have to sit down for the next three months and get them all written down. It’s how I write. I believe it’s also how Douglas Adams wrote as well.
For one reason or another I have not been spending much time with friends. I dunno what it’s about. The long story is that a couple of years back I fell stupidly in love with someone who wasn’t worth it and I’ve spent a year trying to avoid having any conversations with anyone about ‘feelings’ or ‘my life’. Which is an improvement, but also made me question what exactly it is that I do when I hang round with people. I don’t have very much I want to talk about at the moment and I’m not sure I can be bothered listening, either, so I’m not particularly seeking out any company. Oh, hilariously, you remember L, of the first 10 years of my LJ fame? Ahahahaha. Cock. I have endured two horribly whiny needy twuntish emails from him. The first I replied to in a ‘hang on now, I see why you think that, but actually my call history shows I have tried to keep in touch, and you - have not, but fair enough’ his final email was read and deleted immediately before I could get furious. I now laugh at it, but regret the time I wasted on him. So this year I have gathered empirical evidence that I have atrocious taste in men, possibly as a result of what I now think can be summed up as “Cockholm Syndrome”.
I keep deferring my MA application to study how to be a dramaturg*. Look, the fee payments are exactly the same as the amount I should be saving for a house. Work is fine, health is good, apart from a godawful bacterial infection I picked up from some idiot I had to act with last week who said ‘I have tonsilitis, don’t worry, it’s not contagious’ It bloody was. So work, health, home, all fine. Personal life is dull but even-keeled.
My last drink was a chilled glass of Visciolata del Cardinale 3 weeks ago to the day. I plan not to drink now until Christmas. I’m a bundle of laughs, me.
*not even dramaturgs know a) how you pronounce it b) what it really is