A Very "Rennie Christmas"

Every year I clamber into bed in a food-induced stupour, wearing my 'comfiest' pyjamas (code for massive waistband), genuinely surprised by how sick I feel. Despite the fact that my stomach has been in 'Christmas Mode' since mid-November - "Full? Moi?" - I once again struggled slightly to pull off the ultimate nomming achievement of the year.

Seriously, there's a reason why you won't find many all-you-can-eat restaurants open on this day. At no other point of the year would I consider my daily intake - three solid meals ("solid" = "excessive") and around thirty-three mini-meals, combining sweet and savoury like a crazed pregnant woman who's just been told that all food in the world is about to run out - with a sick kind of fondness only ever repeated on Easter Sunday.

It got to a point in the evening where I actually peered down over my food-baby at the white chocolate mountain on the carpet and thought, "Naaah..." Because that's the down side to playing 'Ultimate Eating Champion' (Christmas? What Christmas?). We're all just setting ourselves up for failure. And I'm not talking the usual Sunday roast, 'hands up, I give up' kind of failure. This is more like leaving your loved ones out on the Front Line, many men fallen before you, scared for their lives but proud of the sheer determination and stupidity that gives them the strength to accomplish that final, near-impossible goal......... The Quality Streets.

Merry Christmas everyone!

Confessions of a Film Fan

Part I

• Try as I might (which is not very hard at all), I have little appreciation for Woody Allen. I mean, he's a very successful guy, but I just have no desire to watch any of his films (although I did once watch half of Vicky Cristina Barcelona, mostly due to my 'aesthetic appreciation' for Scarlett Johansson... He even managed to ruin that for me). I also have little interest in reading about his work, which is odd for me since I'll read just about anything film-related, or to talk about him whatsoever really.
  

• I do not like Anchorman: The Legend of Ron Burgundy. Sorry. I know, I know... it's a "travesty"... Really though? It's not. I hate Will Ferrell with a passion. The guy's annoying. As is Steve Carell, if slightly less so... (See? I'm talking in short sentences. I must really be unimpressed). The comedy is obvious-in-a-bad-way, and for a film I'd heard SO many people go ON and ON about... it's massively overrated. Did I mention that I hate Will Ferrell?

• I have not seen all of the Star Wars Trilogy. Don't get me wrong, I like them, and I appreciate their place in movie-making history, but it's just not my cup of tea. Plus I can get more than enough of the jist of the thing from a twenty-minute Family Guy remake (cue angry geek-mob). I do a great impression of Darth Vader though.

• I like Robert Pattinson. Ok, so this one might not really count, but despite some questionable performances (who can judge really, when he's mostly working alongside plank-of-wood-Kristen Stewart? Although man, what a lovely looking plank of wood...) I think the guy's alright. He was pretty good in Remember Me. Plus - the real reason I like him - he's a bloody good singer. Look him up!

• I think that Tremors is one of the most unintentionally-genius pieces of film-making ever to grace our second-rate TV channels. I spent the entire duration praying that Mindy (Lex from Jurassic Park) would meet some disgusting and humiliating end. To those who haven't seen it: Rent it now. Or wait for it to come on ITV3. I hope you're open minded! And to those who have seen it: You know you all loved it too.
  

Goodnight, Old Violet Eyes

Actresses are not made like Taylor anymore; noone uses the word "legend" or "screen siren" in this century.
(Kate Muir, The Times)

If they do, they aren't using it correctly. This was just one of many touching and fitting tributes to Dame Elizabeth Taylor, on the news of her death last month.

In all honesty, sitting here in front of my computer, trying to summon a string of words in order to pay tribute to her, feels like an impossible task. With each year that passes we lose many public figures, many people who have made a vast impression on the world. Occasionally we lose people who are entirely deserving of their 'legendary' label. And very rarely, we say goodbye to a star who we thought would go on forever. They appear untouchable by the limits of life, a soul so unique that their passing brings everyone back down to earth with a bump.

This was Elizabeth Taylor.

She began her career as a child star during the 1940s, towards the end of the 'Golden Age' of Hollywood. Her most famous early outing was in National Velvet (1945), her third film and one which, according to writer Melvyn Bragg, "made her the little princess of the Hollywood kindergarten". She was one of the last actresses to reach star status through the latter years of the studio system, and as a result became the most sought-after - and indeed the highest paid - actress of the moment.

While her private life in no way hindered her rise to fame, her talent could not be denied. In a recent documentary Elizabeth herself commented on her ability to "turn it on" for the cameras. It seemed that some directors were initially concerned by her performances during rehearsal, only to have their faith restored once the camera began rolling. She won two Oscars for perhaps two of her more challenging roles, first as a high-class call girl in Butterfield 8 (1960) and second for the title role in Who's Afraid of Virginia Woolf (1966), where she played the 'vulgar' wife to Richard Burton's bitter professor.

It was also partly her personality that made Taylor so popular, and indeed rather special. It has struck me more so recently, with all the media coverage of her death and therefore the reemergence of various interviews, that I could watch and listen to her for hours. The best part... she was funny. For someone so absorbed by the industry at the highest possible level, she was actually very down to earth, and incredibly loving. I'm in the camp of people who believe that her eight marriages were not the result of frivolity but instead the mark of a woman who loved, perhaps at times irrationally, with all of her heart. Her fellow Hollywood starlet Shirley Maclaine said that Taylor had a desire to help the people who felt like they were misfits, and that perhaps it was because she too at times felt like one herself.

It's not just the star that the world has lost, or her incredible life and wealth of experience. It's the stories... the stories of old Hollywood that are gradually drying up, that the rest of us will never know. And the secrets. The secrets shared with old friends and co-stars who have long since become legends. Maybe it's because I'm a fan of old Hollywood, but I feel privileged to have lived in a time when a few of the original stars of the studio system - people who really, truly, deserve that status - were still alive. There will never be a time like it again. There'll certainly never be another Cary Grant, or Mickey Rooney (whom I once had the immense pleasure of meeting), another Bette Davis, or Clark Gable.

And not only will there never again be another Dame Elizabeth Taylor... There never was.

She was truly unique.

There's one scene in Burton's diaries that is gently loving and lovely. He is in bed and wakes to find that she has left the bed and is in another room. He calls out: "What are you doing?" She replies: "Playing with my jewels."
(Melvyn Bragg, The Times)

The Influencing Of Young Minds And Such

Facebook's great. It gets quite a lot of stick - quite rightly - but, aside from all the stalking and poking and other unsavory activities, it's perfect for keeping in touch with people that you would struggle to without it. And, in fact, it's recently helped me to progress from full-time 'bum' into a slightly more respectable situation. A brief, late-night conversation with an old sixth form media teacher of mine swiftly moved on from the usual pleasantries to an offer of voluntary work for the department.

My months of sitting at home, watching American dramas, eating carbs and talking about going to the gym are over. Well, for two days a week they are.

I'm a voluntary 'learning support mentor', which means I mostly sit in on classes of A Level and B-Tech media and film studies, and help the students with their tasks and discussions, or help out with resources from the office. My first couple of weeks were spent giving advice on coursework, which I really enjoyed because it's one of my strong points. I always thought, watching friends become teachers, that I wasn't sure how I'd ever move from learning myself to actually teaching other people. The truth is, I've found that luckily (and hopefully thanks to hard work!) I know my subject well, and making the transition into telling other people about it has been fairly easy. And enjoyable! The work at A Level is, naturally, a lot easier than I remember it being (isn't it always, looking back?!), so I enjoy going through it again, helping the kids to hopefully love it as much as I do.

And the strangest thing, other than the fact that to an extent I'm actually influencing young minds? My niece is in a couple of my classes... My niece, who I still think of as my little girl (and who clearly isn't anymore!). Very odd!

So that's what I'm up to. I'm possibly going to be recruited into doing some more events for the liaison team too, after a couple of very long (but hopefully useful!) days spent trying to point local Year 9 students in the 'right' direction...! All good fun, and - in an attempt to further prove the point that I am now, in fact, an old lady - it gets me out of the house.

In other news, my dad's operation is finally set to happen next Monday, the 21st. It's scary to think that it's actually going to happen now, but also a relief. My plans for that day have so far ranged from digging a large hold in the garden for me to hide in for those few hours, to going to the pub, alone, and finally being one of those people from the soaps who tell the barmaid their problems. I'm sure I'll opt for something a little less self absorbed and a little more positive, though!

Keep you posted!

#carrollfacts

While many of us are gutted that Andy Carroll has left Newcastle Utd for Scouseland, this did cheer me up... Here's a few of my favourite #carrollfacts to appear on Twitter in the last couple of hours! (I apologise for a football related post... Too funny to leave unposted!).

• Contrary to popular belief, Andy Carroll cannot fly. He just jumps and chooses when to come down (@Paul_LFC)
• North Korea did test a second nuclear warhead, Andy Carroll used it to heat his morning porridge (@basilmcneck)
• Andy Carroll doesn't wear a watch - he decides what time it is (@psycllone)
• When Andy Carroll looks at himself in the mirror, there is no reflection. There can be only one Andy Carroll (Paul_LFC)
• Death once had a near Andy Carroll experience (@Campione_LFC)
• Andy Carroll can read Lady Gaga's poker face (@psycllone)
• Andy Carroll touched MC Hammer (@jimmyfrancis87)
• Many think Andy Carroll heads the ball into the net. This is not true. He merely stares at the ball and it knows what to do (@AMG133)
• Andy Carroll narrates Morgan Freeman's life (@JoeKidda)
• Andy Carroll doesn't wash his clothes. He whips the dirt off them with his ponytail (@mariusoftdahl)
• When Andy Carroll adds milk to rice crispies, they shut the f*ck up (@JoeKidda)
• Superman wears Andy Carroll pyjamas (@KrazyKop)
• Osama Bin Laden is hiding from Andy Carroll (@spanishkop)
• Torres no longer exists. Andy Carroll ate him (@shamblerinho)

The Toon will miss you, long haired lanky one!

For The Win.

One Radley handbag... to the value of £200... for free.......... every month of the year.

That's what my Grandma won a couple of months ago after entering a competition in You magazine. Not everyone's idea of the perfect prize, but the perfect prize for pretty much every woman in the UK who likes her accessories. I wouldn't exactly call myself a "fashionista", and that's a kind way of putting it, but man am I excited. I do own a Radley handbag already, but I'm now promised another by my darling Gran, whom I love dearly, and who, after reading this, will hopefully bump that one handbag up to two... Love you Gran!

This post, however, isn't about handbags.

Last week I won a competition myself: A place for me and a friend at a private dance class with Flavia Cacace, of Strictly Come Dancing fame (once again, this may not excite all of you. I, on the other hand, almost wet myself with excitement. Almost). An old college friend is an ambassador for Maxitone, a sports nutrition company, and advertised the competition on her Facebook page (Thanks Beccy!). I decided to enter, despite knowing that I'd have to get the train to London for the day (and marathon-Greys-Anatomy-watching doesn't pay all that well), that I may not actually be available on the day of the class, and that the guest I had in mind - my best friend Charlotte, also a dance lover! - probably wouldn't be free either. And low and behold... I only went and won the thing.

There were a few hours of slight panic while I tried to organise the trip, and a guest to take along with me, but eventually I wound up on the 9am train to London and made my way to the venue, the downstairs club of Grace Bar near Piccadilly Circus. My excitement turned into nerves as I realised that winning the competition wasn't the end of it, and that now I actually had to dance with Flavia...!

The class was great fun, and Flavia was incredibly lovely. She taught us some salsa steps, which she insisted were basic (!), and for the most part they were, with some more challenging steps at the end of the routine. It was all very relaxed - there were about eight of us, all salsa novices and most of the girls new to dancing altogether. We had a couple of breaks and I got to have a chat with Flavia. She told us about a tour she's about to start with her dance partner Vincent Simone, and how busy her life is, not just during Strictly. I asked her when she started dancing and she told me she began at the age of five. I was secretly hoping she'd say "Oh, I just picked up some classes in my late teens and you know, it just kinda happened..." Alas, my dreams of one day dancing like Flavia Cacace were somewhat shattered.

All in all, an amazing day. Flavia was kind enough to have a photo with me - which unfortunately was lost in a camera mishap - and to sign an autograph for my niece Kate, who was one of my original guests but unfortunately couldn't make it. She even later replied to my "Thank You" message on Twitter, saying that she too had really enjoyed the class.

I had a brilliant time; what with being a big fan of Flavia herself, of Strictly and of dancing in general, it was pretty much the perfect prize! Yes, even more so than twelve Radley handbags! The moral of this story: enter competitions. Especially the free-to-enter ones that you think you'll never stand a chance of winning. But just not the ones I'm entering, 'kay?!

P.s. Flavia... you're a legend. A very talented, very beautiful legend!

"Hey! I thought you were in London?"

As many of you know, the answer to that question is "No, no I am not in London." And those people will also know that I'm currently back in the delightful haven that is Cesspool... I mean Blackpool (Only joking... I love it really! Warts, STI's and all). What a lot of you won't know is why... why I'm still here, what I'm doing with myself, what my plans are.

The easiest answer to all of those questions would probably be "I don't know", and to be honest it is sort of true. I moved back at the end of September after leaving my job at Halo and jetting off to Canada for a little holiday. My plan was to have some much-needed family time for a few weeks, maybe a couple of months, and then begin the job-hunt, hopefully returning to London in no time at all. As anyone who's ever had a 'plan' of any kind will know, they pretty much never go to... well... 'plan'.

Turns out the Old Man needs a bit of work doing. And no, my Dad is not having botox, or peck implants. Shame really, that would have made for a brilliant blog post. No, my poor old padre has been suffering a bit of late due to some problems with his heart, and needs to have an operation. It's mostly a preventative measure, in the way that nothing serious has troubled him yet, but without it he could be in some bother. So, when we received that news I decided to stick around for a bit longer, until after Christmas, so I could be around for the operation and to help him recover afterwards.

Once again, those pesky 'plans' are proving troublesome, and unfortunately he hasn't been admitted yet. Turns out Blackpool's ICU is being used for swine flu patients at the moment so, understandably, they're not taking on any cardio operations.

So.... we wait. And for the fourth month in a row I'm chilling with the family. Which is bloody lovely, if a little frustrating at times, what with all the waiting and not knowing what my own plans are. I've been filling my time, as you know, with a lot of Grey's Anatomy, as well as cracking on with the entire series box set of The West Wing. I have been trying to use my time a little more effectively, doing a lot of reading and trying to do as much writing as I can. It also makes a change to spend so much time with Dad. Turns out he still likes to be commander of the remote control, and still loves to "tidy" anything you leave unattended for longer than thirty seconds, never to be found again. LOVE YOU DAD!

So. My "plan". Honestly? I don't have one. But I never really have... and I've done just fine so far haven't I? I find people are too preoccupied with planning everything to the finest detail, and on occasion I am one of those people. If I'm going on a trip, I like to have everything sorted out in advance. If I'm going to have a big expense at the end of the month, then I'll plan my spending to prepare for it. But right now... well I can't make a plan. I have ideas about what I would like to do once I no longer need to be at home, but right now my plan is my family, my Dad, and making the most of the fact that I can watch six episodes of my favourite show in one day, because maybe I won't get to do that again for a long, long time!

For now, I'm back to my roots, living it not so large in Blackpool. But fingers crossed I'll be back to London soon, and fingers crossed there'll be something exciting for me to do when I get there. And no, I'm not worried.... what good would that do?!

There I Am!

.....Right there, with my good mate Colin Firth. And someone else who was mentioned not too long ago too.....!

Still trailing through press photos from the other premieres, as yet to no avail.

But you do have something to look forward to - all the events from the Black Swan premiere coming really soon.

Promise.

Girl about The Town

Day 11 of my stay in Canada, and day 2 of my Toronto International Film Festival activites. I didn't stalk celebs on Yorkville. I didn't chillax in the Four Seasons. I certainly didn't seek out Emily Blunt's hotel room and smuggle myself into there in a laundry cart. Not for lack of trying, anyway.

I went to another premiere.

This time it was opening night for The Town, a crime thriller starring and directed by Ben Affleck. It was a much bigger affair that The King's Speech, and this time things didn't kick off until around 9pm for the 9:30 screening. I got there for 7:30pm, and I have to say I was taken aback by the size of the crowd at that time. I squashed my way into the back row of people, hoping that some of them would eventually get fed up, perhaps not really knowing what they were waiting for, and leave. A few did... I probably gained another row, but by 9pm I was still about three rows back, only now closed in by another three rows behind.

Eventually the cars began to arrive, and despite the first car "only" containing producers and other execs, I got a taste of what was to come. By that I mean, I began what would be a long hour of getting to know everyone around me far too intimately. At one point a woman behind me, who was dressed and made-up so beautifully that she could have been one of the actresses, went against the grain of her attractive aesthetics and tried to - rather unattractively - scramble her way to the front. Good luck with that, love. In doing so, she actually, with her hand, grabbed the side of my head and tried to move it out of the way. Now, I haven't really lived in Blackpool for around four years, so something that I like to call the "blackpool rage" has pretty much all but left my nature. Except for in moments like that. I turned around, gave her my very best evil stare (with added twist of "you digust me") and said:

"Are you SERIOUSLY... touching my head?"

"Oh, I'm sorry I just.... lost my balance."

Course you did, you silly tart. I chose to ignore that, and said goodbye to the Blackpool Rage, focusing my attentions back onto the unfolding events on the other side of the barrier.

We didn't have to wait too much longer before the stars began to arrive. First came established actor Chris Cooper, then Ben Affleck himself. The crowd went into such a frenzy in that moment that I struggled to see anything, and the only photos I managed to get either showed a blurry version of the back of his (very nice) suit, or obstructed images of his face. Next came his wife of five years, Jennifer Garner, who again I barely saw. However, the glimpses I did get confirmed that she's actually even more stunning in the flesh than on screen. After that, Mad Men's John Hamm, star of The Hurt Locker, Jeremy Renner, Canadian actress Rachelle Lefevre and The Town's lead actress Rebecca Hall.

And then, the moment I`m not remotely ashamed to admit that I`d been waiting for.... Blake Lively. Some of you may know her from The Sisterhood of the Traveling Pants, most of you as Serena van der Woodsen from Gossip Girl. Some of you probably won`t know of her at all. But know this: she is devastatingly beautiful. She wore a stunning red Chanel sequined dress and the most amazing earrings, and probably needless to say, I couldn`t stop looking at the girl.

I got a decent enough photo of her, and of everyone else except for Ben and Jennifer. I discovered that my camera is pretty, well, shit, when in situations like this, where there is a lot of movement and flashing light. Note to self: Must save up for good quality camera next year.

All in all it was a great night. The atmosphere at these premieres is more than electric, and the spectacle of seeing these incredibly famous people, all dolled up to promote their work... Well, for me it doesn`t get much better than that. There was a pang of something else, though, while I stood there watching everyone waiting for the stars, and watching them all arrive and the frenzy that surrounded the occasion. That`s where I want to be. That`s what I want. Not to be one of the stars, necessarily, but to be a part of that, a part of the madness. Whether it be to document the event itself or - and this is the real desire - to be there because of something I did, something I worked on...

It definitely wouldn`t ever get any better than that.

Star Stalking. I mean Star SPOTTING... Ok I mean Star Stalking....

Last summer, my biggest disappointment on leaving Toronto wasn't leaving my brother and family behind - Worst Sister Award, over here - or facing the dismal British autumn, or just leaving a very cool city for my pretty unremarkable hometown. It was the thought of missing out on the Toronto International Film Festival (TIFF) only days before it began.

Luckily this year I've been here for at least the first half of the Festival, and while it's proving almost impossible to get tickets for anything, I'm doing my best to check out as much of it as possible. Anyone who knows me will know that the translation for that, for the most part, is a nice bit of celebrity spotting. Some would say stalking.... I would staunchly deny it. Before giving in and admitting to it.

So my first experience of TIFF was, of course, a couple of hours spent on Yorkville in the north of the city. Yorkville is the place to be for celebs, and the place to see for all avid celebrity spotters. It's home to the Four Seasons and Hazelton hotels, as well as designer stores and exclusive clubs and bars. It's also right around the corner from all the other top-notch hotels and hangouts. Myself and another celebrity-obsessed friend arrived there at around 4:30pm on Friday, which in hindsight wasn't all that wise - the first big opening night of the Festival, at the time of evening when pretty much everyone would either be getting ready to go out, or already on their way.

My friend is somewhat of a seasoned pro at star spotting, so she suggested we take a look inside the Four Seasons. "I hung out in the lobby there for a few hours yesterday, but I didn't see anyone..." she said. For her, the exceptional part of that sentence was the lack of sightings, not the fact that she just racked up to the Four Seasons and plonked herself down on one of their plush lobby sofas for the afternoon. So, following suit, I wandered into that very same lobby whilst practising my very best "I'm supposed to be here" version of nonchalance. Once again, it worked, and once again... no celebs. Just a lot of important-looking people stood around waiting for more important-looking people.

The waiting did pay off. A little later on we watched Bill Murray (who I hope wasn't going anywhere fancy, since he was wearing a simple body warmer and baseball cap) get into his waiting car outside the Hazelton and be driven off slowly, pausing with his window open to allow fans to take photographs. It's nice to see the real old-school actors having time for their fans. Something which was brilliantly juxtaposed ten minutes later, when Megan Fox was whisked away in a big, white Audi with blacked out windows and, from what I could make out from their silhouettes, flanked on either side by bodyguards. Wouldn't wanna risk a security threat Megan, would ya. Or worse, a bad photo. Maybe one of those with a half eyelid flutter. Damn, I wish that window had been open...

After that we gave up on Yorkville and headed down to Roy Thomson Hall for the premiere of The King's Speech, a British film which stars Colin Firth as King George VI, and tells the story of his struggle with a bad stutter. We didn't have to wait long for everyone to arrive, the only big stars being Firth and distinguished actor Geoffrey Rush. It was a fairly small premiere, so we had a good view and got to shake hands with Colin. We succeeded in getting the only real reaction from him that night, when my friend shouted "Hey Colin, see you for a beer later, yeah?", and me adding "We'll find a nice Irish pub!".

Aside from Colin's lovely, friendly handshake, the real event of the night was meeting a fairly strange young man who was more of a star-spotting "pro" than either of us could ever wish to be (and would ever wish to be...). His conversation starter was to offer, since he was so tall, to email us his photos if we didn't manage to get any good shots. He then showed us the glossy A4-sized photos he had ready for the two actors to sign, and went on to tell us - in detail - about all the celebrities he'd met and seen so far this Festival. The best moment, though, came when he proudly said:

"And last year I was the only person to get Robert Deniro's autograph... No, wait. It wasn't Robert Deniro. Who was it...... Oh yeah, Mariah Carey. Mariah Carey's autograph."

Everyone around me burst into not-so-subtle laughter. I, realising that this guy was a few signatures short of a full autograph book, stayed completely straight-faced, and answered:

"Yeah. I can see how you'd get the two of those confused."

Poor guy didn't really get it. He carried on, blissfully unaware of his sweet-but-creepy appearance, shouting "Happy birthday Colin!" before the car door had really even opened - and raising even more judgemental eyebrows - and repeating poor Geoffrey Rush's name more times than I ever care to hear again.

I was smugly satisfied when, last night at the premiere for The Town - which I will be writing about soon! And which was a much bigger event - I saw the same guy, at the back of the huge crowd, looking on with a dejected expression on his face that seemed to say:

"With this crowd I'll never get Jennifer Aniston's autograph. No wait, not Jennifer Aniston..... Ben Affleck. Ben Affleck's autograph..."

Bonjour... Uhh.... Au Revoir!

"I'm just gutted. This stuff always seems to happen to me."
"It doesn't love. It happens to me too. Today I backed into a lamp post!"

And so went one of the many long-distance, middle-of-the-night phone calls between my mum and I a couple of nights ago, from my hostel in Montreal.

I'd been there for less than 24 hours and I'd managed to get ill. Some sort of sickness bug, or possibly a bit of food poisoning, or something, but all I knew since waking up that morning was that I couldn't even keep down a few sips of water. The one part of my trip, apart from seeing my brother, niece and nephew, that I'd been really excited about had ended before it'd really begun.

Well, not exactly. I did have one good night there, meeting some really cool people and ending up checking out a couple of bars with another English girl with whom I drunkenly discovered I shared my birthday...

Ash: "I don't know how to say my birthday in French. How do I say 18th?"
Zoe: "Dix-huit. Dix huit Avril....."
Ash: "What? Shut up. When's your birthday?
Zoe: "Dix Huit. Avril. Eighteenth of April."
Ash: "No it isn't. Get out your passport."
[Cue around 20 minutes of "Shut up's!" and passing passports around, and of course a couple of random French guys who don't speak english, laughing at our photos and saying "Black... pool?" in a variety of ways].

So, two days early I arrive back in Toronto. I wish I could have stuck around and enjoyed my time with the great people I met, but being ill by yourself in a random hostel isn't all that fun - especially in a French-speaking area when your French amounts to "Do you speak English?", "Is there a toilet?" and "Hello, my name is Pierre, and I am a Vet" (which I'm sure will make at least some sense to my fellow classmates from lessons with the legendary Madame Castick!).

It sucks. Full on sucks. But this stuff happens, and you just have to look on the bright side.

Or make one up so you don't cry!

Creativity Vs The Clock

A funny thing can happen to you sometimes. You reach a point, in whatever situation you're currently in, where you're absorbed into your own routine so much that it becomes difficult to add any more elements into that routine. Not only that, some of the old, well-worn elements can lose their place.

In short, shit becomes pretty boring. And if you're anything like me, your solution will likely be to grab that routine by the ankles, turn it upside down and shake all of the out-of-date, loose change out of its pockets. Then, stand it up, straighten its collar, give it a couple of slaps around the face and tell it to sort itself out.

So, you ask, what's the meaning of all this, of all these metaphors? What are you trying to tell me? Well... I quit my job. Yep. teagirl is currently flying solo on the teabag front. No big pots of hot beverage from this kettle right now, just one solitary, stolen-from-Starbucks mug.

My time had come to leave Halo Post Production. I'd had a - mostly - brilliant time working there, learning plenty of useful skills along the way. The biggest plus was getting to work, day in, day out (and often night in, night out!) with some of my best friends. Someone told me recently that all people who work in TV are crazy on some level, which I'm finding makes for some very interesting and enjoyable friendships. But you can't stay in one place for the people, as sad as it is - and was - to leave them behind and move on. I'd gotten everything I could get out of the job, there wasn't room for progression, and while I would have always given it my all, my heart was starting to focus itself elsewhere. And I'm very much a "heart" kind of girl.

The question I've heard the most so far, naturally, has been "So where are you heading next?" This is where all that "grabbing by the ankles" and shaking things up business comes in. In true Ash style, I've changed pretty much everything, quit my stable job (during a recession... yes, I'm aware!) given up my extremely-tiny-and-lime-green London home, all with no real plan.

There's a bit of a plan. I'm in Toronto right now visiting my brother (and doing my last piece of decision-making about my possible 6-month stint here next summer). When I get back to the UK I'm having some much-needed family time in Blackpool before throwing myself into everything again. Which means more couch-surfing and hopefully some production jobs that will lead to something stable, so I can set up camp in the Big Smoke once again....

But it wasn't all about the job, about changing my situation to better suit my progression. Something else occured to me, only part-way through all these changes, and bear with me, because it may sound a little pretentious at first. But, I felt that my creativity was being stifled. I've always been creative, and I mean always. In anything too.... music, writing, sketching... at one point I could even make over 50 things out of one of those cardboard toilet roll holders. And creativity was exactly one of those things that had become excluded from my routine. Not only because I didn't have any real spare time, but because I was so absorbed by that routine - and so focused on spending all free hours between the pub and my bed - that I didn't really feel like being creative anymore. I didn't want to make the time for it. I stopped writing, I can't tell you the last time I drew anything that wasn't a moustache on Katie Price's photographed face. And I stopped blogging.

So, I'm back. If only for the reason that I really don't have any bloody excuse now.
Stick the kettle on, would you?

She's funny, that Ash...

As you have probably read, two days ago I published a post talking about the funny things that I tend to witness when in and around London. Usually, this involves my enjoyment of other people's misfortune since, let's face it, when someone does something really stupid, it's pretty funny.

Well. Less than 24 hours after posting one such event occured... What are the chances, right?

Yesterday, on the commute into work, a girl was just entering the station as the train she needed was pulling into the platform. She'd walked in on the opposite side of the tracks, so needed to cross over a footbridge to catch the train. As she ran up the steps she slipped - who'd a thunk it, rain in June! - and despite going down quite heavily, picked herself up and carried on running across the bridge.

Pretty funny thing to see, right? That wasn't all....

As she was coming to the bottom of the steps on the other side, the train doors started to beep (meaning the doors were about to close), so she quickly legged it onto the nearest carriage, JUST made it..... and slipped on the wet floor, flying smack bang on her arse.

Gotta say, it was a pretty impressive fall! Legs flying into the air and everything.

To make matters worse, the carriage was fairly busy, and the chorus of "Oohhh!"'s from the concerned-yet-actually-just-really-amused witnesses only confirmed that, yep, everyone just saw your comedy fall, love.

Embarrassing, right? I suppose the fact that is June doesn't really make people very wary of slippery floors, which is a good thing for calamity-spotters like myself...

Oh. And one more thing. It was me. The girl slipping on her arse in front of everyone?

Me.

That Funny London

I'm walking down the street in the West End. Or on the tube travelling home late at night.

I'm strolling around Covent Garden, or sat outside a crudely-named pub with a pint in hand.

I can be anywhere, doing anything, when something happens. Something a bit strange, or amusing, or a little outrageous. It may be something small, but something notable, something that I might find myself tweeting about immediately, or not-so-subtly calling a mate about.

The fact is, it's funny, that London. On an almost daily basis I will witness something that makes me love living here...... Well either that or it makes me wonder why the hell I left my (now) seemingly quiet and tame existence in Blackpool.

And I never blog about it. Never. So it's time that changed. From now on I promise to share these oddities with you.

Here's a little gem that I did tweet about, but hell, I'm gonna tell you about it anyway.

One afternoon a couple of months ago, I was sat on the tube on my way home. For those who don't know, right now "home" for me is Buckhurst Hill in Essex, at the Eastern end of the Central Line. I was minding my own business reading my book, A Rumor of War by Philip Caputo, which is a memoir of his time serving in Vietnam.

I get as far as Leyton and two men get onto my carriage and sit next to me. To be perfectly honest, I can't work out if they've been at the merry juice or if they're just "high on life", i.e. a little bit nutty. I keep reading, but I notice that they're talking about me, and trying to see what book I'm reading.

I keep reading. In the end one of them asks about the book, so I show them the cover and tell them it's a book about a soldier in the Vietnam War. He says: "Oh! I've been to 'Nam! Dage'Nam!"

I'm polite, and laugh along. I say this, but in actual fact I did think it was hilarious. Old joke, of course, but good on the old boy for trying!

To be honest this wasn't the funniest part of my encounter with these men, who did look a little like someone should go up to them with a flannel and give them a good wash. After that moment of hilarity, the other guy asks if it's a fictional story - I have a feeling that whatever my response, it probably won't make it much clearer for him - and I tell him yes it is, and how this guy really served in Vietnam.

He turns to his mate and says: "Vietnam. That's the Second World War init?"

Brilliance

I wanted to share this, because I think it's actually fantastic.

Erika Iris Simmons is an artist who currently lives in Georgia, USA. She works with "non traditional media" to create her artwork, so things like playing cards, old books, and cassette tape. She has a few different ranges of work, including pieces created from different kinds of paper, or portraits of artists/authors made from rearranges pieces of their own original work.

However, it's this selection that caught my eye:

"Ghost in the Machine"

It's brilliant. For realisies amazing. What a cool idea!

These are my favourites:

Bob Marley

Betty Davis

Alfred Hitchcock

So have a gander, and enjoy!

(You can also visit Erika's website at www.iri5.com)

You've evaded me for too long, pesky celebs.....

I've been told off.

My good friend Evan just sat me down and - I quote - "bitched" at me (she's American....!) at the state of my blogging affairs.

"Ash, seriously, I've been checking your site for Celeb Spots of the Week since about January. You should rename it Celeb Spots of the Month, not Celeb Spots of the Week..."

She's right. I know this much is true. But it's funny she should have had this rant at this particular point in time. Aside from a few Z-listers, those pesky celebs have evaded me for a few weeks. It seems the bitter winter months of late have caused them to retreat into their own fur-lined, diamond-studded version of hibernation.

However, in the last week or so they have begun to reemerge...

Here you are folks! Celeb Spots of the Month...!

Sandy Toksvig - Comedienne, author and presenter - walking right by my work building, down Riding House Street with a group of people.

Wendi Peters - Actress, best known for her role as Cilla in Coronation St, and current star of Grumpy Old Women Live - walking down Great Queen Street in Covent Garden.

Sophie Anderton - Model and "reality TV star", i.e. general all-round bitch on I'm A Celebrity, Get Me Out of Here! - entering one of my work buildings to visit another company. I have a very good story to go with this spot. I may post about it in the future...... Depends if I can get done for some celebrity-self-styled crime or not!

Matt King - Super Hans in Peep Show, Cook's father in Skins, star of Inkheart, Rock n Rolla and Bronson - walking down Oxford St.

Sean Pertwee - Tonnes of TV appearances, most well know for Cold Feet and the third Doctor Who, and the films Dog Soldiers and The 51st State - at our company, recording a voice-over.

Sarah Alexandra - Maybe you don't recognise the name, but you'd recognise the face. She's been in Green Wing, Coupling and Teachers, and played Michelle Phifer's witch sister in Stardust - Also recording a voice over at our place.

Frankie Sandford - Of The Saturdays - Also entering our building to visit another company - Swooooooooooooooooon.

Clare Nasir - GMTV weather girl - attending the launch party of Yo! Sushi on Market Place, with her boyfriend, BBC 6Music DJ Chris Hawkins.

Hardeep Singh Kohli - Roving reporter for The One Show - also at the Yo! Sushi launch party.

Kerry Katona - Ex-Atomic-Kitten member, "Queen of the Jungle" and general trashy reality TV star - seemingly being the "main event" at Yo! Sushi's launch party.

And there you are folks. Nothing special, but after a serious drought for CSOTW, somewhat of an influx of popular personalities for teagirl.

Let's hope they're back in action, and Celeb Spots of the Week doesn't need to become, as suggested by Evan, Celeb Spots of the Month...

Yo! Kerry!

On wednesday evening, at around 7pm, I was rummaging around in some library boxes at work when I received a call from one of my colleagues, Carolynne:

"I'm only telling you this because you're a celebrity junkie like me, but the new Yo! Sushi restuarant is opening tonight, and there's loads of paparazzi outside..."

Naturally, since my job as teagirl is not only to make tea but also to celebrity spot, and since Celeb Spots of the Week has suffered a drought recently, on my next run I took a detour round the corner to see what was going on.

To be honest.... not much was going on. It seemed like a nice set up for a launch party, with street cooking, traditional Japanese drums and a small red carpet. I waited around for about 10 minutes, and spotted a couple of minor celebs:

Hardeep Singh Kohli - Best known for his role as a roving reporter on The One Show, and probably even better know for his suspension from the show following a complaint made against him by a female colleague for "inappropriate behaviour."

Clare Nasir and Chris Hawkins - GMTV weather girl and producer, and her BBC 6Music DJ husband.

The "highlight" - and to be honest, if this is the highlight of your busines launch party, then you really need to reevaluate a few things - was the emergence of Kerry Katona from the restaurant, leaving in a black Range Rover. To be fair to the girl, she looked bloody fabulous; obviously in shape, wearing a great outfit, lovely hair and makeup...

Then, once she was in the car and they began to drive off, three paps jumped on their mopeds to chase after her. It turns out she was heading to the premiere of JLo's new movie, The Back-Up Plan, but even so, it struck me as kind of sad that they'd hang around a - let's be honest - crappy sushi restuarant to snap one C-List celebrity, only to jump straight back onto their bikes to then follow her around for rest of the evening.

Sad, yes. But if I was going to be offered a shed-load of money for one photo, then maybe I wouldn't judge so harshly....!

No ordinary lunch break.

I have something exciting to share.

I stumbled across something yesterday that I had been completely unaware of - probably due to the head-in-the-cloud-edness that I've been experiencing lately.

The discovery was this.

Yes, Walkers have brought out a range of 15 new flavours in time with the World Cup. Ok, so maybe it's not all that exciting... but hey, it brightens up my lunch hours spent alternating between ham, chicken and rice concoctions...

So yesterday I had myself a bag of 'French Garlic Baguette', and I have to tell you, they were pretty darned good. A few seconds after finishing my first crisp, I had the distinct feeling that I had not simply eaten a garlic baguette flavoured crisp, but actually the garlic baguette itself. Extraordinary. I also tried the 'Brazilian Salsa' flavour, curtesy of a colleague, and they were pretty good too.

So my plan now is to make the most of this exciting period in crisp history, and munch my way through as many of the new flavours as possible. Gotta say, not really feeling the 'Scottish Haggis' or 'Australian BBQ Kangaroo' too much, amongst others. But hey, maybe someone could sponsor me for some charity, and maybe then I'll endure the likes of 'Welsh Rarebit'....

Yeah ok, maybe not.

Today.... I'm not sure, but I think I'm gonna go for 'Italian Spaghetti Bolognaise'.

Or maybe 'Spanish Chicken Paella'.

Or 'Japanese Teriyaki Chicken'...........

Lef'... Right... Lef' Right Lef'...

"I'm shitting myself."
"Me too. It's good though, to do something that scares the shit out of you every so often."
"Yeah, that's true."
"It'll be fine."
"....I'm shitting myself."
"Yeah. Me too."

11.30am on Saturday, and my friend Katherine and I are sat in Cafe Nero, nervously sipping a cup of tea each. We've made the mistake of meeting up an hour before our first hip hop dance class at Pineapple Studios, something that we've both been dying to do for a really long time, but only just had the guts.

Here's just a small example of my thought process at that moment in time.....

"What the hell am I doing?
It was all well and good planning to go to a class, but now I actually have to do it...
But this is something I've been wanting to do for such a long time, and it is only a beginner class.
I can't bloody learn choreography. Cheryl Cole's music video is one thing, a class with a trained dancer......
It could be really fun, though. I do love dancing.
But the last time I went to a dance class it was full of prissy schoolgirls and their cliques....
It's not gonna be like that here though, it's just a class, I'm not enrolling for anything.
What the hell......."

I imagine Katherine's mind was running through similar things.

So we spent that hour psyching ourselves up for the class, then scaring the shit out of each other, then back to the pep talks, then back to the doubt. It probably wasn't the best idea. But anyway, at 11.45 we left Cafe Nero and somehow dragged ourselves around the corner to Pineapple.

I've gotta say it....... It wasn't half as bad as I expected. Our teacher was an awesome Spanish dude called Xavi Monreal (YouTube him!), who was focused and a great teacher, and also pretty funny. There were probably about 30 people in the class, ranging from fairly good dancers right down to absolute beginners, and everyone was so focused on learning the choreo that you didn't have to worry about what you looked like. It was just really fun. Initially I was concentrating so hard on the steps that I forgot I was there to dance and not some sort of lighthearted military drill. Once I relaxed a bit I started to run through the steps in my own usual style, and it actually started to look alright!

So... all in all, a good experience. Most importantly it was a good laugh. Especially towards the end when we had to just dance around the room with each other doing the "UFO". Katherine was right, you do need to do something that scares the shit out of you every so often, it's good for you. And with every new thing that you do it probably doesn't get any less scary. But what would be the point in that?

And before you ask, no... I did not see Louie Spence!

"Oi, Mush!"

On the morning of Thursday 18th March I woke up in a daze, five minutes before I needed to leave the house for work. I scrambled out of bed, almost stepping onto last night's dirty plate, and, on realising that NONE of my washing had dried over night, grabbed one of my last two clean (and dry) T-shirts and some jeans. I had an impressively quick wash, legged it out of the house and somehow managed to catch my train.

It wasn't until I'd reached worked and checked my emails that I realised I'd forgotten something. Something really bloody big. Later in the day we had a booking for a voice-over, with a very high-profile client attending.... None other than Sir David Attenborough, hero to many and national treasure.

I was about to meet Sir David Attenborough, about to represent my company in his - and other high-profile clients' - presence..... and I was wearing a T-shirt with beachwear-clad lego people on the front with the tagline "I'll Be Ready..... For Mouth to Mouth." Awesome.

They were arriving at lunchtime, so I went to Marks & Spencer and bought a spread of mixed sandwich platters, nibbles (nuts, crisps, dip, etc), and cupcakes. Then, just before they arrived, I gave in to my inner OCD and prepared and laid out the food in a way that can only be described as beautiful. Sandwiches laid out in a fancy pattern. Bowls of nibbles arranged symmetrically. Cupcakes set out in alternating colours. I was extremely proud.

My pride was short-lived. On arrival the clients decided to split up, half waiting in reception while the other half discussed the plan for the afternoon. Thus I had to disturb my intricate lunch spread and share the food between the two groups. Sir David never got to see it. But I know he would have loved it.

There wasn't too much for me to do for them once they got into the swing of things. There were a couple of drink orders, though, and so finally my moment came. I entered the room, hastily took their orders, with one of the other clients checking with Sir David that he wanted a black coffee - in response he didn't turn around, just simply said "Yes, yes please." I made my teas and coffees, conscious that this was probably the most important tea round I'd ever done, and was happy with the again simple "Thank you" that I received on delivering that coffee to everyone's favourite Sir.

And that was it, that was the extent of my experience with Sir David Attenborough. One more amazing moment followed, when he was sat in reception waiting for his car to arrive, chatting away about nature to the other colleagues. The man's intelligence is astounding. He was talking about things that you wouldn't expect anyone to know about, so matter-of-factly that you'd think he was talking about his pet dog.

Time for one more piece of awesomeness. Danny, our dubbing mixer who was working on the project with the clients asked Sir David at the beginning of the session what he should call him. Sir David replied:

"You can just call me David. Or if not you can just shout "Oi, Mush!" "