Tuesday, 28 August 2012


Last Wednesday at approximately 2 o’clock, am or pm I can never remember which, I turned 26. That’s right the big 2-6 as is the saying. (That is definitely not the saying.) I woke at 7am, over excited, with slight morning breath – a little bit of Colgate dealt with that straight away – and ready for whatever Wednesday 22nd August 2012 would bring. I put on my best green floaty frock and off I went!

It started off with an audition, a brilliant beginning to a b-day as it meant I got to act on my day of birth and also got the chance to deliver my finest Irish accent- definitely a slight tinge of Leprechaun with a smattering of Graham Norton but I’m sure they looked over it… As I entered the room, I gave a big grin, shook the director’s hand, had a little chin-wag and then began to act. Irishly. 

Mid-speech, I decided to look down, bashfully, definitely doing a really effective dramatic pause and it was then that I clocked what I was wearing. Green. Bright Emerald Green. On a floaty dress with petal like detailing.

I had come as a shamrock.

I had walked into the room of an audition for an Irish play dressed as the national symbol for all that is Irish. I have never claimed to be subtle but if anyone wants a lesson in really low-key subliminal messaging then I AM YOUR GIRL.

Following the speech I then decided that to top it off it was probably best if I sang the Irish National Anthem, ‘C’est La Vie’ by Bewitched. So I did.

NOT. Or did I…? You decide.
It was then time to go and meet my father and brother for a lovely family lunch, hoorah! Now, to get to this family lunch I had to cross London Bridge. Luckily for me it decided not to fall down that day; however, it did decide to be windy. EXCESSIVELY windy some might say and in a floaty GREEN dress this was not good. In fact, the results were disastrous.

The wind (probably at gale force 50) whipped up my dress to around my ears and I was pinning it down with various objects and limbs trying to shield the oncoming stampede of business men from my flange when out of nowhere a solitary man appears in the hurricane.  A perve you might think. And you may be right. However, instead of the usual sleazy crap out of his mouth came a rap.


So I did. And London Bridge… YOU. ARE. WELCOME.

All in all a pretty amazing start to a birthday. Following the rap and the flash I went out, got ever so merry with my beautiful friends and woke up with a plethora of panda stickers on my face.  What more could a girl want?!

*whispers* A car… Dad… Get me a car… A yellow one… With furry dice… And a puppy in it…
Told you I was the Queen of the Subliminal.


Tuesday, 7 August 2012


HELLO BLOGEES! So... this is awkward... (cue slight blush and shameful look to the floor) my blog MAY have been temporarily banned from BookFace as I MAY have called a certain disease a certain word... However, HOPEFULLY I will be allowed back onto the world-wide-web to spread the good news of FerryEgg soon! I wait with badger-baited-breath. (Alliteration station.)

Excuse my digression- back to the title.

The Mid-Twenties Crisis.

I very recently attended the hen-do (or Jen-do as I have aptly coined it) of one of my best friends – Jennifer. Jen had met the love of her life, Ben, (don’t even try to make rhyming jokes, believe me I’ve done them all) at university and finally after five or six years he got down on one knee and she said YES. Never have I seen a couple more right for each other, they laugh until they wet themselves and when they are quiet you can almost feel them holding each other in their thoughts. If I wasn’t so enamoured with them both I would have vomited whilst typing that last sentence. But I am, so I didn’t.

Watching them profess their love for each other at the altar, promising to give 100% of themselves for better or for worse, made me realise just how far I am from that at the moment but also how much I would like it one day- when it is right.

Working in a freelance profession be it in acting, writing, porn (JOKES MUM) you never know what is around the corner or when the next pay cheque is going to arrive. Now this can be thrilling in a sort of, ‘LOOK HOW FREE I AM, I MIGHT NOT BE ABLE TO BUY BREAKFAST BUT I DON’T CARE I HAVE MY ART’, sort of way, but equally it is terrifying.

Thus, picturing yourself with a house and kids in a stable environment doesn’t come easily or naturally, however much the womb may crave it. Not saying that mine does, but if my womb did have a mind of its own I’m sure it might think about it on the odd occasion. Can’t believe I’m actually personifying my womb. This won’t happen again- I promise. Actually Dazza, don’t make promises you can’t keep…

ANYWAY, what I’m trying to say is that the mid-twenties are a challenge, it’s not like what we imagined in primary or even secondary school but like our Olympians (that’s right, I slipped the Olympics in) - I am up for it.

And as a final thought - DAZZA’S EPIC FAIL NO. 3.

When on said Jen-do, before the natural hilarity of the evening occurred, we partook in a slightly more civilised cupcake making workshop. We hens were shown how to make dainty flowers and delicate hearts out of wafer-thin icing to be covered with a selection of glitter and tiny balls. (Insert appropriate gag here) The rest of the girls set to work on their elegant and exquisite designs… I, on the other hand, sculpted a penis. A tiny icing penis to sit atop of my cake. It was a hen-do after all! Little to my knowledge, the mother of the bride who has known me since the age of ten - when my breasts were mere bee-stings and my hair was a mushroom - was wandering around to peruse our work. On seeing my creation, she stopped, she sighed and with a resigned shake of her head said, “There’s always one Laura, and it’s always you”.

And I’m glad.