Category: Other

A good friend of mine moved away two months ago to take up an amazing opportunity, the selfish bastard. It’s strange to realise just how much a friendship can come to mean to you in the space of a year.
This weekend was the first time we were able to hang out since he moved away and it was just fantastic.
I guess, as ever, my point is to appreciate the time that you have with people, because it will only ever be fleeting. That being said, there is no animosity present and I adore him. We caught up, which meant watching YouTube videos and saying ‘I love you’ a lot and then getting milkshakes and driving around in the dead of night. I am so proud of everything he has done and will just have to hold onto the time I do get to spend with him.

It’s been a pretty wild year. I’m glad to be where I am. I’m thankful for the people around me and the person I am.

I’ve been for a run, had oreos for breakfast and I feel like I can achieve anything.

Here’s to the next year.

It’s been two wonderful weeks away from social media so far. I know I will return and I know I will pick up bad habits all over again but the reason I am doing this is to take stock of where I am at. It has meant that I am more present, I have no idea what is going on with Brexit, and most importantly I don’t really know Piers Morgan’s stance on vegan sausage rolls.

I’ve lost the twitch, the desire to reach for my phone at every moment I feel slightly uncomfortable. I’m watching a lot more films and spending my time with good people and making solid plans for this year. I cannot wait to share an awful lot of them with you, alongside the various projects I am setting in place for now and for the future.

It’s also of benefit to the world that I’m not on social media for the month when I have also decided to try a vegan diet. Aside from the flatulence and the self-righteousness, it’s been okay. It takes a bit of planning if you want to go out anywhere but aside from that I am feeling the benefits. 

For now though, be kind to one another and I’ll see you soon.

We live in an age when we have access to all the entertainment we could ever need. It can be a little overwhelming. At the start of the year I realised that I was drifting away from the music I actually owned and committing more of my time to streaming through Apple Music and Spotify. In fact, Spotify have just dropped their Wrapped details which give a breakdown of statistics on your listening activity for the year. Here are my highlights:

In an effort to ensure I was still engaging with the music I owned, I decided to listen to every song I have. I took two letters of the alphabet (starting with A and B in January, C and D in February and so on) to listen through every song I have and ensure that I appreciate it. It’s a library that dates back to my university days so some of the albums are particularly choice (here’s to you Pigeon Detectives, Courteeners, The View).
It was a nice opportunity to dig through my own past and to engage with songs and bands that I hadn’t heard in a long time. I know the age of access means we don’t need to “own” music, but all of the music I own reminds me of particular nights out or gigs or partners.
Somehow, I got ahead of myself so the breakdown of the alphabet across the year ended in November because I was able to double up a couple of months.

Take the time to go back and read an old book or listen to an album from start to finish. It might just surprise you.

For now though, I leave you with this:

This month I have really got into performing improvised comedy. It’s been seven years since I was first tricked into taking a class and then suckered into taking part in a show. Now, for some reason, I’m taking to it.
I can’t help but think taking part in a 24-hour show at the start of the month forced my hand. Since then, the idea of performing has got slightly less terrifying. Don’t get me wrong, I still have to hide in the toilets and have a word with myself before any show but there’s something new about it that I have thoroughly enjoyed. I feel very lucky to get to spend time with the people who make up Laughter Academy. I feel loved and supported and I’ve kissed more of them than I care to mention. It has really made me appreciate how important improv and the people in that world are to me. I am so thankful that a lot of my social engagements involve this fine set of people and that it just continues to grow.

I have had the pleasure of being a bell hop, the illegitimate son of Sabrina The Teenage Witch, an Ironing Championships commentator, a film noir Titanic superfan in an audition and plenty more besides.

I would like to thank everyone I have had the pleasure of performing alongside, especially those who have just done their first showcases after just ten weeks of classes. I also need to thank everyone who came to see me in the two shows I got to take part in.

Until next year, here’s my best bits, courtesy of Clarissa @ Film Free Photography.

There are many phrases I would use to describe myself as a child. Chief amongst them would be scaredy cat. I went through a phase of waking up in the night and going from room to room, checking on my siblings and my parents to make sure they were still breathing. I was scared of everything. I didn’t like the way the stairs creaked late at night. I was creeped out by the way the hands floated in The Handymen section of Zzzap! My biggest fear was E.T. It still takes me a second to remember that I’m not scared of ET when the little turd jumps up on my TV. I once spent two therapy sessions watching ET to try and get over my fear. I was 25 years old and I paid £80 to watch a film about an extra-terrestrial.

Because I was such a scaredy cat, my parents were protective about the films they would expose me to. I didn’t see a lot of classic horror films until I was much older than my friends.

One of the films that I really wanted to see was Jurassic Park. It was all anyone at school was talking about. I was seven, about this high *points at hip level*. Everyone seemed to have action figures. I desperately wanted to see it. The deal was, I could watch Jurassic Park, if I could make it through ET. I have a memory of being physically restrained to be shown ET. In my mind it was like the Ludovico Treatment in A Clockwork Orange. This might not have been my parents’ finest hour when it came to ridding me of my fears. I didn’t make it through ET. I can remember wrenching myself free of the restraints and running upstairs. Needless to say, I didn’t get to see Jurassic Park.

Cue 2018. Arguably, I’m an adult. The real secret is that I’m just a six foot tall child. It’s a very clever disguise. It’s one step above a pair of children, one on the other’s shoulders, inside a long coat. My lovely friend Benjy asked if I wanted to go to a special screening of Jurassic Park at the Prince Charles cinema in Leicester Square. It was being shown on 35mm and would be as close to seeing it in 1993 as I was likely to get, apart from being slightly better dressed in those days. I jumped the chance. 

I feel I should state now that I have seen Jurassic Park. I’ve seen all of them, as a functioning adult. I knew what was coming and I was totally there for it. In the words of Kevin McCallister, “I’m not afraid anymore.”

We arrived late for the cinema, as is the fashion, and met up with Poppy and Dom. The four of us hustled inside to get out of the rain and I made Poppy buy me popcorn. We sat in the back row like we were all going to make out with each other and I got to enjoy Jurassic Park as it was supposed to be seen. In bitty, grainy darkness, with popcorn and everyone enjoying every single moment of it.

The biggest cheer went up for the shot of Goldblum as Dr Ian Malcolm reclining unnecessarily with his shirt open during a meeting. I saw Poppy leave her seat when the velociraptor attacked Ellie and the kid actors were not as annoying as any of us remembered. 

I guess the important thing here is to do something every day that scared you. I got to do something that once terrified me. To be able to do it as an almost-functioning adult, to realise that you’re going to be okay and that you have got this is an important distinction to be able to make with your adult brain. So no matter what you’re going through, just remember, that you have got this.

Photo by Poppy Adams.

I woke up early and bagged up anything in my hotel room that wasn’t chained down. I didn’t know what the rest of my accommodation would be like so took two toothbrushes, body lotion, conditioner, shampoo, a shower cap, a comb and so many bars of soap that it looked like I was smuggling bullion.

I had a casual buffet breakfast and was told my driver had been waiting for me for over an hour. Again, I felt like an arsehole. The ride to Rishikesh made my time with Manish feel like The Dukes of Hazzard by comparison. His name was Pushpicker but he told me to call him Lucky. He asked why I wasn’t married. I put my sunglasses on to avoid eye contact and answering his questions. We struggled to chat, even when I asked what time he finished and if he had been busy, pages one and two of taxi driver small talk.

After four hours we pulled over and he had to lend me some rupees to buy a toasted sandwich and a coke – the most traditional of Indian lunches. Lucky and I were not going to be sending postcards to one another.

Just before 5pm we pulled into Rishikesh, having been stuck in a strike or protest or some other ridiculous thing where people were dancing in the streets like Bowie and Jagger.

As soon as I arrived at the yoga retreat in the base of the Himalayas, I realised I had very much arrived. They took my bag and gave me some beads and everyone bowed a lot. It was great. I was shown to my room and it dawned on me all at once that I was alone. It was all on me to have a good time. On the way across the lobby I noticed that everyone having dinner together. The noise was incredible. There was no way I could just walk in there. I felt anxious and awkward. I quickly changed and headed downstairs and outside. Across the road was a vegan cafe. Exactly the kind of ridiculous thing I needed. It was only there that I realised Rishikesh is a dry state and I wouldn’t have a beer for a week.

As I was in India it made sense to have a delicious spaghetti dish as my first in Rishikesh.
A wiffle ball rolled over to the cushion I was sat on. I looked up and a three-year-old kid from the next booth was staring at me. I passed the ball back to him.
“You’ll end up playing that game all night if you carry on” said his mum. She was attractive and American.
“That’s fine with me” I said.
“We will leave him with you then” said his dad who was also attractive and American.

I drank some sweet lime soda. I didn’t know what it was but I had heard it ordered in The Darjeeling Limited and decided that it was for me. It was a mix of soda water, fresh lime and sugar. The sugar sat at the bottom of the glass and I tried to stir it in with a paper straw.

Once I had finished my food, I paid up and headed up to my room. I started worrying about being completely alone and that I might have made something of a mistake in heading out to do this. I could hear everyone downstairs talking and laughing. How was I ever going to be able to connect with them? I turned the TV on and discovered that all the channels were static. I was going to go mad. I struggled to switch off and get some sleep.

I woke up early the next morning and got ready for my first yoga class. They were held twice a day on the top floor. I wandered up and discovered a few people waiting outside. I made vague attempts to say hello and then we went inside. We were taught every day by Yogi Bobby. He was hardcore. It was next level to any yoga I had done before. It’s hard to explain how breathing and stretching can be so intensive but you’ll just have to believe me. Yogi Bobby had no time for our soft western bodies. He forced us to hold poses for uncomfortably long amounts of time.

His instructions of “loooongeeeerrr, looooonggeeeeer” were a running joke among the group.

After an hour, I went back to my room to have a shower and get dressed for breakfast.
I realised I could do socialising.
I could do breakfast.
It would be alright.

In the restaurant they put on a buffet-style breakfast. One of the girls waiting at the toaster started up a conversation with me. She was American and attractive. Her name was Brittany or Britney (of course it was). She asked if I was on my own and then asked if I wanted to join them. I looked over and realised there were a table of twenty women.

I could do socialising.
I could do breakfast.
I can most certainly do women.

Remember that scene in Love Actually where Colin (played by Kris Marshall) goes to America and hooks up with Elisha Cuthbert, January Jones and Shannon Elizabeth. That was me at breakfast. I held court over that buffet like the goddamn King of England. I found myself becoming more British as I went. I spoke in Cockney Rhyming Slang and told them all I was from London, which is only a lie if you’re not from America and know other places exist. I drank a lot of tea and showed off my bad teeth and they fell for my act hook, line and sinker.
I spent the day with them, got taken out for an amazing mushroom curry and ran around this huge temple in the rain. The thing was fourteen floors high and looked like a shopping centre mixed with a car park stairwell – very religious stuff. The place had all these statues and alcoves with shops in them. There were bells all around the place to announce your arrival to the deities. One of the girls, Katie took me to her favourite chai stall in the market opposite the temple. We sat there watching the world go by. It was like a tiny Indian Starbucks, but with just one man with a moustache there, who I wanted to cuddle.

The Americans were only in Rishikesh for the day so I knew I would have to make some new friends from then on but it was nice to have the company and to adjust to this solo travel stuff.

I awoke the next morning to find I was alone (again). Nobody else was in the morning yoga class. Yogi Bobby was super tough on me as a result. I think he missed all those attractive Americans too. At the start and end of each class he made everyone recite a prayer. I had never done it before. I figured we would skip it when it was just us but he insisted on making me recite the prayer anyway. I fumbled my way through it. It reminded me of when I was at school and had to play the recorder in a class of 30. I just mimed it then and got moved into the advanced class because they said I was so good.
When I messed up the prayer Yogi Bobbi would slow down and make me repeat a line again – like I was in a remedial class. At the end, he made me put my feet up on the wall and press my back into a raised block until I was suspended in the air like a magician’s assistant.

“I’m going to leave you there for thirty minutes” he said. I hoped he had got his numbers mixed up. I could feel blood pooling in odd places around my body.

I went to the ashram where The Beatles had stayed in the winter of 1968 while studying Transcendental Meditation under the guru, Maharishi Mahesh Yogi. They charged 150 rupees for locals and 600 for foreigners. The mark up still meant I was only paying £6 to visit somewhere I had dreamt about since I was a child.

I spent an hour and a half on my own, wandering around the various dilapidated buildings that make up the site. I don’ t know if I was supposed to duck inside and have a look around but I certainly did and nobody stopped me. I found the bungalow where the Beatles stayed at the top of a hill and took pictures of every single cracked wall and dead leaf-strewn floor. I could hear prayers being chanted from the Ganges as I strolled through the place pretending I could feel some kind of spiritual power in the air. 

That afternoon I ventured back to town and had some chai. Then I had afternoon yoga session – again Yogi Bobby pushed my body into weird positions and exaggerated his vowel sounds like they were stretched limbs.

My fourth day in Rishikesh allowed me to connect with another group – this time, Australian women who had checked into the rooms abandoned by the Americans. They were super friendly and possibly even louder. After breakfast I was taken on a tour of the villages in the mountains by my new best friend Anurag, who worked at the hotel. We talked about life in general and he asked why I wasn’t married. I was running out of excuses.

On the way back down the mountain he asked if I wanted to take a dip in one of the natural pools made by the ebbing river that headed down to become part of the Ganges. He then took the best photo of me that I’ve ever seen.

We swam about in our pants and I wondered if this was going to be the holiday romance I had been waiting for.

The rest of my day was mapped out for me. I went to get some chai and shared a cigarette with the stall guy who I had nicknamed Chai-man Mao. I then had lunch – another Indian classic – burger and chips. I followed up this heavy meal with an hour of head and body massage. It’s a good thing India recently legalised homosexuality because by the end of that hour I was ready to make my move on that man.

I then had another intense one to one session with Yogi Bobby before I was released to spend my evening out by the river.

The newest member of staff at the retreat, Aditya, had been offered the chance to take me down to Parnarth Niketan. There, on the banks of the Ganges, people were singing and putting little paper boats of candles and flowers into the water. The whole event was being filmed. There are 600-700 people that gather daily for this. It’s the same thing every night, like an episode of your favourite soap.

Aditya was so sweet and courteous, a real gentleman. He borrowed a motorbike from the hotel and I rode bitch as he instructed me on the various sights we saw along the way. He was a real gentleman.

That night I had dinner with the Australians and again had to hold court. They were really sweet and the conversation was a lot more spread down the table. They made sure I had plenty to eat, passing all the half-finished dishes of daal up to my end so I could get my eat on. I went to bed happy and full. It would be a long journey back to Delhi the following day.

I landed at around 10am, still dressed in the Canadian tuxedo I had worn to work the day before. I had one bag with me, hanging off one shoulder, full of what my friends call “Bastard shirts” – hideously glorious short sleeved Hawaiian-style tops. I also had toothpaste and some cotton buds so I was ready to party.

My driver (and yes, I feel like a total wanker saying that), Manish, was waiting for me in the arrivals hall. We went out to his car and started out on the worst buddy road trip movie of all time. He told me about his family and asked why I wasn’t married. I kept my sunglasses on to avoid eye contact and his questions. Driving around Delhi is like letting a toddler play Scaletrix.

In Agra, he left me with Naseem, my guide for the Taj Mahal. Naseem convinced me to jump the queue for tickets and then jump the queue for security. We approached the Taj and I was pleased that it was just as awe-inspiring as I had hoped it would be.

“Look at those arseholes” I said, pointing out a row of people with their hands outstretched like cranes, trying to get the shot that made them look like they were pinching the top of the tomb. Obviously, Naseem made me strike the same pose.

We then jumped that massive queue you can see in the background to go inside. People glared at me. The maddest thing about it is how balanced everything was. The place was perfect and white and the symmetry was too much for my eyes.

Inside, the rooms were hexagonal. Naseem mentioned something about milk and honey but I just thought of A A Milne so have no idea what he meant. He took a cool photo of me which has PPP (potential profile pic) written all over it.

I felt very white. To assist me in my whiteness, people queued up and asked to have photos with me. Understandably, my ego loved it. Look how much this small boy appreciates me. Do you appreciate me like this?

We took a series of awkward photos and then I headed off, telling them to make sure they told everyone they knew what a total rock star from Mars I am.

On the way out, Naseem made me stand in particular spots so I could see the Taj from a distance against the entry gate. There’s an optical illusion where it looks like it walks towards you as you walk away. I was reminded of a Magic Eye puzzle.

Manish picked me up and told me he wanted to show me some of the marble cutters who still worked with the same tools used on the Taj, 500 years later. I was taken into a workshop and this older guy with a moustache (there are a lot of great moustaches in India) took me through the process while two kids beside him handmade these intricate designs of precious stones cut on a lathe and set into flower shapes in slabs of marble. I was then taken into the back room where there were stacks of these beautiful marble plates and tables and elephants. They served me chai and the guy kept going on about how great marble is and how hard they work.

He is proper into this marble I thought to myself. Then he started trying to get me to commit to buying a £200 marble chopping board that he said they could Fedex to me when I said I didn’t have room and wasn’t carting that around. It had gone from a history lesson to a sales call. We debated it back and forth until instead of spending the cost of my return flight on a plate, I bought a wee wooden Ganesh for a fiver. Everyone was happy. I skipped back to the car and Manish drove me back to Delhi where I was staying at the Royal Plaza, a hotel so swanky that they locked the minibar before I arrived. I had to smash open a couple of off license Kingfishers on the bathroom unit. I slept like a corpse.