Sporadic blogs about my experiences, acting, writing, making theatre & generally just trying to muddle my way through life the best way I can, making the best of it I can. As Oscar Wilde said: We are all in the gutter but some of us are looking at the stars.

Sunday, 7 April 2013

Like Peter



Recently, I have been thinking a lot about what constitutes growing up. Partly this is because I am starting to stand on my own two feet and become responsible for myself as a graduate, partly it is because I saw one of the best (if not the best) stage production I have ever seen last week, Peter and Alice by John Logan, and partly because the production my own theatre company is putting on, Bridge to An Island, also explores in part the moments that we let go of childhood and fantasies. But it is also because of what I have observed in the past year. 

As Miranda Hart says in one episode of Miranda, ‘You might call me a child, good. For if adults had even the slightest ‘in the moment joy’ of a child, then frankly the world would be a better place.’ I agree with her, though I suggest she sees adults and grown ups as two different things. I believe that there should be a difference from being termed as an adult and as a grown up. I think you can be an adult without being a grown up and I have chosen to be the former and only the former. I use the term adult to define somebody who can function in the adult world, earning money and being responsible for themselves, without losing the essence of what makes childhood so wonderful. The belief in the infinite possibilities for life, the attitude of I want to do something like run with my arms out like an aeroplane and I don’t care how it makes me look, the joy in the small things; these are things that grown ups forget, with their constant planning and lack of spontaneity, their need for little dishes for condiments on the table, how imagination and fun is taken over by forms and filing and neat, short lawns. But some adults don’t forget these wonderful ways of looking at the world. Grown ups are uptight, but for those that aren’t, I suggest we see them as adults only. Peter Pans with the sense and ability to live in the adult world, look after those who can’t and themselves.

Somebody once told me I needed to grow up, about a year ago. I have to say, considering who told me, it was fairly ironic but still. Apparently, I’m not a grown up. But I don’t want to be. I know I am adult and I believe that is enough. More than that, I believe that is better. I would rather be an adult than a grown up.

But there is a line between being an adult and a child and, I believe, an important one. While there are many wonderful attributes to being a child, selflessness and consideration is not one of them. Respect for others and the ability to treat them as you would want to be treated is something you learn as you age. Even if as a child you are already considerate, you are still likely to avoid upsetting conversations or situations that involve others and put your head in the sand. Facing the hard things is what makes you an adult, especially when they involve both your own and others’ feelings.  In this way, you can see Peter Pan as an adult. While at first, he tries to prevent Wendy from leaving him, acting as the eternal child he is, in the end he lets her. He, in part, grows up. But because of the rigid world he and Wendy came from, he could not return to grow up into what he knew he would have to become, what I refer to as a grown up, what he describes as ‘a man’.

While I celebrate those who grow up without becoming grown ups, I still also believe that continuing to behave with childish selfishness and neglect for the feelings of others once you reach adulthood is something to be ashamed of, whatever your gender, circumstances or background. And when I see those over the age of eighteen still acting in these ways, I see them as children, regardless of how many jobs, mortgages, cars or other ‘adult things’ they may have. What you have does not make you an adult and neither does what you accomplish (though the latter does show much). It is by how you treat others you are able to prove you have reached adulthood. Just make you sure you remember to keep the essence of childhood joys with you. Just remember to be like Peter.

Tuesday, 12 March 2013

Montages Should Come With A Warning



I am frustrated at my life. I shouldn’t be, it’s not that bad. But I am. And I blame American TV. I want what they show. Always have. Those wonderful moments when everybody dances to a folky, country-esque hopeful happy song that in reality a group of people would never dance to because people never dance to anything but loud aggressively happy plastic music designed for optimum modern-day-mating-ritual-esque pulling moments. But on TV, in America, apparently, a group of friends will gather after a momentous occasion in their collective life and dance, cutting to them all hugging and walking into a sunset. I wanted those moments. Or the ones when everybody is sitting together in a perfectly photographical formation while they all appreciate each other, again with a pretty folky song, getting louder and louder. Or a montage. Montages cut out all the rubbish we actually have to deal with and paste together the happiest or saddest most meaningful moments and make us feel frustrated at the mundane nature of our own lives. Again to music. Montages, they are the real culprit. They should come with a warning. ‘Disclaimer: this montage will make you feel frustrated at you own life. It will make you feel your life is in no way as good as these fictional characters’. I’d like to see a montage that reflects reality. Somebody taking out their rubbish, somebody watching TV. Playing endless games of Words with Friends. Blowing their nose. Change their sheets. Reality. Better yet, I want to see my reality. Show somebody living on a sofa, sending off endless job applications. Getting rejected. A lot. Or not hearing back at all (always fun, to keep me guessing, ta for that). Show somebody going mad. Show somebody going to the laundrette. Or ridiculously hungover on a camp bed in their friend’s sitting room because house hunting is Hell. Somebody unable to build their bed, getting a friend to do it. Working the checkout. Being a dick to their friends. Somebody sending a text. Somebody else ignoring said text. Somebody panicking. Somebody sad. Getting fired. Or getting told off at work. Watching TV. All accompanied by the same songs used in these meaningful TV montages. Because it does get a bit annoying to feel frustrated at your own life, the real world, everytime you hear one of these songs. But then again, nobody would watch these montages of reality. It doesn’t give us anything to aim for. Any if we don’t have anything to aim for life becomes even more mundane than it already is. So I suppose these false moments do serve a purpose, albeit a frustrating one.

Saturday, 29 December 2012

Be Brave and Dream Big



Six months ago I received my degree and graduated. Since then I haven’t posted on here. Why exactly I can’t say because technically nothing has stopped me. In fact for a while, I had more than enough time to write a novel to envy the length of war and peace. But of course writing requires more than time, so much more.
Graduating isn’t easy. They tell you it won’t be. But they never said it would be quite as hard as it was quite as early on. One of my friends summed it up by saying she thought we’d all be too poor to go out drinking but would instead congregate in somebody’s home, together, poor but happy. Whereas the reality was that we were all just miserable, endless job rejections can do that to you and did to me and my friends. Too miserable to consider meeting up to attempt merriness, the non-sober kind or not. I found it horrific. And, in all honesty, still do at points. There is no longer the comfort of terms and structure and support and a net you fall back on. Now it’s time to fly the coop, properly. But so far, my experiences of flying have ended up with me falling to the ground, either immediately or after a couple of moments of deceptive flight. And falling so regularly still makes me dependant on others, either for physical or moral aid. Home for Christmas and rather envious of my cat’s easy-going life (her biggest anxiety is the black cat that’s been sleeping in our cellar), I sometimes wish I’d not wanted so much for my life post-education and that my dreams weren’t so big. If they weren’t, maybe flight wouldn’t be so hard to master.
But what is the point of living if you don’t aim high? It’s cliché but true, you do only live once and if you aim safely throughout you’ll end up with regrets and a life boring enough to send your grandchildren to sleep. Of course, your life isn’t a tale you live in order to impress future generations but it should at least be something that impresses, astonishes, amazes, excites and, yes, sometimes frightens you. Dream big dreams and do brave things. You will hit the ground. More than once. But at least you set a flight path more exciting than the nest one over from your own.
2013 is around the corner and I’ve set myself a challenge: carry on. Carry on dreaming big, being brave and setting off, or trying to. I say it’s a challenge because while 2012 in many respects was great, in many other respects it nearly beat the life out of me. But I’m still here. Dreaming big, being brave and trying to set off.
It’s easy to see when you dream big but sometimes it isn’t as easy to see when you’ve been brave. I think we tend to overlook the more common place, daily moments of courage. When you look back on your last year, or the ones previous, do make sure to celebrate these moments, they include so much. You don’t just have to jump out of an airplane to be brave. In my opinion you are brave if you have ever travelled somewhere new alone, gone to University far away from anywhere you know with nobody else you know there, started a new job not knowing one thing about the industry you are starting in, allowed yourself to fall in love, told somebody other than family you love them, started a public venture/enterprise without the sage advice/handholding of somebody with experience at every step of the way, done something others told you couldn’t and dreamt you could in the first place. I think other things can make you brave too, like going into battle, but I know very few people that is likely to happen to and, as I said, bravery can be the most common place of things and goes hand in hand with dreaming big. So be brave, dream big and have a really good 2013, you won’t get another chance at it.

If you need any advice on dreaming big and being brave, look to this chap. I think he's got absolutely the right idea.

Monday, 2 July 2012

Paper-machéd Body Parts, Walks with Frying Pans and All-Night Long Conversations: The (Always Dramatic) University Years


Saying goodbye is never easy and, in a way, the more practise you have at it, the worse it gets. As my graduation draws closer, I’ve taken the opportunity to spend as much time with my friends as possible, doing as much as possible and have also used the time to consider just what has made university the adventure it has been. It is, of course, these friends and so this rather rambling post is to say, I guess, why they are so important to me and to thank them for all they’ve done for me, whether or not they realise it.

I remember starting university and being told by family friends and my parents that it was just how Evelyn Waugh described it in Brideshead Revisited through advice given to Charles by his cousin, ‘You spend half your second year shaking off the undesirable friends you made in your first.’ And that the friends I would make in my first few weeks of university would not be the friends I kept but rather time would lead them to me. Whether or not they were right with the first statement I don’t know but they were with the second. The people I call my closest friends from university I mostly met after my first term and those of them I did meet in the first term I did not become firm friends with them until later in the year, baring my flatmate. There is a panic, when you start university, to make friends as quickly as possible, fearing being left out. Everybody scrambles to try and get to know people and pretend they are good friends until later on in the year, or even the years to follow, they find the friends most like them. Much like school, I found myself feeling out of place and a little awkward and uncomfortable in my fresher’s term when making friends. It is only when I look back to my second and third term of first year, the evenings I spent my group of friends, getting to know each other, that I remember how relaxed I felt in their company compared to the people I spent time with in the first term. Having got to the end of university, these rather unhinged, over-dramatic, kooky, understanding, wonderful, mad, weird, intelligent, arty people are the ones I’m most terrified might somehow disappear from my life because they are most like me. Not the same, but similar enough and understanding enough that nobody feels like an unwelcome entity or a surplus part or, most importantly, different. 

As drama students, being the ridiculously highly-strung creatures society dictates we must be, you don’t fit into the mould society carves out for most that go into higher education, you don’t think about jobs in terms of a 9-5 with a high income, a nice house in the ’burbs by the time you’re thirty-five, investments and five year plans. As I said to my housemate earlier on today, I just want to make theatre and get paid for it. A straight forward desire, wanting to earn money doing what you love. Easy if you know the right people in the theatrical world, almost impossible if you don’t. Performing and creating performances and living outside of the boxes most of society want to be in, being pretentious and knowing you’re pretentious and a ‘drama geek’ as you quote The Seagull when you do shots and have in-depth theatrical conversations when drunk, being prepared to be penniless just so you can continue with the unending, all-consuming passion that is the theatre; sharing these desires, interests and passions have formed bonds tighter than I expected, more forgiving, more protective and in tune. I haven’t found the kind of sisterhood I did at boarding school but instead I found what I’d been looking for and not even realised, people like me and people I didn’t feel different to. And that’s all thanks to university which, ironically, I didn’t originally want to go to. Amazing really, that going to higher education because it was the done thing gave me what I’d always wanted. And I hope to Heaven and back that I don’t ever lose that. A friend said to me and two others a couple of weeks ago, ‘so, how long do you think we’ll be friends?’. ‘Forever’ the three of us replied, automatically and simultaneously. I hope we’re not wrong because the friends I’ve made at university, highly-strung, unhinged, weird, understanding and sometimes infuriating, are friends I don’t just want but need. Unlike my friends from school, my almost ‘sisters’, I don’t have a guarantee our relationships won’t unwind. Or maybe I do but I just don’t realise it. Either way, I’m terrified.

One of my friends said to me, ‘you’ve got to learn to stand on your own two feet, we all do’. I agree with her. To a point. Yes, you are the only person responsible for keeping you standing. But when you get knocked down, which you will, you need people to put their hands out for you to take and use to haul yourself back up, people who make you want to haul yourself back up and assure you it’s ok to stand up again. Because as much as you can stand up by yourself, it’s going to be pretty lonely if you’ve done so and found there’s nobody waiting for you, nobody to stand besides, nobody to hold hands with. If when you’ve stood up, you’re all alone, you’re going to start wondering what you stood up for. And if you’re standing alone, you’re a lot easier to knock off your feet in the first place.

 I’m forever grateful for the past three years, the lessons I’ve learnt and the people that pulled me along when these lessons knocked me down and helped me get back up on my feet again. University has not only given me wonderfully mad friends but has taught me more about myself than I imagined as well as given me a degree and the opportunity to act in some great plays. But if I could pick just one thing to take from all of it, it would be the friends, the friends I stayed up all night of the 2010 election with, eating bacon sandwiches at 4am, the friends I went wandering in the fields and woods with a frying pan with, the friends I begged to wake up and come get pancakes and hash browns at six am, the friends I’ve cried to, the friends I’ve acted with, the friends I’ve paper-machéd parts of our bodies with, the friends I’ve ordered pizza at noon with, still merry from the night before, the friends I’ve wrapped in cling film to look like sperm, the friends I’ve stayed up all night watching bad television and having heart-to-hearts with until the sun rises and they have work, the friends who have put up with my numerous breakdowns over chips and chicken and diet cokes and pizzas with, who walked me home after, who invited me along to their party in the woods, who I go on abundant trips to Nandos with, who sent me a text at the end of a night telling me I looked nice, who can read me like a book, who laugh at the same stupid things I do, who call me deranged or threaten to push my face into the dirt ‘with affection’, who understand me as much as anybody can, who have the same passions, the same interests and desires, who love me despite my issues, who love each other despite everybody else’s issues. The other stuff made university good, my friends made it great. And to them I am eternally indebted.

Monday, 25 June 2012

Imagining: A Beginning


So I may or may not, depending on how a course pans out, be back in the city of my university come September/October, employed and working on a theatre project with a friend I’ve directed and been directed by. Exciting! Right now, it really is only in the very early beginnings in that we’re penciling down ideas and gathering ideas. Slowly but surely. If I don’t come back after the summer, it is something I’d like to continue at some point in the future. 

It’s going to be about imagination so this small post is to ask you, my lovely reader, about your imagination. What does your imagination give you? Does it matter? Does it help? Would you say imagination and 'pretend' are the same things?

I don’t want to bombard people with questions because you might well chose not to answer them (please do though!) and if this project goes ahead I think I’ll post more questions over time. If you do feel like answering any of these questions or say anything at all about your imagination then just pop a comment beneath or message me, whatever you wish.

A quick google search to help me start to see what the wider world consider about imagination turned up this. Enjoy: http://neave.com/imagination/

Saturday, 23 June 2012

Pretty As A Picture

Some photos from the beach





















More Than A Thousand Word II

I went back to the cemetery at the bottom of my road a couple of weeks ago and took Beaton back with me, here are some more photos from then: