Yes, please.

Applications I made today include:


Sport Relief presenter
Quiz show pilot
ABBA tribute band member
Cruise ship vocalist
Games console advert extra
Punk-pop music video extra


and shit loads more. 


Go on, gimme an audition :D

A dedication to some of my very talented friends....

Ventnor's finest, Louis Checkley, is a student at BIMM, and is a singer, guitarist, pianist and songwriter. Check out his lush melt-in-the-mouth tones on his MySpace page. You can find him at open-mike nights around Brighton.

Trevor Vallender, a budding publisher and writer, has only just set up his own blog, 'Miracles and Placebos' so that we can be graced with his imaginative discriptive pieces, such as 'The Black Dog'. Below is an extract;

The last you see before you are taken is the glowing. Their fur is the blackest of blacks, a void of colour, but this serves only to extenuate the monstrous fire in their eyes. If you are attuned to these things as I am, you may catch that fire from the corner of your vision as your time draws near, for the taking is rarely instant. In your last days they watch you, judging you before returning you to their master.

I know not who their master might be. Were the Greeks right on this, as so many things? Do they tend to Hades beck and call? All I can say is there must be some power which tears them from their restless sleep in the Styx, that timeless barrier between this life and the after.


Tom Stuart, all round techno-geek, is a pretty-dab hand with a paint brush (paint, as in, yes, paint the computer programme!) Funny charactertures and thought-provocking images... (make a site, Tom!)

I Scream

'Mother Earth'



'Arny'

A lot of my friends have some amazing talents (all though some of them keep them to themselves!)

I'm proud (:

Untitled. As yet....

For uni we've been asked to write a disciptive piece on an album. I chose 'Essential Jazz Singers', released by NotNow music.


I bought you today.
I turned you on.
You have so many moods, I dont know how to feel around you.
Sometimes you make me want to rejoice, "Halleluleah".
And dance joyfully, crying out, "yeah, my baby does just care for me!".
Other times, you say to me, "Good morning heartache", and I remember just how much of it there is in the world.
And how depressing you can be.
You have multiple personalities.
Just when i think I know you, that you've given me all of your wisdom and knowledge,
you sing to me a line that makes so much sense, a different kind of sense, to what you meant before.

If only we were of the same time, I could watch you as a young performer in a smokey, 1940's bar.

You teach me so much. But you aren't so popular around my friends.

They don't care to know how wonderful you are. They should really get to know you.

2011 - the year of the work whore.

Greetings to you, 2011. I feel as if you are a welcome breathe of fresh air, bringing with you inspiration and if possible, even more determination then what was already being retained in my tiny, disproportionate head.

This is the year for me to hurl myself like a slapper to the working community and get as much TV presenting/radio experience as humanly possible.

I've started off with some baby steps, by creating a Twitter page, a LinkedIn account and signing up to StarNow (yeah cheesy name, I know), which adverstises jobs in the area of TV, radio, music and loads more.

I'm finally planning on getting round to starting some video blogs. What I'll be gabbing on about, I don't know yet. Suggestions?

Anywho, this is the year. Failure is not an option!

Existing

It's as if I'm in a basement.



The four towering walls envelope me in a black coat.

An air that is so thick yet so cold.

There is nothing going on outside of these bricks.

In isolation it is easy to feel alarmed by another being. A fear surrounds me that somebody, a stranger, would open the door above me, and I would look up, vulnerable.

I'd be cuddling my knees like a child, undeniably, helplessly.

Wrapped in an imaginary blanket, and rocking, I'd be floating in a hypnotic state of dreaming.


A creaking floor board underneath me would remind me that

I

am

existing.

Within the darkness I'd find a co-ordinate to focus my my eyes upon. I'd stare so intensely.

Taking sinister delight in how my body clock would fail to work inside my blank canvas.


This is how I feel, this is what I imagine, when I listen to Intro.

Now and then, I have an epiphany.

3-7 years old: After my Aunty Heather took me to Tate Modern with crayons and paper, I was hooked. I drew The Snail by Matisse, "Mummy, I wanna be an artist!"

7-10 years old: After singing out of my window as loud as I could everyday, hoping a someone with a spare record deal contract in thier pocket would pass. I remember thinking girls shouldn't be playing guitars.

10-13 years old: After watching too much Changing Rooms, having been hypnotised by Lewellyn-Bowen's wild hair; "I want to be an interior designer!"

14-17 years old: After battling with OCD and going through numerous types of treatment therapies. "I'm going to be a psychologist". I wanted to understand my head a little better!

18-21 years old: After coming out of music college and realising I'm definatley not up for the music industry.. I decided on TV presenting/radio broadcast etc".

Now, at the grand old age of 22, after reading a selection of comedian's autobiographies and realising that I enjoy nothing better than watching stand up, I've decided I would LOVE to be a stand up. I love nothing more then making my friends crease up in stitches.

I was so overshelmingly inspired that I sat up in bed at 2am last night and started writing jokes and laying down all the 'funny' stories and anecdotes I have in my little indesicive head. The problem is, I'm my own biggest fan. I'm glad to say that now and then I make my friends crack up and am sometimes referred to as 'that funny girl'.... I might be misinterpreting the meaning. Anyway, I'll crack a joke or a one liner (Russian music joke, anyone? Friends will know what I'm on about), and I'll be laughing too hard at my halariousness that five minutes later when I stop laughing my mates are just looking at me in horror.

Anyway, I wrote some daft one liners last night (I'd write out the long jokes I wrote too, but without a live thrusting action, one of the jokes would be lost on you, my dear reader). I'm a huge fan of one-liner comedians like Stuart Francis, Milton Jones (who I'll be seeing live in February), and Tim Vine. So here are some I wrote at 2am in my jim-jams last night. Have a butchers;





"I was asked to draw the curtains. I did my best, but I'm no Picasso...".

"Last night I was invited to a pool party. It wasn't quite what I expected. My chalk got soaked. I took my cue to leave...".

"I once found myself in a massive tin of Heinz Spaghetti... I had to jump through hoops to get out of there...".

"I once performed a song that had several chord changes. The wardrobe department couldn't keep up...".

"My little cousin kept telling her mum, 'I need a wee, I really need a wee!' She loved getting a new games console for Christmas, but she did develop some concerning bladder issues...".

Let me know if they're crap! Ha, I don't deal with that false approval thing very well!

x

Christmas parties, a time to forget your troubles (albeit temporarily!), sing some carols and get down and dirty with your festive self.