- Published on
Despite my pasaporte de España
I’m not fluent in the language
An 8-week course and a little time in Spain
Do not a fluent Spanish speaker make
But I can follow a conversation
Catch words I recognize
Get the gist
Churros con chocolate for breakfast
Now there’s a language I understand!
The energy of the island
The blanco of the houses
My titos, relatives who lift my heart and soul and make me laugh
Spoil me rotten
Feed me up with tortilla y papas arugadas con mojo
The onions and garlic and olive oil
National signifiers of Spanishness
The essential ingredients to any good meal
(Remember standing in the markets in Islington
And the three musicians
Who played flamenco music
Were set up next to the olive oil stand
And you thought that was very appropriate
The glorious delicious cliche of it)
And from the tiny aeropuerto
You can fly to Nuremburg or Madrid or Varsovia or Gran Canaria or Gatwick or Amsterdam
And you think no matter how long you’ve been away from
Your island home
Far away in another hemisphere
The novelty of being able to travel to such destinations for a weekend
Will never quite wear off
And you’re entirely grateful
That so much of the world is your oyster
And you can understand enough to say
Gracias.
The end.
I’m not fluent in the language
An 8-week course and a little time in Spain
Do not a fluent Spanish speaker make
But I can follow a conversation
Catch words I recognize
Get the gist
Churros con chocolate for breakfast
Now there’s a language I understand!
The energy of the island
The blanco of the houses
My titos, relatives who lift my heart and soul and make me laugh
Spoil me rotten
Feed me up with tortilla y papas arugadas con mojo
The onions and garlic and olive oil
National signifiers of Spanishness
The essential ingredients to any good meal
(Remember standing in the markets in Islington
And the three musicians
Who played flamenco music
Were set up next to the olive oil stand
And you thought that was very appropriate
The glorious delicious cliche of it)
And from the tiny aeropuerto
You can fly to Nuremburg or Madrid or Varsovia or Gran Canaria or Gatwick or Amsterdam
And you think no matter how long you’ve been away from
Your island home
Far away in another hemisphere
The novelty of being able to travel to such destinations for a weekend
Will never quite wear off
And you’re entirely grateful
That so much of the world is your oyster
And you can understand enough to say
Gracias.
The end.
- Published on
Imagine realizing that Virigina Woolf
Walked the streets of London
As you are doing
You knew it as a fact in the back of your mind somewhere
Virginia Woolf lived in London
But to suddenly encounter it
To be living it is a whole other matter
To know that she once stood beneath the arches of the British Museum
And looked up at the names inscribed into the walls
And thought,
All this knowledge! How will I ever come to terms with it?
And to sit reading
A Room of One’s Own
Whilst sitting in a room of one’s own!
In London!
Is entirely novel
And wonderful and funny and joyous.
Because six years ago
You read Mrs Dalloway
And looked at women and fiction
And you never even imagined
Even for a moment
That one day
You would have a room of one’s own.
And the best bit?
The glorious romance novel cliche of it?
Reading the writings of Viriginia Woolf
In your very own window seat
Overlooking the garden
Overlooking the rooftops of London
And you are independent
And you are free to speak your mind
And perform upon the stage
And write
And do exactly as you please.
And you thank all the people who have bought you here.
And you thank Virginia Woolf for paving the way for women writers (even if her end was tragic).
And you think of all the women that didn’t, and still don’t, have this privilege.
And you resolve to keep writing. And keep singing. And keep acting. And hope that you too can make a difference.
The end.
Walked the streets of London
As you are doing
You knew it as a fact in the back of your mind somewhere
Virginia Woolf lived in London
But to suddenly encounter it
To be living it is a whole other matter
To know that she once stood beneath the arches of the British Museum
And looked up at the names inscribed into the walls
And thought,
All this knowledge! How will I ever come to terms with it?
And to sit reading
A Room of One’s Own
Whilst sitting in a room of one’s own!
In London!
Is entirely novel
And wonderful and funny and joyous.
Because six years ago
You read Mrs Dalloway
And looked at women and fiction
And you never even imagined
Even for a moment
That one day
You would have a room of one’s own.
And the best bit?
The glorious romance novel cliche of it?
Reading the writings of Viriginia Woolf
In your very own window seat
Overlooking the garden
Overlooking the rooftops of London
And you are independent
And you are free to speak your mind
And perform upon the stage
And write
And do exactly as you please.
And you thank all the people who have bought you here.
And you thank Virginia Woolf for paving the way for women writers (even if her end was tragic).
And you think of all the women that didn’t, and still don’t, have this privilege.
And you resolve to keep writing. And keep singing. And keep acting. And hope that you too can make a difference.
The end.
- Published on
Many philosophers have agreed
That in order to be happy
People need to be gainfully employed
And now that I’ve been unemployed
For the past six months
I understand this more than ever
I’ve never had trouble getting work until now
Being a student
Living in London during a recession
Times are tough
It’s the best of times
It’s the worst of times
And is it a portal into my future?
Choosing a career where I am likely to be
unemployed for long spells of time
Every actor goes through it
I remember reading Michael Caine’s autobiography
And his depression at watching his friends get jobs around him
His friends not get jobs around him
The despair
And the heartache
And coming to London and giving up everything
I’ve ever known
To be living in the hope of the next job
And when I finally get even a tiny bit of work
The relief, the satisfaction
Spending an evening with lovely people
Well-heeled folk with a passion for supporting the arts
The student-actors gathered around the left-overs
Living the bohemian dream
The reality is so much tougher
Much scarier when you’re not sure how you’ll meet the next rent
Pay for next week’s groceries or travel pass
Because you’re living on sheer determination and hope
And praying praying praying that all this
Despair and heartache will be totally completely worth it
When one day you can say you’re earning your living as a performer
I am an actor
I am living the dream
And it’s even better than I could have imagined
The end.
That in order to be happy
People need to be gainfully employed
And now that I’ve been unemployed
For the past six months
I understand this more than ever
I’ve never had trouble getting work until now
Being a student
Living in London during a recession
Times are tough
It’s the best of times
It’s the worst of times
And is it a portal into my future?
Choosing a career where I am likely to be
unemployed for long spells of time
Every actor goes through it
I remember reading Michael Caine’s autobiography
And his depression at watching his friends get jobs around him
His friends not get jobs around him
The despair
And the heartache
And coming to London and giving up everything
I’ve ever known
To be living in the hope of the next job
And when I finally get even a tiny bit of work
The relief, the satisfaction
Spending an evening with lovely people
Well-heeled folk with a passion for supporting the arts
The student-actors gathered around the left-overs
Living the bohemian dream
The reality is so much tougher
Much scarier when you’re not sure how you’ll meet the next rent
Pay for next week’s groceries or travel pass
Because you’re living on sheer determination and hope
And praying praying praying that all this
Despair and heartache will be totally completely worth it
When one day you can say you’re earning your living as a performer
I am an actor
I am living the dream
And it’s even better than I could have imagined
The end.
- Published on
Once upon a time I lived in Sydney
And I knew many people there
And I studied in many places
And worked in many places
And played, and sang, and danced, and
Lived a life
That now seems far away and distant
And in this present day life
I am a person I always dreamed of being
Living in the lands of overseas
And traveling
And performing
And meditating
And eating delicious food
And being a grown up
Who makes her own decisions
About how her life is going to be
And today I met up with a friend
Who I hadn't seen in quite a while
And he was still the same lovely person
He was a few years ago
Softly spoken but with a glint in his eye
And he made me remember
All those friends
From that Other Life that once I led
And it's funny how people
Float in and out of our lives
And Amy K.R. once wrote about how
Maybe the word "end" is in the word
Friendships
Because sometimes friendships
Just end in the middle
And I just wanted to say,
To all those people
From a distant time, a distant life,
Whether we're actually still in contact or not
To all those people I've sat under bright blue skies with
And drunk beverages with
And shared meals with
And sat beside ponds and stared at geese with
And laughed in offices with
And trained with
And studied with
And sang with
And danced with
And gardened with
And traversed a bit of time
On this globe
Together with
I'm thinking of you
And wondering how you are
And hoping you're happy and well
Really and truly
Happy. And well.
And sending you love from across the universe.
The end.
And I knew many people there
And I studied in many places
And worked in many places
And played, and sang, and danced, and
Lived a life
That now seems far away and distant
And in this present day life
I am a person I always dreamed of being
Living in the lands of overseas
And traveling
And performing
And meditating
And eating delicious food
And being a grown up
Who makes her own decisions
About how her life is going to be
And today I met up with a friend
Who I hadn't seen in quite a while
And he was still the same lovely person
He was a few years ago
Softly spoken but with a glint in his eye
And he made me remember
All those friends
From that Other Life that once I led
And it's funny how people
Float in and out of our lives
And Amy K.R. once wrote about how
Maybe the word "end" is in the word
Friendships
Because sometimes friendships
Just end in the middle
And I just wanted to say,
To all those people
From a distant time, a distant life,
Whether we're actually still in contact or not
To all those people I've sat under bright blue skies with
And drunk beverages with
And shared meals with
And sat beside ponds and stared at geese with
And laughed in offices with
And trained with
And studied with
And sang with
And danced with
And gardened with
And traversed a bit of time
On this globe
Together with
I'm thinking of you
And wondering how you are
And hoping you're happy and well
Really and truly
Happy. And well.
And sending you love from across the universe.
The end.
- Published on
You walk from Westminster to Embankment
Along the Thames River Path
And all the snow has melted
And there are tourists taking photos
And the Eye is spinning.
And you're an hour early for a meeting
So you decide to wander for a bit
And you come across one of those maps that dot central London
And tell you what sites of significance
Are within 5 minutes walking distance
And you see that St. Martin in the Field is nearby
That place you've heard of so often on classical music stations.
And you walk in through a side door
And it's not as big or ornate as you were expecting
But it is lovely.
And down the far end of the church is a striking window
With a curved cross
Designed by an Iranian-born woman
Shirazeh Houshiary.
You sit halfway down the church
And there are people dotted around
A few homeless people sleeping
Sitting upright
Their hoods pulled over their faces
Sitting where it is warm
Curious tourists looking for a quiet refuge
From the busy-ness of London
And you.
And there is a man at a grand piano
He has dark hair, and is balding slightly
He has dark rimmed glasses and a black sweater.
He is playing Gershwin's Rhapsody in Blue.
The acoustics are amazing.
He is rather good
And he is enjoying the acoustic too.
Letting the sound
Really reverberate through the space.
The man sitting three rows in front of you leaves
And you suddenly have a clear view to the pianist
And you feel a bit exposed.
Because until that moment you had almost imagined you were no more than a
Passive spirit observing this place.
And then it is time to go
To your meeting
And you meet a lovely soul
Who inspires you
And lifts your spirits
And an hour flies by
In conversation.
And you walk back along the Thames
And the sun has come out for a moment
And you think
Thank you for bringing me here.
The end.
Along the Thames River Path
And all the snow has melted
And there are tourists taking photos
And the Eye is spinning.
And you're an hour early for a meeting
So you decide to wander for a bit
And you come across one of those maps that dot central London
And tell you what sites of significance
Are within 5 minutes walking distance
And you see that St. Martin in the Field is nearby
That place you've heard of so often on classical music stations.
And you walk in through a side door
And it's not as big or ornate as you were expecting
But it is lovely.
And down the far end of the church is a striking window
With a curved cross
Designed by an Iranian-born woman
Shirazeh Houshiary.
You sit halfway down the church
And there are people dotted around
A few homeless people sleeping
Sitting upright
Their hoods pulled over their faces
Sitting where it is warm
Curious tourists looking for a quiet refuge
From the busy-ness of London
And you.
And there is a man at a grand piano
He has dark hair, and is balding slightly
He has dark rimmed glasses and a black sweater.
He is playing Gershwin's Rhapsody in Blue.
The acoustics are amazing.
He is rather good
And he is enjoying the acoustic too.
Letting the sound
Really reverberate through the space.
The man sitting three rows in front of you leaves
And you suddenly have a clear view to the pianist
And you feel a bit exposed.
Because until that moment you had almost imagined you were no more than a
Passive spirit observing this place.
And then it is time to go
To your meeting
And you meet a lovely soul
Who inspires you
And lifts your spirits
And an hour flies by
In conversation.
And you walk back along the Thames
And the sun has come out for a moment
And you think
Thank you for bringing me here.
The end.
- Published on
Into the woods
To find the snow fairies,
To see the kids having snow fights,
To see the snowmen who have popped up in the night.
There is a mum and and her little girl building a new snowman
Mum has the bucket and spade,
They're normally reserved for holidays at the seaside,
But the snow is calling.
The little girl sits next to the growing mound of snow,
Dressed in a pink jumpsuit,
She looks at all the white around her,
And shakes her little head,
Where did it all come from???
There are kids and grown-up kids
With plastic toboggans,
And people throwing snowballs at each other.
People are smiling
As they pass each other by,
Hello! Isn't this great? Isn't this lovely?
And then you walk into the Little Wood.
And it is oh so quiet,
The stillness of it all,
The picture postcard perfection of it all,
Makes your heart melt
And you hope the snow around you doesn't.
To find the snow fairies,
To see the kids having snow fights,
To see the snowmen who have popped up in the night.
There is a mum and and her little girl building a new snowman
Mum has the bucket and spade,
They're normally reserved for holidays at the seaside,
But the snow is calling.
The little girl sits next to the growing mound of snow,
Dressed in a pink jumpsuit,
She looks at all the white around her,
And shakes her little head,
Where did it all come from???
There are kids and grown-up kids
With plastic toboggans,
And people throwing snowballs at each other.
People are smiling
As they pass each other by,
Hello! Isn't this great? Isn't this lovely?
And then you walk into the Little Wood.
And it is oh so quiet,
The stillness of it all,
The picture postcard perfection of it all,
Makes your heart melt
And you hope the snow around you doesn't.
- Published on
I have a to-do list a mile long
And a stack of emails to reply to,
And friends to connect with,
People I love and cherish and miss to say "dear friend, I love and cherish and miss you" to.
And homework, and research, and practise, and learning all to be done.
But right now,
I have a cup of tea
And beautiful music playing,
And outside the snow fairies are dancing,
And the road is turning from black to white,
And the grass is turning from green to white.
And my breath is fogging up the window.
And my little Aussie soul is laughing,
Because here she is,
In a land far away
Where it's properly cold
And it snows!
And it is lovely.
The end.
And a stack of emails to reply to,
And friends to connect with,
People I love and cherish and miss to say "dear friend, I love and cherish and miss you" to.
And homework, and research, and practise, and learning all to be done.
But right now,
I have a cup of tea
And beautiful music playing,
And outside the snow fairies are dancing,
And the road is turning from black to white,
And the grass is turning from green to white.
And my breath is fogging up the window.
And my little Aussie soul is laughing,
Because here she is,
In a land far away
Where it's properly cold
And it snows!
And it is lovely.
The end.
- Published on
You're standing outside St Paul's Cathedral
That giant dome
That signifier of your childhood
Mary Poppins on VHS
Watching it and rewining it and watching it and rewinding it until the tape falls apart
And you think:
What brings us to a place?
Depression when you were fourteen.
Sitting on the train on that bright blue sky day and realizing
You don't feel anything
And then all those intervening years.
The deaths of two friends. Young women like you. They decided they couldn't do
it anymore.
Sitting at Coogee Beach and looking out to the ocean and wondering what on earth was next.
Learning about mindfulness.
Two years and a world trip later.
Waiting for the hair dressers and chatting with the woman, a stranger, sitting next to you.
She told you how you could do a certificate in Meditation.
Who was that woman???
And then Kris.
And then London.
And then meeting another woman on the train.
A random conversation, a chance encounter, and you've met a kindred spirit.
And then you are standing outside St. Paul's Cathedral and the familiarity of it, the instant I'm-home of it is shocking every time.
That tall grand building with its dome lit the way it is
It makes you gasp.
It's so much a part of you,
A part of your childhood,
Despite the fact you grew up over 10,000 miles away.
And then you're inside The Anthologist.
A bar in Central London.
And there are birdcages and tea cups and mason jars full of tea lights.
And there is a group of women, with the occasional man, gathered
to talk about mindfulness
Strong, radiating women, with a mission to change the world one meditation at a time.
And you're here because of a chance (synchronistic) encounter on a train
Or because you watched Mary Poppins on repeat as a child
Or because you had depression and you learnt about mindfulness and because the world is small it all leads back to the same place eventually
And you stand outside St Paul's
And you let the cold air rush into your nostrils (breathing mindfully)
And then you laugh because you're on your way home on the tube!
Tell that to your fourteen year old self, or even your four-year-old self,
Dear You/Me/Us.
Guess what? You grow up and fall in love and move to London and walk past St.
Paul's Cathedral and mingle with people in fancy bars and one day you even climb
to the top of the dome and you kiss a boy with the rooftops of London as your
backdrop. For real.
What brings us here?
Fate? Synchronicity?
Chance?
The world.
The end.
That giant dome
That signifier of your childhood
Mary Poppins on VHS
Watching it and rewining it and watching it and rewinding it until the tape falls apart
And you think:
What brings us to a place?
Depression when you were fourteen.
Sitting on the train on that bright blue sky day and realizing
You don't feel anything
And then all those intervening years.
The deaths of two friends. Young women like you. They decided they couldn't do
it anymore.
Sitting at Coogee Beach and looking out to the ocean and wondering what on earth was next.
Learning about mindfulness.
Two years and a world trip later.
Waiting for the hair dressers and chatting with the woman, a stranger, sitting next to you.
She told you how you could do a certificate in Meditation.
Who was that woman???
And then Kris.
And then London.
And then meeting another woman on the train.
A random conversation, a chance encounter, and you've met a kindred spirit.
And then you are standing outside St. Paul's Cathedral and the familiarity of it, the instant I'm-home of it is shocking every time.
That tall grand building with its dome lit the way it is
It makes you gasp.
It's so much a part of you,
A part of your childhood,
Despite the fact you grew up over 10,000 miles away.
And then you're inside The Anthologist.
A bar in Central London.
And there are birdcages and tea cups and mason jars full of tea lights.
And there is a group of women, with the occasional man, gathered
to talk about mindfulness
Strong, radiating women, with a mission to change the world one meditation at a time.
And you're here because of a chance (synchronistic) encounter on a train
Or because you watched Mary Poppins on repeat as a child
Or because you had depression and you learnt about mindfulness and because the world is small it all leads back to the same place eventually
And you stand outside St Paul's
And you let the cold air rush into your nostrils (breathing mindfully)
And then you laugh because you're on your way home on the tube!
Tell that to your fourteen year old self, or even your four-year-old self,
Dear You/Me/Us.
Guess what? You grow up and fall in love and move to London and walk past St.
Paul's Cathedral and mingle with people in fancy bars and one day you even climb
to the top of the dome and you kiss a boy with the rooftops of London as your
backdrop. For real.
What brings us here?
Fate? Synchronicity?
Chance?
The world.
The end.
- Published on
from the Australian Business Review
They announced Geoffrey Rush as
Australian of the Year
He is the person
Who this year, most
Epitomises what it means
To be Australian
And it makes me feel good
Makes me feel proud
As an artist
As an Australian
To know that someone like him, is
The Representation
Of my national identity
The other Australians of note this year
Are also worthy of recognition.
Laurie Baymarrwangga,
An Aboriginal elder who has worked to
Teach and share and maintain her culture
In spite of invasion
In spite of ignorance
And Marita Cheng
Who inspires other young women
To go out into a world
Dominated by men
And question, and investigate, and analyze
And to become excited and passionate
About learning
And Lynne Sawyers
Who cared for hundreds of children
Not even her own
Took them in and said
This is your home too
We are artists and scientists and carers of the land
We are inventors and innovators
We are from all over the world
We live, work, and travel internationally
We live, work, and play in our own backyard
This strange large island
At the bottom of the earth
We are more than kangaroos and wattle
We are more than yobbos on the beach drinking beer
We are more than the Anzac legend suggests
More than boyish mates coming together under fire
We are more than a flag coloured by British rule
We are a complicated lot
Represented this year, by an actor
Who gets on with his work
And supports others to do the same
Who shows it is possible to be
A brilliant artist of the world
And still be, Australian in name.
Australian of the Year
He is the person
Who this year, most
Epitomises what it means
To be Australian
And it makes me feel good
Makes me feel proud
As an artist
As an Australian
To know that someone like him, is
The Representation
Of my national identity
The other Australians of note this year
Are also worthy of recognition.
Laurie Baymarrwangga,
An Aboriginal elder who has worked to
Teach and share and maintain her culture
In spite of invasion
In spite of ignorance
And Marita Cheng
Who inspires other young women
To go out into a world
Dominated by men
And question, and investigate, and analyze
And to become excited and passionate
About learning
And Lynne Sawyers
Who cared for hundreds of children
Not even her own
Took them in and said
This is your home too
We are artists and scientists and carers of the land
We are inventors and innovators
We are from all over the world
We live, work, and travel internationally
We live, work, and play in our own backyard
This strange large island
At the bottom of the earth
We are more than kangaroos and wattle
We are more than yobbos on the beach drinking beer
We are more than the Anzac legend suggests
More than boyish mates coming together under fire
We are more than a flag coloured by British rule
We are a complicated lot
Represented this year, by an actor
Who gets on with his work
And supports others to do the same
Who shows it is possible to be
A brilliant artist of the world
And still be, Australian in name.
- Published on
In the morning you go out to meet another Aussie-expat and you go to a lovely Australian/New-Zealander cafe called Flat White and enjoy your renewed-found love of coffee. You make a note-to-self to find an alternative to espresso, as even four sugars per tiny cup seems excessive - though it is down from five. You enjoy delicious toast with homemade hummus and fresh avocado. It is the best hummus you have had in ages but you spend the rest of the day paranoid you reek of garlic. Afterwards you walk through beautiful
St James's Park to the War Rooms. There are ducks and geese and swans and a woman is hand-feeding them over the fence. You think she is a bit mad, but realize that these birds
are probably rather used to people hand-feeding them.
The Churchill War Rooms are bizzare. They are secret bunkers for the British War Cabinet during The War. Small and slightly claustrophobic and when the war ended the people literally turned off the lights, walked out, closed the door, and didn't come back for decades. Now the rooms and corridors and bunkers are a museum and you can walk through and see exactly how it all was over seventy years ago. Imagine being in the rooms Back Then. The rooms would have been smokey because everybody smoked back then, and above you the world was falling apart and you didn't know if when you left work for the day (or night) if your house or even your street was still going to be there when you did. No one except the government was allowed to know that you worked there because it was Top Secret. If you were a secretary you had a special gas mask that allowed you keep talking on the telephone even during a gas attack. The War Stops For Nobody.
You walk back to Soho to the Soho Theatre Bar to mingle with other drama students. You are late, but it seems you haven't missed much except a free drink. A casting director is giving a talk. She says things you have mostly heard before, but you're feeling light and inspired and you scribble down some of her points and feel a sense of renewed enthusiasm. Then you wander around the room and meet some of the other actors. They are all graduating this year too, ready to go out into the Big Wide World and try their luck at this acting thing. Will all this time and money and effort be worth it?
You meet a girl with Scandinavian/American heritage. She wants to move to New York and live the life of a starving actor. She knows it's a bit weird to want that life, but you understand what she means. It's New York. And then you meet a boy who gives you the feeling that he is on the cusp of something brilliant, but you're not quite sure what it is, but
you're sure he is destined for great things. And then you meet another girl who is interested in verbatim theatre and using theatre to make a positive difference to the world. And it is nice to meet someone as excited and passionate as you about the possibility of theatre.
You head home on the tube. And you get home and you make chickpea patties, which you haven't made in the longest time, and you make a big batch of quinoa and steam some spinach. And you spread a little beetroot dip from yesterday's cooking adventures on the chickpea patties, and you pour out a little sweet chilli sauce. And you sit at your desk to do some work and you breathe and smile and know that you have had a most wonderful
day.
The end.
St James's Park to the War Rooms. There are ducks and geese and swans and a woman is hand-feeding them over the fence. You think she is a bit mad, but realize that these birds
are probably rather used to people hand-feeding them.
The Churchill War Rooms are bizzare. They are secret bunkers for the British War Cabinet during The War. Small and slightly claustrophobic and when the war ended the people literally turned off the lights, walked out, closed the door, and didn't come back for decades. Now the rooms and corridors and bunkers are a museum and you can walk through and see exactly how it all was over seventy years ago. Imagine being in the rooms Back Then. The rooms would have been smokey because everybody smoked back then, and above you the world was falling apart and you didn't know if when you left work for the day (or night) if your house or even your street was still going to be there when you did. No one except the government was allowed to know that you worked there because it was Top Secret. If you were a secretary you had a special gas mask that allowed you keep talking on the telephone even during a gas attack. The War Stops For Nobody.
You walk back to Soho to the Soho Theatre Bar to mingle with other drama students. You are late, but it seems you haven't missed much except a free drink. A casting director is giving a talk. She says things you have mostly heard before, but you're feeling light and inspired and you scribble down some of her points and feel a sense of renewed enthusiasm. Then you wander around the room and meet some of the other actors. They are all graduating this year too, ready to go out into the Big Wide World and try their luck at this acting thing. Will all this time and money and effort be worth it?
You meet a girl with Scandinavian/American heritage. She wants to move to New York and live the life of a starving actor. She knows it's a bit weird to want that life, but you understand what she means. It's New York. And then you meet a boy who gives you the feeling that he is on the cusp of something brilliant, but you're not quite sure what it is, but
you're sure he is destined for great things. And then you meet another girl who is interested in verbatim theatre and using theatre to make a positive difference to the world. And it is nice to meet someone as excited and passionate as you about the possibility of theatre.
You head home on the tube. And you get home and you make chickpea patties, which you haven't made in the longest time, and you make a big batch of quinoa and steam some spinach. And you spread a little beetroot dip from yesterday's cooking adventures on the chickpea patties, and you pour out a little sweet chilli sauce. And you sit at your desk to do some work and you breathe and smile and know that you have had a most wonderful
day.
The end.