Saliva, Snowmen, and St. Tropez

At the risk of sounding like a broken record (in line with all the news reports the world over!) I do apologise for yet another inexplicable delay in my posts. Those of you who I have managed to not fall off the face of the earth with will have realised that the last couple of months have been hella intense (to quote a much cooler version of myself who has since left me for better and brighter things). But I have now resurfaced - at least for the time being - with more alliterative and alluring titles to bait my poor and now very much suspecting "fanbase". So, sorry not sorry. You should know what to expect by now.

No doubt your human-contact starved minds will have leapt to the filthiest of conclusions upon reading my title, but once again you will have fallen for my trap. The saliva of which I speak was very much my own (and probably still is, all being well). However, it did get shared with a bunch of actor-scientists in a makeshift lab in ArtsEd last week to prove to the world that I was Covid-free. That's right, last week my Covid-test virginity was broken and my nostrils and tonsils were assaulted by an aggressively long cotton bud. It was about as pleasant as it sounds, and induced much gagging and sneezing (are we still talking about the Covid test?!). But, despite the experience being less than pleasant, it was in some strange way the crowning glory to the end of our in person teaching this term. We've been incredibly lucky to have almost all our classes in person, including this term's final performance, and a swab into my oral cavities is a price worth paying for such luck in my books.

You'll be pleased to know that I got the all clear and my negative Covid result came back within the hour. Of course, to celebrate I did the only thing that felt fitting i.e. kissing all Chiswick residents over the age of 82 while singing "I'm Still Standing" at the top of my lungs. Needless to say the police were called swiftly and I have since been in hiding in my room to avoid legal repercussions. Still worth it though. Me and Vernon really hit it off.

Further to this Covid-celebration we even managed to have something of a Christmas celebration the other day. What is the world coming to?! I popped back to Chalfont St. Giles for the height of my social calendar - The Butcher Christmas Party. Alas this year our number dwindled down to the four of us, so we didn't manage to get through quite so many bottles of champagne, but we nevertheless embraced the opportunity to get hideously overdressed, just a little too merry, and to dance the night away with wild abandon. The only disappointment was that we weren't reported to the cops. Clearly we weren't quite wild enough. Must try harder next year. (Also, I think from the steady chorus of police involvement throughout these last two stories you'll probably get a sense of what a changed woman I am. Morally corrupt and shamelessly self-centred. Inevitably).

"But there be no snowman in this tale!" I hear you cry. Apparently all the way from the Middle Ages. Well, dear reader, I do not wish to disappoint. And neither does my mum. Just as soon as she allows me to dress up all fancy, she then foists fancy dress upon me. That's right, I am now the proud owner of a snowman/snowgirl outfit I never knew I wanted or needed. But apparently I brought at least one person joy (you're welcome Derek!) so I guess it's worth it. And despite the heavy sarcasm and undercurrent of bitterness you might be reading into that last sentence (shame on you, really) I do genuinely believe that if my dressing up in a silly outfit and looking like a fool does bring even an ounce of joy into this currently joy-starved world then it really is worth it. Besides I make a fool out of myself every single day (more so now than ever) so I might as well make a fraction of that foolery public so that it is not only the residents of Chiswick who benefit from it, but the whole world (by which I mean my mum's Facebook friends).

But next, from snowmen to much sunnier climes and the call of St. Tropez. In the list of exciting things that have happened of late (and let's be honest, in Covid times 'exciting developments' can be anything from a nice smelling hand sanitizer to a fully stocked aisle of loo roll) I managed to have a haircut! Mario was his name, and hairdresser was a role he took very seriously - and very stereotypically. After producing a few different reference photos Mario proudly declared "We do this one. I like this one" - and there was little I could do to stop him in his tracks after that. The scissors were out - even the clippers came out at one point - and I felt as bamboozled as if I had lived one of those makeover montages in real time. But after an inordinate amount of zhuzhing he finally seemed pleased with the result. I could do little but concur. And during this physical rollercoaster Mario and I also came to the conclusion that when I was a famous actress (note 'when' not 'if' - thanks for your vote of confidence Mario), I would pick him up in my private jet and we would holiday together in St. Tropez.

So there you have it folks - I hope I live even a fraction of the life Mario has envisioned for me. And if I do I know I will owe most of it to him and his magic hands, so a trip to St. Tropez will be the very least I can do (and now it's in writing he can officially hold me to it!) Although there was just a note of confusion as I left when he cried "see you later darling!", waving me off down the street. I don't know if Mario knows quite how the acting industry works, but his belief in my talent is clearly exponential as he assumed I would rise from nobody to a St.Tropez lister within the afternoon. Once again I should like a little bit of Mario's faith in me to go to my head (although technically it did go to my hair...). Okay that was terrible I'll admit, but I haven't managed to squeeze a pun in yet and I wasn't feeling myself!

There concludes my much-awaited life update. Saliva, snowmen and St. Tropez - it's about all the summary you need. These really are strange times and often dark days, and we're all dealing with a multitude of things; things we have had hanging over us for a lifetime, things that are only just coming to light, and things we could never have predicted. Some days it's a struggle to stay cheerful, and other days it's good to just hate the world and be angry at no one in particular. But other days we find these little beams of light and rays of sunshine that hopefully remind us of all that is good and all that there is to look forward to. Even if you need a magnifying glass to see them. They're still there.

Anyway - I'm a little sleep deprived and probably suffering from funny-fatigue (as if!), hence this soppy last paragraph. Although I am making a point of not apologising henceforth, so I'm not sorry for it.

Lots of love to you all xx