Saturday evening duvet ramblings

The last few weeks have run me ragged. This is a culmination of starting a new job, going to events for said job and starting rehearsals for a new play.

My new play is called The Beguiled and is about: A wounded union soldier is discovered by a young student from a nearby girl’s school, during the American civil war. He finds refuge in the school of haunted women, behind confederate lines, with only his wit and a way with women to try and see him through. John McBurney struggles to survive. But the ladies of Farnsworth Academy are strange creatures and behind their Southern charm lies something else...Something Evil.

It has also been a film with Clint Eastwood in it, and no I am not playing his character.

The rehearsals are kind of intense, and as this is my first play, I am becoming quite worn out by doing this and work.

So today I had a duvet day and spent the entire time caressing and bonding with said duvet and had an all round unproductive day!

I am now entirely addicted to Gossip Girl, which is by the creator of The OC (which I also had to see a therapist about). I watched about four episodes today and Oh Em Gee was it worth it.

That said, it’s not as quirky as The OC, and I don’t have a favourite character. No one really stands out like Summer or Seth, they just don’t have that IT, that zing.

My addictions can now be counted on one hand-Lost, The L Word and Gossip Girl. Yes please.

Why Can't You Shave in the Toilet?

It is absolute law in London that you must not and I repeat MUST NOT talk to, or look at or in any way indicate that you have noticed that there are other people also using public transport.
It is especially amusing to me that at 11PM when everyone wants to die, because they’re still sardining it in a train at THATTIMEOFNIGHT that the sound of a guitar can be heard.

People look around in horror like, ‘Wait…is that..some sort of strange creature making that noise?’

The genius behind all this chaos are two very homeless looking guys (beards, clothes that don’t look like they’ve been washed etc) singing protest songs. One was called ‘Why can’t you shave in the toilet?’ This was a protest song about shaving and public toilets and quite a spiffing way of getting your point across if you ask me.

They even had a CD! I did not buy it however, just in case it was really porn or something (which isn’t bad, but may have been a home movie of their own making).

London Calling:

[Phone ringing] Briiinnnggggg Briiinnnggg, briiinnng brinngggg.

‘Hello?’

‘Hello, yes. This is London here.’

‘Oh…you.’

‘Yes, yes. I was just calling to tell you I HATE YOU.’

Ew.

It has been a while since I have updated this and it is partly because I am bad, horrible person.
On another note, my fear of London grew to even greater extremes last week when something horrible happened.

I was innocently standing (if I could ever be innocent) and waiting for a train, and was rather petrified by SCARYBIGMANTALKINGONHISPHONEALLWEIRD, and then eyeing up the old woman who was kinda twitching and talking to herself, and so decided to concentrate on memorising a script.

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw these shapes coming towards me. Have you ever got that feeling, when you just know something’s going to happen? That felt to me like a dozen magpies pecking me from the inside out.

Then of course, something did happen.The figures, who turned out to be teenagers walked even closer and then the one closest put his hands between my legs, said something really horrible and walked off with his friends laughing.

This is called SEXUAL ASSAULT and I kicked him in the balls and then got him arrested, where he’s really regretting what he did now.

Actually, if you backtrack, I did nothing of the sort. I was so shocked that I didn’t even react. I couldn’t do anything and didn’t believe that it had just happened.

I ended up sobbing my eyes out on the way home and ironically had run out of battery on my phone.

The friendly people of London like to pretend that other people don’t really exist most of the time, but when you’re crying, not only do you not exist to them, you’re not even a part of any plane that they’re working on. No one came to help and no one asked if I was okay.
I’m not expecting a Superman really, but this really is the unfriendliest place in the world.

Anyway, whilst I got off the train in West Norwood station, I was still crying and told a police officer who was on patrol. He walked me home and took all my details.

MY SAVIOUR! Right? Wrong!! He didn’t call me back as promised has not filed the incident and now it’s like it never happened.

I intend to take action though, oh yes. All sexually depraved teenagers better watch out, this girl’s on a revenge mission.