You were good! It's just others were better...

Despite aspirations of becoming a renowned actor, my absolute fear of auditions meant I was never really going to have much success on the stage.

Auditions are something I loathe more than decisions – there’s too much of me on show, and generally I do everything I can to keep me well hidden. And if there’s one thing I hate more than auditions, it’s group auditions.

So I’ve found the whole experience of finding a place to live in London a little terrifying. Living arrangements are clearly one of the biggest differences between London and Melbourne. There is, of course, the ludicrous expense of renting in London, where you can easily sacrifice half your salary for a place you would never feel comfortable bringing your mother. But more to the point, London is all about the share house. Here places are often let by the room, meaning you’re not just getting a home; you’re getting a whole suite of strangers to share your personal moments with.

In Australia, it’s generally quite different. It’s common to move out on your own, or with friends and rent a place in its entirety. Which means that the only person you have to impress is the real estate agent – and that’s all done by paper.

In London you have to impress many more people. You start by coming up with a witty introductory email that makes you sound interesting – but not psychopathic (not an easy balance to achieve after several rejections). You then have to make a striking first impression or else you may as well not bother taking a foot over the threshold. And once in, you have to sing and dance and convince a room full of strangers that you are the most interesting, entertaining person in the world, all while a line of competitors send death stares your way.

I don’t do too well in such situations. I get nervous and end up standing in the corner, silent and bearing a ridiculous grin that I hope diverts people from the fact that I am being utterly boring, all while others steal the spotlight. The whole experience gives me blinding flashbacks to my university acting days, where I capably delivered my lines while fellow students ripped off layers of clothing to reveal their lines scrawled on their flesh with permanent marker. Then, as now, it just looked like they wanted it more.

Admittedly in some cases this hasn’t been a bad thing. At my first viewing, I was greeted at the door by a Spaniard who spoke very little English and sported more chest hair than should ever be legal. The room itself was about the size of my mother’s laundry and was bare except for a single bed (it was advertised as a double). Not even curtains. When I saw two policemen at the neighbour’s doorstep, I decided it was probably in my best interests that these people didn’t take to me.

On the flip side, there have been times when the competition has been devastating. One place in particular springs to mind. It was in a perfect location, it was spacious, stylish, and the two girls living there seemed particularly groovy.

But here’s the thing. If you are going to make this whole share house thing work, you have to go into these auditions with an open mind. More than an open mind. You have to go in ready to convince yourself that the place is fantastic and that these people are going to be your new bffs. The difficulty was, in this case, that I did just that. I could see my new bff’s and I going to bars, clubs, launches. We’d throw fabulous parties and they’d select my outfits and tell me how to style my hair. And we’d do anything for each other, because that’s what bff’s do.

Unfortunately, they didn’t have the same visions and the role of bff was given to someone else. I think it was because, aware of my previous lack of charisma in these situations, I overcompensated by cornering one of the girls and nervously barked at her like Vicky Pollard on speed. The poor thing looked terrified.

But, eventually, all things do have a happy ending. I have succeeded in finding a home in Angel, an area I was determined to live the moment I laid eyes on it years ago. It’s clean, opposite several pubs, and best of all I didn’t have to audition. The landlord let it out himself, meaning he was more interested in the ‘paper me’, rather than how well I could deliver one-liners. And I’m the first to move in, which means now I get to choose my flat mates.

Let the auditions begin.

New suit

It’s been a while since my last update, and in keeping with my Catholic shackles I feel totally guilty about it. In my defense though, I’ve been working hard at not getting stuck in routine since returning from New York, which - while fun - tends to fatigue the old writing muscle.

I’ve particularly been trying to take a few more chances – saying yes more often and consciously not talking myself out of things before I’ve really considered them. And not getting stuck.

My work kindly offered to make me a permanent member of their clique. While on the surface the security was an attractive proposition, something about it didn’t feel quite right. It took me a while to put my finger on precisely what that was, but I think I’ve got it now. I didn’t move to London to do exactly what I was doing in Melbourne. Which, despite peripheral differences, is essentially what’s happened. I’m writing the same messages, in the same industry, in the same suits.

I want a new suit.

I want to be able to say I’ve expanded my horizons. I want to be able to go home saying I’ve done things I’d never dreamed - or at least things that would never have been possible had I stayed put.

So I decided it was time to shake things up a little – in particular I wanted to move beyond banking; get some new experience, and maybe get to do a spot of travel in the process (beyond the Isle of Man). I’m a bit of a believer that once you set your mind on something, things have a tendency to fall into place. Low and behold, that philosophy seems to have paid off. I have a new job!

It’s a role in professional services – one of the ‘Big Four’. I know that it’s probably not that different to banking. But the role itself seems challenging and the projects global, which mean I’m likely to get that experience I’d never have back home. Plus, despite the fact I did the worst thing possible in an interview situation (I didn’t show up!) they still gave me the job, which tells me these professional services people are all right.

It’s given me one of those rare moments when you’re able to appreciate what’s actually going right, rather than just see all the things that are getting in the way. This is (potentially) exactly the kind of experience I came over to London to for. And honestly, I’m a little surprised it’s actually falling into place.

And did I mention I get to go to New York? Told you I could make this work.