Written  - 24/11/2012  – whilst on Virgin 26 to London’s Heathrow

For about 6 weeks or so now, it’s been my ambition to see my name up in lights on Broadway.  I know. Me! Jammy Taylor! Broadway! It’s just crazy but who knows what can happen, especially in New York City; anything is possible…

A little bit about me, My names is James (Jammy) Taylor, don’t ask why, its just stuck, apparently there are a couple of other people out there with my name sake, so I had to coin this one for my own ;)

Anyway, I’ve been writing about my observations and adventures now for a couple of years.  I’m originally from a little island in Essex, I love to travel and seem to get myself in all sorts of situation, some good, some bad and last Summer, I made the jump and moved out to New York City, to focus on my future career of becoming an Actor….

Now I wouldn’t really say I’m a theatre buff, but I’ve seen a few of the classics, Jerry Springer the Musical, Pricilla, Fame; I was even made to sit through La Traviata once at the opening night at the Sydney Opera House, for all of what felt like 10 hours of it.

I had always seen myself more of a film actor, that was until the other week, there I was doing a bit of shopping on 5^th Avenue, you know; minding my own business when I get a phone call from a top Broadway Director, asking me to come in an audition for her next play.

Never one to turn down a opportunity, I was straight back to Soho, locked myself away for a few days with the script and off I went to the audition.

I was sooo nervous, there was a queue of guys outside on the stairwell waiting to go in, all serious Theatre Actors; with proper training and experience, indeed people that could speak proper comprehendible English and then there is me, standing there in my bright orange boots and woolly hat, with my strong English accent, ‘sorry what?”, about to make this biggest jump of my life so far, this was my first Theatre audition ever! In fact that’s not true, in year 4, I once did a school play, I played one of the three wise kings.  It was a big role at the time.

Anyway, where was I, so I went in and there was this panel of people all staring at me. “errmm  Hi, I’m James, I’m here to audition!”

went ok, but you never can tell, I even managed to slow down and breathe a little in between sentences; it scared the life out of me, I mean if nothing else came from it, it was good experience, but really, who was I to think I could just walk straight in and mix it with the big boys anyway. I was happy about what I did, I gave it my best shot and off I trotted home back to Soho for spot of sushi.

About an hour later, just as I was woofing down a bit of salmon nigri, the phone rings.

“Hi James, we would like you to come back in a see us again” I nearly swallowed the chop stick!

Did they call the wrong number? Had Big Dave put them up to this? Was it some kind of sick joke, but no it wasn’t.

So three days later I went back in, but this time, there was no queue outside the door, it was just me…

We had a chat and I read with the Actress some of the lines, trying my hardest to speak slowly so they could understand me. All the time thinking, “WHAT THE HELL AM I DOING HERE!” I was then excused and asked to wait outside.

The wait outside on the hard wooden bench was excruciating, it felt like an hour but must of only been about 5 minutes, I had no nails left, my throat was dry, in fact I didn’t even have any phone battery, probably that was the worst thing. And then I was called back in….

They offered me the lead role!  I know!

Apparently the Director fancied a bit of a challenge and in I’d walked.

And that’s where the hard work really began. In fact, in truth, I didn’t know what hard work was until I undertook this. Over the next 6 weeks, we rehearsed 12 hours a day.

In person, I very rarely shout, or get angry, unless you overtake me on a track or sit in the fast lane at 50mph or don’t say Please & Thank You or push passed me on the tube when I’m waiting patiently trying to help the old lady off first before boarding, or you try and steal my girlfriend, but other than that….

But in the play, I had to do some quite heavy stuff.  They had to beat it out of me.  There were tears! Yes they made me cry.  There were many a day when I would wake up thinking what they hell am I doing. How the hell am I going to pull this off.

“Don’t just say the lines, Don’t pull your model face, Don’t speak too fast, feel the lines James; Feel them, don’t think! JUST DO!” All very confusing messages as you understand.

I mean on a film, if you mess it up, you can stop and start again, You have to learn 4, sometimes 5 lines of dialogue at a time, not an hour and a half and even then with theatre; this was a two hander, there was only me and the actress on stage and I was ON the whole time, there was no breaks, I couldn’t nip out for a can of coke and a quick glance at the script halfway through.

There was no safety net, I had to get it right or I would crash and burn. It wasn’t an easy thing to do if you had been acting all your life, let alone if you had only been acting since July.

Now just think about that for a second……  The consequences, being out there on stage, with how I speak, having to change everything, slowing everything down so I could be understood and articulate, all the blocking; being in the right place at right time on stage, and just for good measure ending up, on a sex scene, right there on stage in front everyone.

In front of my Mum!

Until last night finally the time came, there was no more rehearsals, no more prompting, no more room for error.  It was the opening night!

As I approached the Theatre, with the lights lit up above the door, Starring James Lee Taylor. Wow!

If you had told me this two months ago, I wouldn’t of believed it. Me in a big Off Broadway production, you could actually see Broadway from my dressing room window, it was that close. You could smell it.

I can’t sing to save my life and Broadway is more that way inclined, but OFF Broadway, Yes Off Broadway is were the serious acting is.  The straight acting, no signing involved! (I’m told it’s much cooler, maybe in the same way they say Brooklyn is too New York I guess)

So there we were. Plane loads of friends and family arriving into JFK, my first Agent Edward from when I was 16, my Mum, Shaun, my dancer friend, it was a star studded packed house, even the prime minister of Serbia had called the director to wish her good luck.

No pressure…

10 minute warning, 5 minute warning, 1 minute warning, BLACKOUT!

Sink or Swim Taylor!

I see now, why people love the theatre, the feeling as you finish and you realise you pulled it off, I didn’t even know how to bow properly, I was that new to the whole thing, but I knew then, this is me, this is what I was born to do, to be an Actor, and I just proved it! I nailed it!

I can’t explain the feeling to you, I even got over the fact I just had to have pretend sex, right there in front of my parents. I lead the show for an hour and half, I articulated, didn’t pull model face and I felt every line.

I had pulled it off, I was an Off Broadway star!

Well for about 3 hours, as just as I was saying thank you and receiving my 5^th bouquet of flowers and champagne and nut free chocolates, the producer pulled me to one side to have a quite word in my ear.

The show had to stop, there would be no ten day run as first planned, as he had failed to ask the writer how he would feel about us doing his play and didn’t get the rights to do the show…

You could hear a pin drop.

There are no words……

jtx

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Written – the countryside: you can keep it!

I’m sure you will relived to hear that I’ve finally got the James Taylor tour bus back on the road. I’ve just been confirmed for a bridal Magazine shoot. A five day trip away, in the heart of the English countryside.

I was thrilled, I haven’t worked for weeks and on paper it sounded fantastic. A five day trip away, with what I assumed would be my bride to be; and hopefully a few hotty bridesmaids, just in case.

So first thing Monday morning I jumped in the car and headed over to a funny little place called Castle Combe, which let me tell you, is in the middle of nowhere.

Not much goes on in Castle Combe. (No really nothing) It consists of an inn, a pub, a church, a small sweet shop, and lots and lots of Japanese tourist.  They were everywhere, they were, worse than speed bumps, always walking in the road, making me go around them, ruining my racing line, scrubbing all my speed off. Maybe there was a castle there too, but I didn’t see it????

But although it was such a small place, for the life of me I still couldn’t find where our location was, and on this occasion, Lola my car, was as lost as I was. I couldn’t even call for help; as my phone had no signal. And I didn’t speak Japanese; I was as helpless as an Easyjet air stewardess trying to serve a plane full of English yobs on a booze crawl to Benedorm. (Oi love, can I have a Stella)

Eventually after a good 5 minutes (at least), of driving around I finally found it. The place was huge, but was well off the beaten track, as I trundled along down the long stony driveway, towards the manor house, with ivy growing all over, and lots of hooray henrys playing crochet on the lawn.  So I bet they were a little shocked to see me roaring up the driveway towards them.

I parked my car and had a quick look around, and I remember getting quite excited at the prospect of taking one of the many golf buggies out for a joy ride, but there was no time for that just yet, as by now I was 2 hours late

Eventually I found everyone else on the shoot. I apologised for being late and after shaking everybody’s hand that was in the room, of course my mind switched to where are all the girls.  At which point, I was informed that there where no bridesmaids or even a bride, it turned out it was a groom shoot; so it was just me, and three other guys. There wasn’t even a cute make up artist to look at, as he was a geezer too and as for the stylist, well; she was a right nasty piece of work, bearing in mind the world cup was on; so every time I tried to sneak off to catch a game, she would hunt me down and make me try clothes on; I mean, what was she playing at!  But she would let all the others enjoy the game; just persecuting me. As you can imagine, I took to her like a duck to a Chinese restaurant.

The first shot of the day was in one of the bedrooms in the hotel, which were like little stand alone cottages next to the main house.

Now, not hyping things up to much, but these rooms were pretty amazing; huge great marble bathrooms big enough to park a car in, with flat screen tvs in the shower, gadgets everywhere with little buttons to change the mood lighting and make things pop out of cupboards. I couldn’t wait to finish shooting and check in to my room and see what they all did. 

However. Once we did finish shooting for the day, the client pulled me to one side and broke the news that, there had been a problem with their booking, and that they were one room short, so they instead had booked me into an Inn down the road in some other little town with a name I can’t recall, for fear of reprisals.

We didn’t finish shooting till quite late, so by this time it was dark, as I pulled up at my destination about a 15 minute drive from where everyone else was staying.

Dark country lanes all the way, with big scary willow trees converging either side of the road. But I kept my wits about me as I parked my car in the pitch black car park and hastily made my way to the reception desk, to be greeted by a old bearded lady, I was waiting for Scooby Doo to pop out any minute; I’m not a big fan of horror films and it doesn’t take much to get my hairs on end, and this place sure did that.

The old lady creaked as she showed me up stairs to my room, and for once in my life I had nothing to say. I really wasn’t feeling to clever about where I was about to spend the night.

She went on to hand me some bath towels and explain that there was only hot water between half 8 and 9 and then shut the door with a bang and I was on my own, in silence and I got undressed ready for bed, the room really gave me the creeps,

So I’m lying in bed, tossing and turning (well actually more tossing than turning) as I just couldn’t relax, it was as if the room was too quite, unsettlingly quite it just made you feel uneasy.

The next day at work, I bit my lip about how dodgy the hotel was and about how I had to have a cold shower as I got up late, and about this trip was nothing like it was made out to be, well for me anyway, but the next few days went by quite well apart from the odd run in with the evil stylist, so I just got on with things.

But on the penultimate night of the shoot as I made my way back to the scary inn, as I locked my door and got into bed, and turned off the light cuddling up to my little teddy, I just felt a strange feeling that something wasn’t quite right, and after a little while I finally did drift off, but then all of a sudden about 3am I was awoken from by this banging noise, it was coming from the room directly below.

Now you can image me, sitting up with the blanket pulled up right over my face, with just my eyes poking out and teddy wasn’t saying to much, so I was in this one on my own; I’ve never been so scared in my life as the banging noise started to get louder and then I herd it out in the hallway and then it started to get louder, it sounded like big boot footprints climbing the stairs outside getting closer and closer and then there was a knock at the door. You can imagine my fear, as I creped over trying my hardest not to make a sound, armed with my travel hairdryer as I looked out of the keyhole to see this shadow standing there.

I held my breathe, so not to make a sound, and just hoped and prayed, it would go away, eventually I herd it turn and walk back down the stairs, and at that point I started frantically collecting all my stuff together.

I gave in 5 minutes and made a run for it; launching my stuff onto the back seat of my car, wheel spinning away in the gravel; I wasn’t hanging around there, and it wasn’t as if I could call anyone, as my phone still didn’t work.

That was it; id had enough and had nowhere to go, so I decided to head back home to Essex.  After all, if they put me up in that scary place, they were asking for trouble, and presides, they brought me there on false pretences anyway, where were all the women.

Unfortunately, my phone is now working again and I just got a right ticking off from the boss, for leaving the job, so I don’t think ill be getting married again any time soon. 

I still don’t know what was outside my room last night, although unless the bearded lady grew 2 foot and bulked out overnight it definitely wasn’t her. 

To be honest, I’m not going back to find out, saying that, this is coming from a man who can’t watch the film, “Alien” on his own.

So I guess I will just never know, I guess the countryside is just not for me either, but at least I’m narrowing down the list.

jtx

 

(Also, I would just like to say a big thank you to Dorothy from the sweet shop; the rhubarb and custards were exquisite)

 

Sorry for the delay everyone, been back in the UK for my birthday and having a little rest in-between term time, it’s been pretty full on out there, but loving every second.  However just as I start to repack my winter wardrobe to go back,  I’ve just realised I’m now going to be away for this years James Bond Movie Premier!  Oh what i would give to go to that!

Looks like I just need to keep working harder till I’m in it.

Here is what happened at the last James Bond Premier ,  enjoy!!!

jtx

Written – the names, taylor, james taylor

For the last 3 weeks my mission, has been to get some tickets to go to the James Bond Royal world movie premiere. Over that time, nothing has come close, to how important this is, (not even that cute blonde, who I quite liked.) It’s been billed as the movie event of the year, every one, who’s anyone, is going to be there; even the Queen, and that’s just such a waste of a ticket if you ask me. I mean, I know for a fact that I would get much more enjoyment going to it than she would, the women doesn’t even speak, just shakes everyone’s hand. I bet she doesn’t even like James Bond.  Where I on the other hand, love the stuff; I’ve even got the video box set to prove it.

I mean it’s so tight to get into, I’ve been trying from every know source, but it’s been impossible, not even big Dave could hook me up. Bastard!!!

Regrettable, this morning I conceded defeat, and just decided to get out of London, for a few days and head home, to escape the hysteria and put my head in the sand. I mean let’s face it, No one even knows in Canvey Island, who James Bond is, let alone when the premiere is.

So I packed my bags, jumped in the car and headed back home. Traffic was horrendous, all of the embankment road, was shut off, due to some state opening, of parliament or something, apparently the Queen was going to that as well; see, she would go to the opening of a crisp packet, she always has to be in on everything even when I buy a KFC she is all over the money.

Anyway after finally getting through the carnage, and about 5 miles from home, the phone rings, Unbelievable it’s Dave. He’s got a friend, whose has just come by 2 tickets to go to the premier. I mean, all-star tickets, drink reception, down the red carpet, meet the stars, sit next to the Queen, everything, all for £600 for the pair, as a last minute special offer. (Well maybe not the Queen part, but you get the gist..) It was already 3pm by now and it started at 6pm. So I didn’t have much time to act.

Anyway after a quick conversation with my old mate Matthew, we decided to go for it; I mean there is not many times in life you can say you went to a James Bond Premiere.  So then there was the question of what to wear, and I only had about 2 minutes to sort something out, so I went to the local hire shop a hired myself a little tux. Then it was a quick dash back to London to pick up the tickets, jump in the shower, learn how to tie a bow tie, then jump in a cab to meet Matt in Oxford Street, ready for our big arrival, which I left for him to sort out. 

Bloody people carrier what was he playing at; This was the world premier to James Bond, you don’t turn up in a people carrier, although we were a little early, so no one saw, so we headed up to the pre film drinks reception to have a quick martini at the other side of the square. We were both now so excited, as we looked out from the 8^th floor overlooking Leicester Square taking picture of each other on our phones, holding our martini’s in our penguins suites, pretending to be the main man.

Eventually after resisting the temptation sooner we decided to head back downstairs to make our big entrance. Now did I say we were excited; we were sooooo excited, the atmosphere was amazing; Leicester square was a wash with James Bonds. It was just like the scene from the movie, “The Thomas Crown Affair”, just without all the bowler hats. (Or maybe March of the penguins) We couldn’t believe our luck, we felt like we were actually one of the stars, with people trying to take pictures of us and all the flashing lights and this long red carpet. 

We finally cleared security with our red passes, and then we were off down the red carpet, loving every second of it, posing for the cameras walking as slow as we possible could, taking it all in, until we got to this sort of roundabout thingy in the middle, and then, with our red passes were directed off right; we just thought that they were splitting the carpet and that both went round to the entrance, so off we trotted.

However, we soon found out it didn’t!! (There had to be some mistake, did they know who we were?)

You see; one went left past all the television cameras and up to the main cinema and one went right, to some cinema around the corner, where there were no cameras, where there were no stars, where there were no flashing lights, just this red carpet full of people like us, all dressed up, all who had recently discovered that they too had got the short straw, and were defiantly not going to meet the Queen tonight, or anybody else for that matter.  We were gutted. I really wanted to meet Elton John as well and Matt wanted to meet that Lohan bird.

The reality hit hard, and it would have of hit Dave harder if he had of been there, you just wait till I get my hands on him. I’ll give him special offer.

Anyway the film was actually quite good. (I’m sure the Queen loved it.) But that’s not the point. We even had to buy our own drinks and popcorn! And that just ain’t cricket! Nor is the fact that once we indeed eventually got to our seats, in the cinema down the road, everyone totally over dressed, and sad faced, all wishing our tickets were a different colour, just to rub salt into the wound, we then had to sit and endure watching everyone else with their purple tickets arrive on the big screen.

They had rushed all the reds out of the way, so we were off the carpet, for when Elton and the Queen rocked up and that’s just mean.

To put it in food terms; we went to a restaurant, ordered a steak and barely got the salad; we could have of gone next week and saved £293 pound each. I mean we could have of gone 42 times for that and still had money left over for popcorn and some sherbet and maybe even a people carrier home again. But now all our dreams had come to nothing. I felt empty inside.

It’s now 3am as I sit here now writing this, whist eating a packet of microwave Chinese chicken wings and drinking a can of cola, reminiscing on what could have been.

But at least I can tell my kids, I was there; well sort of!!

Over and out

jtx

Written – but of course you have to find one first! 

 

I’m at the stage in my life now, where it’s starting to get to the business end of things, I’ve not actually told too many people about this; well until now but actually I’ve been doing the odd acting class as late and really enjoy it.

A very close friend of mine, who’s an actress and actually was in my favourite kids show growing up, “I used to fancy the pants off her, but lets keep that between us”, forced me into giving up my favourite Monday Quiz nights and going along to class with her.

And although I miss my Quiz team and they now struggle when it comes to the Spice Girl Lyrics round, now I can’t really thank her enough, Acting is right up my street and if anything I wish I had of started sooner.

The trouble with modelling is and don’t get me wrong as I’ve had a fantastic career, it’s taken me all around the world on many adventures and I’ve met some amazing people along the way, however it just doesn’t keep my mind busy enough. I need things to do.

My fathers was Comedian, my big Sister is one of the heads of Midwifery for Sydney, my middle sister is a Genetic Scientist in New York, so really I should have all the ammunition up there waiting to tap into, I mean; I love having my photo taken and probably always will but my favourite kind of jobs are commercials or moving film.

I’m not really one of those high end fashion models anyway, I don’t really do that many catwalks anymore or actually all that many magazines, well that was until the phone rang last Thursday, with a last minute magazine shoot happening the next morning.

I was actually pretty excited, as I said I don’t really do that anymore, maybe I would learn something new and could take that with me and use it for future modelling assignments.

I was shooting the Barbour campaign the other week, with this excellent photographer and he taught me something, which now; I’m all about. 

The drunk walk!  You know those shots where they want you walking towards camera, “Walk like your drunk!”, easy as that, gives you fantastic leg shapes.

Who would of guessed? That’s right up there now in the memory bank now.

Anyway so I get the call and with that the next morning at 7am, I know! I was on a busy tube train, across London to the shoot location at some posh house in Chelsea.

So I arrive on set, and I’m ushered upstairs into hair and make up at this point, really enthusiastic and excited about the day. The make up artist is lovely and we starting talking about my latest love life dilemma; you know, as you do.

And then in walks the photographer. Now how magazines work, are they don’t pay the model. Well they pay like £50. In fact I normally spend more on, getting to the shoot and taking the girl model out for dinner after but what they do get you, are pictures! And pictures make the world go round.

So there I am, by this point, the hair stylist has grabbed hold of me and they always make me nervous, you can never really tell their abilty when it comes to Men’s hair, occasional you might get one who knows there stuff; they are the ones you let trim your sideburns but other times, they just want to get so busy, and start blow drying, then straightening, then curling, then send you back to wash your hair again as it didn’t look as they envisaged. Anyway, I’m not going to go into him, as I have bigger fish to fry.

So I’m sitting there, and the photographer kneels down next to me and shakes my hand, for a second Donald the hair stylist turns the blow dryer off to I can hear myself think and the photographer goes on to explain the days shoot.

“Your agency did tell you didn’t they, that it’s all back off the head shots today, we aren’t going to show your face as we don’t want to distract from the clothes.”

“No, they didn’t!”

“Is he kidding me?” It’s meant to be one of the hottest days in London so far this year, one of the days it’s not actually raining, one of the 3 days of actually summer and he now he has me; trapped here, with Donald fucking up my hair and they want to shoot the back of my head!

I mean this would be ok if I was just starting out and needed the experience of how a shoot works and needed to start building up my resistance to people like Donald, or if I liked you and agreed to help you for some project at school, then I don’t mind shooting the back of my head, but this was not the case, I’ve been modelling 12 years now, I really didn’t need to be here doing this. I was not a happy Bunny!

I think the photographer sensed my agency did not mention to me that indeed it was non recognisable and I wouldn’t be getting any pictures, indeed after a brief conversation with them, apparently he hadn’t cared to mention it to them either.

And then the plot thickens, he goes on to say, that actually I wasn’t even his first choice hand model and that actually, the one he had chosen had dropped out last minute (probably as they found out what the shoot was) and I was the stand in.

Great! I wasn’t even a first choice hand model!

I’m always the professional and put a brave face on it, smiled and got on with the day, doing all they asked, building my story in my head of what I was going to write, once I escaped back to the pool at Shoreditch house.

After what seemed like an eternity the end of the day came and just as I was getting ready to leave, the photographer comes back up to me and says, “James, there were some cufflinks from the last shot that have gone missing, would you mind emptying out your pockets!”

I know! Right?! You couldn’t make this up!

I’ve given up my whole day, gritted my teeth, whilst sweltering away in hot jackets in the baking sun on this summers day, finally finished the job and now, he’s accusing me of stealing?

All I had with me was some flip flops, a pair of shorts and grey T-shirt, my phone, a travel card and some money.

“Was this guy for real!”  He doesn’t know me at all!

I wouldn’t steel anything from anyone! Well maybe a pint glass or hotel towel, but who doesn’t.

With that, with a look straight into his eyes, “Can I go now?” and I was off out the door!

So that night, after I finally calmed down over a Mojito by the pool; I decided that it’s time to make a change and do something for me and applied to one of the best acting school in the world, in New York City!

And I’ve only gone and been accepted!  I didn’t need to pay anyone off or anything. So maybe this is time for the next chapter in my life; time to follow my dreams, and Ride that Unicorn!

After all, you can’t be seriously good looking forever…

Wish me luck

jtx

Written – it takes one to know one!

They say things happen for a reason, and I honestly believe they do.  That’s why when I was in the gym the other week and this hot brunette walked past me, “yes I did say brunette”, I decided to leave the chin up bar and wonder on across to those cycle thingies.

You know the ones that don’t actually move, where you all crowd around one person in the middle and he plays techno music really loud from a 80’s style ghetto blaster and shouts at everyone until they go week at the knees and cry out for mercy, well at least I did.

Anyway, I hopped on the bike next to her, and the class began. I tell you what, it was enough bloody hard work, I must have been the least fittest person there, im a runner not a cyclist, these guys were all pros.

I tried to get here attention as we were going along, but she was so focused; mesmerised by the man in the middle shouting orders, even my best efforts went un-rewarded, until finally during one of the little come down breaks, when the man in the middle gave it a rest for two mins and stopped shouting at us all, I did manage to catch her eye and managed to mutter something to her, and she kinda smiled back.

Anyway, after the class, I managed to get her attention again, and we made a bit of brief small talk, and I’m not quite sure to this day how, but I managed to get her number, and of course as I never go anywhere without my phone glued to my side, was able just to punch it straight in.

We txted each other for the next few days and eventually arranged to meet up. Now I knew this girl was a bit of a health freak, after all she did that spinning class stuff, so I decided to take her to that chicken place, “Nandoes”, I’ve seen all those adverts for it, they do all that healthy kinda stuff.

So I picked her up and we went for dinner, she was gorgeous and seemed happy enough to be there. She had a little chicken wrap, I had my ten wing platter with a corn and peri peri fries and I thought it went rather well, she even was quite understanding when I said she wasn’t allowed the peri peri nuts they try and flog you at the start.

The only thing was, this girl spoke so bloody fast, I couldn’t understand a bloody word she was saying, not a dickey bird, I just sat looking at her the whole time, watching her lips move, concentrating trying to get a slight grip on what on earth she was on about, with an expression on my face like I was on the toilet; squinty eyed, open mouthed; like I was catching flies.

Every single sentence of hers just seem to run in to the next, it was mind boggling, in the end I just had to nod and smile and of course being the gent, that I am, I made her do all the talking, which was really asking for it.

As I dropped of her home, with a little kiss on the cheek, she got out the car and as the door slammed, I gave her a brief wave and drove off, thinking, “well I won’t see her again.” But that’s when it hit me!

Fucking hell! That’s me! That’s what I do, everyone must think I’m a right raving bloody Looney.

So with that, the very next day, I was surfing the net to find myself a voice coach. And later that afternoon, I had my very first class. The lady on the phone, told me, that I indeed did speak really very fast, and I though bloody hell, “she’s good, she knew that already” and told me to come in a tracksuit, so I was relaxed and ready to start the treatment.

So a couple of hours later, I arrive at her door, in my tracksuit, which I’ve not worn since I was about 15, so it was all a little small.

She was very welcoming and had a very defined strong voice, I guess she’s was in her mid to late the 50s, was pretty hot though, “opps, is that wrong to admit that?” so I was gutted that I was standing there looking like a chavv in my tracksuit, unable to speak properly and all going a bit red, to be honest I didn’t have much going for me really.

But she was very calming, and we sat down, and she gave me a glass of water, rather than a coke, as she though this might help.

The next thing I knew she had disappeared off into a back room and re-appeared a couple of seconds later in this figure hugging leotard, holding two rolled up foam mats.

Unrolling them on the floor and telling me to lay down next to her on my back and close my eyes, At this point I was thinking, that maybe my tracksuit hadn’t put her off after all, maybe she was into that, and then before I could even think of anymore inappropriate thoughts, she started reading my a story, a very happy story, which I had to imagine in my head; there were trees and meadows and sheep and the sun was shining, and after I was suitable sedated, we starting making humming noised together to work on my breathing and getting me to use my full diaphragm and take in deep breathes to keep calm and relaxed.

This went on for about thirty minutes or so before she brought me back round again with another glass of water and then we started reading some tongue twisters, like, “Mavis the marvellous musician made light work of men in Marlborough” but to my surprise, it was maybe for the first time ever in my I’ve able to read out loud without my tongue falling out my mouth and tripping over every single word, rushing them out as fast and as many as I can before running out of air and having to take a gasp for breathe.

This woman was amazing, I mean granted, I’m nowhere near ready yet to go and address the UN council and tell them my views on the world but just maybe next time I’m in the queue at the fish and chips shop and I try and talk to the girl next to me, she won’t smile and run out the shop without even ordering any of her food like the normally do.

I mean just think of how many girls I’ve scared off in the past because they thought I was a completely insane or obviously on something; when all it was, was that I was a little mixed up and wasn’t breathing correctly.

I told you everything happens for a reason, See!, If I hadn’t of met that nutter bird at the gym, I would of never known.

I can’t wait to see my voice coach next week, I might even go and buy a new tracksuit so I have all the proper kit. Apparently next week, were doing yoga.

I’ll keep you posted on that one ‘)

Na night

 

jtx

Written – 30/7/2012 – I’m not nuts, really!!

Being a vegetable terien has never been quite so popular. I mean it’s always been there right from Dorothy the Dinosaur but right now it’s the hot new topic and everywhere you look specialist herbivore restaurants are popping up left, right and centre.

Of course I still haven’t been in fact, I cross the street when I see one, however I have started doing my bit to try a little harder and am now eating cucumber and you know; I quite like it, it’s refreshing; sometimes I have it in a salad; sometimes I even choose the flavoured water at Shoreditch house with the cucumber in it, but that’s where it stops really, I mean; I eat corn on the cob, mushrooms, tomatoes and such like, although still not onions, oh no!,  I will not do it, Jam I am!

But have to say; I am starting to be more aware of my body and what I eat, I met a very nice new vegan friend that other day and we had a long chat about everything and he was telling me that apparently you should eat for your blood type.  I am an, “O” which means I’m a Meataterian and need it to function.  That was the original blood type, but its dying out because of all these vegetarian restaurants and this new breed of, “A” blood type, which he said, apparently is much more common now days and they don’t work so well on meat, which actually both my vegetarian sisters are also, so maybe there is some truth in this after all. There are a few other different blood type combinations but from what I gather, they are a bit like the Green party and never going to rival the big two.

I couldn’t be a vegetarian anyway even if I wanted too, it’s all a bit to nutty for my liking and with my Nut allergy. Not a good look!

So there I was the other day, sipping my ice cold water by the pool at Shoreditich House in East London, in fact it could have been the cucumber water thinking back.

There I was minding my own business, when this woman comes over and sits next to me and I can’t quite remember how we got talking now,  I am quite social little bunny and tend to strike up conversations with just about everyone and you know what, it’s stood me in good steed over the years, it’s nice to be nice!

So there we are on the roof on one of London’s better days and I’m telling her about my new found love for my body we get talking and turns out, she’s a psychic healer.  I know!

Now, I like to think I’m quite a, well rounded chap. Travelled, open minded but generally quite straight forward. I believe in Ghosts and don’t particularly want to test it in a dark scary house all by myself;  I also think that space is just too big for Richard Branson to explore it all to himself, there just has to be something else out there. But again, generally I don’t follow anything weird.

Where was I, oh yes, she was a energy healer!

So we got talking and to start with I was a bit like emmm ok.  But then the more it went on, I soon found it really fascinating.

Now you might not know this as I tried to keep it under wraps, but for the past year, I lost a big patch of hair in my beard. BLOODY NIGHTMARE!

As you can imagine; for modelling shoots having to air brush it back in after, wasn’t the best; but you know, what was quite funny in the sense that; when I went about my daily business, I met so many other blokes with the same thing as me and with a knowing look and a nod, it was as if I had joined a little secret baldey beard club.

I remember trying to get into a bar one night, and the dude on the door was like no, sorry mate, then he clocked my beard and was like, you have it too, come in!

Anyway I went on to learn that apparently this wasn’t stress as the doctors had been saying to me, apparently everywhere on you face you have meridians; energy pathways corresponding to organs and the alopecia was because my organs were up the creek!

In my case, my digestive system and stomach.  So with that I was all ears and arranged the next day to pop around her office for her to try and cure me. 

I have admit, I was slightly scared on my way round, what if she tied me up and performed sexual rituals on me or I was never seen again?  But I’m a wiley old fox and I made sure, I foursquared the shit out all the surrounding buildings, just in case; so as to leave a trail of bread crumbs.

So I’m there and its all very pleasant, she’s makes me a little cucumber water to settle my nerves and then starts working out with a pendulum and meditating what caused the problem and she tells me that at 23 I had an emotional trauma which caused a break down.

Now I hadn’t told her a thing up until this point. But remember that girl, the one I always refer back too.  Well I was 23 ;)

Anyway, so she then starts going through all these boxes of substances, in little glass test tubes. Iron, Zinc, Dog, Cat Pigeon,  all sorts of weird and wonderful things concocting a potion before putting all these little bottles into a magic machine and wait for it, then transferring there energy from the one side with all the test tubes in it for the remedy, into sugar pills and then attaching them to points all over my body, before shortly after with a little bit of humming and some meditation, releasing me back into the streets of Soho looking like a right wally with pills stuck all over me for a day.

I know it all seems a bit far fetched!

If you had told me this before I had experienced it myself, I would be like, yeah right James!

But you know what, it’s now been 5 weeks, and after almost a years of having a great big bald patch in my beard,  it’s now fully grown back!

Maybe there is something in all the eastern medicine and vibrational medicine after all.

Next up she thinks she can cure my nut allergy! Now that really is a big one!

So if you don’t hear from me again, maybe it didn’t work after all. Find me on Foursquare and come running with an epi pen.

But if it works, I think she’s just worked out how to turn LEAD into GOLD!!

Watch this space….

 jtx

 

check out her website and follow her on twitter, it just might change your life…

www.antoniaharman.com

twitter - @AntoniaHarman

Written – and now maybe finally got the monkey off my back

As I sit here now about to write down my inner, most darkest thoughts; whilst digesting a whole pack of Bakewell tarts. Yes that’s right you heard me correctly, Bakewell tarts, you see I’ve just recently had a test and it turns out that I am still allergic to nuts, all nuts except almonds, so you see I’m having a field day, in a sort of eating protest at my 20odd years of exclusion. It’s such a relief, I used to shun bakers everywhere, bolt from the hair salon washbasin when my hair stylist so much as even looked at washing my hair with the marzipan smelling shampoo. But now those dark days have gone. And the taste is to die for. Actually maybe wrong choice of words there.

Anyway, down to business, It’s been a tough few months, I wont lie, I mean, my gosh; why on this earth did I buy white bedding do you know how many times you have to wash that shit to get that orange imprint out? My electric bill is going to cost me a fortune. I mean can you just imagine and were taking hot washes too. My word.

And then there is the stress ‘s and strains of single life again; you know, coming in from a night out, getting into bed, pulling down the duvet and there is black eye liner and lipstick all over the pillow from the night before and you have to quickly switch pillows with the one from your side of the bed before you new prospective mate see’s.

And then of course there is when they start to get a little too close for comfort and they start leaving things at your apartments in-between visits; those wirily girls aren’t silly you know, I’m sure they do it, just so you get caught out if you try being naughty; like leaving their hair scrunchey on your bedside table or their polka dot umbrella in your hallway or the ultimate sin, which I have to say; often spells out the beginning of the end when this happens, they try and stake claim to you and leave their toothbrush in your toothbrush pot. I hate that! That’s my toothbrush pot; something’s just aren’t for sharing.

Ok, ok, maybe I’ve been slightly over zealous with this being back on the market thing and maybe my choice of company isn’t always the wisest choice, but all things being equal, I’m not really a happy bunny and it’s been away of keeping me from thinking about how I really feel.

I mean, I know I’m very fortunate in many a way. Like I’m not a gingerbread man and I don’t have a pack of hungry wolves waiting outside my door and I think im pretty safe in the feeling my parents won’t swop me for some magic beans or a cow but I guess what it is, is that; I have a broken heart. 

There I said it. Yes, it’s true I am a real man after all. I’m not Tinman, contrary to some public belief. I do have a heart.

I saw her the other day. I’d been away for a few months down in Australia at the start of the year, you know, to clear my head, get a sun tan and eat ribs, lots of ribs, yumm, ribs and on my first day back in London, on my first day at 9am in the morning on a packed central line train somewhere in between Oxford circus and Bond street, I saw her, we ended up in the same bloody carriage. I mean what are the chances? She looked as beautiful as ever, in this cute little brown dress, with the boots that I’d bought her when we were out in New York together, Her hair was slightly darker but she still smelled the same.  You know when you spend time with someone and they have their smell.  I remembered how it used to be when we used to curl up in bed together and go to sleep and how happy we used to be. I loved they way she smelled especially her hair, I wanted to live in her hair. Like a nit. I loved it that much.

We spoke for no more than 30 seconds. She was getting off at the next stop. I could tell she didn’t want to be there but she took her little white headphones out and with a, “What do you want James?” answered a few of my questions.

How are you? What have you been up to? Are you seeing anyone? I wasn’t really looking for the answer I got from that one though.

She’d moved on, has a new boyfriend. She said she’s never been happier.  And with that I tried to give her a hug as she left the train but she was having none of it and with that she was gone walking away down the platform not looking back even the once, my heart sunk and I slumped back into my chair and got my iphone out to pretend I was busy, doing what I could to hold myself together.

I can honestly say, I’ve never been more crushed in my life,

I mean I know I caused all this myself, I’d made my bed and now I’d have to lay in it. With the left behind fake eyelashes and all. But it’s still no easier pill to swallow. I was a wreck, thank god I was only modelling trousers that day when I finally did make it into work.

For a while I have to say I turned to chocolate, as I knew that woudn’t hurt me, but then even that did in the end. It gave me a fat face and I got told off, so I can’t even do that anymore and have now been sentenced to the gym every morning and night, so I don’t even have time for dates anymore.

I go through phases of thinking about texting or calling, even typing her name in to google to see what comes up, as of course now I’m blocked from her facebook and her twitter but I just can’t get the girl out of my head. Almost torturing myself further.

Everything reminds me of her, every girl I’ve met since, I just compare to her, too tall, too small, not funny enough, too much make up. Oh god she’s wearing a sovereign; quick run!!

I would give anything to turn back the clock and put things right, but it’s all too late now. She’s with Dave.

I know I have to leave her be and move on myself, harder said than done but maybe now with writing this I can draw a line in the sand and hopefully one day meet someone new, a nice girl with manners, that I can give a cute fluffy name too, that won’t have hair extensions or sit on my nice clean white sheets with their dirty jeans on they have been wearing on the tube all day long, and maybe one day, I might even without being forced share my toothbrush holder once more.

I guess, stranger things have happened…

Na night

jtx

 

Written - summer 2012 – call me yeah!

Evening all; just got in from a date, it’s 2.46am, sitting at my breakfast bar in my kitchen; in my pants and socks, eating 2 day old left-over crispy duck and pancakes; it’s ok, I put it in the fridge and all; to tell you the truth I was kinda too nervous to eat earlier, so bloody starving now!

Was a first date, bit of a blind date really, a friend of mine was playing cupid and mentioned us to each other as he thought we would get on, weeks went by and nothing happened until one day I decided to do the right thing and I added her on twitter.

Soon she followed me back and you know, things went from there, we got direct messaging and she seemed to find me amusing enough and eventually I asked her out for a date.

I decided to take her out to this cool little place in Shoreditch. Somewhere that wasn’t too stuffy and formal, but yet not so relaxed, so it seemed I hadn’t made an effort.  Somewhere with an easy menu that had a wide range as not to make her feel uncomfortable, mind you im one of the fussiest eaters going; so maybe that was more for me; I’d also already checked she wasn’t one of vegetarian types; I factor that in now as one of my first questions right there along with name and favourite football team J.

Maybe it’s because I’m a Virgo or maybe everyone does it but I plan and analyse everything. I’d kind of worked out before the date, how it would play out in my head.  What kind of questions I would ask, how I would try and make her laugh, what I wanted to eat, what I wanted her to eat so I could have I bite and most importantly, what not to say!

So I decided that I wouldn’t drive tonight and would catch a cab, I know it shouldn’t be, but it is easier if you both are drinking. You can share a bottle of wine and ponder over and try out from the cocktail list. I don’t need to drink but if I’m sitting there on the sparkling water watching on, it just doesn’t make the evening run as smoothly.

So I get to the place at 7.30pm, get a txt from her, she’s running a little late in traffic, it’s ok. I just took up a seat inside the bar area looking out waiting for her arrival. Eventually she arrives looking gorgeous, Mid length blonde hair, slim, petite in this funky little pink jumper with killer heals on.

The evening started great, we each had a beer to start which I thought was pretty cool, she seemed different to what I was used too.  She was quick, really sharp and witty, I felt I had to be on top form just to keep up, but conversation followed really easily; we had similar interests in common and liked the same films and both had rare steaks.

She was 2 years younger than me, but had her own little business empire running, with like 15 staff, the small little hot blonde was the boss, it didn’t really fit, in a way I was used too, to tell you the truth I was a little nervous, but I liked it. It was different, with every sentence I was drawn in deeper and deeper.  

We finished dinner, skipped desert and headed down to the bar, it was already pretty late by now, we had been talking for hours. I now knew she wanted 4 children, her favourite colour was blue, she really fancied Ryan Gosling, mind you, I do a bit too; but who doesn’t! And her auntie was called Eileen.

By now we were on the cocktails and I could feel myself starting to go, No James No! I was starting to fall for her spell, in my head, I was off, I could hear my brain talking to me, wow she was amazing, I wanted to make her my girlfriend right then and there, she’s was the girl I need to marry, and I just couldn’t shut it off and then it happened I passed the point of no return.

I started saying things out loud, I mean the date was going so well up until this point, I had played it just right, interested but not to keen, attentive but not over the top, alluring but yet holding back enough to keep her interest and wanting to know more, but now, now my game plan was starting to fall apart at the seems, I started to say things that you really shouldn’t say.

So, am I what you was expecting tonight? Whats your normal type? You know you really tick all my boxes!

Why was I saying these stupid things?

Do you like me?

That was it, Dead! Game Over!

Right then and their all the challenge on her part was gone, I had turned! Turned into a 14-year-old girl! “Your Amazing!”

We got the bill swiftly afterwards, she insisted on paying half and with that in the midst of telling her I loved her and asking what days she couldn’t see me the following week; she was in a taxi and gone, probably never to be seen again!

I walked home, in the rain to sober me up. What was wrong with me?  It was going so well, at one point she was hanging on every word and I thought we would be in the kitchen eating duck together.

Not much I can do now,  well that is apart from send her the 5 goodnight txts I just sent just you know to make sure she’s home safe .

“Night baby, miss you xoxoxoxox”

jtx

 

Written – whilst on Larda airways to Moscow

With Summer fast approaching I’ve been trying to be good and cut out some of the rubbish out of my diet and get myself really in tip top shape ready to get back in my speedosonce more.

The trouble is…

I’m addicted to sweet things. Drugs, smoking, any of the girls from the only way is Essex or that other show with the fake rich birds, not interested but show me a twirl and I’ll bite your arm off.

Now more than ever, I really do need to start being good especially as my personal trainer has selfishly gone off to have a baby, so now I’m left all to my own devices in the gym which doesn’t consist of me getting all that much done. 

It’s been a couple of weeks now since the split from the girlfriend and I’m starting to find my feet again, is hard though when you spend so much time with someone to then have no contact with them but, I’ve been keeping myself pretty busy with work though, in fact, I’m just on my way to Moscow as we speak to play some Wham and Abba to the Russians, but I wont lie, it’s been crap. I’m lonely and seem to have completely forgotten how to chat up a girl.

I did actually meet this girl I quite liked in the gym, I say meet, she was the girl who does the memberships She didn’t look all that much in a suit, but put her in a pink leotard and she was cracking, straight out of Baywatch.

I went to great lengths to get her attention and find a way of getting to talk to her, even making my trainer use the machine right next to her when she was training, even at times when she was on those machines that only work the insides of your legs; you know which really only girls use, but she never even looked over the once, until one day I decide to take the ball by the horns and to go over and say hi when she’d stopped for air and water at one of the fountains.

We spoke for a couple of minutes, turns out we were neighbours; who would of known and arranged to go for a drink later that weekend. I  dropped her a txt a few days later to confirm for a our drink on the weekend and then nothing, not a dickie bird.

I’ve seen her in the gym since and she just completely blanked me, just pretended to be really busy showing her next victim round the gym leaving me stranded hanging from the pull up bar, deflated. So now, not only do I have no trainer, I’ve also got to get a new gym as to avoid the complete embarrassment of getting shut down.

You see, It’s just not working very well for me at the moment, But I always have my Dad to sit down with me and talk some sense into me and make me see that I’m not all that hard done by after all.

I run pretty much everything past my Dad, whether it be; Dad I really want to buy a new car or Dad I’ve got a rash, he’s been around the block a few times and knows me better than anyone, so on Friday we decided to go for dinner and have a good old catch up.

There is this new fish restaurant opened up by my house, it was being built for what seemed like an eternity, I used to run past it everyday and always said to the ex that we should try it, well she’s gone now and I still wanted to go, so I thought that it would be perfect to take Dad.  Much cheaper for me too.

So we get to the restaurant go in sit down, at this point I was still on my health kick, so I had the grilled cod with a side salad, no fizzy drink or chips, we start chatting and it turns out that, when Dad left school his first job was working pealing potatoes in a fish shop and turns out that it was the same chain as the one we were in.

My Dad being my Dad, calls over the manager of the restaurant and tells him this story, the manager is as old as my Dad is and they had a little reminisce about old times, and the way is was, but whilst all this was going on, I clock this table of girls behind where we were sitting. 

About 7 of them, couple of older ones and about 5 around the same age as me, one of them was gorgeous although when she spoke she squeaked.  And not even a little bit, loud enough for the whole restaurant to hear; she sounded like Minnie mouse.  No Really!!

Anyway so me and Dad finally after he stopped with the other old timer had a good little chat, I discovered that I was ready to carry on and leave the gym bird behind me,  ate my cod, Dad had his wing of skate and a shandy, and as we were getting the bill and gettingready to leave, the manager comes back and says that actually the daughters and the granddaughters of the owner who my Dad used to work for were in tonight and would love to say hello and points over to the table with Minnie on it.  They all look up and smile and we have no choice, so over we go. 

We getting chatting and Minnie is squeaking away, she was pretty hot although maybe best of a bad bunch and her Mum was chatting away with Dad.

After about 20 minutes or so I get a kick under the table from Dad and it’s time to go I wasn’t getting anywhere anyway, so we say our goodbyes and head for the exit.

Now on this occasion Dad hadn’t brought his Range Rover but instead had brought his girlfriends little white girly convertible thingy and me being me,  I love to drive anything, so I made Dad let me drive it home.

So there we are putting the roof down, my Dad all squashed up in the passenger seat already clinging on to the handles ready for me to drive back to mine, when none other than, Minnie comes running out the restaurant, up to the car.

Making some smarmy remark like, “oh you’re a hairdresser?” of which I couldn’t get the words out fast enough to explain it wasn’t mine and I was just testing it out but she didn’t want to hear it, and then she’s says.

Can I have your number?

I was thinking, I mean you’re a bit squeaky but yeah your hot and phew I’ve finally got my mojo back.

                          

But then before I could say anything, she turns to my Dad and asks again when he didn’t reply, “As my Mum thinks your really Hot”!

I was mortified.

Firstly I was never going to hear the end of it and more importantly this dinner was meant to cheer me up not send me deeper into the spiral.

Luckily Dad already has a girlfriend and duly declined.

I drove back to mine said goodnight to Dad and caved in, It’s been a weekend binge ever since, KFC, Curry, chocolate, Lucazade and I promised myself last night though I would start over and find my feet again, but after just writing this and re-living it, the vivid memories have all just come flooding back so I’ve just had a huge cheesecake to try and prise me out of it, so much for the diet.

Oh well, I guess ill have to start again next Monday

Na night - спокойная ночь

jtx

 

Written – finely matured until the time was right!

With July nearly Upon us once more, normally I would be counting down the seconds until I’m once again packed off and chained to my decks in the south of France for another summer. But as Luck would have it though, this year I don’t, I’m having a year off.  HOOORAY!!!

But I’ve just come across a chapter, I wrote; wow 2 years ago now, about settling into the life of an international DJ on a summer season.  

what’s so good about hopscotch anyway??

ENJOY ;) 

I just cannot decide what to do with myself tonight as I finally have another night off due to some firework display going on outside. Do I “A”, sit in my room alone, eat take out sushi and maybe a spot of room service and try and write a new chapter? “B”, Go and watch the fireworks and sit at another table for 1 and have another steak and hope I get accosted by some cute French girl? Or “C”, use the entirety of my daily food allowance on stella and some ice cream, play on facebook and watch porn?

Anyway it turns out that the James Taylor disco road show has been gathering pace of late and after someone told someone, who told someone else, I’ve only been invited out to be resident dj for the whole summer, at one of “The Leading Hotels of the World” and no! I don’t mean the Campanile Inn at Basildon off the A127. 

 So about a month ago now, I packed up my baby wipes, my toothbrush and my favourite, “Orlebar Brown” Swim shorts; in red, white, blue, yellow and black and hopefully, after that plug, maybe the gold, pink and the orange as well. J “ just kidding, well kinda” and made my way down by aeroplane to the French Rivera.

The hotel itself is beautiful, right on the seafront on some funny French road that sounds like a vegetable and all the staff are lovely too and I’m not just saying that because I have to as they might read this but they really are and I guess I’ve settled in rather well thinking about it, I’m actually the youngest person here who’s not accompanied by an adult which isn’t necessarily a bad thing as I’m a little bit odd myself and think I’m really 45 in my head and love Abba, and so do they, so everybody’s happy, although if I’m honest I’ve never had to work so hard in my life.

Tonight is only my second day off since I’ve been here and I work every night from 6pm till about 1am everyday, 2am on weekends. I mean don’t get me wrong, it’s not like digging a whole or putting the ship inside those small little bottles, I mean how do they do that?  But it is tough never the less. It’s baking hot till about 9pm, and unlike usual I can’t just play the same old party gold dust every night like you can with one off parties, as it’s the same audience for days at a time, so now I’m having to play obscure tracks like, “Does your mother know” and even last night, “Happy New Year”, although that didn’t go down to well, so maybe won’t play that again.

I have to say I do have a bit of a phobia of playing modern music. I don’t know why, it just scares me.  I’m fine up till a bit of, “Pump up the Jam” or even “Show me love” but after that it’s all a little out of my comfort zone for me.

So anyway as I said I’m settling in rather well, I have steak for lunch and steak for dinner and I’m allowed to have as much sparking water as I can handle and to be honest if I was actually paying for it myself that’s about I could afford.

But you see I can actually be a bit shy at times, and maybe even a little lazy, in the sense that I finish work, then play on my laptop for a few hours, sleep, get up late, play on my laptop a bit more go down to the restaurant have my steak and my water maybe sit on the beach for an hour and then I’m back in to my Abba mega mix again, and so on and so on rather than pushing myself and going out to do things and meet new people.

I mean I have met some lovely people out here but it’s a bit like being friends with the year above at school, they are there for a while and they leave and your all alone again and as I said there aren’t all that many girls here my age to look at either at least not without some hairy fat Russian in tow.

Anyway I heard that apparently all the young cool hip trendy people go to St Tropez. So with that the other day, on my first day off after two weeks straight work, I decided to shake myself up push myself out of my comfort zone and drag myself out of bed without checking who had poked me overnight or how many times Jim Jam Elder had posted on my wall and hired myself a little convertible smart car and with that was off to St Tropez.

I drove and I drove and I drove and eventually I arrived, I actually had a lot of fun, they are great little cars and mine made this really good noise so I just left it in third pretty much the whole way there.

I pulled up at some place called “Stacy Beach”. So there I am, and there are these two big burley French guys on the door to the gated compound and here’s me, in my bright yellow OB shorts hanging out of the roof of my little smart and they didn’t really want to let me in, but eventually after I gave them some of my hard earned euros they did.

So in I drive and everyone in there has gold plated rollers and lambo’s and Ferrari’s. So I park up and walk up to the girl on the reception and sheepishly was like, “Bonjour”, “excuse me, I’d like to come in please” and with that she looked me up and down and with that noise that all French people make, that kinda; “heeey”, sound, she clicked her fingers and this man then whisked me away with through the pool area past all the gaggle of pretty topless girls to a sun bed right the way at the back on it’s own by the fence, you could see how important I was.

I have to say I’ve never felt more intimidated in my life; everyone was brown and good-looking in big groups and jumping up and down on the tables, spraying champagne over each other. “I hate that”. More money than sense and there is nothing worse than when your walking past in your Sunday best and some little flash shit sprays you and your standing there soaked and stinking of the stuff.

Anyway, I was starting to wish maybe I would of stayed at the hotel and now that I was here, that I had not of had that cornetto on the way down and maybe had of gone to the gym first but decided it was time to stop being like a complete billy no mates party pooper and to try to get myself involved but it is kind of hard being the only person there who is by themselves.

I mean how do you just go up to a big group of people and be like, hey, I’m James can I play.  I mean it’s not as if I could even go in goal to tempt them.

So I order my €20 bottle of sparkling and off I head back up the long path to the pool back past the gaggle of topless girls (who were all French by the way and didn’t speak a word of English) and to where the main action was at.

There I am in my yellow shorts and holding (treasuring) my bottle of sparkling, you know making it last, and I dangle my legs in the pool and sit on the edge trying to look cool swaying to the music; you know as you do.  (No Abba though, sadly)

Now I guess I’m pretty used to doing things on my own, I can even just about stomach eating at a restaurant at a table for one, with everyone looking on like, where are all his friends? Weirdo! However I can proudly say still never to the cinema on my own, that’s just too weird even for me. I mean who would you cuddle up to when the scary bit came on or more relevant to me, who would I ask what the hell was going on in the film??

Although in this place, I just felt sooo out of place and by this point even the topless frenchies were nowhere to be seen. So I didn’t even have anything to look at. I felt abit like being back at school at lunchtime eating my ham sandwiches and jaffa cakes, in the corner of the playground, all alone by myself, looking on at everybody else playing hopscotch.

Eventually I didn’t managed to get talking to this group of guys by the pool, I think they were Swedish or something and they invited me over to their table. So we are all there and I’m trying my hardest to get involved although it’s pretty hard when everyone’s off their faces and I’m still on the fizzy; all be it by this time warm water.

But I really was trying extra hard to muck in and be one of the boys and to make myself have a good time, although still no girls or ABBA and then they too decided to start spraying champagne and that’s when I decided to call it a day, slipping off out the side gate, hopped in the smart, back past those grizzly bouncers and returning to the safe confines of my hotel.

In fact my favourite thing about the whole day was driving that smart car. Is that bad?

You see maybe I’m not as hip and trendy and cool as I make out, I mean yes everyone here may be 20 years older than me and I may moan about being on my own and not knowing very many people, but I feel safe here; I can eat my steak, wear my bright colours shorts and play my ABBA to who ever will listen and do you know what, I quite like being inside my little bubble.

I mean what’s so good about hopscotch anyway? And at least I get to eat my Jaffa cakes all to myself!

au revoir

jtx

 “ oh bonjour love”, “if you could just put the stellas and the ice cream on the table, ill be right there”

Written – mes noms est James, je vis en île de canvey dans le sud-est de l’Angleterre

Like most models; if I’m ever out, trotting down Carnarby street, and someone comes up to me, and ever asks what I do for a living, I nearly never say I’m a model. All of a sudden I become an Actor, or a Dancer or a Helicopter pilot or of course now; a Writer. All be it unless you’re a big casting director or Brucey Webber in which case, Hi I’m James, I’m at select.

Now I think this is, not because we think, that you think, that models have no brain and get everywhere just because of their looks; as clearly this in not always the case.  I can even say a few things in German and remember without prompting every single stop on the c2c line between Shoeburyness and London Fenchurch street.

Instead I think it because, everytime you say you’re a model, everyone then automatically assumes, you get lots of free stuff and are a reckless playboy, who gallivants all round the world and who should never be let anywhere near anyone’s daughter.

And it’s just simply not true. I’ve been modelling now since I was 15 and in all that time, all I’ve ever got is a few dirty old pairs of socks that I’ve managed to sneak off a job when nobody was looking.

Or it could be because, as soon as you say you’re a model, its just like saying I’m a big wimp and please don’t hurt me, don’t touch my face.

It’s ok, I admit it, I’m not a fighter. After all how do you think I got into marathon running? 

But saying that, I guess I’d like to think for a very small period of time; could pull a scary, “I’m going to eat your head off” face, making them think twice for a split second and then whilst they’re mulling it over, legging it off up the road to find refuge.

Anyway, the other day I was on this job in Hackney in East London. For those of you not familiar with the area, lets just say erm, well I guess. “Up and coming”.

So I turn up for work bright and early shooting some little French catalogue you know, smiling away all day, wearing nasty knitted jumpers, the sort of which, your Great Great Auntie would buy you for Christmas, that would go straight in a draw under your bed never to be seen again, that your Mum would make you phone and say thank you for, along with your lotto scratch card and the £10 hmv voucher. (Granted I have a very generous Great Great Auntie)

So I arrive and go round shaking everyone’s hand; as you do, going though the motions finally meeting the photographer who sort of looks you up and down, putting you all on edge, so your then thinking, “fuck! They’ve booked the wrong model here by mistake” they hate me! They wanted James Crabtree, not James Taylor”, before after what felt like an eternity them giving you a kind half nod of approval before grasping your hand with a firm hand shake and swiftly turning there back to you to go and shout and one there assistances to move a light, “1mm to the left.”

Before I know it, I’m lured away upstairs to the hair and make up area and sat down at this little stall in this dimly lit room and then out of the darkness, the little short French man with big thick rimmed glasses and a tash, who id not seen before comes over to me (minces) and without even saying hello starts pulling my hair and then manoeuvres round in front of me and then starts touching my face. “Oh I forgot to mention during this time, I’m already enduring; which I can only assume, is this little French mans Ipod, player these really weird French songs.” (Loved that )

Anyway, enough was enough, so I thought before this little man messes about with me anymore, I should let him know who’s boss and in my best French accent calling on all my years of learning French at school, I said, “Hello, my names is James and I’m from the Canvey Island in the south east of England.”  I thought I’d go all out so chucked that in there as well, you know just for affect. 

But it had no response and he carried on playing with my hair and making French sounds at me like nommm, and ehhh.

At this I was a little bemused, but what was to follow, was far worse.  You see, I don’t like make up to much and I really don’t like people playing with my hair, that goes for even being in bed; when you know after and the girl reaches across and starts stroking you, I mean maybe if it’s your girlfriend but I’m not a fan. But I especially can’t stand it if I didn’t even get to have the pleasure first.

Now from my past experiences, normally, if your on a job, you have a designated person for make up and a designated person for hair, and what normally happiness is they both look at you and go, he’s a man, lets put minimal amount of make up on him and keep him looking like a man, we don’t need to curl his eye lashes or straighten his hair, or even hint at getting that blow dryer out of the suitcase, “In fact James, here’s some gel, you could probably do your hair better yourself mate, here you go, go for your life.”

But no, not this guy, he was an all in one, all singing, not much saying, French; hair and make up artist and even after my best attempts to try and escape, with all the crazy eyebrows I could throw at him, he was like a man possessed, showering me with foundation, blow drying my hair into an afro before straightening it back, before realising that doesn’t work and gelling it all down slick to my forehead, before it all bouncing back up again.

I wasn’t a pretty sight, but sadly, I didn’t have much say and before I could say, “Garlic”, I was whisked away back downstairs again and straight into action, I looked like a white, “Don King” in a granny sweater, my hair was huge and I had more slap on that a girl on a Blackpool night out

The shoot was going, alright, we had some pie for lunch and I tried to keep my spirits up. So I decided to nip outside down the road to get a bottle of Lucazade. So I trotted off down the street. And down to this little cornershop about a five minute walk away, so I’m walking down the street, and everyone and I mean everyone is giving me funny looks.

So I finally made it to the shop and I thought I would be nice and buy the crew some jelly babies and such like, by now I’ve had a few items, and I’m standing inline waiting to get severed and the little man behind the counter looks up at me as if he’s ready to serve me so I give him a smile and edge forward and go to start putting my items into the basket, when all of a sudden, the big aggressive burley man barges me out the way in his shell suit and asks for a packet of Mayfair menthols.

I didn’t really know what to make of it all really I was a bit taken aback and then the next thing I know, I’ve got this big man in about his fifties in a thick Scottish accent squaring up in my face, spit flying; asking me, “If I have a problem pal??”

“No, No problem here, please carry on” I couldn’t even muster up a second of scary face. As I watched him leave the shop turning round snarling at me. I hurriedly made it back to the shoot. And that’s where I stayed until 5pm when my cab turned up to rescue me.

And this is my problem with the, “All in one hair and make up artists”, you see, he nearly got me killed today as I had stupid hair and was covered I too much makeup and this is solely where I lay the blame for the reasoning of male models keeping it hushed up about what they really do.

You see they all want to get all creative rather than just doing what needs to be down, unlike normal hair people and make up people do, this new bread, of all in ones; feel like they have something to prove, fair enough, if I’ve eaten to much Kentucky that week and have a spot on my nose, by all means please cover it up and if my sideburns need a quick trim that’s all good too, but other than that please, on behalf of every male model out there. Don’t make us look like big girls otherwise, one day we might all turn into one.

The end

jt

Written - was it cos I lied when I was just a teen.

No sooner had I got off the plane from my last trip, given my mum her cigarettes, had a KFC and watched some decent porn, Works got the old whip out again and got me driving around the place in search of gold. Well, in fact, to see some clients who could pay quite well at least.

They have got me going to a place called Bradford, which I’ll have you know used to be the fashion capital of the world, the past tense being very important there. For those of you not too hot on your English geography, it’s about 140 miles north (so about an hour depending on what kinda car you’re in) up the M1 from the Watford Gap services which in itself is nowhere near Watford although I personally think it should be.

Now there are a lot of nasty things said about Bradford which I think are a little unfair but I wasn’t taking any chances. Hence the reason why I decided not to stay there.

So I decided, with some persuasion from my mate Miles, that staying in York was the way to go. That was another 50 miles further up the motorway, which also just so happened to be where his girlfriend lived and, after a few hours of him grinding me down, I caved in and decided to spend the night in York and give Miles a lift up to see his girlfriend adding another100 miles to my journey 

I mean maybe I could have stayed a little closer to Bradford. Leeds is right next door; actually No! there was nowhere else!

Miles and I go way back. He lived next door to me for years and we have grown up together all our lives. We have done everything together and everywhere I went he would come too. (The little bastard followed me everywhere; I could never shake him off. Just kidding)

It’s been a love hate relationship with each of us doing our fair share of both; we do fight like cat and dog which when we were younger was ok but now it’s not so good, the reason being I always used to be bigger than him and would almost certainly win a fight but now the little bastard is bigger than me and is in the army.

So now I only see him every few months but we’re still as close as ever.

I have a lot of fond memories of times with Miles but there is one in particular that sticks in my head.

Now I’m the slightly older more sensible one, while he is the bullish one who does things, then thinks about the consequences afterwards. I remember being on holiday with him at Centre Parks one year. I think we were about 13 at the time. Now, I love Centre Parks. There are so many things to do there. You can get into fights, steal each others bikes, duck each other in the pool until the loser begs for mercy, but best of all - when you’re running around at 13 - was trying to sneak into the disco and get served and of course all the girls. (Nothings changed there then!)

One night we did actually make it into the disco. It was for over 16’s after all, so it was quite a big achievement and what made it even more important on this particular night was that earlier that day I had got talking to this girl in the pool and she asked me to meet her later and gave me a little wink. We had to go now; it was imperative we got in.

We even worked out what our date of birth would havebeen so we could blag it. Hours of planning went in to it; I would have killed him if he had messed it up for me.

The girl was a little older than me at 17. Now at that age, that’s a huge gap in age, worlds apart, and I longed to be 17. So I told her I was 17 and it worked. So after a few dances and a few lemonades we decided to leave Miles in the disco and go for a little walk.

Now there are a lot places you could wander off to at Centre Parks, after all most of it is a forest, but for some reason we ended up settling on a croquet pitch.

One thing lead to another until we were both naked on this patch of grass. Now I may have been able to look 17 but I didn’t really manage to keep up my end of the bargain. Well a workman always blames his tools. I just put that one down to stage fright. I also learned that sometimes you should keep some things to yourself as I never heard the end of it for years afterwards when back at school.

So there we are in the field and by this point she’s getting quite frustrated that I wasn’t quite up to scratch when all of a sudden it was chucking out time and everyone started streaming past us, leaving us running naked through the woods for dear life. (Oh yes, those were the days.)

Now Miles, bless him, got a bit funny about me leaving him alone in the disco to go off with this girl and me bragging to him about losing my L-plates didn’t help the situation either, so he thought he would get his own back on me

The following morning Miles, still bitter from the night before, found it within himself to tell the older brothers of the girl, who I had just been with, my true age and that I had sex (well sort of) with their little sister.

Anyway it got very messy and subsequently our holiday finished rather sharpish, with us running for our lives. But it was a valuable lesson.  Don’t trust the little shit. No, that’s not it, err? It was also fun trying to explain to my dad why me and Miles wanted to go home early all of a sudden.

You see, the thing is that through having these experience and making mistakes that’s how you learn -which is what I’m putting today down as. The journey north to York with Miles was torture. How did I ever get talked into it? The traffic was a nightmare and he drove me insane making me stop for KFC at every other service station, munching on my buttons and my fruit pastels, then teasing me by eating all the red and black ones before I got a look in.

Then he started playing with my radio and no matter how many times I would re-adjust it back, he would still bloody try it again.

The final straw was him trying to steal a piece of my chicken. At which point I had to put my foot down and stamp out his rebel behaviour.

To be honest, I didn’t see much of York. We didn’t leave London till 4pm and it took 7 hours to get up here and it rained the whole way and still is now. I do love the British summer!

 Anyway I dropped him off at his girlfriends and enjoyed a nice peaceful drive back to my hotel as I now sit all alone getting readyfor my big day tomorrow, learning my lines -  “ Hi, I’m James. This is my Book.” - sitting with my left-over chicken, reminiscing about my childhood, occasionally delving in to the hotel porn which doesn’t really cut it.

You never know though, it could be worse; at least we got here in one piece and it was good to hear Gladys’s voice again and although Miles drives me absolutely insane at times and we struggle to sit in a car for a few hours together, when he’s not about I do miss his qwerky little habits and I know at times I must drive him mad too. I guess we’re just two peas in a pod and I know if I ever needed him he’d be there and vice versa.  

So maybe today was not so bad after all; atleast we didn’t get beaten up and maybe he did me a favour eating all my favourite sweets.

 But I can’t help thinking maybe I put a curse on myself back on that day at Centre Parks. No really, I’m not joking. Every time I go away, it rains. Every  time I stay home, it rains. I just can’t escape it. It’s as if a cloud permanently follows me around even when I go to places where it shouldn’t be raining. Places that are  normally red hot, with money back guaranteed sunshine!

So I think now it’s time to put things right. To the girl all those years ago, I’m sorry I lied about my age; I was just worried that if you knew my real age I wouldn’t have got a look in and Miles may have beaten me to the most important race of our lives so far (which I did win).

Ok that’s it. Now please just stop the rain.

Yours sincerely,

jtx

Written –  da dar da dar da dada, dar dar dar dar dar, it’s been 3 long years do you still love me

Holidays in Britain have never been so popular. Well, not since the days when, “Tie Your Yellow Ribbon Round The Old Oak Tree” was a number one smash hit, people used to get paid in things called shillings and indoor toilets were a thing of legend. Just think now, where would you be without your beday?

My Dad loves to tell me stories of when he was just a boy and the family would go up to Clacton in the caravan for the week with a stick of rock, a few marbles and he was well away. “Those were the days,” he used to say, “They don’t make ‘em like that anymore.” And sure enough they don’t.

So with the fact that I have never been on holiday in the Great British Isles before, and the fact that I have just got a new car and wanted to give her a run out, I decided that it was about time I tried.  The next question was where to go?

Yes, Me and Gladys finally parted company last week. I’m sure she has gone to a good home.  We were getting on really well until one day, whilst out driving, I saw her - the most beautiful girl I’ve ever seen. I mean I must admit, I don’t normally pay for it, but this one was different. She had a beautiful rear bumper and a spoiler to match; a lovely big set on her with looks to die for and she sounded great too and I don’t even speak German.  I knew I just had to have her. So that was it, Bye bye Gladys, Hello Bettie.

Anyway, where was I? Oh yes, where to go on my first British holiday? Well, I didn’t fancy Clacton, you don’t see many Porsches towing a caravan and you know what I think of Blackpool. And I hear Tony Orlando is still number one in Margate so that was off the list too. So there was only one option left…the Democratic Republic of Cornwall.

So with that, the next morning, I packed my Speedos and a ham and mustard sandwich and I was off. Plodding along down the motorway, sticking exactly to the speed limit, on all those long straight open roads,

Bettie loved it, it was a real bonding experience between the two of us, she is anhalf thirsty though, I think I might need to take on a bigger paper round; to keep her going, “she drinks like a fish”.

Anyway, after a long 7 hour drive, we arrived in St Ives, at this point, it was quite a nice day, I had the top down and was off to explore. driving along, these tight little streets, with half of Cornwall all deciding to all walk in the road, just to make the roads just that little bit more difficult to get round.

It’s a different way of life down there, I’ll tell you, they don’t like us English much, they even have there very own flag and some pixie language too. It’s a bit like Welsh but different, and they all worship this sea god, something Stein, he’s called, I didn’t quite catch the last bit, my attention was diverted, to this little (fat) girl walking along with her friends by the side of my car, shouting to her friends, that “ My Daddy has the Carrera and that the Boxster is a ladies car”, yeah and is your daddy fat too; but didn’t get a chance to get that out before this reversing lorry nearly took my front wing off. So with that I decided to cut my losses and get the hell out of there and off to the hotel, to bed down for the night.

Now of course, this is me were talking about, so nothing was really planned out, but on the 52^nd attempt, I finally did find a hotel that wasn’t completely booked out, well that’s at least what they were telling me, but maybe they could tell I was English.

Up with the cock the next morning, bright and early, off to explore. Now, I couldn’t decide where to go, so whilst at breakfast this morning, there I was with my map, with my sat Nav, and a glass of lemonade, looking through all those little flyers they always have, you know the ones in that rack, with things on them like, ‘Ted’s Jumbo Circus - In Town Now” and “Come see the great Cornish Treasure of Cornish Pie Making”, and the captivating ‘Cornwall is great: Come see the Lands End Experience’.

With that I was sold, I mean, how could that make you want to do anything else, so the coordinates were set, and it was full steam ahead, well I say that, but I got stuck behind a bloody tractor rally, so it took bloody ages, finding myself poodaling along behind, but Bettie was keeping my sprits high, we were both singing along, ‘I’m coming home, I’ve done my time, Now I’ve got to know what is and isn’t; mine, If you received my letter, telling you I’d soon be free, then you’ll know just what to do, if you still want me. If you still want me. Whoaaaaa”.

Stop that right now. Anyway, eventually we arrived at ‘The Lands End Experience’ with its great big neon sign and just at that second, the heavens opened. Of course they did, did you expect anything else?!! So I queued up at the toll both and bought my £3 entrance to park, my brand new shiny, gleaming, pretty black car in this muddle field with some dodgy Australian guy, half stoned off his face, parking all the cars up, so close to each other that you had to wait for everyone else to leave around you before you could get you car out again.

So I parked up, and it was chucking it down at this point, absolute tipping it down, but I had come all this way, so I had to go through with it, so I’ve found this old plastic bag to cover my hair, and made a run for up, up this muddle hill past this little shack, which was the visitors centre, to the edge of the cliff face.

I had finally arrived. I’d travelled 400 miles to the edge of the Earth, crossed borders, travelled past ancient dewed rocks, past oceans, and angry Cornish people, to be at this very spot. Risking the lives of myself and other road users along the way.

I tried to take it all it, but I really couldn’t, I was fucking soaking wet, there was fuck all to see, and I drew the line, when this big fat American women, physically bumped me out of the way, so she could take a picture of a soggy signpost saying America, 3000 miles this way.

I mean there really wasn’t nothing there, It looked the same as it would looking out to sea at Clacton, I mean, I don’t know what I was really expecting, the ‘Lands End Experience’, just all sounded so groundbreaking and momentous, too good not to go, in hindsight, maybe Ted’s jumbo circus was the way to go. But we all learn by our mistakes. The only experience I got was, I went their £3 pounds richer, and they were all sold out of pasties.

As I squelched back down the hill to Bettie in the muddy field, and trundled on back to London, hungry and sneezing away, muttering to myself, under my breathe, “ I’ll give her fu£$Kng girls car”.

Looks like it’s back to Alicante again next year for me. At least everybody there IS English.

Night night

jtx

 

 check out more of alan on his travels at - www.alantravels.tumblr.com

 

Written on the 19.04 to London Paddington

Oh my god, I just had to go and have a poo on a train toilet, I know, I’m mortified too. But it was ok; as luckily I had my wet ones with me in my bag and to be honest I had no other choice really, it was desperate measures, however I did also check prior, that there was indeed soap in the dispenser and spent 5 mins wiping around the seat.. I really did have no choice.

You see, I’m just on my way back from a shoot in Devon.  You know where the wherzals come from. “I got a brand new combine harvester and I’ll give you the key, etc”, cows, sheep, fields kinda place and I’ve got this gorgeous super model sitting next to me, and I’ve already embarrassed myself a lot today and it really wouldn’t help my cause sitting there farting away, then I definitely would have no chance.

I learnt a very important lesson today, well actually, in fact I came a little unstuck and here my story begins.

I had this casting the other week, it started like any other really, all there standing in a line outside the door, eyeballing each other up and down, in total silence thinking what was going on behind those closed doors, what was being said and how can I better the boy before me?

Do you go in and try and shake all there hands? Do you just stand in the corner and give them a sob story about why they should give you the job or should you go in and lie through your teeth about all the things you can do? Can you ride a lion, of course I can! I could ride a lion whilst balancing a spoon on my nose and playing the fiddle.  

Basically what ever they ask if you can do, you can, you’ve been doing it for years, and you’d gladly show them today, but err, you hurt your finger… but don’t worry you would be fine on the job!

I remember one casting I went on a little while back now, it was for a basketball commercial for one of the giant sports brands, my agency had sent me along and told them I could play. Textbook really.

So I turn up at this casting and funny enough it was actually at a basketball court in some big sports complex. As I went through the door, thinking to myself, hang on a minute; I could be in a bit of trouble here.

So I go in and sign my name off on the list and join this huge line. Eventually after a long wait, we were called in groups of ten to see the casting director. 

Now I was told to take some basketball clothes for the casting, so I dug out my old converse, and some shorts and a string vest, but was very quickly realizing that maybe I wasn’t the best prepared as all the other boys there, where fully decked out with all the best stuff, trainers that could make you jump ten foot high, all the proper kit.  I felt like the poor kid at school who forgot his P.E kit and had to get the kit out of the stig box.

But it got worse, I was also the smallest person there, the rest were all about 8 foot tall and then we were asked on tape, what prior basketball experience we had.  I was first to speak, so I just told them that I used to play at school but I was really really good and we be totally comfortable if I was to get booked; between me and you a total lie, I was crap, indeed as I was at most sports other than running, and that’s as you don’t really have to think to much in that.

The camera then began to move along the line, the guy next to me played for his county and all the others, were all full time players, this was there main job, two of them played for England and there’s me, model/slash/dj/liar now about to shit myself.

Next to come was the little game, I’m not even going to go into that, lets just say I didn’t even get one touch of the ball or even remotely close to it, even my own team didn’t pass to me.  Safe to say, I didn’t get the job. (There lose not mine)

But you see I didn’t learn my lesson, and last week, I had this casting for a top equestrian clothing company, now I knew I was slightly safe with this one as there are not that many places you can park a horse on Wardour street .

And too my surprise after a bit of Essex razzmatazz, I only bloody got the job.

So last night down to London Paddington we go and after just under 3 hours you could smell the manure in the Devonshire fields.

Still not quite knowing what was involved.  I mean maybe I just had to stand by the horse and look pretty?

Anyway I hit the hay, so to speak and then this morning, it was up with the cock and off to the farm we went.

Was a pretty little place in the grounds of some old castle right on the river, but sadly I wasn’t there just to stand behind and look gorgeous,

I had to bloody ride the thing. But it was so big and it smelled and was staring me down with its big horsey eyes. “What you want me up there?” “How?

To make things even worse I had this really really really fit super model there fluent in horsey galloping circles around me and I was quite surprised really as most girls who ride horses, sorry for saying normally look like one, there are exceptions and she definitely was, she was hot, but you could tell she was not impressed with my antics.

So after a lot of looking at it up and down and doing a bit of the systems approach. Where am I now? On the ground Where do I want to be? On the back of that horse How am I going to get there?  Jump?? I was ready to go, I had all the clobber on. I had the hat, the gloves and these big rubber wellies, I even had this little whip. I wish I’d of stolen that now, could of came in handy.

So there I am sitting there, smiling away at everyone, I was getting used to this, maybe, just maybe I could pull this off.

Then the client asks me to make the horse move and believe or not, I did.  I got it to start walking off, all be it, a bit sideways like a crab but I looked pretty cool and controlled, maybe the girl model will fancy me after all; I even managed to get it to stop, and I didn’t use the whip once.

But then the next thing I remember was the client pointing towards the jumps and I sort of half nodded and with a pat on the horses back, ending up 50ft in front of where I previously resided, face down in a puddle of mud, with my welly still caught in the stirrup and the horse looking over me like,  “what the hell are you doing down there, stop fucking about”.  Ouch, it bloody hurt!

The client was not impressed, the clothes were ruined, and I had mud all in my hair but luckily apart from that I was fine but for the rest of the day I was banned from going anywhere near the horses again and I think they released that maybe I wasn’t the Essex champion rider that I may of said I was.  What?? 

Thinking back, maybe I did sell myself a little too high, maybe I should of just said Canvey Island champion rather than Essex, and when they mentioned riding bareback, I just thought they were being rude, how was to know?

Anyway the moral of the story is, that you should never ever lie, that is unless your certain, it will get you the job, then, of course, you can ride a Lion.

Tally hoe

jtx