An Actor's Journal

The World's Mine Oyster

In many senses, I'm living in limbo. I've finally moved out of Brighton and, barring the odd trip down for my graduation ceremony and the like, I have nothing more to do with the place. Since the beginning of July I have been based in Brixton - a South London district famous for influential race riots in the early 80s - and will be here until the end of August, when I return to the dulcis domus. I may not particuarly relish the idea of moving back in with my dad, but it'll be a cheap and temporary way of surviving while I set myself up properly in London for what looks like the rest of my working life. Part of me wishes I were able to relocate to Madrid, but that is a fantasy. The reality is that not only is it more possible for a black actor to have a successful career on the stage in the UK, but also that (with the exceptions of the experimental, fringe and touring regional companies) Spanish theatre just doesn't compare to that of Britain and is not what it used to be. So Perfidious Albion it is; which is fine, as long as I can be based in the cultural and commercial capital.

Career-wise, things are looking up. The official start of my training will be on the 13th of September, when I walk through the doors for my first day of training at drama school. I cannot wait: after having three months of really intense auditions I knew that the place I eventually chose was the right one for me. In one panel, when performing a section of the Act II Scene 2 "traitor" monologue in Henry V ("The mercy that was quick in us but late...") I was brought close to tears. After that experience I knew I would benefit so much from the training given there. Before that I'll be performing with the National Youth Theatre in the major play of this summer's season, so I'll have that to keep me busy over August. The main worry was what to do with July. I had it all planned: finish university at the end of May, search for a summer job and work part-time over June, move it up to full time for July, then quit and live frugally on my earnings over August. Plans are always perfect; life, however, is less so. I spent a month and a half just looking, applying for almost anything online; handing out my CV in bars, clubs, theatres, bookshops, cafés, restaurants, shops and even in Victoria train station, all to no avail. Finally, this week, after a little CV surgery and a some help from my friends, I managed to get three job opportunities come my way. Jobs are like buses: you wait for one...

So, on Monday I start my new job. Admittedly, it isn't the most comfortable, rewarding or satisfactory job out there, but what can I expect for three weeks' work? Besides, beggars can't be choosers, and it was getting so desperate I was living on one meal of bread/rice/pasta and cheese/chicken/mince a day. Ah, poverty: not so much the actor's friend as the one who's constantly pestering the actor, despite his many attempts to rid himself of its company. Thanks to this placement, I'll be keeping poverty at bay for the time being.

Finally, as the upward trend in my career and professional prospects continues to soar, so the downward spiral of my loneliness and misery continues to sink. It's always the way: my love and work life seem to be in constant diametric opposition; as one goes well, the other goes spectacularly badly. Take Spain: a serious relationship and several lovers; not one single dramatic performance. This year: three plays, three drama school offers and a summer project; but rejection, disillusionment, crap sex, and now being dumped. Without delving into too many details, I met someone who was perfect on paper - a good looking, funny actor who was genuinely interested in me - but for the small inconvenience of being in love with his ex. Such is life: I can only hope that if I have to choose a life of success and singledom over unemployment and a family life, I'll take the former option. Them's the breaks: after all, one needs some measure of heartache and despair to pool and use when playing the dane...

I hold the world but as the world, Gratiano,
A stage where every man must play a part,
And mine a sad one.

The Merchant of Venice (I.i.77-79)