there's no business like it
I so wanted to write a post called 'meet the ockers', but sadly the joke would have fallen super flat, since most readers won't understand the slang and, more importantly, the Aussie contingent that I am on the verge of moving in with are not in the least ocker-like. Not to mention I began drafting tiny sketches of each of the prospective housemates and failed miserably to be witty. Still, it could have been a good headline.
Equally, it comes to me now that I might have used 'audition' to great effect by infering the prospectiveness of housemate status and theatre roles, unfortunately though to me that word conjures the image of a severed and bloody foot sliding down a window (if you're not a fan of outre Japanese horror - and funnily enough after seeing that film I can assure you that I'm not - the reference might well be lost on you, sorry). Incidentally, as evidence that bad movies can ruin a person's sensibilities forever (and against their will), can I please give you a sample of dialogue from the film Highlander: "A man's disbembered body ly-ing on the floor next to his own severed head, a head that of this time has no name." [beat] " I. KNOW. HISSSS. NAME." That's what immediately played in my head when I read of the tragic murder of a man in London and the trigger? The use of the phrase 'nearly severed'.
What I'm trying to explain - despite the inappropriate digressions - is that I'm feeling rather upstaged by the new cast members. I fear that the UB, and more importantly my real life, will suddenly morph into some kind of sycophantic backstage tale, living in the limelight, but only by proxy.
I wasn't kidding in yesterday's post, Housemate J (who happens to be my sister in law) really does have star wattage. You know those tiny post-production sparkles that appear with a 'ting' on teeth in terrible 1950s pastiches? Well, Housemate J is the only person I've ever met with real ones in her eyes. Imagine living in close proximity to that level of dazzle - how will my extraordinarily fragile ego survive? My friend from way back, ex-beauty therapist E, has something of the same glamour, but in many respects it's like comparing a finale firework with the unknowing brightness of summer sunshine.
Anyway, let's just get on with it and break the news: Housemate J could soon be going supernova. Today she heard from a bigshot casting director for a West End musical the magic words: please audition for us. The call galvanised the room, it was an electric moment. Housemate J went from flat to sharp, Housemate D (her boyfriend, wake up at the back!) went from supine ("yeah, I have a paying gig lined up that will pay the rent") to at attention ("what was the casting director's name? I'll type up my CV now"). I felt pride and pleasure mixed.
I am shallow and somewhat dim, pride and pleasure were mixed with despair and self-doubt: you're not funny, you're not clever (witness failure at BSc and crappy/second-rate grades at A-level and degree), you're not pretty and you're not charismatic, you're not even going to ever return to that novel you thought of years and years ago, in fact you can't even manage to write a fabulous blog post - even though you truly want to and even when you manage to think of a half-decent title! Why are you still bothering to breathe?
I think, should TA's plan of all moving in together go ahead - and it looks like it will, the UB will change dramatically.