Farewell 2009...

2009 brought more than its fair share of craziness. In one small year my life has changed considerably more than in any other and I'm secretly glad to be saying goodbye to it. 2010 is all about stability and grounding myself... I've decided.


Thinking back to where I was a year ago, my stomach turns over and my heart starts to race with frustration and nervousness. 
I was living with a boyfriend who didn't love me and saw me simply as something that stood in the way of his college friends. I was so filled with the feeling of being trapped and of wasted time that I was having panic attacks daily. I hadn't completed a single story or piece of writing owing to the fact that my creativity had dried up as a result of my near depression. I was working a dead end job and I was gaining weight at an alarming speed. Sweet Jesus it was a mess!!! 
I'm forced to admit that my lovely friend Francesca was right. From very early on she repeatedly told me to "run for the hills" and "get the hell out of there"... I resisted for as long as I could but it was to no avail... FRANCESCA... YOU WERE RIGHT AND I WAS WRONG... There, I've said it!!!


In early May a job came along that would have an undeniable effect on me. "Naked Boy Singing" was an all male, nude review show that quite literally liberated me from my terrible situation. It forced me to reassess my situation and kick things back into gear. I went down to the slimmest I have ever been in preparation for the public nudity. I moved out of the house I shared with my arid boyfriend and moved into a wonderful flat with a dear friend Ellis and his partner. I rekindled my creativity and wrote my first article that was published on the Guardian blog, finished my first children's book and signed to a great literary agent.
Whilst performing in "Naked Boys" I met a brilliant composer who has become a very important part of my life. He is warm and compassionate and all things good and healthy and inspiring. He has made me very happy.
I am clearing my debts, catching up on correspondence with old friends, finishing projects, working hard, reading lots, eating well, being as creative as time allows and working solidly as a performer. 
Needless to say, things are remarkably better than they were a year ago.


I have enjoyed 2009 though, with a heavy heart, I'm awfully glad to wave goodbye to it...


So here goes...  2009, you were very stressful! May 2010 be far more stable and wholesome.
Ta-ta 2009... I'll never forget you
x

A Spirit Of Mischief...

Sir James Matthew Barrie is a bit of a hero of mine. A huge hero in fact.

Though he died forty six years before I was born, my life has been directly affected by his work of absolute genious, "Peter Pan".

The story of Peter Pan inspired me as a child. It filled me with curiosity and hunger for adventure. Though I'm not supposed to, I'll let you in on a secret. For the first decade of my life, my birthday wish whilst blowing out my candles was "I WISH I COULD FLY". I desperately wanted it. It took a further fourteen years to come true however...

My adult life has been equally effected by Mister Barrie's work. There's the same tingle of excitement it always gave me as a child, his beautiful use of the English language and the inspiration he has given me as a writer and then, of course, there's the fact that I've played Peter Pan more than any other role on my resume. 
I love playing the part. I'm currently playing my fifth Pan and it still doesn't get boring. There is a brilliant moment that always comes when you're dangling in your flying harness over the audience. When the lighting is just right, you catch sight of a small child's face in the crowd and you can see by the amazement spread across their face that they truly believe Peter is flying before their eyes. It gives me great pleasure to know that those children are experiencing that same spark of adventure that I did when I was a little boy.

I would have loved to meet James Barrie and ask him a million questions. Though the book is a work of happiness, youth and joy, it is pregnant with a deep sadness. There are so many points from Barrie's own life that made it into the book.
The sad demise of his mother after his brother David's death and her one comfort being that he would remain a child forever.  Barrie's attempt to dress as his brother David and stop growing up so that she could have her favourite son back. The death of five year old Margaret Henley who referred to Barrie as her "Fwendy" and the use of the word as the leading lady's name. Barrie's unusual and possibly unhealthy love for the Llewelyn Davies boys and their "Boy Castaways" adventures that inspired the lost boys, Wendy's brother's John and Michael and possibly even Peter. 
Was Neverland simply a place that Barrie invented to house all the sadness in his life and turn it into something beautiful? I guess we'll never know for sure...
I'm very grateful for Peter Pan and all the way's the 'little boy who would not grow up' has shaped my life. As a young writer at the beginning of my career, I can only hope to one day write something that comes even remotely close to Barrie's piece. As a performer I am very aware that I am slowly getting older and one day will be too old to play the role of Peter... Though I'm wishing for a few more yet.
And finally, as someone that stands for keeping one's inner child alive and healthy, I'm fixing my eyes on the second star to the right and I very much believe in fairies.
x

Autumn...

The leaves are changing...
Summer's on the wing and autumn is well and truly on its way. 
It's cold yet sunny and people are out in their jumpers and scarves and coats. I am a child of the winter. I'd be quite content if summer never reared it's sweaty head again and we lived in a permanent cycle of autumn/winter/autumn/winter.
Roll on snow and a million cups of tea...
I think the White Witch had the right idea...
Just a thought.
x

Love Thy Neighbour... Unless They're Different...

Vanessa Feltz...
Whoda thunk it? But... 'Tis true... This blog is inspired by none other than Vanny herself!
I woke in bed, to the alarm-clock radio boomings of Vanessa...
She was arguing the religious right for sikh students to carry a kirpan (a small symbolic knife) to school after a boy of 14 was suspended and expelled from a school in Barnet for trying to enter the building with one on his person.
This threw up a great many religious and moral dilemmas for me...
I'm greatly interested in the ongoing and seemingly never-ending debate of what is acceptable in the name of religion.
The story of the kirpan interested me no end...
It is widely known, that a kirpan is nothing more than a symbol of faith to the Sikh religion. It is no more than 5" long and completely blunt as it purely represents the protection of the weak. It is no more a weapon than a pen or a ruler or a sharp tongue.
I'm stunned by the double standard that is still exercised in England... Especially considering that England is amongst the most liberal countries in the world.
For instance: Why is it okay for a Muslim child to wear a burkha when hoodies are banned from most inner London schools because children should show their faces?
Why are symbolic kirpans a reason for expulsion when the crucifix, a symbol of great violence and suffering, is still accepted?
Why is homosexuality still a taboo subject to teach when the alternative is intolerance, hatred and discrimination from a religion that promotes Jesus' teachings of love and non-judgement?
Why are school assemblies still a predominantly christian/catholic practice in London, when over 50% of London schools are made up of Hindu, Jewish, Muslim, Sikh, Buddhist, Bahai and jain children.
Why are young mother's frowned upon by the same people that insist contraception is a sin?
Why are Christian children taught that god is all loving, yet a small group are forced to stand by the roadside with signs saying "God hates this, that and the other"?
Why is paganism seen as mere folly by religions that can no-more prove their validity over another?
Why does it seem that everything to do with religion is bound in some kind of ignorance or half acceptance or cultural editing? Like nothing is absolutely clear or open or honest???
Recently, a senator in Tennessee, when arguing against foreign languages being taught in English speaking schools, said: "If English was good enough for Jesus, it's good enough for me."
I may sound like a dirty, sinful, heretic non-believer... But why does it seem that the only people able to give themselves wholeheartedly to a religion are the mildly uneducated, behind, backward, socially unsophisticated, ignorant ones? Hmmmmm!?


I'm a firm believer in the unconditional "Love Thy Neighbour!"... That's unconditional... as in un-con-di-tion-al... as in no exceptions... what a futuristic way to think!!
Just a thought
x 

The Old, Yellow Bag...

I have a bag...
An old, yellow bag that I stole from an ex boyfriend of mine. It is just a bag...
It's big and it holds a great deal and it's always heavy and it's very yellow and I love it... I love it a lot...
I realised tonight, whilst traveling home on the train, that my old, yellow bag has witnessed a great deal of my adult life. It has travelled around the country, up and down and overseas with me. It has seen me sad and happy and working and unemployed and single and dating and clubbing and drunk and sober and working my ass off and idling my day away.
It originally belonged to my ex-boyfriend Newley, who wholeheartedly encouraged me to have it and use it. He kept it on top of a cupboard and pushed it onto me so that it would have a purpose once more. 
If I'm totally honest, I didn't like the old, yellow bag when I first saw it. I thought it was obnoxious and bright and over the top. I sneered at it when I was first offered it and made fun of my friend Lee, who desperately wanted it.
BUT...
I gave in and used it out of sheer necessity. Quickly packing it full of scripts and gym kits and bottles of water for my daily routine.
That seems like a very long time ago...
My old, yellow bag has toured around the country on many performing jobs, it has seen my relationship with Newley disintegrate. It travelled with me to France and to Manchester, home to Meopham and my new home in south London and travelled with me, day in- day out, to the west-end show I performed in over the summer. 
It has been with me on first dates, and second and third and fourth. It has watched relationships die and new ones grow. It has viewed many an art gallery at my side and watched many shows from between my feet. It sat by my bed as I finished my first book and stressed and pondered over the editing. It has carried home a great deal of food shopping from the local sainsbury's and strained at the weight of my laptop being hauled from coffee shop to coffee shop.
It came with me to my first literary festival in Cheltenham and was present at my first acting job for the Donmar Warehouse.
Overall, my old, yellow bag has been a dear friend to me...
This is purely a nod in its direction... Oh the stories it could tell...
x

Romance...

Romance…

If I’ve learned anything over the years, it’s that ‘romance’ can be one hell of a dangerous thing at times.

Once again, I find myself thrust against the gates of romance and asking myself what it is I want, expect or need from that niggling but brilliant, seven letter word.

I’m an old fashioned kind of guy I guess. In a time when “love at first sight” is a foolish notion that has no place outside of a Disney movie, I can’t help but wish it might be true. Don’t get me wrong… I can be a cynical git at times and roll my eyes as far as they will roll at people’s tales of instant love and romance and belonging. But wouldn’t it be nice?!!! I think so… Cue three fairies to argue over whether my dress should be pink or blue...

I am a fiercely independent person. I enjoy my own company. I trust no-one more than me… But, despite certain cases of cheating and lying and general no-good-nik-ness from past lovers, I’d love to be romanced. Maybe even be the romancer. I guess, for the first time in a very long time, I'd love to be the proud half of a damn good pair...

After a long, long romance free time in my life… I feel it might just be time to jump back on that unpredictable, old mule, grab it by the mane and see where it takes me…

Just a thought…

That’s all

x

Writing Under The Influence...

Why is it that when you're drunk, you get all philosophical and broody towards the end of the evening? Or is that just me? 

The last blog, "A Great Load Of Greatness..." I wrote whilst very squiffish after a night out with friends. I had completely forgotten that I had written it and found it in my draft folder yesterday. It's a little meandering but all in all not too bad for a guy who could barely focus on the keys. I guess you could say its a blog sponsored by Kronenbourg. 

I suppose I should count myself lucky that oddly, my initial drunk thoughts are to write... It certainly beats drink driving or calling the ex-boyfriends. *sigh of relief*

That's all

x