Yesterday, as the beginning of my new term in my life approaches I did what is ( for me) the unthinkable. I did some forward planning. I did the trip to London at commuter time and then tried walking to college in order to see if I could get there by 9.
I left half an hour later than intended. The bus was quiet at 7 am, inhabited mainly by superhero esque characters, clad in their day job suits but having left their heroic eye masks on after a hard night of destroying baddies. Or maybe they were ordinary folk who, like me, had experienced a night on the tiles and needed a few hours extra kip on the bus.
I had received ample warnings about the crap traffic. In all my years of catching the bus to London I’ve maybe had two bad experiences. However, this was going to push the percentage up by 50%. As we neared London at 8.15 a report came over the tannoy that there were some ” traffic lights out of sequence”. We finally pulled into Baker Street at 9.15. I would be 15 minutes late for my lesson at this point. Oh dear.
Free from the bus I began my walk to Swiss Cottage. I’m incredibly naive when it comes to London, the only thing I know is that I know nothing. I can’t tell you which underground line the grey one is, where any of the stations are and I nod politely when people tell me which area of London they live in. I had looked up the route on the Internet but had little idea of distance. My attempts to try to get from one place to another generally fill me with a strange de ja vu and memories of Bristol Zoos Reptile House circa 1978 ( primary School trip, high speed train, zoo, SS Great Britain, whole class of children waiting for Emma to be found before embarking on journey home). I should probably see a therapist about that.
Still, this time I headed through Regents Park. It was lovely. A beautiful sunny day. I had my PJ Harvey on my head phones and I actually managed to navigate my way all the way to Swiss Cottage in 40 minutes. I reckon if I take my bike it’ll be a 20 minute cycle.
On arrival at Swiss Cottage my eyes fell upon Central School of Speech and Drama and my heart flipped. I couldn’t help but smile. There is it was, the home to my studies for the next two years as I embark on my MA Movement Studies.
It won’t always look like this of course, even now I suspect that it’s got the traditional back to school grey weather surrounding it, but really it’s what is going to happen inside the building and myself that excites me. Can’t wait to verify and collate 20 years of teaching and performing, of hopping between theatre and dance worlds. Can’t wait to meet new collaborators, new ideas and old muscles that I have forgotten existed.
I feel like a 5 year old off to school, an 11 year old off to secondary school, an 18 year old off to uni or indeed a 43year old finally off to drama school.
P.S – If you would like to support me in my quest you can sponsor me here. Every gift is incredibly welcome and moving. A fiver gets me to the capital.