January 2012 Archives

I’m not quite sure where January went but I hope it was an enjoyable start to the year for everyone. It’s been a month of getting back to routine for me with a good muggle job, teaching and preparations for the NYT’s 2012 auditions.

All of which has meant my alarm has had the unfortunate pleasure of romancing a very sleepy Grewcock pre 7am - a hard task at the best of times, not least when you’re a mobile phone and all you can do is blare a marimba theme at me until I cave in and hit snooze.

Anyway, I can’t wait to see what this year’s auditionees have in store for us at NYT. Another epic season is taking shape and I’m sure we’re going to see some brilliantly talented new faces. Over the past few weeks when asked what I’ve been up to, I’ve met several ex members of the company; a few still working in theatre yes, but it was great to chat to a doctor, a teacher and an investment banker about their time with the company and to hear how useful their experiences were in their chosen careers. Personally, I think the real success story here is the banker -a decent wage and the upper hand at zip, zap, boing at the Christmas party. Still, great to see NYT playing such an important part in people’s lives.

The year of Olympic dreams is upon us. Is it only me that remembers the day London won the 30th Olympiad like it was yesterday? Where oh where has the time gone? Regardless, we’re here and the theatrical great and good have been making their predictions for the health (or more rather wealth) of theatre and how it will survive the year.

In reality of course, the Olympics and Paralympics will takeover London for a mere 4 to 6 weeks which is perhaps an incentive to implement strategy and not foresee doom as major theatres are boarded up and “come back next month” placards adorn the doors. The Lion King has shifted their Sunday matinee to Wednesday to avoid clashes with sporting finals, Regent’s Park Open Air Theatre is offering tickets for £20.12 during the games, as is Jersey Boys at the Prince Edward. All seem much more in the spirit of things as the world’s spotlight shifts to London.

Having just about roused myself from my post-turkey coma, it appears we have stumbled, plastic champagne flute in one hand, To-Do list in the other, into 2012. Happy New Year everybody! I trust you have all recovered from bidding farewell to 2011 and have set yourselves up with some resolutions to break next week?

Personally, I had a splendiferous Christmas with the family, and now have a new Kindle on which to spend lots of imaginary Amazon money, which is almost certainly not the same as real money. With the last show with Chaplins filling the interim between Christmas and New Year, I passed a quietly joyful transition from 2011 to 2012 and things have been generally jubilant since we last spoke.

Excepting that is, having my phone pickpocketed whilst out at the market! Some highly irritating and evil individual with the stealth of a ninja and fingers as swift as Stevie Wonder robbed my lovely, shiny I-phone whilst I was merrily jostling round Camden Lock. To that individual: Merry ruddy Christmas you thieving gits. I am almost a hundred percent sure that this was the week that the RSC looked through their pile of submission letters and decided to give me a tinkle. If this career I have in front of me doesn’t pan out I shall pinpoint this event as the moment when it all went wrong. In an appeal to those of you who are technically inclined; does anyone know if the service provider stores your incoming calls and messages etc. on a secret file that you can reach when you get your new sim? Is that possible? We have a man on the moon- we must be able to retrieve my RSC voicemail!

As every other person is updating their Facebook status bemoaning their return to work this week, I can’t help wishing I was one of them. Oh, to join the legions of begrudging alarm setters and sulky clock-watchers! As indicated in my last blog, 2012 is scarily void of employment: acting or otherwise.

Whilst there’s no pay cheque coming in, I honestly feel like I have never worked harder than when I am ‘resting’. What a horribly misleading term that is. Who came up with it? It’s mean and inaccurate and if I’m resting how come I’m so tired?