Happy birthday, Robbie

Today, one of my best friends and favourite drinking buddies, Robbie Dagher, turns twenty and in honour of that, here are twenty of his best moments. They are heavily, heavily  censored.

Robbie actually played Cameron in the first ever theatre adaptation of Popular (there he is below on stage with Lucy Williams, Claire Handley, Catherine McAteer and Emma Taylor as Catherine, Kerry, Meredith and Imogen.)

1. Bacon. 

2. "Dude." 
The moment a text, WhatsApp, Facebook message or Twitter starts with that word, shit is about to go down.

3. WhatsApp: "Robbie Dagher was last seen at 10:24 p.m."
"Robbie Dagher is probably ..."

4. Your sense of direction is so unbelievably bad that you once got lost on the way to my house, after being there about 1800 times. The only thing you know your way to anywhere in Belfast is from the Subway's at Commons Brae to the Belvoir Studio. And yet, somehow, drunk off your ass, you still managed to stumble one night from the Odyssey to find the McDonald's at Connswater. Your stomach is yo' satnav.

5. The time we'd scheduled a 7-hour, 2-man rehearsal for Popular but were both so hungover we lay down in the green room for a six and a half hour nap.

6. "Gareth, fuck, I think I've pulled literally everyone in this room."

7. "It could be worse."

8. The time Claire tried to persuade us that she could handle lad banter. "See, I think you see me in all my pink beret splendour and think, Oh, she's just a delightful girly-girl. She's such a girl that she could never handle one of our lad chats. But you're wrong, guys, I seriously could. Like seriously, just talk normally, like you would if I wasn't here and I promise I'll be able to handle it." 
10 seconds later. "No, I'm sorry, this is vile. I definitely can't handle this. I'm going to get a drink. Don't ever do this to me again."

9. "You two would  make an adorable gay couple."
"I know, but we'd just be at the ride all the time."
"How lovely."

10. Complimenting you on your beaut new Ted Baker belt before realising you'd stolen it from my room four months earlier.

11. "Gareth, I am never going to wear Jack Wills." "Gareth, as if I'd be caught dead in a pair of chinos."
AHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA! #win

12. The night we had no plans and suggested going for a quiet pint. Then woke-up £150 poorer each the next morning, after going through every cocktail bar, pub and club in Belfast. 

13. You, me, Claire and Lauren up in PBT playing the hard hitting drinking game of "What are each other's best features?" And indulging in a 7-hour mutual compliment binge. "You kind of get worshipped, you know. You can make people worship you." "You're almost too much banter, you know?" "I think people are intimidated by how good-looking you are, to be honest." "You're almost so amazing that people are afraid to love you." "You have amazing hair." "Your arms are like a total feast, babes." "You tell a story better than anyone I've ever met, ever." "But you actually are too sexy for your shirt, though."

14. "I mean, I think everyone lives in fear of being out with Robbie in case anyone upset you, Gareth. Because he'd end up in jail for GBH... Or murder." Cheers, lad.

15. "I'm a huge Anisa fan. I think she may be my new favourite Dagher."
"Eh, what?"
"Oh, yeah!"

16. "Never have I ever." 

17. "Dude, d'you fancy a cry?"

18. "Remember you said you'd get me to wear Jack Wills again and like it? Well, you definitely did."

19. First time we ever properly met was in a pub. After four hours of drinking, you mentioned your girlfriend had been waiting somewhere around the general city centre for you. 
Me: "What? You should invite her here!"
You: "Eh... yeah. Actually. I don't even really know what she's been doing all this time, to be honest." #caring

20. "I don't know how you ended up getting so drunk last night, Robbie."
"You dared me to down a ten glass!"
"I regret nothing." 

Bozzy's coming out

A really awesome and inspiring video is up on Youtube from an eighteen year-old Welsh rugby player called Thomas Boswell, or "Bozzy." Tom is starting university in September, but he recently came out to his friends, team-mates and family members. He'd already come out, privately, to his mum, but it was a set of rumours started while he was on holiday that forced him to come out earlier than planned to everybody else.

Tom speaks so clearly and honestly in this video and it's really refreshing to see someone trying to inspire other people who are active in sports to come out and to be honest about their sexuality. (Perhaps one of my favourite bits of the whole video is the bit where, in the midst of his gut-wrenching coming-out-story, Tom still manages to point out that his rugby team were robbed of victory on the day he came out to his mum. Now, that is a true rugby lad's priorities. I salute you, sir.)

Part of Tom's story did really remind me of Blake's in Popular, which was probably one of the storylines I cared most about when I was writing the book. I was very, very surprised by how negatively some people reacted to Blake in the novel, compared to how positively they reacted to Cameron. Yes, okay, Cameron, like Tom, is certainly much braver than Blake in the end, but Tom's video highlights how difficult the situation can be for people in Blake's position. Like Tom, Blake doesn't have any mannerisms which conform to the gay stereotype and like Tom, who lives in the Welsh valleys "where everybody knows everybody else," Blake originally lived in the small but beautiful town of New Canaan in Connecticut and then in Northern Ireland. Where, I can assure you, everybody knows (or likes to know) everybody else's business. Like Blake, Tom's coming out was ultimately forced by circumstances beyond his control (in both cases, through rumours); but unlike Blake, Tom had the tenacity and the bravery to follow it through. And also unlike Blake, he had friends and family who had his back. Not to give too much away either, but Tom's friend Luke sounds a bit like how Peter reacts in Popular's sequel. (Which I promise I will try to give you a release date for soon - thanks so much for all your wonderful comments and e-mails asking about it!)

Anyway, I love this video. Tom's done it in the way that felt most natural for him. Maybe that's one of the things I like most about it, actually. It's really about doing things on your own terms, rather than the way everyone expects you to. Tom's personality hasn't changed because he's come out; he's just been able to remove a huge weight from himself. Being gay shouldn't be somebody's personality, but being honest about yourself should be. Removing the burden of having to lie about yourself and having the guts to do what Tom's done gives you the ability to live your life properly, to be honest to friends and family and to fall in love like the rest of the world. And Tom's teammates sound like a fantastic group of lads.

Tom is going to be interviewed on Scott De Buitléir's radio show Cosmo for RTÉ Plus this Wednesday evening. Tune in!

A short story on the blog from Blake's point of view is here. Check it out.

Yo' bro'

Lately I have been feeling very run down. I'm not quite sure why, but for the last few months I've been trying to shake myself out of a funk that just won't go away. It's nothing too serious, but recently it's been quite hard to get motivated - much harder than I've ever found it before. Part of it has been the fairly overwhelming experience of directing the Spring revival of Popular on-stage, with a cast of twenty-six and myself in the role of Cameron. It's a fantastic experience, with a wonderful cast, but I'm really feeling the pressure. Luckily, people have been as great as ever about wanting to come and see the show and it's so gratifying to hear that so many people are already excited about it. It opens in Belvoir on March 15th, by the way, and ends on Saint Patrick's Day. You can reserve tickets by contacting popularbelfast@yahoo.com.

I've been sitting down and thinking about what it is that's causing my bad mood and I think that part of it is a feeling of frustration with effort. I think it finally hit me that I've been making so much effort with work, friendships and relationships over the last year and it just hasn't been reciprocated. Do you ever get that feeling where you're banging your head against a brick wall? By no means do I expect people to make all the effort, but I think meeting people half-way is the very least we can do. If I can be bothered to out in time and commitment on something, then you should be too.

See, I hate with a fiery, burning passion those Facebook statuses that whine on and on about people's lives because they feel their life is somehow cursed. No! If your life is constantly going wrong or becoming too complicated, then it's not because of everybody else around you - it's because of you! If you can't at least acknowledge where and when you've made mistakes, then how do you expect your life to get any better? But, it's also equally frustrating when you can see relationships - personal or professional - where one person is making all the effort. And lately, I've felt like that. I actually wasn't really aware I was feeling that way until I sat down to have a big chat with my friend Adam (he's playing Blake in Popular, guys, and seriously, he's amazing). The more and more I talked it out, the more I realised a sense that I was trying too hard with so many of the things in my life, with little - or no - effort coming back to me.

Since then, I've been working consciously to sort out my mood. The first is that I definitely need to sleep more. The second is that I've decided the new policy in life is "f* it." Rising above it is no longer my style. Yes, admittedly, this new no-nonsense policy towards BS is very much inspired by The Iron Lady. (Oh, Meryl - is there anything you can't do?) But I like to think it's for the best. Thirdly, I'm trying my best to start focusing more on the positive. Last weekend, one of my best friends, Robbie, came home from uni in Manchester to see his cousin's show and to come to our friend Lauren's birthday party. (First of many, actually. Lauren thinks minimalism is for ugly people.) Robbie and I both went to Down High, did a play together over summer and, all things added up, we've spent about 17,000 hours in each others' company. 

At Lauren's, Robbie and I led the charge in the drinking games and he introduced us to the game of Bullshit. Delightful, guys - play it. (Quick note: not with anyone called Claire Handley or Joanne Law, as they will insist that there were elaborate/impossible conspiracies going on to trick them into losing.) And then, somewhere around 1 o'clock in the morning, we settled down for one of the glorious DMCs that come with any party.

One of the things that you can always say about Robbie, hand on heart, is that his loyalty to his mates is one hundred percent. He gets visibly (and vocally) angry when anyone hurts them and he can always be counted upon to have your back in argument. The next day, when he went back to Manchester, I was genuinely upset to see him go. And not just because in any situation, I can always rely on him to eat more than me so I don't seem like Percival the Piggy Pie-man.

That's the really great thing about solid friendships: they can always lift you up. And if you're a good friend, you should be able to do the same for them. 

Ick, is it just me or was that post far too feelingsy?

See you soon, princess!

I can remember the day Kerry Rogan and I met for the first time. We were eleven years old and it was our first day of high school. As fate and the future luck of tequila manufacturers everywhere would have it, we were both put into the the same house at school, Rathkeltair, which to be completely honest with you is totes the best house at Down High. Some of them, I'm not saying which ones, have a distinctly Hufflepuff-y vibe to them. No lie. 

Anyhoo, Kerry's surname is Rogan and mine is Russell, which meant that when it came to Miss Hopkins' Geography class, where everyone was seated in alphabetical order, Kerry and I were next to each other. It was magical, it was fate, it was the least productive table in the class. 

At that stage, I was at my physical peak - a podgy eleven year-old, with curtains and a posh accent. (Deffers did not help matters by being the only boy in the year to wear a scarf. But, oh well, everyone's wise with hindsight.) Kerry was a radiant being in blonde curls, with a fringe which we have mutually agreed shall never be discussed ever again and which she soon ditched faster than I ditched full fat Coke. I shifted in my seat to say hello to my new Geography partner, presumably resembling a baby killer whale in motion as I did so. "Are you Laura Bell?" I asked.

"What?" came the response.

"Are you... I think I sat next to you in Miss Patton's Maths class before break? Are you ... You're Laura Bell?"

"No," came the cold response. "I don't know who that is."

Conversation slowly died off. As Kerry turned regally to stare out at the classroom as if vaguely confused/irritated about the precise point of Geography or what role it was going to play in her life, I sat and cursed myself for assuming that in a class sat in alphabetical order I would be sitting next to someone whose surname started with "B." Actually, I probably wasn't that smart to realise why I'd been wrong. Knowing me back then, I was probably thinking about crisps.

Eventually realising that we would either have to talk to each other or face the dreaded prospect of listening to the teacher, Kerry turned back towards me and re-initiated convo. A lifelong friendship was born and, yesterday, she went to Australia for the year. It's the first time since that day in Miss Hopkins' classroom that we won't be with in travelling distance of each other. And, frankly, me no likey.

When you say goodbye to a friend, it's easy to put on rose-tinted glasses and pretend everything was always perfect. (Our friend Sarah's particularly good at this, literally. She once bought a £600 pair of rose-tinted Dior sunglasses because the shop assistant panicked her by telling her they were the only pair anywhere on the island of Ireland and if she didn't buy it now, she'd never be able to own a pair. This is the girl, after all, who, when her student loan arrived, ran up and down the corridors of her college halls squealing, "Free money!") But I digress. Just because Kerry is off on the other side of the world, there's no point in pretending everything between us was always a bed of roses. (The flowers, not the chocolates - I got thin.) For the first two years of our friendship she repeatedly called me "Gavin," because she preferred it to "Gareth." We were banned from group discussions in Geography because we were a) too argumentative and b) too stupid. We were sent out of Miss Gorman's GCSE English Lit class after we both took a game of slapsies just a little bit too far. I initiated the world's longest and most unnecessary fight when I claimed (wrongly) that only sick people were allowed to bathe in the water at Lourdes and when I found out that this wasn't the case, attempted to re-start the fight by claiming that what I meant was only sick people should be allowed to bathe in the water at Lourdes. And she (Kerry, not the Virgin Mary) once lied to me that she had been punched in the face so I would leave Oxford in the middle of the night and come up and see her in Manchester. She greeted me at the train station with a shrug: "Everything's fine. Just got bored." 

The night before Kerry left for Australia, we sat by the fire as she did her tan and nails (essential travel prep - much more important than the suitcase, which had yet to be packed), and watched Gone with the Wind. And I got to thinking (SATC ref - necessary) about the decade or so of friendship we've had. Kerry, my love, we are both shrieking banshees of human beings, at times utterly and entirely ridiculous/delightful; we are incapable of sticking to the vaguest concept of a budget and we live lives centred around naps, shopping and drinking. I haven't a clue what I'm going to do without you this year. I do, however, know that you're going to have an amazing time in Australia with Emma. And, think of it this way, Ken, we're finally doing the one thing I shrieked, screamed and hissed we were never going to do: growing up.

Lol jk - see you in Geog, principessa!

The Problems of Banter

Today I got to thinking about the ways in which friendships can go wrong. There are dozens of ways, obviously, but one way in which things can really get messed up (and more often than you think) is when banter gets taken too far. Either too far or too repetitive. It's often not a massive row which ruins friendships, but when it reaches the stage where it's like, "Okay. Insulting each other was funny the first four hundred and fifty seven times we did it, but either get a new line of chat or shut up!" Even worse when it reaches the stage where you think, "Why did they just do that to me in front of these people? Now I look like a complete moron. Nice one."

I love nothing more than making fun of my friends and I seriously enjoy it when they do it to me. Some of them are really funny about it - with an honourable mention going to Ciarán, Kerry, my sister Ashleigh and Eric. (NB: And Ellen!) But there are definitely mutual limits and I think that limit is when it's taken to the point either when it's happening all the time or where something that looks like banter, but definitely doesn't feel like it. Plus, when it's being done in front of other people, to whom the joke hasn't been explained, then that's very annoying. When this happens, the person being targeted often ends up being humiliated or made to look ridiculous, rather than simply teased. Plus, tone is everything, isn't it? A lot of Northern Irish banter is pretty brutal, but you can always tell it's good-natured by the person's tone.

Friends who take a kick out of making you look stupid or who enjoy changing banter into belittling don't actually like you. You may think they do, but they don't. Banter is supposed to make you laugh at yourself, not wish it was legal to punch your friend square between the eyes. When that line has been crossed, they are no longer your friends and have instead become the dreaded "frenemies." Ditch 'em.

"Popular: A Warning" by Ellen Buddle

 Actress and frenemy Ellen Buddle reflects on why she wishes she'd never read Popular. Or met me.

***

It’s mid-March, around midday. I sit up groggily in bed, check my phone. One voicemail.

“Hi love, Gareth here. Just on the way to the gym and wanted to run something by you. Don’t know if you’re sleeping...”

He trails off delicately, but the phrase “you lazy little piglet” is implicit in his tone...

Gareth rarely insults me actively via voicemail. I think he sees it as practice for when his star inevitably waxes, knowing perfectly well that the News of the World will have no need to employ any so-called “dark arts” with me. Just wave a new pair of Louboutins under my nose and I’ll be spilling the deepest recesses of Gareth’s mind faster than the reporter can call in the check for dinner. (Yes, for future reference to all tabloid journalists, I will be expecting dinner as well.) And besides, Gareth knows that I’m the only one in this whole wide world that knows what really went down in Namibia. And take it from me, he does not want that getting out. Anyway, the voicemail goes on.

“Don’t know if you’re sleeping or, you know, off working on some project (the doubt in his voice is entirely justified)... but anyway, I’m trying out some new things on the Popular blog and was thinking a few friends might want to write a guest article...”

My brain starts whirring immediately. Yes! At last Gareth has duly recognised that I am a natural-born opinion maker. He sees that the world has been so far deprived of my views on cuts to arts funding, women’s body image, the dual role of the actor as artist and employee, the nature of reality and why white people should never, NEVER, wear pink on top and white below (revolutionary, I know, but frankly it’s one of those revelatory facts I don’t know how we’ve so far lived without. Seriously, it makes you look like a seal with vitiligo. No, seriously). This is my chance, my brain’s chance, my very essence’s chance to show the world what I’m really made of...

“...about how much they love Popular. BBM me any thoughts/ideas you have for what you’d like to say. Thanks love, chat later. Bye!”

I should have known.

Look, I’m a gracious woman. Granted, I’m a little disappointed that the world is going to have to wait that little bit longer for me to change its collective life. Clearly this is a fundamental betrayal by Gareth of me and everything I live my life by. But I’m fine with that. At least I will be once I’ve been put instantly on a plane to Copenhagen where I shall dine at Noma (aka best restaurant in the world) for at least a month, during which time I will repeatedly try to seduce the married head chef, resulting in someone having to repeatedly pay bribes in order to allow me to eat there again, before being whisked away to Paris for a non-stop week-long shopping spree to burn off those wonderful, wonderful calories. (Gareth, I hope you’re taking notes) And in the meantime, I will do what any good friend will do, and write a blog post guaranteed to boost book sales at least 300% from the original projections. Because I’m a good person. And here it is:

Parents, don’t let your children anywhere near this book. It is going to rot their brains until it seeps out in the form of grey sludge from their increasingly uncomprehending ears. I mean this literally. I am fairly sure that every page contains a secret code that will cause young people to unwittingly drop several IQ points, with a requisite decline in moral and behavioural standards, every time they turn to the next page. And even if they realise what’s going on, they won’t stop reading. They can’t. It has simply been packed too full of witty rejoinders, chaotic parties and scintillating intrigue for anyone to possibly turn away once they have started. Let your kids anywhere near this book, and they will be doomed. Doomed I say!

You probably think I’m joking. “Oh!” you’ll scoff, “I see what’s going on. This is one of those witty, ironic pieces where you comment on the fact that children instantly scoop up whatever pop culture phenomenon their parents most disapprove of, which is why no one past the age of 12 pays any attention to the Jonas Brothers. Clever, Ellen, bravo. And very amusing, too.”

But stop! True, I can’t help that my writing style is relentlessly entertaining and penetratingly insightful, but to focus on only this is to distract from my central point. And I only speak the truth!

Take me, for example. When I first met Gareth, I was sensible, hardworking, politically minded, selfless, empathetic and principled. I went to demonstrations. I enjoyed studying. If I started feeling drunk at parties, I went home and got a good night’s sleep. Now look at me. I’m the sort of person who writes this article. And just look at this article! I’m ruined. A heartless, narcissistic, self-absorbed, clothing-obsessed, judgemental and demanding little harpy. And yes, this is all because of Gareth and his evil, evil little book.

Don’t make the same mistakes I did, or rather that my parents did by not banning Gareth from my life and taking out several restraining orders both in the UK and internationally, ensuring that wherever I turned I would be permanently spared from his toxic influence. Because really, whatever I have become, everyone is to blame but me. Especially you. Yes. You.

So ban the book. Ban it from the house, ban it from the vicinity of the house. Ban any friends from the house that you suspect of reading it. I mean, it’s not like teenagers have initiative or are secretive in any way shape or form. There’s no way they would just keep it in their locker at school, or hold their noses and go and read it in the library. It’s not like your kids’ friends behave differently when you’re not around and will start spilling all the latest plot twists until your child feels utterly compelled to go and pick it up and see for themselves. Besides, if they don’t read this book that will inevitably become the book to read this summer holiday, it’s not as if they’ll become a social pariah for being so painfully out of the loop. That kind of thing only happens in books. Like Popular. And since no child is going to read it because no parent will let them, you have nothing to worry about. Their innocence is safe. And my job is done. Moral crusade won.

The End.

No need to thank me Gareth. That’s just what friends are for. Oh, and I’ll see you in Paris. I need someone to carry my bags.

Diets and Dior

So, yesterday was the birthday of one of my best friends from school, Sarah, and unfortunately we couldn't celebrate with her in the style of days gone-by, because she's currently living in Manchester. Anyway, during our lengthy phone-call y'day we started taking a stroll down memory lane and Sarah reminded me of how ... well, "unwise" she used to be with money. This is a girl who, when she received the first instalment of her student loan, run up and down the corridors of her college halls, clapping her hands and squealing "Free money!" Although admittedly it's nothing compared to the time Kerry spent 10 minutes sheltering inside the Swarovski store from a storm and felt so bad for not buying anything that she emerged with a pink heart-shaped necklace. 

The high point of Sarah's early expenditure related disasters - which she once tried to pass off to her family as being an administrative error by the bank - came at the end of her first time at university, when she purchased a £600 pair of Christian Dior sunglasses. In the middle of December. She only bought them because the girl in the shop told her they were limited edition and the very last pair anywhere on the island of Ireland. Not just in Northern Ireland, but the entire geographical chunk. Sarah immediately panicked, took this as a sign from God and handed over the £600. (Next week, four more pairs were in that same shop.) To date, Sarah has worn these sunglasses twice. And announced on the second occasion that the pink lenses were too delightful to actually keep the sun out of her eyes. Not long after Diorgate, she spent £500 on a high quality handbag, which she told us was an investment because of the excellent craftmanship on the leather, before announcing two weeks later that it was too heavy to carry and was now purely for decoration. 

Good times.

Also, less Dior-related: something that has seriously annoyed me on Facebook/Twitter recently. Anyone who has read Popular will know that I am never going to be getting an award for being Mr. Politically Correct 2k11. I think mean humour is the height of hilarity, but there's a line between bitchy and bullying. I don't know at what stage people started finding things funny just because they use some low-end slur. It really irritates me when people think it's appropriate to post statuses with the word "faggot," "paki," "fenian," "hun" or anything else like that. What you laugh about in private is totally your own business, but what you put on a public social networking site is mine and everybody else's who you're friends with. It's extremely unlikely that your 700+ friends will all have the same sense of humour. And - newsflash, most people aren't very funny and if you use words like that, you belong with the cast of Deliverance not in clogging up my feed on FB or Twitter. 

Worst of all, last night when I read one of these oh-so-witty FB verbal spasms, I got to thinking about some poor 15 year-old kid struggling with an identity crisis who sees the word "faggot" and all the "likes" and the thumbs up for it on FB and therefore reaches the conclusion that there's nothing worse in this life than being gay. Don't be a good person, don't be smart, don't be ambitious, don't be an upstanding citizen - just don't be gay and you're doing fine! I think it's awful that this sends out a message that being gay automatically makes you somehow less than a full human being and your entire life is going to be lived as a punchline for some moron's sense of intellectually-underdeveloped humour. I mean, is it really worth making someone feel that way just for the sake of your stupid status? I don't think so, moron. And at what point should anyone have to feel that their religion or race makes them a target of public mockery? Never. It's just rude and unprofessional to post things that might be taken as legitimately offensive on Facebook, Myspace, Bebo or Twitter, unless you have a tiny pool of friends who all share your sense of, let's call it, humour. I don't know what happened to being witty and clever; when did this kind of nonsense becoming "ironic","cool" and funny? 

Idiots.

Anyway, rant over and I'm back to the gym to try and undo some of the damage done by Christmas. My sister Ashleigh and I got each other as Secret Santas this year and both pooled resources to give each other the world's largest collection of Jesus/Santa-themed chocolates. We wrapped them up in one giant parcel and put it under the tree with a note saying, "To Ashleigh & Gareth, We love your work. Happy Christmas from your Number 1 fans - Gareth & Ashleigh xx." We have a healthy relationship with narcissism in my family.

My trainer Allan has suggested I keep a food diary now that I'm serious about like getting back on track with the gym. Unfortunately, I haven't read anything more depressing than this food diary since The Boy in the Striped Pyjamas. Honestly, it's like reading the schedule for feeding time at the zoo! Seriously. I eat like a rugby player and exercise like a debutante. This is where it all went wrong. 

Still, "good" to see it all written down and I actually do feel so much better about myself when I'm regularly gymming. New year's resolution was not to become a better person (practically perfect to be honest, as it is), but just to keep up gym schedule. Seems better to be realistic, rather than say something stupid like be nice or give up drinking. 

Anyone else have any new year's resolutions they've managed to keep by the end of January?

Entertainer of the Year

A huge congratulations to my friend Laura Schwartz (above), who has just been nominated as one of the six finalists for Events Solutions Magazine's "Entertainer of the Year Award". Laura, who is the author of the very successful Eat, Drink and Succeed: Climb Your Way to the Top Using the Networking Power of Social Events, was formerly a Special Assistant to President Clinton and the White House Director of Events. Laura now works in Chicago with her company White House Strategies, an event, media, political and message consultancy firm. She's a phenomenal public speaker and a really wonderful person. 

Laura and I first met when she was speaking at the Oxford Union in a debate on American foreign policy and I was chatting to her wonderful mother and sister, Andrea, at cocktails after. Andrea was saying how beautiful Oxford was and there was so much to see, so I offered to tour guide and the next day the entire Schwartz family and I took a tour of the city I love. They are fabulous people and it was such a highlight of that term to meet them and hang out with them. 

Anyhoo, before I gush too much, I should thank Laura for how encouraging she has been about Popular and say how amazing this nomination is - and how deserved too! 

If you'd like to vote for the delightful Miss Schwartz, here is the link and she's in the Solo category.

And if you'd like to see Laura in action, back when she was commenting on the 2008 Presidential election, click here. She's talking about one of my favourite topics: the importance of the visual! ;) 

Good luck, Laura!

Hidden Jewels and Gin

It has been delicately pointed out to me that I haven't been updating this blog as regularly as I had originally planned and so the age of snippets of life columns is upon us. This week, I was very very excited to read Liz Hoggard's interview in the Evening Standard with one of my favourite people in the world, Emerald Fennell (above), who recently completed playing Lady Lottie, the first wife of the main character in Channel 4's four part television drama Any Human Heart, based on the novel by William Boyd. Emmy and I did a lot of drama together at Oxford and I'm still at the stage where seeing her on television or in the newspapers makes me achieve kid-going-to-Disneyland levels of hyper-excitement. Ultimately my plan is to acquire a sort of Simon Cowell-Dean Martin levels of louche sophistication about the whole thing, but that is still some way off! I'll provide a link at the bottom to read the full interview and also earlier blog posts about Any Human Heart.

Anyway, the last couple of weeks have been ones of triumph and humiliation. (I refer you to my earlier article, "Embarrassing much, ice?" for my humiliation.) The triumph came in the form of finally being able to figure out what Skype is, after several years of pretending I understood it (i.e. nodding wisely when it was mentioned, much like when I decided to use the phrase "credit crunch" and "recession" at random points in conversation) and generally assuming that Skype was some weird sort of thing you did on MSN chat. Either that or a type of phone I couldn't seem to find in shops. The push over the edge came when my friend Joel said "We should Skype," to which I initially gave the usual BS about what a great idea that was and let's do it some time next week. 

And that's when I realised that Joel has a horrifying tendency to figure out when I'm lying and then wait until we're surrounded by mutual friends to announce it and point out in excruciating detail how I managed to embarrass myself. (National Anthem-gate being high on the list of examples.) This raised the stakes and I knew I had to figure out what Skype actually was. Luckily, after a mere 57 minutes in which she was forced to resort to sending me articles from Google, Wikipedia and finally to telling a parable, Alexa managed to explain the entire thing to me and it turns out that Skype is not only a delightful invention, but also one astonishingly easy to use. So, to all those friends over the years who I promised to Skype with but didn't because I was lying, I sort of apologise. Sorry Lucas, Will, Coco, Kitty, Sophie, Noah, Alexa, Amy, Tom, Matthew, Andrew ... etc.

Another high was attained when I shimmied round to my friend Natalie's for a quiet evening gin. Natalie (left) is one of my favourite drinking partners, if for no other reason than she and her mother have taken to serving me gin in some sort of novelty pint glass and Natalie thinks regular measuring cups are "for dwarves." We managed to discuss all the important things - how she had decided to insure her Chloé handbag for far more than she ever would her boyfriend, how for some reason The X Factor isn't that exciting this year and why is it that so many people are so ugly? Also, Queen's University students who flounce around the city centre wearing a glorified version of your pyjamas - you disgust us! Wash you hair, clean your clothes and remember that, right now, there are some well-heeled dogs in Malone who are better groomed than you are. Sort it out.

I also want to talk about last night when I went back to my old high school, Down High, to see their annual school play - this year a production of the musical The Sound of Music. I was back in Down High about two months ago to do an after-school talk about Popular and I got to meet some of the drama students there, all of whom seemed really nice and it was great chatting to them afterwards. My old drama teacher, Pamela Mills, (we plan to make her part of my celebrity posse) sent me two tickets to come and see The Sound of Music on its closing night. Thank you, Pamille. 

I invited my friend Aisleagh to come along as my plus one. Aisleagh is only back in Northern Ireland at the weekends for the next six months, because she flies over to London during the week to be a high-powered lawyer. Very useful to keep Aisleagh on side, considering I will almost certainly need one of those before I turn thirty. Which will be happening in about fifteen years, give or take. Aisleagh was a big participant in Drama in our days at Down High, both curricular and social, and she also loved music, so I thought she was a sure bet for TSOM. Plus, I haven't seen her properly in ages and we used to share a flat together in Oxford, so it would be good to catch up and revisit La Mills.

However, half-way to Downpatrick, Aisleagh turned to me in the car and said in her most dread voice, "Just so you know - and I'm just putting it out there - there is no musical in the world I hate more than The Sound of Music." 

I glanced at her, in shock and fear, "Seriously? How do you hate it? Which songs do you hate the least? Climb Every Mountain?" 

"If I told you I didn't like any of them, would that make it clearer?!"

Part of me was mortified, but the other half quietly pleased, because there is literally no-one in the world more fun to sit next to than Aisleagh when you're watching a movie, play, show or production that she hates. She is hilariously vicious.

We arrive at the school and things don't get off to a great start when the people collecting tickets at the door are my old Biology and Maths teachers, neither of whom exactly saw me at my academic best. I still live in fear that the Maths department will one day figure out that Sarah-Jane and I are not cousins and we did not therefore share a permanently ailing grandmother, who conveniently relapsed every time our coursework was due. 

Aisleagh and I swanned in and chatted with Miss Mills, before curtain-up and I have to say that both Aisleagh and I were pleasantly surprised. I was a bit worried that having met and liked so many of the drama students back in October that they wouldn't actually be amazing on stage, which is always really upsetting, I think, when someone is nice to talk to but doesn't measure up in the talent stakes. Aisleagh, naturally, had settled into a mood of merry bile, prepared to hate everything except the sight of her own name on the board of old Deputy Head Girls and her cunning plan for us to storm the stage half-way through and launch into our monologues from our final school production of The Canterbury Tales. I don't exactly remember mine, but that's OK - I didn't remember it when I did it the first time round, either. Luckily, as the sick grandmother shows, improv was not something I ever had a problem with. 

The show was sensational and half-way through, Aisleagh clutched my hand, tears in her eyes and sighed, "How could I ever have hated this? It's the cutest thing I've ever seen!!"

Firstly, a word of praise for the girl who played Maria: I've never met Poppy, but she was so, so good! She's only a Year 10 (i.e. about 14) and I hope that doesn't sound too patronising, because she was sensational, both as an actress and as a singer. Also I was literally staring open-mouthed at how good the Reverend Mother's singing was. Wow. The entire cast was really excellent and whilst I may have queried the dramatic decision that led to several of the junior school being dressed as machine gun-carrying Nazis, the whole thing was superb. I really, really enjoyed myself and I'm so glad we went. Aisleagh, needless to say, had some sort of spiritual conversion half-way through and was actually singing along to Edelweiss at the end, a euphoric expression on her face.

So, anyway, huge congratulations to Miss Mills and Mr O'Hara and to all those involved and especially those I met when I spoke at Down High and who were in The Sound of Music - Ruth, Michael, Lydia, Charlotte, Louis and Robbie - thanks so much for a great show and I hope the cast party was riotously inappropriate. 

GR

For the full interview with Emerald Fennell, click here and for this blog's post about Any Human Heart, click here. 

For last week's less than delightful ice-capade, click here. 

Happy Birthday, Eric!

Continuing in my delightful birthday series, I wanted to say Happy Birthday to one of my favourite people - Yalie and Maryland native, Eric. After a capering friendship which has taken in the heady environments of New Haven, New Canaan and Paris, I thought I would post sixteen of our shared "best bits." Some of these may seem cruel.

1. "Gareth, I don't understand what you're saying, but you're wrong."

2. Eric to our fabulous waitress, Karen: Can you tell me about the risotto?

Karen (cheerfully): For sure. OK, so the risotto is one of our best-selling items on the menu. It's really filling, it's really rich; it's got some great herbs used in it. Cooked to perfection and so flavourful. It's really delicious.

Eric (bantering): Oh, wow. I guess you really want me to get the risotto then, right?

Karen (instantly stony): I don't care. I mean, I'm not the one that's going to be eating it.

3. "I feel like my life has suddenly turned into me being like a 1950s housewife, permanently acting as a buffer between you and the rest of the world. Like, you know the kind of wife who wipes the beer glass down when a waitress brings it over and some beers sloshes down the side? And the wife wipes it up before the husband sees it? That's me."

4. "Gareth, if you don't shut up, I'm going to take you to where the Bastille stood, laugh, and then bring you over to the Place de la Concorde, trip you up, and run away."

5. "Of course it's not good enough for you, Gareth! Because you think you should be with Scarlett, murmuring 'Lover' in each other's ears, while you lie on a cloud spun by Chanel and are served Fiji water by angels!" 

6. You introduced me to the world of froyo. And for that, I am eternally grateful. 

7. "If I wear what he's wearing, he can't make fun of it!"

8. http://farm3.static.flickr.com/2528/3874070207_7f8a1dd9d1.jpg

9. One night in Mory's, when I had to drink from an ENORMOUS tankard while you all sang Yale songs, Alexa and I had a serious breakdown in communication and I didn't quite entirely understand the rules of the game. It turns out that I didn't have to keep chugging until the song finished, but I had to have finished chugging the entire thing by the time the song had finished. My mistake was made clear to me when I realised that the second part of the game was having the cup placed atop my head to make sure I'd drunk it all. A full third of this enormous pitcher still remained and I was therefore soaked. And I thought you were going to have an aneurysm you were laughing so hard. I then informed you that some day, one day and somehow God would take revenge on you on my behalf for laughing so hard at my liquor-created misfortune. Then, a glass of wine was spilled in your lap. And you proceeded to yell at me for praying for it to happen.

10. You patting my shoulder and murmuring, "Take your time," when I drained of all colour and got a far-off, misty look in my eye when we entered the site of Marie-Antoinette's final prison cell in the Conciergerie.

11. "Are you drunk?" 

"Of course I am."

12. The night you came to the Pi Phi house to discover that Coco and I had somehow concocted a plan to have a baby together.... "So, dinner went well then?"

13. The world's slowest sliding automatic doors and your face of pure, frustrated rage.

14. "This is a picture of a manatee. Manatees are protected against the cold by a layer of blubber; I can only assume that this is how fat professor copes, since he refuses to turn up the heat in this room."

15. BBM-related sleep sync-up

16. The fact that for the first two weeks of our friendship you repeatedly referred to my book as Fabulous 

Hope you had an amazing birthday and remember, Harry Potter Day.