Introducing... Miss Mildred The Decorating- Builder

Hello everyone,

I am writing to you in the hope that you are well.

I am also writing to you with what I would describe as 'rather good news', as I have now found some employment.

Following my employing (as it were)- of Dave in Edinburgh, he has decided to return the favour and employ me. You see, by day, Dave is a builder/ renovator/ property maestro extraordinaire. By night, he is just Dave now. But he used to be my co-director and all round general assistant for Edinburgh.

Anyway, I am now in the employment of Dave at the house that he is renovating, in the capacity of 'decorating-builder'.

So far, I have clearance for the following (meaning I am now qualified in):

• electric drill usage
• regular drill usage
• hammer usage (despite missing the nail four times in a row and denting the wall...)
• electric sandpaper-tool-thingy (despite accidentally sanding myself...)
• the art of the paint brush
• the art of the roller
• ladder climbing (despite knocking the paint pot off with my foot on my descent. Luckily the lid was on. Dave does not know... Dave doesn't need to know... sshhhh!)
• filling holes with filler
• various other cool sounding things... but unfortunately I have forgotten what they are. What I can remember though, is that the insurance didn't cover me for saw usage. And to be honest, that's a bit of a relief as I'm really quite fond of all ten of my fingers.

To my general surprise, I am actually quite enjoying working on 'the site'- as 'the lads' call it, because there are no other women around. I left today, covered in dust and looking as though I'd aged forty years in an afternoon. But I don't mind. It's like dressing up! Except, not quite as clean. Although, I find it extraordinary how one minute I can look so old and grey and withered, and the next- with a little bit of nature's assistance- their finest water no less, I can wash away the grey and voila! Twenty-something Mildred is back in an instant. If only life were that simple.

Anyway, I'm going to go and wash the dust, spiders and goodness only knows what else out of my hair. Hopefully, next time I write to you I'll still have the correct amount of fingers and thumbs. But for now, my digits and I bid you farewell.

Welcome back to sunny ol' England...

Hello there friends,

Just a quick blog today I'm afraid! I hope that you are all well and staying warm in this ridiculously unprecedented monsoon that we are experiencing. To be honest, it wasn't a particularly nice 'welcome home to England' present- not after all the glorious sunshine over in Bulgaria.

After touching down at the airport, Mum came to meet me. We chit-chatted and caught up. You know, she filled me in on all the gossip that was happening back home. For instance. Did you know that Valerie, who lives three doors down from us, managed to jump the queue for knee replacement surgery? No? I didn't either. Apparantly she flashed the surgoen some ankle without being requested to and at that point- he became anybodies. Unable to act on his ankle attraction because of professional purposes, the surgeon decided to pop Valerie to the top of the list. Talk about a bit of juicy gossip! I mean, what else could I have possibly missed?

Anyway, I asked Mum if she could see my tan. After much deliberation, she smiled at me and gently patted my arm as she declared that I 'looked well'.

I took that to mean no, she could not see my tan. But in fairness, it is fairly hard to make out... But Mum could have done the honorable thing and LIED! I wouldn't have minded.

But all in all, I had a rather lovely time in Bulgaria. And, I even got to sample the elusive Shopska salad and Bob soup! Both- you will be pleased to know, were rather yummy.

I did loads of different things including venturing into the mountains, attempting to speak Bulgarian very badly (and often failing miserably), swim in the jelly fish infested sea, swim in the hotel pool and read the entire autobiography of Julie Andrews from start to finish. What a truly exemplary lady she is! I now feel inspired to find a copy of Mary Poppins and The Sound of Music and watch them from start to finish more than once. (Recently I have already watched The Princess Diaries 1 and 2 and Shrek- all of which Julie stars in as a Queen, but I probably shouldn't let you know that I know this because they are- technically speaking, films for the younger generation. Know how I know that? Because they are all PG and U ratings...).

Anyway, I must fly (metaphorically). I hope to be in touch again soon.

With bestest wishes,
Mildred

A whirlwind hello and goodbye!

Dearest friends,

How lovely it is to write to you from the comfort of my kitchen with the soothing tones of the dishwasher sloshing away in the background. Ah, such small delights I have missed!

So, to recap the last few days.

Dave and I returned to Surrey, after completing the epic journey from Scotland to home in his little Ford Ka. Who knew that car was cut out for life in the fast lane? With a little faith, it exceeded what Dave and I thought possible... That's right, it took on the big boys of the car world: BMW's, Mercedes, VW's, Audi's, Jaguar's... you name it, the little Ka over-took them all! (Disclaimer: all over-taking was done in a considerate and careful manner- Dave is a superb driver, and- if I don't say so myself, I'm rather good too).

Anyway, that was then. Since being back on home turf, I have had to complete zillions of tasks that I put off before departing to Edinburgh as time is of the essence. You see, I am due to fly to Bulgaria tomorrow. In true Mildred fashion, I am yet to pack anything. In fact, I am yet to unpack my goods that were taken to Edinburgh... but I would like to here make it known that I have at least done all my washing (and ironing), so credit where credit's due I like to think.

Instead of packing, I am doing things that I probably should have done ages ago. Things like printing off my insurance certificate, printing off some work, learning Bulgarian phrases and general procastionatory measures. However, the learning of the Bulgarian language is not going as well as I hoped it would. So far I have managed to master six crucial phrases (or more truthfully, words) which- in theory, should make the experience that much more authentic. And Bulgarian.

I know how to pronounce the following words (but if you are Bulgarian please ignore the phonetic spelling):

• English: Yes. Bulgarian: Da.
• English: No. Bulgarian: Ne.
• English: Goodbye (informal). Bulgarian: Ciao.
• English: Thank you. Bulgarian: Molya. 
• English: Bean soup. Bulgarian: Bob.
• English: Sheep's cheese salad. Bulgarian: Shopska.

So, I think you'll all agree that these are going to be extremely useful whilst out there. I will admit that there is a bit of inconsistency in my key phrases, but the reason is simple: these are the only ones I can remember.  If all else fails, I may need to use the fail safe method of communicating whilst abroad: body gestures and enhanced facial expressions. However, I am fairly confident that the essentials are all there- if needs be, I'll just eat sheep's cheese salad for the week and bean soup... 

Of course, there is one thing I am neglecting to tell you. In Bulgaria, their written text is Cyrillic, meaning it looks a bit like this: Името ми е Mildred McManus и аз живея в Англия*. Just in case you are interested, this translates as: My name is Mildred McManus and I live in England. 

With that in mind, reading the menu is going to be impossible I suspect. So it looks like it's shopska and bob for the duration of the holiday! 

Anyway, I shall be popping off as I have loads to do and- as so often happens, time is slipping away.

Upon my return from Bulgaria I shall once again be in touch.

So for now, ciao! 

* The translation of the Bulgarian came from this source: www.bulgarie-bg.com/tradbulgarian.php.  

My final show in Edinburgh

Friends, friends, friends,

I write to you today with a mixture of emotions: elation, sadness, relief, excitement and jubilation. Yesterday, was my last show- hence the jumble of mixed feelings. Yes, I am happy with the experience and the amount that I have learned- both as a performer and as a person; yes, I am excited about the future; and yes, I am slightly sad that the whole festival routine has come to an end. Dave- I know, is looking forward to more than six hours sleep and a slower pace of life- we never thought we'd say this, but bring on the countryside! (Or just for a few days so we can catch-up, at least).

Anyway, I'm going to tell you a little about the last performance in Edinburgh of Mildred McManus for World Minister. As far as final performances go, it was rather memorable- yet more material to one day put into my (as yet), unpublished autobiography (though in fairness, it will probably never be published because I'm not really a cool dude. Not yet. Plus, I haven't got a huge scandal to sell it with either, but you never know. Only time will tell...).

Now, before I tell you how the last show went, I would like to share with you a bit of a conversation that I had with my very good friend Elsa. It went a bit like this (and trust me, this is all relevant):

• Me: Blah, blah, blah... oh, did I tell you that I don't like coffee? But I am partial to a slice of coffee cake. Blah, blah, blah. Hope you are well! Everything is tickety-boo here in Edinburgh.
• Elsa: Glad it's going well. And ditto: I won't say no to a smidge of coffee in cake form. Especially tiramisu! That's rather lush.
• Me: Ha! Funny you should mention tiramisu, as last night I had a slice for dinner with a dollop of walnut ice-cream. It was very tasty indeed.

BRIEF INTERLUDE.... A LITTLE WHILE LATER...

• Elsa: I forgot to say, good luck with your last show tonight Mildred- I have a feeling you're going to absolutely blow the roof off! Oh, on a different note, I think we might be telepathic as I was thinking about tirimasu and you at the same time. How weird is that?!

• Me:   Thanks Elsa! Fingers crossed it goes well- thanks for thinking we're going to blow the roof off  (but hopefully we won't literally blow the roof off, because that would be a very expensive roof to replace). See you soon!

CONVERSATION COMES TO A CLOSE... ONTO THE SHOW...
 

We open the doors and the audience enter- so far so good.
We dim the lights and a hush descends- so far so good.
We begin the play and I get into the swing of things- so far so good.

Then, when I have just received (a scheduled) telephone call and am learning whether I have made it into the final four candidates for the World Minister presidency, a fire alarm goes off! So I had to put the telephone call on hold and then proceed to evacuate the theatre and then, the rest of the building. (It's fortunate really, that in the play- when impersonating an air hostess, I really do gesture to where the emergency exits are located).

Anyway, we're stood on this huge bridge outside whilst the fire alarms are blaring in the middle of my performance, no less! Then a fire engine rolls on up, but it's on the wrong side of the road, so it just cruises straight on past the venue. A few minutes later it returns- sirens blaring and the firemen exit the vehicle, run straight past the entrance of the building and into another one further along. All the while, I- with my audience, am still stood on the bridge, still in the middle of my performance. But I suppose I should concede- there was a rather peculiar smell coming from somewhere, so it was just as well we were evacuated. You know, safety first and all that malarkey.

Thirty plus minutes later, we were given the all clear and allowed back into the venue. I then resumed my show. Though I did have to explain to the official that I had (supposedly) put on hold for over thirty minutes that there had been a toast situation. Yes, that's right: a toast situation... what can I say? I was thinking on my feet.

Thankfully, the rest of the show continued without incident. But I mean, talk about unlucky! It wasn't even Friday the 13th.

When I was stood on the bridge, all I could think about was what Elsa had said to me about blowing the roof off. How did she know? How could she have foreseen such an event occurring? Does Elsa possess a secret human power that none of us have been blessed with? What else does Elsa know?

Anyway, all is well that ends well. So I would like to end with a few parting thoughts:

• My top three Edinburgh shows were (in no particular order)- Alan Palmer's Diva's of Hollywood, Kev Orkian's The Guilty Pianist and Chris Wolfe's Generation 9/11.
• The best performance I felt I gave was (funnily enough), my thirteenth show.
• I am delighted that I no longer need to flyer!
• Thank you once again to the one and only Dave- he now has legendary status and will hence forth be known as Dave the Magnificent.
• Thanks also to Dave's brother Tim, for very kindly offering us a place to stay.
• Lastly, thank you to you- my lovely readers.

I don't believe that because my time at the Edinburgh Fringe Festival is over, that is the end of things. Hopefully- in the long run, this is the beginning of my career.

So when I next write to you, I will be home following an epic road trip back with Dave. Until then, farewell.

Mildred

A mish-mash of Edinburgh gooble-de-gook

Hello hello lovely friends,

I hope that you are all well, happy and dry. (It will come as no surprise to you to learn that I am writing to you whilst it is raining outside- no joke. Really, my writing has become a form of procrastination: flyer or write... flyer or write... flyer or write? There is no contest. Evidently, I prefer to write to you)!

So, this morning, I awoke early- not to the sounds of delightful birdsong, oh no. But instead to the roar of a lawn mower, cutting the communal grass less than eight hours after midnight. That's right: before 8am. Unbelievable! And when you're keeping later hours than you would do normally, it is not a pleasant alarm clock. (Admittedly, I do try to ensure that I am in bed the right side of midnight, otherwise I fear that- like Cinderella, I will encounter major problems post-midnight. However, unlike Cinderella, my transportation is not an issue- and neither is my dress. Nope, I'm more concerned about looking more and more like a panda with the less sleep I get. So- naturally, I like to be in bed- though not always asleep, by 23:59). So I would just like to un-thank the person who thought it was a sensible idea to mow and do goodness only knows what else at such an early hour.

Anyway, following our previously futile attempts at flyering, Dave and I decided to think outside the box and try a different method of attack. Stuck to the bottom of the boards that we were wearing, emblazoned with my face across our chests, we attached signs that Dave had geniusly created. We had signs to appeal to all sorts of people: 'SALE SALE SALE: Every seat must go!'; 'No gimmicks or weirdness! Just a fun play with music and Mildred!'; 'Fabulously fabulous show!! Come and enjoy Mildred's funny and fabulous journey. Laugh, cry, have fabulous amounts of fun!'; and so on.

We branched out even further still, and decided to give away some biscuits too. (I mean, wow, talk about generosity!). We thought that it was a fail-safe way of getting the audience in, however we had not foreseen how picky people would be when it came to freebies. Two people declined the biscuits because they were without chocolate and another, because they were not McVities (er, hello, we're not made of money?! And as Dave has just pointed out to me- they were free!). But between us, I had not foreseen this situation arising. I mean, I was overjoyed at my free pens, notebooks and t-shirts. It didn't matter that the pens were blue and black, that the notebooks were without lines and that they didn't have any t-shirts in my size. It didn't matter in the slightest, because they were free!!

Right, rampage over...

I hope that you are all enjoying the Summer, wherever you are, whatever you're doing. I'm not going to write a huge amount today, but I am going to leave you with several parting thoughts and other bits and bobs that don't merit an entire paragraph!

• Last night, to escape the festival madness, Dave and I decided to take advantage of the fact that it was Wednesday and headed out to the cinema. It was a nice change to be in a different environment and we enjoyed the film. What we did not enjoy was the permanent moving and knocking of our seats, courtesy of the people sat behind. Particularly, as it seems, that wherever I go, and whenever I go to the cinema, I always manage to plonk myself in front of the chair knockers. I guess, I must just give out an aura that says I enjoy a complimentary back massage when watching films, as it never happens anywhere else.
• I have had a delightful morning, catching up with some old friends- Olivia and James and cannot wait for them to see the show. Enjoy the rain you guys!
• I saw a rather funny show by two ladies called Working Wo-mens Club. It did what the title says and consisted of a series of sketches given by women whose characters were in some way connected with working women's clubs. I left smiling- which is what you'd like after a piece of comedy.
• I went to another seminar/ workshop/ thing yesterday morning and learnt that, in the UK, the professional actor works for just 11 weeks a year. Did you know that? I for one was rather surprised.
• I would here like to declare that I am still very much enjoying my show, which is interesting, as I would have thought that I would start to get bored with my life... but no! I am still waiting for the boredom to set in, but I don't think it ever will as a very wise man- Anthony Reimer, said to me that you must always remember that each audience is seeing it for the first time, so behave as such. I took his advice on board and I am now a revolutionised woman! Thank you Anthony.
• Lastly, but by no means least, I would like to thank Dave for being so wonderful for the duration of our time in Scotland. But also, for all his help, because without Dave, things would be rather different. It's wonderful to be able to share this journey with my best friend, so thank you Dave.

Right, I think that's everything covered. Until we next meet!

Mildred

People, flyers and the categories they fall into

Hello to you all from a drizzly, damp Edinburgh. (Well, I say it's drizzly and damp but I'm inside at the moment, writing to you so it may have changed since I last ventured outside... but that's highly unlikely as it has rained- at some point, everyday. The last I heard, that was the latest weather status.)

Anyway, enough about me and what I'm wearing. I'm going to take this opportunity to fill you in since I last wrote to you.

So, since I last wrote to you, I have attended two very informative and useful workshops to do with acting- one yesterday, the other today. Yesterday's was by a really funny and enthusiastic American actor and today's, by two British people- one man, one woman. As a result of these workshops, I have managed to obtain two free t-shirts (one for me, one for Dave), four pens (two black ink ones from yesterday and two blue ink ones from today) and two notebooks. Fabulous! Of course, my newly gained knowledge was also a bonus... but we all love freebies! Especially when we've run out of money... 

Right, moving swiftly on.

I wanted to tell you a little about the observations I have made on our favourite topic: flyering. I have noitced that the potential audience/ members of the public have certain standardised responses. Initially, I thought that there was two categories of people: those that accepted the flyers, and those that didn't. I now know that to be wrong.

These, are the following categories:

• those that walk with their eyes permanently to the ground to avoid eye contact, and therefore, avoid awkward chit-chat. I call them the-eye-to-the-ground-ers.
• those that like to collect piles of flyers so that they can feel like they are giving the people with flyers hope. However, they will probably read said flyers when they have time to objectively look, ie, when they get home. I call these people the-flyer-hoarders.
• then there are those that- similar to the above, collect the flyers, taking them from the flyer distributor without a word and then- horror of all horrors, they proceed to dump the pile in the bin right before your eyes. I call them the-collectors-that-dump.
• next we have the people that don't wish to engage in conversation, but wish to be part of the festival, so take a flyer from you like you're partaking in some dodgy dealing. I call these the-hand-shufflers.
• the penultimate group of people are often fairly abrupt with you, but at least they leave you knowing where your stand. They shake their head when offered a flyer and decline with a simple 'no', or 'no thanks'. I like to call these the-out-right-no-ers.
• now we reach my least favourite group: the people that blatantly ignore you, even though you are evidently talking to them. They never take a flyer from you, they never make eye-contact, they never listen to you and- above all, they never acknowledge you.  I call these people the-make-you-feel-invisible-passers-by-without-peripheral-vision.

Now, my final bit of flyer related experiences comes courtesy of a man whose utterings- though not very long, were none-the-less, rather amusing. I said, 'would you like to change the world Sir? Ten past five today.' And then he turned around and said 'no thanks, not today. I have dinner reservations at five.' Dinner reservations v change the world... is there even a contest?!

Anyway, I am here going to bring things to a close and leave you with a few after-thoughts.

• I have broken my rucksack in, courtesy of all the walking. The first few days were- quite frankly, agony. But now, I feel nothing.
• Yesterday I had a walk-by* of Prince's Street.
• Yesterday evening, I saw a very interesting show with Dave called Hypnotist, Titan Knight. It featured a man that juggled with a fully functioning chainsaw, a machete (I think) and a huge blade. This- I watched through the gaps between my fingers covering my eyes. The hypnotist stuff was bizarre to say the least, but we were just watching. Dave and I decided not to be hypnotised- a decision we were very happy with! Oh, there was also a lady there that had over 7000 body piercings!! I didn't know that there was enough space on the human body for that many accessories...
• Lastly, I would like to say good luck to The F Word girls. Their show is on at the same time as mine, so I won't get the opportunity to see theirs. But- from talking with them, it sounds rather fabulous and I wish them the best of luck with the rest of their run as they are all such nice people.

So until the next time,
Mildred

* For those of you unfamiliar with the term 'walk-by', it is basically like a 'drive-by'. You pass through an area, and that is about it. That was what I did yesterday: I passed through an area like a local and not a tourist to get to my final destination. I had a walk-by.

And we thought Sunday's were our day-off...

...how wrong we were.

Friends, fellows, fellowees: hello! Hello and welcome to a fabulous musing by me, Mildred.

I write to you today, on what is commonly known as Sunday (which really, is a notion that's quite misleading in itself. I ask, is there sun today? I answer, no. So why is this day called Sunday? I mean, talk about false advertising on a massive scale! For this day to henceforth continue being known as Sunday, there ought to be sun in the sky on any days when the word 'sun' is stuck to them. Call me crazy, but I suddenly became aware that I need to be smiling all the time, because that's how I am on my poster. So surely- if I can be accused of false advertising by not smiling, by the same token, the English language creators need to give an explanation as to their lack of congruence between the day title and the facts?)

Anyway, enough of linguistic analysis! I promise you, that is not what I am here to write to you about. As far as yesterday was concerned it was relatively quiet- a fairly uneventful day. But that does not mean it wasn't interesting.

When I was in the dressing room before my show (AKA the changing rooms AKA the ladies loo's AKA the restroom, despite obtaining no rest in said room), I got changed into my stage outfit. After, I went to do my make-up at the huge mirror above a random wooden desk that is covered in red and orange pot-pourri that ceased to smell some time ago. This is my pre-show routine: get changed, do my make-up, do my hair, do a few vocal warm-ups and half-hearted stretches and then, mentally go through my play whilst sat on the floor outside the theatre. It's fairly standard practice...

But anyway, yesterday, I witnessed a major toilet incident- a rather embarrassing faux-pas on the part of an unknowing young lady. Unfortunately I can't give you as much detail as I'd like as I was lining my eyes at the time and thus, trying to avoid poking my eyeball. What I can tell you though, is that this young lady came bursting in through the main door into the dressing room and then turned left to enter a cubicle. As she pushed open the door, there came a rather startled and distressed scream as the cubicle was already occupied. In my shock at hearing this anguished scream, I dropped my eye liner, which then managed to mark my nose on it's descent to pot pourri head-quarters...

A few moments later, I took to the toilets myself and found, rather ironically, that I was locked in and couldn't get the blasted door open. I mean, talk about bad luck! Luckily, I was still dressed in my wellington boots and managed to hoick open the door (eventually). But I'm not going to lie... being locked in a windowless loo cubicle is not my idea of nerve-steadying calm ten minutes before my performance is due to start. In fact- between us, I felt a rather disconcerting pain in my chest when I tried to wrench the door down, but to no avail.

Happily, you will all be relived to know that this story has a happy ending. I emerged safely from the cubicle as a stronger person, having survived such a disconcerting moment- especially as Dave could not have saved me because he is a man and therefore, not allowed to rescue a damsel when in her greatest form of distress... trapped, between four walls in a rather questionable environment... the ladies' loo.

I later went on to have fun on the stage- so much so, I almost got the giggles at one point! Not good, not professional, but rather funny.

After, I went to see a magic show called the Manipulators. It was really quite intriguing, rather clever and funny too. Admittedly, I was waiting for the immortal magic words to be uttered: abra-ca-dabra, alla-ka-zee, but they never were. But, I found that this did not disappoint me because it made the magic seem- somehow, cleverer. I think they did something quite unique by managing to make magic for adults give you that same sense of wonderment that you had when a magician in a top hat and a wand gave you when you were a child. A very good show.

Well, I think that here is a good time to say goodbye. But before I do, I am going to leave you with a few parting incidents:

• this morning, when I was going through some paperwork at home, I found my phenomenally over-priced picture with the Thai Lady Boys of  Bangkok and me. Unfortunately, there is not so much of me left in the picture... my face has now been obscured by a piece of paper that got stuck to it as a consequence of the rain... oh well, it'll make an interesting story in my autobiography (one day...)!
• I was fortunate enough to see the delightful  Alan Palmer (of Fabulous Diva's of Hollywood) before his final show. I just wanted to say- Alan, it has been a privilege to meet you and I hope you have a safe flight back over the (rather large) pond.  For those of you who have not had the opportunity to meet Alan, the only way I can describe him is like sunshine in a bottle- you can't help but smile after chatting with him- especially in the Scottish rain. Dave and I will miss you.

I'll be in touch with you all soon. But for now, I am off to flyer. So much for a day-off...

Mildred

The good, the bad and the packed lunches

Whilst pondering what to write to you, I made some notes in my notebook about the last few days. Whilst doing so, I was nibbling on a biscuit that contained precisely 49 calories- no more, no less. 49... And I have to say, you can taste all 49 calories... Yum...

It's my fault really. When we were in the supermarket, Dave went to look at the t-shirts. Thinking that maybe- in the interests of saving time, it would be more productive if I went off in search of sustenance- I wound up in the biscuit aisle. By this point, I was already laden down with boxes of cereal and other carbohydrates (such as pasta- no less). They say- whoever 'they' is, it's not good to shop when you're hungry. Well, I happen to disagree with this statement. I would say, it's never good to shop when you're not hungry, because I then opted for healthy 'alternatives' we shall say. That, is how we ended up with cardboard biscuits, instead of something yummy and ever so slightly more calorific... Please accept my sincerest apologies Dave. In future, I will leave the biscuit selection to your discerning eye.

Anyway, whilst on the topic of food, did I tell you I have started to make packed lunches for Dave and myself? No, I don't think I did.

So. Every morning when Dave is in the bathroom, I nip into the kitchen and I make up two packed lunches. We have sandwiches that consist of some butter that is a bit solid, so ends up pulling the bread apart; lettuce, cucumber, mayonnaise and ham (or in Dave's case, ham and beef with a little kick of fire in the form of English mustard. Though my star sign might be Aries- and therefore a fiery sign, I am afraid that I do not share Dave's liking for the heat). I then add some low-calorie wheat-ish sort of crisp-things... What did I tell you... It's never good to shop when you're not hungry because you then go on a health spree and have to pay the price the next day for your- supposed, 'good intentions'. Of course, I then pop a yoghurt into the mix and the dastardly 49 calorie biscuits... Dave, is not a fan. And- for that matter, neither am I.

*

So, I feel that the time has come for a Fringe round-up of the last few days.

The show continues to get better after every time- which gives us heart. But if I'm honest, the weather does not help audience numbers in the slightest. Dave and I have seen many well-known faces on the streets, flyering their shows like the rest of us, but they seem to be finding it just as hard as us. After all, we are only one of two and a half thousand shows out there. How are we supposed to stand out when we are against teams of fifteen or twenty, when there's just the two of us: a Dave and a Mildred? And apparently, this year, 37% of the programme is dedicated to comedy. That- I think you'll agree, is a whoppingly huge figure. People know what they want to see- and in these economically tricky times, it seems to be something to make them laugh and/or, free.

Anyway, onto more positive news. Dave and I promised the wonderful chap Chris Wolfe, that we would attend his show, as he came to see me in mine. Chris's show is called: Generation 9/11: So Far/ So Close and was stonkingly marvellous. It was very thought-provoking, but at the same time very insightful and carefully comedic.

Dave and I also saw Des O'Connor. Only, it wasn't the Des O'Connor. It was a young chap with a ukulele instead, not the older chap we were expecting to see. This other Des was on The Hamiltons: High Jinks with the Hamiltons, which was a rather interesting show! They have guests on their show who are featuring at the Fringe. We left that show with a new statistic- courtesy of Christine: did you know that the average show loses £12,000 at the Fringe? We didn't.

Anyway, onto any other business:

• Dave and I saw the man from the Harry Potter series that plays Filch, the care-taker. His hair is shorter in real-life.
• We went to a stand-up comedy workshop, where we considered a major life affirming career change, before opting against it.
• Dave spoke some pearls of wisdom today (metaphorically, not literally, because otherwise- if he did speak in pearls, we would be rich by now). He said: 'If  The Apprentice contestants think they've got it tough, they should try selling a show at the Edinburgh Fringe festival. Here we have 2500 other teams to compete with- not to mention all the other festivals that are happening here.' 
• Dave and I would just like to say a big hi-dee-hi to our wonderful friends back home who couldn't be here in Scotland. So, hello Elsa and Archie- hopefully the sun is shining where you are!

So, I am going to pop off now as I have realised that blog writing is a major form of procrastination that stops me from flyering the world. Until next time,

Mildred (and today, Dave)

I welcome some new friends into my life: lovely wellington boots

Since yesterday's downpour (which, funnily enough, has not relented and is still pouring down), I have upped the ante in the footwear department and invested in a pair of wellington boots.

Honestly, what must I have been thinking when I packed the following?:

• 2 x pairs of canvas pumps- one sky blue and white, the other purple floral.
• 2 x ballet style pumps- one navy blue, the other black and cream. (Not much foot covering on these shoes- even less than the canvas ones).
• 2 x high-heeled shoes- one red (open toed) and the other, black (classic). Note: these shoes are not conducive with the cobbled streets of Edinburgh.
• 1 x flip-flop- scratch that, I was wise enough to unpack those at the last moment.

What must have been going through my head when I packed the essentials?

Did I manage to bring over 22 pairs of knickers? Yes.

Did I manage to bring an ample array of t-shirts and then proceed to live out of just three on an alternate basis? Yes.

Did I bring my pink slippers with the pretend (pretty) hippo faces on, to make me feel more at home? Why yes, of course.

Did I overlook the most fundamental of all items: the waterproof garments and shoes? Yes.

How did I end up in this situation? I have absolutely no idea what-so-ever. (Much to my dismay, I am beginning to realise that- perhaps, after all these years of dismissing my mother as a holiday-suitcase-packing-warden-enforcer, perhaps there is some methodology in her methods. Perhaps I need to admit defeat, hold my hands up and say that last minute packing does not work after all: I have been fooling myself for years).

Anyway, I'm going to leave you with a few parting thoughts:

• never- and I repeat, never go to a supermarket late at night with the intention of just buying a couple of pints of milk and some wellies. Two hours later and £64.52pence lighter, I had purchased the supermarket's most expensive wellington boots and milk on offer.
• greet an audience as though they are old friends to make them feel at ease.
• and lastly, remember to always smile- especially if you are smiling on the poster advertising your play, as you don't want to be accused of false advertising.

M

How to become a part of Scottish folklore (and other musings)

As I write this, I am smiling (despite the fact that my shoes have flooded and my toes now resemble prunes). Following yesterday's tweakings, I gave the best performance of all my Edinburgh performances so far.

I'll tell you why it was the best (in my opinion). It was the best, because I had fun. I stopped thinking and worrying about all the things outside of my control (like the weather, the technical side of things and the audience numbers). I put my positive thinking hat on and I spoke from the heart. I stopped thinking and I just was.

I stood on that stage and I lived the events of my play- of my life, as if they were happening again. And every second I was beneath the bright dazzling lights that make you sweat involuntary amounts profusely, I believed in what I was saying and I savoured every moment.

Yes, it may have helped matters that at the start of the show I greeted the audience and then encouraged them to laugh, clap, whoop, sneeze or make any other involuntary (or voluntary) noises that they should so desire, as I think that this put them at ease.

And yes, I know that it's my life they're laughing/ sneezing/ whooping at, but I'm prepared to make that sacrifice in the interests of making the world a better place. See what I did there? My potential job is that of World Minister and I think I've just proved I'm a highly eligible candidate, don't you?

Anyway, back to yesterday. After some major clock-watching, I indulged in my (un)-favourite past time... that of flyering. By now, I am sure that most of you already know I am frightfully bad at this task. Unfortunately, I cannot give you any new information to counter this fact (though I would- obviously, very much like to). Before long, I suspect that my appalling flyering skills will become the stuff of Edinburgh folklore.

Yes, we have a very old castle. Yes, we have a royal road that appeases any male royals globally; that's right, I mean Prince's Street. And yes, we have a regular stretch of road ( a long hill in actual fact, that Mildred has to walk up on a daily basis...) that we have tried to make sound superior to the rest of it's cobbled peers by naming it The Royal Mile. But have you heard about our most recent acquisition? A young lady that goes by the name of Mildred. She can be seen  attempting to flyer our regal streets, brandishing images of herself sat on top of the world. See her at 3pm daily, before we revisit the canon shed at the castle.

I hazard a guess, that before long, I will be on a par with the above.

Now, the final question is: have I learnt anything new since yesterday? The answer is yes. I have learnt that:

• rucksacks may well be coming back into fashion as they are practical, cool and retro. (Or at least that's what I tell myself, every time I slip into my black and silver number).
• it is always sensible to Febreze* your stage costume and then leave it to air.
• it is not sensible to Febreze your stage costume and then immediately roll it up and pack it into your rucksack. This is because, when you come to wear it later in the evening, you will feel as though you have been for a very long run before your show has already started. Chilly underarms do nothing to help the pre-stage nerves, I can tell you.

Anyhoo, I hope that you are all well.

Best wishes,
Mildred

* For those of you unfamiliar with Febreze, it is basically an air freshener for clothes in a squirty bottle. It is a cheats option to washing your clothes in the washing machine. Whilst in the city, I must cheat as I do not have a washing machine.

My latest escapades from Edinburgh

I am confused. Is today really Tuesday? What I am fast discovering is that life here at the Fringe must be lived through a veil of incomprehension to enable all the days to blur together, and thus, become one giant day. I could be writing to you on Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday, Friday, Saturday or Sunday- any number of days. I mean, I'm fairly certain that today is a Tuesday... hey-ho, I've got a one in seven chance of being right, so I think I'll go with my instincts and say that yes, today is Tuesday.

Yesterday I performed my play after making a few tweaks. I am pleased to report that all went well- there was even a bit of tittering from the audience... result! I learnt a fabulous quote this week from the delectable Lynn Ruth Miller, who said: 'remember to laugh, because you can't hear a smile'. I am inclined to tell every living soul I meet to bear this in mind, as it would- really, make life that much easier. But I haven't told every living soul that I've met, because most of them I don't know, so they might perceive that as being a tad rude. Ah, well, the Fringe is still in it's early days. Just wait until next week, and perhaps I'll be telling you a different story!

After my play, I went to see a hoot of a show by Kev Orkian called Kev Orkian: The Guilty Pianist. I laughed and I laughed and I laughed a bit more- he is a very talented man, both as a performer and a person.

Later, I went out to dinner with Dave. Despite being rather ravenous, when the nosh did arrive, I could only manage half (sometimes even I don't understand how my body works- if it's a mystery unto you it is a mega-mystery unto myself). So, Dave asked for a 'doggy bag'- in other words, a strip of tin foil with your left-overs, usually for your own consumption and not animal-kind's. Anyway, the waitress turned around and said that this wasn't a Scottish custom and that if we wanted our remnants, we should really be in America as it is what they (apparently) do. Suffice to say, we were stunned. I mean, we're by no means connoisseurs of the restaurant trade, but- as a former waitress, I had never before heard such a load of gumpf before.

Do forgive me for the shortness of this blog- Dave and I have got to hit the Royal Mile and indulge in some more of our least favourite past-time: flyering. (In case you wondering, we still haven't improved that much since I last told you how rubbish we were. However, we have invested in large boards which we are going to wear... as a heads up, boards will be the newest accessory on the catwalk. You heard it here first!).

So, since I last wrote to you, I have learnt that:

• if your audience are few and far between, you play to the invisible spectators (a piece of advice given to me by a real-life famous person who was- and is, lovely).
• my jacket- though it may not be waterproof, IS windproof- hurrah!
• my shoes- though they may not be waterproof, ARE windproof- double hurrah!
• Edinburgh exists in a parallel universe where the days are indistinguishable from each other and time has a peculiar habit of speeding up and then, slowing... right... down.
• I reiterate, this flyering malarkey is darn hard.
• finally, to always believe in the work you are doing- especially when there are so many different and diverse shows, because I truly believe that eventually, all the hard work will pay off.

So, until my next blogging session. I wish you health, happiness and a hearty breakfast in the morning (because that is what I am yearning for).

Mildred

Life since the first two shows

Friends and festival goers/ potential festival-want-to-go-but-can't-er's,
I am going to tell you about how life in Edinburgh has been since the first two shows.

So, the first show went as well as could be expected- the audience was very kind, which made life easier my end. And I have to say, that with regard to looking at the positive side of things... yes, the audience may have been small, but at least we had some bottoms on some chairs. Apparently, the opening average is just 6 people. Suffice to say, we exceeded the average... by one person. That- I am told, is a good start.

After the first show, we went to celebrate and I sampled a rather aptly named cocktail- The End of The World, which is apt because my show is called Mildred McManus for World Minister. It was a pleasant drink, but it wasn't as good as the strawberry-a-colada that I had the other night. (If you're unsure, a strawberry-a-colada is basically a pina-colada, without the pina. Instead of pineapple, it's got strawberries. So really, it was just a strawberry milkshake... with a kick (courtesy of the rum). I think, it takes an acquired taste though.

Anyway, enough about all that! After the show, we went to see another show called The Thai Lady Boys of Bangkok. To say the least, it was interesting- and very, very insightful! To my surprise, I actually enjoyed this peculiar sort of cabaret show. (It's not normally something I'd have gone to, but I... well... I suppose I'm broadening my horizons).

The Lady Boys show consisted of dancing and singing and beautiful fella's donning super spangly gowns. Although, the chap playing Marilyn Monroe looked slightly more like Marlon Monroe as he had rather long brown sideburns flanking his ears. But, he was funny enough though.

What else to say?

Well, it was actually really good fun- most of it. The part that was not so fun was when this great big hulking house of a man (who was sat to my left on a small chair) proceeded to sit on me. The worst part was, he didn't even realise that he was half on my lap and half on his chair. So Dave had to take invasive action and pull my chair back, with me glued to it. Despite moving a good half a foot or so, the house didn't even notice. In fact, in the course of the rest of the evening, he then went on to stand on my foot and then virtually blind me with an errant hand that was flying frequently through the air and dangerously close to my nasal region.

Aside from this space invader, the rest of the evening progressed nicely. I even had my first real live YMCA experience! But if truth be told, I did leave the show with my mind pondering the ever elusive question: which toilet does a lady boy use? The ladies or the gents? I do not know.

*

The next day we had our second show. Again, it went okay. It was just a shame that there weren't more people there to enjoy the experience of sharing in the life of Mildred. However, my disappointment wasn't to last too long, because later that evening I did the most perfect piece of parallel parking I have ever done in my life. (And when I say perfect- it was textbook). That- friends, made my evening because my parallel parking ability (by my own admissions), is somewhat hit and miss.

So, riding high on my parallel parking high, we went to see a fabulous show called Fabulous Divas of Hollywood starring Alan Palmer. It was very clever and very funny and I would like to wish him lots of success with his brilliant show.

Anyway, I am going to end this blog with a concise list of all that I have learnt in the past few days:

• It rains in Scotland. A lot.
• My raincoat is NOT waterproof.
• My shoes are NOT waterproof.
• My mascara IS waterproof (always good).
• Dave and I are rubbish at flyering.
• The show must always go on- to quote Freddie and the gang, regardless of the size of the audience.
• Talking IS good. (Must make a note to remind Mum of this fact every time she suggests otherwise).
• Scotland is green because of the weather.
• I am happiest when I am on the stage, making people around me happy. Long may it last.

Until the next blog, I bid you farewell. Bye!



Oh-my-goodness-me... I'm shattered and I haven't even begun performing yet!

Oh-my-goodness-me... I am totally knackered- absolutely cream-crackered, even though I've only been here a few days. The problem is, though I might be in my mid-twenties, my brain does not agree.

You see, I just can't keep up with all the young folk. I see them out and about until all hours, full of beans, whereas I start to flag by 10:30 (pm that is- I'm not that old yet, though there is still time).

I never thought I'd say this... but I yearn to be tucked up in bed by half past ten/ eleven. A good book is an optional extra, but a nice cool glass of water is a must. And yet, for these youthful beings, this is when the night begins! As I write this, I shake my head with a peculiar mixture of bewilderment and awe as there is a recurrent question that keeps appearing in my mind: how do these kids do it?

Why did this phenomenal ability to defy my body clock's natural ticking bypass me? Why can I not keep up with the youth of today, when technically, I am part of the youth of today?

I suspect that if I had something of a cooler name like 'River Dove', 'Sulpher Jones' or 'Apple Turn-Over', then of course I'd probably be able to stay up all night (and morning. You know, be a bit more hard core. I could probably even teach Kate Moss a lesson or two). Yes, that's it. I blame the parents and their placing of this burden upon me. I may once have been destined to revel until the early hours once upon a time, but my fate was sealed upon birth when it was declared that henceforth, I was to be known as Mildred- a name that can add even ten months to a baby.

My destiny was decided for me when I entered into this world. I was destined to be a mug-clutcher, as opposed to a night owl.

But for now friends, I shall bid you farewell. I am going to go and rehearse being me, in preparation of my shows opening night tomorrow. Shortly after, I am going to have some lunch (to most people, past 18:00 hours would be dinner, but not at the Fringe festival! Breakfast today was an affair that took place at half past three in the afternoon, despite being up by 9am).

Anyhoo, I hope that you are all well. My advice to you- whether you need it or not, is to cherish that dear friend of ours: Sir Sleep. I miss him dearly. But tonight, I'm going to make like Cinderella... (no, not find my Prince Charming). Instead, I'm going to ensure that I am tucked into bed by midnight- not a minute later.

Mildred has arrived in Edinburgh!

Friends, I write to you from across the border as I have arrived in bonny wee Scotland. I'm not really sure what I expected. Perhaps I was a little too optimistic to imagine that there may have been some sunshine, but this is- after all, Scotland. But I shall live in hope!

Yesterday morning, I lived up to the expectation of the British tourist: I sampled the delights of a traditional Scottish Breakfast. (Do we call it a Full Scottish here, as at home? Or is it just simply a Scottish brekkie? Oh, the small things that take on such importance!). But no, I was going to tell you that on my plate was haggis! There was also black pudding and a potato thingy, as well as the regular guests of a cooked breakfast. I thought it was pretty good of me to nibble on innards that I'd never nibbled before, without making any involuntary faces that may or may not suggest that the experience was less than enjoyable.  On a separate note, I can say with full conviction that I have done the touristy thing. I have sampled the Scottish delicacies. I need not sample again. I'm a girl delighted by simple things and will be sticking with corn flakes, thank you very much.

*

I've decided to keep these blogs short and sweet whilst in Edinburgh. I will try to write to you everyday- if not every other. 

I did have very good intentions- (now, they are just 'good'), as I was going to write to you on the 31st July. Unfortunately, that writing never materialised. I was running behind schedule, and then I had loads of stuff to do that was unanticipated, such as cleaning. 

But, Sunday was an interesting day for me as I had a significant revelation. Sometime in the afternoon, I realised that my friend Dave and I, were about to drive some 400 miles to Edinburgh to debut a play about my life. Yes, I have known I would be here for some months, but it never quite felt real. 

So you can understand the dauntingness of the Edinburgh Fringe Festival (where there are over 2500 shows this year!), there were various questions running through my mind I am going to share with you. Imagine today is the 31st of July and they will make sense.

• Question: What is going through my head? Answer: Millions of different musings and wonderings, all nearly colliding with each other but just narrowly missing.
• Question: Why is my mind Mildreding me? Answer: Because today (as in Sunday), is the 31st of July 2011 (which has now passed) and I have just realised I am about to embark on something rather scary!
• Question: Why is this date so significant? Answer: Because today it is MPD-Day (otherwise known as My Personal D-Day).
• Question: What does MPD-Day mean for the world? Answer: It means, friends, that the time for waiting is over. The time for venturing to the land of Scots has arrived. Yes that's right: the Edinburgh Fringe Festival is awaiting a Mildred.

Anyway, I am going to sign off now as MPD-Day has now become MPD-Week.

So, a rather excited Mildred bids you farewell with an ironic 'och aye, hullo!'. I'm thinking I'll fit right in, don't you?

By jove, I've done it: I've only gone and become a fully fledged adult this morning!

Friends,

On a day like any other with no particularly redeeming features, I had an astonishing realisation. I realised that I have indeed become a fully fledged adult today. Technically- age wise, you might argue that I was already there (which would be rather tricky to argue with as I am in my mid-twenties).

However, I have never really considered myself a 'proper' grown-up... until today that is. For a while now, I have felt as though I am floundering between young-adulthood and official adulthood- as if I don't really have a place in either. For want of a better phrase, you might say I have been in 'no man's land'. And if you did say that, I think I would have to agree with you. 

Anyway, I had my moment of realisation in a place I seldom visit, whilst partaking in an activity I seldom do. That's right; I was having my hair dressed. (Why they call the hair salon a hair dressers is something I had previously never stopped to question... until today. But I didn't question it out loud- only in my head. But really, dressing your hair? A most peculiar phrase).

I feel I should explain, as I believe that there are two camps of women when it comes to hair dressing experiences. There are those that savour every moment of it as they chat with their regular stylist, whilst enjoying a nice cup of tea (due to being regular clients). And then there are those that don't particularly enjoy staring at themselves in the mirror for the duration of the cutting, whilst you talk to a stranger wielding a pair of scissors.

I, fall into the second camp.

Usually, my normal hair dressing experience consists of the following:

• avoiding making an appointment until strictly necessary.
• planning in advance a new drastic haircut, and then doing nothing about it, apart from maybe having two inches cut off instead of just the one.
• sitting uncomfortably in my seat as I make chit-chat with my reflection and the hair dresser.
• moments of awkward silence between topics of conversation.
• and of course, the obligatory 'yes, I can see the difference' bit at the end of the event when they show you the back of your head in the mirror. Normally I can't really see the difference as I don't study the back of my head enough to know if a substantial difference has in fact resulted.

Today, however, was different.

I arrived at my 9:30 appointment ten minutes early. Instead of having to sit down on a really low sofa, I was ushered straight into one of the salon chairs and wrapped in the customary cape. At this point, I usually start to feel uncomfortable as I have to watch my floating head make expressions I don't even realise I make, but that discomfort never arrived. This did surprise me because nobody looks flattering in those wraps, or when under the harsh lighting. But today, I thought I didn't look too bad, (even when under the lights that usually leave me looking like I departed this planet many years ago).

I managed to deflect the subject of conversation from me and onto a load of hairdressing stuff that I was reading on a sign in front of me. As a consequence, my trip to the hair dressers became an educational experience. I learnt about things like hair extensions, creating volume and  foils- all stuff I'm sure will come in useful (one day).

The best thing about this appointment, was that I was in and out in no time at all. There was no dilly-dallying. Just quick scissor snipping and that's all folks (!): my kind of session.

As I was walking back to the car (after paying, of course), I realised I had become a grown-up. Gone was my younger-person awkwardness that usually accompanied a hair dressing venture. And gone was that peculiar sensation that you get when you talk to your reflection. Until those things had passed, I don't think I was ever going to be able to join the ranks of real adults the world over. So all in all, not bad at all.

Although, I do think- with hindsight, that the eradication of these awkwardnesses may have had something to do with the hairdresser being a fellow named Freddie. I must thank him for properly- and at long last, inducting me into the world of adulthood. It was my first experience of having my hair dressed by a man, but it was an experience that exceeded my expectations as Freddie coiffed my barnet to perfection.

Mum- Dad- if you're reading this, you'll be pleased to read that I have finally become a fully fledged adult. It has been a long time on the horizon I know, but I was just waiting for a pivotal life event to make me realise. I mean, I know I'm debuting my life story  in a short time in Scotland (which does happen to be a real job ******- you know who you are), but now I feel ready. And I'll tell you why I feel ready.

The girl staring back at me in the mirror was me. For the first time, I realised that I didn't want to change a single thing about me- nothing.

And that was when I knew I had become an adult: when I accepted I was who I am.

So, with that I draw this entry to a close. I write, wearing a smile of contentment, happy with the knowledge that I have finally transitioned through an invisible barrier, out of no man's land and into a life I am very happy and excited to lead.

From a now real grown-up,

Mildred

My body has waged war on me when I need it most

As I write to you on an otherwise dreary British July day, I can't help but feel disappointed in myself. Why, when I most need my body to co-operate and be on top-notch form, has it decided to launch a full-blown attack on me?

As you know, I'm shorty off to debut to the world my life story- which, by the way, has suddenly become interesting. I recently applied for a job- World Minister, which- for those of you who aren't sure what that is, is basically Prime Minister of the world. Yep, it's a big under-taking I know, but I thought hey-ho, what's the worst that could happen? So I decided to apply. I mean, I'm not really politically orientated, but maybe that will work in my favour. After all, variety- as they say (whoever 'they' is), is the spice of life. I, am simply providing the bit of cinnamon that is needed to make this job interesting. Anyway, the results of this job apparently coincide with my time in Edinburgh, which is when the first World Minister will be unveiled to the world. You never know, it could be me...

I'm sorry- I do digress (as you probably know by now).

I was going to tell you that I have developed a sore throat and am in the primary stages of a cold. Unbelievable! I never get ill (touch wood), and now, when I need my body most does it decide to turn against me? I mean, I treat it well, but perhaps that's no longer enough. I just don't understand why- when my body has the option of rebelling against me for 365 days in a year, it opts to do it now, at a crucial moment. It's like, it's been dormant for months on end and suddenly gone- 'aha, let's make life interesting for Mildred- keep her on her toes.' Well thank you body, but you should be prepared, for I am armed and ready to fight back with the most sophisticated weaponry known to man- medicine.

That's right. I'm taking action. In my artillery I have:

• assorted throat sweets (all as unpleasant as each other).
• vapour rub (to steam 'it' out of my system).
• hot berry drinks (not the lemon ones- eww, gross).
• throat spray (tastes vile, but blissfully numbs the offender).
• two different cough syrups- the first, mentholated; the second, honey and lemon.
• multivitamins (because you can never be too sure).
• a pot of honey and a lemon (there were two lemons, but one ceased to be yellow, so we parted ways).
• various cold/flu tablets for the daytime and night (to ensure that battle can commence for 24 hours, not just in my waking moments).
• nasal spray- I'm new to this product. Delivers an unusual sensation, but I guess that means it's doing it's job.
• my hands- the operatives and administrators that allow this operation to run smoothly. 

Let battle be won through mentholated madness, soup, hot honey and lemon  and regular nasal dousing. I will not succumb to the battlefield, nor will I succumb to snoozing drowsily in bed with a hot water bottle. I will fight this cold valiantly until the end. But first, I think I might indulge in a nice hot bubbly bath.

And then, I launch my first wave of attack via the nasal passage, the teeth cave and some uncomfortable inhalations. This plan I confide to you in utmost secrecy. We can only hope it doesn't end up in enemy territory, lest they launch a counter attack.

As of 12 hundred hours today, Mildred v MB (Mildred's Body) has begun.

May the best Mildred win.

Gee, no one ever says how tricky writing your life story is... (except me, because I'm saying it now).

Hello there friends!

Apologies for my detainment. I have been- as you know, attempting to write my life story. Unfortunately, my attempts are not going well.

So, I've made a tactical evaluation and decided that a change of course is in order. No longer will 'The Life of Mildred, as lived by Mildred, as told by Mildred' be published in book form. No longer will 'The Life of Mildred, as lived by Mildred, as told by Mildred' be published in downloadable form. No longer will 'The Life of Mildred, as lived by Mildred, as told by Mildred' be published at all.

No no. It was too tricky and too time consuming, having to scavenge in the depths of my memory banks for something worth writing down. Plus, it was exhausting. So I've decided to switch to another avenue, for I will not let my time spent self-analysing have been time spent in vain. Nope, not at all. Because friends, I wanted you to be the first to know my new news.

I am writing a play instead! It's based on my life and will star... me, as Mildred, the main character. Well, she's actually the only character, so it should be rather interesting. My friend Sophie- (the florist), is helping me to co-direct, which is fun. Though at times, it is slightly demoralising, having to relive the same experiences over and over again.

I mean, take what happened to me a few weeks ago. (I didn't tell you about it, because I was a little bit embarrassed, but now that I'm going to be broadcasting it to the world, I may as well tell you). Basically, I got fired from a little job that my brother Scott found for me. If truth be told, I wasn't particularly bothered about losing that job- I didn't like the boss, I didn't like the staff, I didn't like the restaurant and I most definitely didn't like the food. Doesn't take much to realise why I was fired does it?

My first job was as a waitress when I was 13. Twelve years on and I'm back where I started. I suppose, my morale was at an all time low. What with turning up at the wrong garden centre for that notoriously disastrous interview, and now this... I'm rapidly realising that despite my degrees, I am becoming unemployable.

Did I tell you why I was fired?

No, I don't think I did.

Here in lies the problem. I was fired for being too honest.

Again.

You see, it's not the first time. But the problem is, I'm just not prepared to lie (even if I am being paid to do so). And this problem is further exacerbated by having a conscience that I can't control, which means I find it almost impossible to lie (almost, but not quite).

Anyway, that's my news- I am Mildred McManus the playwright.

Having made this decision, I thought: 'let's spice things up a little', so I'm going to debut my life story at the Edinburgh Fringe Festival in August. Crazy, or what?!

Farewell my friend

Dearly beloved, we are gathered here today to say goodbye to a loyal and devoted friend: the Poop Mobile.

*

That's right friends, my trusty stead is no more. 

Early one evening last week, the Poopster and I were driving home when a woman driving very fast hit us. Luckily, we were driving slowly, so I wasn't injured. Though I was taken to hospital as a precaution in the back of an ambulance. Lying down whilst being driven is an exceedingly strange sensation- one (I must add), I hope never to repeat again. 

After being given the all clear, I sought news on my constant companion. I found my Dad. He'd been talking with the policeman and was wearing an expression that was very grave indeed.

He told me to sit down. So I did. And then he proceeded to tell me that my little dalmation-ified car was no more. 

Dad was right to ensure that I was seated before delivering this sad news. Silently I looked to him as his eyes met my gaze. And then I spoke in a voice that didn't sound like my own.

'When can I see them?' (The Poop Mobile was like a fish- neither a him nor a her, so they became a 'them', in case you were wondering).

'Tomorrow love, tomorrow,' he replied.

I nodded. 'Okay.'

And with that, we left the hospital. 

*

As a tribute to my wonderful Poop Mobile, I would here like to take a moment to reflect on all the good times we shared as it ocurred to me earlier today: many of our good times have featured in this blog.

• My very first blog entry was about my little Poop Mobile as the exhaust had fallen off. It was the first time our relationship was tested and I wrote to you when they were being patched up in the hospital for cars garage.
• I pay tribute to my car for enduring and surviving ALL THE POT HOLES.
• Though my car may often have been splattered in offerings, when it was clean and dandy, it was a car for any outfit.
• My little car had a wheel transplant during it's time in my care.
• When I first bought the Poopster, I pimped it. I bought a pink air freshner and stuck it in the vent. That was as outrageous as the pimping got.
• I received some fabulous Halford's finest hub-caps for my birthday. To the Poop Mobile, that must have been like wearing a new pair of Manolo Blahnik's.
• Whilst driving along one evening, the car and I were attacked by the cannon-balling bee that flew in through the open window and had to be removed with my shoe.
• It was in my little white Fiesta that I first experienced car-o-feriority when parked next to that gleaming Aston Martin. I'll never forget that feeling; the moment I deduced my car was worth two Aston Martin tyres... I'll never forget the feeling later in the evening when I returned to my car to see that some birds had deposited on the shiny Aston bonnet. It was a feeling of contentment, knowing that to a bird, a car was just another surface: our feathered friends didn't care about the price. That was the moment when I felt most loyal to my car; the moment I realised I was very happy driving my Poop Mobile.

I will miss you.

Thank you for the good times. Though our time was short, it was exceedingly good fun.

There'll never be a first car like you.

*

Thank you for being here to say goodbye to the Poop Mobile. May they rest in peace.

Life with a coach-load of old folk (and me)

Hello dears.
No... that's not right.

Hello there folk!
Nope... that's not right either.

Oh dear. What's happening to me? I appear to have forgotten the much taken for granted art of the standardised greeting. It must be the concussion I incurred when a book fell on my head (from a great height) this week . That's the only solution I can deduce.

You see, since Monday last week, I have being in the company of people much older than I'd usually dilly-dally with. In case you don't know (or haven't yet guessed what I'm talking about), I've been on "holiday" (in inverted comma's). This week I accompanied Gma (aka Grandma) on a coach trip, so you now see how the inverted comma's come into place.

Now, I don't know if you know, but the dictionary defines "holiday" as:

• a time when one is exempt from the requirement of duty and assessment*.

Well, this is totally debatable. I for one was most certainly not exempt from duty, but Gma and her pals were. To further deduce whether I was actually on holiday, I have posed myself a question:

• Was I relaxed?

Yes, I answer without hesitation, but really I mean no. Maybe I was at times relaxed, maybe I wasn't. You see it's hard to relax in a dining hall filled with 300 plus OAP's. As lovely as they are, you can't help but always find yourself on the lookout for an accident that may or may not occur, which therefore makes it impossible to relax. Plus, as the token "young" person, I had to fulfil various unspoken deeds, otherwise the mature folk would cast all kinds of aspersions upon the youth of the nation.

So, with that knowledge in mind, I cast the role of defender of youth-kind upon my shoulders. Nobody asked me, but I felt it was my moral duty; that in the absence of kindred youth-spirits, it was my responsibility to defend the honour of those aged under 30. Don't worry, there's no need to thank me! It wasn't actually possible for me to commit myself to the job 100%, as it wasn't possible for me to defend (what I have recently come to describe as), the undefendables.

Please note: Undefendables are known as such for the simple fact that their actions cannot be defended. Undefendables are the select few that besmirch and tarnish the the tag of youth. (I believe, friends, that you are aware of whom I refer to and require no further explanation...).

Naturally, I felt it essential- in the absence of other under 30's to defend the defendables to ensure that the definition of youth had the following left to it's name:

1. some credibility
2. some meaning
3. some, er, some... something else at least... not sure what...

Understandably, having assigned myself as a valiant knight who has drank from the fountain of youth, I was always on guard. So really, in response to the previous question I posed (could I relax?), the short answer is no, not really. It's exhausting being a protector of human-kind. Trust me.

Now we have ascertained that I was not nearly as relaxed as I'd have liked to be, I posed myself another question:

• Was I tired? 

I answer you with a resounding no, but you know as well as I do that I'm fibbing. Yes, of course I was tired. Who wouldn't be? I was sharing a bedroom with Gma which, by day was delightful, but by night? Well... a different story entirely.

As much as I love my Gma- flaws and all, I don't think my love can stretch to include nightly snoring. Nope, I've thought about it some more: it definitely isn't that elastic. Over the course of the week I swam 2 miles in the hope that I'd exhaust myself into sleeping that night. It was a great theory (if I don't say so myself), but didn't come off in reality.

That was a shame, a real shame. So on top of physical exhaustion, I then added what I have come to term: "total sensory deprivation". It's no where near as scary as it sounds- it's basically an eye mask and ear plugs... but I quickly learnt that ear plugs might plug your ears, but they don't block the sound. They merely muffle it. This meant that I was back to square one.

As Gma is obviously my grandmother, it would've been wrong to poke her with a poking device (whatever was to hand, be it a finger, a foot, a pen, the lamp, a book etc). So I had to make do with imaginary poking, but I have to say, imaginary poking is nowhere near as satisfying as real pokeage because the silence does not follow.

Anyway, you'll be pleased to know that I did manage to get some sleep. Eventually. And last night, upon returning home, I had new found respect and admiration for my trusty, faithful and loyal stead: my single bed.

So, having established that I was neither relaxed nor rested, I have posed myself one final question in my post-"holiday"-analysis:

• What can I conclude?

Well, I can conclude that despite the long bouts of sitting and multiple cups of tea scheduled into the day, I have a secret that I have been harbouring since my return. But first, you must promise me you won't tell a soul. You promise? Good. Right, well the thing is, I... I erm... I secretly enjoyed our excursions out, especially the jaunt on the steam train. It took me back to my childhood, which was lovely. But more than anything, I loved the fact that I felt as though I were aboard the train to enter JK Rowling's Hogwarts (you'll understand my disappointment that the engine wasn't a scarlet one, but was in fact bottle green). But even so, I loved it just the same.

I am particuarly proud of my self-proclaimed rebellious streak. Whilst on board the steam train, you're never going to believe what I did! It was so totally rebellious, because I, Mildred McManus am a fully fledged rebel (well, for today at least). You're not going to believe this, but when the steam train was chugging along, I stuck my head out of the window (after sensibly tying my hair back). Now, I know that might not sound that rebellious, but trust me it was! Because right above me was a sign that read 'Under no circumstances are you allowed to poke your head out of the window' (or something like that. I'm not sure if the word poke was used, but you get the gist of it). So you see why I'm something of a rebel now? Cool eh?!

Anyway, I'm going to go to bed now and appreciate the silence and the solitude. Gma- if you're reading this, thanks a million for the trip. To the rest of you, good night and thank you for reading this.

From a very sleepy Mildred

P.S. Sorry I couldn't write to you sooner! The hotel was a computer free zone and therefore incompatible with life for the YAC's (Young Aged Citizens). 

*Sourced from dictionary.com

Yesterday, I had my first experience of car-o-feriority

Hello Friends, and welcome to the glorious month of June. Well, it may be glorious for you, but it most certainly wasn't for me as the promising start to the month that I'd been hoping for never materialised. Instead, I suffered from my first bout of car-o-feriority.

For those of you who are unfamiliar with the term, let me take a moment to familiarise you. Car-o-feriority is when you are sat in your automobile- in my case a white poop splattered Ford Fiesta, and then you park next to another car. But it's not just any car. Oh no. Car-o-feriority only happens when you realise that your little baby is decidedly mediocre. This fact becomes blindingly obvious the longer you sit next to perfection, ie, a car that you can only ever dream of owning and is usually ever only seen on Top Gear. Car-o-feriority is more commonly a male affliction (I have noted at least) and affects my poor father usually on a bi-monthly basis. It is yet, however, to affect my mother- she is very happy cruising along in old faithful- a Honda Civic.

Anyway, there I was sat in a car park, minding my own business (as you do) when I was suddenly struck down by a most peculiar sensation. I began to feel e-feminated (if this isn't a real word I apologise, but given that I'm of the fairer gender, it is impossible for me to be emasculated. Note: I have not put a double 'f' in the term e-feminate, as if I did it would become effeminate, which means to display womanly characteristics, which obviously, I do).

Never before had I suffered with e-femination, which rapidly became car-o-feriority as I began the mental comparison between my 12 year old battered and bruised old friend and this brand new pillar box red three door Aston Martin. Comprehension dawned on me as I thought about my pimping of my car and compared it to the Aston. Do I have alloys? No, but I have the finest Halfords hubcaps money can buy. Did the A.M. have alloys? Yes, in black. Evidently, this car was too cool for school. Do I have a leather interior? No. Did the A.M? Why, it most certainly did. Do I even have a CD player? Nope. Need I ask the question relating to the A.M? I think you know the answer: it had three.

Barely able to prise myself out of the car due to severe levels of car-o-feriority, I did the one thing that any young woman not in a relationship would have done: I phoned my Dad. He did not offer the comforting words I needed to hear. Instead, he welcomed me to the club and informed me that the entire value of my car was worth just two A.M. tyres at the most. To add insult to injury, he then asked me to take a picture so he could see the beast. Thank you dear father, thank you.

Now, I know you must be wondering: at any point did I feel superior in my speckled white Fiesta? The answer you are looking for would be no. I tried to do that logic thing that my Dad taught me where you work out the expenditure on top of the sum of the car, but it didn't perk me up. Yes, I might have cheaper insurance. And yes, I might have a lesser expenditure. But ultimately, I had a Ford Fiesta. These arguments became inconsequential as I began to question my loyalty to my pooped-up motor. What was happening to me, I wondered? For I had always been happy with my little car, until I experienced the phenomenon of car-o-feriority. All I can say, is that it must be exhausting being a man. I mean, this affliction strikes my Dad down at least a dozen times a year! How he manages to pick himself up is beyond me.

Oh well. Life must go on.

Yes, indeed it must. When I remembered that, I felt heartened. I can aspire to the dizzying heights of Aston Martin ownership and one day, maybe one day, succeed. And then I realised, I'm happy to wait twenty years for one. After all, my Dad's been waiting that long (and some), so he's due his any day now. For now, I'm happy to admire from a distance and wistfully hope that one day my hard work might pay off.

With that realisation, I was at one with myself and my ever loyal car once more.

All was well.

Especially when I returned to my car later that evening and felt a certain sense of smugness. Next to my poop smattered Fiesta was a poop splattered Aston. For once, I felt grateful for a little black and white speckling on the bonnet and would have gladly accepted a little more on mine, feeling blessed that a bird would share itself with both the Prince and Pauper of the car world.

A series of thank you's and apologies

Hello all! I'm not sure why I've greeted you with an exclamation, given that this blog is something of a confessional...


As you know, I have recently started to write my life-story, which is becoming surprisingly interesting the further back I reminisce. Until a couple of days ago, I had thought that my life was well, rather mediocre. Not today though, not today. I now think it's bordering on being slightly interesting.

Now, not that you need to know this, but having recently made the ground-breaking discovery that I can write in purple, I'm taking full advantage and doing so- as you can see. Ah, such small things that make life all the sweeter! 

But in seriousness, I realised that over the years, I may not have been entirely truthful with all my nearest and dearest. So, I would like to here offer a series of thank you's and apologies to those people who have helped make my life what it is.

• THANK YOU to Agent Grandma for selling my name to loads of other oldies who probably aren't in the least bit interested in what your granddaughter is up to and who probably have even lesser amounts of interest in reading my as yet unpublished (and rather unfinished) autobiography. Nevertheless, thanks for promoting me for free- I owe you one Gma! (Sorry I mentioned your fee- please, don't put your rates up now... I'll give you a signed free copy of my yet to reach completion novel. How's that for a deal?!). 
• THANK YOU to my good friend Sophie for being a person to aspire to- your levels of coolness far surpass my own.
• THANK YOU to Auntie Beatrice for reading my previously poor attempts at novel writing and not minding that I've (metaphorically) left you hanging on quite an important cliffhanger for quite some time now... I'm sorry, I've got major writer's block. I know it was an epic love story, but I don't know what happens when one half of the couple's been vapourised and the other frozen. Can a relationship between the two really continue? I knew I should have stuck to what I knew and not branched out into the world of sci-fi... So really, I'd also like to apologise to you Auntie Bea, given that this book is never going to end and you will forever be on a cliffhanger (metaphorically not literally). Sorry.
• THANK YOU to Pam for listening to me ramble on about goodness only knows what when you really should have been writing your essays when we were at uni. Ahh, friends. 
• THANK YOU to Dawn French and Jennifer Saunders for being an inspiration during my days at uni. You don't know me, but one day you will, so I shall look forward to our imminent meeting. 
• THANK YOU to Mr Walt Disney for your fantastic films over the years. No further explanation required.

 Now, onto all my sorries. Unsurprisingly, this list is somewhat larger...

• SORRY to all the people I have ever fallen onto when a bus has lurched around a corner in my pre-car days... 
• SORRY to any poor souls who have had to experience my cooking...
• SORRY for the time that I crashed the car into that rock Mum... I was doing the old emergency brake routine and well, that happened to be in the way... but at least it stopped the car. Plus, I was a learner, so what can you expect? (That's my story and I'm sticking by it, because I actually was a learner when said incident occurred).  
• SORRY about accidentally smoking out the lounge Dad, when you and Mum were on holiday. It was very cold and I was attempting to be a proper girl scout... unsuccessfully. I am evidently a bad work-person, because I am blaming my tools: the fire grate wouldn't do what was required of it. (Either that, or I'm a rubbish fire-lighting person, which is probably closer to the truth).
• SORRY to all the Newsagents who I have given false hope to over the years. No, I won't be buying the magazines. Yes, I will be reading them in your shop for free. Thanks!
• SORRY for all the times that I have inappropriately had the giggles and landed any of my friends in hot water- you know who you are. 
• SORRY to Mum for scaring you when I was learning to drive. 
• SORRY to all the people at Edinburgh airport on the day I arrived a couple of New Years ago, when at the top of my voice I shouted down the phone 'I'M IN SCOTLAND!', at the exact moment I went around a corner and into a silent departures lounge. 
• SORRY for all the spiders that you've thought I've removed from various locations for you Scott. Sometimes they went into my hand and out the window, other times they didn't. Of course, on those occasions I'd always say that the spider was long gone when in reality, it was probably hovering pretty close to your bed/ close to you... Sorry, really I am!
• Sorry for broadcasting your fear of spiders to everyone Scott. I promise not to reveal anymore secrets that might make you ever so slightly less cooler than you are. 
• Sorry to the Chancellor at my university graduation ceremony. I didn't mean to tread on your toe- it was nerves. Plus you  had exceedingly large feet.

So, having made peace with the world and the people I know, I can sleep easy for this evening at least. I hope that any of my past indiscretions can be overlooked and forgiven by the respective people. For now though, I bade you farewell and wish you a pleasant weekend.


Mildred

Committing ones self to paper is never as easy as you think...

Hello, hello, hello friends. Apologies for my absence, but I have been very busy lately. Having made the magnanimous decision to commit the great- as yet, untold story of my life to paper, I have been somewhat preoccupied.

After deciding that the time had come to document my life in paper form (regardless of the fact that it's likely I'll be the only reader...), I set out with every intention of doing things properly. So, I started by going to the library to find a book about how to go about writing your life story. I found one imaginatively named 'How to go about writing your life story', and as interesting as the book was, I didn't find it as helpful as I thought I would. I mean, the first instruction of 'decide who you're going to write about and who your reader is' was rather self-explanatory. The answer is me and me, because I'm not sure if there's many people who will be interested in the life of Mildred McManus. But, we shall live in hope.

Fairly early on, I decided to abandon the book and make it up as I went along (how to write that is, not my life). Basically, I've spent a lot of time thinking this week. Though I'm not sure that's what the parents would call it. Mum would say I've been day-dreaming myself into procrastination and Dad... well, Dad would simply say I'm wasting my time, when clearly I'm not.

Anyway, one particular incident happened to me this week, which I have sought to include in my great life history. Obviously, I am not writing chronologically because I don't seem to remember things in the correct order, meaning that I am going to share my recent past with you.

Just this week, I was taking a break from reliving my childhood and I was cleaning the kitchen. As I was doing so, I was startled to hear a scratching sound and loud bang emanating from somewhere close by outdoors. I went to open the back door and lo, there was a badger right in front of me- in broad daylight! Well, my natural reaction was to scream.

So I did.

And then, upon recovering my composure, I drifted into the lounge where Dad was in his element. I kept this secret from Mum (though I don't know why), because Dad was not doing his allocated chores for the day. Instead, he was- horror of all horrors, relaxing on his day off! No, just joking. Although Dad did have his feet on the sofa, which meant he either thought that he was home alone or had simply forgotten that I was there (sadly the most probable).

Anyway, when I walked in, Dad had his eyes glued (metaphorically, not literally) to the television as he was watching a rather lackluster England football performance, but somehow hoping that by verbally abusing the plastic frame of the tele, he could offer his support and encouragement to the players.

I do not believe it worked.

'Dad', I said, my heart still pounding unnaturally fast due to the unforeseen badger escapade. 'Did you just hear me scream?'

'Yes', he replied without taking his eyes off the game.

'Were you going to come and see what terrified me so much?'

'Er... I really should say yes, but the game's on love.'

'But Dad, I could have died or something!'

Distinctly unimpressed with my dramatisation, he slowly raised his eyebrows in a manner that only fathers can perfect as I proceeded to describe to him what had happened. Eventually he said, 'are you sure it's a badger?'

'Yes', I confidently replied. But then followed a series of questions to establish whether it was actually a badger or quite simply, a horrifyingly over-fed rat that had been supplementing it's daily diet with a seriously high dosage of steroids.

I'm pleased to say that Dad concurred: it wasn't the latter.

But anyway, I'm going to have to shoot off as I've just had a childhood memory that I must commit to paper before it becomes lost for all time. It concerns the incident when I was enrolled in potty training classes and my brother Scott persuaded my other brother Graham to put an empty potty (thankfully) onto his head. Unfortunately for Graham, said toddler toilet got stuck and he had to go to hospital to have it removed. Ahh, it was a hoot (but not for Graham though)! I suspect that he has tried to erase this incident from his memory, so I must apologise to him. Graham- if you're reading this, sorry. If you're not reading this, then there's nothing to worry about!

Here, I bid you farewell and leave you with the following advice:

• never interrupt a father when they are watching a sporting event on television, regardless of the gravity of the situation.
• never put a potty on your head.
• never approach any animal that you suspect may be taking illegal or harmful drugs, or simply steroids.

Bye!