I want my mummeeeey....

WRITTEN 6/03/11 (Only got round to sticking it up now as my laptop hates me)

Not only were numerous small children wailing this, but a lot of us in our late teens.

So last week we had the annual dance show for our studio, which after many months of rehearsing, achy muscles, sweaty leotards and the occasional tantrum (mainly from choreographers) it went off with a jazz hand filled success.

Everyone feels the pressure for this, as unlike amateur dramatics groups or other dance schools, we have the one show as the rest of the year is spent preparing for soiling yourself before exams. Beautiful...

We didn't have the luxury of a rehearsal either, so it really is one shot to make it (OK, I'll stop the theatrical phrasing...dahhling).

The theme this year was right up my 42nd street as it was songs from Broadway, and anyone who knows me, knows that I'm never happier than doing a little kick, kick, step ballchange lunge splits, jazz hands.

The show kicked off with a big tap group number to, would you have it, 42nd street (makes my previous comment seem a bit rubbish now..pfftt...). I felt like I'd forgotten the choreography which made me wonder why I was having a brain fart, in things I'm normally hot on remembering (could never remember mathematical equations at school, but if you asked me Grade 5 Modern Stage dance I'll be up faster than you can say Fred & Ginger). Anyway, the following tap dance involved a red feather boa, which left the stage looking like a camp man's bedroom floor but finally saw myself well and truly in my 1920s alter ego flapper dancer to Bob Fosse's 'Sing Sing Sing'.

The second section of the show was Ballet, another big group number to 'Phantom of the Opera' with the tiddlers of the group doing a very cute vampire bat impression with black capes and the oldies with the famous half mask, which my weird, Tim Burton side quite enjoyed, much to the horror of my friends. Sorry Katie and Liz :)

This dance involved a number of lifts, including at the start with a little munchkin that I help teach. It involved a number of children entering the stage before the older dancers, for them then to walk on in a dramatic fashion to lift them up. However, the smart kid thought she's play a trick on me, and plonk herself over on the other side of the stage. Part of me thought little swine..the other quite impressed with her sense of humour...

Costume changes are constantly a source of chaos and horror. I guarantee, you will not have known fear until tackling toddlers with tutus and other pieces of costume that you're not sure whether they should have on their head or hanging out of their ear. Calm and collected I entered the mayhem that was dressing room 5. The babies room. Cue dramatic dun da dun dun duuuunn! music....

Half were supposed to be dressed as lions and the other as zebras/monkeys/elephants/any other brown/sandy coloured tunic type thing, as they were doing a dance to 'The Circle of Life' which I was quite gutted I wasn't allowed on stage for. The zebras etc. were fine and dandy dressed and ready like true pros. However, the lions costumes had gone walkabout.
There's plenty of time I kidded myself, as the little munchkins were on a couple of dances before my solo. Running down to the wings, I quizzed our teacher where they were, too which she said they were in a plastic bag. Great. Let's play find the ASDA bag kids!

Constant calls for 'Circle of life please" were announced over the tanoy, as small children played around with animal print headpieces that looked alarmingly like something the Chippendales would whip off. We found some other animal looking costumes and prayed to God there were enough to go around for the lions. All kitted and ready to go with our abnormal coloured lions (No discrimination against bright orange or grey lions please), we found the tunics they were supposed to be clad in. Cue a quick change in the corridor, as one girl, who I'm sure has the spirit of an old lady kept asking "excuse me..why are you wearing that?" and "excuse me, but I need my costume". At long last, they were plonked in the wings, and all panic disappeared as they got plonked on stage. Nawwh..bless their little nylon tights.

The even younger kiddywinks stole the show as per, with their delightful toddle on stage, wave to mummy, can't see mummy, start to cry or wander around the stage. Why bother with first position and spring pointes when you know looking adorable in a fairy costume will get the biggest applause. Doubt it works when you're nineteen...

The show finished with the modern/jazz big number of Oliver! which naturally I was in my elephants. Twenty seconds of Nancy's intro of Oom Pah Pah saw my childhood dreams of playing a Victorian prostitute who gets clobbered over the head were realised. Wonder what my connexions interviewer would have said to that....

All in all, the show was a great success and yet again everybody enjoyed themselves and performed brilliantly.

Always be nice to people on the way up; because you'll meet the same people on the way down...

There seems to be a strange period in a young person's life around the age of eighteen, should they decide to decend into the strange world of higher education. This strange period is rooted in a complete overhaul of personality.
Once upon a time, going to University was exception and not the rule. Parents swelled larger than Violet in Willy Wonka's factory with pride as their little munchkin packed up their bags and flew the nest in order to hopefully earn a degree that put them on a path to a bowler hat, a semi in the suburbs and 2.4 children.

However, higher education has opened up to students who, like myself, find themselves the first in their family at University, in order to hopefully 'better' themselves. This has given kids that would have found themselves behind the checkout or down the mines, but wanting a career in teaching or law, able to realise their dreams, through a lot of hard graft.

It is said that University widens your perspective of life and character, inevitable with meeting people from different countries and backgrounds, thus leaving school friends who meet up after covering the width and breadth of England perhaps quite surprised at what a difference three months can make.

Moving to another part of the country and studying at a University that has similar entrance requirements to your friends choices, does not make you better than them and the town you've grown up in. It simply means you have done what most of the UCAS applicants have done. Even if you had managed to fight your way through Oxbridge entrance exams, you still are not some form of demi-god that can speak in any way they wish to others, especially your friends that have stayed with you for years.

Well done you yes for getting into University, but there is no need to sneer down the end of your nose at others, disgusted as if they were Fagin's street urchins, as you suddenly have a large sense of false superiority over those who still treat you in the same way, and are in a similarly respectable situation to you.

University can change you, but not always for the better. But the thing to remember is yes you may go back to your equally snobby flatmates and chortle over the ghastly peasants you used to have to breathe the same air as, whilst you probably train yourself to speak in iambic pentameter. One day, they may possibly not see you as their equal and you'll land flat on your face. With the 'peasants' holding very long memories....

The future belongs to those who believe in the beauty of their dreams.- Eleanor Roosevelt

When we were bright eyed, round faced and grazed knee munchkins at primary school, adults would constantly take delight in asking 'What do you want to be when you grow up?'. The boys would reply with typically with footballer and spaceman...whilst the girls would dream of being a princess or popstar.

I myself wanted to be a vet, as I thought sweetly it was just looking after poorly kittens, until my Dad informed me it would involve a marigold clad hand up a Cow's backside. That was enough to make me rethink my career plan...at the age of six.
Then came archaeologist. I had a weird fascination as a child in the Tudors and the idea of digging up things that had been trapped in the ground for hundreds of years fascinated me. However, that soon fizzled out as I learnt of a freak incident where many archaeologists died, due to some form of a curse. I'm ridiculously superstitious, so that soon when out the window.
Ballerina naturally came after that, until I discovered I like cake and have a long body and short legs.

So my current career plan? Well it is rather varied. I have so many ideas. I was dead set on primary school teaching and teaching dance classes at weekends, but going to University has made me realise that maybe I want more.

I have many friends who wish to break into industries that cause Connexion advisers to stare blankly at them, as they aren't programmed to advise on 'marine biologists', 'actress' or 'writer', as they only ever heard 'plumber' or 'beautician' from the majority of kids at my comp. God forbid should they have a passion or ambition that sets them apart from the usual aspirations. 

It seems set in the English mentality that anyone ambititious and wanting more for themselves, is some power dressing monster who will trample over nearest and dearest to climb that little bit further up the ladder. This is wrong.
Why can't we believe in ourselves and say 'You know what? Sod it, I'm gonna give it a go'.  Yes, it may not happen, but at least they'll be able to say when they're older, 'I gave it a go, and it just wasn't meant to be' instead of 'I wonder what if..'. Who knows, it may just be them that gets lucky, because it had to happen to someone. If not, always have a plan B, so if your dreams don't happen, you'll have security.

My career advice? Go for your dreams, and sod all those who doubt you and have your safety net, just in case the Life Plan doesn't work out.

Keep Calm and Carry On

Another film I spent my student loan on. I love anything that will appear typically stiff upper lipped English, and based around WWII. I am a granny trapped in a young body. The casting for this is a fantastic advert for British actors to not straight away head across the pond and change their accent to  a twang heard in California rather than Cambridge. I'm not normally a huge Colin Firth fan, but I do back down as he is amazing in this and thoroughly deserves any nominations he receives. Helena Bonham Carter is fantastic as usual, and despite seeing her last murdering Dobby, I loved her gentle yet strong portrayal of  the late Queen Mother. Princess Margaret was also the cherry on the cake, as it was star in the making Ramona Marquez  playing the young Royal, who as I have mentioned previously love in Outnumbered.

The film itself is the ultimate in feel good films, without being a musical. The story of confidence being built after a lifetime of crippling insecurity, the support of loved ones, friendship that forms through class boundaries. The film ends with the break of Britain and Germany declaring war, yet there is an air of optimism and success at the end of the film, indicating the 'Keep Calm and Carry On' attitude that got the country through the war.

All in all, I've found a new favourite film.

I have to see..

This looks amazing. Swan Lake is a must see ballet for me after reading the story when I was little. I've always loved the idea of the principal dancer having to multi-role between the  gentle Odette (white swan) and the more fiery Odile (black swan) as normally a principal ballerina will only take on one role in other ballets. Also, ballet is seen as a very delicate, timid  form of dance and many who have never studied it can seem to sit back and see it as a bit 'airy fairy' and feeble. This film looks to show the very opposite, which is why I'm itching to see it. Also, I much prefer films that play with your mind as opposed to explicit gore.

Merry Boxing Day, My Pint Sized Heroine and Facebook Confessions

Ah 26th December...Boxing Day, who knows why it's called Boxing Day... I was adament when I was  younger that it was due to men with big gloves and long silk shorts throwing choreographed punches the day after christmas. I also thought that Sunday was named thus as one day it was sunny and a random man in a high place decided to name it after the weather. My theory for Friday was an unknown tradition for everyone to consume a Full English and chips, so notable they named it FRYday. Outnumbered's Pete Brockman's theory of 'being knee deep in boxes' for St. Stephen's day is probably more accurate...

Christmas day in my house was pretty much like the rest of the country.
2:30pm: stuff yourself silly with pigs in blankets (which mum STILL calls pigs on horseback) and roasted veg followed by the stodgiest pudding know to man layered in Bird's custard :) I can almost hear my guts begging for mercy...Laaavly jubbly.

3:00pm: watch her Maj tell us about the importance of sport then fall asleep half way through Shrek. Not because it's boring, but because my 'pensioner-caught-in-an-eighteen-year-old' body cannot stand too much excitement, wine and heavy food without needing a nap to sleep it off. Bless...

After that we had the bog standard phone call from my Nan, asking if the pyjamas fit (thanks Nan) and making me ponder why she sent back my naiive scrawls of lions my five year old self drew... I was obsessed with the Lion King as a child and still feel a strange urge to jump around the furniture when I hear 'I just can't wait to be king'.

So today, I dragged my friend Katti 'round to indulge our shared love of BBC's Outnumbered, as she kindly made me a book of Karen's best quick witted quotes and a DVD of last year's Christmas special. If you haven't seen the programme before, it is pure genius based on how three children rule the roost in their suburban London home, whilst their well meaning Mum & Dad try their best as parents.

Below is some of my favourite Karen moments...

Katti has also seemed to have a had a revamp of her facebook profile. She has finally admitted that she is 105 year old Rastafarian man, a closet member of Team Jacob, thinks Edward Cullen is a fairy and has dual employment as my slave and vampire ... not to mention her sudden love for fruit cake and Christmas pudding, despite previously professing putting fruit into cake is wrong ("Why put something healthy into cake??!"). Her musical taste has changed, as she now cites 50 Cent, Tu Pac and Soulja Slim as favourites...next to The Jonas Brothers and West Side Story soundtrack...

Anyone would think the fact she was logged into her account on my laptop before she left had something to do with it...

Numero Uno

So here we go, first blog...

It's Christmas Eve Eve and like the good girl that I am, I'm doing Uni work, but the lure of searching parody videos on YouTube is becoming too much to resist...so I'm giving into temptation as there is so long I can concentrate on Caryl Churchill's love of dinner parties with the fictional dead.

Monday I finally had the Four Flysketeers around ma hood where being the wild teenage things we are...sang along to Disney soundtracks, Laura demolished a bag of bacon bites, had a good catch up of lovely (and not so lovely) flatmates and I showed them why I should kick Kerry Ellis off the Theatre Royal stage and bellow out 'As Long As He Needs Me' every night. Ahem... 

I have been housebound for the past few days, due mainly with the South of England resembling Russia which decided to set in Saturday...whislt I was in town. Let me explain...

The munchkins clad in pale pink that see me as a walking climbing frame were to show their parents all they've learnt from me teaching them to build air snowmen and fly around like Rudolph. However, due to the weather, it was abandoned leaving me to trek through Narnia to town to find all taxi ranks displaying a smug sign saying 'Taxi's will start again when the weather improves..', walking to the buses and would you adam and eve it, they weren't fancying it either. Was half expecting Aslan to come rescue me, but alas no lion, but a phone call to Dad was in order to see if he, my godfather and mum were anywhere near town for me to jump in the car.
I trekked around for an hour, dodging hoodrats with snowballs, muttering obscenities at weird men who like geer at me looking for shelter under the RBS building and sliding around like Jayne Torvill...aged four.
As much as a white blanket turns back the clock for me by fourteen years, it has left me to impersonate a squealing pig when I cough and mornings have left me looking as if I'm auditioning for a remake of 'The Exorcist'. How festive...