THE SMALLNESS OF THINGS

For Horris, the tadpole.

Miniature things make me happy. Once I found a tiny glass mermaid in the pocket of a charity shop cardigan, my world exploded, somehow everything made sense again. There’s something about the scaling down of a thing that rocks my bones.

When I was a miniature human, I made tiny paper dolls and houses for them to clean. My first love was a tadpole, which my sister had handed to me on a hot summer’s day and told me it was a baby frog. Madness I thought, how could a thing be so miniature that it doesn’t resemble its future self in the slightest. On seaside visits as a child, I would smuggle baby crabs into my pocket, housing them in the pre-loved cornflakes boxes I had made for the dolls. On one occasion, a tiny crab, Horris, survived the journey home. I was delighted. He was better than the dolls, he was alive. I had all kinds of plans for him; I would teach him to talk and knit. Horris didn’t make it, in an attempt to give him a makeover I failed to realise that blasting a hair dryer at him on full heat would cook his face.

Information reads better smaller; social media is way cuter on my phone than my PC – tiny Twitter bells and petite FB posts stand to the attention of my fingertips. A scaled down version of Mary Berry’s already lovely face really suits her, without reducing her talent or power.

Some clothes shrink well, but you should never do it on purpose, it ruins the surprise. Anyone who has ever lived with me will know my futile relationship with clothes and washing machines. The amount of times I have shrunk adult jumpers to fit babies, or boyfriend jeans to girlfriend jeans, is ridiculous. The only consolation is how doggone cute the clothes look afterwards, who doesn’t want to hold a tiny shrunken wool jumper up to the sky and pretend it’s a baby?

If you are ever feeling sad, Google ‘miniature horses’ – cheesecake for the mind.

High Fiving The Coconut

Growing up in a house full of kids, Halloween in Ireland was a blast - the joy of finding the ring in the Barmbrack, the Cornflake box Witches hats and, rather randomly, the coconut! – half the fun was getting it open, throwing it hard and fast at the kitchen wall hoping the coconut would crack first. Years later who knew this lovable hair-ball would make its way back into my life in such a big way; it’s classy inside mulched to a pulp, perfect on my face and bread. I’d use coconut oil to fuel my car but that’s ridiculous… everyone knows there’s no point having a car in London.

The only thing matching the diversity and power of a coconut is religion, no, I’ve gone too far. But what about money? Couldn’t we replace money with coconut produce – exchanging coconut oil for goods and services? a ‘coco-urrency’, if you will, you won’t?

Besides, money is cumbersome, when’s the last time you used a fifty pound note without apologising or feeling like a drug dealer? No such trouble with coconut oil; slip the retailer a handful of the stuff instead, or better still reach over the counter and apply it directly to their face and neck (NEVER forget the neck!).

With ‘coco-urrency’, there will be no use for credit cards or oyster cards, a small dollop of coconut butter will bring welcome relief to the forehead (or Neck!) of an overheated TFL worker. Owe your mate a tenner? Take them out for a coconut bulletproof coffee and the debt is clear. Hungry? Pig out in the oil-you-can-eat buffet.

Wasn’t the main problem with money that it didn’t grow on trees? well, coconuts do. With the lingering aroma of a thousand hot summers, coconut oil will make you glow, turning ashy knee caps into disco butter-balls as you crack open another ASOS package of short shorts, ripping the bag with your slippery coco-knuckles, this ones not going back!

With coco-urrency, tipping in restaurants will no longer be an awkward experience – a well oiled handshake to the host will make them feel appreciated and encourage the human contact we all long for.

Long gone will be the days of smelly fivers and loose change – those dank coins collecting themselves unhelpfully in small bowls around your house occasionally tipping over from the weight of their own disappointment. Banks will no longer exist – they will build huge swimming pools filled with coconut water and schools will be made of jelly, no, I’ve gone too far again…and mentioned the neck way too many times. That’s a weird word. Neck, Neck… Neck.

It’s All An Act

I still remember my first audition, it was for Findus Crispy Pancakes. There I was standing in front of the casting director, all legs and teeth, acting my face off. I was great, but another girl got it, her voice was flat, like soup.

Those who truly love you want you to be famous, those who don’t, don’t. I am making a list, I am keeping a record of all the non-believers of me and anyone who tries to make me stop acting. Then, when I get really famous I will sit these people down and tell them they will never be the plus one of my celebrity plus one tickets. Some of the people on this list are just regular people, so they’ll want the tickets even more.

Being an actor truly is great, but sometimes you get stereotyped, for example- regular people assume you are great with children, even if you don’t like children at all. And regular people assume you know everyone they know who are also actors, which can be tricky if the person they know is someone you think is rubbish or dumped you for being too talented/a picky eater.

Waiting for the Game of Thrones casting director to spot you on the street and realise you would make a refreshing addition to the cast CAN happen. Always be ready. For instance, one day you might be in Westfield shopping centre and bump into Richard Ayoade in a lift and get snapped up for the lead in his latest Indie film. I’m not suggesting you hang around shopping centres all day, just some of the day, like in the mornings. And if you see a famous actor in a coffee shop, pay attention to who they are with, if it is a regular person, that’s who you need to be following, and I don’t just mean on Twitter.

Have I seen you in anything? The moment you hear these words shout ‘Yes, This!’ and play them your show reel. There are many perks to being an actor. Recently my GP simply guessed I was an actor just by the way I opened the door. When regular people hear you are an actor they beam up, as if they have been tickled behind the ears. Often regular people work long hours in basements covered in paper cuts – you brighten up their day JUST by being an actor. Sure they’re disappointed when they haven’t ‘seen you in anything’ but I always cheer them up by letting them hold one of my head-shots.

Sometimes, regular people will offer you a drink or some food because they think you are still at the Rags stage of your Rags-to- Riches story, in any case accept the offer, it makes them feel better. Regular people like socialising with actors because actors are creative and energetic, like pop-corn or elastic bands. If a regular person looks sad and complains about their awful life, be ready, sing to them on the spot. Regular people love that.

Actors come alive at night. Regular people don’t understand this. Often I lay awake at night with my laptop on my belly nursing a box of Jaffa cakes and blazing a new trail for comedy. There’s something about the inky night silence that makes me feel like I’m getting ahead, on Netflix. Sure you might wake up in a frenzy of panic at 4am because you realise you may never get a mortgage or be able to afford a family or pay your bills or eat, ignore these feelings, they are for regular people. You are fine. Animals don’t have mortgages and look how happy they are. When’s the last time you saw a dog crying?

The King and I

Elvis is a beautiful creature. Yes I’m using IS, for obvious reasons.

I want to talk about his music, I do, but I was asked to say why I love him and it all happened for me via his 1960’s Technicolor movies, such as Blue Hawaii (1961) and Clambake (1967) – you won’t find them on Netflix.

I was a girl, Elvis was Elvis and my mother was smiling. She was smiling at the King on our silly old two-channel telly, he was smiling back. Despite the fact that, to me, he looked like he was made out of Lego, I was smitten.

Now, I know it’s not his most acclaimed work, the old acting, but what he may have lacked in role play he made up for in just about everything else, an undeniable allure, moves that would backseat Jagger and a performance quality that was both Jurassic and contemporary.

Take for example the musical Viva Las Vegas, sure a flimsy storyline but nonetheless completely watchable, generously peppered with sweet melodies about ‘love’ and heavily laden with 1960’s half-clad hellcats. These candy-flossed unrealistic story-lines grabbed the idle attention I had previously reserved for The Monkees, Bewitched and whatever else RTE had managed to acquisition from lands afar.

Now when I think of Elvis I think of my mother, Saturday mornings and the Californian sun I have yet to meet.