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.