The Year of Celebration

Oh Britain, how you confuse me with your rapid weather changes. An hour ago there was lightning, thunder and torrential rain. Now as I type the sunshine is warming my sitting room. Clearly this makes my outfit planning for the day very difficult, but despite this I cannot be annoyed with you. After all, I can't blame myself for my day-to-day moods, nor can I blame the gods for the emotional mirror the weather provides. Today is a good day. Nothing has happened. Either eventfully or emotionally. Sometimes silence and solitude is all I need for serenity.  “Do not be angry with the rain; it simply does not know how to fall upwards.”                                               ―  Vladimir Nabokov

My christening 1984 "Please at all times be good to yourself. Life really is the better choice; meant to be enjoyed, not endured...."  "I just woke up at 4 am and felt the need to write this to you. I love you lots, and always will, whatever you do and whenever you do it. I want only the best for you and your sisters."  Those are quotes from emails my father wrote me. This week I have not been listening. I have not heeded his advice. I have not been good to myself. I have been isolating and for one 36 hour stretch I left the house only once. Today is March 4th 2014, which would have been my father's 64th birthday. As I've written before , my father's birthday was also his motto: March Forth. I have adopted it as my own. And yet, I haven't been marching anywhere this week. I have been stuck in the mud and I haven't even struggled to remove myself. I've allowed it to wash over me and pin me down. I've barely picked up the ...

This shocking and horrific story came to light yesterday across newspapers and television stations. It tells of a Bipolar woman who neglected to take her medication (as many Bipolars are prone to do - me included), had a panic attack, was restrained and then sectioned. As difficult as it was to read that someone was sectioned for a panic attack, what makes this situation far worse is that the woman in question was also heavily pregnant. She was sedated and social services obtained a high court order to proceed with a caesarean section at which point they took her baby from her and 18 months later refuse to give her daughter back and are attempting to put baby up for adoption. Their alleged position is that the mother may again forget her medication and end up in a similar situation. Now in what world is a panic attack cause for removing a child from their mother? In what world is it okay to prevent a mother access to her child because she has a mental illness of which she has no c...

YOC, I've been neglecting you. Well, really, I've been neglecting myself. The truth is I've been so caught up with what's in my head I haven't been able to focus on anything else. You see, dear reader, my head is haunting me. I am crippled by anxiety attacks and I don't know the cause. I've always suffered from anxiety, but in the last two months the panic attacks have increased astronomically. It starts as a feeling of bad butterflies in my stomach, becoming a pain in my chest, until my throat feels filled with a thick substance. This, in turn, makes me feel unable to breathe and I begin to hyperventilate. The tears then flow. This can happen anywhere, at any time, on the tube, at work, in my bed, in my kitchen, at a concert, at dinner....there's no telling where. But when I say they're crippling, I say that because they're crippling my life. For months I've been hiding in the bathroom at work as they hit, with my knuckles turning white...

Daniel Radcliffe in 'The Cripple of Inishmaan' In the last four weeks I've been blessed enough to see four plays. My mission took me from the Arcola Theatre Tent in Dalston to the very fringe Vogue Fabrics in Stoke Newington to the Orangery in Holland Park to the Noel Coward Theatre ( again ) in the West End. The first performance was put on by the Arts Council England-funded Generation Arts Future Stage Company. Generation Arts is a company which provides a training ground for young people who would otherwise not have such exposure to the arts. It works specifically with those in the margins of London who are not in education, employment or training and who are considered at risk. The Future Stage program allows such young people to form a theatre company for a year and put on a production, which I was fortunate enough to witness. I was immensely impressed by both the talent and the writing in 'Enough Said'. I usually don't like comedies, but I laughed...

After two months of not even a sprinkling of anxiety I had major panic attacks last week. It was even more intense and overwhelming as I was of the (clearly misguided) belief that I had conquered them. I couldn't breathe, I couldn't think and I was crying so hard I thought I might pass out. The worst part was that I couldn't remotely pinpoint the cause of the anxiety. I was racking my brain, trying to breathe, meditate and calm myself and I was incredibly frustrated by the fact that I couldn't seem to battle through. Yesterday, the anxiety finally lifted only to be replaced by depression and exhaustion. I was terrified that this would last, but after about 12 hours sleep I woke up this morning back to the mood I've been in for the last two months, which has been quite positive, calm and even elated at times. However, at the beginning of this happy phase of life I couldn't shake the worry that it would soon disappear. I just had to keep reminding myself that it ...

" Think only of the past as its remembrance gives you pleasure." Oh, Mr. Darcy! There are few literary lovers that live up to that of Mr. Darcy. So, therefore, it's quite a feat to act the role as there's a lot of pressure on that thespian to make women's heart race, to portray cold and reserved, yet filled with emotion. I went to the Open Air Theatre in Regent's Park last night to watch a production of Pride & Prejudice.  The genius of Jane Austen's work is that the story itself is so brilliant that it transfers well from book to play to film. So let's deal with Mr. Darcy first. I must say the actor playing Darcy managed to portray him very well and exceeded expectation. I say that because just as when I watch Romeo & Juliet (which I did a couple of weeks ago in another open air theatre, which featured my good friend Jason Eddy) I am prepared to dislike the actor who plays Romeo, because he couldn't possibly live up to my fanta...

Life is good. Really good. Celebrations are in order as I've officially gained representation with Crescent Management . I'm very excited to join this lovely agency with lovely people. When I went in to meet them I immediately felt at home and really adored all the members. So, hopefully, I'll start getting some work and keep moving forward. In other news, I just am elated at the moment. I'm remembering to take my meds and I've quit all my anti-anxieties and flushed them down the toilet. I realised that for nearly four years not a day went by that I wasn't completely present. I was unable to respect my feelings. No matter how I felt I wanted to change it. If I was up I'd take and drink whatever I could to make myself more up. If I was down I'd want to be in oblivion so I couldn't experience that. Now, I'm realising I'm human and that it's natural to encounter the ups and downs of everyday life and process them appropriately. Life h...

Oh, London. One day you amaze me with the beauty of your residents (see last post ). The next day you remind me of why I can fear such residents. In great contrast to my Friday morning, my Sunday morning started off with a horrible interaction with a Londoner (with a German accent, but let's call him a Londoner for the sake of convenient comparison). I live on Brixton Hill down the street from The Fridge Bar. Now when I was 16 or 17 I used to go to the Fridge and Dogstarr and other Brixton haunts on weekend escapes from boarding school. Although Brixton was dodgier 12 years ago (yes, I just gave away my age) I remember the bars as amazing, but either my drunken memory fails me or they really were amazing and times have since changed. I think the Fridge has actually been shut down a few times since then, but it's like a cat with nine lives. Anyway, this place is open from 4am to 11am on weekend nights, which is basically a direct invitation for anyone high on blow and molly to ...

It's amazing how a day can seem so hopeless and then turn out beautifully. My plan was to audition at The Albany Theatre in Deptford this morning then to go to work in Wimbledon. I woke up to find that I hadn't been paid. Therefore, no money in my account and only £2 on the ole oyster travelcard. The life of a starving actress is a precarious one and I find myself walking that tightrope often. Cue me frantically calling a family member for help. He thought perhaps I could go to the station and use his card over the phone. The Underground staff at Brixton were no help, but they said that the train station could do it. I went to the train station. They don't do oyster top-ups. One word: SCREWED. The man in the booth at Brixton train station started trying to brainstorm with me, asking me if I knew anyone nearby. Of course all my friends in the area are at work. I was resigned to the fact that I was going to have to cancel the audition and work for the day, therefore missin...

I've been negligent, I know. It's not just you, YOC, it's every piece of writing in my life. I'm suffering from the dreaded...dun dun dun...WRITER'S BLOCK. I'm not even sure if that's the right terminology for what I'm experiencing, because actually it's more that I'm hating everything I've written in the past. Since losing my laptop I haven't written a single new word of  The Hardest Part , my novel-in-progress. Likely because I lost the last 15-20 pages and I'm resentful. It's been stagnating on page 287 or whatever for two months and I now think I hate it. There are parts of it that I love (usually individual sentences), and I know what I'm trying to do, but I'm just not executing it in the right way. I keep opening the manuscript, reading it, becoming exasperated and deciding that before I make drastic changes or toss the whole thing I'll leave it a few days until I'm in a better mood. The thing is I've...

In the space of a week I was lucky enough to see two plays in London's West End and they couldn't have been more different from one another. As explained in last week's post , Peter & Alice inspired in me such depth of thought regarding my own life. Book of Mormon on the other hand just allowed me to escape from my life for a couple of hours. My relationship with comedy is an awkward one, because whilst I love a good laugh, I also rarely choose to watch comedies so it's up to someone else to suggest them. The lovely one always remarks that unless a film makes me cry I'm uninterested in watching it. That's entirely untrue. I just enjoy films with depth and meaning (and maybe a good dose of death). Whenever I attempt to watch comedy I prepare myself to be disappointed, because frankly, most of the time it's not  that  funny. Yes, it can be mildly amusing or  quite  funny, but it's rarely leaving me in floods of tears (I suppose maybe the litmus tes...

London: Love/Hate Affair. I have been utterly miserable for the last few weeks. I've been homeless (let's not exxagerate, Liana, you have been staying in spare bedrooms at lovely friends' lovely flats, says my inner self). I've lost my laptop. Yes, LOST. Not stolen. Not misplaced. LOST. Because I am a moron. To be fair, with all the moving around I was carrying so much of my stuff, shuffling from one fantastic friend's flat to another. I was overwhelmed, flustered and getting soaked in the rain and somewhere along the way the laptop disappeared. Woe is me. First world problems. Wah. Wah. Wah. And then suddenly, this past weekend, I was alright. Not fantastic. Not great. But alright. Surviving. I was staying at my friend Zoe's flat and she and her boyfriend Ben had gone away for the weekend and for the first time in a month I had some proper sleep. I slept all day Friday and Saturday and I suddenly felt normal. I hadn't even realised I was sleep-deprive...

What a week of loveliness. London has been good to me thus far. Yes, there are ups and downs of moving countries, especially as I'm jobless and homeless, but London has so much going on that there are fantastic distractions. Those distractions this week were two amazing concerts. The first one on Tuesday was Langhorne Slim & The Law and The Lumineers at Brixton Academy. The second was The Avett Brothers at The Forum supported by Grace Potter and The Nocturnals. I had intended to review the first gig the day after, but I was up until 3am the night before and then life took over (coupled with a good amount of exhaustion) and I kept starting the post and failing to finish. So here we go: A phenomenal displ ay of musical genius. That's how I would describe Tuesday night. Those two class acts deserve nothing but praise. Before I continue I should admit, as a disclaimer on any grounds of bias, I do call Slim and David (his banjo and key...

I can't believe it's been a month since I last wrote. Time has certainly flown by and life has changed dramatically. As of a couple of days ago, I am officially a London resident. I said farewell to the Vancouver rain and hello to the London fog (no doubt the rain is not far behind).  Why did I leave the west coast? Well, both Canadian and American immigration processes are nightmares. I got far along in the process with the US, but need to put together more evidence. I haven't even tried with Canada as the waiting process is two years. And I need to be working now . So I'm now ensconsed in the joys (ha!) of job-hunting. I so wish that my acting and writing paid all my bills, but alas, that is not the case (for now). I've been applying to all sorts of things, legal work included, but I'm really looking for something that will spark my creativity. So that I'm not dreading the work day and I feel like my 8 hours per day are spent doing something I enjoy. ...

 When I first got to London, my friend Anne suggested we all go for brunch at Columbia Road on the day of the flower market, which happens every Sunday. Unfortunately, we couldn't all get together, but it's been in my mind since then. So finally today, on my last Sunday I went with John to the market. It was absolutely beautiful. I couldn't believe how cheap the flowers were, being used to all the imported flowers in Bermuda, which are insanely pricey. There were orchids for a fiver, and my "brother" Raymond in New York is obsessed with orchids. I wished he was around so I could buy them for him. If I wasn't about to leave on Tuesday I would have scooped up loads. I have to admit the photo of the flowers isn't mine as I stupidly didn't take any pictures of the actual market.  We had a lovely wander along the market, grabbed some food and coffee and proceeded to investigate all the vintage stores around. Some were incredibly pricey, but I found s...

Some days I just miss London. Yes, it can be a pain in the arse: the tubes don't run all night, middle of the night delivery doesn't exist, shops close early, getting a black cab past 11pm is downright impossible, but it's still one of the best cities on earth. April 8th is the birthday of Vivienne Westwood and also the date in 1977 that the Clash released their self-titled album. Both Vivienne and the Clash are pioneers/icons of Punk, and Punk IS London. So today is dedicated to all things English, or as much as I can get here in the City of Angels. If I didn't already have plans, I'd only hang out with my British friends for the night. Instead, I'm just going to eat English food - bangers and mash, Cadbury's chocolate (the type made in the UK, not the disgusting Hershey's factory stuff), maybe some fish n chips.....mmmmm. Not in with the London theme, but definitely something to take note of: On April 8th, 2002 Suzan-Lori Parks became the first African...