The Present Day

There is nothing worse than a blank page staring at you, mocking you, daring you to have something remotely original or interesting to say. I have neither, I promise you. I guarantee nothing original or interesting. All I have is my story. Which may only appeal to one person. And that's possibly my stalker. But it's my story and I'm going to tell it. So feel free to dip in and out.

I started this blog in March 2007 because I was travelling and teaching in Spain before throwing myself fully into acting. It kept me relatively sane and amused quite a few people. I then took a break from it whilst life sort of did its cute little thing of happening and believe me when I say those are stories no-one wants to hear. At least not without the security of knowing that those stories are now retro-anecdotes with a rosey comic and/or ironic tint as delivered by the now safe and sound author.

What I'm trying to say is shit happened, and I'm now in a position to make it funny. Ish. But I'm not going to try and cover everything in one fell swoop. I'm just going to gently bring you up to date.

Back in 2007, I walked across Spain - El Camino de Santiago. Quite the adventure. Also went to Las Vegas in August to meet and interview Kristine M Smith about Deforest Kelley for the 40th anniversary of Star Trek. That was fun. Quite the geekorama but I spent most of my time in the $18m pool enjoying the desert heat. I then returned to England to tie up various things with a view to taking my chances in the US (Los Angeles).

I had plane ticket to explore the New World properly but that's when things imploded. My dad was killed by the French (walked into a van in Paris driven by a Congolese gentleman because he looked the wrong way... so there's a chance I'm being liberal with that synopsis), flat sale fell through because the pussy buying it broke his arm on contract day, and I had to find a job (a proper one).

Then I took a dramatic fall (or rather a very stupid and undramatic fall off the tiniest step in the whole world) and couldn't walk properly for several months at which point we're in 2008, finally selling the flat and then one day I woke up and realised I was free. And my foot was working. That brings us nicely to September 2008. (There was a psycho boyfriend, an inquest report and a scary roommate during that time but I'm saving it for my sitcom).

Then following various acting jobs there was an audition in LA. Then I got signed by a nice man. He's an agent and everything. Which helps. I went back to the UK, filmed one or two things in London and Cardiff for the BBC which was fun and then I moved to LA in December. And here I am.

There are certain procedures when entering a country like America which I'm still under-going. Visa stuff. So I have spent most of the last 6 months meeting people and exploring. And going a bit cuckoo.

My insanity was temporarily lifted/further fuelled by attending the Gallifrey One (Doctor who) Convention in LA. I met several writers and several luverly people and enjoyed being pursued by a Dalek. And hiding in the TARDIS.



It's always inspiring to hear these people (writers, producers, actors) talk. I mean, once you're over the profound and all-consuming jealousy. But really. It was fun. Like the Star Trek convention I spent most of the time chatting to people and being slightly disconcerted by the amount of people in costume, but there was no pool this time. Totally hit it off with Colin Baker who was distressed at having to actually audition for things again. Actors have it so rough. There are only a few acting jobs in London, and I think John Barrowman's got all of them.


Another LA Story


Suicide Rock, Hiking in Idyllwild.

So. Quick LA recap: Four days after I arrived, a man living in the building opposite me fell off his 5th floor balcony whilst in a crack-induced stupor. Completely naked. At 10.30am on a Sunday. I mean, it's not like there's ever a good time for that sort of thing but I'm quite sure that 10.30am on a Sunday is not the most appropriate time to fall naked and cracked-out from a balcony. We thought we heard a gun shot. But it was him landing. I went into 'save a life mode' (little bit of fall-out from the perpetual bereavement) and ran like the wind. Suffice to say I could never be a paramedic. If I ever get alzeimers I'm hoping that this image is the first to go.

He died within the hour. I did try to save him but the only reason he didn't die instantly was because the cocaine stopped his brain from realising he'd fallen to his death. That was horrific. He was 30 years old and this was 3 days before Christmas. Plus I kept thinking about the people who'd rushed to my dad when he had his accident and what they must have seen. Horrible. I decided at that point that I would not live in Hollywood.

I made the mistake of relating this event to my brother over the phone. I was upset. I was not thinking. Of course my brother reacted the way any older brother would. Kind of a 'get the f**k out of there' reaction. But I firmly believe that cracked-up naked men falling to their death from balconies is an omni-geographical issue. But nevertheless, I moved away from Hollywood and stayed with a man I'd just met at a party who lived in Venice Beach. I did not tell my brother about that.

The man turned out to be very, very cool and is one of my closest friends here. We shared a spirit of adventure. You know, the "HEY wanna drive from LA to Washington DC to see Obama's inauguration and then drive back and see loads of stuff?" kind of spirit of adventure.

Consequently, we drove through 15 States and back to see America's first black president inaugurated. I took in the Civil Rights Museum in Memphis which taught me about a lot of things I hadn't fully appreciated whilst snuggled in my idealistic view on the world. I walked around the museum in tears. I've stubbornly insisted that it's no big deal that Obama's black because it doesn't matter. I now understand that I've been very lucky to have the kind of life where it hasn't mattered. I get it now.

It was a monumental day, but honestly my residing memory is being sure that my toes were going to snap off in the freezing cold. I have never been so cold in my entire life. It hurt like hell. I had to take pain killers. 7 hours in a field. The grand children better bloody well appreciate that one.



I saw Southern California, Arizona, New Mexico, Texas, Arkansas, Tennessee, Virginia (total blizzard), froze to death in DC but was revived by how incredibly beautiful it is. Then travelled through Ohio and Indiana to Illinois where we stopped to stay with friends and enjoy Chicago. In January. Chicago. In January. Seriously. Why do people live there?? I was traumatised getting from the car to the house. The snow looked gorgeous, though. And Lake Michigan I just wanted to skate across.

We returned through Iowa, Nebraska, Colorado, Utah and back into Arizona again. I saw the Rockies. I saw Monument Valley. I had the best damn coffee ever in a Mexican bar in Arizona. Saw the Grand Canyon. Again. (Saw it the year before when in Las Vegas, Nevada). Which brings me up to a total of 16 States. Not bad. Though I totally slept though Indiana. I was also deeply impressed that despite the bitter cold, the midwest still managed to stink of shit.

People asked what my parents thought of my travelling across the USA with a man I'd known for a couple of weeks. I explained I was at an advantage because they were dead. That's a conversation stopper. But in any case, he'd had plenty of opportunities to murder me before we got in a car together. And to date, he still hasn't tried to. Nice guy.

Lately my travelling has been restricted to California: Hiking in Idyllwild and Malibu, visiting San Francisco and returning down the coastal route to LA. Amazing things. And still no-one has tried to murder me. Phew.



The Present Day.

It's June. I have a house to live in and a car to drive (and that's an adventure in itself. I leave my will somewhere accessible everytime I take the freeway). I've met people who have come to LA from India, Spain, France, Germany, Syria, Nigeria, Canada, Korea, Australia, and of course the UK. It's the same language mostly but so many words mean different things which can lead to severe confusion. They don't use the word savoury. How can people live like that?

Deforest Kelley's 10 year anniversary is coming up. I just had an article of mine published in the latest book about him: The Enduring Legacy of Deforest Kelley. Later this month I will be hosting his biographer. So I'm still doing the same stuff I started out doing when I first came to America. It's almost as if the cyclone never hit. Except I can't Skype my dad, which will never be OK. Ever. Death is such a crap idea.

Anyway, I just completed my first novel. I am working on a script. I am waiting for auditions and trying not to die of envy every time I hear anything about Doctor Who, my beloved English show which I blame for all this fiery ambition. I nearly went to Chicago this weekend (June, much warmer and more sensible) to write up the goings on at the Torchsong convention (another sci fi thing), but I forgot to earn money so it was impossible. Plus it hasn't exactly gone to plan up there. I may have to capture the cast in a butterfly net and keep them in a padded cell.

So that brings us to the present day. I have a big birthday party coming up. There's also a bouncy castle picnic party in Griffith Park on June 14th. That alone is a reason to live for anyone out there currently experiencing despair. A bouncy castle. Picnic party. And it's free! Come ON people! Then I'm visiting the UK in July to remember what it looks like, check in with English and Welsh agents, and relax in the arms of my grandmother. Oh, and stock up on jelly babies, maltesers and E45 face cream. America has some serious short-comings.

In the meantime, I have a month to write far too many things and conduct some thorough research (watch HBO shows). So back to the grindstone. I shall try to update you with various adventures and whatnot but sometimes life does that cute little thing again and before you know it I'm on an art walk carrying a 10 week old puppy meeting people from all over the world and being asked out to a Woody Allen movie press screening. Or I'm rock climbing. Or I'm learning to surf. And then staying up till 4am editing my book. And meeting stunt men from Star Trek Origins. And spending time with writers for pilot shows I can't even discuss here for fear of leakage.

I just keep thinking... this is so cool.

But even so I cannot wait to see my grandmother.