Monkey Magic

The more observant amongst you will have noticed that this is my first post for almost five months.

I'm blaming it on life this time. Life has just...got in the way. Incidentally, life has been mostly brilliant in that time, consisting of birthdays, festivals, holidays and more drunken nights than I would care to reveal here in case my family and friends attempt an intervention. I've managed to sell my mother's house too, a process which has proved to be startlingly significant in helping me 'move on'.

I've a genuine feeling that a new chapter has begun. Which is what has led me back to the blog.

I've looked back over most of the posts and what strikes me, other than the occasional embarrassing lapse in grammar and punctuation (why didn't you tell me?), is how detailed a record of my life this can actually be. I'm not just talking about the big events either. What got me most were the stories about the most mundane of things, like having strange dreams, driving vans, dealing with hangovers and going to the circus. As memories were instantly sparked back to life, I found myself feeling so pleased that I'd made even the smallest note of them.

However, in January I'm going to be doing something so potentially life-changing that it scares me a little every time I think about it. Actually, it scares me a lot. I've decided to take a career break and will be spending the first three months of 2011 volunteering at a vervet monkey foundation in South Africa. I'll be responsible for the care, feeding and reintroduction of baby vervets and will then get the chance to monitor and observe their behaviour in the wild. I'm scared because this will be unlike anything I have ever done before, but for that same reason it's incredibly exciting.

You know that feeling you get when you drive through a tunnel? Exciting, isn't it? Now imagine going through that tunnel and suddenly realising that Stephen Hawking is in charge of the wheel. Then, you look over your shoulder and see Hitler and Pol Pot on the back seat, playing a particularly gripping game of Travel Scrabble. That's exactly the mixture of excitement and fear I'm going through.

I've had waves of doubt about whether I'm doing the right thing, whether this is just a way of avoiding making any serious career decision for a few months, but my friends and family have done their usual amazing trick of making me see sense. This is an incredible opportunity that will eat away at me for the rest of my days should I not take it. Plus, I've already booked the flights so I'm pretty much screwed if I don't go now.

Obviously I'm going to want to write about those three months, the incredible times and the mundane, so I'm getting back in to practice. I've tidied up the blog, resigned myself to the fact that I'm simply unable to look good in a photo and, so serious am I about this, I've even tweaked the colour scheme. I know.

After five months of inactivity this frankly average post has taken it out of me, so I'm going to sign off with this video of a baby monkey riding on a pig. It's sort of relevant and also means I can practice my video embedding. Enjoy.

A hard day at the ice cream factory

I've said this before, but I'm very lucky to be doing my job. I have a lot of fun, and there is very little pressure or stress. Sometimes though, just like everyone else, you can get frustrated or annoyed with the daily grind. But then, certain events occur that help you get it all back in to perspective.

Such a thing happened to me this week when I met a lady called Julie. Julie is 70, but still works at a school, teaching English as a second language to refugee children. Most of these kids are no more than 13 or 14, but they've been through some of the most horrifying experiences imaginable.

Julie's job involves not only teaching them English, but also being their companion in a strange new country, and helping them try and get over severe trauma by listening to them and attempting to understand what they've been through.

Today at work, I had to sing an alternative version of 'Michael Row the Boat Ashore', and wrote a spoof rap about being a vegan. You see what I mean about perspective?

Anyway, if you want to, you can hear Julie talking about some of her pupils below. I had to upload it as a video, so I've added a lovely landscape picture taken in the South of France. I'm warning you though, the content of the audio is nowhere near as pleasant, but is in a way just as amazing.

As an antidote to all that heavy stuff, please enjoy this sketch from That Mitchell and Webb Look, which illustrates my point perfectly.

Rules of Blogging #63

Never promise to blog more frequently the day before staying somewhere without internet access for a week.

In Dyer need of a change

If I were a footballer, I'd be David Bentley. If I'd have fancied punching people for a living, I think I'd be like Audley Harrison. Had I decided to be in the acting game, I'd probably be Danny Dyer.

Like those people, when I began this blog I showed so much potential. Potential that just hasn't been realised.

However, I'm determined not to become another 'Fancy Dan' fringe player. I refuse to end up flat on my back, being called 'Audrey' by my mocking peers. I will not churn out film after tiresome straight-to-dvd film with Tamer Hassan, my only friend in the world, and the only man on earth who seems to want me to continue this empty shell of an acting career/life by offering me roles where I can speak in a hammed up cockney accent and pretend to be a 'geezer', conveniently forgetting that interest in British gangster flicks died around the same time Madonna got her sinewy talons in to Guy Ritchie. Still, at least I have 'Deadliest Men' and 'I Believe In UFOs' to be proud of. I wish I was dead.

This rather long-winded analogy is designed to make the point that I've realised I quite simply haven't been writing regularly enough. Again. But, I've recently had time to think and reassess what's important to me in life, so I've shuffled a few things around to spend more time doing the things I enjoy. So serious am I about this that I've even made a list. That's practically a legally binding contract.

One of the things on the list is to at least start writing something, anything really, by the end of this year. But, I need to get back in to the swing of things first. Starting now.


* Since posting this, Danny Dyer's lawyers have been in contact with concerns about certain aspects of the post that deal with their client's career and mental state. They wish it to be stated that Mr.Dyer is in fact NOT proud of 'I Believe In UFOs' at all. He thought it was a big pile of shite like the rest of us.

No Pain, No Gain

On Friday afternoon I met a man called Dave, and within half an hour of his company he'd made me feel physically sick. Not because he's a pervert, or a despotic overlord, or even worse, an Arsenal fan. No, Dave is my new personal trainer.


I've decided to lead a healthier lifestyle, and my self-discipline, or rather lack of it, means I need someone like Dave to keep me motivated. Left to my own devices, I just don't drag myself to the gym often enough. So, Dave gets a considerable percentage of my monthly wages, and I get fitter and healthier. But, my God it hurts.

What made it worse was the apocalyptic hangover I had that day. It was well earned at a friend's art exhibition the evening before, where the champagne was free, and free flowing. But those last few glasses seemed like such a bad idea once Dave began the session. Or his 'diabolical reign of terror', as I prefer to call it.

I'd already come clean about the hangover. Honesty is the best policy after all. Plus, I thought (incorrectly as it turned out) it might mean I'd get a slightly easier time of it. I couldn't help but think that Dave was getting an inaccurate picture of my lifestyle. As far as he was concerned, I was a drunkard. A sub-human, who's only reason to roll out of bed each afternoon is to stuff last night's pizza in to his face while shooting virtual zombies, before finding his next fix of booze. I was determined to show him that he was only half right, by apologising whenever I could draw breath, and assuring him that I wasn't always this bad.

The text I received from Domino's pizza half way through the session did little to help my cause.

I've had three days to mull this over, and I still can't think of how on earth they got hold of my mobile number. I have never had a text from Domino's before. I've never had a text from any food outlet before. Not even a group email. Why now? When I'm desperately trying to prove I'm not the next Shane McGowan to a perfect stranger I've paid to hurt me? Of all the times.

There can only be two possibilities. The first is that I truly am a disgusting slob, and on one of my many drunken trips to the pizza house, decided it would be a good idea to sign up to their text alert service, and then woke up the next day without remembering a thing. But that can't be right. That wouldn't do at all. I mean, what if Dave's reading this? (Hi, Dave).

No, the much more likely reason for this untimely text is that The Devil himself was trying to tempt me when I was at my weakest. He doesn't want me to get healthy. He wants me to remain amongst the hoardes of the lethargic and slightly overweight, forever damned to a life of not being overly confident about taking my shirt off on the beach. The bastard. Well, get thee behind me Satan, for I shall not be tempted. You can take your admittedly very reasonable offer of 'Any Pizza, Any Size £9.99 - Delivered', and you can shove it right up your bright red arse. I'm going to do this. I could murder a Chicken Feast though. And some potato wedges. And those cookies they do are amazing.

This isn't going to be easy.

But seriously...

I thought it was about time I posted something that wasn't utterly depressing. Christmas was a horrible time for me and my family, and its been a lot harder than I thought to get back to normality. Life will never be the same again, but as Freddie Mercury once sang, ''I want to ride my bicycle, I want to ride my bike''. Hang on, that's not right...

I've been spending a lot of time reliving my childhood recently. Last week I bought a Guns N' Roses t-shirt. I was OBSESSED with that band as a kid. I had all the albums, the t-shirts, the posters...everything. I used to draw pictures of Slash on my pencil case during double maths. Its one of my greatest regrets that I never saw them live in their heyday. Alas, I was too young at the time, and they never seemed to include Carmarthen in their European tour dates for some reason.

I was so pleased with my t-shirt that I wore it to work the very next day. When someone asked me if I was wearing it ironically I could have punched them. But, seeing as that person was my female boss, I thought better of it, and comforted myself with the thought that she was probably a Bon Jovi fan. Loser.

The other trip down memory lane came one lunchtime this week. A colleague of mine recently spent some time in America as a professional wrestling commentator. He gave up the rigmarole of the nine to five, and persued his obsession and dream. I have nothing but admiration for that. It turns out he's going back to the States soon to go to an event called Wrestlemania. This is an annual event that, as a ten year old boy and massive fan of Hulk Hogan, I would have swapped all my football stickers, toys and possibly a limb (I wasn't that active a child anyway), to go and see. I was surprised by how much I could remember about it. Its a shame that as an adult, I don't really have anything I am so passionate about that it completely takes over like that. Its also a shame that its no longer socially acceptable to get all the associated toys and play with them for hours with my friends, making ridiculous fighting noises like 'boof', and 'paff'. Good times.

Anyway, I've since indulged in one of my childhood obsessions and looked for old videos on YouTube. In amongst all the classic wrestling matches I remembered watching on VHS in my pyjamas on Christmas mornings was a video I had never seen before. Its truly incredible, utterly bizarre, and features two legends in their own lifetime. One is a wrestler called The Ultimate Warrior. The other, is Phil Collins.

Enjoy.

Carys Ann McSweeney, my dear Mum, passed away peacefully this evening, aged 62. She was surrounded by friends and family, as was her final wish. She will be missed by all who knew her.

I love you, Mum. x