After a weekend of antics amongst the Winchester wilderness, more commonly known as Boomtown Festival, I bravely began the journey back to London. Myself and three other hungover campers sat in traffic for eight hours. Yep. What should have been a two hour drive was an extra six. Stand still traffic as 60,000 people attempted to leave the quaint town. Eventually arriving home at 9.30pm I showered for the first time in days and rolled into bed.

Undisturbed by dreams for the whole sleep, I woke early on Tuesday ready for work. I jumped back into reality and was fully in the swing of public transport once more. Arriving in Putney for my audition, I was in a great mood. Usually after a four day bender in a field you would be dead. Alas, the sun was shining and I threw myself into the heroine role for a feature film. I can only hope the casting director didn’t mind the absurdly pink hair. I walked over the bridge to a lovely pub along the river to meet my friend for lunch. We reminisced about the past few days before heading back to East London to enjoy the last sunshine in the marshes.

Wednesday hit me hard. Drained, sore and tired, I embraced the sofa and attempted to get on with something productive. Aka sorting my life out. After many emails, phone calls, surfing the Internet and putting washing on, I mooched to the nearest park wth my housemate to sweat out the toxins. A cute picnic in the sun later I felt ready to continue with the evening feeling more human. I showered again, still trying to wash out the pink from my hair, dressed up and wandered down to my friends opening collection of festival wear and jewellery. There’s no better cure to boomtown blues than a drink. Returning home, I grabbed my car keys and picked my best mate up from work as usual. We caught up on some Olympics as I’ve failed to see any of it, before hitting the hay.


Finally feeling normal, I walked an hour and a half from Clapton to Lime House to see a photographer friend to chill out. Realising I had forgotten my portfolio and model cards, I sacked off my casting. Well, seeing as the client has seen me several times before and has still failed to hire me, it only seemed fair… But what a nice surprise, I checked my online banking and saw I had been paid. Love a Thursday payday. Naturally I went and treated myself to a new pair of gleaming white, reebok classics. Using my housemates 25% discount… Let’s not go crazy, I’m still on a budget.

Beep beep beep went my alarm. It was time to be measured and photographed at my agency’s HQ. Shock, horror, I’m still not in shape. It’s been decided I’ll be measured every Friday morning for the next three months. Because, of course, my top priority is get “slim” for my Australian agency. Yep, I’ll be shipped out in January before LA. I’m ecstatic. Don’t get me wrong, I’m not being ungrateful, but when all your told is to ‘tone’ or ‘get in shape’ it becomes tiresome. Especially as all I really want to do is act. I sat in Starbucks waiting for my best friend from home to come meet me before having a meltdown and a drink. Straight vodka though, I can’t be drinking anything high in calories… Travelling back east I dropped my housemate at work, which was followed by helping another housemate paint his room. And to top it off, I readied myself in 80s wear for promotion disco diva work. Flares and glitter. Get in.

Saturday 8am. I was supposed to be doing a 5k run around hackney marshes. Why? My housemate signed me and herself up for banter. I can’t remember ever running for a bus. My alarm went off, I snoozed it, and four hours later I awoke. Just the thought of doing a run made me ache. I lounged around all day watching movies and eating crap until I began to get ready for my neighbor’s birthday outing. Wearing my new outfit I had treated myself too, I was ready to for a night of boogieing. Except we didn’t end up going, we wound up remaining in the warehouse getting mortally pissed. Classic.

Sunday I felt the vibrations of music running through my floor. It was pounding louder than my head. Accepting the rule that you can’t complain on a Friday or Saturday night about noise, I forced myself up and out. I needed rehydration and some good food. Two Harry Potter films and popcorn later, I was almost cured of the sea of red wine in my stomach. Diet starts tomorrow. I hope.

With Love,