Not written in ages but also can’t be bothered to rehash several quite major changes and would prefer to move onto smaller yet more interesting things so here we go, a quick update / recap / whatever:

1. I have a new job. I write bespoke adventure travel brochures for A-list celebrities and billionaires. I know, I know.
   
2. I have a new flat. It’s in Balham and I rent it with a new flatmate called Leila who’s already lived here two years. We don’t know each other very well yet but we got along well over a pot of tea when I came to view the place, so there you go. It’s a cosy place. Much smaller than the castle I just moved out of, but we all foresaw that disappointment waiting on the horizon on the day we moved in.

3. I don’t actually miss the castle, weirdly. Not the physical space, at least. I do miss having company all the time, but being alone in an apartment is okay too (Leila is often at work or frisbee training or travelling). To pass the time I play a lot of guitar at the moment; I’ve been trying to emulate Bob Dylan’s strumming style. I sing sometimes too, but not very loud in case the neighbours hear and I somehow spoil their evening. I use a capo on the third fret when I sing.

4. I did an improv show on the 14th of January. That week was one of the biggest I’ve ever had, in terms of big and stressful events. I started the new job on the Monday, performed my first ever live improv show on Wednesday, went out for drinks with new colleagues on Thursday, packed up my life on Friday, and moved into my new place on Saturday. I dunno where all of that slots into the hierarchy of needs. Maslow’d shit a brick.

5. Whoops – it seems I forgot to actually say anything about the improv show. Alright. There were 12 of us, split into two groups, and one group went on in the first half and the other group in the other half. We knew each other pretty well; we’d been goofing together on Mondays for the previous eight weeks. At the start of the course I told myself internally there was no way in hell I’d be doing the live show at the end of it all. Eight two-hour classes, followed by a live show? No way in hell.

6. Imagine my surprise, then, to find myself standing at the back of a packed room, 63 punters with paid tickets (full house!), bums on seats in the dark, heads turned to the blue-light stage with white spotlights and my friends standing there about to begin the first half of the show. Me at the back, terrified too but trying not to show it to my fellow aspiring improvisational comedic actors (why the hell did I pick this course? Why couldn’t I have just chosen to learn tennis or pottery or anything at all other than going on a stage in front of strangers to make jokes?!?! Off the cuff?!?!?!), my heart thumping in my chest so hard I could feel it in both my throat and my ears – is it possible to hear your own heart? Because I’m sure I did – and when the second half came, I stood in the dark of the wings waiting to go on, and the music started, and just as our teacher instructed we hustled onstage and danced around – actually danced!
   
7. Imagine that – me, doing a sweaty, desperate, swivel-eyed jig on stage in front of 63 baying drunken Cockneys, while a spotlight beams into my thin hair so hard it stops looking like hair at all and becomes more like a little feathery halo – freeze frame: “You’re probably wondering how I got here.”

8. The show went well, anyway. We played a lot of silly games and ran through set-pieces and we swore a lot and over the course of the show I pretended to be a posh ticket inspector and an elderly Yorkshireman and a Cockney schoolteacher. I wasn’t very funny in the opening couple of scenes – too scared and confused; it’s hard to think on your feet under the spotlights with all those eyes on you (I was stone sober as well, mind) – but I can confidently say I got better towards the end. In fact, by the end I was loving it. I know that sounds unthinkable – to go from shitting yourself to genuinely not giving a damn in the space of like, 30 minutes – but it’s true. I don’t know how it happened. I just had the crowd laughing; I knew they liked me. And when they like you – god, it’s electric. Your confidence goes to the moon. You can see why all those celebrities go insane.

9. People congratulated me in the bar afterwards. That was nice.

10. Two weeks later, at my improv friend Anand’s birthday party, people knew who I was – they’d been in the crowd at the show and knew me, despite me having never talked to them. Again: nice.

11. Reading The Stand by Stephen King. It’s 1200 pages because I bought the extended edition by accident. It’s okay – 200 pages in and it’s really good. Nice to have a mammoth book to get absorbed by. I miss being a kid and getting to that point where the story is all you can think about. I really miss that.

12. I’ve put on EIGHT kilos. EIGHT? I swear, I weighed 68kg only a few years ago. In 2023, maybe? I’ve always weighed 68kg, with it fluctuating by maybe like a kilo if I binge a bit too hard. But EIGHT?! Where is it? I suppose my face has been looking a bit less pointy recently, a bit more cherubic and spherical, but crikey. How much does a human leg weigh? Can’t be much more than eight kilos. Where on my body am I keeping a whole extra fucking leg worth of weight?

13. Guess I’ll start running again. Not enormously enthused about the idea, but if it helps my face look a bit more ‘sheer cliff’ and a bit less ‘binliner full of pillows’ then it’s worth it I suppose. I do naturally like myself more when I cast a pleasing silhouette. There’s something hard to beat about walking into a room and just knowing your body is pleasing to the eye. Back when I was in shape (few years ago now), I remember really enjoying the fact that I could just pick up an item of clothing, put it on willy-nilly, and it would look more-or-less good. Just hard as hell to actually get to that point, isn’t it.

14. I booked a holiday this evening. Not had one in quite a long time. I’m going to Athens. Athens! I don’t know much about what there is to do there beyond the Parthenon, but I’ve got five days, so I’ll make it work.

15. I realise now that the key to being happy in London is to get out of it as often as you physically can.

16. With this in mind, I have created some new rules for myself. Here they are:

17. Rather than going completely teetotal, I will give myself two drinking days per month. I can choose when these are, and on these occasions I can let loose, guilt free. Could be a birthday party, a work do, whatever – but only two a month. I like this idea; it requires discipline and will have healthy benefits, but it still allows for a level of spontaneity and silliness.

18. I will get out of this infernal city at least twice a month. This could be a weekend trip abroad, a visit to family, or just a day hiking a few miles beyond London’s furthest confines – whatever – I will not be doing any more 5-month unbroken London stints. That’s just mad.

19. So there you go. Twice a month – get a lil saucy. Twice a month – get out the city. Two small changes, but I feel like they could potentially have quite a big impact. We shall see.

20. Realistically, the next time I write one of these diaries will probably be when I’m in / back from Athens. So wish me luck! I’m really excited to do a bit of solo travel again. Pretty sure it’s been three years since the last time.

21. Peace x