Lazy

Now, I’m supposed to be working on a script for next week. Not only should I be learning lines and working out my character but I’m also supposed to be learning another language for it. Y’know, just a language I know very little about but am supposed to be extremely comfortable with by next week. No biggie. But the problem is that I don’t really like the script. I’d like the job but the script is dull and predictable. It tells a story that has been told a million times before and contains characters that bring nothing new to this all too familiar story. I want to like it and what the playwright doing is commendable but I’ve read it through twice now and I’m already fed up with it.

I know that I need to put the work in and, to be honest, I’ve got very little else stopping me at the moment.  It’s gloriously sunny outside but if I try and work out there then I look like an epileptic meerkat as I desperately try to see what’s on my laptop screen. I could wander up into town but I appear to have developed a blister the size of a small, painful child on the bottom of my foot so I’m currently walking at a very slow, hobbled pace. So, I’m essentially trapped indoors. It’s just me and the terrible script.

So, here’s the thing. I’ve been told that I’ll be asked to speak in this language at the audition next week although they realise that I’m not a speaker of it at present. They haven’t given me anything to prepare so I’m not 100% sure what to expect. I can only imagine that I’m going to have to enter into some uber-style sight-reading task where I’m expected to make the script sound like I haven’t just learnt the power of speech. So, I thought I’d look up a few basic phrases just so I’m familiar with how the language sounds. That lasted all of three minutes before I got distracted by a bird on our patio. I then thought maybe it would be better to see if I could translate the lines I’ve got so that I’m one step ahead. I found a translation site, put in my lines, only to find that they translate it into the written form (it’s a language that doesn’t use the only alphabet I've ever bothered to learn) and so my screen was full of a load of squiggles that I don’t understand.

So I’ve given up.  Like the lazy, no-good actress that I am, I’ve thrown the script on the floor. My only work on it, the highlighted lines which I did two days ago, are staring at me like an angry, disappointed director. Maybe they’re looking for an actress who lacks commitment but is a whizz with a pink highlighter? Maybe they want someone who can’t be bothered to do as she’s told and instead likes to go for the dangerous method of winging it? Maybe? Fine. I’ll try again.  

Acting Exercises

While sat in the park yesterday, I got to writing a bit about drama school. As I wrote, I started to remember things that my brain had clearly desperately tried to forget about, things that started to enduce a strong sense of panic the second I started to write about them. The main culprit was 'acting exercises' These were exercises that you had to perform mainly solo (although later ones included a partner) in front of the rest of the group. They start out simple with a simple object exercise where you're on you're own performing a simple task. Then, once you've successfully completed that task, they progress in difficulty until you're in a life or death situation where you have to escape without waking up your partner otherwise you'll die. Each exercise has objectives and obstacles and actions and you have to state these before starting and then the piece is then performed for everyone.

My first tutor who introduced me to these was an absolute demon. He was incredible and a comedy genius but he was also as demonic as they come. He would firstly insist that you bring in as many props as possible so that you could recreate your surroundings as much as possible. This would mean that you'd instantly know who was on that day as they'd arrive laden with bedding and rugs and ornaments and CDs and photos and everything else that they held dear. After setting up your room, you'd state your scenario and then you'd set about mentally preparing so that you were ready. This was all done in front of the group and you were allowed to take as long as you liked (one girl took 20 minutes and we were all left watching her lying on a bed as she supposedly got her mind ready for the task ahead.) You would then begin your task and the exercise would end either when you reached your objective or if the tutor stopped you. And he was a bugger for stopping people. If he thought you dropped out of character or lost your objective for a second then that was it, game over. And you couldn't just start again. Oh no. You'd have a thorough dressing down in front of the group and then you'd have to wait for your turn to come round again in a few weeks. One guy famously took four months just to get his first exercise completed. The boy was very nearly broken by the end.

My personal worst was for my 'sleeping partner' exercise where you have to reach your objective without waking your partner up. Your partner is control of whether they wake up and it all based on how much noise you make, meaning that you spend a lot of time creeping around all in the name of acting. I'd set up a scene where I'd read a letter of my mum's without her knowing and I needed to return the letter to her bedroom. A very simple scenario and after a few minutes of mental preparation, I was ready. However, at the exact same time that I started, my brain went into meltdown and instead of the delicate creeping that I'd planned, I charged across the room. Naturally, my partner was woken up instantly by my elephant-style stamping and my exercise was over in a matter of seconds. Tutor shouted, I had nothing to say for myself and I then had to wait another three weeks before I was allowed another attempt.

Then, of course, there was the challenge of watching other people's exercises. Because of the nature of the pieces, you had to sit in complete and utter silence so as not to make any noise that may ruin someone's exercise. The worst came when a guy in my class did his, without any warning, completely naked. It was for his life and death situation where he was being held captive by kidnappers and he needed to escape without waking them up otherwise they'd kill him. He did his mental preparation fully clothed in front of us and then went into the next room as he needed to enter the room to start the scene. All blissfully unaware, we sat back and waited only to be faced with him entering, bits first, through the door. We then had to watch him creep around the room (I should add that we had to use the local church hall for some classes and this was one of them and it had windows that faced out onto a very busy carpark) naked for fifteen minutes while he tried to retrieve his clothes and a set of keys. I have honestly never felt like such a child as I did that day.

And then of course there was the poor girl who had made life so difficult for herself by being tied to a pipe while sat on a massive piece of tarpaulin. The person who had tied her up had done it so tight and the tarpaulin was so noisy that we then spent 45 minutes in complete silence watching her desperately try to move even an inch successfully. Finally the tutor called an end to proceedings when the girl was in actual tears at the sheer frustration of it all.

It's when I remember things like that that I'm so thankful I'm no longer training. I don't think I've ever felt like such a failure as I did during those months when it felt like everything I did was completely and utterly wrong. Of course, the elation at being allowed to move onto the next exercise was also pretty damn unbeatable at the time. I'm sure my notes from back then would be interesting but I'm pretty sure they're a tear-stained jumble of words as I desperately tried to work out how to get it right. Hmmm, maybe things haven't changed as much as I thought they had...

World Theatre Day

As it's World Theatre Day, I really thought I ought to do a very quick blog. Well, to be honest, after writing in the sun all morning, I was feeling a bit sleepy but my mind is a little active and the nap I promised myself has been foregone. I'm sorry.

So what to write about on this special (?) day? I mean, it can't be that special because no one sent me a card to mark the occasion. I've received no flowers and I'm pretty sure I've seen no mention of it on the news. In fact, the only reason I realised that it was supposedly today is because I saw it on Twitter (of course.) So I thought that maybe I should write about how little we seem to care about theatre but that seems a bit sad, especially on such a gorgeously sunny day, and also because even I sometimes get a little tired of being negative all the time. So instead, I thought I'd write about a few of my theatre highlights from my life. Excited? You better be.

The first play I will always mention when someone asks about a standout show is Light by Complicite. I saw this way back when I was in 6th form when I still didn't quite realise how magical theatre could be. I remember going into the theatre being annoyed that I had ended up next to one of the tutors when really all I wanted to do was to be sat as far away from them as possible so I could carry on chatting to my friends. However, as the lights went down in the Almeida, I was transfixed by a tale of a village ravaged by an illness. The use of puppetry and staging was something that I'd never witnessed before and, since then, every other play I've seen has been measured up against this mesmerising show.

While we're still with my 17 year old self, let's look beyond the dubious bob I decided to get and the dodgy jeans and look at another play I first witnessed during this time. The Woman In Black. For anyone who has ever seen this, I think we'll all agree that this play showed us just what can be achieved on stage. Never did I realise just how terrifying theatre could be. I mean, I don't know why I was surprised just how frightening real people could be when they're right in front of you but it surprised me just as much as every single surprise in this play. It's a play that caused me to sleep with the light on for three weeks and one that I would gladly take anyone to see. I've now seen it three times having dragged other people along and I get such delight watching their distraught little faces as scare after fright after horrificness happens on stage.

And now, as I seem to be working in chronological order, we have another excellent play which has stuck with me ever since. The Pillowman. I first saw this when a reasonably unknown David Tennant was in it. It's all about a writer who is interogated about the gruesome stories he has written and how they mirror a number of child murders. It's grisly, funny and utterly magical. And another play that I've seen several times as I continuously insist on dragging others, trying to make them enjoy all the things that I like.

And finally we move into the heady days of last year's Edinburgh festival when T dragged me to see a show by the theatre company Theatre Ad Infinitum. He'd seen a show by them the year before and was fascinated by it so on one of our rare afternoons off, we went to see their new play, Translunar Paradise. Played with only two actors and an accordion player, it looks at the process of grief. This play is, without doubt, the most moving piece of theatre I have ever witnessed. For a play that contains no words, it's unbelievably touching and if you don't have tears streaming down your face throughout much of it then you have a heart of stone and a soul of iron.

So there we have it. My humble opinion on what's good. I apologise that it's not full of whinges and whines and complaints. We'll save that all up for tomorrow. And now, to celebrate World Theatre Day, I'm off to the cinema. Hooray!

Fancy A Drink?

Payment: alcohol/meeting

That's the casting that I found yesterday. On a gorgeously sunny Sunday afternoon, someone out there had cobbled together a casting with bits of old Sellotape, once-sticky Blu-Tak and a vague idea that actresses will do anything for free booze. Now, why that may sometimes be true, even the most desperate of actresses have some sort of limit. Now, I realise the notion that all thesps are just on the safe side of being raging alcoholics is one that everyone likes to keep. The world is happy believing that the acting fraternity is full of suave actors with a single malt in one hand while an actress is hanging on his other arm, desperately clutching a large glass of Merlot. And while I don't want to completely dispell the myth because yes, there are a lot of actors out there who like a drink.

I've had many a raucous night courtesy of adding actors to alcohol but I've seen office workers behaving far worse. So why don't see adverts for Accounting Executives or Receptionists where they just offer the chance of a meeting and a few drinks in return for their work? Is it because we work in a hugely unmonitored industry or because, as performers, we do very little to dispel the myth? I'd like to offer a third option where I tell you that this particular advert was, although on a casting website, was actually just a director asking for women to go out clubbing with him one night. And that's the option I would've given if I hadn't seen yet another casting this morning stating that there would be no pay but that they'd be putting on a great after-party with plenty of alcohol. Thanks guys.

I'm now going to move seamlessly into a little tale about possibly the oddest acting/alcohol experience I've had. It was way back when I was a still a training actress, full of the belief that I was just a few months away from year long runs at the National, constant flights out to LA to meet important directors and endless lunches at The Ivy. It was still a time when owning character shoes and a practice skirt mattered and when I thought the world might end if I wasn't in a constant state of voice exercises and Alexander Technique moves (it was also at a time when I infuriatingly shortened 'Alexander Technique' to 'Ali Tech' but the less said about that, the better.) It was one of our final year shows and, because most of the characters drank rather heavily throughout the play, the director decided that it would be a good idea to do a 'rehearsal' on a Friday night where he bought an alarming amount of red wine and we were shut in a room for a couple of hours and just drank and improvised in character. Had he been a director with completely scrupulous morals then I would maybe have understood why he chose this method but, to be honest, I think he liked the idea of sitting back with a glass of wine in hand, watching ten 20-somethings causing merry mayhem. And I don't think it will surprise anyone to hear that it achieved absolutely nothing. My character was the one character in the play that didn't actually drink. Bringing this up with the director he merely shrugged and said I could either not drink and see how it felt for my character to be sober in an alcoholic world or I could see what it was like for the other characters. Of course, you know which option I went with...

What ensued was a slightly awkward mess. We all wanted to seem professional so we all desperately tried to stay in character but this was coupled with the fact that it was Friday night and we'd been given an exciting amount of free booze. After about half an hour of keeping up the pretence that we were working, we ended up just sat around having a good ol' chat. Well, we all did apart from two actors who used it as a rather ill-timed opportunity to finally act on two and a half years of built up sexual tension. While eight of us sat around playing drinking games, they embarked upon an hour lip-locked rolling around on the rehearsal room floor. While we spent the next day red-lipped and delighted that the thousands of pounds worth of fees that we'd spent had finally paid off, they were red-faced for many months after.

Easy Like Friday Morning

Some auditions are properly hard work. You have to send photos and voicereels and showreels and create carefully crafted cover letters. Then you have agonising waits while the company constantly checks your profile, they put you 'under consideration' and you spend weeks working out how this job is going to change your life forever. Then, they finally contact you and you get an audition and you have to learn a script, prepare two monologues and learn Mandarin in the space of 12 hours. You finally get to the audition and they disregard all your prepared material, despite you learning all of Shakespeare's female monologues in Mandarin 'just in case', and they insetad ask you to recite the complete works of George Bernard Shaw in Swahili while standing on your head with your right hand in a bucket of frogs. Or something like that.

Today's audition was completely different. I fired off a very generic application for it while sitting on the bus and I received a call from them yesterday while I was wandering around the incredible Yayoi Kusama exhibition (if you like dots and making yourself feel completely and utterly spaced out for an afternoon then you should definitely go.) They gave me an audition time and where to be and that was it. Nothing to prepare, no elaborate outfits to organise. Hooray.

So I arrived this morning feeling pretty damn relaxed. Despite having to get up at 8am, I was in a good mood and sauntered in, expecting it all to be a breeze. I arrived at the doors of the very professional building and just as I was looking for which doorbell to press, a security guard comes running towards the glass doors, hollering in panic that the door was already open. I walked in, he breathlessly pointed me in the right direction and I went in. I was signed in and then asked to wait in their reception. A minute later, someone comes and gets me and I'm asked to sit in an empty boardroom and fill in a very short form. I'm left on my own and told that someone will come and collect me soon. I fill out the form and then I'm just left with my thoughts, five jugs of water and a muted television showing golf. After what seems an eternity, I'm collected and taken to another room to wait. I'm told that as soon as the person currently in there comes out, I can go in. Easy peasy.

Another auditionee who appears to have been wandering around the building suddenly appears and we're left to wait together in a waiting room/corridor. Not a second has gone by before the other auditionee informs me that she's off to a modelling shoot straight after this. Oh. Good for you. I mean, I didn't ask but thanks for letting me know anyway. After a good minute of being told just how busy her life is and how she's 'always modelling', I get a condescending smile when she finally asks what I'm up to for the rest of the day and I tell her, in all honesty, that I'll be doing very little indeed.

Two actresses then leave the casting room and I presume that they're obviously auditioning us in pairs. Miss Model Pants gets up to go, as do I but just as I step into the room behind her, she turns, scowls and tells me that it's just her going in. Whether she was right or not, the thought of not having to audition with this monster is too much for me so I step back gladly. She then tells me to look after her bags and waltzes in, leaving me to continue to stand awkwardly in a waiting room with no chairs.

After what seems an eternity, she finally returns. She flouncees out, takes great joy in saying 'enjoy the rest of your day doing nothing' and she's gone. Finally it's my turn. I walk through the door to come face to face with a black sheet which has been put up to section off the casting area. It was fixed in such a way that I had to enter the audition in maybe the most demeaning way possible and found myself trying to shake hands with the director while he greets me while crawling into his studio. Yes. Firstly I try and gatecrash someone else's audition and then I finally enter in on my hands and knees. I make quite the first impression.

I'm pleased to say that the rest of the audition was joyously easy but the damage was done. Unless they're looking for a dusty kneed actress who doesn't quite understand audition etiquette, I think I can safely say that the job ain't mine.

Late Expectations

I was planning on writing about the damn workshop audition I had to attend today. I was all set to rant and rail about what a terrible experience it was but, annoyingly, it was actually ok. Of course, I didn't enjoy always being in the wrong place at the wrong time and therefore constantly having to play the more dull of the two characters. Nor did I enjoy getting chewing gum on my be-socked feet within ten seconds of entering the audition room, meaning that I spent much of the morning with a trail of gaffer tape and cotton trailing behind me like a lost theatre puppy. And I really didn't enjoy the X Factor style ending they decided upon meaning that those of us who they didn't want to see again had the pleasure of being told so in front of the successful ones. It's not every day you get to be publicly rejected before lunch time.

But apart from those things, it was all relatively painless. All the other auditionees were very lovely and I had much fun. So instead I'll be writing about my second audition of the day. Oh yes, I had one of 'those' days where you get to feel like a proper actor. So read on...

The initial signs for my second audition weren't good. I'd had a read of the script and it was fair to say that I wasn't impressed. Reading the script was mainly an exercise in frowning and sighing and I was left feeling annoyed, perplexed and in need of tea and hugs. I thought that either the script wasn't well written or that I was a bit thick because I really didn't get it. If the play wasn't on in a very lovely theatre then I'd have considered turning down the audition. So, I wasn't in the best frame of mind and this then wasn't helped by London transport being about as useful as my 8 year old copy of Contacts. But despite having to almost leave London to get back into it again, I still arrived at my audition twenty minutes early. Once the two box office staff had stopped licking each other's necks (seriously) I was informed that auditions were running about 30 minutes late so I'd be waiting for just under an hour. I was exhausted by this point so I positioned myself on a comfy sofa by the window and set upon some good old fashioned waiting.

After a good while spent watching an army of old man perform an intricate dance of creepiness around the foyer, it finally seemed like it would be my turn to go in. The director wandered over, looked at me, looked at the other people waiting and then wandered off again. He peformed this ritual a good three times which, at the speed he was going, took a good 5 minutes. Eventually, he came over to me and I was on my way. Now, this man did not make a good first impression. His hair was on end, he was shuffling around in a manner I've only seen in myself when suffering with a particularly bad wine hangover and, to top it all off, he had a massive tea stain down his shirt. This would be interesting....but it was. The audition was wonderful, the audition panel were an absolute joy and I did probably the best audition since getting back into this silly game. Despite being tired, hungry and in desperate need of a cup of tea, I left the audition with very springy steps indeed.

Oh, and the director explained the story to me. Turns out I am a bit thick...

Take A Break

I went on a little mini-break this week. OK, you might call it ‘me tagging along with T while he works out of London’ but in my world that currently seems to centre around Kettle Chips, castings for budget brands and dealing with the fact that most texts I receive are from the Papa John’s marketing team, I’m in need of a bit of glamour so we’ll be calling it a mini-break. You say tomato, blah blah blah, let’s call this bizarre, pronunciation-based relationship off.

So yes, I dared to venture out of the confines of London for a few precious days. It’s hugely thrilling  getting out of this silly city for a few days and I was massively excited by the quaint little places that we’d be staying in over the next few days. But underneath this feeling of joy was a slow, trickling undercurrent of dread. Of course, because although it’s damn fine getting the chance to escape, it also means that you’re making yourself unavailable for all the jobs that Sod and his army of evil children will inevitably throw your way. And Sod, the mean and poorly organised little cretin, didn’t disappoint and he made sure that almost instantly, I was put up for a job that would be shooting while I was planning to be away. However, not content with this one, mildly devious act, he then decided to make sure that every other casting out there meant that I felt like a foolish, holiday obsessed thesp.

Now I realise I hadn’t booked wildly expensive flights or decadent hotels so I could easily not go and leave T to go on a solo road trip (not a euphimism.) But why should I? The problem with being self-employed is this belief that you’ve got to constantly be available just incase something turns up. But because Sod is always in charge he’ll make sure that while you’re at home waiting for the job train to come along, there’s a whole forest’s worth of trees on the line but the second you dare to break free, there’s jobs aplenty. It drives me frikkin wild and it has driven me to the point where I’ve become so stubborn about the whole thing that I now refuse to back down.

When I first left drama school, I was determined to always be available. I was stung early on when I dared to book tickets for a festival just a month or so after I graduated. I’d be at the festival Friday to Sunday so I figured I’d be safe. What were the chances of me getting an audition on that Friday? Bloody high as it goes and just as I thought I’d gotten away with my rash, ticket buying ways,  I got a call from my agent to say I’d got a well paid audition for Friday afternoon. I pleaded for it to be changed but I very quickly learnt that this wasn’t an option so instead I just had to deal with it and embark upon a good 24 hours of cursing, Sod, his wife, their children and everyone else who dared cross my path. And as a result of this first, tiny little sting, I then embarked upon a three year ban on holidays (it’s safe to say that I spent much of these three years as a pale, vaguely miserable wreck.)

Thankfully I’ve learnt from my silly mistakes and I now know that it’s ok to take some time off. Yes, I’m constantly waking up in a cold sweat worrying about those Radiohead tickets I’ve got for October and that they’ll inevitably clash with something but that’s totally normal, right? But I’ll be honest, I actually felt very liberated when I told my agent there would be a few days when I couldn’t work. It made me feel like I had the most tenuous of holds on my career and that it was actually ok to be ever so slightly demanding. I mean, when I say demanding I basically asked if it would be alright for me to be possibly away for three days in a very quiet week in March but, y’know, I totally won.

Photographic Evidence

I've gabbled on about advert auditions many, many times. They are fairly loathsome but they are a goldmine when it comes to the type of ridiculous occurences that I love to write about. And I'm pleased to say that today's casting was no exception. So put down your copy of Contacts, stop pretending that you're going to get any work done and sit back while I tell you a tale of intrigue, bums and old coffee cups...

I should start by saying that I'd started to get a little worried about advert castings. I had one on Friday that was so bloody lovely, I was left wondering what the catch was. Of course, it wasn't completely stress-free. I'd somehow managed to not eat beforehand so I found myself at midday with a very empty, rumbling tum. It was all going ok until the receptionist in the waiting room pulled out a burrito from his bag and from that moment until I was released back into the room, my stomach made sounds that can only be likened to a pneumatic drill left on in an earthquake. But everything else was perfect. So I worried that today's casting would go the same way and I'd be left with nothing to write about. But have no fear, the excruciating, hair-tearing, soul-battering world of acting did not disappoint.

I turned up for the casting a bit early and was surprised to see that I was actually the first person there. I was let into the studios and asked to fill out my form in the waiting room. However, it was only when I sat down that I realised I was sat in the midst of the production meeting before the casting where the main topic of conversation was just how many people they're seeing for so few roles. Oh brilliant. But I tried to keep my head held high as I depressingly wrote down my measurements. Just as I managed to get a slippery grip on my dignity, the receptionist decided that now was the perfect time to empty the two bins that were only 30cm from my feet. Coffee dregs, sandwich wrappers and an all matter of office debris spill out over the floor and cascade over my feet. Great. That's just what I need to get myself ready.

I'm finally whisked away where I'm asked to pose for a series of photographs. Finally, I felt like I was safe. But oh no. I'm told that my shots will essentially be test ones where they can test that the lighting is OK. Oh. Thanks. That should really help me get the job. And then, if I wasn't feeling uneasy enough, I'm then subjected to someone shouting 'ROLL UP YOUR SLEEVES' as they walk past me, not even stopping to make contact. I'm then asked to turn my back to the camera, bend over ever so slightly and put my hands on my bum. Were this not for a very well-known company then alarm bells would've been ringing out to the tune of the Crimewatch theme tune. I should also add that this was taking place at the bottom of a stairwell which all the other auditionees had to walk through to wait for their turn. I apologise to anyone who came down the stairs to be greeted by the sight of my bum.

I was then taken into a room where some further photos were taken (I'm pleased to announce that my bottom played no part in these) and I was then sent on my way with a contented smile on my face. But this was shortlived as it appeared that every actress in the world who looks even remotely like me was rounded up in the short time that I was away. I exited the room to be faced with what felt like a million slightly more attractive versions of myself. Thanks world. Thanks. Very. Much.

A Familiar Face

Let it be known that I generally dislike bumping into people that I know at an audition. Even if it's someone that I'm actually quite fond of, you can guarantee that my heart will sink and weep gently the second I lay eyes on a familiar face. Unless you're a genuine friend who I enjoy talking to at anytime then I promise that I will be disappointed to see you. And here's why...

OK, I'll admit that there's one thing that I do like about seeing someone I know at a casting. I know what it is and I bet you know what it is...it's the sheer joy of having someone see that you're still working. it's the most wonderfully passive way of letting other people know that you're still castable and that you've still got a chance of actually getting work. But that's it. Everything else is bloody tedious.

The most tedious of all has to be the dreaded catch up. I bumped into someone I knew at an audition yesterday and there are only a few precious seconds that can go by before it gets awkward that you haven't asked how they've been. I hadn't seen this particular person for about three years and, at best, he's a boring, boastful and rather beligerent human being, so engaging in 'The Catch Up' was not a pleasing prospect. I mumbled a vague question about how he'd been and I was then catapulted into a 15 minute speech about his every movement from the last three years. But I didn't want this. When I get to an audition, I want a few minutes to help get myself into character. This was one of the biggest auditions I've been to in quite some time and I didn't want my chances ruined just because some bore wants to ramble on about how amazing his life is. No. I want to pace around, muttering lines to myself and pretending to everyone else there that I'm a real, proper actor who takes my job seriously (they didn't need to know that just an hour earlier I'd got about half a bag of Kettle Chips in my hair.)

So instead of psyching myself up and helping myself believe that I might actually be in with a chance of getting this job, I got the absolute opposite. Not content with destroying my few minutes of silence before going in, he thought he'd destroy my last ounce of hope that the casting might actually go ok. While my ears were bleeding with his constant tales about how successful he's becoming, an extremely attractive actress walks in who is clearly up for the same part as me. I mean, she was stunning. The kind of stunning that meant I stared at her a lot. And then, while my self-confidence was already starting to shred before my very eyes, he leans over and whispers that, basically, New Attractive Girl is clearly a lot more suited to the role than I am. Oh thanks. Thanks very much. Here, have my rags of confidence and make yourself a cloak out of them, you evil, horrible man.

I'm actually quite pleased to say that despite everything that went on, the audition seemed to go incredibly well. I mean, I won't get the job because Little Miss Pretty has clearly already got it but, y'know, it's nice to be able to sew a few shreds of confidence back together.