London Calling

London calling to the faraway towns, now war is declared and battle come down...

Except London doesn't seem to be calling me in any way, and I'm stood in the belly of it. When I moved here five years ago, I was full of anticipation and hope and excitement and adventure. The big city. The world was my oyster.

When I left London two years ago (yesterday) it was with a very heavy heart. I was in love with the city, with my life, with a man and I did not want to give that all up. But I did and I knew I had to and I'm glad I did. As this blog demonstrates I then got angry at the strange foreign city I found myself in. She couldn't compare to London and I dragged myself through my first year in Paris counting down the days to summer in London. Then I got my heart broken and summer in London became summer in Hitchin surrounded by a mountain of tear soaked tissues and drowning in alcohol. When I went back to Paris a few weeks earlier than planned I was almost relieved. Distraction. And then that didn't really come until the latter part of my second year when I'd got through many personal battles all by myself and came out feeling strong and brave. I said goodbye to my little Parisian flat and was almost the happiest I had been in a long time. The past was the past and the future was nearby.

And then I landed. And I took the summer to recuperate and recover and catch up. And I took my foot off the accelerator and did that thing that we agreed I wouldn't do again...gave myself time to think. And slowly as the move back to London loomed over the Hitchin countryside I could not shake the feeling of dread growing in my stomach. And now I find myself six days into London and struggling to find the optimism and excitement of before. Okay, so my heart is still broken and if we're honest dear reader I simply have been dealing with this by burying my head in the sand and pretending it wasn't a real break up, just a temporary one. And that is and always has been utter bullshit. I have no choice but to actually take my head out of the sand and deal with it like a grown up. But this is not the main problem. It's a problem and it's tainted the move because being back in the old haunting ground of that relationship is proving itself to be confronting. But you know that post break up thing where you start making plans and doing all the things you didn't have time for when you were together and you find a new you and it's exciting as hell. So much so that you look back on the relationship and think thank god it ended because if it hadn't I wouldn't be...(fill in the blank). Well that feeling should, by rights and by law, be kicking in because I have just finished drama school and moved back to a city where I have contacts and friends and prospects. Yet. I. Don't. Because London is the most demanding city in the world and she demands a lot before she let's you feel welcomed. So instead of excitement and fun and networking I have money worries and a waiting trial shift staring at me. No theatre. No headshots. No routine. It is, frankly, shit. Shit, shit and more shit.

Now, if we just focus on one thing at a time then the job part of life is the first thing to be sorted. In my wisdom I have decided I want to do a waitressing job, mainly because my temp agency aren't getting me enough work but also because as a rule, I enjoy the work. Now, the last waiting job I had introduced me to aforementioned heart breaker and so if I'm really honest, this is sullied. Hard to get excited about a new place when to be honest, it can't really top the last time I started working in a pub and fell hook line and slam dunk sinker for a man with ginger hair (it's Strawberry blond! I hear him scream). Unless, of course, this happens again with another some such man.

Next up is the giant climb that is photo's, Spotlight, Equity membership, Actors Centre classes, letter writing and networking. All of which require funds that I cannot even begin to imagine how I will find. Without them I cannot pursue the whole point of the Paris trip, which is to be an actor that actually works and even more magic, gets paid to do it. So, excuse me if I just feel like I've spent two years with my foot on the accelerator only to get home and drive head first into a bloody wall.

Without progression here heart break is going to prove much harder to get over because all heart broken people need a project and mission and preferably access to lots of different good looking men. And there really is only so many times that watching Zac Efron on DVD is going to satisfy. I Watch films and I am not taken on a journey outside of my own life, as is the promise of such an undertaking, but inevitably I'm reminded of my lack of paid acting work, Hollywood glamour and love in my life. Hollywood I am starting to hate you.

And then there's the flat that needs a great big clean. Normally I can't wait to get organised here, but I am onto you London three storey flat. You take more than a lifetime to get on top of and your shabby carpets and walls look miserable regardless. Moving back to the same flat was perhaps not the best idea I have ever had...oh, wait, good looking actor neighbour just appeared...okay flat, you're not that bad. But you don't come with your own mouse or sense of adventure that the Paris flat had. As much as I adore my flatmates and appreciate their company, having moved to a city alone it is hard to get excited about just going home. But where else would I live? I can't afford anything but a flat share and why the hell would anyone live with strangers when they can live with friends? I ask you?

Following swiftly behind is the feeling that I've been here and done all this before...so why on earth would I do it again?

It's surely time to move forwards, move on. How do we do this whilst moving back? Peeps around the world, answer me here. I demand you. How do we make London exciting again? Because she is generally exciting. This dear universe is my mission and I do indeed chose to accept it.

I need a new crowd...applicants please apply here