...as wise as this man: A Note for The Day

...Best Supporting Actress

It's that time of year again - award season. All of the best films of the past year get honoured and celebrated, and all of the best actors and actresses get applauded and appreciated. And what do we do - us mere mortals? Many of us pay no attention to these award ceremonies, some sit and admire but don't really care, others - and I can include myself in this final category - watch the actors, and silently pray that some day it will be them accepting the award.

'And the award for best actress goes to...(pause for effect)...GEORGIA ROBSON!'

How wonderfully fantastical that sounds.

Although, perhaps, I am one step closer to this fantasy coming true since this month I was offered a place at a London drama school. It still feels like a bit of a miracle, I shed a tear on the phone to mum when I told her the good news. It really is a wonder to me every time I think about it - I have done the rounds of auditions twice before and been highly unsuccessful. With more auditions to come in the next few weeks, I can only hope that my success so far hasn't been a fortunate stroke of serendipity, and that I have, actually, developed a modicum of talent and experience in the years since my first attempts which will see me through the rest.

Drama Schools have always functioned as gateways to the world of agents and casting directors, and whilst the training you get there doesn't necessarily propel you straight into the next Coen Brothers film, it does offer you the best opportunities to get you started in the ruthless and over subscribed world of acting.

Unless of course you are the son/daughter/cousin/godchild/friend/lover/pet of someone already established in the acting world; then you need not worry, the next Coen film may well be waiting on your doorstep. Lucky bastard.

The way in which you get into the business becomes irrelevant when you are up on that stage, gong in hand, with a million thank yous to get through and a huge audience beaming up at you - so impressed and proud of your work. I can imagine that a lot of things become irrelevant at this moment actually - there is no need to worry about the caliber of your last role; no need to fret over the critics reaction to that tv series you did; no need to panic about the next move, because someone, somewhere is probably already on the phone to your agent, booking you for their next big blockbuster.

You can be assured at this point that it wasn't just a fortunate stroke of serendipity but a huge dollop of talent and experience you got landed with, and that you really have succeeded. I would give my right arm for that. Maybe I'll get the chance to some day if Danny Boyle has anything to do with it.

...new in the New Year

It is the new year, and I am finally writing again. It has been a while but as you may have read I suffered for a short time from that horrid affliction they call writer's block. So I took a break, I relaxed, I spent quality time at home...then I flew to South Africa and spent two weeks in the sun!!!

It was amazing, and yet slightly odd at the same time - my body was sure it was winter (the 2 week period at the start of the holidays when I began storing food for hibernation may have had something to do with that) and yet there I was, in my bikini, sunbathing in 40 degree heat. Like I said, odd.

I was over there for New Year's eve, and spent the night in ridiculously cool surroundings, looking out over a pretty spectacular view of Cape Town. It was one of those nights that makes you feel happy to be alive and a bit sentimental, and I decided right there and then that 2011 would be no ordinary year for me. It was to be the year I would do what I wanted, when I wanted; I would make things happen for myself, and in return good things would come my way. Whilst I cannot take the praise for this phrase, 'just wing it' was adopted as my new mantra. In a year which will no doubt be a rocky one, with the end of university and the start of something very much unknown in sight, this phrase seems the perfect antidote to all of those worries and apprehensions bumbling around my brain.

Just wing it; essentially, don't think it over, just do it - go for it, engage, live it, be brave. Some may say it's radical (not many will), I will say it's necessary if I am going to survive this year. However, this mantra is not just about making it through the more challenging times ahead but also about being able to appreciate the here and now - the home stretch, here in the safety net that is university. I want to be able to look back on this final chapter without a single regret or doubt obstructing my view.

As long as I endeavor to do the things that make me happy and content, this will be the case. Don't most people always do the things that make them happy and content, you ask? Well, yes, but most people are not me...I have a tendency to do things because others think I should; because I can't say 'no' to people very easily; because I hate to feel like I've let someone down; because my ego likes a good boost from time to time and if someone wants me to choreograph a dance piece for them because they have noticed I am quite good at that then that's quite nice really, isn't it? So I do the dance piece and it is fine, but it's not something I particularly wanted my tuesday and friday nights to be taken up by. This term there will be none of that; there will be no dance pieces founded in obligation or flattery - there will just be activities chosen by me, for me, and that is that.

Since coming home from SA I have felt unusually high-spirited; I am content and happy with life for the most part. Maybe it is the effect of the African sun; the excitement of being tanned amongst a sea of pale Britons? Or is it perhaps my new mantra? I have been busy since being back on home soil, as is the norm, but busy doing things I actually want to do, not things I feel I should be doing for someone else's sake (or for the sake of my C.V.) and it is this, I believe, that has brought this eternal sunshine into my life.

This may be the year I actually stick to my new year's resolution - I think I shall be 'winging it' for a while longer yet. 

...a blogger (again)

My blog posts have been rather thin on the ground of late (insert snow related joke) and the reason for this is because I have taken a hit recently; something has gotten the better of me - something that I thought would never have the chance to get the better of me. No, it's not the swine, it is writer's block.

Yes, writer's block has knocked me for six and I am at a loss as to how to resolve the issue. See, I never thought I would ever be a writer and thus never thought I would be suffering from said affliction. I mean, I am not saying that I am a literary genius or anything (Good old Dr. Seuss' got that covered) but I suppose I do 'write'. I am 'writing' now. Actually, I am typing - I thought I should be honest. I do wish I was scrawling with an inky quill in a leather bound note pad though (with only the light of my solitary candle to see by, and an old dog for company). That ain't the case though, so lets not get sentimental about it, now where was I... Ah. Writer's block.

It came as rather a shock the first time I realised what had happened. I sat down at my desk, with a cup of steaming coffee in hand and my creative head on, all ready to bash out another humorous-yet-clever-with-a-hint-of-melancholy post for you all to get your teeth into when suddenly my brain froze. Actually, just one part of my brain froze (the bit that comes up with the humorous-yet-clever-with-a... you know the drill), the rest of it went BESERK. I had no idea what was going on! Why couldn't I write anything?? Why couldn't I THINK of anything to write?? I tell you, the experience is not a nice one. I shouldn't wish it upon anyone (except maybe Piers Morgan).

I am still in the throws of this affliction. Yes yes I know I am writing this but this doesn't count as I am talking about my writer's block, and not actually writing about anything else - you see! It has taken over my brain. Argghh. In fact, I am even running out of things to write about writer's block...this is a very sorry state of affairs.

Send your remedies this way please. Let's have this sorted by Christmas, eh? That's the spirit.

...a couch potato

The fact that I have not written a blog post since November sort of sums up this post before I even write a second sentence. It has been a hectic few months to say the least (Santa has got nothing on me). However, term is over and I am finally home in the beautiful north, sitting back in the comforts of my family home - not a grimy carpet or empty cupboard in sight. There is a Christmas tree waiting to be decorated and hours of christmas tv to emerse myself in.

Yet, before I sink into the sofa for good, I feel I need to take a few moments to look back over my final ever 'first term' and come to some conclusions about it (I am a terribly pensive creature at times).

September to December has been a bit of a rollercoaster ride - but a rollercoaster ride at flamingo land, that is essentially a bit shit. There was a mini high when I got back to uni, followed by a massive low when my loan didn't come in, then a slow incline, another high and finally it sort of petered out on the home straight.

You may liken it to the X-factor live shows - mini high on the eve of the first show, massive low when you realised you had 10 more weeks to get through, a slow incline as you realised Wagner was progressing much further than anyone could have hoped, another high as Katie Waissel was finally give the boot, and then it sort of petered out when you remembered you could just wait for the result each week to filter through your facebook news feed.

Ok, so I may be trivialising things a little bit; the tiredness that hit in the home straight has dulled the highs a bit, yet thinking back, I have had quite an extraordinary term.

Back in september, I was given a show to present on the student radio station, which has resulted in me interviewing ridiculously brilliant people and gaining work experience at a REAL LIFE radio station (student radio does not fall under this category). I also got a job at the Students Union. Yes people, this was a highlight. Call me a Loser and a Nerd if you want but the SU really helped me - financially and otherwise (I learnt how to drink enough so that you are able to fall down stairs).

On a more serious note though, I did sign up for an Open-mic Night and successfully navigated my way through 2 songs in front of a silly amount of people. I love singing, but singing in front of people is something I don't do; I just don't. But I did that night, and it was the most amazing feeling in the world. And I shall do it again. And I might just tell people about it this time...but that is a big might.

So whilst I did struggle with money, and had a schedule that resembled that of an elf's in Santa's grotto who ballsed up the List two days before christmas, I have actually had a really great few months. I am pleased that in my third year at Royal Hollway (aka the bubble) I have not been slitting my wrists and praying for the day that I can escape the place, but rather making the most of these last few months we have in the safety net that is education.

Right, so some conclusions have been made, and a blog post has been written. Now to write that essay, read a few plays and get to the gym. I guess I wont be sinking into the sofa just yet then...

...in a winter wonderland

The snow is here! Well, it's up north. Back home in Newcastle and Durham, there were four inches this morning. Mother called; she pretended to be annoyed at the situation but I know fine well she can't wait for me to get home so she has someone to build a snowman with.

'Georgia pet, you should go out and get some fresh air you know, it will make you feel miles better' roughly translates as, 'GEORGIA IT'S SNOWING AND MY INNER CHILD HAS BEEN AWOKEN! I WANT TO GO OUTSIDE AND PLAY WITH THE SNOOOWWWWWW!' Last year, I built an igloo (I know, I know - bloody impressive) and she could barely keep away.


Adults try and deny the joy they feel when the snow begins to fall - they feel it necessary to moan about it instead. I, however, do not understand why it is a problem that 'the roads are so bad I can't make it into work' - at what age do you stop appreciating occasions when nature intervenes and stops you from having to do the mundane things that are normally unavoidable?

I am sure you all felt the same joy and satisfaction I did when school was closed because the ice and snow had created conditions too treacherous for public use; or, when the roads had been flooded so badly by the rain storms the previous night that there was no way you were making it to college that day.

Ahh, such guilt-free pleasure.

I don't think the arrival of snow will ever make me grumpy. For me, snow has connotations of magic and enchantment; it makes me think of home-comforts, love and childhood fun. While many of you may have hoped for that letter of acceptance into Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, I was always secretly hoping to find the wardrobe into Narnia (minus the scary White Queen, if possible).

Anyway, as I hear news of the snow and as I sense the down hill slope towards the end of term drawing near, all I want to do is sip at hot drinks, wrap up in my warmest of woolies, listen to festive music and snuggle down in front of a log fire without the worry of busy timetables and approaching deadlines.

Word on the street is that the snow is to arrive here, in the south, in the next day or so. I am brimming with joy at this news. So if I am not struggling through an essay in Founders Library, with Mumford and Sons', 'Winter Winds' to keep me company, you will be sure to find me either sat by a log fire surrounded by empty mince pie cases, with a wooly hat on my head and a mug of eggnog in my hand, or outside frolicking in the beautiful snow ( filled with mince pies, a wooly hat on my head and a mug of eggnog in my hand).

Come and join me :)

...a little less grey

There's a pensiveness about me today that feels like it has the power to engulf me if I don't do something about it. It's as if a greyish mist has settled around me, cushioning me and lulling me into its depths. It isn't a frightening feeling, in fact it's one that I could quite happily allow to envelop me in that guilty-pleasure sort of way. I musn't let this happen though; I must stand up to it and unwrap its fuzzy arms from around my waist; I must push its head away from the nape of my neck where it rests, and wriggle from its grasp.

Perhaps its the late nights, or the darkness creeping in at each end of the day, or something else entirely...

There is a song that has me sort of mesmerised whilst I sit in the warmth of this mist, doodling and dreaming and staring out at the blackening sky...

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=D9AFMVMl9qE&playnext=1&list=PL36F2E00D3E72E901&index=23

The words are really quite beautiful, if a little sentimental, but have me hooked.

And now to escape from the clutches of this greyish haze and the silly emotional spell that has befallen me, and on with the evening...

...an optimist

My fourth radio show today went (almost) without a hitch. I am starting to relish the hours spent in the studio with just the sound of my own voice for company, and the knowledge that somewhere, out there, someone could be listening to what I have to say and appreciating it. The fact that I received zero emails again this week puts serious doubt in my mind about the existence of this solitary listener, however, as someone wise* once said, ‘you gotta have faith (a-faith a-faith)’.

This week I was lucky enough to be treated to an interview with the BBC Radio Sports presenter/producer (and Royal Holloway alumni), Ed Harry, who gave some amazing feedback on his life as a Holloway student back in the late 90’s and on his current career at the Beeb. He was an amazing advocate for a career in radio and totally inspiring.

Ed knew what he wanted to do from the age of 15, and endeavored to make that happen from then on. At 16, he was working at his local radio station in Cornwall and writing for his school newspaper. When he arrived at Royal Holloway he started writing for the student paper, and started up the radio society, which is now the radio station from which I broadcast my show. His c.v. must have looked rather impressive by the time he came to graduate.

I am not far off graduating and feel that my c.v. has some serious gaps in comparison. While I feel grateful to Ed for sharing his experiences and advice, hearing how he was so pro-active from such an early age makes me quiver in my boots.

It makes me wish I could either,

1) control time and rewind back to make sure I was pro-active and focused 5 years earlier than I actually was;

2) be in possession of the Queens Nose 50 pence piece and wish my way to success or,

3) exchange my mother for Julie Walters/Judy Dench/any successful actress and my father for Ian Mckellan/David Jason/any successful actor (this would surely give me some helpful contacts).

Given that option 1 is impossible and options 2 and 3 are a tad ludicrous, I will just have to deal with my lot in life and continue on with grit and determination in pursuit of my dream.

I may not have known what I wanted to do at the age of 5 and by the age of 8 I may not have had my first presenting job on the Disney channel – but this is no reason to panic; I am still bright-eyed and bushy-tailed and have time to gain experience and fill in those gaps on the old c.v.

It’s never too late – and I say this more to myself than anyone else – have faith.

*I use the term ‘wise’ in relation to George Michael, loosely. I do not advocate DUI, indecent exposure, or cheesy pop songs.

...a radio whiz

You may, or may not, be aware of the fact that you are reading the blog of the next Jo Whiley/Sara Cox/Annie Mac. Yes, I am on my way to the upper echelons of the media broadcasting world with only my discerning wit and raw talent for company. Soon the words 'Georgia' and 'Robson' will not have to be mentioned consecutively in order for you to know that it is moi who is the topic of conversation. Radio will never be the same again, and all will be dwarfed by my presence.

Orrrrrrrr, not.

I had you all for a second though, didn't I?! Where did I lose you? Was it at the words 'next Jo Whiley'? Or did you teeter on for a bit, get to 'upper echelons' and realise I was pulling your proverbial leg?

Let's be frank about this - I am not the next bigshot radio presenter. That's that.

I do, however, have a radio show. It is in its infancy, and just like a new born, it should bring me joy and fulfillment but actually only brings me sleepless nights, shed loads of worry and a hell of a lot of work. You see having a radio show - in theory - is marvelous. Yet, in reality, only when you have a team of producers/technicians around you pulling levers and pressing buttons and keeping you on track, a plethora of willing guests, and a good few millennia of experience under your belt does the theory actually match the reality. Until then, the fear of hosting your on show, during which you have to be constantly engaging, entertaining and technically 'on-the-ball' is completely paralysing.

I have had two shows up till now, the second being the worst, suprisingly. My first show was a melange of nerves, bad song choices and a motley crew of guests (and when I say guests I mean reluctant mates who I dragged into the studio to act as human lifeboats, just in case the show started to go under). I had one email into the studio during the whole show, which was from one of my guests who had escaped and made it back to the safety of his own home. The excitement of this email was soon dampened by the fact it was him and not a rogue listener who had tuned in to hear my dulcit tones on air. Oh well, at least it was an email. My second show was devoid of any form of outside communication.

The second show which aired just yesterday (the experience is still quite raw) had similar aspects to the first. Nerves were present, bad songs choices in abundance (I blame this on the nerves as never in my own time would I sit and listen to the drone of The Bangles', Manic Monday) yet there was a severe lack of guests. In fact, there was a severe lack of people in general - I was a lone wolf for the duration of the show and it was a harrowing experience; hearing your own forced laughter echoing of the walls of the empty studio and rattling through the corridors is a real atmosphere killer. Anyway, I did my best to emulate some sort of energy and engagement with the listeners. Well, I would of, had there been any. Yes, this week I didn't even get ONE email. Nor did I get a text or a tweet. No one commented on my content; no one offered up a shout-out or a high-five for the good work; It was a one way road in a deserted land.

It was a humbling experience.

The show must go on though and so it did. I stumbled my way around the buttons and switches, deciding this week to bring in my own laptop to use as well as the two computer screens and switchboards I already had to manage (good one, Georgia). There were errors and stutters and a whole array of technical blunders, but I made it to the other side and live to tell the tale.

The feeling after the show is euphoric. I literally feel like I am flying - I MADE IT THROUGH!!!!!! And yes, I make mistakes but never as many as I allow myself to imagine I might make before I go on air. If I'm honest, it is all worth it for that post-show high. I cannot wait for the time when I am completely in control of all those buttons and levers and could conduct the show with my eyes closed (if the need arose); I eagerly await the day that I have guests queuing at the door to come on air with me and I will think back to these days as a rookie presenter, and throw my head back and laugh at the inexperienced me.

Until then though, I am quite content to put up with the sleepless nights and worrisome days...as long as I get some bloody emails.

...in the money: Part III 'Income(ing)'

Readers, it has been a while, but I am back with another installment of this seemingly hilarious tale of financial woes.

Entering student life, as most of you will know, pretty much leads to minus numbers in your bank account - but it's manageable. However I have reached new levels this term as a result of my phantom loan and an overdraft the size of Mary Byrne's chest. Today I got some more good news (not). I received a lovely email from the college stating that they were reducing the amount of money I receive through a scholarship programme. This is essentially because they refuse to acknowledge that the economy has shifted this past year and therefore won't change any of their criteria. How moronic.

I swear someone smacked me with the unlucky stick sometime in early September and I am still reeling from it now.

Saying that, a little luck has started to trickle through as last week I announced to the world that..... (drum roll please)..... I was employed! Yes, I have secured an income; I am no longer a scavenger living of money that isn't mine - I can now call my mother up, with my head held high, and say, 'mum, I am a working woman, please can I borrow a tenner'.

I was pretty ecstatic when I got the news. I mean, it's only a job behind the bar at the S.U, and I have to deal with drunk, imbecilic loons till 3 in the morning who request ludicrous amounts of sambuca shots and then proceed to spill them all over the bar in their comatosed state (but then stare at you with that look that says 'that was my fault but I am going to try and pin it on you').

However beggars can't be choosers and I most certainly was a beggar. I still am a beggar for now...but luck - and money - are incoming, so I feel things may turn around for me after all.

...'the blogger'

The blogger - definition*:

One who is given this label due to the writing of a blog. Often given this label in jest - for the amusement of others.

This is an odd post as I have not - and am not currently - aspiring to be 'the blogger of the group'. It is a label that has befallen me ever since word spread to the masses about this blog of mine (when I say masses, I mean my facebook friends).

Last night, I found myself surrounded by said 'group'. The subject of my blog popped up in conversation as a fan of mine (bahaha) mentioned to the others that I had a blog, and that he was a frequent reader - excellent news. However, the mention of my blog did not spark a discussion on the quality of writing, the role of blogs in our society, or a discussion on how it came about ('my story: from blog-rags to blog-riches'). What did occur was an explosion of blog-related gags and witty comments that flowed for the rest of the night; my drinking game name was blog-f*uck and it wasn't a problem if anyone missed a joke, or an anecdote, as I would blog about it the next day.

I want to note, at this point, that none of this offended me or had me crying in the loos - regretting the day I submitted that first post. It was flattering (to a degree) and yet it made me think about how some people must now perceive me.

This may come as a shock to you all, but many of my 'friends' on facebook and twitter are not actually my friends. I KNOW - it's disturbing (lets just keep calling them friends for now for fear I might offend and because it is possible these 'friends' include you). Yet these 'friends' can still get to my blog, read it, judge it, scorn it, praise it, without knowing anything else about me but what is written here. So to many of you out there, I am the girl who blogs - 'the blogger'. I am simply that girl who is having money troubles; the one who went to the same gym as a dwarf and a dennis the menace lookalike; the busy one. Forever** people will say to me, 'you write a blog don't you?' and the words, 'I read your blog today' will be the sentence that saves me and this other person from that awkward silence that comes in a conversation after the pleasantries are out of the way.

So, I have become the blogger. I suppose there could be worse things.

p.s. They were right. I have blogged about it the next day.

*unofficial definition
**I say forever, my blog could dry up next week, but I'm taking the 'glass is half full' route here

...a bee: part II

Me - in a nutshell: