Kapry and other twists of fate...

I'm stopping for a break after another relentless week and a full-on Saturday of work. I've had so little time to myself and fear I'm like a ticking bomb as a result, especially as I'm facing 10 days in a studio flat in the middle of nowhere. I hope that we'll find a way to muddle through and that despite having had so little time to myself, I'll find the tolerance I need to cope with a TV that's on all the time and nowhere to escape it except the bathroom or the cold outdoors.

I'm glad of this little break (in a cafe) but I think I'm a bit too tired to enjoy it fully. I've got to help out with the cleaning as soon as I get back because the Cowboy is on a tidying and cleaning mission to make those TV cleaning presenters (from 'A life of grime', is it?) wince. I know that he will do his utmost to make it the toughest, most unpleasant experience possible while I'll be putting my headphones on and trying to make a game of it by wiggling my sizeable arse to songs like, "I like to move it, move it" and suchlike and laugh at the ridiculousness of it all.

In the meantime, for your amusement (well, sort of sordid entertainment, actually) during my 'internet exile', here are a couple of photos of the poor carp or ,,kapry" that are being sold on the street in big vats of water near metro stations everywhere around the city. 

They await their cruel fate of being bought and cut open immediately in preparation for the traditional Czech Christmas dinner and their only hope of revenge is that they are full of sharp bones that someone could easily choke or hurt themselves on as they eat them. (Ooh, lucky me! I'm dicing with danger and living life 'on the edge' as usual...)

And here's a more pleasant photo of the Christmas market at náměstí Míru, 

where I got myself a treat of lavender soap and body lotion because it just smells so amazing. I must get on and brace myself for Christmas in the remote mountain village, (oops, I mean "town") of Kašperské Hory. I promise I will make the best use of my time that I can by perfecting my rendition of 'Stop The Cavalry', Laandan accent and "dub-a-dub-a-dum dum"s included, of course. For now, here's wishing you a calm, manageable and rejuvenating Christmas and New Year that gives you the relaxation you need and at least a few added bonuses. 

Merry Christmas!  Veselé vánoce!

A day of ice and icy responses

"Walking on thin ice, I'm paying the price, for throwing the dice in the air.

Why must we learn it the hard way, and play the game of life with your heart?" 

Yoko Ono

I'm glad it's Sunday and I finally get a morning off, because quite frankly, this week has been a battle and a half and I really have had enough. Earlier in the week I had a callback for a commercial I did the first casting for the previous week. I re-acted the scene they'd wanted from last time, but more accurately thanks to the time I'd had to practise in the interim and I thought I did pretty well. They even said "perfect" at the end. But I didn't get the job. Wrong look, I guess. They had ditched the gorgeous, model-like blondes from last week but the brunettes who were left still included some model-type figures, and as the cowboy so readily likes to remind me, I do not possess a model's physique. So I guess I just didn't fit the bill. I pity the poor guy who gets cast in the male role though. Getting the job but knowing that as a result you'll have to shave your head (even with the special monetary bonus for this very reason) must be a bitter-sweet experience. 

Yesterday was 'walking on ice' day, as the previous days of snow had left the ground covered in compacted snow from people walking over it and then overnight the temperature rose to a balmy 0 degrees and it rained. And thus, with the temperatures hovering around zero and the ground already being extra-cold and covered in snow, that rain settled nicely as ice. Leaving me feeling like I'd been trapped in a re-run of 'Home Alone' as I attempted to walk down the slope out of the building to get onto the slippery path to walk to the metro. As luck would have it, the path to the metro is also on a slope and there are only sporadic areas of grass on the side to walk on as an alternative, so this was truly the challenge of the day. It wasn't super early either - we're talking 10.15am on a Saturday. Not impossible for people to have come out and poured boiling water on it and put down some salt or grit or something. But no. It was an ice rink on a slope instead.

All through the day there were areas like this that I had to negotiate to be able to get to my meetings (yes, I need the money so Saturdays are not a day off) culminating in a meeting at 3.15pm ish that took some time to find because the map I'd printed out didn't show me the lanes I could cut through and the street names were a long walk along a big wide road in one direction, or a long walk across a park in another, just to establish which road I was starting from... In the end, with much discussion on the phone to my meet-ee and many wrong turns, I managed to get to her house. But not before meeting the mother of all ice-covered outside steps that I had to walk down to be able to get to her street. I grabbed a hold of the hand rail, which made my gloves wet, and took it one step on ice at a time. It was a miracle I got there in one piece.

I proceeded to give her a fantastic range of inspiration, guidance, tips, demonstrations, technique exercises and audition strategies for an hour as a free trial singing session. I asked her if it had been useful and she said, "Yes, very useful!". But when I told her my fee for lessons going forward, she did her best impression of a maintenance guy telling me how much it's going to cost to replace a boiler and did that classic, sharp intake of breath with a sort of 'ouch' at the end and waited for me to respond.  I offered a ten percent discount for paying for four sessions in advance, and then took off 160Kč to round it down to 2000Kč total. (Around £64) And she still said nothing. But as I left to go and went out of the gate she said, "I'm just going to pay you the 500Kč next week because I can't afford to pay the full amount in advance". I was dumbfounded and felt like I was trapped in a parallel universe. When does anyone ever dictate to any service provider what they, the client, are going to pay?! But feeling so downtrodden from such a long and arduous day, I said, "Ok, well, we'll need to sit down and book in the dates at least next time."

But I know now, that that was just ridiculous. I will not accept that. I cannot accept that. There are free training videos she can watch on my website, she's just had a free trial session and I offered her a great discount on four lessons. What more can I do?! I then came home, hours later than planned because of all the wrong turns before and the continued 'walking on ice' situation everywhere, and the fact that she lives miles away from me in totally the opposite direction, feeling utterly ticked off. 

To cap it all, I then read an email from a friend, with details of the cost of mixing the two tracks I'm trying to get finished here. The upshot being, £250 just for the mixing. That is more than I have left in my UK account from the money donated to me from the Swedish faerie godmother. She had given me more than that, but it has gone on the costs for domain name and hosting for a couple of websites and paying the MU subs that got me the "free" legal advice I needed to negotiate a contract, as well as the recording done so far here in Prague. I have a grand total of £221 left (now that I have sensibly transferred an amount as an emergency fund to an ISA account, most of which is loaned money from my sister) and I am diligently paying off a small amount of my student loan each month, just so the amount doesn't keep growing.

Where am I going wrong? (Rhetorical question - no need to answer that one.) I can see that the list of mistakes I've made in my life in discerning how to play this attempt at a creative life is long and complex. Clearly one of the things I had wrong all along is that being self-employed was the best strategy to leave time to do music - especially as I had to do all that basic learn to play the piano, learn to write songs, learn to sing better, stuff as an adult. I'm still chasing clients who pay a pittance and take up too much extra time in needing to negotiate with and I then can't afford the help I need to get my own creative work done. And to cap it all, my Macbook battery is beginning to slowly die. As is the battery of my iPod. (I don't have an iPhone or anything flash like that.) How on earth can I afford to achieve the goals Im working towards? How the hell will I ever afford to get out of this flat if I have to invest more money than I have in the bank after donations from kind people just to get two songs mixed? How will I afford the cost of setting up my websites professionally enough to actually sell stuff on them when I have got those songs mixed?

I'm beginning to think I may be forced to try some sort of crowdfunding venture. But that's a big risk, because those generally are only successful with a wide network of people to appeal to. I'm working on building my network, believe me, but it's hard while based in the Czech Republic, and while working like crazy to earn only enough to cover food and MU subs, student loan repayment, travel, phone top-up and little else.The Guardian have been running stories lately about the impact of the financial crisis, and how ex-partners can't afford to split up and move out and run two separate households. I'm beginning to fear I am one of them. 

But all is not lost.  I actually have a paid article to write today. All of £12 an hour. Hurrah!  That's big bucks in my line of work. (Actually, that's a lie - I generally earn just about a pound more than that per hour with meet-ees, but only just.) And the irony of that is, I'm ghostwriting for a married woman and mother of three...ha, ha! The universe really does have a loopy sense of humour, don't you think?

It's beginning to look a lot like Christmas..and other thoughts on the passage of time...

The snow has arrived in earnest today. (Compare the other morning-

to this morning) -

It's just as well I found my snowboots from the cupboard in the cowboy's flat this morning. I can't believe I still don't have enough money saved up to move out anytime soon. What with the cost of now paying social security and health insurance, the ongoing battle with the internet company who still want to charge me for the internet in my flat that I no longer live in and the cost of not only buying Christmas presents but the postage to send stuff to the US and UK (the postage is almost always at least as much as the presents were, if not more) I am no where near having three months' rent saved up. I'm close to having one month, but that's one month's rent according to what the rent in an equivalent place would be now. Which is about 2,000Kč more, at least.

I have to factor in that from now on I may as well add a further 3,000Kč as rent as well, because that's roughly the cost of the health insurance and social security payments, so the outlook isn't good for being able to move out. And at the same time, I know I need to move out, to do the cowboy the courtesy of having his flat back to have other women come to at some point because if he really wants to have children, he's going to need to start looking around for a new girlfriend. And this country is really cruel when it comes to ageism. Once you've hit 40, people seem to assume that's your life pretty much sewn up. If you're a parent by then, then that's all your life will entail until retirement. And by the time you're 60, well, forget having any purpose to your life. You may as well lie in the grave and wait for death.

I must admit I'm getting really tired of this attitude and I feel really sorry for those who truly feel bound by it. I'm grateful that my interpretation of getting older has a bit more fun involved.  This was/is my plan anyway, sod what the Czechs think (or anyone else for that matter):

List of things to do in each decade of my life (skipping the childhood bits, which are mostly awful because someone else's always making decisions for you):

20s - Find out all the shitty things that happen in life like not getting the career you want, nor a suitable partner, and get over them quickly because you're still young.

30s - Go through ill-advised mini-midlife crisis and then realise you've got plenty of time to screw up loads more stuff than just career and relationships so you may as well give up on those and get on with learning new stuff. Become dynamically "you" in a stronger, more self-assured way than ever before. Play gigs with a wild disregard for industry 'standards' and just wear what you want and sing whichever songs take your fancy and write cryptic things on social media sites in an 'anti-popularity contest' approach to music marketing. Don't have children because there are about 1,560 reasons why not to and you'll thank yourself when you reach 45 and don't have to live with a teenager as a result. Enjoy the fun of being able to travel and have time to write and read books anyway.

40s - Show everyone what a sexy, hip and happening woman you can be in your 40s when you have the advantage of not having children to deal with and start buying vastly expensive dresses and make up because now's not the time to go for cheap products or materials anymore. But as Simone de Beauvoir put it, there's no need to stop dying your hair blonde, wearing a bikini or flirting with deserving men.

50s - Time to show the world what it really means to be 'une femme d'un certain âge' and write a novel or memoir full of deeply moving insight and wisdom and, of course, acerbic wit. And have a hedonistically blissful love affair in between writing your books and playing your grand piano that your lover donated you. Wear incredibly sexy knee-length black boots and red lipstick all the time. Even when you're shopping in M&S. Infact, especially when you're shopping in M&S.

60s - Write vehemently about politics in opinion columns in newspapers and with the kind of venom that divides people instantly and don't give a shit about it because you've hit the wise old age of 60 and you will NOT apologise to anyone. Go on 'Newsnight' and 'Any Questions?' as a well-known pundit who can be relied upon to be entertaining just because you're so appallingly outspoken and it makes for great TV.

70s - Show how fit and flexible you still are because you never stopped doing aerobics and pilates and amaze people with your freakish strength and youthful demeanour. Pinch men's bottoms in department stores just to show'em who's boss and enjoy being totally irreverent.

80s - Maybe snuggle up now and then with a blanket on your knees as well as a few thick jumpers on, because you're allowed to get a bit cold at this age. Still write achingly moving and pertinent prose though and develop a hot toddy routine involving brandy or rum. Forget to get the piano tuned now and then because you haven't noticed how off-pitch it is, due to diminished hearing ability. Oops.

90s - Write poetry just to piss off a few more people while you still can. Then curl up with a cat and snooze every lunchtime. And be grateful for every day that you wake up and find out you're still alive. It's another day in which to wander about in eccentric clothes and annoy people by pretending to be deaf. Or maybe you actually are deaf. You can't remember.

The end. 

(I think.)

A funny little day

Having had a really nasty cold over the last week, but more work and more meet-ees, it's been a dreary time. The weather has been cold and miserable and I was feeling fed up especially at all the work I've put in on various projects (from contacting people I'd like to work with, to organising meetings and a possible gig) and getting nothing back. But today has started to feel a bit better. 

This morning on the metro, as I was travelling in to my 8am meeting, there was a woman with a canvas bag full of Christmas tree-like branches standing in front of me. Not particularly interesting. But then, I noticed a tiny little life-sized ladybird on the side of her bag. I thought it was really cool to have a life-sized plastic ladybird pinned to your bag and started on a little reverie about ladybirds and how the word for ladybird here, ,,beruška", is also a common term of endearment for women by their boyfriends, much in the same way as 'honey' would be in the US. And I am privileged to have been called that. It infact changes ending (it's the Czech language - of COURSE the ending changes..!) when you call someone over using that term, like when asking for help you with something, e.g., "Honey? Could you just...?" so it becomes, ,,beruško...můžeš...?" And that word just sounds so yummy and lovely in that context.

I came out of that linguistic reverie to find that the plastic life-sized beruska had in fact moved. And it wasn't plastic at all. It was real. So then I got quite involved watching the ladybird crawl up the bag to the bag handle and on to the cuff of the lady holding it and how she nearly swiped the ladybird off with her newspaper as she (standing up and still holding on to a handrail with one hand) flicked over a page. But the beruška survived. And crawled further along her arm and towards her glove. I somehow felt terribly concerned that the ladybird would meet with a sad end from this adventure of hers and wished she had just walked towards the fir tree branches instead, where she would be safer for longer. But the ladybird soap opera ended there as I had to get off at the next stop. I wonder if the woman holding the bag of branches ever noticed the ladybird? What torture it is to have such unanswered questions in my life...

Later on came more unanswered questions, in the form of an odd little gathering of people for a Wilkinson advert at the casting agency oddly called Myrnyx Tyrnyx near Petřín park. It was a typical huddle of actors and model types, mostly the latter when it came to the women, who had been informed that it would involve a secretary and boss. (Sad that they stick to the sexist stereotype of assuming the women are the former and the men the latter....) So there were several beauties sitting in a row in six inch heels and short skirts and looking every bit the sexy secretary. 

And then there was me. Hmm. Not quite the sexy anything. I had at least managed to remove my newly acquired kid-like fingerless gloves/mittens combo that look like little brown pandas and had worn my red dress, with a thin grey belt but on an icy day like today, I had decided against the red Kurt Gieger shoes I should have worn if I'd wanted to compete with the others. (Though, as it turned out, they would never have been in shot anyway, but many actors consider this irrelevant as it helps you to get 'in character'.) As is so often the case here in Prague, the city full of Czech supermodels and Eastern European beauties around every (other) corner, the term 'actress' appeared to mean, 'classically beautiful specimen of a woman'. As though it was outrageous to think you could be an actress if you weren't. (Why try against this competition?) Thus, I felt like the ugly duckling. I often wonder if people think that this means I must be deluded about my appearance. I sometimes want to scream out to them - yes, I know I'm the ugly duckling of the room! I'm under no illusions. I'm just aware of the random nature of selection for these kinds of things and am here if for no other reason than to do the casting agent the courtesy of showing up for something she invited me to do." 

As it was, for some reason, the casting agent remembered me and she's only seen me once before. She asked me as part of the introducing yourself bit, what kind of music I do. And as I trotted out the two most common artists I'm compared to, she said, "oh those are two of my favourite singers!" So I somehow made an impression despite my nondescript features. Though I must admit, when it came to playing the tiny little scene I had to do, being out of practice showed and I rushed too much. But at least I know what to do next time. And also one person to send my next recordings to.

Ah, the slings and arrows of outrageous fortune...I wonder if the ladybird fared better today?