Ramblings of a kind.

I lost my USB in the library. It has swallowed up that useful little thing and for that I resent it fiercely. Can't fault the library staff, though. I asked them if any red ones had been handed in this week, she rooted through a drawer and rather apologetically handed me the cap of my USB. So close and yet so far. This only confirms my suspicion that the computers here have eaten it.

Of course the librarians are not above suspicion. Perhaps they are aliens who, on receipt of my USB looked through its contents and discovered to their utter amazement that my John Donne essays, seemingly insignificant and frankly pedestrian according to earthly academic standards, to them form the missing final part of their ancient galactic constitution and supplying the final ammendments to their bill of rights, tricky to pin down on beings that are mainly gaseous and therefore straddle the divide between the physical and metaphisical existence.

Their writer, whose name is unpronounceable to all solid beings, was so unimaginably brilliant that on completion of his 100 volume political work he knew at once that he had created the solution to all life in the galaxy. Only peace and brotherly love could possibly exist between all beings in the galaxy under this great document, and possibly the universe itself. The laws of entropy would be reversed and the universe would hold itself together in perpetual motion fromtge good will of its blissful inhabitants.

It came as a shock only to him, that when he presented his life's work to the political leaders of the planet it went down like a balloon filled with Xenon. As political leaders from a long line of all patrician races, species and elements of the galaxy their fortunes all rested on arms dealing, and peace and brotherly love to them meant instant ruin. They imediately seized on the denser parts of the genius and threw him into a black hole, where, as a loose-particled element he was able to maintain a vague, coma like consciousness. They took his works, and to add insult to injury, used a heavily weighted interpretaion of its basic tennets, discarding the rest in fragments across the universe among only
the most primitive species known to them. Of these the most complex and politically fatal last
page was consigned to that most stupid and lumpish of creatures cursed with a pathetic consciousness: human beings. This was placed without thought into the unconscious of a budding poet, one Jack Donne. However his earthly intelligence was so far beneath their own that they could make out nothing that he wrote, less still realised his literary importance among the other ape-like creatures and that through his primitive writings the message of their genius gradually slipped into the unconscious of every bored English literature student in the world. They would be as surprised to discover that humans had processed this information than we would be on discovering existential longing in a mollusc.

Now our poor genius had disappeared, but he had not been forgotten. He had a few privileged disciples among the great academic institutions and they worried when he stopped collecting his awards, for he was meticulously polite in such instances. A few of the lesser known professors, fearing the worst, began a secret society to discover his fate, and they searched his home for evidence of his last and much rumoured work. The notes they found on post-its and shopping lists arranged in geometric patterns on the fridge were themselves so brilliant they guessed the danger of the work itself. They devoted their whole lives to its recovery and the lives of generations of other academics who would come to join them over the centuries.

In the subsequent military coup they all quietly faked their own deaths and escaped to the furthest and most primitive recesses if the galaxy, where to their astonishmbt they began to stumble upon traces of the very works they had sworn to find. As academics it is no surprise that the disguises adopted placed them where they could gain some small happiness- in libraries. They have gain a significant interest in the primitive works, for them it is like tracing the dawn of conscious thought.

Imagine their wonder on finding lodged within the rushed points and crude rhetoric the the key to decode the last and finest part of the work that became the work of their lives. This discovery will have brought about the last great battle of the galaxy, leading to either total annihilation or union of all life, which means the loss of my USB is part of a great destiny in the history of the galaxy and I'm not just some twonk who logged out of a library computer and forgot to take her USB containig her headshots, CVs and several essays.

The football was abysmal. Harriet and I got a little hysterical at 3-1 and opened the prosecco, the first toast at the wake of england's wildly overblown hopes. Now I'm heading home as quickly as possible to avoid the carnage.

What skills do you have and how do you think they will enrich The Soul Destroyers?

So, eleven days in the city. I'm starting to feel like I actually live here. I even know my postcode by heart, which I managed to avoid for the whole six months I lived in Warwick. While I think the honeymoon period is still in full swing the weather's taken a hideous turn and so I've begun applying for work.
Boy is it difficult. 'Yes, we know,' I can hear you all say, job hunting is a dull, soul destroying activity undertaken only in the pursuit of eventual financial gain.' This has not passed me by, of course. I just mean the differences in applying for acting work and, well, pretty much everything else.
I think I've been a bit spoiled in recent years, as while singing and dancing (well, not really dancing, more moving my feet awkardly round the beat) in old peoples homes was exhausting and sometimes, usually after the residents' lunch, felt pointless, I was working for someone who knew exactly what I could and couldn't do- I didn't have to prove myself after the first tour. I don't mean in terms of ability; my dancing skills were constantly called into question. I mean that my professional demeanour was never an issue.
Because that's what I find so odd about so called desk jobs. Your ability to do the job seems to come second to 'are you the sort of person we want to work with?' This bothered me, as things I don't understand tend to, and brought out a competitive streak in me I didn't know I had. I wouldn't have minded not getting the job on grounds of lack of qualification. I have a degree in English and Theatre Studies and a Post Graduate Diploma in Acting. I am qualified for nothing. What upset me was the possibility of being turned down for a job, a means of financial gain and mark of social success, because they didn't like me. I didn't let it bother me for long, and instead of following my instinct and asking the interviewer outright, 'Is there a communal living element of this job I didn't spot in the ad? Will I, on gaining entry to this shining light of door-to-door sales be inducted into a secret cult, be tattooed and drink the blood of a still living chicken thereby sealing my entry into the secret world of the successful?' I instead was a total jellyfish and lied. Those who know me well would not have recognised the bubbly persona gurning and giggling across the interviewer's desk. They would have thought I had lost my mind. Maybe I had.
Far simpler was the audition for a band that night. They perform on average once a month. They wanted someone to replace their singer while she was on maternity leave. Basically they wanted someone to do exactly what she could do. Fair enough. So I got a lift with the keyboard player, learned a bit about the band, got there and the five of us girls who'd turned up sang our songs and went home. Bliss. So easy.
The difference for me is that in an audition, generally your professional conduct is taken for granted. There are certain ways of behaving on polite society and you will of course adhere to them, the question is will you do the exact job they want you to, right look, right voice, right style. It sounds personal but it isn't. Perhaps this comes from actors themselves, who in general want to be liked and enjoy having a wide circle of aquaintance. There is no need to question their ability to get on with their colleagues and bosses, as they will do whatever it takes to make friends, imsecure though that probably sounds. So I was surprised to discover that a sales company that specializes in recruiting young people didn't take this for granted at all. Maybe it was to see how well an applicant can express themselves, on reflection, but it all felt a little claustrophobic, like finding yourself cornered by a bore at a dull party. You don't really want to be there but there isn't much else on offer so you might as well play along till your bus comes.
The bad/good news was, my lie worked. They did like me. Everyone liked me. I made friends at the interview and at the subsequent open day where I pounded the pavement with one of the most determinedly positive people I've ever met (bear on mind when I say that most of my mates are actors and picture him again). Every door was an opportunity, in fact, doors were things to be maximised, though only at certain times of the day. My mind started to wander after the second lap and the process felt like Monsters Inc, with so many doors and targets, and the fact that my 'leader' was a six foot three rugby type. He liked me too. To be fair I liked him, it was hard not to. He's very, very nice, and not in an insipid way. I wasn't surprised to be offered the job after eight hours walking the pavements of an estate in north Bristol. I'd made a point of being exactly the person they wanted. We all liked each other. How lovely.
I didn't take it. I changed my mind yesterday morning. I don't regret it at all, even though I still feel I let down the nice people I met. But the problem was it was all a lie on my part, in a light hearted way. I'm not a young professional. My hair is untidy, I can't be arsed with cocktails, I don't want my life to revolve round the next holiday. And I still have a faint glow of hope in the next acting job, whenever that should arise.
I got a bar job. If you're in Bristol and you're watching one of the World Cup games, come down this weekend. I'll be there serving cider. Phew.

Baby's first week in the city

"I just don't know how you do it." was my mother's response to the tiny house I moved into on Tuesday. It could have been worse. At uni in on moving into my first student house, an unremarkable victorian terrace, she made several Billy Elliot references, just to make sure she got her point across.

But at long last, after months festering in the midlands, I have come to live in a little house in Southmead. I should probably mention a couple of things about myself in case anyone who doesn't know me reads this, extraordinary as that seems right now. I am 24, and a year out of Drama school. I am from South Lincolnshire and prior to Tuesday I had visited Bristol a grand total of six times. Thus I feel slightly DIck Whittington-ish as every day I get up, head into the city centre in search of my fortune (here read 'a job').

So in light of my almost total lack of Bristolian or West Country knowledge I'm using a blog as a sort of online diary documenting my progress. I'm going to try and update it as often as I can, particularly when I've done or seen something or someone, or just if something's on my mind and I feel I can make something vaguely readable of it.

I'm also open to suggestions (within reason, I don't want a criminal record!) from anyone with more knowledge than me about the city, what bars or restaurants to visit, local bands or events that are going on, I will visit all I can and report back.

So my first social event is tonight, heading to see my one Bristolian friend Harriet and see Carol Churchill's new play Far Away. Update on that later, for now I'm baking her some chocolate chip biscuits. Forget flattery, in my experience good food will get you everywhere! Here's the link for the recipe I used, a basic biscuit recipe that can be used in practically any way you like and is brilliantly quick:

http://www.bbcgoodfood.com/recipes/3468/basic-biscuit-dough

Alice