Applaud the shattered glass, but be wary of the woman doing it...

Ok – so a week ago Friday, I choked on my Pret a Manger breakfast, when Senator John McCain appeared to have screwed up spectacularly announcing that a woman nobody had heard of was his running mate. I looked up Alaska in the atlas for the first time since I left school: it took up two pages and I couldn't find the capital. (Juneau, not Anchorage.)

So I spent the week reading "Who the hell is Sarah Palin?" stories and looking up more about Alaska (population 657,000 - a smaller number than in Birmingham or Belfast.). By Thursday she was a national joke because of her Beverly Hillbillies family and their wacky names and teen pregnancies. So I sat down to watch her speech with my heart in my mouth. Poor woman! Shoved into the Republican machine by cunning Karl Rove, Bush's Svengali, so as to get the Hillaryite Democrats to vote Republican. (Not to mention the Dems who won't vote for Obama for lower, more visceral reasons.)

And then she strode out on stage and made that speech.

Suited and coiffed like the beauty queen she was, Palin strode onto that stage like the “pit bull in heels” she claims to be waving and smiling to a screaming republican crowd. Well groomed and primed by the party’s aids after two days of in depth prepping holed up in a hotel room. She was there for specific reasons… to win over the disillusioned Hillary voters and give John Mccain’s campaign the needed youth and exuberance it so obviously lacks.

With all the sincerity of a dish rag she spoke of a war with victory in sight. WHAT VICTORY??? It’s been six years since “mission accomplished” and I don’t know anyone who knows of any near victory. She preached her beautiful family’s virtues – yes… teen pregnancy, high school drop outs shipped off to Iraq… shotgun husbands-to-be. (The Republican machine had wiped his Facebook page, with its remarks: "I'm a f------ redneck" and "Don't want no kids". They also cut his hair before they flew him to the convention.) Sarah Palin is already being touted (by pro-Republicans) as a cross between Thatcher and the Great Communicator Ronald Reagan.

She's neither.

When she got to the meat of her speech, it was Dubya's Axis of Evil again. As I am not actually a citizen of the united stas it's their foreign policy that is my primary interest. Sarah Palin is a true believer in the warfare state: ready to fight as many "dangerous foreign powers" as Bush and Cheney think are out there: never mind Iraq, let's tool up for Iran! And Eastern Europe! She said: "With Russia wanting to control a vital pipeline in the Caucasus, and to divide and intimidate our European allies by using energy as a weapon, we cannot leave ourselves at the mercy of foreign suppliers." Oh, yes? If Russia invaded Georgia to control a vital pipeline, they need better maps. And if energy is "a weapon", I'm feeling nostalgic for WMDs.

Her jibes at Obama were well crafted. She said: "Terrorist states are seeking nuclear weapons... he wants to meet them without preconditions. Al Qaeda still plot to inflict harm on America... he's worried that someone won't read them their rights?" and then went on to compare her position of Govoner of an area smaller than Belfast to having more “actual responsibilities” than his “community organsing….”

Hmmmm….. This coming from the gun toting mother of five who is against abortion even in cases of rape and incest and thinks creation should be mandatorially taught over evolution…. this woman is denying the facts of SCIENCE!!! But then again… she is an ex-beauty queen from Alaska who has published pictures of herself kneeling by a dead moose she shotand others wearing t-shirts saying "I may be flat broke, but I'm not flat busted."

She is quoted as being openly racist… insulting Obama, and regularly refering to Alaska’s Aboriginal people as “Arctic Arabs” – lumping two apparently undesirable groups into one ugly description – as well as the more colorful “mukluks” along with the totally unimaginative “f**king Eskimos,” according to a number of Alaskans and Wasillians.

Now… don’t get me wrong… she is no totally evil. She has no horns, has not appeared (as far as we know) in a porn flick and has no sex tape, although she may have had an extramarital affair. But a couple of things are true -- and troubling -- about Alaska’s governor, and they go beyond irresponsible parenting that led her unwed, teen daughter to become pregnant.

Palin’s religious extremism is assault on her beloved First Amendment. She justified the Iraq War and the construction of a $30 billion gas pipeline through Alaska as “all part of God's plan.” Her religious fundamentalism is rooted in the Wasilla Assembly of God where the pastor is a fiery apocalyptic extremist, who believes the world is clearly divided between good and evil.

He’s preached that critics of President Bush will be banished to hell; questioned whether people who voted for Sen. John Kerry in 2004 would be accepted to heaven; charged that the 9/11 terrorist attacks and war in Iraq were part of a war "contending for your faith;" and said that Jesus "operated from that position of war mode." More than once, he has denounced criticism of President Bush, and said those who did so were going to go to hell… literally.

As for Palin, he said her election as governor was the result of a "prophetic call" by another pastor at the church who prayed for her victory. "[He made] a prophetic declaration and then unfolds the kingdom of God, you know."
One of Palin’s new preachers at the church she now attends in the state capital said during a sermon last month (Aug. 17) that Jews' "unbelief" in Jesus was the reason for the 9/11 terrorist attacks. The pastor also described terrorist attacks on Israelis as God's "judgment of unbelief" of Jews who haven't embraced Christianity.

So far, Palin hasn’t said or done anything to distance herself or denounce these hate-filled rants, nor has she explained her views on supporting and upholding the Constitution.

In a presidential election that is focusing on our terrible economy, the threat of terrorism and other weighty issues, such small town politics may seem inconsequential. But Palin could soon be a heartbeat away from becoming leader of the free world. Her disregard for our fundamental freedoms is far more troubling that whether she’s been photographed in a bikini or had extramarital affairs.

And spare a thought of Hillary Clinton... as proud an Obama supported as i am... there is a small part of me that feels for the woman who was so close to the finish line... to have it smashed by the govenor of the middle of nowhere...

An appraisal between Amy and her heart.

heart knocks on the door, enters and sits down at the table. Amy is sitting directly across. She is examining her notes. After a moment of silence she looks up and begins.

Heart. Thanks for coming in. Its good to see you again.

Well, we might as well get started. We are very proud of you here heart. The board of directors... head, soul and myself, are all very pleased with the progress you have made in recent months. In fact, over the past twelve months your recovery and growth has been very impressive and something we all want to commend you on.

We know last year provided you with some challenges... perhaps we pushed you a little harder than you were ready for. Or perhaps we didnt support you in the most proactive way. We have all been very hapy to give you some time to recuperate.

We must say you are in better shape recently heart... not wanting to bring up bad memories, but most of the scars and wounds have healed and you seem to be back to your old self again. In fact... this seems to be a more improved version of you and we commend you for your courage an strength in bouncing back so well.

But now, to the task at hand. We must raise some points we feel you need to address.

You need to be careful hear... you are getting a little carried away. I know that now you are back here with the rest of the team, you want to start leading the way again, but heart your close work along side head has been very good in the past few months and we believe the two of you can make a good team together. That perhaps you should lead as a pair, rather than taking alternate shifts. Heart, it is not that we disregard your ability to lead, but its just that once you get in the drivers seat, you tend to not let go.

Learn from your mistakes heart. Last time we did this, you ended up getting quite injured. Remember this hobby of yours is essentially an extreme sport and to be honest, we are not fully insured for it. HR just cant cover us when you are in charge.

I know I know.... youa re fully recovered from alst time... you have been in training. You did some extra research and have shown a remarkable learning curve... but heart you are currently displaying the early warning signs, the ones we saw last time and failed to address. We, as a team, are learning from past mistakes and mean to include you in that.

Heart, we know your decisions are your own, but you do need to realise that your actions directly affect the board of directors and head, sould and muself hope you bare that in mind.

Thanks for coming in today. We do swish this meeting to be a positive one and for you and for the feedback to focus on your hard work and improvements. But please know that the most important thing for us, as your coworkers... is to learn from past experiences.

Be careful heart. We all care about you very much.

Scenes of Make Believe - life in the entertainment world. (Or... conversations you cant believe you're having...)

Amy is sitting in a Disney office at a meeting table making polite conversation with her co-workers.

AMY: So I was watching “Stand by Me” last night, I love that scene where they are all asking random questions around the camp fire and they ask “Mickey’s a mouse, Donald’s a duck, Pluto’s a dog…. What the hell is Goofy?” Goofy is totally a dog!? What else could he be!? We know him personally.

Silence. Co-worker stare at Amy. There are many uncomfortable stares and shifting in the seats.

DISNEY BOSS: Deadly serious. Amy. Goofy is not a dog. He is a “Man-Dog.” He must never be referred to as just a dog.

AMY: Laughing. Um… what? A man dog? What the hell is a man dog? He’s a dog!

DISNEY BOSS: Deadly. Amy. You have to understand this. Pluto is a dog who is a pet – we refer to him as a dog. Goofy is a dog that exhibits human characteristics - therefore we refer to him as a man-dog.

AMY: So… is Mickey a man-mouse? Is Donald a man-duck? Mickey drives a car, Donald takes showers -

DISNEY BOSS: AMY! Mickey is a mouse, Donald is a duck and GOOFY IS A MAN DOG! That is all the explanation you need.

Disney boss slaps notebook onto the desk, promptly ending the conversation.

AMY: Quietly. Ok… Goofy is a man dog. ‘nuff said.

Late Night Phone Calls

So I had a conversation with an old friend last night. It was one of those phone calls that comes out of nowhere and lasts for hours. I live for conversations like these. Hashing out ideas, talking about life, solving the problems of the world… a good old fashioned heart to heart and meeting of minds.

At one point in this conversation, my friend said to me “Amy… don’t you dare give a F**k about what other people think. You go and do what you want to do. Follow your instincts and go get what you want.”

This is, ironically, why I love this friend.

Why not have everything you want? Why not settle for nothing other than spectacular? Why not announce your dreams to the universe and have no fear of failure because you are filled with your drive and desires? Why not fill your life with things that make your heart sing?

And so, dear friends, I make a challenge and commitment to you all. Live your best life and go get what you want. Life is yours for the taking.

Watch this space.

It seemed such a simple question...

Someone asked me the other day what my favourite musical was.

This is a ridiculous question.

There is no way I could, would or will ever be able to chose just one. This is something I am damn sure of. But this question did get me thinking. I let it sit with me for a little while and my mind wondered to a selection of musicals, plays and even an opera that are not, perhaps, my favourites but are so very important to me, that hold truly special places in my heart and more often than not pinpoint turning points or moments of growth in my life… Now, the list I am about to propose to you, are not shows that I have necessarily been in – hell, most of them aren’t. That is not what this is about. It’s about how theatre has and will always shape my life. Consciously and un-consciously.

I think the best way to do this would be in chronological order… so travel with me, if you will, dear readers… back to the early 1980’s.

A young girl of 7(ish) is sitting on a bank of seats in a rehearsal hall, watching her father direct a show. At this stage in her life, she simply assumed that this is what everyone’s fathers did on a Sunday afternoon. There is cast of young people scattered around a stage running the opening number. They all seemed so wonderful, so talented and alive. They were singing about magic – about making it… To be exact they were singing: “We’ve got magic to do, just for you…” Yup. Pippin.

I fell in love with that show as a little girl and to this day adore it. The story of a young man finding himself… although back then I just liked the fact I got to play with the duck and the puppy when they weren’t on stage. I watched the Ben Vareen video over and over again and listened to my John Farnham recording until I knew every word. Other shows had come before this one… Iolanthe, Sound of Music, Oh what lovely war…but there was something about Pippin that captured my seven year old imagination. It was my first experience of truly falling in love with a story.

Next up… The first play to win my heart was also a family induced affair. My mother and brother were aptly cast playing mother and son in Neil Simon’s “Brighton Beach Memoirs”

This is, quite simply, the first part of a BRILLIANT trilogy. If you have not read these plays or seen these movies… I urge you to do so. They are the most endearing tales of family life you can ever come across. These plays are like home to me. I can still see my brother throwing a baseball against a piece of corrugated iron as Eugene replying to my mother’s line as Blanche of “What would you tell your father if I was lying dead on the kitchen floor” with “I’d say don’t go in the kitchen Pa!” There was a part of a younger sister in this show and it broke my heart at the auditions when the director explained to me that, although yes I was tall, I was still 8 years too young to play the role. I so desperately wanted to be a part of this. I still to this day use the line “You can’t love your cousin… you’ll have babies with nine heads.” (Admittedly… I don’t get to use it very much)

This then leads us to the one and only “Little Shop of Horrors.” Watching my Dad bring this show to life was quite simply spectacular to a now 10 year old. Now you must understand that I considered myself quite the veteran of the theatre by this stage… but nothing could prepare me for a man eating plant that so controversially shouted “No shit Sherlock” Not only could it talk… but it swore! This was the greatest thing ever put on stage! Three women sang fantastic motown harmonies; Audrey and Seymour fell in love only to be eaten by a giant alien hybrid of a Venus flytrap. I felt so privileged to know the secrets of this amazing plant… of how it all worked. It was like I was had been admitted to the magic circle. I had stepped through the looking glass to see how it was made – it was this process of creation that I had fallen in love with. The ability to bring something to life that had lain on page. Yes I loved music, yes I loved to sing, but it was the running lines with mum in our 1980’s pink kitchen, watching her highlight page after page in orange in green, scribbling notes all over the text – bringing the piece to life. It was watching my Dad pour over set designs, working out how to take words on a page and turn them into something three-dimensional. Taking a group of people and turning them into soldiers, magicians, clowns… it all seemed to natural to me and it was a very rude awakening when I realised not everybody lived like this.

This brings me to the next show that rates a hearty mention… “Barnum”

I’ve actually been involved in this production twice – once watching my Dad and brother put it together, another playing woodwind in the pit. I adore the life story of PT Barnum, his love affair with “humbug and magic” and of course, his relationship with his wife Charity. This show had it all – tightropes, web work, juggling, magic, humour, heartbreak… two times over this incredible piece stole my heart - and I gave it willingly. It was always the highlight of my week to be able to go with Dad to rehearsals and sit in the back quietly watching this show come to life. The second time round, was an equally enjoyable experience.

NB: For anyone who is about to embark on the wood wind track of this show… get your chops ready for the piccolo line in “come follow the band” it will blow your gums off.

It was during my first production of this that I must have been about twelve years old. I distinctly remember asking the cute boy in my class if he was coming to see the show and if he was going to the other musical that happened to be in town. There was a crack in my world when he turned around and said “Amy… I just don’t like theatre. And no one I know does”

UM…. Sorry?

It was as if he were speaking a foreign language. This was not an idea I had even considered. I had spent 12 years assuming everyone lived in the same world I did; sitting in my parents rehearsals, running lines, building sets, learning songs… apparently not. Why anyone would want to do anything else with his or her childhood is still beyond me.

This brings us to adolescence. With my childhood shaped by working class Jewish Americans, man eating plants and tightrope walkers – it seems to make complete sense that my teenage rebellion took its artistic form in something a little darker. These years weren’t so much about seeing something brought to life – but about see how far this art could push it’s voyeurs.

I will never forget a certain afternoon I spent with my Dad. The set was going up for a show - I couldn’t even tell you which one it was… that isn’t the point of this moment. I was “helping” Dad by painting a prop of some kind and my mind had wandered off listening to the new CD that was being played.

I swear to god the lyrics that floated through the air changed my life…

“Hey Pal - Feeling blue? Don’t know what to do? Hey Pal, I mean you. Yeah. You wanna kill a president?”

What the? Hold the phone! These people are singing about assassinating Lincoln. This ain’t no “Paint Your Wagon.” I turned the volume up….

“All you have to do is squeeze your little finger… ease your little finger and – you can change the world”

This was something different… this was something special… this was something that captured this awkward teenager’s imagination. This was “Assassins.”

And so my love affair with all things Sondheim was born.

It would be another eight years until I was involved in a production of “Assassins” (Playing by-stander three with my one spoken line of dialogue being a profound “BEEF”)
This show hi-jacked my imagination. I read the script over and over again, dissecting every line of dialogue, studying every lyric. The repeated analysis of “Another National Anthem” and perpetual reading of the final scene between Booth and Oswald led to a teenage Amy’s discover that musical theatre could be something more than happy endings. Not wanting to sound too melodramatic – but this show shook my theatrical soul! Not that I knew it then, but this was a piece that was truly ahead of its time and I salute it’s creators for their bravery and foresight in bringing it to the stage.

It was literally a week or so after my Dad played me the Assassins soundtrack, on a random Sunday evening that Mother told me there was something on T.V that she wanted to watch. This pissed me off because no doubt I would have been looking forward to the latest episode of Beverly Hills 90210. But – never the less Mum put her foot down because she wanted to tape some show that was going to be on the ABC (the artsy channel in Australia.) After much whining and complaining I was told to stop complaining and give it a go because I might just like it.

The “it” that I might “just like” was a little something called “Into the Woods.”

“Just might like it…” was an understatement. I became completely obsessed with it and the work of Stephen Sondheim. (The true lengths of which you can read in my blog “We could be heroes, just for one day”) Some teenagers obsess about rock stars or movie heroes… I obsessed over the guy who wrote “Send in the Clowns.” I’m surprised I didn’t grow up to be a gay man.

But as we are speaking of particular shows I should flag certain shows that were the highlights of Amy’s “Sondheim’s Years.”

Assassins lead to Into the Woods which took me to Company (again see previous Sondheim blog for the details on that one) and then…

Oh then…

“Mapping out a sky… what you feel like, planning a sky…”

“You are complete... You all alone… I am unfinished… I am diminished… with or without you…”

Yes.

Sunday in the Park with George.

As I type this “Sunday” has opened on Broadway and if every single person who reads this blog does not go and see it, I will personally drag each and every one of you to the box office to buy your damn ticket. The first time I ever heard this show I fell truly and deeply in love with it…. And at the time I didn’t have the slightest inkling as to how connected to it I would become on so many… many…different levels. This is my “Onion” show… meaning it’s got so many damn layers and always… always makes me cry when I crack it open. Actually – cry is an understatement. Sunday in the Park with George rips my heart open with the first five notes of its score – by the time we get to “move on” I might as well be in a coma. Lets just say that George and Dot don’t just cut close to my bone – it’s basically a marrow transplant.

I could write 10 pages alone on this piece – so I will have to cut it short here and wait until I get over to New York in june to truly sing it’s never ending praises.

But I digress. If I was artistically “married” to Mr. Sondheim – then as I headed to my senior years of high school I had an affair. I took a lover. Yes… I had several artistic dirty weekends with Sam Shepard.

“Savage/Love” and its non-linear, song cycle style of formation nestled it’s self into my imagination and was my introduction to the poetic sweeping American writing of Sam. The first incarnation of this show I had seen was performed by a class of actors at the college I would one day attend. They were my heroes. They probably could have performed “Trial by Jury” and I would have loved it.

Wait… no… that’s not true. Gilbert and Sullivan does my head in. I could never love it.

But I digress – My obsession with Shepard ran parallel with Sondheim and had a similar journey.

Savage/Love lead to Cowboy Mouth, which took me to Fool For Love

If you have not read any of his work… DO IT! Do it and I dare you not to love it!

This then leads us to our final destination – the University Years.

Now – again a show was brought to my attention that would make my head spin. The idea that musicals could be written with a truly contemporary sound track that didn’t sound cheesy or dated. Again something non-linear, almost as a song cycle… written by some young American guy…

I was standing on the steps of my college entrance and my mate John ran past me, grabbing my wrist and dragging me into the closest dance studio with a working CD player.

“Shut up and listen to this”

He pressed played. Much like the opening notes of Sunday made the hairs on my neck stand on end… so too did Jason Robert Brown’s “Songs for a New World”

I looked up at John – he was smiling at me.

“Don’t even tell me – I know how much you love it.”

And so my never-ending love of contemporary musical theatre was born. This still exists to this day – and is what fuels my life and work.

It pretty much goes without saying that loving “Songs for a New World” led me to “Parade” and in turn “The Last Five Years.” Three shows that bookend a major transitional and progressive section of my life. Again – there are dimensions of these shows (and the subsequent productions thereof) that make my affinity with them insanely multi layered – but to be honest, its late, my fingers ache from all the typing, my tired eyes can hardly see the screen and this blog is already long enough! Any one of my BAPA alumni can vouch that I literally lived and breathed the songs of Jason Robert Brown 24/7 for several years.

So… I guess that brings me to the end… The soundtrack of my young life I guess. This is no indication of what I am listening to today (although if you have not heard Jeff Blumenkrantz’s pod casts – you haven’t lived) but merely a salute to the shows that have lead me to where and who I am.

There are shows that do rate honourable mentions in this journey – Rags, My Favourite Year, Proof, Cloudstreet, Summer Rain, Foreigners From Home, Baz Luhrmann’s La Boheme, The Good Bye Girl, Much Ado About Nothing, Freedom of the City, Porsche Coughlin, Love! Valour! And Compassion! And I urge all of you to discover at east one of these fantastic pieces. They’ll change your life if you let them.

See! Asking me my favourite show is a silly silly question. I’ll never be able to give you just one.

To end this all off – and it’s high time I did – I quote Peter Gallagher –

“No matter what - I always go back to theatre. It's probably where I'll draw my last breath.”

A Moment of Reflection

Having moved all of these blogs over to the one spot, I have taken the time do do something I rarely do. I’ve been reading back over them all. It’s amazing to see the journey of the past two years in such a personal way. These blogs are almost like a diary and the arc of this journey is interesting to look back on in such detailed hindsight.

Life here happens so quickly, this city moves at such break neck speed – it’s a rare thing to be able to listen to your voice within it’s clanging.

These two years backing London have felt like an eternity. I claimed recently that although I’d only been back two… I must have aged ten. But when I think about it… it could have been yesterday I got off that plane.

Time is such an abstract thing.

Reading these entries, I can see the girl who came back from America change and grow. It’s almost laughable how little I knew, how full of bravado and fury. I hear the tone of her voice changing and I can see her path change direction. Perhaps its because only I know what was really going on behind all of these tales… or what it all felt like – I can truly see what she was going through – what humour was real, what jokes were a defence - why cynicism was a shield – what moments really hurt.

It’s just interesting how such a relatively small space of time can bring a journey that has felt so large and long, with great changes, challenges and achievements… And I can only assume it will pale in comparison with what is surely yet to come.

I read a great quote today - "Most of us do not accept, or even believe in, the continual flux of life. However strange this may seem, once we truly accept this at a physical level, we will not need to search for certainty... As you tackle the tribulations of life, insights help you from taking yourself, your challenges, and life itself too seriously, because you will know that not matter what situation you are in, good or bad, it will change. This insight into the changing nature of the world will give you equanimity and joy."

The Things She Should Have Said - Part 2. A Fictional Piece.

She peeled her eyes open – the grey dawn was breaking outside her window. What time was it? She had no idea. She could hear the birds chirping which normally meant it was sometime after about five. It was Sunday. She knew that. God… where had the week gone? The past few weeks had floated by without her even noticing. She reached for the glass of water beside her bed. As her American friends would say – she was “parched”. The cool drink felt sweet in her mouth. She sighed. She lay back down and closed her eyes.

His breathing changed beside her – he was finding his way out of sleep. He’d be awake soon. She ran her hand over her chest and nestled her head into his shoulder. He felt warm. This felt nice. His skin had been softer than she remembered. Guys like this, they almost always had rough hands, hard fingers… it had been a surprise when his hand had brushed hers in the bar earlier that night. A surprising touch that was… unexpectedly gentle.

It had not been her intention to wake up next to him when she had agreed to meet for a drink. A friendly catch up was the only intent. A couple of beers and the standard “so what have you been doing for the past eight years” type of conversation. This is where it had all started. But as the night wore on and the familiar banter returned, she began enjoying the feel of his soft skin and gentle hands.

He coughed and jolted himself awake.

“You want some water?” she asked

“Nah – I’m alright love”

She knew his use of the word love was in no way a reference to what was going on between them – merely a turn of phrase. He closed his eyes and dozed off again. She watched him the rising light.

She smiled. Damn it. She liked this one. She always had.

There’d always been a soft spot for him, but as can sometimes happen, life had taken them in two completely different directions. Opposite sides of the metaphorical and physical world. She would often enquire as to how he was… checking in every year or so – waiting for the day the answer from their mutual friend would be “he’s moving in with her” or “he’s getting married” - but so far, that day hadn’t arrived. She wasn’t dreading it; hell she’d be happy for him to have found someone. She had always wanted him to be happy.

They had stumbled out of the cab and up to her apartment late last night after too many beers. She gave him the grand tour – it took all of twenty five seconds in her tiny apartment. They had sat on the couch. He had run his fingers through her hair and let them linger on her neck a little too long - the way he knew she liked it. It’s strange, she thought, how our bodies have a memory of one another. The way hands, arms, fingers and lips can remember where they once sat comfortably, many years ago.

“You know” she said “There are two spare beds here tonight… you can sleep wherever you want. Please don’t think you have to spend the night in my bed… if you don’t want to.”

She was doing it again. After the “crash of 2007” she seemed now to give her “gentlemen callers” a get out of jail free card. An option to escape should they want to now that they were faced with the full Technicolor of the reality of her.

He just looked at her. Smiled.

She hated to admit how much these situations scared her these days. She just couldn’t shut herself off like she used to. Her heart had burst open a while ago – and seemed that no matter how hard she tried to slam it shut - time and time again, the door creaked open. At least she knew she could start to feel it all again. But to be honest, this is what terrified her the most.

“You are” he whispered “a thousand times more beautiful than I remembered you. Does that answer your question?”

She smiled and looked away. These kinds of comments made her uncomfortable in her own skin. She never knew what to say to this.

“Thank you” she had mumbled and buried her head in his neck. He wrapped his arms around her. She could have spent the entire night right there. But she didn’t. They moved off the couch, down the hall and into her room. The night moved on in the usual way.

Their whole reunion had been sweet, intimate and sentimental. A moment where the two of them could be in an oasis of one another. A moment of what could have been.

But now… as the grey light brightened… she could feel time ticking, the oasis was sliding away and reality falling over them like a fog.

His eyes were open – he was staring at the ceiling.

“What time is it?” he asked.
“Too early to have to know” she answered, rolling towards him and rubbing his chest.
“Seriously hon… you know I have a train to catch… what time is it?”

Apparently he had reached reality before she had.

“Oh… its… um… nearly seven” she answered.

“I should get going… I don’t want to be late.”

He got up and started looking for his clothes; she rubbed his back as he sat on the edge of his bed.

“This was nice,” She said.

He turned and looked at her. He had a lazy smile about him, like the cowboys who look over their shoulders in movies. The ones who tip their hats and ride off into the sunset.

“Yes… it was…” He rubbed her shoulder and kissed her forehead. He looked at her again... she loved how utterly vulnerable she felt.

“Don’t go. Stay. Stay in this little pocket of time. Don’t let it end. Don’t wake up and let the fog fall. I don’t want to go back to the real world, I like it here where we can pretend that this is perfect and that this is us. That there would never be a problem with us, that we would be happy and sweet with soft skin forever. Stay and let me always bury my head in the endless caverns of your neck. Keep looking at me like you understand, keep resting your nose on mine, keep this fantasy world alive. Don’t get on the bus that will take you to the train that leads to the plane that takes us right back to where we never got to go. Stay here with me in this sleepy happy daze. Don’t let the mess of the real world come on in and fuck it all up.”

But instead she said… “Do you want a cup of tea?”

All too soon the sun was up, bags were packed and they were at the bus stop. The air was crisp and fresh. It woke both of them up much more than she liked.

“So… it’s some life you’ve got yourself here babe.” He said, looking out at the river.

“Yeah. It’s ok.” She replied. “It’s not always easy… but it’s what I wanted right?”

“Yeah. You always did.”

The bus appeared from around the corner.

“Well…” he said, picking up his bags “Here’s my ride.”

“Yup”

“I guess I’ll see you in another eight years.”

He smiled at her again and laughed.

He kissed her on the cheek.

“Take care love. You’re awesome.”

She smiled. There was nothing left to say. She had to let this moment go.

And just like that he got on the bus… and drove off into the sunrise.

The Things She Should Have Said - Part 1. A Fictional Piece.

She jiggled her knees and hugged her cup of coffee. The weather felt like it was seeping through her skin and into her bones. She was cold from the inside out. This is ridiculous she thought. Where the hell is the train? For the life of me, I will never get used to this ridiculous cold. She sighed and hugged her coffee tighter. She could see her own breath disappearing in front of her.

People were gathering around, all staring hopefully down the track – of course the train was late. They’re always late. This was Britain after all. She pulled her sunglasses over her eyes and snuggled down into the steel chair. She didn’t care that the sun wasn’t shining – wearing her sunglasses always seemed to put a barrier between her and the rest of the universe. A way for her to not actually have to interact with those around her, not that she would know anyone here anyway.

The anonymity of this country was what she liked about it. Her brief brush with notoriety in her teens had taught her quickly that privacy and obscurity were the most valuable things she could own. Her false start of a career as an adult had placed her happily up stage right of the spotlight and in recent years, solitude had become her happy companion. Yes, at times the loneliness was palpable but the feeling was now so familiar she regarded more as a welcome friend. One that, in recent times, had sat beside her while she slowly stitched things back together.

She leafed through a magazine. She liked to read when she travelled; it immersed her even further into her own world – distorting the other people who were packed like sardines around her. I-pod, sunglasses, hat, scarf and magazine – nothing could make her happier on this Sunday afternoon.

“Can I sit here?” a voice said.

“God damn it” she thought. She had put her bags purposefully on the chair beside her in an effort to dissuade people from sitting there. Living in such an overcrowded city had made her far more protective of her personal space. She looked up, absent mindedly to answer. The face that met her took a moment to register.

“Hi” she said, pulling her sunglasses off.

“Oh god… hi” he answered. “I didn’t realise it was you.”

“Yep” she stammered, “It’s me.”

They stared at each other.

This was the moment they had both been dreading. Neither of them had thought it would happen in a train station.

“Well… can I sit?” he asked

“Um… yeah. Sure. If you want to.”

“Of course I want to, don’t be an idiot.”

Oh god this was awful. She had played out this particular moment in her head thousands and thousands of times. She’d prepared all the carefree remarks, the witty asides and the long, touching monologues. She knew exactly what she wanted to say – here was the moment… and all she wanted to do was vomit.

“So how are things?” he asked.

“Good… good. They’re good.”

Don’t tell him anything she thought. If he really wanted to know about your life he would have called to ask months ago.

“Well… you look good” he tried again.

“Thanks.” She said. “I know.”

She knew she shouldn’t have added it but she didn’t care. The two of them had already done so much damage to this relationship one more aside wouldn’t make a difference.

“I heard you finally made it out to LA… Did you love it?”

She smiled quietly to herself.

“You know I did. It was never really going to be a question as it?”

“I’m surprised you came back”

“Well I did try to marry the border protection guy at the airport so I could stay a little longer. Unfortunately he didn’t see the humour in the situation.”

He laughed.

Oh god please don’t laugh. Don’t get into this familiar banter. Don’t allow him to be charming. Don’t ask him questions you don’t want to know.

“I heard you’re seeing someone.”

You said it! You know you don’t want to know, why the hell are you asking?

“Um… yeah… I am.”

The words floated through her ears and into her stomach. Again. She wanted to vomit.

“Her name is Caroline… she’s and actress… she’s – “

“Aaaah no offence” she cut him off. “I – I don’t want to know anything more than that.”

She could feel him looking at her, but couldn’t bring herself to meet his gaze.

“Fair enough” he conceded.

She nodded, smiling. Why the hell was she nodding? Why the hell was she smiling? She didn’t know. Anything to avoid looking at him.

“Well… what about you?” he continued. “Weren’t you dating that ah.. dentist guy?”

She closed her eyes, willing this moment to be over.

“Ah… yes I was… but now… I’m not. It… it didn’t work out.”

“Oh… I’m sorry to hear that.”

Not only did she want to vomit, but she could feel the tears welling up. Hurling in public would be one thing, but crying would certainly be another.

“Yeah… I bet you are.”

She couldn’t help herself. This kind of sarcasm had always been her coat of armour when it came to him.

He knew this.

“I mean it kid… you deserve to be happy.”

The words stung.

This was too much. She bent down to get her bags, dropping her coffee on the way.

“I’m sorry… I can’t do this.”

She knew it was just the kind of melodrama he hated. But it was killing her. She really wanted this to be normal, for them to be fine. To go on as friends – as those great buddies who “used to date but now get along great and can laugh about it.” But for now… in this particular moment… in this rediculous train station… she just couldn’t do it.

He was like a ghost. The ghost of relationship past that she just couldn’t escape. She was haunted by him and this safe conversation was simply too much. She hated this. She hated that she had become “that girl” but here she was and that’s how she felt and she simply had to go.

“Baby, don’t do this... come on…” he said

She snapped back.

“I’m not you’re fucking baby. You made that quite clear months ago.”

She regretted it as soon as she said it. She couldn’t move. She stared at the ground.

“Come on” he said. “You can at least look at me.”

She lifted her gaze and looked him in the eye.

And there… in the freezing train station… there was a crack in the planet.

“Say it. Just say it. Have the fucking courage to say that you are sorry. Stop ignoring the fact we systematically tried to destroy each other. Stop skirting around the conversations we should have had. The ones where you explain your behaviour. Where you tell me where you went and why. Tell me the truth. I can handle it. Did you just fall out of love as easily as we fell in? Did you get scared? Are you a liar? Did I push you away? Was it all a setup? A joke? A game? I’ll apologise. Fuck I already have. Many times. I’ve said I am sorry, I’ve explained my behaviour; I’ve told you everything you needed to know. Please. Your silence is impossible; your behaviour makes you a liar and for the life of me I cant work out what the hell happened. It all seems so warped now. So surreal and far away that I wonder if it ever actually happened. Did I hallucinate the entire thing? Did I script the conversations in my head? Did I make it all up? Or were you just lying? If you were, why would you do that? Why couldn’t you just talk to me? Why did you leave me to shoot the dying horse and then feel the following waves of guilt? And then why did you revive it again and again and again? Why does it still echo within me every day? Why is it… that when all the dust settles I still desperately want to make you proud? And why is your fingerprint everywhere I look? I’m terribly sorry but I can’t shoot the shit about your girlfriend while there is still so much left unsaid. And why… why can I not hate you? God knows it’s not for lack of trying.”

She sighed. These were the things she should have said.

Instead she smiled at him. The train was coming.

“I have to go. I’ll see you around… take care. I mean it. Be happy.”

And with that. She got on the train.

She didn’t cry. She didn’t vomit. She just looked out the window.

And locked her heart away… in the box with all the things she should have said.

That's It! I'm Done!

Ok, that's it. I'm done. I'm fed up and I can't take it any more.

I was at the Euro Star terminal today coming back from Paris (ohh la la how fancy do I sound?) and all I wanted was something to read. Just a magazine or a paper that would keep me entertained for the ride back to London.

But could I find anything that suited my fancy? No. There was not a single publication on the shelves I could take off their hands… why? Because EVERY SINGLE magazine has a picture of Victoria Beckham on it. I kid you not…. EVERY SINGLE ONE OF THEM. I can't take it any longer! What has happened to the female role models in this world?
Why is it that the majority of women on the covers of magazines, taking up the worlds headlines are underweight and over hyped?

Lets take a look at the news headlines of 2007 shall we?

• Paris Hilton went to jail.
• Jordan got a boob reduction
• Victoria Beckham moved to America
• Nicole Richie got pregnant
• Britney Spears shaved her head
• Jade Goody showed her true colours as an ignorant bully
• Kate Moss was broke up, got back together and broke up with a drug addict
• Lindsay Lohan went to rehab.

WHAT IS WRONG WITH THIS PICTURE? (other that the fact I have retained all of this information?)

To top it all off, Britain's illustrious new Prime Minister held up footballers wives as examples to young women because they have a few GCSE's between them.

Dear Lord.

Now don't get me wrong… I love a trashy mag at the best of times… but there is a line and point where this celebrity obsession has got to stop! "Celebrity"… what a word that has become. What was once a notoriety based on talent and ability is now a terrifying word that seems to refer to groups of women who clutter our media, gaining financial success and notoriety doing little more than falling drunkenly out of limos and night clubs (often sans underwear.)

It's a bombardment of the banal that has a knock on effect where women of all ages are actually caring if Kylie has had a facelift of if Jlo is piling on the baby weight. We become so used to seeing women behaving like idiots in public (shaving heads, crashing cars, flashing crotches…) that it becomes the norm and not only acceptable but seems to IMPROVE their careers!

WHERE ARE TODAY'S FEMALE ROLE MODELS I ASK YOU!? GIVE YOUNG WOMEN TODAY SOMEONE TO LOOK UP TO WHO IS NOT MARKETING THEIR OWN FRAGRENCE THAT REMINDS US ALL OF TOILET CLEANER!?

Don't worry – I am aware of the amazing women who are out there – the Cate Blanchette's, the Clare Smyth's, the Christine Amanpour's and my personal favourite Mika Brzezinski (the news reader who tore up her script in disgust at leading with yet another Paris Hilton story) but why oh why aren't these the people on the front covers being celebrated… not the binge drinking fools who dominate our media.

I say lets make 2008 the year of the decent female role model. The year when we hold up people who should inspire us… I can no longer condone the support of careers that consist of a stint on Big Brother and an exclusive deal with OK! Magazine.

As I said… that's it. I'm done!