The Bear and the Hungarian Princess

I wish I was a bear. Let me elaborate and broaden this statement. I'd like to be any type of hybernating animal. Why? Consider this: in the Spring and Summer, you frolick around in the lush grass of the meadows, stuffing yourself silly with berries and other wild fruit and honey (if you're a bear that is - and I'm quite partial to honey, especially since it's excluded from the Dukan Diet, hence my preference for bears). You get as fat as you can. Then, when the days start to shorten and the leaves start to fall from the trees, after a last meal of gorgeous hazelnuts you bury yourself deep underground in an accommodating and comfy den and then sleep for months. Then, when you wake up, it's Spring and - here's the best part - you're skinny!

Look me in the eye and tell me that you don't want to come back as a bear next time around... (of course, make sure to specify what kind of bear... you  don't want to come back as a panda and be stuck in a zoo eating bamboo leaves and being encouraged to copulate with your panda mate that you don't fancy one bit.)

Now on to the Hungarian princess bit. Kate Middleton and Prince William are engaged to be married and of course everyone is very very happy for them... but the BBC seems very keen on pointing out every five minutes that she is a "commoner". How progressive! Hey, at least she's English, she's not a benefit fraud, she's not a divorcee, and she's even from the Home Counties. What more do they want? Actually she's from good middle class stock and apparently a 15th cousin of Prince Williams so there's a bit of aristo in her. And unlike journos her grammar is near perfect...

Speaking of perfect grammar. What passes for my British accent overseas disturbs the English. I don't have an accent: no regional twang, no social class twang (genuine or affected), so they can tell I'm not from here. I'm tired of having to justify my accent to everyone from Taxi drivers to call centre workers...  Did you ever watch "My Fair Lady" ? When Professor Higgins takes Eliza Doolittle's to a very posh reception as a final test? One of the guests is heard commenting: "Her accent is too perfect... she must be a Hungarian Princess!". More of that please, and less "Where are you from?".

Moving on, I had a casting today for a well known chain of eyewear. It was right behind Oxford Circus and I'd never been to that particular studio. I arrived early, rang the interphone and duly climbed the stairs, all five floors, to the casting studio. I whiled away the time chatting with a fellow actor as we waited our turn. Me: "Boy, it's a long way up! I'm pretty fit I think but I was starting to struggle there towards the end. You wouldn't want to come up those stairs if you had a dodgy ticker!." Him: "I don't know, I took the lift..." I hadn't realised there was a lift... Anyway, his name was Toby and he was about 6 foot 2 and we auditioned together standing side by side which must have looked quite hysterical. He was really lovely and warm and I wish him all the best.

So here's to happy couples, long royal marriages, Hungarian Princesses and hungry bears!

The Birth of Venus and the Death of Peter Pan

Peter Pan is dead! Long live Venus! I think I may have finally caught up with myself.

Would you like me to expand on the topic?

They say (they who? I don't know: psychologists, people in white coats, scientists) that our self-perception trails our age by some 10 years. Never one to do things by halves, I think mine was trailing by some 25...if not 30! There were lots of clues: dressing like a pixie for starters, minimal make-up whenever I could get away with it, intense dislike of shopping for clothes, use of my higher pitch voice as default, marked preference for pop music aimed at 12 year old girls (Beyonce, Gaga, Shakira, Pussy Cat Dolls...and Britney Spears and everything in between), and a fierce resistance to anything that would label me as officially grown-up: driving the car regularly, allowing myself to be called "Tata" (no not tatas... Tata is the French word for Auntie), voting, and acknowledging an hour glass figure.

But no more! The watershed occurred last Friday.

Last Friday, I had some new headshots done for Spotlight, the casting website. They're pretty ego-bashing and vanity destroying  because in the UK the convention is that they should be unretouched, in black and white and you are expected to wear minimal make-up and look "natural" (the Americans in the Industry kindly refer to it as "the Freak show") Remember that issue of Harper's Bazaar with the supermodels wearing no make-up? Well you get the gist.

The photo shoot in itself is not that challenging. I mean, you can't see yourself! The crunch comes when you get the proofs... and are confronted with some 200 images of your face. And at first you don't recognise yourself (we forget that the right side becomes the left in the mirror...) and then comes the second shock wave: this is how other people see me?

...

The answer is usually "Yes!". "Yes that is how other people see you. Deal with it."

I like my pictures. They're rather nice. The photographer was lovely and very talented. His name is Vincenzo and I will be posting some of the photos as soon as they come back from the printers so you can judge for yourselves.

But that wasn't my watershed. I am used to having my photo taken. I am used to being filmed wearing no make-up and shot half naked with a wide angle lense... No, my watershed came when I realised looking at those proofs, that I was no longer 10 years old, or 15 or even 25. That I was a grown up woman. All grown up! And that if I didn't start living up to this grown up woman, dressing her like a woman, celebrating her (slender) hourglass figure with dresses and skirts and pretty tops, then I will end up looking like one of those really sad make-over cases that you see on telly. And I really don't want that to happen. I mean, would you?

So I'm making some changes. Considering using one of those personal shoppers/stylists at Selfridges. Making an effort. Wearing nail polish. Smiling at the sound of wolf-whistles. And celebrating all of my grown up birthdays to date in one go!

So it's out with the Covent Garden flower seller in My Fair Lady and in with Breakfast at Tiffany's. Or, I dare you!:  the fountain scene in La Dolce Vita...