Dames

There was going to be a different blog post in place of this one, but I was advised by a friend that its contents might have been a little too...vitriolic. And so now that and friend and I will be the only ones who know that post's contents, and its brilliance will be lost to the annals of history. That friend is Rachel Bussom, and she will probably tell you if you ask. As will I, to be honest: it was about Freshers.

I've been cast as the Dame in this year's pantomime, which makes me inordinately happy for a number of reasons- I get to work with a lot of my friends, it's normally a fun show to be in, I like attention- but the main reason is because it sounds suitably 'larky': David Mitchell devoted roughly two pages in his autobiography to discussing all the times he'd played women (This remains the finest such instance, in my humble opinion), and I'm hoping I can wrangle one or two good dinner-table stories out of it.
Of course, I've played women before (I even had a drag persona when I was younger- Mrs. Raspberry, who'd come in and tell off my sisters)- I was Flute in Midsummer Night's Dream, requiring me to don a dress and my most bored falsetto (Bored Falsetto could totally be the name of my autobiography, in which I pass THREE pages discussing the various cross-dressing shenanigans of my life) and I was Elderly Prostitute in The Good Person of Szechuan, requiring the most nuanced performance I have ever given.

"Searing"- The Academy of Prostitution Arts and Sciences

Look at the pain on my face. God, I'm talented.

Matthew came up to visit over the weekend, and I passed several pleasant hours conversing with him and secretly sweating over exactly what I'll do when I leave Uni; I phoned my mum after one of our talks and she urged me to see him again, as this is apparently something to which I should definitely be devoting brain power.

I'm still running into people whom I haven't encountered since leaving for Australia, and getting comments about my hair, including Matthew's rather tart 'short hair gets the jobs', to which I say 'pish'.

And finally, Travis has learnt to do Jazz hands, making me even more convinced and terrified than usual that he is somehow my son.