I sometimes feel like I’m living a ‘Sliding Doors’ existence where there’s a me who moved to London instead of LA. The London me auditions for roles that she’s right for. She is working on ‘After Life’ with Ricky Gervais and is excited about a few months in Liverpool on the final series of ‘Tin Star’. She’s buying wine at the self-checkout in Tesco’s and eating real Dairy Milk chocolate and Walker’s crisps. The weather is a bit crap and so is Brexit, but the public transport is great, and most people can understand her, especially when she asks for water.
London me does wonder about LA me. The girl who recently auditioned for the roles of a sloth, a ‘Jada Pinkett-esque’ mob boss and a ‘masculine hunter and trapper’. The girl who sometimes, more often than she’d like to admit, wears ‘yoga pants’ to work! She complains about being freezing when the temperature drops below 59° (15°) and she knows Brexit is bad, but really America? She tries to educate people that hot frothy milk cannot go in tea and that a man playing the bagpipes in a kilt is not representative of St. Patrick’s (Patty’s!) Day, but they just think she’s speaking in a foreign accent. She’s over the traffic but the weather, when it’s not freezing, is pretty great all year round. She can also watch the Oscars in real time and cry about Olivia Colman before England gets to. In fact, her and the Scot decide that’s the number one reason to live in LA.
Talking of the Scot, I asked him what he thought. After I’d explained the whole ‘Sliding Doors' theory to him he said, ‘Oh, in London you’d be a cleaner’. I asked him, ‘Why would I be a cleaner now if I’ve never been one before?' and he said, ‘It’s your age, I suppose’.
So, there we have it. My parallel lives. I’d like a mix of the two really, although if Ricky lets me wear yoga pants to work it might be a done deal!
