The Corner House

This rain is making me miserable.
Bit of an anti-climax now I'm no longer a student. Still living in a freezing cold student house. I spent the coldest of winters in it and despite being May, it's still cold.
If I didn't want to act, I'd go off to Spain or somewhere Meditteranean. One of the Tarot line readers lives in Spain, I was told, so it would be possible and I could always do a bit of TEFL on the side.
But have another year to do with Well-Known Acting Tutor. At the end of the day, Actinisme, I've decided.
Not that last night's class went well, I was rubbish again. He'd given me such a difficult speech.
"I'm disappointed", he said, "because you are capable of doing it."
Not, I thought, but then remembered all the teachers who would just give me comedy roles. Now I've found someone who thinks I have potential and I'm still moaning.
As for retiring, I'm not even going to go there. Not retiring prevents Alzheimers, I read 'cos I'm always reading daft stuff in the tabloids.
Like sunshine prolongs your life.
Dunno what my West of Ireland relations would make of that, most of them lived up into their 90's in spite of the climate!

All afternoon trudging to eye hospital (and back only to be told it's age-related and nothing to be done. Which was what I thought and shouldn't have listened to daft woman in Optician's.

My drama teacher likes me.
This is a new evening class I go to, nothing to do with my degree. Won't mention names but he is well-known tutor who has trained, well, loads of Granada soap-stars basically. And he seems to rate my acting, or, at least, he does sometimes and last night's class went well.
Read somewhere about Jane Fonda saying that acting was like love. When her tutor (Lee Strasbourg?) told her she was good, she was on Cloud Nine.
So true.

On Saturday I ran out of contact lens solution. To be honest, I'd ran out sometime during the writing of the dreaded Dissertation and, being occupied with erudite stuff, had to resort to spit.
Useless chemist nearby didn't stock it. Assistant suggested the Optician's across the road. While there, after moaning a bit about the lamentable state of eye-care in the North of England and praising the wonderful Moorfields eye hospital, I mentioned my new floater, a large-ish, cobweb-by thing. This worried the lady there (Optician?) who told me to go to Casualty at the eye hospital immediately.
Which frightened me. Tried ringing said Casualty but they're closed at weekends. If it's urgent enough, a specialist can be called out.
To establish whether it's urgent enough, you have to ring some Helpline, which, of course, is permanently busy.
Sod it, I'll go tomorrow, I've had the thing for weeks now, one day more shouldn't hurt.

Tribulations of a tarot reader, this blog should be called. Degree done and dusted, back to the real world. I have mortgage to pay or will have next month when I get house back. Changed tarot lines, this one is bigger, pays better. But need to put the hours in now.
Oh, dear, does a degree in Drama and Creative Writing really qualify me to solve the world's problems?
Anyway, I was a bona-fide student in the end and got a crush on a lecturer. At 56? Yeah, well. He's gay, I like to make life hard for myself.
With some time to spare of late, I have taken up cooking. Found Delia's "One is Fun" in a charity shop and yeah, it is. Some men do not know what they're missing.

Found excellent acting teacher. This is extra-curricular to my Uni stuff but I am glutton for punishment.
I really do wonder if I can act. I used to think I could but the more you learn, the more you need to learn.
New Teacher, very scary. Likes me one week, hates me the next. Makes me work very hard. I asked him why all the other teachers let me away with doing rubbish and he said it's because I'm funny. That made sense. He never gives me anything funny to do.
Uni teacher also a hard taskmaster. So far, nothing he's seen me do has been good enough.
Oh, well.
I shouldn't be blogging, I should be working on forthcoming production.