A Magical Place

On December 26th family Gilbert made the journey to Disneyland, Anaheim. As can often be expected with these things it was eventful. I will start by running down each family members take on roller-coasters.

Dad - Hates them. Would rather watch the Disney parade.

Mum - Despite a bad back is always game.

Me - I'll always go but can be easily dissuaded into chickening out.

Claire - Loves them and will ride anything.

Elizabeth - Is scared of the teacups.

So with this in mind we all made a pact to do everything and anything. We raced into the park and made sure we had our fast pass tickets to Space Mountain so we wouldn't have to que later. In order to pass the time we decided to jump on a couple of other rides. First up was the Buzz Lightyear ride. A slow moving, slightly spinning ride in the dark. It was full of fun and merriment.... but no for Elizabeth who felt sick afterwards.

A fact you need to know for this tale is that Claire suffers from Vertigo. Basically if things move fast she becomes dizzy. After the Buzz ride she said she felt a little dizzy but would carry on. Next up was the relatively tame rollercoaster 'The Matterhorn.' Elizabeth spent the whole time before we went on crapping her pants with Dad slowly turning whiter at the prospect of moving fast. We made it to the front of the line and all jumped aboard. 30 seconds later the tame ride finished. Elizabeth had survived. Dad had survived. Claire had not. An attack of the dizzies had struck her and she had to be helped out of the children's ride and onto a bench.

She then made the executive decision that she couldn't ride anything that moved. Fun. So the family had been beaten by Buzz Lightyears's ride and The Matterhorn. The problem was it was 11am at this point and we still had plenty of time in the park. We were then reduced to riding the Winnie the Pooh ride which crawled along whilst robotic characters ate honey. Claire felt a little dizzy after that but maintained that was the level of rides she could cope with. Elizabeth was pleased.

Elizabeth was even more pleased when we stopped off to wolf down hot-dogs for lunch. Lets not beat around the bush here, the food at Disney isn't exactly gourmet! The hot-dogs were disgusting, like a dog had just curled out a crap and it had been placed between a bun. Even fouler than the hot dogs were the abomination that was 'Meat on a Stick.' The world 'Ronseal' hasn't ever been more appropriate, it does what it says on the tin. 'Meat on a Stick' was a lump of meat on a stick. Even better than seeing the foul processed food was watching my pescaparian mother gag at the sight of fat Americans and camera happy Japanese chowing down on the meat.It was the closest anyone came to throwing up all day.

So a day of crap food and crap rides as the family all left the park feeling queazy because of Matterhorn's, Toys and meat. Still at the end of the day it's all about spending time with family.

Arctic Conditions

On Thursday night I removed myself from American culture for a slice of Britannia in the shape of a ticket to see the Arctic Monkeys. Dylan had lovingly found the tickets via some means on the internet and we were off to look good on the dancefloor.

Ladies and Gentlemen the weather in new York has turned, it is absolutely freezing. The kind of freezing that makes your hands so cold it's like you've been jerking off a Polar Bear. I was ill prepared for this cold snap and had not really dressed accordingly. Having lost my gloves in a drunken mess on Tuesday I was struggling against the biting winds as my body slowly started resemble a popsicle.

I arrived at the venue 5 minutes early and waited for Dylan, he had a work engagement so we decided to meet there. At 8:45 (meeting time) I received a message from Dylan asking for the address. I was not best pleased. By now the weather had turned and a smattering of snow was falling, my nuts weren't having any of it and retreated into my body to find warmth. Of course Dylan couldn't find a cab because they were all taken as no one in their right mind would want to stand in the cold longer than they had too.... except me. Of course I'm my own worst enemy and should have picked up my ticket from Dylan earlier in the week. The next 10 minutes a barrage of messages were exchanged as I demanded to know how long he was going to be. I ended up calling Dyl and telling him to run the final few avenues if he was stuck in traffic.

For those not up to date on their pop culture the singer of the Arctic Monkeys is currently dating a TV presenter called Alexa Chung, she is beyond beautiful and needless to say I am a little bit in love with her. As I stood slowly freezing to death I noticed a tall attractive woman standing next to me.... then I looked again, holy fucking shit I was standing next to Alexa Chung! My balls were no longer afraid of the cold and decided they wanted to see what the fuss was about. I stood gawping, heart aching and longing as she too waited for a friend in the cold! Annoyingly for me her friend showed up after a minute and she swept inside via the VIP entrance. Then I saw in the distance a mound of flustered curly hair come jogging down the road.... finally! There was one problem though Dylan had been at his work Christmas party and was down 4 gin and tonics. He had just run halfway across Manhattan in the freezing cold and he looked like he was about to die. He excused himself for a moment, walked across the road, probably vomited and then it was time to go inside.

The olden days of throwing myself about in the moshpit are long gone. Instead Dyl and I met up with his friend Tiff and her roommate and decided to stand on the edge and frown on the shenanigans of the youth of today. A few songs in I suddenly felt a searing pain in my foot. Some fat Irish girl had stabbed me with her high heels, her and her equally tubby friend apologized and then started asking me a plethora of questions I was not interested in. They were soon given attention though by the drunk swayer. The drunk swayer was a man who was off his face and was standing around swaying uncontrollably pointing a random people and singing to them. He, Tweedle O'Dum and Tweedle O'Dee were soon the best of friends, stabbing and swaying along to the music. The gig changed pace when the band played one of their slower songs, Cornerstone, somewhat of a love song. The swayer saw this as his chance he grabbed one of the fat girls and started singing in her ear before leaning in for the kiss, unfortunately for him and luckily for the watching crowd he was presented with the cheek as oppose to the lips.

As quickly as they had all fallen in love the trio were no longer friends. The Swayer wasn't done there though. He set his sights on Tiff's roommate. As he moved in for the kill in stepped that colossus of a man and protector of women's rights, Dylan Viner. Bristling like an angered wolf he told the Swayer to move on or there would be trouble. The swayer moved on very quickly, as quickly as a 9-1 victory can be forgotten (no plethora of status updates after this result guys? Shame, I love reading them. COYS) . His next target was Dylan, he leaned in and rested his head on Dylan's shoulder, a quick push and he disappeared into the crowd. we saw Swayer later squaring up to some guy about to get in a fight, I assume they kissed and made up though.

As I braved the cold home Dylan and I reminisced about the old days of attending gigs, and we both agreed by far the funniest two things we have seen both involve out friend Jeremy Elster. The first was when he arrived at a gig for the last 3 songs, because Shabbos went out late that night, yet still insisted he enjoyed it and it was worth the money. The second was waiting for Oasis to take the stage at Finsbury Park only for a bowl of pasta to come flying through the air and land of Jeremy's head. Good times.

Murder Bar

They say where you drink is a reflection of you.... If this is the case then man am I in trouble.

You see I don't like the bar where I regularly drink. It's dark and dingy and has a terrible selection of beers, however I find myself there at least twice a week.

The Watering Hole is less than a block away from work, this means that after a stressful shift where you reek of Barbeque sauce there is really only one place to go. I've tried to champion other bars, in fact Crocodile lounge with its free pizza with every beer threatened to topple the hellhole that is our local, it just couldn't bring in the numbers and fell by the wayside.

Perhaps the worst thing about The Hole is the karaoke, dear sweet lord the karaoke. I have had some interesting experiences revolving around that microphone. Hell I've sung when I've had a few to many and I can just about get away with it, but the problem is when pissed up girls belt out 'It's Raining Men' it makes me want to cry. The most interesting aspect of karaoke is when the Mafia come to drink in the bar. You see the Mafia get what they want and when they say it's their turn to sing, it's their turn to sing. There is a catch to this, you see they sing the same fucking song every... single... time. Even more messed up is when you try to sing the song that they always do. Halfway through your rendition you will feel a thick Italian hand hand on your shoulder followed by the pasta breath of someone quietly explaining that you can't sing that song because it is reserved for a friend. It is at this point you drop the microphone and leave the bar.
Perhaps the most surreal moment was watching actor William Hurt singing the song with the Mafia before hitting on every young black girl in the bar.
No matter how drunk or sober I am, no matter what day of the week it is I always seem to end up at The Hole. Even on my birthday at 4:30am I suddenly realized that I was standing in a room with a familiar dank smell. At the point I stumbled home.

But by far and away the most frustrating thing about the Hole is the fact there is no reception there. It's like it is a vortex and once inside you can never escape, at no point can you call a mate to see where they are because that involves walking outside into the cold New York air.
Nothing good comes of a night in The Hole, you either leave to drunk and are annoyed you got wasted for no reason, or you leave sober and are annoyed you bothered to buy a couple of drinks.

So Ladies and Gentlemen the reason you haven't heard from me for a few weeks is because I have been trapped. Trapped inside a bar full of shitty sports memorabilia, bad singers, weird smells, terrible beer and a lingering sense of guilt. The Watering Hole. I tell you, if drinks weren't $4 for regulars I'd never go.

Squeak

Last night was incredibly distressing for me. I came home, drunk and was faced with a huge moral dilemma.... let me explain.

Regular readers will know of my New York nemesis, that's right, The Mouse, or to give him his real name (as christened by Anna Marshall) 'Rodrigo.' Rodrigo has been the bane of my existence for 9 months. He wakes me up in the middle of night rustling in my bedroom. He pokes his head out when we have guests over. He scares off women, he taunts me by strutting around the apartment like he owns it and worst of all he outsmarts me and moves the traps I set for him. I have given up on beating him.

Last night whilst at work the exterminator came over to our house, unbeknownst to me, and laid some traps. Good luck mate, I thought, Rodrigo is one tough cookie, you wont catch him.
As usual I had too much to drink after work and returned home at 3 am. As I walked in I noticed the traps the exterminator had set, they were more advanced than the store bought ones, impressive I thought..... then I saw it..... Lying on a sticky mat was Rodrigo... caught. He was struggling to break free, horrified that he had been captured. I took a moment to compose myself and weighed up my options. Should I unstick him and let him go free? Should I walk 10 blocks and then let him go free? Should I leave him overnight to starve? Should I squash him? One thing was for sure..... I had to kill him.
I searched online for advice and I found it.... boy did I find it. I looked down at Rodrigo, he was suffering bad, he had wriggled so much that he was bleeding and was obviously hurt. He looked so harmless and cute. I welled up thinking about what I had to do... It was my very own Sophie's Choice.
What happened from then on is something I'm not proud of, but remember I was drunk and Rodrigo had terrorized me for months.
I boiled the kettle.
One the water inside was at the desired temperature I poured in some washing up liquid and poured the contents into a bowel.
I looked down at Rodrigo, he just stared up at me.. helpless.
I couldn't bear to do it.... the water was cooling down. I made a snap decision. I placed the bowel outside the apartment in the hallway. As I walked back inside I reminisced about all the times me and Rodrigo had had together. The first time he ran into the girls bedroom and I didn't tell them. The way me and him used to team up to scare Anna. The times we would both just sit there and watch TV.
I looked down at him, no longer an adversary... but a friend. He looked back at me with those big beady eyes as if to say 'Rob... it's me Rodrigo.... don't do it.' But it was time.
I lifted up the sticky mat and carried it out to the hall. I look at Rodrigo one last time, said goodbye, then flipped the map upside down and placed it in the boiling soapy water.

Rodrigo Mouse passed away in the early hours of the morning on November 18th. He is survived by three housemates in Apartment 3.

My Kinda Town

So after last weekend in London this weekend it was off to Chicago with Dylan to meet Sammy and Dean.

Now there are many places I could start with the review of the weekend. The crap shower in the hostel, the hot receptionist in the hostel with the icy icy heart and come to bed eyes, but instead I'm going to start with Brunch.

On the flight to The Windy City Viner and I were mapping out exactly what we wanted to do once we landed and both of us agreed that the way forward was a pot of Brunch. So once we checked into our ghetto hostel the first thing we asked was where was good for Brunch, a few options were gathered and then we met Dean and Sammy and headed out for some well deserved food.

The restaurant we went to was called Orange, indeed it was life changing.

Perhaps it was the excitement of the four of us being together, perhaps it was dizziness from having not eaten, but needless to say we were in a stupid mood. Our waitress slinked over to the table and the first thing I noticed was her T-shirt. At first it appeared to be a plain pink shirt, however on closer inspection it bore the image of a Liger. Now for those of you that don't know a Liger is the result of when a Lion and Tiger have a baby.

Somewhat blown away by our waitress' bold support of such a bizarre creature I launched into a conversation with her about Liger's Even when she looked at me like I was crazy I carried on, spouting Liger facts left right and centre. The boys thought I was nuts.

After our Liger chat we ordered our breakfast, I had a steak.

The next day at about 11 we had hunger pangs. The unanimous decision was made to revisit Orange and the Liger. However we were to be disappointed, the Liger was not wearing her colors today, her dedication to the Liger cause wasn't as strong as we thought.

On our last morning Dean, Dylan and Sammy begged me to go somewhere else, but I stood firm, the combination of cucumber water, Eggs Benedict and Liger enthusiasts meant we were only going to one place.

If I could buy shares in that restaurant I would.

When in Chicago you have to do something Chicagoey, so we decided to ascend the Hancock tower in order for a nighttime view of the city.

The que to get into the lift was ridiculous, however it did spawn an interesting question 'If you had to be one tall building what would you be?' The game descended into anarchy however when used it as an opportunity to take the piss out of Sammy.

Finally we made it into the lift and after a quick ride we were at the top. There was but one problem, we had ridden the elevator the restaurant and bar as oppose to the viewing deck. No worries though we would stay and grab a drink. The wait to get to the bar was half an hour. Fuck that!

The viewing deck was just 2 floors below, but in order to get to it we had to go all the way back to the bottom and then all the way up again.

More waiting in line. Finally we reached the ticket stand where the unfunniest man in the world cracked a couple of very unfunny jokes.

We were all set and ready to go when we looked back to see Dylan milling around. He was trying to get a free ticket with his media card. Unsurprisingly he didn't.

As we waited in another line to get to yet another lift we were told we had to have a photo taken. Even if we didn't want to the 4 of us had to stand in a line and have our photo taken infront of a superimposed background of the Chicago skyline. We did. We didn't smile.

In the lift on the way up we were feeling particularly stupid and cracked jokes in the crowded lift about having bad stomachs and generally acting like 5 year olds. We got out the lift 45 minutes after we had been two floors higher to have a look at the view. It was nice, was it $20 nice? Probably not.

After twenty minutes we had to wait in another que to get the lift back down the tower. By now we were wondering if we would ever get out of the bloody Hancock building. After a quick photo session where infront of another superimposed background where we pretended to be jumping off the building we were back in the lift going down. Finally our immaturity reached new levels when the voice over the PA shrilled 'Now you've been to the top and know the Hancock tower a bit better you can call it by it's nickanme.... Big John.' We started uncontrollably giggling as the 10 year old boy next to us rolled his eyes.

I won't bore you with more details, I'll leave that to Dean and Sammy, whose blog you can follow here http://deanandsammy.blogspot.com/

It was a great weekend spent with 3 guys I have been friends with since I was 7 years old. The photos will surface in a few days, the others took just a few.

Gilbert's Know How To Party

So this weekend I was back in London for brief celebratory visit. It was time for my little cousin Andrew to have his barmitzvah and become a man.

Our tale begins on Thursday morning at 6am as my father came bounding into my room to wake me up. We were off to synagogue... hurrah. Bear in mind I haven't been there for 2 years, I'm a bad Jew. You see on Thursday morning Andrew had his first call up and read from the torah for the first time, thus making him a man. After he had sung so beautifully my Uncle Michael asked me to help dress the Torah. To be more precise, I had to lift it. This is no easy task, that thing weighs a ton. I joked around and said 'what's the worst that can happen!?' Well the worst that can happen is I drop it and everyone who sees would have to fast for 7 weeks. The pressure was on. I walked onto the bimah and shakily hoisted the torah skywards. Wobbled a bit and then sat down. Phew. I turned to look at the Ladies Gallery where my Mum was sitting. I called out to her 'Are you proud Mum!?' She wasn't.

Thursday morning was amazing and I achieved something I have never achieved before. I ate 3 breakfasts. Yes.... 3. Before Setting off to listen to Andrew I wolfed down a bowl of Crunchy Nut Cornflakes in order to give me the desired energy for that time of morning. After Synagogue there was a brief but sugary selection of treats in the lobby. I made my excuses and managed to eat 4 to 5 of those. Fantastic, it wasn't even 8am and I had managed to eat two breakfasts. Then, like music to my ears I heard we were going back to Aunty Shelly and Uncle Michael's for breakfast as everyone was hungry. Now I wasn't hungry but two breakfasts wasn't going to be enough. A plethora of bagels and smoked salmon back at 17 Pine Grove meant that by 9:30 I had achieved the seemingly impossible, I had eaten breakfast 3 times.

The Friday night dinner at our house was a lovely affair. All the family together (that's nearly 50 people btw.... we're a big family), speeches made, jokes cracked, but more importantly... Duck Rolls eaten. Quite simply the Duck Rolls being handed out at my house on Friday Night were the greatest thing I have ever put in my mouth. Vegetarians can go fuck themselves, this stuff was golden. I must have eaten a good 10 of them. In fact they were so good I had them the next day for dinner cold.

The Saturday was fantastic. I'm not going to go into the details of Andrew's performance, but put it this way, I was bloody proud. That kid made me shed a tear! After his barmitzvah we decamped back to the Gilbert's for Shabbat Lunch.

As I walked in I almost got an erection. A waitress wandered up to me, stuck a platter in my face and said 'Duck Roll?' That was the second time I cried tears of happiness that day.

It was then onto the Sunday. Party time. Despite the histrionics of my to sisters with regards to being ready in time we were at the venue with minutes to spare. Photos done and it was time to begin the party.

I won't do the party justice by describing it here for you. Instead I will focus on one facet of the party... the Vodka. And by the Vodka I mean the means by which it was distributed. After all the speeches were said and done we headed to the dance floor where we were met by a vision. Three girls dressed in outfits the Rabbi would not have approved of, despite it being his birthday, with Vodka bottles strapped to their waists. It was on. Immediately I sought out Andrew Myers and Broando, they were two steps ahead of me, they each held an empty shot glass in their hand and had already decided their favorite Vodka giver. It was at this point I reminded them they were married with kids. After a few more shots we had built up a rapport with the girls, one of them was a model who had done a few glamor shoots. We nodded inquisitively as she told us this, as though she was a learned professor at a Museum telling us about how the Dinosaurs lived millions of years ago. Actually if professors looked like that I would have done much better at University. We had a mission, find out her name. With all the stealth of James Bond (drunkenly asking her what her name was) I unlocked the secret and two words came rolling out of that oerfectly formed mouth of hers..... Sammi Pennington. Like a flash I was off to report my findings to Andrew and Broando. Three minutes later they came bounding up to me like a couple of twelve year old boys who had found pornography... except they were men in their thirties who had discovered pornography. A quick google on Andrew's phone had revealed the gold mine, Sammi Pennington's nude photo shoot. As the party wrapped up with everyone singing 'We Are The Champions' a little part of me felt like a Champion.

In reality though there was only one boy we were singing to. Andrew Benjamin Gilbert, that was a great weekend!

And So I Face The Final Curtain

And so the curtain comes down on my New York stage debut. Needless to say I am fucking knackered!

The show went really well and I'm very pleased with everything, but of course this wouldn't be an update if I didn't highlight some of the stranger aspects of my life for the last few weeks.
I'll start with the venue we performed in. The Medicine Room theatre was a very nice space to act however it was interesting to say the least.
The owners of the space were probably the most eccentric people I have ever met. One was a old woman who is currently rehearsing a musical version of a ll of Shakespeare's tragedies. Before every rehearsal she would sit around the piano with a group of friends and warble away about the 'Black ram tupping the white ewe.' Her voice was perhaps not broadway ready shall we say. She was also as mad as batshit. One night she came to see the play and the next day spent time questioning me about the explicit stage directions of the last scene (more on that later.) Eventually she demanded to see my script to see if I was telling her the truth!
There was also a dog who owned the theatre. The dog was just a giant ball of fluff and often mid-rehearsal you would hear him wheezing as he slothed around the lobby. The dog was also the only living thing I knew who took the lift instead of climbing two flights of stairs to get to the theatre.
Of course the dog didn't run the theatre, his owner did. His owner was also a little nuts and would always wear one pink Converse and one Green one.
Perhaps the strangest aspect of the theatre was the man who lived in our dressing room.
Now at first I thought our dressing room was just littered with props; tables, chairs, old costumes, a bed. But then last Sunday I came in for a performance early and heard a stirring. I looked into the dressing room and the long haired ghost who floated around the place was rising from a night sleep. Suddenly I realized that the bed was his, the clothes were his, the empty whisky bottle was his and from then on I was permanently creeped out that I was de-robing in another mans bedroom.

Now for those of you that don't know about the last scene of the play it's time to come clear. I get my arse out onstage. I don't flaunt it but it's there, and if you are sitting in a particular seat you get a very very good view of it.
The arse scene was never problematic however it did run into a few problems. At the end of the scene Ollie has to blow out a candle and the lights would cut to black. More often than not the candle would not blow out and the stage would be plunged into darkness except a dull flickering candle light illuminating my bum. It wasn't attractive.
Now I had no problems getting the ol' butt cheeks out, my bum is one of my better body parts. On some nights, however, the people sitting in the prime butt spotting location proved to be a problem.
On the opening night a couple of girls were laughing every time we said the word 'cum' or even 'come' so Ollie and I twigged pretty quickly that the last scene was going to be hell. Thankfully it provided just a few intakes of breath. I like to assume that's because of glorious peach like nature of my rear.
The worst was this Thursday when I had a lot of friends come see me. I had specifically told Dylan to not sit in the front row, stupidly I didn't give him a reason. Just before the lights went down I looked at the audience from the wings and saw Dylan and Dan sitting in the prime rear viewing area, front row. Bastards. They now look at me in a different light.

And so the maddest, craziest most exhausting 6 weeks of my life come to a close. I'm now a New York stage actor as well as still being a waiter extraordinaire at New York's best BBQ restaurant! I fly home on tuesday night for the mother of all celebrations.... my little cousins barmitzvah. Fuck me life is fun!

Shaving Off Some Time

So it's starting to get to crunch time for the play. Costumes are being donned, lines are no longer being stumbled over and shifts at work are becoming less frequent.

The first story begins a week ago however after yet another long rehearsal. The trek back from Brooklyn is long and painful at the best of times, when you realize you don't have enough money for the train on you it makes it even worse. After a combination of begging Ollie for quarters and jumping the barrier proved to be a success we heard the unmistakeable rattle of a train passing overhead. Fuck. We were going to miss it. A mad dash followed, I did that thing that kids do when they run upstairs two steps at a time, and I made it in just as the doors were closing. Phew! a close call.
Ollie and I sat there complaining about how tired we were and how much rehearsing over in Park Slope sucks. Pretty soon we both found ourselves nodding off just a bit. Then the train came hurtling out of the tunnel and over a bridge. It pulled into Ditmas Avenue. Delighted that I had reception I whipped my phone out and started waving it around hoping I was popular enough to receive a text. I wasn't. Then Ollie grabbed my arm with a look of error in her eyes. 'We're heading in the wrong direction.' I laughed off her idiocy and checked the map to make sure...... we were indeed heading in the wrong direction. So we jumped off at the next stop only to see a train heading in the right direction pulling out of the station. We trudged across the platform and waited, in the cold. It was 11 at night, in deepest, darkest Brooklyn and I wanted to cry. The word 'fuck' emanated from my mouth a fair few times. Eventually a train came and we were back where we started an hour after we had left.
Before I went home I stopped off for a comfort burger at my favorite Burger place in New York.... they got my order wrong and I waited half an hour for a cheeseburger. It was a bad night.

So in this play I am playing the part of a 15 year old boy. In order to create this illusion I have had a haircut into a nice side parting, similar to the one I sported in my Goodwyn's days and am very clean shaven. However there is one problem. In the play I take my shirt off. Now the three women who have sen me topless (Mum and both grandma's) can testify that I have a slight smattering of chest hair.... the director told me that this would have to go.
So the other day in the shower I thought I would give this a trial run. I sought the advice of many women about the pro's and con's of shaving versus waxing. Essentially though it is free to shave so that's the way I went.
I started with the chest, no problem there, came right off. I had now reached the point of no return, it would have looked weird to have stopped so it was all or nothing. I then encountered the tricky area of the nipple, the most sensitive place I would be shaving. Thanks to some dexterous hand movements and the fingers of a sculptor, I was able to remove the hair without a problem. Then it was time for my belly. This was where the hair was at its thickest and most stubborn. Eventually after half an hour I was done and looking as smooth as baby's bottom.
The next day though I started to itch..... and when I say itch I mean burn..... and when I say burn I mean want to tear the skin from my bones. Work was hell. Every 5 minutes I was rushing to the toilet for a heavenly scratch.
Even worse just two days later the hair had started to grow back so now my body just looked like a fat girls vagina which had been poorly gardened.
So yesterday was phase two of the shaving. This time however I lathered the fuck up before and baby powdered the shit outta myself afterwards.

If you would like to see my hairless body then make sure you get a ticket to the play!

http://www.smarttix.com/show.aspx?showcode=TRE7

A sorry schedule

Sorry for the irregularity of my updates... The last few weeks have been as dull as the inevitability of QPR eventually ending their 6 game unbeaten run.
My days have become regimented and tiresome, the only time they change is the weekend but let's start with the week.

9:15 - My alarm goes off. It's that annoying blackberry chime that haunts anyone who uses their phone as an alarm. It puts me in a bad mood but I refuse to change it. I am grossly hungover.

9:45 - Leave the house. Check the line at Strabucks. If short then buy a coffee. If long then buy a coffee and get to work late.

10:05 - Clock in 5 minutes late.

10:15 - Have argument with other waiters about listening to something other than country music whilst we set up the restaurant. I usually win and put on Muse. Girls complain.

11:00 Sit through pre-shift praying they don't ask me to describe some obscure item on the menu... they do. They want to know what seeds are in the duck rolls. The answer is caraway.... apparently.

12:00 - Hangover really kicks. Fold 50 napkins to ease the pain.

12:30 - Switch on auto-pilot as I serve guests.

2:00 - Get cut. Start doing sidework.

2:45 - Have sidework checked. Inevitabley I have forgotten something, usually the lemonade. Get lemonade from fridge. Fear for my life that fridge door will lock and I will be stuck in there and die.

3:15 - Leave work. Go home. Shower. Shit. Shave. Sleep

6:00 - Wake up and head off to rehearsal in Brooklyn.

6:30 - The R train stops in between stations underground for 10 minutes. I learn lines.

7:00 - Arrive at rehearsal and discover the schedule changed and we are doing a different scene.

7:15 - Embarrassingly call 'line' every 5 seconds of rehearsal.

9:00 - Make a pact with Ollie (girl from the play) that we won't get drunk again tonight.

10:00 - Rehearsal finishes and go for a beer with Ollie.

12:00 - 2 rounds later still out.

2:00 - Stumble home

Repeat until Friday when everything changes!!

11:00 - Wake up hungover. No work until 4:30. Decide to be productive.

3:00 - Still in pyjamas playing Football manager.

4:30 - Head to work.

5:00 - Text Ollie telling her I am no way going out tonight.

9:00 - Start serving beer at work. Have urge for a beer.

10:00 - Receive text from Ollie that she gave up and went out.

12:00 - Leave work and head to the crappy bar with white trash bartenders with Fred and Nicole from work. $4 beers for me because I'm a regular. Not a good sign.

3:30 - Leave bar.

Saturday.

8:00 - Wake up and head to Brooklyn.

9:00 - Hate Brooklyn.

10:00 - Realize that performing when hungover adds gravitas to scenes of a depressing nature.

10:15 - Scenes of a humorous nature aren't performed well.

12:00 - Check QPR score. Recently we have been winning. On saturday we lost.

2:00 - Go home and make a pact with Ollie that neither of us will go out.

2:30 - Shower. Shit. Shave. Sleep.

4:30 - Get to work and feel disgusting. There are 5 new servers so I have a small section meaning I make no money.

8:00 - Hear Americans talk about sporting rivalries 'decades old.' Place my head in my hands.

9:30 - Stare lovingly at the object of my desires at work. Get caught. Lie and say I was looking at a guest.

10:15 - Text from Ollie, she's out.

12:30 - Leave work

4:00 - Leave bar

Repeat on Sunday.

I am fucking knackered to say the least. However if you want cheap drinks at a crap bar after some BBQ food then I'm your man.

A more conventional update next week!

Hot Mess

Recently we have been having a few issues with hot water in the apartment.... and by issues I mean we haven't had any.
Let me preface this by saying that when I come home from work I stink of BBQ sauce, it clings to me like a 3 year old boy who still breast feeds clings to his mothers nipple. It's in my hair, my clothes and my soul.
The other day I waltzed home from a double shift late one night and really, really needed a shower. I stripped down so that little Rob could take a few breaths of fresh air and jumped merrily into the shower, turned it on and waited for the hot water... and waited.... and waited.
After 5 minutes of standing there, my nipples erect enough to cut glass and little Rob retreating back inside my stomach, I realized that perhaps there was an issue with the hot water. I wrote an angry email to the Super (also called Rob but not to be confused with little Rob) and decided that I would boil a kettle in my quest for hot water.
I made a rookie error, of course I let the kettle boil, of course I screamed in agony as i poured the water over my head, of course at that moment the mouse chose to run into the bathroom causing me to scream even more. I abandoned my idea of a hot shower and instead splashed sub zero temperature water onto my shivering body trying desperately to wash off the soapy suds.
The next morning I rose early to embrace the hot water which would surely have been turned on by now.... no such luck. I now smelt of sweat, sleep, BBQ and a smattering of aftershave and deodorant to cover the smell. Amazingly two individual people that day told me I smelt good.... I have no idea of what their heritage was, but apparently where they are from the smell I was emitting was pleasant.
I returned home from another BBQ filled day at work to discover a hand scrawled note plastered to my front door 'Tomorrow No Hot Water.' Thanks for the heads up, perhaps one of these a few days ago wouldn't have gone a miss!!
Another cold water splash shower sent me on my way to bed as I dreamed of splashing about in the kiddies pool.
The next morning I awoke like a kid on Christmas, or a jew on Chanukah (8 days of presents.... we don't get as excited). I leapt in the shower and there it was, steam! Beautiful hot steamy water gushing forth from the faucet. I gorged myself on it's heat, blissfully unaware that the water was getting hotter and hotter. Soon the water was burning holes in my skin. The Super had fixed the hot water alright... he had fixed it so much that each drop of it was like sulphuric acid gnawing away at my pinky white body.
I put the tap to the coldest the shower would go and miserably washed in a lukewarm rain as the smell of BBQ sauce wafted into the air.

The Audition

So I am not in New York to hunt for women, I'm here to find some work as an actor and this week I had a few auditions.

Surprisingly this tale begins with a callback from one production that wanted a second look at me. To put it in X Factor terms I had just sung for the judges and had received 3 yes', my English accent had the potential to hold me back due to it being an American play.
So on thursday I went back for another audition, I was essentially off to boot camp. This time though every time I read I had to do it in an American accent. Unfortunately the sides (script) that I had been sent by email were not Mac compatible, so I had to turn up early to the callback to pick up a script and then take myself off to a coffee shop to learn my lines. It was the equivalent of when someone changes their song last minute in order to impress Cowell and co.
My competition for the part wasn't as large as I expected, in fact there were only 4 of us who had been called back, considering there had been close to 100 poeple at the initial audition I saw that as a good thing. The first guy going for the part was a 27 year old flaming homosexual who looked like a 15 year old boy but had gray hair. Next was a tall, handsome, blonde man who oozed attractiveness and finally was a guy who looked like Chace Crawford...... shit.
I then sat and waited.... boy did I wait. I arrived at the studios at 5:30 and wasn't called in until 8:15!! After reading a few times with a couple of guys who were going for the role of the protagonists father I was then called in to read with a lady going for the part of the Mother. It was a disaster. It was awkward and generally shit. The director stopped us halfway through and explained that in the scene my character was combing his mothers hair, the woman then blurted out "it's fine Rob, you can touch me anywhere you like, however you like." There was then an awkward second of silence before I said "that's the first time a woman has said that to me in a while." Second time around the scene was still terrible.
It was now 9:15 and the waiting area which had previously been quiet and full of tension had now become an arena of boredom. Soon I started talking to the gay guy, handsome man and Chace Crawford. Then, joy, the girls arrived! I decided to talk to them instead.
I had stupidly forgotten to eat dinner and my energy levels were low, I ploughed on though and read for the director 8 times! Eventually at 11 I left. Handsome Man had since been told he could leave so I was now down to the final 3 and would receive a call the next day.

I woke up on Friday and waited..... and waited.... and waited. I booked a weekend to Chicago, then waited some more. My phone did not ring. Fuck, I hadn't got the part. Then suddenly in a blaze of flashing lights and crappy ringtones my phone burst into life..... I didn't recognize the number. Oh..... My..... God.
I tentatively answered.... "hello?" "Hey Rob, it's Josh." Josh Fineman my best friend as a baby was in New York, I tried to hide the disappointment in my voice at it not being the theatre calling.
We chatted and then my phone beeped..... Incoming call from an unrecognized number. Holy Shit.
I hung up on Josh instantly and answered the phone..........













So Ladies and Gentlemen, boys and girls if you would like to see Robert Gilbert in his New York stage debut then follow this link to get tickets!
http://www.smarttix.com/show.aspx?showcode=TRE7
It's only in a small theatre (I emphasize the word small here) and contrary to rumors spread by Dylan Viner there is no full frontal nudity.
You gotta start somewhere.... and I'm starting here!

Good Meet, Wrong Meat

On Saturday night after a lovely dinner with the family (more about them later) myself, Dan and Desi left Tribeca in search of a good night out. After a few drinks at the female Robert Gilbert's apartment (hello Lisa Schwartz) we decided to call it a night.

I was a little tipsy at this point and on my way home decided to stop at Duane Reed for some late night snacks. Unfortunately for all concerned the 24 hour store was closed because the manager wanted to count money (perhaps he was auditioning for the role of Shylock in the local theatre production).

Dismayed and heartbroken I turned around after banging on the doors to be greeted by a sort of familiar face. 'Hello Rob' said the person... I had that terrible moment where someone knows you but you don't know them..... 'It's me... Vanessa, we met at Hectors rooftop party.' Click. I remembered who the girl was, a childhood friend of a friend originally from Chile.

It soon transpired that Vanessa was off to a bar to drink.... alone. It was already 1:30 and I had work the next day but needless to say my penis took over, 'I'll join you' I quipped, and we were off. The bar was a shithole, it was like a smelly function room where the wierd kid from school had his barmitzvah and invited everyone to come, everyone did come to look at his sisters enormous chest.

I was reconsidering my actions when Vanessa begged me to stay because she had a friend coming who was in love with her and she didn't want to be left alone with him. Into the bar then strode Kayvon. A towering beast of a man from an exotic country. The next 45 minutes were spent with me sat between Kayvon and Vanessa as he tried to woo her whilst I attempted to kill the atmosphere with unsexy topics of discussion such as soft cookies and Snow Leopard for Mac. Vanessa and I then excused ourselves to go to the toilet to come up with a plan to ditch Kayvon. The plan wasn't the most complex, Vanessa said she was tired and wanted to go home, I chimed in that I lived near her so she wouldn't be walking home alone. By now it was 3 and I had work in a few hours so despite Kayvon's protests the plan went off without a hitch. MI6 have now offered me a job.

At work the next day royalty arrived, my family. Now I have been doing pretty well so far and am yet to really mess up any orders. But this was to be my biggest test so far. Let me run through each member of the family and detail why eating dinner with them is a pain.....

Mum - Does not eat red meat, chicken (except on shabbos), bread, strawberries. Likes Salad and Grey Goose Vodka.

Dad - If he has exercised will eat a hearty meal. If not then wants to share most dishes. Won't eat Pork, a problem in a rib restaurant.

Claire - Will not eat red meat, fish, most sauces, anything exotic, vegetables. WIll eat Burgers, Pizza and Chicken Nuggets. Elizabeth - Likes sauce on the side and recently is Dad's new sharing partner. Will eat meat.

Special Guest Daniel - Wont eat Fish (but will try it). Eats everything else.

The order was a nightmare. Salad with sauces on the side, shrimps added to things, coleslaw substituted for Chips, Chips substituted for Sweet Fries. Coke's without Lemon/Ice, the works. You aren't supposed to tell a guest to fuck off.... but I came close. Of course when the food came out I had rung a few things in wrong, my loving mother pointed this out and despite me protesting my innocence she stood by her word. Thank god they liked the food I did get right though, a rarity in most restaurants we eat at. If I ever have a more complicated order I will let you know.

Hallelujah

We signed a striker! Heavens above! Name a stand after him, give him the freedom of Loftus Road. See children, dreams really do come true. Jay Simpson all you have to do is win us promotion.

We Are The Gilbert Boys

So yesterday my cousin and lifelong partner in crime, Daniel, decided he had had enough of married life out in Westchester and wanted to spend the day with his bachelor cousin.

The first order of the day was to find a decent football match to play in. The Yanks affectionately call it 'Pick-up Soccer,' we just call it a kickabout in the park. After walking across the length and breadth of Manhattan, discussing QPR's memorable 2-1 victory over Accrington Stanley that night, we were eventually steered towards a game taking place over on Chelsea Piers. We arrived and were greeted by a throng and Trinidadians who were all playing the beautiful game. One of the teams needed 2 extra players, so we were up!

Now when Dan and I play football I like to think we have a telepathic understanding that only family members can have, we are if you like a Jewish Gary and Phil Neville. Dan is Gary, successful, committed one of the best at what he does, a leader... I however am more like Phil, jack of all trades master of none, reckless challenger, living of my more gifted family members name. It's a burden I have learnt to deal with. As the game started one thing became clear, the Trinidadians were fast, they were shit, but they were fast. After about 5 minutes I was blowing out my arse as our self appointed captain barked out orders in a lilting Caribbean accent which I could only but smile at.

Dan had had enough of this game though, he had spied another game for us to play in. The other game looked a little crap to me though, many fat people were playing. I highlighted this to Dan but he assured me that during his time in Mexico he found that fat people were arguably better players. This wasn't the case here however, I looked pretty quick on this pitch and soon we decided to leave the game, shame, I felt I had found my level.

Finally an 11 a side team were holding trials so Dan and I jogged over to see if we could join in. Stavros (the man running the game) seemed reluctant to let us play, perhaps intimidated by our Neville brother skills and Jonas Brothers looks, he soon subsided and allowed us a kickabout. The game was 15 minutes long, nobody did anything spectacular and more importantly Dan and I did nothing wrong. As we trudged off the pitch Stavros sidled up to us and said "Go and train with our 3rd team, they are more your standard.". This was a phrase I had heard often and so I began to jog over, Dan however is not accustomed to this, demanded that he was the best player on the field and told me we were going. As we left a bitter Frenchman who had been cut walked off with us objecting furiously at his treatment, he claimed he had won 1st prie for his University for football, must have been a shit team because he was bollocks.

A quick dinner was followed by donning our handbags and gladrags, we were out to take New York by storm. A few weeks ago I had gotten disgracefully drunk, the type of drunk where you are incoherent and susceptible to drinking red bull and absinth. The reason behind this was Australians. Regular readers will know that Australians often bring out the worst in me when I drink. Anyways the two Aussie lads from that night had invited me over to their place for some drinks before they headed out to a club. Sounded like a plan.

We arrived at the Aussies place to be greeted by a sausage fest. The room was meat heavy. The Aussies assured us that some females would be arriving soon. They did. I wish they hadn't. Australian chavs aren't funny or interesting people, they are also a little disgusting when you notice that they haven't shaved their legs and have just bleached the hairs to try and hide them. After avoiding direct contact with the hairy chavs we set off for the club. The place we were heading was meant to be cool, it's the first eco-friendly club in the world apparently. Dan had fucked up though, he was wearing Converse... and not just any Converse, ones with cartoons on them. Entry was looking unlikely. Those Aussies though... they may have lost the cricket but they pulled through last night. As we arrived they told us we were on their guest list and to just walk in, which we did.... fantastic.

As we walked in Queen Latifah wobbled out of a limo and entered the club at the same time, essentially she walked into the club with us. It's fine, when I come home you can all touch me. The Aussies then surpassed themselves and told us they had a table, brilliant! This proved to be a false dawn however. You see Queen Latifah had invited Rhianna to come to the club and the manager was having a shitfit. We were kicked off the table which was now exclusively for girls. The drinks were ludicrously priced and suddenly our evening of fun was jeopardized. Dan then put that Oxford brain of his to good use. He grabbed the Hairy Aussie Chav and enquired if she would like to pass her drinks from the table down to us on the dance floor. She did. We each spent $20 that whole night.

A Week of Geek

So the theme for this week has certainly been 'Geek' and it's a theme I have thoroughly embraced.. I pre warn for some people this update will make limited and little sense... but do read it will offer all the usual odd musings.

As I said geek was the word this week and the first geeky act to regale you all with took place on Thursday. Now I don't have school on Thursday and the other two guys in my class have long since banded around the idea of Star Wars Thursday... stay with me here people... I'll happily admit I am a fan, I've seen all the films and think they are good (well the original 3) I am not however a crazed fanboy who gives a shit if Han shot first, but I decided that Star Wars Thursday should indeed be this thursday.

So I awoke early on wednesday and journeyed to the Upper East Side to my friends apartment, snacks in tow and arrived ready for a day of lightsabers, Jedi's and Siths. Now my friends roomates have between them two dogs, one currently has the worst cough you could imagine. Anytime it moves or is even remotely excited it weezes uncontrollably for twenty minutes, not unlike Darth Vader really. The other dog is a puppy, but it's huge and is completely unaware of it's surroundings in relation to it's size. So for 8 hours the background to the films was one dog dying on its arse while the other hurtled around smashing and breaking anything of value in the apartment.

And so with two dogs a million miles away from Crufts dying and smashing respectively we began...... Da da da da, da da da da da da da da da daaaaaaaa..... Daaaaa da da da da da da da da da da da da da da da (that's the theme for those who are wondering) Controversially we stared with Episode 3 which was obviously made in '05. I was pro the original trilogy however my friend Tim felt they would hold more gravitas if we saw the fall of Anakin.

So after 2 and a half hours of terrible acting (Hayden Christensen you are a disgrace to your trade) and some even worse dialogue as George Lucas showcases that living your life obsessed with Wookies and The Force causes one to lose touch with human dialogue. Finally Ewan McGregor makes a big speech, Anakin... you dick, you were the chosen one, or something along those lines. Hayden dons the black helmet and screams NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO.

Episode 4....Da da da da... you get the idea. Now obviously in the story Episode 4 takes place after Episode 3 however they made over 20 years apart so suddenly when Alec Guinness and Darth layeth the smack down it doesn't have the same impact as a CGI Yoda double backflipping and beating up a robot.

As Darth revealed his big secret I left for home deciding not to watch a group of little teddy bears bring down the Empire. I'm not gonna lie to you here I 100% imagined I had a lightsaber and was picking of Stormtroopers left right and centre in the shower that evening.

So the next part of geekery came on Friday night with the release of Watchmen in cinemas. I read the book a few months ago after hearing great things about it and it's actually good. Once you're over the fact you are reading a giant comic you get really into it.
I was excited for the movie but wasn't simultaneously creaming my pants with every internet geek who writes a blog....wait a second....

Now my problem arose in that I wanted to go see the movie but had nobody to go with, my Star Wars boys had been given 2 free tickets (pricks) and my roommate who would've seen it with me was out of town. Dylan was unavailable for other reasons.
Now those that can read between the lines of previous messages will have worked out I've been seeing a girl... well now she gets a name... Anna.
Yes that's right Ladies and Gentlemen I asked the hot girl who is way out of my league to come and see the geekiest film of the year with me. Chutzpah... I've got it.
She agreed!!!! However I would have to owe her one... her giant Sex and the City box set looked like being forced upon my eyes.

So I book the tickets thursday for Friday night.... yes that's right a full 24 hours before to see a movie! We arrive for the 10:30 showing nice and early at 9:45... but something isn't right, they are selling comic books outside and the stench of retainers and inhalers is wafting throughout the cinema. We get to the our screen at 10 and there is a que of about 200 people!!!! what... the... fuck!!!
Thankfully I make the bold decision to wait for a seat on the balcony and we are able to watch the film with a good view.
Now like I said I'm not a fanboy.. I like the book. So no I didn't care about the lack of squid, or lack of black freighter, or lack of Under the Hood. It was a good movie. Anna was expecting a nice comic book Spiderman type affair, so when The Comedian bends Silk Spectre over a Pool table and rapes her Anna started to worry! She did however enjoy it....

And as for owing her a favour.... well she got so drunk on saturday night I pretended to be really pissed off so she felt guilty and I am no longer in her debt.... like I said, Chutzpah.

Name drop.

Michael Harris - Watching Revenge of the Sith before the others makes it all so sad. Anakin has been through so much and he's just trapped in that suit.. and nobody knows... really puts a different spin on things.

Rebecca Gilmore (again I know!) - I'm doing a scene from a play and the author is called Rebecca Gilman.. is this one of the many variations on your name we use!!??

Jamie Simon Slavin - Your most recent photo album is probably the funniest thing on Facebook

A Vast Improv....ment

So after a few weeks of writing about things not regarding the reason I am out here I thought I would update everyone with some acting stuff...

I take an Improv class at school and needless to say I am the teachers pet. She loves me. Maybe it's because I have a very overactive imagination and this gives me the chance to just go and not think. Anyways after a glowing report in class (anyone who went to school with me will know that's rare) she suggested I try an open mic night an an improv theatre. She suggested The Peoples Improv Theatre.
How the open mic, or improdome as it is I guess comically called, works is that teams of 2 to 4 people stand up, take a suggestion from the audience and then create a scene. Unfortunately I couldn't convince my two friends to come with me and so went alone. 
Suffice to say I was nervous, I mean I had no idea if I was funny or not or if these random people would laugh at me but I sucked it up signed my name up to be placed in a team and decided I needed some Dutch courage.

The show started... a fat... well a fat loser walked on the stage and made a joke about Battlestar Galactica which precisely zero people responded to, sensing he was on the back foot he slunk away and called the first team on the stage.
Any fears I had about not being funny were washed away as I watched 3 people die on their feet, one guy constantly mugging to the crowd whilst a girl tried desperately to create a scene. All the while someone who can only be described as Lloyd from Entourage pranced about.

Next up were an even worse team. They would probably have been o.k had they not had a Jack Black wanna be in their midst. He took his shirt off, jiggled his belly, pulled stupid faces and shouted about bearded ladies giving hand-jobs... he tried so hard to be funny it was painful. He pretended to be gay, a woman and English all in one scene.... He was however still funnier than Dane Cook.

After that shambles Battlestar Galactica man was back up and calling my name out along with 3 other random guys. I walked onto the stage to be greeted by a scared looking middle aged black man, a man with the bushiest beard ever and a homeless guy..... 'This could be interesting' I thought.

Now essentially in improv you are meant to take any suggestion given to you by the person you are acting with, so if I said "Wow it's such a hot day" it would be bad if my scene partner said "No...it's snowing."..... With that in mind I will now describe the train wreck that was our 4 man team.
So our suggestion was looking at the stars.... The homeless guy then proceeded to imitate a star...fine, however he did nothing else...just.... twinkled. After that we ended up in a doctors office... but the homeless guy barged into the scene and demanded someone french kiss his belt buckle. It was at this point I unfortunately was first able to smell the homeless man. After attempting to rearrange the scene to suit the homeless guy he was off again... running to the stage curtains and wrapping himself in them.... he said nothing. So me and nervous black guy started doing a scene in a therapists office. Next thing I know I hear a sound coming from the curtains. The homeless guy is screaming "I am the Pope of New York...woooooooo." Nervous black guy looked terrified. 
Bushy beard man takes up the initative and pretends to look at some art, nervous black guy starts going crazy demanding to be 'held back'... so I restrain him. He then starts speaking for 2 minutes about the Mona Lisa only to be interrupted by the homeless guy demanding someone French Kiss his belt buckle and then feigning a heart attack. 
The lights went down.... we were done.
As we trudged back to our seats bushy beard guy and nervous black guy high fived me as homeless guy wandered off into the night.
On Wednesday I will be going back to the Improdome... however I will demand that my two friends come with me

So before I return home in June my goal is to get signed by an agency. Now our school isn't showcasing until June so I've taken matters into my own hands and decided to whore myself out to agencies and try to get their attention. I started the process a few weeks ago by getting my headshots done by a nice Japanese man named Moto and have since brushed up my resume. I sent off a load of headshots, letters and resumes to agents as the next step.

After that I planned on cold calling. So last thursday I spent the whole day traipsing around Manhattan smiling politely and blagging my way past security to get into agents offices. Now you aren't supposed to turn up at Agents doors... not in New York anyways. So instead of asking to see any agents I have started by merely charming the receptionists. Now every single agency either has an overly gay receptionist, a hot female receptionist, or a bitter rejected actor for a receptionist. The trick is to avoid the latter and flirt with the first two. So I Englished up my accent a little and poked my dimples to make them seem deeper and off I went. 

I was on a roll, gay receptionists loving the dimples. Hot receptionists giggling slightly at the accent things were going well. I thought the day would be hell but it turned out O.K until I reached my final destination. The final agency had been recommended to me so I walked in full of the joys of May with my final envelope of goodies. As I walked in I knew things would be different, this agency was big... the shit if you will. I reached the receptionist... "HI" I blared in my fully clipped accent with just a hint of London charm. The receptionist looked up... she wasn't hot... she wasn't gay... oh god... she was a failed actress. My heart sank. "What do you want?" I panicked... no longer was I suave, no longer was my accent a weapon, merely an obstacle which would stop her from understanding me. I blurted out something about a headshot and representation which she barely acknowledged. I was losing... then it hit me... THE DIMPLES, WHIP OUT THE DIMPLES. So I smiled an odd slightly creepy smile which was met with an unenthusiastic look. I dropped my headshot on the desk and darted out..... I tell you something, acting is hard!

So name drop

Joanna Williams - I hope you enjoyed that read, and are now safely in Highgate.

Jack Burke - I do believe I have never name checked you! Ridiculous! Your video message still made me laugh.

Spurs fans - At least you didn't lose pathetically to Barnsley this weekend.

Miss you all

Rob