Old stuff

Found this in an old story poem of mine.  One day I'll finish the whole thing!

Extract from Morning Coffee

IV.

There are pictures

of your respective families

in the bathroom,

to admire

as you pluck and shave.

Sometimes, when on the toilet

you cast your eyes up to the mirror. 

He’s the shortest

in the back row 

amongst variations

on the theme of freckly nose.

Thick-fringed, scabby-kneed

cross-eyed and bow-legged

but all with the same

splattered freckles,

the same

inquisitive nose.

Your portraits,

on the other hand,

stretch vertically

in contrast.

Next to your mother and father

you resemble

a bouquet of tall poppies,

stooping slightly

against an invisible wind.

Your mother once described you

as a doe;

sweetly lashed,

long necked,

but never quite understanding

which way your legs

were meant to go. 

Still, Bambi remained

your favourite movie. 

Robert can’t understand your fascination

with these photos. 

He frequently catches you

toothbrush in hand,

robin’s egg speckles on the mirror.

Your mouth,

slightly open,

dribbles sea scum

onto your gaping chin.

In these times,

he waves a hand in front of your face,

pats you on the bum,

and you jump,

flushed and embarrassed.

Other times he says

Lovely?  Lovesick again?

to which you say                   

Something like that.

You know this isn’t the

way it’s supposed to go,

this grumbling in your gut. 

You’re happy and you know it,

so clap your hands.

But off peak

you catch yourself imagining

alternate universes, parallel paths.

In those times you slap yourself,

chide your inner child,

order it to go to bed.

You yearn for a way to

release it, 

like passing wind.

           

Sometimes, 

when you wash your hands,

it’s like they will never be clean.

Perhaps it’s a bout of feminism.

Perhaps, like Bambi, you never grew up.

Observations on the suburb I work in so far

• One third of couples that come into the shop are white, one third are Asian, and one third are one of each.  In fifty years time this suburb will be completely run by Eurasians.  Some of them are good-looking, some of them not so much.
• Everyone in this suburb goes/has gone to a private school.
• There aren't many, but occasionally a few nineteen/twenty year olds in first year university who come into the shop.  These are most often the offspring of doctors or financial consultants, and are highly, highly intelligent.  They are also highly, highly intense, and either have difficulty looking you in the eye or stare so curiously at you, you can see them calculating and analysing data in their heads while they speak.  They are a little socially off the wall and are highly naive.  They are incredibly intriguing but are tiresome to carry long conversations with.  I have learnt to spot them as they walk in the store, and to look busy with a customer when they come in.
• In the lead up to Christmas, you will find a ten year old kid busking on every corner for a good 500 metres.  They will be playing flutes, violins, cellos, violas, saxophones, clarinets and guitars.  They will be playing the same thing.
• In my shopping centre, you will find at least three childrens' clothing stores.  At least three homeware stores.  At least three outdoor adventure stores.
• Many Home and Away actors shop at my centre. 

If I had followed the path that had been initially laid out for me by my parents at birth, I too would have been living in this suburb with a white husband, 2.1 mixed-race kids, a German-made SUV, and an awesome, German-designed wardrobe.  As it turns out, my actual life is much less...conventional.  Despite this, I really am very curious to see how it pans out.

Lost in Translation

Over the Christmas break I have been working in retail.  Today my Hungarian boss asked me to pick up something from the printer.  When I reached the office, I found a piece of paper with the words 'FAULTY STAFF' blazened across it.

(Had I been that bad at exchanging damaged goods for a customer? Oh no!)

Mortally wounded, I took the print out to him.  It was only after some bemused taking the piss (myself and my co-worker held the sign to our chests and strutted our shortcomings like the faulty staff we are), that he realised his severely unsound (badoom ch!) mistake.

Avatar 3D

I went to bed dreaming of blue aliens, floating mountains and grass that lights up when you step on it.  The art direction in this movie is incredible.  The animals and creatures they created were beyond magical, they were phantasmagorical.  The jungle feel of the visuals and the music kind of reminded me of The Lion King. And despite some naff dialogue (and a lot of cheese), there were some genuinely moving scenes, especially when the main character was learning how to fly.  What a remarkable, ground breaking, genre defining film.

The floating mountains of Pandora

Jake Sully (Sam Worthington) in full battle flight.  Just look at the detail...that headband! That hair! That gun with the paint coming off it and the adjustable nylon strap!

Neytiri, Na'vi princess (Zoe Saldana).  I want to glow in the dark like that!

On Fascinating People and Eucalyptus Drops

There are a lot of interesting people who come into my work.  They come in all different shapes and sizes (although let's face it, most of them are wealthy, white or Asian or both, and well-bred), but they provide me with a constant  flow of interesting stories and observations for use in writing and acting.  They're not always mind-blowing, but each day I manage to come away with something that intrigues me and makes me wonder at what a strange suburb I work in.

So, to start.  This afternoon I was serving a very tiring customer.  The place that I work at is a high-end fashion brand, selling both men and ladies' wear.  The team and I had spent the day tagging everything in preparation for the post-Christmas sale, and were almost delirious with nuttiness.  Mid-afternoon, a lady and her friend came into the shop to purchase a present for the lady's husband.  After they tried to bargain me down to a lower price (I informed them that the shirts were already on sale, and anyway, they were getting in ahead before everyone else considering the sale doesn't start for a couple of days), they stood aside to compare the two (imperceptibly) different polo shirts that we had on sale.  While they barked at each other on the side, I chatted idly with the lady's daughter, a 9 year old wearing a matching bracelet and necklace with baubles like hard candies of pink, yellow, red and green.

We chatted for a bit and discussed the ins and outs of having younger brothers.  I asked her what she wanted for Christmas.  'A DS,' she said.  'And a diary to write in.'  So I asked her if she had been good or bad this year so that Santa knew whether to come or not.  She looked up at the ceiling and replied 'Mm, I'm not sure.'  She had a stylish little bowl cut that was kind of almost adult, and she wore a summer dress that was white and pink and looked a little like a cupcake.  Although she had pink on her lips, she didn't seem precocious, rather, bright and curious.  After her mother decided to purchase the polos (not before some further deliberation and bargaining), she came over to watch me wrap.

'I want to watch this,' she said, 'because one day I want to work here.'

Grinning, I asked her why.  I had a sneaking suspicion that it was because she was highly impressionable (all children are - I remember when I was about five years old, visiting our house when it was being built.  I declared to the bemusement of the builders there, that I was going to be the world's first female builder.  Luckily I wasn't that determined to win that title in the end).  Nevertheless, she could still be harbouring a fashion designer inside.  I held down a giggle as I waited for her reply.

'Oh because it's so bright in here,' she said with a sigh, 'and clean and pretty.  And you would buy a lot of stuff from here.  I like the clothes here.'

The gift wrapping was finished and I packed it away.  I gently informed her that I haven't bought anything from here, as I need to get paid first, but perhaps I would later.  Her mother didn't smile as I handed her the shirts and her receipt.  As she and her mother left, I asked her what her favourite clothes were in the shop.

'The polos, of course!' she said brightly.  'They're my favourite!'

It was not long after this when another interesting character walked into the store.  A thin, gangly, pale blonde haired guy with an odd-shaped head (it was shaped like an out-of-shape football) and glasses came into the store.  He was after a pair of sunglasses for a female relation of his, and as I got chatting to him I realised that he was one of the extra-ordinarily bright kids that came into the store with their parents sometimes, full of intellect and completely unable to interact socially.  He was the son of two doctors, and was studying for his pHD in finance (he looked a few years younger than I, so he may have been accelerated), and spoke with the intensely focussed air of someone who spends most of his time calculating the incoming surroundings while analysing data in his head.  It took me a few seconds to recognise this character and then quickly disengage myself before he become too interested.  Previous experience with other similarly intense people has made me realise that the conversation has to be kept quite light.  Strangely enough after this, a girl and her mother, both of whom I had served previously, came in to put something on layby.  On the previous occasion when I had met this girl, I had experienced the same phenomenon with her - an obviously highly, highly intellectual human being, but so intensely curious and focussed on the conversation that one begins to wonder if these creatures have seen the light of day at all.  On this occasion I once again escaped as quick as I could, although I do admittedly find these people highly highly fascinating (which is probably why they think that I'm interested in them in some way and therefore try to further the conversation).  In some ways I feel highly envious of their obvious intellect, and in other ways, feel incredibly glad.  It must be difficult not to be able to communicate as easily as your peers.

I finished my packet of eucalyptus drops today, little golden planets of cough-relieving goodness!

Sydney vs Melbourne

There's something wonderful about waking up early on a gorgeous summer's day in December and know that there is a long stretch of amusing work ahead of you and before that, a one hour window in which to do whatever the hell you want...

I have to say, the weather has been absolutely divine this summer in Sydney.  Characteristically, I have been spending most of it indoors, but having the sun out inevitably puts an extra spring in my step.  I have never spent a summer in Melbourne, but I'm glad I came back to Sydney this year, if only for the weather.  Having a good summer job and being able to hang with friends and family has been a bonus too (well let's face it, they're probably more important than the weather :)

The sun was grapefruit red the other day when I was driving home.  I know that that normally means that there are bushfires going on, but they weren't that bad obviously, maybe only a couple going somewhere far away.  The change in colour of the light made the eucalyptus trees tinge red.  Gum leaves washed waratah red by the sun.  A true Australian Christmas!

I've been thinking a lot about my life and how it differs between Sydney and Melbourne recently, well most of the time really.  I think I'm always going to struggle with the lives that I lead in this country.  They're just so disparate and so different it's hard to conceive ever reconciling the two.

For example, in Sydney, my life is clean and bright and lived entirely in the suburbs.  Our house is big and bright and airy and spacious.  My brother and I share the car, we catch the train everywhere, and we rotate visiting friends, most of whom live close by or at least within half an hour.  I have a job that requires me to dress pretty much how I did when I was a med student (except a bit dressier, and with heels), I earn money, I am competent, efficient and high-achieving.   Most of my friends are those from my high school, or the occasional few from medicine.  I rarely go out (in fact, I don't think I've done anything remotely close to what one would consider going out, except to go to the theatre), and if I do, I tire and go home early.  I drink (one glass  of) wine once a week with my dad.  The area in which I work is safe and upper middle class, filled with families and old people.  The sunlight is clear and strong.  In Sydney, I am safe and secure and protected.

In Melbourne, 'my little life', as I call it down there, is dirty and edgy and lived entirely around the city.  I live with two flatmates, one looking for work as a graphic designer and the other a writing student.  The apartment we live in is tiny and dark and has very little light coming into it.  I catch the tram everywhere, most places being within half an hour of each other, but some of my friends do live further off.  I don't have a job, other than typing for my dad.  I spend most of my day in black tights, or if I feel like dressing up, in jeans.  Most of my friends are actors from my school, even the ones I see outside of school.  I don't have many friends outside of school.  On the weekends I do my studies, clean the house, do my washing, and do the cooking.  I go out at least once a week, usually to a friend's house party or to see theatre.  I drink (a couple of bottles of) cider once a week with my classmates. The area in which I live is filled with hippy rich people and bums.  I am asked for money on a regular basis, and depending how much I have in my wallet (usually not much - I'm a student!) I sometimes give it to them.  The sunlight in Melbourne is amber and comes in from the side.  It's cold in Melbourne.  In Melbourne, I am unleashed, uncertain and alone.

It's not all a loss of course.  In the last few months I was living in Melbourne I began to get a grip on some things that made me feel more at home.  I discovered a DVD store within a minute of my house (in Sydney I had to drive) and have developed a weekly habit there.  Some of my Sydney friends are moving down so hopefully that will start a mass migration.  In Sydney, some of my classmates are up for the summer so it's nice to see them around and share the city with them.  Perhaps in the new year I'll get a job in Melbourne, especially since the company I am working for has a major store in the city.  Perhaps I'll class my life up there, or I've move back to Sydney and funk it up in Darlinghurst or Paddington.  Perhaps I'll fall in love with someone in one city and it will force me to stay there, or even better, someone who also has a crisis between the two.  But it's a continual identity crisis for me.  I don't know if it'll ever resolve.

And then of course, when I move to New York or Paris...

Jelly! Drugs! Seth Rogen!

It's a horrible picture, but it's one of my favourite childhood delights: agar-agar and Aeroplane jelly!  My mother made it the other day after many years of its sorely missed absence.  The agar-agar is supposedly made from red seaweed and is the thing that gives the jelly its pink colour.  It doesn't taste like much and kind of looks like some sort of sea anemone flesh, but I love it anyway!

(I just looked up how to spell the word anemone up in the dictionary because it kept coming up wrong in spellcheck.  I had no idea it was actually 'anemone', not 'anenome'!)

I think this is hilarious: drug house bust in Castle Hill.  There's been a real drug trade going on in the quiet hills of suburbia in the past couple of years.  Life in the suburbs ain't that quiet after all!

I was at a restaurant the other day with my dad when I saw a man having dinner who spoke entirely without his lips.  This impediment didn't affect his conversation or anything, in fact, he was quite talkative, buying drinks for his birthday celebrating friend. I assume there must have been a lot of tongue action and a bit of lisping in order to produce this kind of movement, but to be honest I don't really know.  I just thought it was absolutely fascinating that he could carry a conversation entirely from the side of his mouth.  Would the conversation then be lopsided as a result?  Can you ever have a serious conversation with someone if you look like you're always cracking a smile?  It's such a bizarre way to present yourself to another person.

Another reason why I found the way this guy spoke so interesting was because he reminded me of the way that Seth Rogen speaks, that kind of half smiling, half petrified grimace he has on his face when he acts, a kind of a guys' version of the Mona Lisa.  It seems to be a prevalent trait amongst recent male American comedy actors, with Michael Cera sharing similar deadpan but vulnerable, side of mouth speaking characteristics (personally I'm hoping that it's a representation of the new American male).  It's a very subtle kind of humour, much more sophisticated, much more complex, and the kind that works so well in Extras or The Flight of the Conchords (both shows whose humour I absolutely adore).  Perhaps it's a sign of Americans suffering from their over-egoness thus downplaying their over-confidence with attempts at subtlety and nuance? Or perhaps it's just a kind of humour that I find much more fascinating than the loudmouth, brash American male so typically portrayed in contemporary jock comedies?

Smiling or grimacing?  I like a bit of mystery...

Bollywood Living

Tonight I went to a Bollywood Concert in Liverpool.  My dad and I were the only non-Indians, having ventured out on a whim after a colleague of my dad's offered him free tickets.  Mostly the night was filled with ear-splittingly loud Hindi pop (although effectively sung by an Indian Pop Idol finalist), badly executed choreography (the male dancers were so skinny they failed to lift up the Bollywood stars - twice), and an amateur Hindi singer who sang his lyrics from off a notepad.  It was fun entering into a completely different world for the night (although my dad's colleague kept trying to apologise for the quality of the show, and promised that the shows he was interested in bringing over were actually of good quality).  However, the best part of the night wasn't even part of the show itself, and kept me going for a good half hour more than I intended it to -

Laughter must be contagious.  Even though I couldn't understand anything the stand up comic was saying, his facial expressions and body language were so engaged I had a pretty good idea of what he was getting at.  The funnest part of the night, however, was watching the audience react to his jokes.  There's something so joyful about watching other people practically rolling in the aisles with laughter at something which obviously must be funny.  I could have watched them all day.  When (I think) the  comedian made a joke about Fijian Indians and the length of their ------, the four IT guys behind me barely started pissing themselves before I lost it too.  At that moment, I felt like something had been exchanged through the language barrier.  A fun, funny night.



Indian comedian Jimmy Moses, who was the hilarious, non-English speaking comic at the Bollywood evening.  Even the booming laughter of the judge in this video makes me want to giggle.

Lessons from The Viewpoints Book

by Anne Bogart and Tina Landau:

*

When you cannot see

What is happening,

Do not stare harder.

Relax and look gently

With your inner eye.

- Lao Tzu

*

The development of an artist is related to her/his ability to perceive differences.  [...] Categorising the world makes it a safer place, because through it we tame the untamed world around us.  All things, once categorised, become less threatening to us, and can be safely filed away.  Untaming the world and allowing the differences between people and between streets and houses to be felt and acknowledged mark the growth of an artist.  The capacity to differentiate moment to moment is an actor's most basic and critical skill.

p.32

*

[The difference between Expressive and Descriptive qualities]

The sculptor Constantin Brancusi described his attempt to get at the Expressive rather than Descriptive qualities of his art by asking:

'When you see a fish, you do not think of its scales, do you?  You think of its speed, its floating, flashing body see through water.  Well, I've tried t express just that.  If I made fins and eyes and scales, I would arrest its movement and hold you by a pattern, or a shape of reality.  I want just the flash of its spirit.'

p.146 

*

Hold on tightly, let go lightly.

Dive into any endeavour with strength, fortitude and intention, but at the same time be willing to adjust.  Know what you want, and be completely unattached to getting it.

p.161

*

Living is a form of not being sure, not knowing what is next or how.  The moment you know how, you begin to die a little.  The artist never entirely knows, we guess.  We may be wrong, but we take leap after leap in the dark.

- Agnes de Mille, p.161

*

I think I have more but I forgot to underline stuff so I'll have to reread it and try and find the other stuff I thought was valuable.

Sometimes I think that I'm at drama school in order to learn how to live.  Theatre, composition and art are like religions for me.  I wonder if I were born religious whether I would be as devoted to my religious studies as I am to my artistic ones...

Breakfast couscous with honey yoghurt, spiced fruit compote, pistachios & warm milk!

Oh my goodness.  The photo is really shoddy and it looks like a lump of yogurt, but this was one of the most original and tasteful breakfasts I have ever had.  The salty green pistachio bits were so yummy with the sour yogurt, which in turn was delightful with the sweet and light couscous.  Something I would happily pay to have again.

I wonder if it is possible to remember all your most pleasurable experiences in your life, or if they merely peak in the moment and then disappear?  Off the top of my head I can only recall a couple of insanely memorable food experiences, although I'm sure I've had plenty more.  One that particularly resonates with me is being on music tour in Italy when I was about 16, and eating zabaglione, a traditional dessert made of whipped eggs and marsala.  I had never tried anything like it before, and the tart, thick warmth of it filled my mouth.  The custard was so white and perfect it was like swallowing porcelain whole.  I've never had it again since but the memory of it is so imprinted in my mind I think I could probably be given three different types and be able to pick which one it was just by looking at it.

If I don't...

Friends only!

Questions About Self, and A Story

Who am I outside of acting?  This is something I ask myself on a daily basis.  I'm not sure I'll ever know the answer.

My first instinct during these holidays was to hide away from my drama school community and rest up in Shiny Town with my family.  But this, as I've slowly come to realise, is antithetical - I used to hide away from my uni mates because I never liked what I was doing.  Wanting to hide now that I have found my home away from home, is merely an old habit.  I have no reason to hide from my community now.  And yet I still seek my solace and my solitary time.

Being home is an opportunity to work on the other sides of my life that I have neglected for so long - the family part of my life, the Asian food eating part of my life, the friend part of my life, the commercial part of my life, the reading part of my life, the watching films part of my life, the health part of my life, the writing part of my life.  But being away from all of this for so long has made me question the need for all these things.  I know I'm supposed to say that these things are all incredibly important, and they are - I just haven't quite found my groove in them yet.

On the other hand, I cleaned my room.  That's been a long time coming.  After 8 months of utter disarray, I can now see my floor.  My room in Shiny Town is definitely my childhood room...I still have paintings and sketches up on the wall that I did when I was a kid.  Hell, I even have pictures of myself in Montesorri on my wall.  I tried putting up the Incomplete Manifesto for Growth on my wall but it doesn't seem quite right there. A childhood room will always remain that way...despite my many attempts to adultify it, I don't think it will ever get there...

Today I caught up with a friend from med school who is now a doctor.  Earlier in the year she had asked me for a couple of sentences detailing what I had been up to since I'd left med for their graduating handbook.  I had emailed her a couple of sentences about drama school and then left it at that.  When I saw her today, she handed me a copy of the insert, double-sided and in colour, detailing the whereabouts of about twenty students who had either joined the year mid-course, taken a year off, or left altogether.  After chuckling through the crazy stories of some of my more eccentric ex-classmates (one friend took a year off to be a pyrotechnician, another did the Kokada trail and got malaria, and another is the Vice Captain of the Australian and NSW women's cricket teams), I asked what the last paragraph paying tribute to a PhD doctor meant.

'Ahhhm,' she said, 'that's an interesting story.'

She explained to me that this guy was a medical student whom I probably had never met, who was from Israel, and who had a PhD in psychology.  He was dedicated and well-read, and had published many articles and book chapters on medical topics as well as being passionate about sushi and watching Japanese horror movies.  An avid guitar player, he loved music, and considered scuba-diving 'heavenly'. One of the reasons why he came to Australia to study was because he loved exploring new cultures and meeting new people.  The other reason was because he had inflammatory bowel disease, and he had come to find a place where he could legally die.

From my knowledge of inflammatory bowel disease (IBD), (this is aided by some Wikipedia checking, as I've forgotten some of it), the condition is a life long disorder that is characterised by vomiting, diarrhoea, pain and blood in the stool.  Although it affects quality of life, it rarely affects the length of it.  A very minor predisposition for colorectal cancer is outweighed by the high monitoring rates from colonoscopy, and as a result, cancers are caught earlier and treated.  And although it can be debilitating, it is often manageable on its own or managed with corticosteroids and other immunosuppressants.  I have a few friends who suffer from the disease, and although find it annoying, most are able to manage it and maintain a normal life.

This med student must not have been able to maintain a normal life.  After not being able to find a place in the country where euthanasia was legal, last year he took matters into his own hands and killed himself.

I thought this story was incredibly tragic.  There is something horribly sad about people not being able to find the relief they are looking for in this life.  That the solution to pain on this earth is to end it through death.  If we can't find happiness in this world, how can we know we'll ever find it in another?  I hope he found peace in the end but I think it's devastating he had to kill himself in order to do it.

Serious Play

Lessons for designers, learnt from kids:

1. Exploration: go for quantity
2. Building: think with your hands
3 Roleplay: act it out

Bad Sex Awards 2009!

It's my favourite time of the year: the announcement of Britain's Literary Review's Bad Sex in Fiction Award 2009!

This year's winner is Jonathan Littell's novel, The Kindly Ones, with this seductive passage:

'I whispered to her: 'I'm going to pull the lever, I'm going to let the blade drop.' She begged me: 'Please, fuck my pussy.' – 'No.' I came suddenly, a jolt that emptied my head like a spoon scraping the inside of a soft-boiled egg.'


It also includes this passage:


the author compares a woman's genitalia with 'a Gorgon's head ... a motionless Cyclops whose single eye never blinks.  If only I could still get hard, I thought, I could use my prick like a stake hardened in the fire, and blind this Polyphemus who made me Nobody. But my cock remained inert, I seemed turned to stone.'


Sheer genius!  Other personal favourites from this year's shortlist include:


From Ten Storey Love Song, by Richard Milward


'Then, Bobby starts scrabbling frantically across the carpet for Mr Condom, sending five or six multicolour Durexes flying through the air, and he struggles getting the packet open and Georgie has to roll Mr Condom down Mr Penis for him and she has to help insert him into Mrs Vagina.'


From The Humbling, by Philip Roth


He had let Pegeen appoint herself ringmaster and would not participate until summoned. He would watch without interfering. First Pegeen stepped into the contraption, adjusted and secured the leather straps, and affixed the dildo so that it jutted straight out. Then she crouched above Tracy, brushing Tracy's lips and nipples with her mouth and fondling her breasts, and then she slid down a ways and gently penetrated Tracy with the dildo. Pegeen did not have to force her open. She did not have to say a word – he imagined that if either one of them did begin to speak, it would be in a language unrecognizable to him. The green cock plunged in and out of the abundant naked body sprawled beneath it, slow at first, then faster and harder, then harder still, and all of Tracy's curves and hollows moved in unison with it. This was not soft porn. This was no longer two unclothed women caressing and kissing on a bed. There was something primitive about it now, this woman-on-woman violence, as though, in the room filled with shadows, Pegeen were a magical composite of shaman, acrobat, and animal. It was as if she were wearing a mask on her genitals, a weird totem mask, that made her into what she was not and was not supposed to be. She could as well have been a crow or a coyote, while simultaneously Pegeen Mike. There was something dangerous about it. His heart thumped with excitement – the god Pan looking on from a distance with his spying, lascivious gaze.


John Banville was once again included this year.  The first time I encountered the Bad Sex awards, I remember quite vividly the description from his novel of a dolphin entering a ring to describe the act of intimacy...


For more hilarious (but endearingly chosen, and always with good humour) selections for this year's awards, go here, and for the article on this year's winner, go here.  The Bad Sex awards is in its sixteenth year of celebrating mediocre descriptions of sex in the modern novel.

Pop Quiz

Some questions that I was asked in a job interview recently.  I felt like I was a celebrity being interviewed and just coming up with the randomest answers.  What I said is in italics, what I would have said given some time to think is normal.

What's your favourite TV show?

(this was literally the first question). Glee. The Flight of the Conchords. I would take away Glee and add some uber hip show like True Blood.  Is it that obvious I don't watch a lot of television?

What's your favourite band?

Angus and Julia Stone? (I was just listening to them on the train trip in).  I realised later I don't really listen to bands.  Solo artists mainly...

Who is your fashion icon?
Audrey Hepburn and Natalie Portman.  SO obvious I'm clueless.  If they asked me again I would have said Cate Blanchett.

What brand would you ideally love to be able to buy clothes from?
(I'm really really clueless here). Armani Exchange.  Nicola Finetti.  Love his dresses.

What's your best fashion advice?
Less is more.  I have no idea!

Who would you like to sit next to on an airplane?
Jeff Buckley (I got a weird look here). Barack Obama.

What is your greatest achievement in your life so far?
(pause) Being here right now.  I think getting to this point in my life is a big achievement.  A bit deep for a job interview.  But I would say the same thing now.

What is your life goal?
To be happy and fulfilled.  Same again.

Where would you like to travel to?  And don't say New York.
New York...I'm going to China though.  And I would still go to New York.  Plus the rest of the world.

What would you like to do before you die?
Um, wow, so many things!  Write a novel (weird look again), be in films, be on Broadway, travel, meet interesting people! I suppose I would add to this find love.  I would also try to sound less giddy.

One word that encapsulates you:
Enthusiastic! Passionate.

How would you describe your work ethic?
Well, I'm hard-working, dedicated, passionate, enthusiastic, detailed etc etc

and finally, the big question:

Which celebrity do you identify with the most?
Uh, Cate Blanchett.  Identify with?  Probably aspire to.  She was probably going to gag if I mentioned Cate again.

Well, it was a fun interview.  I hope they overlook the complete lack of fashion astute and realise I'm an awesome person anyway with apparently very generic desires in life.  A different set of questions, however, would have painted a completely different picture...I'm just waiting for a moment where my nerdiness can be unleashed!

One day I'm going to meet Cate Blanchett and she's either going to be so disappointing because I've put her on such a pedestal, or I'll develop a girl crush on her and follow her around like a puppy dog.