Hello lovers of land! It has most certainly been a rather long and dry season for words on this little old blogsite. I have been lost for them for a considerable amount of time. Now I have lots, so please bear with me.
I have been rather a dreamer with regards to career options. Having fallen into drama school many years ago, I expected fame and fortune to be handed to me on a silver tray (or if not a plastic McDonalds one would have been sufficient), but sadly, it was not the case due to my naivety and a lack of thick skin, nepotism and my general misplacement of talent (I can do a standard Northern Accent, but please don’t ask for anything more).
So thus my fate after Mountview Theatre School was to endeavour the tread of many a school hall, scaring all ages of children along the way with my portrayal of the greats such as Peter Rabbit, Lady Macbeth (in plimsolls) and northern grannies (generally with shakey legs and sporting a shower cap). I also got down with the senior school kids and told them in a cool and trendy fashion (not really, oh dear) what options were available to them vocationally or academically after school. One of my characters was called Nurse Scatchitt, an elderly northern lady, who wore a shower cap. And of course, there was panto in Scunthorpe, where I was cast as the role of the Chinese Empress (with a northern accent much to the director’s surprise, and yes, there was head protection).
Whilst rehearsing for one of these amazing ventures, I met and instantly fell in love, lust and baldness with what is now known as my husband. In a Palma Violet he is amazingly talented, good natured, mostly understanding, so kind, super sexy and makes me laugh (cliché alert). We done stuff like marriage, baby and now our life is complete due to our very own cat, Lollie, that would rather lay in a pile of gnu shit than sit on our laps. Life is sweet, gnu shit isn’t.
I have to admit, career wise I was pretty lost at 18 years of age and I still am at the age of nearly (gasp) 43. Pregnancy seemed a rather good option to not think about career options. I took time off to raise my daughter and remember the heady days of switching channels to watch The Chuckle Brothers, simply because the only other option was Iggle Piggle and his farting friends. Darks days brothers. Dark days. Then there was washing up at a residential home. This was not particularly suited to me, as washing up is … well need I really explain! From thence I worked for a popular toddlers gym franchise (run by a 30 stone male who thought he was gods gift to all North London Mummies and had no sense business sense nor talent, best I stop there methinks). And presently I take the odd dance class for lots of lovely lady bosses in London. This I very much enjoy (come on, who wouldn’t want to shake maracas for a living) but I still need more! A little something to call my own so to speak.
There have also been flights of fancy with regards to drama clubs, writing, crap crafts and comedy. All of which would turn out washed with a tissue in the pocket and ruining the load.
Oh god! And then there was Simon Pegg!
I had once imagined myself to be the female version of Simon. He had created this “stuff” that I had always dreamed of, but he did actually do one, and done it and made it good. I thought that if I ever met him, I would be able to talk to him about similar interests, share a joke, perhaps have a one liner in one of his films, that would eventually turn into a leading role some in some rather quirky indie film that I had penned my kind self …
OH FUCK OFF!
I met him whilst in a musty cold church hall, wearing old trackies and a green vest whilst entertaining his children on a inflatable bouncy thingy. All this on less than the minimum wage (and much less than my 16 year old colleague). There was a lot of other awfulness with regards to this job, but moan, blaa, blaa, nearly broke a toe – you get the point) I was so embarrassed, that when I actually made eye contact with him, I nearly shate myself (and I think from his shocked expression, he was probably aware of the stench I had secreted). I spent the rest of the “party” with my back to him, but you will be glad to know that I did finally muster up a miserable “Hello Mr Pegg”, and rubbed his shoulder. I am mightily glad that he didn’t press any charges.
It was that moment that I thought, bugger!
So therefore and very eventually, it was decided that Kerry Jane (no hyphen) Hegarty was to try and attempt something on her own (Yay! Third person). Don’t get me wrong, I would very much like to attempt something not on my own, but due being me, I can understand why this will need to be a single “mine” project (but if there is anyone out there like me, let me know, you poor, poor sod). Anyway, enough of Me, myself and that bespectacled bugger looking back in the mirror at me (with a few more lines and a wobble in her cheeks). And so Cake Exercise (a vague attempt at aerobics and dance) is to be born next month. Aerobics (as my exam tutor once told me) is a dying trade, and therefore who better to bring it back from the brink with a bingo wing and a spray of fresh sweat than me, me, me!
There are just a few points that worry me though:-
1. Working with adults. How do I interact with someone over the age of 4? Am I too old for this? What if my legs freeze? What if I have a massive panic attack that lasts for the duration of the class? Some of my loyal friends have said that they will come along and support me for the first session. What if they think I’m shit, the music’s shit, it’s all shit? How long would it take for me to uproot the family and sell the house? Would it stress the cat out if we moved location? Oh, Christ! What have I done? What am I doing? Fuckity, fuck, fuck with fucking knobs. FUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUCK!
2. Actually, that just about covers it.
As you may have gathered from the above (and perhaps meeting me in the flesh) I am very much a mixed bag of fruit. I am extremely attention seeking, but can suffer from extreme symptoms of stress and self doubt, which is fun for the family and brings Christmas Cheer to none and all.
I’m sure it will be fine.
No I’m not really.
Think that covers it for now. I know this is not much of an ending.
If someone can please tell me to “Get over my Self”, I would be very grateful!
Dear music lovers, I have the most dreadful case of earworm and considering I have not listened to contemporary chamber music since the middle ages, I am currently, as they say, buggered in the drums (and yes, you will agree with me that you have actually heard that expression many times before, amen). This is the mixed bag of plum chummers that I currently have to endure on a constant loop of musical madness (although some of the words have been changed to protect the innocent) …
Generally sang in the shower (the acoustics are marvellous). I have never particularly been a fan of Lionel (or even ceilings if I’m being honest), but it works well when washing those areas other 80’s tracks just can not reach.
“Oh, what a feeling, when you’re dancing Barry Ceiling.”
To be sung in the kitchen, whilst bleaching moustache and other surfaces.
For anyone that is lucky not to know of Archie the Inventor, he is an inventor, he lives in a pink castle and he makes things out of toilet rolls. I think he may have inherited some money along the way, as his inventions may have been patented, but by Christ they were crap.
“I’m Archie the inventor. I know how things are done. I can do absolutely anything. Inventing up your bum.”
A song that can been used for anytime and anyplace. This hasn’t actually been aired for a number of years now. I can’t imagine why. Voiceovers by Paul McShane and Dame Thora Hird (god bless you and goodnight).
“Da, da, da, da, da. da-da, da, da, at Hilltop Hospit-tal. If you’re well. They will make you ill. Bloody hell down at Hilltop Hospit-tal.”
One more for the shower (generally for an evening spruce as one get slightly sticky throughout the days earworm). Again, not a great fan of the Michaels (George, Buble, Barrymore, my ex boss), but you are very welcome to come and watch me give the performance of my showering life for a bottle of Sanex and a cheap bath sponge.
“Love changes everything. Hands and fingers, teeth and toes.”
And one more …
Life Long Day
Although my version is slightly more up tempo.
So I have decided to invest in some of these.
Not to protect myself (for I realise it is too late for me), but to protect others from my unfortunate Kylie cursing.
Please, make it stop!
Thank you for listening.