On Primark bikinis

Today I have a casting. Except when my agent said (with way too much nonchalance) that it was a bikini casting for a beer commercial, I went into frantic panic mode. We have only just arrived at the end of a long dark winter, after all. The moment 5:30 rolled around, I raced from my office in the East End to Oxford street. First stop: Boots, to stock up on Clarins self-tan, which the girl behind the counter swore would not turn me orange. Next, a singing lesson to get my voice up and running for my Dirty Dancing call back this afternoon. And then to Mecca; ie Primark, to plunder the bikini section. I wanted red, but came up with a cute Fifties arrangement bursting with frills and cherries. Presumably all the fripperies are meant to distract from the lingering remnants of mince pies and the damage done by best friend Amber's transformation into Kiwi Baking Goddess... I did an extra 200 sit-ups, but suspected that the effects would be purely psychological. Then I cracked open the bottle and began to lather myself in expensive brown gunk. Its a strange thing, to go to bed smelling of dog biscuits, which no self-tan manufacturer seems able to do anything about.

This morning dawned glorious and I dawned orange. Apparently, the tan 'develops' far darker on my pale skin than I had been told. I look like a Las Vegas stripper, if you stand back and squint.

Happily, in the chaotic waiting room at the casting studio in Covent Garden, I found myself amongst friends, where every shade of orange was represented by the gossiping throng. I got chatting to the boy seated next to me, an actor named Alex, about his first attempt at running a marathon this weekend. I haven't thought seriously about running London thus far, but now I think I will do it next year. It just seems silly not to. I have started training for Chicester in mid-June, and just did a 16km training run around London in the Springy sunshine. I found a wonderful branch that has moulded itself into a swing in St James' Park, and its smooth worn bark bears testament to the many bottoms beside mine that have tested it out.

After the casting was done, I had a few hours to spend in my favourite little Italian place in Mayfair, called The Lucky Spot, where the coffee is delicious and the quiet wooden booths lend themselves to line-learning, before I had to head to Danceworks for my Dirty Dancing audition. Ballet class was in full swing, and the waltzes tinkled up the staircase as I waited for the boy ahead of me to finish butchering I've Had The Time Of My Life, which he did several times. When I went in to meet the panel, I found three people in a sunny studio, and the MD asked me to come over to the piano and sing through the simple songs I'd been asked to prepare from the show. It was very informal, just singing with him at the piano in the warm light while the other two watched. And then they said thank you, and I was done. They didn't ask me to read any of the character's scenes. This I'm taking to mean that I was terrible. But I jumped on my bicycle and soared off into the Spring evening and didn't much care either way. I like the rollercoaster ride that this life is.

Incidentally, I was emailed a link the other day to a dancing blog that I'm featured on. For some reason, I look extremely serious. Apparently I was too danced-out to smile... http://www.dancerstyle.co.uk/