Friday, 30 July 2010

She Kissed a Girl and She Liked It

So I'm in this audition for a new play which is making it's debut at one of the new studio theatres in the West End. Its about a drug addict and the relationship she has with her family. If I get this part I will be playing the fucked up junkie with emotional issues. Its every actress' dream part and I'm feeling pretty confident, and then I see Fellow Actress walk in and my heart sinks. She spots me and waves then comes over to sit next to me.

"Hi" she gushes disingenuously "didn't know you'd be here!"

"Yes you did!" I snarled," I told you last night on the phone! You didn't mention that you were coming to the same meeting" I say suspiciously

She makes some thespian hand gesture, "Oh,darling, I must have forgotten.To be honest, babe, I've spent the last three days in a K hole at Secret Garden Party. I don't know where the fuck I am" she says flippantly and casts an eye around the room.

Is there no integrity in this business? I think, Even between friends? I look her up and down. She does actually look like she has spent three days at a festival, and hence absolutely perfect for the part. I'm doomed.

She sits down next to me and takes out her script making sure I see how laboriously highlighted and annotated it is. For someone who has been off their head for the whole weekend she has been very diligent in her pre audition script analysis.I glance down at my own sorry pages which are lightly smattered with the odd adjective scribbled over the dialogue to guide my performance. Sad. Angry. Pained.

She's so going to get this.I think to myself as I watch her read through the script, silently mouthing the words to herself. I might aswell leave now. And then I have an idea.I'll try a different tactic, I'll distract her and talk to her about her favourite subject. Herpes Guy.

"Oh I'm not with him anymore" she says breezily and smiles serenely , " The risk of contraction was too high," she says and then adds, lowering her voice, "although., Harry, between you and me, I think I might be immune anyway. Think I might already have it" she says and points at her nether regions.

I wince and the old actor sitting next to us, who I recognise from being in Jackanory many years ago, coughs and shuffles away from her slightly

"Anyway,I've met someone else"  she exclaims proudly

"Thank fuck for that" I reply. "Whats his name?"


"Thats a strange name for a boy" I say

There is silence.She raises her eyebrows.

"Oh" I say

"Yes.I am officially a lesbian" she announces to the room. A good looking man in his thirties looks up and gives her a flirty look.

"Oh" I say again, and there is more silence. "Well, babe, if Lyndsay Lohan can do it....."

"You know, Harry, its wierd," she says, shaking her head," I mean, I've had a few girly snogs here and there in my time but, I dunno, this is different."  She puts her script down and gives me an intense stare.

  "I can't stop thinking about her. I've checked my phone about a million times today just to see if she's texted me and its only 11 oclock"

"Well, has she?" I laugh

"Well, no, and its driving me mad, but I guess its a bit tricky. I mean its hard enough waiting for a guy to text. Does he like me? Will he call? You know, the ususal?"

I nod , I know only too well

"But this is on a whole new level." she continues," Its like, a) Does she like me? And then b) is she even sure she wants to be a lesbian?,"

"She's not a lesbian either?" I say somewhat confused



"You should try it" she says,"It's the best thing I've ever done"

I sigh hopelessly and put my script down. " I have thought about it actually" I say, lowering my voice " I mean, I'm sure having a relationship with a woman would be a lot easier than with a man, but to be honest its the physical thing which worries me.Even if you gave me a snorkel and mask, I just wouldnt be able to dive a muff"

She looks at me in disgust and then stares away into the distance with a worried expression.

"I do know what you mean actually. And in all honesty, I'm slightly concerned too in that respect. I mean, between you and me babe, you know how much I like cock"

She looks slightly distressed until she catches the eye of the sexy actor guy whose attention is now fully focussed on our conversation and not on learning his lines, and flutters her eyelashes at him,

I feel even more confused.

" Ah well,there's always the Dildo" I say patting her arm comfortingly as I try to erase the image in my head of Fellow Actress standing naked with a strap on.

The gorgeous actor looks back to his script and she scowls and changes the subject

"So, anyway, hows it going with you on that front..I mean, whats going on in your lovelife?"

"Oh its ok" I say, " I might go on a date with this guy I met at work"

"From the office?"

"Yes.He kind of asked me for a drink the other day. He seems nice" I say half heartedly " And he has a job and well, he is quite handsome in his suit"

"Hmm" she says," be careful, I once went on a date with someone who was wearing a suit and when we met up he was wearing a shell suit and had BO. He asked me what I wanted to drink and we ordered a bottle of wine, and then he told me that was the first time he's ever drunk wine.I'd imagined he was some sort of High Powered Exec, but apparently he was the guy who did the photocopying. Its hard to gage these days. "

"No" I say, "Its fine, this one is a CEO"

And I see the dollar signs flash in her eyes. Then she leans in, "He sounds great...... Why am I sensing a "but"?" And then, as if she is reading my mind she says.

" Heard any more from Dom and Boring Betty?"

This is why I love her.She can read me like a book.

"Nope. " I say, " I don't think it is serious though. I think he needs to just do his thing for a while, you know, play the field, and then he'll realise what he is missing"

She looks at me with pity.

"She's a loser anyway", she says brightly, "She writes things like "Miaow" on his Facebook page"

"How do you know?" I ask

"Oh, I just know" she says  winking uncomfortably

"How do you know???" I say once more with a stern voice

"He's one of my Facebook friends"

"Didn't you defriend him?!" I say , shocked that she hasn't informed me of this before.

"No babe! He's a producer. He might be good for my career"

Et Tu Brutus.

 We sit silently listening to the shrieking coming from audition room

""Miaow" you say?" I say, after a few minutes.

And we both look at each other and start to laugh, and then it dawns on me,

"Oh God" I say,

"What?" she says, with a look of horror

" His pet nickname for me, you know "in bed" was Kitten"

"Thats original" she sneers " So?"

" Well what noise do kittens make?" I say, and she thinks for a second, then grimaces and holds my hand

"Oh,I'm Sorry babe. Look, he's a loser if he cant even come up with a different pet name for his girlfriends and anyway look at you, you're amazing, you're beautiful, talented, famous. Its totally his loss"

And then the door opens and they call her in to audition. She thrusts her iphone into my hand.

"Here" she says, "Go for your life" and she does a few warm up exercises before throwing the script down on the chair and entering the room like Norma Desmond.

I look down at her iphone and for a second my finger hovers over the Facebook app as I contemplate the horrors I am about to reveal to myself. I shouldn't, this is stupid, destructive behaviour, but then before I know it in one easy click I am in her profile, and like a crack addict looking for his next hit I frantically search her friends,until I find him. There he is Dominic Harris. And my blood starts to boil as I click on his profile and read all the lovey, dovey, sickening messages she has posted, on his wall ( who posts shit like that on their own boyfriend's Wall anyway, saddo??)

And by the time I am called in to do the audition I am ready to kill someone.

Tuesday, 27 July 2010

Hooold On

Did he just sign that email "love Dom"?

Easy tiger

So here it is, the email I have been dreading for the last few days

Hi Harriet

How funny bumping into you like that.

Funny? Hilarious.

Sorry I couldn't really chat, but I didn't want Betty to feel awkward

Poor Betty

I hope all is well with you and hopefully see you soon



Not so scared of commitmenet now are we?.

Is it too early to have a vodka?

Dear Dom

No worries. Good to see you, glad you're happy.


ps Is it serious?

I know, I know, but I can't help it

Dear Harry

Its just easy. She can take it or leave it and thats kind of where I'm at right now.



Easy? Easy!! 

I may have been called many things in the past by men. High maintenance, dramatic, emotional, mad, fun, sexy,crazy,trouble, tricky...the list goes on...

But never ever have I been called Easy. Now where's that bottle of Grey Goose.

Thursday, 22 July 2010

Definitely Give Up the Day Job

Okay. So its my last day in The Office today as I finish my week as a temp and  I can safely say the "Office World" is far more cut throat and bitchy than any film set I have ever worked on.

Don't get me wrong, the first few days were great.Whereas my usual day would consist of rolling out of bed in time for Loose Women, this week I have been up at 6.30am,  springing into work every day feeling " alive and inspired" ,  the theme tune to Rocky playing on my ipod, imagining I am a Power Bitch from Wall Street as I flutter my eyelashes at Cute Men in Suits ,on their way to "Very Important Meetings"

But after six days, the novelty has worn off and I'm worn in.

Lets talk about Sally, the bitchy PA to Head Boss . Head Boss  is a 67 year old, South African, money making machine who drinks ten coffees a day and mutters to himself alot about calculations and figures. Sally is his Personal Assistant and is like something out of "Mean Girls". She has the smile of an Angel but the eyes of a psycho killer. The first time I met Sally, by the coffee machine, she was moaning to the rest of the girls in the office that they didn't make trousers small enough for "her size" ( oh perlease).

Sally has a penchant for "online shopping" which fits nicely into her day, inbetween touch typing a couple of letters and filing her nails.Sally is a spoilt bitch because Sally never actually likes any of the things she buys so she has to post them all back to the bloody places she got them from and because Sally is SO BUSY doing bugger all, guess who she gets to carry all her boxes of rejected Percale Bathrobes and bamboo fibre lyrcra training outfits back to the Post Office ? Yes , my job description has miraculously changed from Receptionist/Office Assistant to Skivvy. And because I need the money so much I just have to smile sweetly and say "Of Course,Sally".

Well, until today that is.

It seems word has spread around the office of my stage and screen career pre Receptionism, and Head Boss has heard the news. Today, instead of marching past my desk oblivious to my presence except to bark orders at me for another espresso, he stops and wanders over, pushing his hair (or whats left of it) through his hands.

"So you're a film star" he says trying to lean on my desk in a charming manner , and I nearly fall off my swivel chair with shock.

"Well, I did a bit of telly.." I say shyly and giggle. I don't usually find OAPs attractive, but Head Boss is one of those that you could actually fancy despite the Tourettes.But then I am quite desperate at the moment.

 "How do you know?" I say, fiddling with my Post Its

" A little birdy told me" he says and winks at me.

I blush and try and reduce the Facebook page on my screen without him noticing

"Anyway, I was intrigued" he says " And so I googled you"  He looks directly into my eyes ,
" And.....," he continues as he looks me up and down, "Well, Harriet, I mean, you're a lovely looking girl anyway, in real life, but I found your website and By God you are one attractive lady. You must be beating the men away" he drawls, and I can see by the look in his eye that he has seen the pictures of that shoot I did for FHM in 2003 in nothing but my underwear and actually , thinking about it if he's going to trawl cyberspace for stuff about me, then he's probably also seen the one the Daily Star took of me getting out of a cab, where they had managed to shoot in between my legs,take a close up photo of my gusset ( and this was in the days before Brazilians) and circle it, superimposing a mobile number on top and words which said " text this number if you want to see whats behind the circle".

He leans in and stares at my tits. I feel slightly uncomfortable now.

"You know, Harriet, I was a child actor" he says proudly. "I was in 39 episodes of  a South African show, Behind the Bush. Very popular" he adds, and winks at me again.Or maybe its a twitch, I can't tell.

And for the rest of the day , everytime he passes me he bellows "Film Star!", and when I bring his coffee to him he announces to the office, "My god, I have a celebrity serving my coffee". And when Sally asks me to carry yet another  box to the Post Office, he butts in.

"No, no  no" he says. "We cant have Harriett lifting boxes, she's a Film Star"

 And the look on her face says it all as I shrug apologetically and say, "He's seen some stuff about me online"

And she bares her teeth like a dog going in for attack  "Yeeeees," she says says with a forced smile, "I've seeeen it too" And  then she purses her lips and shakes her head with insincere sympathy and adds "The internet is just not your friend , is it?"

And I smile back sweetly as I think to myself, Well at least I'm on it

And as I return to my desk, box free, I notice cute CEO single boss looking at my bottom just that bit too long,.Oh god, I think, he's probably just seen the screen grab of the topless scene I did for that BBC Drama where I was wearing nothing but a mirkin. And I scuttle past blushing.

Later as I pack up to leave, CEO Boss, who is actually called Brian (Whaaaat!?! Who is called Brian these days?), walks past my desk and stops, turned back and said

"Today's your last day then?"

"Yes" I say

And he nods, and looks like he is deep in thought , then says, "Well, you know my number if you are ever around for a drink." and he walks towards the mens toilets .

Wait til I tell Fellow Actress.

I am on my way home ,when I nip into the Ladies' toilet and hear a retching sound .Someone is blatantly throwing their guts up , so I hover outside doing my lipstick in the mirror until they stop puking and I hear a flush and Sally walks out of the cubicle, somewhat surprised at my presence there.

So thats how she keeps her figure, I think to myself

"Everything OK?" I say as I look at her with fake concern
And she frowns and says "Yes,yes, must have been something I ate"

"Oh dear," I say, "Foood is just not your friend is it?" and I turn and leave.

And as I walk out of the office building and through the throngs of bleached blonde,GHD straightened , stiletto heeled secretaries, looking for their Rich Prince Charmings to whisk them away, and the cockney geezers flashing Rolexes and shouting about deals into their mobile phones, I feel grateful to have had the opportunity to realise that whether you are an actress or a PA the politics never change, and they all began in exactly the same place .The playground.

And then I see him. Commitment Phobe Ex, standing outside the Trocadero, kissing a girl, and I try my best to dive into Starbucks, but its too late, he's seen me too.

Wednesday, 14 July 2010

Nobody Puts Baby in The Corner

I went for an audition today for a commercial. My agent didn't send me up for commercials for a long time after I left the show. It wasn't seen to be the done thing. But times are hard, so I have started the whole cattle market of commercials castings, something I thought I'd never have to put myself through again.

Its an advert for some electronic computer game and I have been told to look "pretty and fresh" so I wash my face and put on a floral summer dress and skip off to sunny Leicester Square where I am to meet with The Casting Director at 12.35 pm.

Don't act desperate, Harriet, I tell myself, as I walk towards the door, they'll smell it a mile off. You don't really need the money, you don't really need the money.

 YES YOU FUCKING DO !! the voice in my head shouts back at me

"Hello" I say brightly into the the intercom, "I'm here to see..."

The door buzzes opens before I have a chance to finish.

"Thankyou" I scream into the buzzer in an "extremely  jolly manner", just in case, by some divine intervention the receptionist has any say in whether I get the job or not.

There is a deadly silence at the other end.

"I am special, I am loved, I am worthy, I am successful, I am talented " I repeat to myself as I climb the stairs, pausing at the mirror at the top of the first flight to repeat my mantra to my flushed and slightly out of breath reflection.

I take a deep breath and walk into the room and look around. Fuck me, its full of young, stunning, model looking 17 year olds. There's one thing trying to look fresh and pretty at the age of 35, but no amount of Estee Lauder Double Wear and Touche Eclat can compete with these nubile creatures. I'm fucked. Game Over Mate. Might aswell pack it in right now and become a drama teacher if this is what I am up against.

I fill in a form anyway, and go and sit next to a really, really tall, thin, beautiful girl...and her baby. Yes. Not only is this girl young and beautiful, she also has a baby. Now I'm really depressed.

Just then the Casting Director comes out  of the studio and calls out a name. And then it happens. She spots me and stops and stands there staring at me and in a VERY LOUD VOICE says " What are YOUUUU doing here? YOUUUU'RRREE not supposed to be here until 2.30. Thats when we are auditioning for the mums, deeeear"

And she summons an Elle Mcpherson lookalike into the room

 My cheeks go bright red as I see a couple of the other girls staring at me and I wonder yet again why I put myself through this and then the baby starts crying and I look it and sympathise because I know exactly how its feeling, and then I look at her mum next to me who is flicking through Heat magazine  and totally ignoring her child and I say

"Excuse me. Your baby's crying"

And she looks up and stares  into the pram and says in an Eastern European accent

"Oh, no, she's not mine.She's her's" and points at a girl who is chatting away about herself on her iphone in a loud voice so that everyone else can hear.

And then tall, beautiful girl adds, woefully,

"I wish she was. I wish I had a baby"

And just for a moment , in that hell hole of a waiting room, she is no longer "The Enemy", we are no longer  just two more pretty, blonde actresses (albeit  several years apart in age).

We are two women wanting the same thing.

A baby

I smile sadly at her and get up to leave, when a young 17 year old with a Birmingham accent taps me on the shoulder.

"'scuse me but weren't you in that TV show for ages? "

I blush and nod

"Oh my god.What are you doing here?" she screams innocently, "Shouldn't you be in hollywood or somefink by now?"

And I get my things and go.

Monday, 12 July 2010

Bigmouth Strikes Again

So the hiring out of my flat for a filming location turned out to be less lucrative than I had anticipated, leaving me, after repairs with approximately £51.61 pence to my name.

Its back to the drawing board.

I call Fellow Actress

"Temp?" I offer up

"Can you actually use a computer?" she asks

"Yes of course I can" I say indignantly

"No, I don't mean Facebook, I mean can you do spreadsheets and what's your WPM?"

"My what?" I thought that was that Gym class I always avoided

"Words Per Minute"

"Oh" I say and shrug , " I Dunno..ten?"

"My point exactly.They aren't going to want to employ someone who will actually add to their daily workload" she tuts. I've never seen this condescending side to her before

Anyway, all is not lost, as she then goes on to tell me there is a lady called Mavis Beacon who does an online typing course and within 24 hours I have trained myself  to type up to 40 words per minute.Bravo!

 I sign up with a temp agency and as luck would have it they have a position for me at a Hedge fund company in Mayfair which starts the next day

"Thats pretty quick" I say, somewhat impressed at their efficiency

"Well, actually the temp who was going to do the job dropped out at the last minute. She got a part in Eastenders"

Lucky Bitch.

So I am officially a receptionist as of Friday.

However, I realise, whilst flicking through my wardrobe that my range of Office Attire is very limited. In fact I only have one suit, and that was in case I ever got an audition to play an "Office Type Person". I put it on and it dawns on me that I can't have had an audition for that type of part since about 1990, when pinstripe was still a fashion statement.

For my feet I need, black, shiny and high. I've seen Melanie Griffiths in Working Girl. Again, the only footwear I posess of this description is akin to a dominatrix lapdancer's shoe that I had bought for my Saturday Nights out clubbing with the girls.

Oh Well, my feet will be hidden under the table most of the time.I think to myself. Its fine. Its all FINE.

So on Friday morning I squeeze myself in with the other commuters , an experience akin to Hell on Earth, hop off at Piccadilly and stride jauntily down from Green Park, admiring the wildlife, and the men in their Saville Row suits (phoar!)

I get to the door of my office and bend over to change from my flip flops into my "work shoes" and  as I do the door opens and a man walks up behind me.

"Morning" he barks

I jump up. "Hello" I say red faced and see a rather dashing Mr Big-alike, but in his late thirties, standing before me.

He puts out his hand " I'm Nick. The CEO here"

He's cute. I check for wedding rings. Nope. Bring it on.

"Nice to meet you", I say, You've just seen my arse I think to myself, My new, handsome, single boss has seen my knickers. Great.

"You must be our new receptionist" he smiles, and stares down at my pole dancing shoes. Probably having flashbacks of his last time at Spearmint Rhino's.

"Yeh. I'm Harriett" I say trying to lift his gaze, "What is it exactly you guys do here?" I say sounding blonder than Blondie.

"Invest hedge funds?" he say. And before I can stop the word from falling from my mouth I flutter my lashes and say



He gives me an amused look and mumbles something about needing to do an aquisition and runs off.

Great. There goes my chance of marrying a rich man and being able to not work for the rest of my life.

Three hours later and I'm well and truly settled in at my desk. I'm queen of the office. Surrounded by all the Nespresso cappucions I can drink. All the Facebook and email access I could ever dream of. World Cup playing on the Big Screen . Maybe I could even start writing my book. Okay, it's only £8 an hour but I Am In Heaven.

The Office Manager comes up to me with a pen and paper

" Can I have your autograph please? Ive never met anyone off the telly before". She says

"Of course" I gush as I sign the paper with a flourish.

 "Oh and can you make sure the Board room gets fresh tea and coffee?" she adds

"Sure." I say , coughing and shuffling some papers ingratiatingly.

 I leave at 5.30 with a senmse of satisfaction.

"This is what working people do". I say to myself with  a curious feeling of satisfaction and I make my way to Green park tube to join my fellow Commuters again.

 It's only when I get to the tube that I realise I am being followed by a paparazzi. Apparently he’d been waiting around the corner for Peter and Katie at the Mayfair hotel and recognised me.

" You won’t get much for your pics, I assure him. I’m not exactly famous anymore."

"You'd be surprised" he says and although I feign annoyance at his snapping I am secretly pleased I still have worth. In celebrity land.

Its only when I get the phone call from Fellow Actress this morning as I sit at my desk watching Homes Under The Hammer and drinking a Nespresso Espresso that I understand .

"Have you seen the pic of you in Heat mag?" she screams.

I smile to myself smugly. This will really get on her nerves as she has never achieved the level of fame that I have and obviously the cachet I still have.

 "You're In the What is She Wearing section???" she cackles." Pinstripe!! Oh my God, Babe!? WHAT were you thinking!? "

Thanks. Friend

"Nice shoes though" she adds

Tuesday, 6 July 2010

Money's Too Tight to Mention. So Please Don't Mention It, Thanks.

It’s been two months since my last acting job, playing a leading lady in a play in the West end, and hence my last source of regular income has dried up and the nasty shock I get when I check my bank balance this week means that I need to act. And failing that , I need to act fast.

I make a list of Things To Do To Make Money and read them out to my friend the Fellow Actress, who is the best person to advise on such things as she has had a plethora of jobs since drama school, not many of them involving acting.

"Waitressing", I start off with

"You're in your thirties" she pipes up


"It's a bit "Tarantino" isn't it?"

"Yeh, 'Spose so " I concede, picturing myself in a white diner waitress unifform, with a perma tan and bright red lipstick, chewing gum with a pencil stuck behind my ear, and actually kind of liking it.

"And, anyway, people might recognise you," she continues."Bit depressing if someone says "Aren't you that girl from the telly?" and you say “yes” and then you have to ask them what they want for dessert"

Yep. She was right. Next.

“Promotional girl?”

“ But you used to do that before you got your part in the TV Show remember.You hated that!”

“Did I?” I say surprised.

“Yes! Don’t you remember that time you were supposed to be promoting hair dye and they put you on the Haemmeroid cream aisle by mistake? That poor guy, his anus will never be the same” she tuts

I cringe.I’d forgotten that episode. I cross it off my list.

"Look," She continues, "Let’s think about this rationally.You need to take a look at what your main skills and assets are, and then utilise those to make a bit of extra cash. What would you say you are good at?"


"That's even harder than acting to make a living from" she snaps scornfully

"Yoga? I'm good at that . I could be a yoga teacher?"

"Don't you have to train for three years?"

I feel deflated.

"Hang on" she says, and my spirits soar again, "Don't you own your own flat?"

I look around my living room, my haven of peace and joy in a world full of hate and envy.

"Yes" I sigh happily, "Yes , at least I have that"

"Hire it out" she says


"For film location work! You're an actress, you know that TV companies are always using people's houses for filming.."

I look around my flat. She’s got a point .It's a nice flat. I mean I like it, but am I biased? Am I like a mother who thinks her 9 stone 8 year old could be the next Kate Moss? I mean its kind of quirky, but what if it doesn’t make the cut?

After a few nervous phone calls and several hastily shot pics on my iphone, I have signed up with an agency. Just like that, my house now has an agent. So, to add insult to injury not only am I sitting by the phone waiting for my own agent to call, I am now also waiting for the house's agent to call

Two days later the location agent rings ( which, might I add, is sooner than my own agent)

"We've got someone interested in seeing your house. A cookery show. Can they pop over this evening to have a look?"

"Sure.” I gush .” Cookery you say?" I ask, as I open the grimy oven and quickly slam it shut , hoping that they won't look in there.

They don't and the next day they call me to tell me that my House has got its first acting job.

"£1000 a day plus overtime" the agent tells me.

How is it a house can get a better daily fee than an actor? I ponder to myself

"Great" I say

The next day a production team come over to do a reccie and a Very Camp Man with a handlebar moustache, wearing a pink satin suit with diamante cufflinks, barges in, ignoring my presence and points to my Osborne and Little feature wall.

"We'll have to paint that blue" he screeches at his assistant,

"And That" he says pointing at my dining table,"Will have to GO."

Go? Go where? I want to wrap his Paul Smith cravat tightly around his neck and it's only Day One


He dribbles ever so slightly and sucks it back up like Hannibal Lector as he says with an Essex twang, gleefully rubbing his hands together,

"And I want Pot Plants and Fruit, EVERYWHERE, partout, comprendez?"

Two days later, I am £2000 richer, but with two scratches on my mirror, a broken door handle, a faulty Sky TV box, and black marks all along the kitchen wall I fear most of this will be spent on restoring my flat to its former beauty. I need compensation or else I will be poorer than before I let this evil man into my house. I approach him about this and he folds his arms defensively

"Wasn't us" he says defiantly

"Well, it wasn't me" I laugh in disbelief

"Wasn't us" he says lugging the ten ton of lighting equipment out of the the french windows and scratching the pane of glass as he goes

"It was!" I shout at him, secretly wanting to cry

"Prove it" he spits as he comes back in for the Pot Pourri

"Get out of my house NOW" I shout, and manhandle him to the front door.

"It took us four hours to clean your oven" he shouts back at me as I push him out of the building

There is a god after all, I think, as I slam the door in his face.

Monday, 5 July 2010

Don't have sex with your Ex (especially if he is a Commitment Phobe)

I've just come back from meeting Commitment Phobe Ex. You'll notice that it is a Monday evening as I write this and the date took place on the Sunday. Yes we had coffee but we also had sex and I stayed the night . I know . Don't say it. I've already had grief from Fellow Actress.

We meet at a pub on Chamberlayn Rd in Queens Park , I forget the name but its full of Steve Jones lookalikes..

"Hello," he says

"Hello," I say

"You look..well?"  He suggests

"Thanks" I say thinking what the fuck am I doing here

"Where shall we go for coffee then?" I say

"My place?" He says

And I just thought why the hell not, I havent had sex for three months and its starting to show.

An hour later we are on his sofa having unprotected sex.

"You are on the pill arent you?" he says midway through the shag ( which, in my stupid little sad mind is us is "making love")

"No". I say, surprised he didn’t check before

He withdraws quicker than you can say "who's the father?" .

"Well lets put a condom on," I say reasonably.

He puts one on, but to be honest I’ve kind of lost the enthusiasm.

 I stop

"Whats wrong now?" he groans

"I can't" I say. "I don’t do this when I'm not in a relationship. I can only do it with someone I love." I lie hoping he will respond with a declaration of undying love. But he doesnt.

"Okay" he says and we lye there side by side in silence. I feel the loneiest I've ever felt in the vicinity of another person. This wasn't how I'd wanted this to pan out..

"What would you do if you were pregnant?" he asks

"I won't be" I say

"You don't know that" he says

"I’d keep it of course,"I say, "I'm 35 years old"

He looks like he is having a mini heart attack and this gives me a sick kind of pleasure.

"Don't worry." I say " I'd look after it myself.I wouldn’t ask much from you. Just a weekly allowance or something maybe."

He goes pale. I sleep on the sofa.

The next morning, I wake up and shove him.

"Are you going to buy me breakfast then?" I ask

"No," he says," I have to go and see a friends baby",

"So", I say ," is this what you are going to do for the rest of your life? Go and visit friends’ babies, on Bank Holdiay Mondays," I say, and he shrugs.

I get up and make my way to the door. Here I am , right back to where I was 6 months ago. Just like that

And I feel like shit because deep down, more than anything in the world, I just wanted him to say he loves me. And he wont. Not now. Not ever.

"Harry", he shouts after me, "It was nice to see you."

You stupid fucking fool, you never learn do you.

Thursday, 1 July 2010

No Sex in This City

I went to see the new Sex and the City movie with Fellow Actress last night and we decided to go for a few Cosmos beforehand. I don’t really like Cosmopolitans, and they get me really drunk, but I’d had a spot of cystitis that morning and I thought the cranberry might clear it up

"So", she says, knocking the first one back like a shot of tequila, "I hear Carrie gets back with Aidan in this one.Bad move" she says shaking her head

"What"  I say in disgust,"Don’t tell me you're Team Big, even after all the commitment phobes you’ve had?!"

"No," she says," I mean getting ”involved “ with an Ex. Just not a good idea"

I tell her that I’m meeting up with mine on Sunday. Comitment Phobe Ex texted me yesterday to see if I wanted to go for coffee, which was a huge shock to me as I hadnt heard from him for a whole month. I was just about to tuck into a whole plate of cheese when I got the message, but totally lost my appetite which very unlike me. How can he still have this effect on me?
"And?" she probes, spitting out her burnt orange

"Well he suggested this place near his, and we're meeting at 7pm on Sunday evening"

She shakes her head again. "He doesn’t want coffee he wants a shag" she says wisely

"Don’t be such a cynic", I say, begrudgingly, "And anyway, I don't fancy him anymore, its over, we can just be friends" I lie.I'm  secretly hoping he wants to meet to tell me he was wrong and that he still loves me and wants to marry me. Like Big did to Carrie in Paris, although he only lives in Kensal Rise so he wouldnt even need to travel very far.

"Yeh, that’s what I thought about one legged guy. You remember , the guy I went on a date with was sat down the whole time so that I couldn’t see he had only one leg, who I then felt sorry for and then started to fall in love with, who then split up with me, who I then met up with afterwards to just "catch up with" who I then shagged and fell in love with again, and who I then found shagging his carer when I came home early from work one evening. I was devasted, don’t do it to yourself."

"Look I’m just going for a coffee" I say. Convincing myself.

When we finally get to the Electric cinema , a little worse for wear and pick up our tickets along with the fifty thousand other Carrie or Samantha wannabes,

"Its good this" I say, munching on my popcorn, and sipping a fourth Cosmo, which you can drink in your seat which I think is a very good idea," I like the fact they have brought in a Carrie twin,"

Fellow Actress gives me a look of concern  and takes away my Cosmo.

"You’ve had enough of these for a while", she says, embarrassed, as the girls behind us snigger.

 I suddenly feel very drunk and need the toilet, and I clamber out of my seat and into the foyer, searching for the loo. A man, dressed in an oversized suit and dark glasses who looks like Borat, sidles over to me,

"Scuse me, lady." He says giving me a sideways glance "You know where sexy show is?"

"What ? " I gasp horrified

"The Sex Show?" he says and points to the poster of Carrie and her Chums striding forth. And then it dawns on me

" should probably go to Berwick Street " and I turn and run back into the auditorium and sit next to my friend.

"There was a pervert I say", and help myself to her popcorn, only to realise it is actually not her atall.

It's only later on as I wait for the Night Bus to take me back to Primrose Hill, and start to sober up, I realise Fellow Actress was wrong. Carrie didn't get back with Aidan atall, and a feeling of dread comes over me .