Move On...

"Stop worrying where you're going - move on. If you can know where you're going, you've gone. Just keep moving on." Dot professes to the confused artist George in the Sondheim musical, 'Sunday in the Park with George'.

Over two years ago I moved to Australia. Two years of radical change. Two years of self-discovery. Two years of rest and recuperation. Two years of growth. Two years that needed to happen. If my life was a movie, this would be the penultimate scene right before the end, where phrases like "Well, it's certainly been an adventure!" would be uttered and people would starting hugging each other goodbye as they march off into the sunset. This isn't the kind of adventure I've had at all really. I've still not seen Uluru or been to Western Australia, I've done a few touristy things but certainly not conquered the country or anything - I doubt I ever will either. I'm quite happy for the multitudes of backpackers to continue sampling Australia's sights and sounds I've missed. My adventure here was about prioritising my life, which I admit sounds as thrilling as a tax return party organised by Accountants of Dagenham, but honestly it's probably the best thing I've done with my life.

Not many people get to dissect their life and personality under the cold light of day but "snow globing my life" as I like to call it, has allowed me to do just that. Routine, fear of insecurity and delusion cloud most people from ever having to face this head on and is usually only reserved for for teenagers or 40 year olds going through a midlife crisis. For example, I realise I will always be more comfortable knowing I am doing the exact opposite to everyone else. I loathe it when something I love becomes popular with the masses so I prefer to move on - do something different. I also know I am my most happiest when I'm performing, working within the theatre, understanding 'an audience' and this is something I intend to rectify when I get back to city life.

I get annoyed when people assume I hate Sydney because I want to leave. Why would I want to abandon such a great lifestyle to return to noisy, expensive, economically unstable city they ask? I still think Sydney is a great place to live and fulfills a purpose with it's sun-drenched, hedonistic, carefree lifestyle which the city's inhabitants relish daily. This city has given me a tremendous amount and shown me I'm capable of achieving anything, that spontaneity has it's own unique rewards. You can get drunk on culture in London and thrive off the buzz of New York and a few years ago too much of this 'city life' became overwhelming but I now sorely miss this, I really do.

So, next steps? Well, they're partly out of my control. The one thing I'm sure of is that I have to move on.

Going Home...

At the end of "The Lion, The Witch and the Wardrobe" the Pevensie children grow up to be great Kings and Queens after their adventures with Aslan, only to find themselves back in the real world after stumbling across the old lamp post that once brought them to the magical land of Narnia. Even though they have lived a lifetime, nothing has changed since Lucy first stepped through the wardrobe. Australia it seems is my Narnia. I've done a million and one things, grown personally and then some but back in London things haven't changed. I almost felt as though I was bragging unnecessarily when I told friends what I was doing with my life now, as if I was Edmund describing to a row of confused faces, how I slayed a White Witch and befriended a talking Lion.

It's only been two days and I can't quite process how I feel to be back yet, it's been ridiculously familiar but strangely divorced at the same time. Certain elements of my life here have either changed or feel redundant, whether it be my old bedroom or favourite cafe, banter between particular friends and so forth. There's certainly a small amount of personal grieving that comes with the fact nostalgia is the only thing that has kept certain experiences alive.

Thankfully, certain friends have never waivered, their faces beam like giant lighthouses guiding me back safely to what was so great about my life here. These are the people I have longed to spend even just five meager minutes with while I was in Australia. Their news - comforting, their friendship - easy.

So here I am, back in London after two and half years. Right now, and without sounding too new age, I feel as though 'my journey' isn't complete yet. I'm not ready to come home, if I can help it. New York is the definitely the next destination, I just need to secure that opportunity and it will happen. I'm ready for it. If I did have to return to the UK, it wouldn't be so terrible, it would just be harder as I'd have to make a conscious effort to move myself on and not slip back into routine. I've achieved so much since breaking away from my old life, so it would frustrating if I let it take over once more.

Like Edmund and Lucy, I'd like to ensure I have a few more trips back before I have to grow up and settle back home once more.

And onto Sydney to seek a gentlemen of worth and value...

Dearest Elinor,

It has been many months since my last correspondence with you and I must immediately apologise for my tardiness and the long and overdue period of silence that has left you bereft of information regarding my new situation here in Sydney.

Ever since my ship has set sail to the Colonies in the Pacific, my journey has been one of ardor and enlightenment. Certainly, the degree of which I have embraced my new life has been dictated by the necessary arrangements to feel at home in my new surroundings, but I am pleased to inform you I feel very settled indeed in my new home.

Now, I hear you inquire, about these men of the New World? I believe you must be quite eager to hear my stories of social and coital engagements with the surly gentlemen of this fine coutry, whom may I add, know no nothing of high tea or of grand balls in Meryton. Be patient no more dearest Elinor and I shall reveal all.

The search for love and a suitable single man in command of good fortune continues still, I am afraid to report. There have been two or three significant encounters during my travels of the 'Wilderness' they call Sydney. Traversing through the lanes of the Eastern Suburbs I have met a number of significant gentlemen who were fair of face and of good breeding. I use the word 'significant' to emphasise the fact there were others who caught my eye. But alas, unfortunately this is all they did. For certainty, I might as well have caught a head cold and experienced greater joy and pleasure from the experience of meeting them.

The men of this country are a predictable breed I have deduced. Many of the maturer gentlemen pride themselves in their appearance and groom themselves quite intensely and 'work out' a great deal. This gives many the illusion of youth and vigor but does nothing to improve their seemingly apparent lack of personality and individualism. The more younger of the men who parade down Sydney's Oxford St are also bereft of any individuality, due to the fact they are hypnotised by the latest fashions from the city and seem to have the desire to leave their hair unkempt, as if dragged through a thoroughfare. They also have no skills in punctuation, spelling or grammar when it comes to correspondence through telephonic or 'on the line' devices. The ghastly over use of 'LOL', 'dat', 'wud' and 'kewl' are abundant and quite frankly leaves conversation incomprehensible.

Everything is not at a complete lost however, for I have also encountered some genuine and rather chivalrous men indeed in my travels. One who has redeemed a fair amount of faith I had previously lost in the process of courtship by behaving as an utmost gentlemen towards me, even though our own courtship together tragically was not to last. Others have been spontaneous and dare I say it wild and would cause any fine lady to blush if spoken openly even in a letter. I am wicked woman for allowing my petticoat to slip even an inch below the knee, let alone shoot past the ankle and onto the parlor floor. I do hope you do not judge me so dear Elinor, for you should know I am not a woman who sits comfortably with the label of 'easy virtue'. Truly I am. But in confidence my dear friend, I have to admit, it has been quite pleasurable indeed.

All experiences for the soul to grow my friend, I have decided. I find myself happily embracing the 'single life', a phrase much more preferential than the term 'spinster' I can tell you. I move on, clutching the hem of my dress and marching towards the Australian sunset and the rest of my future in a new world full of potential.

Until pen meets parchment once more, my love as always.

Yours, Emily.

365 days in Oz...

"Fine, if you don't ask for details" was Katharine Hepburn's response to anyone who asked her how she was. I have been exerting a similar response to any enquiries about how my visa application was progressing. I seem to have applied for it in the most traumatic way possible; my application being delivered at the eleventh hour, my boss handling the employer side of the application resigning from our company and checking himself into a clinic for bipolar disorder and suicide watch, down to minor irritating issues, such as my passport photo in the envelope of my police check submission in the UK having an ink smudge all over it thus rendering it unusuable. It has been a 'barrel of laughs' and I have been lucky to get through it and not have the nightmarish concept of having to return home to the blistering cold weather of England. I must have spent over $3,000 (£1600) on this entire process. Yet through all the complications I am here. I am staying or should I say, I have the choice to stay.

It will be exactly a year since I arrived on these fair shores next Thursday (5th Feb). Australia Day being the day I unwittingly had my leaving do in my local pub in Herne Hill. I have the opportunity and the flexibilty to do whatever I desire now without a ticking clock buzzing inside my cranium.

Freedom of choice, no matter how inconsequential it is, is worth going out on a limb for.

50/50...

So my time is nearly up. The Clock is ticking. The 'Countdown' theme tune is gradually being turned up to remind me I've not long to go find myself a sponsor so I can stay in this country. Two months to be exact. I've been aware the last few entries on this thing haven't been exactly positive, well, it's been a hard couple of months for everyone it seems, and many factors out of my control have made it a hard slog for me while I settle into my new life. Being able to settle down so to speak hasn't been easy with the looming 'credit crunch' (or 'lunch' or 'munch' as my friend Becky describes it) which the UK have so fondly decided to rename the recession. Over here we can say the 'R' word without financial analysts slapping us down, pressing their bony fingers to their pursed lips or having the media leap up, relishing being able to put the fear of God up our 'budget conscious' arses.

Moving to Australia has most definitely been a positive move for me - it has! There's no need to jab a finger into my side to remind me I've not exactly been happy these past few months. Truth be told, it's been expected and not at all surprising I've experienced the recent hardships, what with everything going around me in the big wide world and the decision to uproot my life and plonk it somewhere alien and distant. I can see now how my life would have continued it's endless cycle without the much needed 'kick up the arse' I so desperately needed. I am not alone. I only need to talk to my new found friend of mine to discover this. I have witnessed the best of times and the worst of times. Within myself and within my new life I have created. I need to remind myself what I have done is an incredible achievement and many people would never dare dream of taking the risk, opting for the comfort of familiarity rather then the vast potential of the unknown. I can tell you now the yearning for familiarity has been an intoxicating pull at times, especially when things haven't been going to plan. A naive part of me didn't expect it to be such a draw after leading quite a transient life up until the age of 18. Being in this country is far more than going to a place where it's sunnier. A cliche response I hear from many who remind me that life back home is 'the same and the weather is miserable' and I have to remind them the meteorological differences were never the catalyst for my my decision to come here.

So come January, I either begin my visa application and employer nomination application or I start packing my bags and heading home. How do I feel about this? Well, right now. 50/50 either way. Straight down the middle. There are pros and cons on either side and I teeter on a see-saw, wobblying in a fragile fashion, as every minor comment I hear or recent experience makes me lean one way or the other. I do have to remind myself if I went home now, what would I be going home to. 'To what?' exactly is the big behemoth of a question I have to write in big fat marker pen and place right in front of my face. This is the main reason to keep on going here. If I am true to myself, there is no 'going back' option for me right now. For it means I'd be going backwards. If I return it has to be because I have learned as much as I can from being here as possible and be excited to return home, to family and friends so I could start another chapter in my life and not because I have no other option. I know practically and financially it may not be possible to stay but I have to keep pursuing and ensuring I can create a life out here.

The next few weeks will undoubtedly give me the answers I'm looking for, with or without my help.

At the bottom of the U...

I don't want to alarm you all with another seemingly negative and quite possibly depressing blog entry but I am having to write about the last month of my life, which can only be described as one of the hardest periods of my life in a very long time. Hence the lack of entries on my blog.

The dangerous concoction of unemployment, limited cash flow, no immediate friends, love life frustrations and a career and life dilemma has resulted in a very dark period for me. Yes, folks I'm going through a swell time at the moment. The initial "I'm going to live in Australia" decision is now very real. The life changing action of moving one's life abroad has reared it's real and very ugly head. Warts and all. Incredibly unforgiving and unglamorous too. The positive to this, is that the only way is up hopefully, plus the stress has made me loose quite a bit of weight and with the combination of a tan I look great! Although, if it gets any worse I may have knock on door of that omnipresent deity that claims to run my life and ask for my money back.

'Stir crazy' are the words to describe the time I have to myself whilst looking for a new job and I have way too much time to think. Not good for someone like me who has an internal 'Woody Allen' inside of him. I am hoping this week will change everything and that I will secure the job I've set my sights on for the last month. I'm sending those positive vibes out into the universe and claiming it as my own. I know I would do a good job in that role and I could really grow into the role. Watch this space as they say.

My new found friendships have also been affected by this lull and my relationships with those I care about deeply have also unfortunately been victims to this. As well as this being thoroughly distressing, I find myself regressing and unable to grasp the bigger picture and losing my confidence completely in situations that would have never bothered me years ago.

So as I brush the crap off myself now and face the world straight on, I can only have faith that the next step goes up! Watch this space...

The Man who taught me how to sing

This is Jeremy.

I've been talking about him a lot. And for once not in a 'Oh God, another boy Richard has fallen for which will all end in tears' sense. Jeremy is in fact my singing teacher or 'Vocal Coach' as many prefer to be called. I've been seeing Jeremy for the last five months or so, he's been a blessing in disguise, not only has he taught me a huge amount about my voice and capabilities but the regularity of his lessons and the banter that comes with it has helped me settle into at least one form of routine out here in Sydney. He's a performer himself and very funny indeed too.

I go every Tuesday at 6.45pm. We do vocal warm ups. This involves varying degrees of 'meowing', 'sirens', 'sipping', 'yeahs' and surprisingly actual singing of some scales. I've gone from thinking I was a baritone back in the UK to actually being told I have the potential to be a high tenor. All "very exciting" as an trained performer would say.

I would have only got to this level, had it not been for Jeremy's ruthless training, and strict guidance. Constant beating with his ruler. I'm kidding, but he gets close. Seriously, I've learned so much and even surprised myself. Many would laugh but my most common instruction is to 'sing less, listen more and close your mouth'.

I'm now struggling with Italian arias (singing opera and trying to say the words if in my own mother tongue and not on an 18-30 holiday tour operator is hard work) and have several musical numbers under my belt now which is great. I'm apparently very loud. No surprise there you all shout. I must be channeling an inner Ethel or something.

Jeremy was in Spamalot recently in Melbourne and I have all my fingers and toes crossed for him as I know he'll be auditioning for Mary Poppins soon!

Making That Next Step...

Over the last few months I have been a little frustrated with the fact that even though I have made the huge plunge transferring my life to another part of the world to essentially sort my life out, I have in fact, made myself quite directionless for the time being. I find myself with no drive to continue pursuing the career I have built up these past few years and yet have a huge degree of caution considering the somewhat possible professional suicide nature of giving it all up to pursue a totally different career. Depending on who I talk to, advice is varied and full of opinion as one would expect. Full of the familiar phrases you hear when mulling over these big life decisions. It's not really a case of me taking control of my own life to solve this. It's about whether or not I want to spend the time fixing something I may not want to be fixed in the first place.

Luck. Life Choices. Destiny and Gut Instinct are phrases we use to justify what life hands us. It never really explains why that son of a bitch has got that promotion you wanted or why your lovely friend who has cancer has also lost her job. (By the way, I don't actually know these people they exist purely for my moral conundrum).

I am negotiating with my internal compass at the moment. Wondering if decisions regarding my career would be as hard as it is now, had I made a different choice all those years ago. I will of course never know. Only dreams and doubt offer any form of resolution there and I refuse to harp back to a better time or regret the choices I've made. Well, maybe a one or two. I'm just questioning why my choices have meant going against the grain a little too often, ascending that steep hill when I could have gone up the footpath just over there. Is something greater telling me I'm not meant to be doing what I'm doing? I feel it's time to challenge this before it's too late or otherwise I may resign myself to accepting my circumstances.

"Well, what can I say to that Richard?" I hear you cry. Well, nothing. I just wanted to get that out in the open. Clear my head space as always before those thoughts bounce round my cranium any further. I agree what most are probably thinking - the grass is greener, we make the best choices to suit the situation we're in, all our lives are a random path and so on.

I have realised my old life back in London was chockablock. I was ultra, mega, stupendously busy. Even my hobbies were time consuming.

I went to work.
I went to screenings after work
I rehearsed for 10 months of the year.
I did a show twice a year.
I did the marketing for the shows.
I did tap classes.
I did singing classes.
I 'tried' to write.
I wrote a blog.
I tried to date.
I socialised.
I saw my friends.
I hosted dinner parties & events.
I went to the gym.
And so on...

I did many other things and it's taken my sister to suggest perhaps my body and mind have decided to shut down for a bit and have a rest since arriving here in Australia. It makes sense why I feel so 'spent'. So I find myself only handling a few tasks and wondering why I don't have the drive or imagination to push myself again. I'm no longer content repeating my life in the same way and its forced me into a limbo period. Much like my friend Charlie, I constantly want to push myself further and never take the time to take stock and reflect on what I've achieved most of the time but here I am looking at my life at last. Apologies if most of what I am writing is drivel.

How many of really have control over our 'life choices'? Deepak Chopra's tells us to send our dreams out there and they will come back to you, Paul McKenna tells us to hypnotise ourselves into positive thinking, others just say work hard and you will be rewarded. Whatever we use to justify and focus our minds to the job in hand, the cynic inside of me wonders whether in fact it's a choice between the lesser of two evils or perhaps not having worthwhile obvious choice laid out before us. I am reading a biography of Stephen Sondheim at the moment. I wanted to discover how the greatest musical theatre composer of our time came to be where he is now by battling against the odds and facing permanent rejection, but in fact it's quite the opposite. Sondheim was, dare I say it, in a privileged situation to be able to achieve. I'm not saying it wasn't easy for him but many factors of his upbringing and the people he either knew or was introduced to, sure helped to forge the person he is now today. For example, being partially raised by the Hammersteins as young boy and Sondheim was also Manhattan upper class thanks to his parents social status. Yes, I thought 'Lucky bugger' too. Although, he had a mother who declared his birth was the worse thing that happened to her life, so it's not all 'coming up roses' as Sondheim would write.

Luck I've decided, is dependent on someone giving you the dice to throw in the first place.

Perhaps I'm not meant to be living this particular life. Perhaps it's time I should listen to my gut instincts despite the world furrowing it's responsible brow at me. Give myself a little faith I usually reserve for others. Go get that dream and really do have no regrets.

A few things I have observed about Australian culture...

• The restaurants are full of amazing cuisine. However the supermarkets fail miserably at doing the same.

• The height of Winter is currently 22 degrees.

• Racism, homophobia and sexism is still fashionable amongst many hetrosexual men.

• There are more chicken schnitzels per square metre in Sydney than in the entire country of Germany.

• Thongs are worn on your feet and not up yer bum.

• It is easier to purchase a child from Somalia than rental accommodation in Australia.

• Women's fashion is basically a cross between what fashion was two seasons ago and one of those parasols you get decorating your cocktail.

• Men's fashion is still under debate - even in the state of New South Wales.

• Melbourne and the internet are the only places to buy clothes.

• Post Offices don't open on a Saturday.

• Cockroaches are more disgusting and than any of the potential venomous creatures that live in Australia.

• Most Aborigines don't play digeridoos, they play with drugs, alcohol and fight against a government who has let them down severely.

• Class A drugs are as common as smoking.

• It is totally acceptable for straight men to manscape and talk openly about it.

• Oxford St in Sydney is long and disappointing.

• People expect you go home on time and have a life.

• You can buy Marmite here.

• Only tourists go to Bondi Beach.

• Australians actually watch Neighbours despite those in the UK who protest vehemently against this.

• I am continually surprised at the number of Australians who have never been to New Zealand.

So where the bloody hell am I?....

So it's been a while since I talked about myself. Ironic for a blog.

My random observations are probably not going to assure the casual reader that I'm fine and doing well. I fear my writing might meander once more into more profound thoughts and people will start turning off in their droves like when when Harry Secombe used to start singing on his religious programme Highway.

The allure of 'starting anew' is now bringing new hardened realities to the forefront and I'm realising now what it really takes to start again and the feeling of being out of place when I could be at home with all things familiar is a conundrum indeed for a brain like mine which loves to churn things through unnecessarily.

My life here at the moment is a bit like being at a sophisticated dinner party and having to wear someone else's clothes after perhaps being caught in the rain or after accidentally spilling spaghetti down my front. I'm sitting there, smiling away, feeling slightly aware of myself, thinking I really should sort myself out and get myself into something more 'Me' or vaguely familiar at least. While I sit there thinking this, all the other guests at the dinner table are giving me weak smiles as they go about their own conversations and I have no choice but to look down at the XL large sweater I've been given to wear, only realising it has the words "30 Years Old. Experiencing Quarter Life Crisis. Out Of Place But Willing" emblazoned on it.

It's a personal mental holiday. I am on leave. On sabbatical if you must. And being without goals at the moment disturbs me somewhat.

There is excitement to be had regarding my vocal tuition or in layman's terms my 'Singing Lessons' though.

As Kirstie Walk would say "More on this later..."

Wandering and wondering....

I started writing this to a friend and realised it was probably eloquent enough to put on here too with a few editorial tweaks.

It's my fourth week in Sydney now and as I sit here typing away at my laptop, thinking about how my life has changed, watching the unannounced clouds roll into the bay where I live (It's going to heave it down tonight with fantastic thunderstorm later - see, even the weather here is more interesting) I realised I'm just unemployed and wearing less clothes. However, it's not that bad really. It is hotter here and although I'm not cold at all, because I'm British I can't help thinking I may need an extra layer when I go out - just in case. It's a habit I have to break out of as I end up carrying a lot of useless crap around with me.

Life here is still in a state of limbo. It's not the worse state to be in but I'm desperately needing my own job and space now so I start my 'new life' in full. I went on the ferry to Circular Quays last week for an interview one morning. It was a spectacular Australian morning. A solid blue sky, as if someone had neatly selected the fill button on Human Nature's Photoshop and given the sky one hue of 'Blue'. I stood on the top deck of the ferry, allowing the breeze to dance through my hair and flutter against my face. I wore my aviator sunglasses, a crisp white cotton shirt, jeans and gracefully sat back to listen to Carly Simon's Let The River Run from the movie Working Girl. For a moment, I was Melanie Griffiths as Tess MgGill starting her first day of work, although for me it was my new life. Only then, for the first time since I arrived here did I think, "Richard. Everything is going to be okay."

It is nice to have open friendly public around you though when you make a significant move like this. Not have people who refuse to give you eye contact or glare into your soul if you invade their personal space on a train, bus or pavement, which pretty much sums up London's attitude to anyone and, I am ashamed to say, I was one of those people. (It's not quirky and eccentrically British - it's plain rude.) My initial spontaneity has been replaced with partial restlessness now and I fear for when order gets reintroduced into my life again, as I keep being told to enjoy the free time I currently have. I can't help knowing the organised part of me would like a 'Start Date' so it can schedule in events into my .Mac account calendar and buy trainers without guilt. I'm sure it will all fall into place come once the job arrives. I must learn to curb my impatience in the meantime.

I am enjoying the weather as it's not it's usual unbearably hot and more like a good British summer. I like seeing the water. It's everywhere and it's very calming. Even if you're in the middle of the city and your standing next to a man-made fountain it still has the same effect on you.

I went out on Oxford St, the gay district of Sydney last night and realised I loathe the scene wherever it may be. No new revelation there. Over here they're more vain and are usually 'off their tits' on something quite early on in the evening. This tends to stop when they reach 35 apparently, looking at the rental ads I saw last week. As then, they tend buy small dogs and apartments with great views of the harbour. I say this only as all the ads I've read are by gay men in their mid/late 30s who own amazing flats and a hairy collared animal who they describe as 'My Baby' or 'Chico' and always end their ad with the line "I do not tolerate drug users."

A spark of originality is all I ask for in a gay man. Please! My quest may continue a little longer perhaps.

There's A Life At The End Of This Tunnel...

A cockatoo landed on the veranda yesterday and my instant reaction was someone's pet had escaped. I realised then I was in another country. This is my new life now and big fat birds with yellow crests bounding up to a window pane is a perfectly common anomaly. Things are going to be different. I watched it with much bemusement and with a sense of pure novelty usually reserved for petting zoos and stupid people, realising my reaction to this exotic bird is probably how I've spent most of my time here since I arrived two weeks ago. It's not like I'm here on holiday or moved here permanently with both feet firmly on the ground, knowing which direction I'm heading. I'm in a limbo period and I'm not sure how to approach anything. I don't have my usual habits to fall back on or friends to immediately reassure me or places to go for comfort. I've spent some of it trying to recreate situations I had during my life back in London and unsurprisingly they just don't work over here. And that's good I suppose. I'm making hesitant choices over trivial things - what type of travel card to buy - Red? Blue? Travel Ten or Travel Pass? What meat do I choose from the alien supermarket freezer - why do the sausages look anemic and the lamb badly cut? Why do I think twice at meeting up with old friends who have offered to show me the way but prefer to meet complete strangers instead? I should be diving into everything head first, embracing it as it comes, but if I do, it means I'm actually 'living' here now.

A Time to Say Goodbye...

It is a wonderfully surreal experience knowing that the next month ahead of you will be full of choice, freedom and self inflicted fear. I got to steal a moment at my leaving do last night in order to see all my friends together under one roof. Laughing, smiling at me, sharing stories, so many different personalities sandwiched between wine glasses and beer bottles, all sharing one thing in common - my friendship.

I am a lucky, lucky man.

It was utterly heartbreaking but yet immensely life affirming to leave my friends. I hope they know how much happiness they've given me over the years. Old and new friends alike. Farewells and excitable exclamations from jealous friends were touching but I felt almost strangely unworthy, as I never felt I was doing anything special or come to think of it, anything they couldn't do themselves. I did feel like I was abandoning so many people who had given me so much. To relish in my future endeavor too much in front of them would have felt self-absorbed in way.

The 'Parentals' were there to also witness this potpourri of people who claimed to know me. The fact they got the chance to meet them all and see the side of my life they only hear in passing during the odd phone conversation was incredibly important to me and I know through friends who spoke to them they enjoyed themselves, despite the minimal reaction I got when I asked them. Modest to the end, my folks.

So, on to the next entry. This one will take a little longer to digress into literary prose. I'm stepping up to the bench, lets hope I can be brave and grab opportunity with both hands and not freak out and regress to the familiar.

Watch this space. And this time that space is awfully big.

This Year I...

In 2007, I...

...finally hit 30 ...met Lord Lloyd Webber ...tapped along side Darcy Bussell ...saw Carrie Bradshaw and friends ...watched Rufus do Judy ...lost a beloved friend and Godmother ...learned how to reach an A# ...finally saw the Baker, his wife , Cinderella and Jack go into the woods ...had a boat party ...got a crush on a reality TV star ...met him and met him too many times ...said goodbye to my other sister ...drank Manhattans on top of a NY skyscraper ... met my new brother in-law to be ...went to A&E with sliced finger ...booked a flight that will hopefully change my life.

Happy New Year! Lets see what 2008 brings shall we?

A time for change...

Tomorrow is the end of 2007 and like most cliched endings, is a dawn of a new era for many people, mostly significantly for me as I prepare to uplift my life and move to a different country on the other side of the world. It's been a long time since I wrote my last entry and I am angry at myself for not keeping my writing going over the last five months. Life has been eventful. It's been full of events I could have written about, but life took over, as it usually does in these situations and I foolishly put this blog to one side. I'm also considering opening up this blog to all my friends and family soon, so they can keep track of my life when I get to Sydney. I'm in two minds as I enjoy the anonymity and regular purging exercise I get from releasing all my thoughts and rants into the cyberworld. We shall see.

I have a musical to write and other writing to start and my new shiny white beacon of an iMac seems to be inviting me to use it solely for Facebook and porn. There are far too many diatribes on the passive nature on owning a computer to be included in this entry, so I will leave those for another time.

Moving to Australia is a thrilling and terrifying prospect. I'm currently facing a big chalkboard which has lots of intricate scribblings all over it which I've accumulated over the years and now stand poised with one of those eraser blocks in my hand, waiting to wipe it all off in one smooth swipe. I want to start a fresh new scribble and I'm hesitating, as hover over my life in London just one more time admiring everything I've achieved, I know deep down I'm not really losing anything it's just the action that terrifies me. I suppose this feeling is natural to someone starting a new chapter and many of my friends are envious of the freedom I have before me. I will however truly miss this moment in my life as it is rich and I have a lot of good things going on in my life right now. It's so predictable how making this decision has made me appreciate what and who I have in my life right now. Clichés that rear their ugly heads in fiction and in other people's lives are now making a long overdue appearance in mine. A comforting thought perhaps?

Come On, Get Happy...

I've just had my first 'holiday' since departing these fair shores to go to Australia last January. So, where did I go this time, I hear you ask? Well, sunny SE24 unfortunately. The never-ending debt relief project I am submitting myself to over the last couple of years, that has been so monotonous it would make a Blue Peter take it up as their next appeal, has meant my holiday plans have been confined to my flat. None the less, I have entertained myself sufficiently by pre-booking various events including seeing Porgy & Bess with the Centre Sage crew, various cinema trips to see 'Hot Fuzz' and 'The Queen', in order to update myself before the pre-Oscar onslaught and finally ending my week going to see Rufus Wainwright reenact Judy Garland's famous Carnegie Hall concert at the London Palladium. Yes, quite the gayest event I've probably attended but I've been a big Rufus fan in ages and my flat mate was very keen in going too. A few well placed emails and a phone call meant I managed to secure house seats for the already sold out show, even though I had to take out a small mortgage to get them, they were worth every penny. Not only were we treated to a song-for-song tribute by Mr Wainwright, his sister Martha did a rendition of 'Stormy Weather' and 'Someone To Watch Over Me' and to seal the heavily frosted pink icing on the well mixed gay cake, Lorna Luft made an appearance and sang 'Hello Bluebird' from Garland's last film shot at the Palladium, 'I Could Go On Singing'. Just to notch up the campometer a few more notches we sat next to Richard E. Grant, Tom Chaplin from Keane, who had obviously skipped rehab, David 'Elton John and his partner' Furnish and Mark Gatiss from The League of Gentlemen. I have, however, developed another 'theatre going crush' on the Musical Arranger/Conductor of the show, Stephen Oremus (see photo left of him with Rufus). Not only has he directed these shows for Rufus but he is also behind the orchestrations for 'Wicked' and 'Avenue Q' he is also irritatingly handsome and has the sexiest mane of brown hair ever to poke out the top of a dinner jacket, ever. (that's the view I got of him for most of the night, bar moments at the grand piano when he played solo for Rufus), Yes, I've become a showbiz whore. Mock me now. Obviously, a totally shallow observation but I've decided his on my Top Five List of BFM (Boyfriend Material) anyway, as I spotted his biography in the Avenue Q programme a week ago and was hooked then. Qualities for being BFM, are not based on looks may I add, but several qualities in order to to sustain a long term relationship with yours truly:

• Intelligence (biggest turn on for me surprisingly).
• Individual talent & passion of some kind.
• Personal drive and financially independent.
• Mutual compatibility both physically and mentally with myself.
• Sexy enough to make me want to jump into bed with them.

If it was based solely on looks, then of course more people would appear on the list, like the Abecrombie & Fitch model Joseph Sayers who, as yet, I know nothing about personality wise. He is short and blonde, a huge plus in my books and of course, if he turns out to love Sondheim, loves baking, good food, has wicked ironic sense of humour and watches an unhealthy amount of movies, he can certainly graduate onto the list below. Another example of someone who doesn't cut the grade but find incredibly sexy is Colin Farrell, a person whose face has probably been declared as 'an area of outstanding natural beauty' by the Irish Tourist Board, he would not qualify as BFM, as his bad boy persona would most definitely clash with the BFM characteristics needed to secure themselves on my arm. There are of course, people I actually know who spring to mind immediately but are unfortunately straight or already have boyfriends and I wouldn't dare to share their names in case they found out.

The BFM List for 2007* as follows:


6) Aaron Sorkin - Solely cerebral this one, as this man is a genius with words and I want to be around someone like him. The West Wing is his finest piece of work.

5) Hugh Jackman - nicest man in Hollywood apparently with a chest to sleep on for hours on end. Plus, his version of 'Sunset Boulevard' makes the hair on the back of my neck go funny. I do admit he might be too tall for me though.

4) Elijah Wood - short, as we know and the eyes do it for me. He also has his own record label and apparently is very close to his siblings, which I empathise with. I was told he even 'played for Arsenal' like myself by a reliable source, until it was proved wrong by another recently. Bugger. Or not, should I say.

3) Hugh Dancy - Another Hugh, who acts, models, speaks French and seems a bit posh (a vice of mine) and was darn good in 'Shooting Dogs' He also helped my friend who was on crutches up some stairs at the King Arthur Premiere party. A fine gentleman indeed.

2) Stephen Oremus - An American musical genius whose bum I stared at for 3 hours on Sunday while he conducted Rufus Wainwright, anyone who can deliver music arrangement of that quality is incredibly talented and I'd love to sing by him in an empty theatre as he plays the piano to my words.

1) Jake Gyllenhaal - Everyone's current favourite but I was a fan way before he was 'Top Totty' to all and sundry. Tall, always Donnie Darko for me despite the Brokeback acclaim, eyes you could disappear into and, well, I could go on. I would convert to Judaism for this man. And that would be a commitment. Every mum would fall in love with him if you took him home surely? (They'd probably secretly want them for themselves.)

Okay, I know you're thinking they're all really good looking but, hey, this is my list and my rules and I can do what I want.

NB: If one of you from the list is actually reading this, please do get in touch by all means. This simple course of action takes you immediately to the privileged Number One spot, along with a date one evening, filled with charm, wit and banter with my fine self.

* This list is subject to change. Well, of course it is.

This Year I...

... said goodbye to my flat mate ... and hello to her again in Melbourne two weeks later ... saw Madam Butterfly at the Sydney Opera House ... jumped out of a plane at 14,000 feet ... swam the Great Barrier Reef ... trekked a rainforest ... accidently convinced a new friend I belonged to a cult ... wasted money on an upmarket dating agency ... made friends with my neighbours ... finally got to go to the Ivy, and found it overrated ... fullfilled an old resolution by finally joining an Am Dram group ... bought tap shoes ... got to see Idina Menzel soar on Opening Night ... read at my best friend's wedding ... mistook Beverley Knight for Beverley Knight ... partied all night for the first time in years ... hugged a 6ft 2" sailor ... sang at the Royal Albert Hall ...

... started a blog.

Happy New Year everyone. May 2007 bring many exciting new changes to your life!

Junctions...

I have a huge desire to write something tonight but for the life of me have no idea as what to talk about. If I was to be brutally honest, life is in a bit of a stalemate at the moment and has been for quite some time now. Urges to change parts of my life since returning from Australia, setting new goals in motion have been met with irritating and unnecessary hurdles. I might as well be made of rubber and relentlessly throw myself against a big brick wall. I am terribly impatient, not one of my more redeeming qualities, I admit. If I looked back over the past seven months, there are things I should be proud of like taking part in Anything Goes, other things have more than niggled though, like securing a higher paid job in order to save towards Australia. This has been like forcing an elephant up a staircase. With just your index finger. I've been beaten down at every available moment by the industry I 'love', I find myself having advanced forward the length of a gnat's cock which is pitifully frustrating and a little draining to say the least. I know I'm not alone in thinking this about my job and it's far from being a original insight in this day and age, I'm just not convinced it should be this hard that's all. I wish I was more gutsy (and richer) to just go 'Fuck it. Why not.' and just go and face whatever consequences are out there. Alas, I am far too responsible and I'm sure my bank would have something to say about it too (although they would probably ask me for my postcode and third and last digits of my password before giving me their opinion).

On a change of subject, you may have remembered me talking about a party I went to in Clapham two weeks ago. I met a man. As you do. He was a very charming man. A very sexy man. I took a shine to him. I tried my hardest to remain cool and in control. I managed to escape, unscathed, with number of said man inside phone. A small victory for a small man with big confidence issues. You maybe wondering what's happened since then. Well, that was two weeks ago and very little has happened since. Okay, we have conversed on email and text briefly, (my two most loathed forms of communications when it comes to getting know someone new) things are progressing very slowly and time has cast its shadow of doubt over how 'into' me he really is. I must march forward with a smile though, be determined not to freak out and say something inappropriate or off-putting in his presence as I might as well start reaching through prison bars of my padded 'single' cell, gurning the words 'Please Love Me!' at anyone who happens to walk past. It's wonderfully attractive image and becoming of a young man my age, I know, although I sometimes think we should embrace these images of honesty that flash inside our heads. They make me laugh and tend to slap a bit of sense into my overly romanticised head.

I trundle on.