Any Order of Us

London based actors/writers - and now bloggers! - Alexandra Donnachie & Nico Diodoro (or Nico Diodoro & Alexandra Donnachie - they're not fussed) are writing a blog each under the same heading, every week for the next 52.

[anyorderofus]

Elton.

And here we go. Number 52. The last one. We have an incredibly non-cohesive story for you and a lovely bit of imagery to ease you out of our year together. 

And what a year it’s been. 

We have enjoyed this project so much and hope you have too. 

As such, we hope you don’t mind but in the near future, after we’ve had some time to look back over the last year, we’re going to bombard you with just one more blog. It’ll just be a piece (with unlimited word count) for us each to look back over the last year and chat about the highs, the lows, the fun bits and the more challenging little twits. 

For now, thank you so much for your endless support and for keeping your peepers on us. Enjoy this week’s offerings and we hope to see you again soon.

Alexandra&Nico|Nico&Alexandra 

ALEXANDRA

There once was a boy called Daniel. He was kind and friendly and he was also quite short and had lots of hobbies. One of his hobbies was playing computer games, another was rock collecting – his favourite rock being the crocodile rock – and another was dancing. Out of all his friends – Sam, Lou-Lou, Bennie and the Jets and Patrick – Daniel was the smallest, the tiny dancer of them all, and his favourite song to dance to was, Your Song by Elton John. You may have heard it or, if not, your parents might have and if they haven’t, your grandparents might have; this is just how the circle of life works, see? It’s a dizzying circle but even once going around a few times, I’m still standing.

Anyway, it was nearing the end of the summer term at school and Daniel and his pals were very excited for the upcoming annual summer school musical: A Space Odyssey: The Musical.  All of the friends had been given great parts! Lou-Lou was playing Venus and Patrick was playing Astronaut No. 4. But Daniel had been given the one role everyone wanted. He was playing Rocket Man who, sure only had four lines of dialogue but he also had a 34 second dance solo.

After weeks of rehearsals, nerves and post-rehearsal milkshakes at the McDonald’s drive-thru, opening night arrived! It was a Saturday. The director had originally asked that the show to open on a Friday but in the end agreed that, Saturday night’s alright. ‘For fighting?’ asked one silly student. They were cut from the show. So, opening night. The audience were in, even though the local train station had been closed for ages because the train that went through it? Well, this train don’t stop there anymore. Anyway, the cast were in costume and everyone was excited. Until…BLACKOUT.

The lights went out in the dressing room, the auditorium, the toilets and even in the lightbulbs of Patrick’s costume. Some people screamed, Lou-Lou cried and a girl playing half of Uranus started playing sad songs on her phone to distract herself from the fact that even though a teacher had lit some emergency candles, she dated a candlestick maker and knew that a candle in the wind would never last. The dressing rooms had no roof. Thus: wind. Eventually, in the dark, Daniel saw a way to save the day!

He followed his big blue eyes towards a fuse box in the corner. He fiddled some sticks and tweaked some tricksters and, just like that, the lights snapped back up. Some confusion remained when a voice could be heard shouting, don’t let the sun go down on me. This was cleared up when Bennie, playing the sun and whose mask had fallen over his face, was seen scrambling off Sam, illuminating with embarrassment. And then, it was show time. ‘Can you feel the love tonight?’ Daniel whispered to his friends as they stepped on to stage. He was talking about the audience.

NICO

A picture says a 1000 words. We only have 500 so here 475 words worth of....ELTON! ENJOY! THANKS FOR READING THIS PAST YEAR!!! BYE!! X

[anyorderofus]

Famous last words.

Evening all!!

We hope you’ve had another positive week and are ready to start the next!!

As it’s our penultimate week (I know...madness) we thought we’d let our entries do the talking!

Next week, for our final blog of this project, the title shall be...wait for it...yes you guessed it...Elton.

You have no idea how much we wish this week’s had been next week’s but, therein lies the beauty of life. The surprises and sudden unexpected finales, now, please enjoy this week’s entry!

Nico&Alexandra|Alexandra&Nico

NICO

I want to play a game. I decided to list some famous last words from movies. I mean the words themselves aren’t famous in some cases, but the fact they’ve been heard by millions of people and have echeod through pop culture history makes them pretty famous right? Now there are tonnes of blogs (I couldn’t say literally as I don’t know how much a blog weighs) regarding last words by characters in movies, I haven’t checked BUT what I hope will make mine more interesting is I’ve turned it into a quiz! I’ve put the quote now it’s up to you to remember which movie they’re from and which character said them! Now don’t worry, it is challenging, and I don’t necessarily think these are the best movie deaths ever or anything, just 10 that are from movies most film fans would have seen, also naturally they’re very dramatic, otherwise we wouldn’t remember them. I made a rule also that I had to remember them myself before double checking to make it fair and make sure it’s possible. Hopefully there’s a good mix in there too, family films, cult films, blockbusters, etc, but they’re all known.

So there’s no eye-rolling these are selected by the context of their death in the original narrative. If they come BACK as ghost, as a vampire, as a cyborg or just miraculously with a new hat in a sequel, reboot 40 years later, sidequel, prequel, reimagining, TV show (clues clues clues!) they ended their lifespan, within the context of the original material, after saying these words. Example, the T-100 dies at the end of both Terminator 1 & T2, different characters, even though same actor same model robot etc. Also if you don’t remember from these quotes, you just don’t remember, and that’s ok.

AND to help you narrow them down if you’re completely stuck, I’ve put them in order of release date so you can have a bit of a hand as I want this to be fun, not a massive headache finishing in you kicking yourself…in the head. Again, I’d like to point out, original release date, not cinema re-releases, ‘definitive cuts’, remastered versions etc etc (more clues clues clues).

Ok! So here we go, ten famous last words!! Good luck!

1.    Secure our turf…BECAUSE IT’S ALLL OUR TURF!!

2.    …and all these moments will be lost in time…like…tears…in rain. Time…to die…

3.     You were right…you were right about me…tell your sister you were right.

4.   You think you can kill me with bullets!? I take you’re f*****g bullets! Go ahead!   

5.     What was it you said to me before? Yippee-kai-yay...mother-f****r?

6.    Now the light she fades…and darkness settles in…but I will find strength…I will find pride within… because although I die…our freedom will be won…though I die…La Resistance lives……..on.

7.    Shadows and dust.

8.    I feel......cold.

9.    It’s been a funny sort of day, hasn’t it?

10.  It’s ok boss…this was never going to work…unless they had something to…

ALEXANDRA

I don’t need my last words to be famous but I want them to be extraordinary.

I make no secret of wanting to see my name at the top of a poster on the walls of the National Theatre one day in the not too distant future and I guess I have always imagined my last words being said on stage.

Imagine:

The year is 2207. I am approximately 190 years old and starring in yet another key role on the NT Stage in a play that is yet to be written*.

*I know, one day a lady over the age of 45 will have a key role in a stage play. Another blog perhaps.

My character’s granddaughter comes in and asks me a profound question about life as a human in a world of robots, probably – because it’s 2207. She will ask me something like, ‘Were we always this obsolete?’ to which I will give an equally profound answer. 

My granddaughter will continue to talk but, awaiting my next line, the actor playing her will look at me, repeat her line and think, ‘Oops – perhaps she’s fallen asleep again’. But nothing. Eventually, she will touch my cheek – still warm – and feel my last breath leave my body. As she lets out a small gasp and a single tear, Gary will let the safety curtain down and –

BOOM! The lights dim on Broadway, in the West End and even at that little regional theatre I toured to in my late twenties. The headline of The Stage will be the last line I said and soon become a trending hashtag on the 2207 equivalent of Twitter.

I’d get two ‘last words’ in if I died on stage, wouldn’t I? The lasts words as me and my last words as me in character. That would be extraordinary.

And if that doesn’t happen, which it very well might not, and if instead, my last line happens in a futuristic nursing home as I reminisce over whatever life I’ve had, that would be okay too. Because I suppose it’s really more about who you say your last words to than what they are. It’s about who you leave your legacy with.

Even if ‘Yes please’ to, ‘Do you want Countdown on, love?’ are my last words, at least they will be polite.

If they are ‘I’ll have a coffee and a chocolate digestive, thanks Carol’, at least they will have shown me to be decisive and have had good taste.

And if, in or out of character, my famous last words are ‘No dear, we were extraordinary’, then I could always be remembered as that.

And that would be okay.

[anyorderofus]

Diamond encrusted toast.

Hi all, 

We hope you’re well and have had lovely weeks - as ever. Is it us or is it beginning to very slightly, just a tad, kind of, sort of, to feel like Christmas? Come on! Not even slightly? 

Well we (okay, I - Alex) think it is a bit and as an early Christmas present that you can’t return, here is next week’s blog title: Famous last words.

Ouch. 

In the meantime, here is some far-too-pre-Christmas sparkle. Diamonds - geddit? 

Enjoy!

Alexandra&Nico|Nico & Alexandra 

ALEXANDRA

This week, it was announced that the Euromillions lottery jackpot stands at a record breaking £167 million. That’s loads. Far more than I have in any of my bank accounts put together.

Diamond encrusted toast is (surely) something you would only consider investing in – for whatever reason – if you were in the position of having too much money.

This week, I’ve given myself a fake money-spending task. I’m going to try and (very much virtually) spend £167 million in one go.

Shopping List 

1. A house. I like the area I live in so I’m looking for something extravagant but local to buy with my millions. I’ve found one complete with a cinema room and a kitchen I would marry. It’s £3m – bargain!

2. A holiday home. Duh! But where? Well let’s start simply. My partner’s family are Italian and mine are Cypriot and I still have £164m left to ‘spend’ so let’s have one in both countries! I’ve found a beautiful detached 3-bed villa with a pool in gorgeous Protaras, Cyprus for €500, 000 (£441, 000) and I’m having it – for the sake of this blog! I’m also treating me to a €4m (£3.5m) mansion in Venice, Italy. It only has 8 bedrooms but it looks super cosy.  

3. I have £160, 032, 560 left. I’ll want pets. And cat and a dog and luxury pet homes for them. How do these two look, for £220 & £50?

https://www.amazon.co.uk/Luxury-Summerhouse-Veranda-Mainland-Delivery/dp/B003958X52/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1506813996&sr=8-1&keywords=luxury+dog+kennel 

and 

https://www.amazon.co.uk/Cat-Den-Outdoor-Maisonette-Shelter/dp/B00LK32HDO/ref=sr_1_2?s=pet-supplies&ie=UTF8&qid=1506814084&sr=1-2&keywords=luxury+cat+houses

4. A car – just for looking at. Is that too much? Oh, who cares, I’m virtually minted and have £160, 032, 290 left. This evening, I spent too long on the Porsche website, designing a beautiful blue car. It does some good stuff too, like parking itself and being fast but, most importantly, I love it and it costs £101, 622.00. 6967440.

And there we have it. I’m theoretically left with a little over £160m but with literally next to no words and so, I have to stop. I did plan to plan the perfect, most ridiculous day out, complete with outfit options from a very expensive shop that the closest I am to affording a dress from, is following them on Instagram. I also know exactly which charities I would donate a bulky £100m too.

Last, but not least, I was also going to look up how many pounds I’d need to buy a diamond with which to encrust my toast. (I think I would go for the Hope Diamond. There are more expensive diamonds available – if available is the right word – but some of these are priceless because they’re owned by the Queen of England or are not as pretty. The Hope Diamond was reportedly last valued at $250m (£187m).

If you’re local to the area, you can see the diamond at the National Museum of Natural History in the US but, not for too long – it’s been rumoured to be cursed!

NICO

Money, property, shares and gold Whoever owns the most, When those bombs fly, They’ll be nothing more, Than diamond encrusted toast. In theory yes, they can stay safe, With bunkers, shields and moats, But when wars start, We all know, it’s who’s left that suffer most. Unlikely then, that you and I, Will make it past day one. So in the time, that we have left, Let’s try and have some fun. Let’s treat each day like it’s our last, And every meal as well. It could be the last junk food we eat, Before it all goes to hell. Write bad poems in random blogs, That you start with someone else. You’ll miss sharing things with people you love, When the whole world starts to melt. When things go wrong, Just shrug it off, no need to swear and curse. For unlike this poem, the Earth we know, Could get a whole lot worse. So let’s drink to peace, and health and that, As fleeting as it is. Be grateful for the amount we have, And the little we can give. For even a shot of time and care, To those who need it most Is worth much more, to the entire world, Than a diamond encrusted toast.

[anyorderofus]

10 fun things you can do…in your pyjamas.

Hello everyone,

Here we are, a classic numbered list number. A particularly silly one compared to next week’s sensibly normal and dull title: Diamond encrusted toast.

Bear with us eh? Nearly there.

Enjoy the next twenty points and we’ll see you next week. 

Nico & Alexandra|Alexandra & Nico 

NICO

Sleep.

Midnight snack.

Run around a hotel pretending to be a ghost (although don't be too convincing and make sure to stop before a 'Red Rum' scenario).

Pop a tie on and head to an interview for a dream job.

Take hundreds of selfies with different hairstyles then post them at random nights in the future without caring how you actually look on said night.

Eat saucy food with reckless abandon as if you drip any on yourself it's no biggy as well...they're only your pyjamas.

Tut and shake your head when you get the 'dream job' but from no. 4.

Play sound effects from your laptop while talking on the phone to pretend you're out and about while really you listening to Netflix while hiding under the covers with choc.

Air brush karaoke before bed.

Have a friend take them off.

ALEXANDRA 

Hooray for self-explanatory titles!

Predictably, I have gone for a list. Feel free to add, remove or trade with your own suggestions.

10 fun things you can do…in your pyjamas

1. Sleep. Both obviously and except for summer.

2. Not get out of them on a Sunday. Or if freelance, a Tuesday etc.

3. Yoga. Pyjamas are far comfier than Lycra and more likely to have kittens or superheroes on.

4. Walk to the corner shop and get papped. This look goes particularly well with Ugg boots.

5. Take you PJ top off in the morning, stop at your head and wear it like a wig for a bit.

6. Online shop. Shopping for clothes when you’re most inspired to get changed is a good idea.

7. Do a character study for a person in the first act of a chick flick who has just lost their job and been broken up with by the love of their current life.

8. Take them off under the duvet when you get too hot to, ‘feel the benefit’ –  in reverse.

9. Wear the bottom half of them with a sensible blouse on your top half for a Skype interview. Or indeed a face-to-face one.

10. Give a clear signal to anyone else in bed with you when in said pyjamas.

And there we have it. My ten. I wonder if I’ll sleep tonight or stay up – in my pyjamas – thinking of a further ten.

[anyorderofus]

Sparks

It is 11:59pm on a Sunday and we are posting...GO! GO! GO!

(P.S. Next week, our title is: 10 fun things you can do...in your pyjamas)

Until then, 

Alexandra & Nico|Nico & Alexandra

ALEXANDRA

Sparks

I hate this word. I didn’t realise I did until I started to write about it but, apparently, it makes me cross.  In the grand scheme of things, I don’t give a flying monkey’s toenail about the word but, for the purposes of this blog…whyIoughtta…

Seemingly, I find the word incredibly offensive for a couple of reasons. Some you may relate to and some you might want to skip because they mean nothing to you and are just between the word, Sparks and me.  

1) I was in a play recently and there was a dog in that play called Sparks. The word makes me miss the play and being in it but it also reminds me that I don’t have a dog ☹

2) Sparks is also a problematic word because when people say that they feel sparks between themselves and another person, they appear to mean it in a good way. However:

‘A spark is created when the applied electric field exceeds the dielectric breakdown strength of the intervening medium’ - Wikipedia. Not me. Obviously.

Whilst I don’t know what that means, it does not sound like something I’d want to happen to me and so, if the person I loved kissed me and exceeded my dielectric breakdown strength, I’d be heartbroken in more ways than one. Sparks is a dangerous word.

3) It reminds me of the phrase, ‘bright spark’ and no one has ever called me one which has probably caused long-term damage to my self-confidence.

4) Sparks is a bit like the word, Sparky. That word annoys me too. It reminds me of phrases like, ‘she’s got some spark’ or ‘she’s so sparky’. Both of these are a) not necessarily phrases you will have actually heard before and b) risk translating to ‘goodness, that woman made a case or disagreed with something a person (probably a man) said and I’m covering up my discomfort with it, with what I think they’ll think is a compliment’. ☹

Although I’ve put together an extensive list of reasons to not appreciate the word, Sparks, I’ve come to realise that it actually – particularly with ‘4)’ in mind – is not as harmful as some other words.

To close this week’s blog in a mature and academic way, here are some other words I hate:

Feisty (Nope, just angry. Probably more so now you’ve called me feisty)

Spunky (As in ‘she’s spunky’. A) No, I will not keep a straight face thank you very much and B) if you’re going to associate me with a colloquialism for sex juices, at least let me be referred to as the female equivalent)

Enjoy (The ‘nj’ sound makes me cringe. I think I’m in the minority with this one)

Moist (Oh and you like it, do you?)

Recommend (I have to look it up every time I use it to remember how to spell it)

In conclusion, I love words. I love how they are profound enough to make me hate them.

NICO

Anyone else spend too much at Todva and Vonic after too many Sparks and Mencers?

[anyorderofus]

Fish supper

Hi everyone,

Hope you’re well. We’re at blog number 47. Can you believe it? Neither can we. 

Next week, our title is: Sparks.

For now, enjoy this week’s blogs. We kinda like them. Plenty of mushy(peas)ness in at least one of them!

Enjoy,

Nico & Alexandra|Alexandra & Nico

NICO

Story time story time, get comfy please.

So, last night Alex performed her final night of ‘Mugs Like Us’ at The Space in the Isle of Dogs. The show was a blinder, everyone seemed to enjoy themselves and the people behind the Hubbub bar upstairs were more than happy with the takings as everyone had their fair share of beverages afterwards.

After a couple of hours of congratulating the cast and hearing them congratulate each other and the audience and the staff of the venue and any passers by walking in front of the building, we decided to head back to our home.

Not having eaten since around 2:00 in the afternoon (it was now approaching 10:00pm) I decided the only proper way of celebrating the end of a theatrical run is the treat of a large dinner, healthy and/or otherwise. On the tube ride home, we discussed the best course of action to take and narrowed it down to everywhere that we like that might be still be serving on the walk from the station to home and as luck would have it, our first stop was also our favourite chippy.

Having been turned away before late at night, we approached the place in a cautious manner but found, with great joy that the place was buzzing (as in lively and busy, they didn’t need new LED fixtures or pest control) and 100% open for business. The prices in there are reasonable so we were able to make a comfortably big order (scampi and chips, one large chips, jumbo sausage a cream soda and a coke) without feeling too guilty.

We passed the time by sitting down and tipsily discussing the first episode of ‘Endeavour’ and commenting on how generous All Bar One are for having toilets installed in the building. After about 15 minutes, we were informed that our meal(s) were ready and we cheerily picked them up off the counter and hit the road, power walking towards our home where our plates and cutlery awaited.

Before we had even had the chance to hit the first corner, we heard it; a panicked voice behind us crying out in shrill terror!

“I have your order wrong!! I have your order wrong!! I checked the receipt and you still need the extra chips!!”

And smack my bot, he was right. We were missing chips! I had foolishly assumed they were in the same wrapped up bag that the scampi was in but no! I could have fu – shaken his hand for tracking us down and letting us know!

What a top bloke though, and a dedicated worker to go out of his way to not only admit the mistake he’d made but to let us know so we didn’t get home to find our bag sans extra chips. Really reminded me why we need to support decent folk and honest business when we find them, they’ll now be my go to chippy for the future!

ALEXANDRA

What can I say? I really like fish suppers.

Fish suppers remind me of you and our wild Friday nights in.

It started as a thing, our thing, once I’d gone back to school and started again.

Sometimes we’d have butties, other times just scampi but we’d always have dessert; chocolate, donuts or some other sweet-toothed wonder for afters.

And there’d always be a film. I can’t remember which one(s) now though.

I knew long before the fish suppers that you were, to quote, ‘the one for me’ but, the fish suppers fast became the highlight of my weeks in a year when my weeks couldn’t come and go quickly enough.

You could say you were the fresh air a fish comes up for when it’s time to get fed. Although it seems crass to be talking of eating the fish eating the food, I’m the fish in the aforementioned analogy and the food is the fish supper from the best fish bar we’ve ever known. In London, at least.

We’ve moved now and we’ve had less fish suppers. Not for any real reason other than life but we got to have one last night for research for this blog. Thank you again for that, I loved it. It made me wonder though; why have none of our blog titles yet been: Chocolate and prosecco from an infinity pool in a far off sunny land? I’d like to research that.

The plaices (I’m here all week…) for fish suppers round where we are now are…well, they’re okay. One is better than the other and the people are nicer in there. But, as that famous saying goes,

 ‘It is who you eat a fish supper with, that makes a fish supper what it should be’ - Anon

I’d have one with you any time. In an infinity pool or on the sofa in front of a film we’ve each seen nine times. I’m kidding, we don’t have a couch. But I hope this was taken in the romantic way that it was intended.

I hope we do until we’re grey and old and need our orders from the chippy liquidised. It is an honour to sup with you.

[anyorderofus]

Channel Number Five

Here we are, here we are, back into the routinely swing of things. 

Apologies for that again!

Enjoy blog 46...46 can you believe it?! 

We’ll be back with the 47th blog next week which will have a more interesting name than ‘blog 47′. It’ll be called: Fish supper.

Okay - see you then!

Alexandra & Nico|Nico & Alexandra 

ALEXANDRA 

Not got the same ring to it, has it? 

In fact, it carries some quite dull connotations. Channel 5 was always the one with a fuzzy screen; I never watched anything on it until Freeview was launched in 2002 and even when it became more straightforward to view, I only ever really watched Neighbours on it. Good God, I love that show – say what you will.

Having said that, there were often some interesting documentaries on Channel 5. What I would call interesting anyway. Channel 5 always seems to have been obsessed with odd bods; I'm sure there was a documentary entitled: The Human Tree – or something similar sounding – and I remember, even as a slightly younger person, wondering if they'd run that title by the poor bloke covered in tree-bark like tumours that the program was centred on. He can't have okayed it? He can't have!

I don't watch Channel 5 at all now because we don’t have a live TV in our flat and so don't see adverts for what's on. I might have a look on their catch-up service and see what's on. I could check in on me pals in Ramsay Street.  

I still don't wear Chanel No. 5 anymore than I watch Channel 5. I’d like to do more of both.

Perhaps when I’m older. Perhaps wearing a more distinguished, delicate and demure perfume whilst simultaneously owning a TV that I can afford and utilise the licence for, will suit me when I’m older. 

I’ll be older next year. Next week even.

Ramsay Street and sweet, sweet scents, I’m a-coming for you!

NICO 

I was going to write a piece about Channel 5 being 20 years old and how I sort of miss the simplicity of the old days etc, but then as I left work I tumbled down a mental rabbit hole that I think I'm going to write down.

Essentially, Mad Max films are how pretty much the only prep I've got for surviving a post-apocalyptic universe. I thought about the amount of times I've watched the four Mad Max films (something I've thought about many times in the past) which then reminded me of a conversation I had recently where someone thought Mad Max was a comic book character from the 1930s which THEN got me thinking about how without the internet to prove them wrong, we'd be stuck with two opposing opinions and, providing after the nukes start flying EVERYTHING will be public domain, Mad Max will pretty much be whatever the person with the biggest stick says it is.

This bizarre tumbling of ideas eventually led to something else I'd been thinking about recently (I know, with this much time on my hands it's hard to believe I have a job isn't it), the idea of ‘memes’, coined by Richard Dawkins and explained as

'An Internet meme is a hijacking of the original idea. Instead of mutating by random change and spreading by a form of Darwinian selection, Internet memes are altered deliberately by human creativity. There is no attempt at accuracy of copying, as with genes - and as with memes in their original version.'

More info on that here: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2tIwYNioDL8

So, skip to my sort of point; Mad Max (not just the character of Max Rockatansky himself but the entire concept of the world he lives in) currently exists in many forms, copyright permitted as well as in the works of fan fiction, fan art, ideas that have ripped it off and all manner of unofficial gubbins, so if I was to go around claiming to actually BE Mad Max, it could be argued in a philosophic sense, I actually would be Mad Max, as much as say the official video game was or the upcoming line of Pop Bots are anyway (which is odd because they’re much further away from the original source material than I am, at least I’m in proportion and am a human!)

The point being, in a present where people are bending over backwards to have the right to be whatever they want to be, once the H-Bombs have done there thing those who have survived should be able to really, just, be whatever they fancy. Be it a post nuclear war ex-highway patrolman with a penchant for sawed-offs and canned dog food or a persuasive anthropomorphic crab who works for the Royal family (as seen here: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=GC_mV1IpjWA )!

So on the plus side, with all there is to worry about at the moment, at least we’ve got that to look forward to!

And no I wasn’t high when I wrote all this.

[anyorderofus]

New title alert.

Next week (by which, we mean this Sunday...apologies again) now has a title!

It’s: Channel Number Five. 

So there we are...tune in this Sunday! 

[anyorderofus]

Exits

Ugh...jet lag? No. Been busy? Yes but we have been before. Couldn't be bothered? No, never, ever, that's not it! So...no excuses for posting a weekly blog 3 DAYS later than promised? Well when you put it like that...

We're just so sorry.

What with a mix of the above excuses and not being in the country much of late (show offs), we let our calling slide. We're not proud of it and we will try our upmost to not let it happen again.

To add insult to injury, we're separated from our jar again too so we have no title for this coming Sunday. Yet. We'll see to it asap. In the meantime, we hope you can see past our nonsense enough to want to still read this week's long awaited blogs!

We will be here Sunday, for sure.

Nico & Alexandra|Alexandra & Nico

NICO

Strange how 'Britain' + 'Exit' equals 'Brexit'.

Does anyone know if in Italy it's referred to as 'Bruscita', and in Germany 'Brausfahrt' etc? Both sound like they could be tasty meats (cured and sausage respectively). I wonder if the powers that be ever considered the possibility of naming the situation 'BrEU'. Which sounds like a cheese. Strange that this highlights two of the things I'll miss the most about free trade. Meat and cheese.

ALEXANDRA

What goes in must come out. Exits. My favourite exits are the straightforward relaxing ones where you can chat with others, chill out and reflect on where you've just been as you leave. I live in fear of - but like to think I am always prepared for - emergency exits and have only ever partaken in one (touch wood) - Nico and I were evacuated from In The Night Garden Live once if you can believe it. They're probably my least favourite type of exit, a rushed one. I linger for longer when exiting the cinema or theatre...I exit public loos quicksticks mind; don't want anyone thinking I'm the cack culprit of cubicle 2. Exits can be meaningful though, can't they? When exiting a room with a loved one in it who doesn't exit with you. For an actor, exiting the scene of the stage for the first and last time as you shimmy back into yourself can be as overwhelmingly, mind boggingly traumatic as it can be euphoric. Exeunt. If you exit a busy pub full of people laughing and declaring their love at you - you know, the best kind of nights - to spill on to the chill and calmness of the street outside, you might feel reset, refreshed and assured that you're loved and can love and that there'll always be more nights, more memories that won't leave. We'll be exiting soon. We're nearly done with this series of blogs. Exiting a year, an era to start another one. It won't be forever (watch this space) but it won't be the same. It might be sad, it might be okay, fine. But I hope above all, it'll be as exciting an exit as the entering of this project was.

[anyorderofus]

London

Hello from…Italy,

Sorry in advance but our blogs are both a little miserable this week!

We hope you find a little more cheer in the next ones. The title will be: Exits.

Ok. See you then.

Take care and arrivederci!

Alexandra & Nico|Nico & Alexandra

ALEXANDRA

A love(ish) letter to London,

Dear London,

I love you. Except for when I f***ing hate you.

Actual, blood boiling, seething, searing, proper hate. You’re full of rudeness, unfair advantage and a need to wash my hands. But the love for you?

It drives me nuts, around the bend and back again.

When someone smiles at me in you, I feel light, right and like it’ll be okay - until a shitbag bashes into me.

When I get from A to B without delays - which can happen - I feel like we’ve accomplished something together - until I’m told to seek assistance.

Walking home through you on a clear and summery day gives me time to think, consider and rethink. The perfect time to be alone - until a suit interrupts me, all too loud on his phone.

When I walk back to my flat of an eve, I feel overwhelmed by a sense of home, warmth and safety - until I remember the rent at risk of rising, the missing smoke alarm and stolen bike(s).

My relationship with you is like a rubbish one with some other one. You show a lack of promise for the future, you come down on me but you inspire me so that I can’t just cut ties and forget you. You have so many beautiful things to show me; some secrets for just me, some I can show and share. You cost a fortune but I’m richer for being in you. With you. You’re open and I feel lucky to be at the receiving end.

I don’t know London. I’m scared of you, for you and in you and I seem to be now even more but London, I kind of love you too.

Yours probably always,

A x

NICO

SOME of my impressions of London after living here for 5 years:

Everyones mighty jumpy.

It rains a lot and if the sun comes out, every patch of grass will be covered in topless people.

The public transport is pretty stressful as chances are you’ll be approached to be asked directions, for money, or on-purpose-by-accident prodded in one part of your body or another.

Beautiful sites, old and new; great for fans of Instagram.

A lot of people born in the city who wish people wouldn’t keep moving in.

A lot of people moving in who wish there were less people originally from here.

Plenty of cinemas. Cineworld cards are worth it. Being out the house for the day is worthwhile.

Plenty of good fringe theatre if you can be bothered to look for it (a lot more rewarding when you find something you love).

Plenty of music.

Multicultural but my goodness is it tense.

Shops I’ve come to refer to as cheap, are ridiculous. Especially when I compare prices with other towns.

Emergency services seem to do the best with the money they’re given.

There are A LOT of jobs here if you’re happy to swallow your pride.

People are spoiled customer service wise. Seem to expect miracles just because of their location.

Driving through central is like rollerblading through molasses.

Tourists think because you pay rent here you know the city inside out and back to front. Almost as if you finish your 12 hour cleaning shift then explore every entrance exit of Shaftesbury Avenue checking which restaurants allow dogs in. I mean why wouldn’t you.

It’s expensive to have friends.

It’s not short on coffee shop chains.

It’s basically a giant museum, make the most of it!!

Everyone who just got there is a dinner plate eyed dreamer and everyone who’s been here more than a year has horrible stories about public toilets and nightbusses and their ‘new amazing direction’ with regards to their career.

Nobody cares about each other until a pensioner falls over, then one by one people seem to snap out of a weird London trance. Sadly, not enough people.

There’s some sort of boat bus thing that seems to be used by a bunch of Truman style extras. Yet to ask someone if they’ve used it who says that have.

That’s just some of the MANY things I’ve noticed about London. Let us know what you’ve noticed please! I might even do a follow up to this one, I’m away on holiday and this has been tricky to sit down and write so apologies for any disjointedness!

[anyorderofus]

Boat.

Good evening blog fans!

Blogging live from Italy and hoping all that stuff about data charges is true as one false move and this could cost next months rent!

We’ve been told by a very trusted reader that we could perhaps ‘go a little further with it’ so we’re going to try our best to make the last couple a little more thought provoking than normal!

Anyway, next weeks entry is entitled: London

Please read and even pleaser, ENJOY!!

Nico & Alexandra|Alexandra & Nico

NICO

Boats. Ships. Wars. Freedom. Over 70% of the planet is ocean. You get yourself a means to cross it and you have access to more of this big blue globe than any other land dwelling humanoid with an Über account. Of course some parts of it are considered “out of bounds” and there does seem to be some spoil sports who ruin the fun with rules about letting yourself cross sovereign borders willy nilly, but that’s not to say with a great big galleon you couldn’t physically just do it regardless.

The mystery of the legendary life at sea is almost as hard to grasp physically as the very idea of freedom itself. Where once superstitions and mythical tales of ghostly sea Captains collecting souls and giant monsters pulling unlucky crews to their deaths below the depth ruled the life of sailors, now lies scientific about the literal side of sailing, yet nothing about what truly lies at the base of the great blue mass has been answered. Boats, planes, even islands still go missing without a trace to this day, sometimes with no explanation all.

Ships have linked continents, giving the world some of its greatest ever alliances and advancements, whilst also writing some of the most unforgivable chapters in human history. The ships that have ruled the oceans for centuries have saved as lives as they have ruined. This incredible creation has forever changed the course of history for the entire planet, time and time again and will continue to do so as long as the blue parts of the world map, the real question is though…why dopeople like putting them in bottles so much?

ALEXANDRA

Boat. It’s a word. I’ve said it so many times whilst thinking of what to write for this blog that it’s sort of lost all meaning. I mean I know what a boat is: a vessel for travelling. A capsule for you - in water. A craft propelled by an engine or oars - and you.

But here are some other things the word, ‘boat’, made me think of:

Boaty McBoaty Face. I love England and I enjoy democracy.

The booze cruises I went on as a kid with my family. Mum and Dad bought wine, sure, but this lucky sod got lots and lots of croissants and even a keyring one year. Now, I like wine and we’ve not been for years.

Pirates of the Caribbean. Mind you, it is rare that I’m not thinking about those pesky pirates. 

Dun da da dun | da da dun dun dun dun dun | dun dun dun dun dun dun. 

The boat taxi in London. It accepts Oyster cards so I know it’s perfectly accessible to me and probably quite exciting but I am yet to find an excuse to use it. Maybe I’ll pop it on my annual bucket list under: Aquatic goals.

Gondolas! Yes. Great. They were very expensive to go on when I had the chance to go on one in Italy so that took the shine off but they looked lovely and romantic. Maybe I’ll get a job sailing one. Does one sail a gondola? Comment below.

One more to go crewmates! 

The US of A. Been, there, got the t-shirt and went on some boats. They were okay. The NYC one involved a lot of water but a lovely tour guide and it was a great way to spend 3 hours. I loved the one in Boston too (I’m showing off now) but our relative knew more than that tour guide so we felt a bit robbed of $10 each (made up price). Next, I’d love to go one in Seattle with my boyfriend and pretend he is McDreamy, before he died. 

Spoiler: he dies and it’s heartbreaking. 

So, there we have it. The word, 'boat’ may have lost it’s meaning but never will they - boats - not mean something to me. This woman is overboard with love for them.

[anyorderofus]

A nautical update!

The next title is Boat.

As you were. See you Sunday!

A&N|N&A

[anyorderofus]

I've just reacted to your post

Ermagod. Let us start with an apology. We wrote our blogs and were well prepared before we arrived in Edinburgh BUT, come Sunday, we completely forgot to post them!

We do apologise but please, enjoy them now as much as possible.

Sadly, we must finish with an apology too. The next title is in London - sorry!

We will have it ready to post on Wednesday, along with the following title. Urgh. Sorry. BUT, we hope this week’s will make up for our nonsense at least a little.

Best,

Alexandra & Nico|Nico & Alexandra

ALEXANDRA

And I loved it.

Well, sort of. For like, a second. If I didn’t, I meant to. I wonder how many times I’ve ‘liked’ something because it’s what I feel I should do, it’s what I feel is right and how many times I just haven’t.

I wonder how many statuses or pictures I’ve laughed out loud at but never bothered to say so to the author or publisher OR how many times - and I’ve definitely done this so, no wondering necessary but go with it - I have masked a reaction with an emoji that looks set to LMAO, LOL AND ROFL until the end of time - but barely cracked a smile 'in real life’.

The sentiment of 'I’ve just reacted to your post’ is actually beautiful. What if next time you were to see something lovely on social media; a picture of a friend looking gawjus, a blog written by a colleague who you know struggles to express themselves or a tweet detailing a funny anecdote, rather - or as well as - than just 'liking’ it and forgetting, you were to react to the face in a way that is representitive of how you really felt.

Call the friend to tell them they looked gorgeous and ask them to tell you about the night they were on when the photo was taken (at your own peril - you might have been the only one to not be invited). Send an email to the blogging colleague and congratulate them. Jealous of how eloquently they write? Tell them. It’s only pride and probably hiding behind screens in the first place that stop us from admitting to these things, congratulating others and seeking help. Beg your concise but funny pal to meet so they can tell you the anecdote in more that 140 characters again again again.

React to a post and then react to that reaction - do something about it. I’m going to try doing it more now. I don’t ever want to forget what it means to actually cry with laughter or what my friends’ faces look like when telling me a story - or mine when I’m listening - or being complimented and congratulated.

I don’t want to stop reacting even when the world tries to go so quickly that I can’t.

NICO

I just reacted to your post.

I’m allergic to envelopes.

[anyorderofus]

Green pants.

Hello everybody,

We hope you’re well on this not particularly sunny July Sunday.

This week’s blogs are below. Next week’s entries - which shall be entitled: I’ve just react reacted to your post. - will be posted LIVE from Edinburgh because, of course, the Edinburgh Fringe Festival is back next week. Hooray!

We will see you then.

Until...then,

Nico &Alexandra|Alexandra & Nico

NICO

I just wrote and deleted my third draft of this weeks blog because of the title triggering my over active creative brain.

I've been stuck trying to tie together some story ideas for about a month now and the ridiculous title of this weeks blog made me work at it all week to a standard I was happy with, but not happy with enough to post for the world (nor our two readers) to see.

Now this is by no means a cop out; hopefully one day I can post the scene I came up with (which would have been the final scene of a mid-point of a series, so I'd nailed down a plot twist, I feel, quite neatly). Unfortunately though, I genuinely feel out of context it would just make me look a bit scatterbrained. Something I don't mind usually when showing off a whole piece, but not something I enjoy conveying in small, seemingly randomly spaced out bursts.

Really made me think though. These 'green pants' have proven to be completely useless with regards to my blog, but potentially helpful with something on a bigger scale. Strange.

Apologies for having nothing particularly creative to post, although please, take a moment to think of the last time you were faced with a pair of at first seemingly useless obstructive green pants that soon turned out to be much more useful than they first appear...

ALEXANDRA

I couldn’t have found a better picture if I tried for my blog this week (see below).

When I saw this week’s title, my first thought was to write about the Green Giant and following on from this, about his pants.

But then, I had a thought, an inkling, a twinge of something that concerned me. I realised, when trying to, that I couldn’t envisage the Green Giant’s pants. I did wonder if that was because perhaps people aren’t supposed to think about the undergarments of fictional characters associated with popular sweet vegetables.

Eventually, I thought: Alex, there is only one thing for it, I must look at what his pants look like. What follows is super shocking so if you find shock shocking, please stop reading now.

***drum roll please***

THE GREEN GIANT HAS NO PANTS.

That’s right; the jolly Green Giant of Green Giant sweetcorn doesn’t wear anything underneath his fetching toga of topiary. Can you believe it? The man we are brought up to like and trust the veggies of; a man we literally looked up to. No wonder he normally has such a charming grin in the adverts.

Perhaps he isn't in grinning in the picture below because he’s been caught out, called out for that naughty nudist that he is!

I just feel a bit shocked, you know? Let down. And silly for never noticing. It’s quite obvious once you know where to look though. No version of the giant does have pants; not this one, not the original advert giant, let alone the new cartoony one. Not even the big statue (yes, people like him so much, that the good people of Minnesota even built  a statue of him!) has pant on. Not a single green or giant bottom is covered with a leaf or pant. I grew up singing the jingle of this guy, guiltlessly eating his product by the tin and I am personally offended when my Nan says she doesn’t like sweetcorn. How could you not be?

I guess I just have some thinking to do now. I need to work some things out. I’m not sure how I feel about him, about this situation anymore.

[anyorderofus]

When fans become friends.

Hi everyone!

It’s late but it is still Sunday and we’ve had a lovely one. We hope you have to. 

To make it even lovelier, we’ve still blogged. We hope you like them. 

We’ll be here next Sunday - like it or not - with: Green pants.

No, really. Sorry.

Anyway, see you then!

Alexandra & Nico|Nico & Alexandra

ALEXANDRA 

A poem. Ahem:

Every August, we meet again.

I say ‘hi’ and you dodge my eye

As you move away, from side to side.

 It’s not that we’re not friends in July or June.

It’s just that I need you more when the sun is higher

When you’re blowing in my face, putting out the fire.

 Speaking of, I hang with him in December.

I mean the fire.

You’re never not welcome though, we just don’t need you then.

We wrap up warm and we drink hot drinks and we throw things at anyone thinking of turning you on.

 It’s important you keep it together.

Ready for action, for when you’ll be needed which,

You will be.

Who knows? It might be a warmer May than some others.

It’s true, I have seen you often as an implement, a tool and a thing I need, not want.

But not now.

I’ve moved to a flat that is hot, hawt and sometimes even hott.

We need you

Always, forever and a day.

You are our friend, more than a fan.

But a friend and we

Thank. You.

NICO

It is then suitable to ask them for cash

What are friends for right?

[anyorderofus]

The end of everything.

Evenin’

We hope you had lovely weeks and weekends. Sorry to remind you that the latter is nearly over but the title of our blogs this week is The end of everything. We hope you enjoy them! And if not, perhaps you’ll enjoy the next title: When fans become friends.

You’ll find it unique at least, that’s for sure. See you then, we hope. Here’s to an even better week that last!

Best, 

Nico & Alexandra|Alexandra and Nico 

NICO

It’s all about to end right now, what’s your play? I’m at home right now. I’m writing for a weekly blog that gets roughly an average of 2 readers a week so I suppose my first thought would be to stop doing this on the assumption that neither of those people are going to spend the last couple of hours of their life waiting for a blog entry to be posted just before midnight. Also, it would be nice to think they’d go out thinking I had more important things to do than write a blog during the last moments of my life. They would of course be completely mistaken, but might give me a nice air of mystery before I go.

I want to say my first priority would be to say something inspiring and romantic to my partner who’s currently in the flat as well, but I fear that if I did it too early we might have loads of time to stand there and wait for eternal silence so the last thing we actually end up saying is something really tedious like, “shall we turn the plugs off or just not bother”?

Being the kind of person who doesn’t like waste I’d probably begin the end by raiding the fridge and eating and drinking as much as I possibly can before it’s too late. I reckon I could get through about two and a half litres of Pepsi Max and maybe a whole ring of Dairy Lea before having to come up for air. I mean both were bought for us by family members so the stakes are even higher as it wouldn’t be our cash that was spent in vain.

Perhaps I’d call the family? Try and get through as many as possible, although that could take hours (Gran can take a while, which is absolutely fine when it’s NOT the end of the world), but I’m assuming they know the situation and are working through their own Baby Bels and semi-skimmed in their own fridges, I like to think we’d all put time aside to call each other but given that it’s hard enough when we feel like we do have all the time in the world, it seems unlikely.

If electricity is still running, maybe I’d try and watch another episode of something. That seems pointless though as I doubt I’d get to the end of a series so I might as well watch something I’ve already seen. Couldn’t be something longer like The Godfather or Logan as if I’ve got that much time I wouldn’t be on the fridge yet.

I suppose now is the time to say goodbye to my partner. Spent too long trying to decide which film to watch as per usual, so many options weren’t there.

I think I’d probably try and remember something from a romantic film she might not have seen? Maybe she would say something first. What would you do? I suppose one day we’ll know.

ALEXANDRA 

10 minutes and 37 seconds.

There had been no electricity for months until they had turned a bit – just a bit – back on for this. “Odd” Carion muttered, “I didn’t think I’d be hungry. Are you? Hungry?” Dalton shook his head, his expression unreadable in the dim light and blind panic. “Sarya?” Sarya looked at Clarion, “Are you hungry?” “No. I’m not,” said Sarya, her voice hoarse.

9 minutes and 46 seconds.

“I’m starving!” Carion hopped off the kitchen counter and began to move the sofa, with some difficulty, toward what had once been a radiator. Sarya and Dalton watched, dumbfounded, as their sister pulled at a floorboard with all her might. “What?” She asked, chewing on what, her siblings could only judge by her expressions, was a very stale Hobnob – from before. “That’s a biscuit.”

“Yes.” Another chew, “Want one?” Sarya shook her head.

“How did you get those in here?” Clarion shrugged and, at Sarya’s lack of steps made to take a Hobnob, offered the packet to Dalton. She was as surprised as he was to see him take one but neither could have expected him to take a bite. The pair jumped as Sarya interrupted, “Clarion. How?”

“I don’t know. They’ve been there since we were first planted. I found them in the bag of some guy when we were on the way. He had like 3 packs which I’m not even sure is legal –”

She stopped talking at the double beep.

8 minutes.

“So, I took them,” Clarion finished under her breath, “Sure you don’t want one? Could be your last chance.” She dangled the packet in her twin’s face, stopping only when she saw tears spring to Sarya’s eyes, “I’m sorry.” Dalton swooped to pick up a discarded biscuit, lost in the dangling. He walked over to the bin and threw it, and his own, away. “You didn’t need to do that,” Clarion smiled.

“Just in case,” He shrugged.

“Of what?” Again, he shrugged and they fell silent.

5 minutes and 13 seconds.

It was Sarya who spoke first. “Is it how you thought it would be?” Dalton shook his head no and Clarion squeezed his hand, tight. It was enough to singe every nerve his body held. “I think I should say something meaningful or important. In case this is my last chance, I mean,” said Clarion.

“Like what?” Smirked Sarya.

“Like Rehan knew I was me – not you – when we kissed and he claimed twinfusion.”

A silence erupted.

“I knew,” said Sarya, “we were never going to last. You did me a favour.” The sisters, one and the same, gazed and then giggled at each other as their brother’s heart ached for Sarya, who he knew was lying and had wondered for so long why Rehan had never appeared remorseful.

“I wonder what he’s doing now,” Clarion mused, leaning once more against the counter. “Same as us I expect,” Sarya answered. “Waiting.”

3 minutes and 54 seconds.

[anyorderofus]

Who remembers that.

Hello one and all, 

We hope you’ve had lovely weeks and are ready to go at it again tomorrow!

In the meantime, here’s this week’s blogs to put you to sleep. We hope you wake up in time to read next week’s though! The title will be: The end of everything.

Nice and cheery then. 

All the best for now,

Alexandra & Nico|Nico & Alexandra 

ALEXANDRA

Who remembers that TV show? The one with that guy from that show that used to be on after school. You couldn’t catch up then, it was a onetime deal.

Who remembers that song thingy sung with that band when you were in year 7 or 10? And when it was No. 1 for 3 or 9 weeks? You probably had it on cassette, CD at a push.

Who remembers that first drink at that party when you had the house all to yourselves because her Dad and Step-mum were on holiday? And who remembers that blissful lack of a hangover that you’d now pay not to have?

Who remembers that which was all so long ago and those that, although you don’t miss bits; school, first loves, first times, first heartbreaks and last days of eras, you’d still do almost anything to go back sometimes? Yeah, me too.

Would you have savoured the good bits then, if you’d known you wanted to remember them all today? All the best parts; the most ridiculous things you’d ever heard and the most hilarious things you’d ever seen, so that when they’re done and you’re down, you could look back at them and remember when, them, those times.

Who remembers that day that it first hurt to wake up? That first time you were scared to be alone but too proud to admit it, to say it out loud? And who remembers that terrible lack of light? Because there was a lack. But you found it again, remember that. And you always will and if you forget, remember that show, that song and that time until you feel just about okay inside; ready to get up and get on with making a bunch of other ‘remember thats’.

NICO 

Who remembers that?

Who remembers the first time they drove from A to B without stalling?

Who remembers the first time they paid rent with their own money?

Who remembers the first time everyone in the room agreed with them?

Who remembers the answers they gave in their first successful interview?

Who remembers how many times they’ve walked past a bed without stubbing their littlest toes?

Who remembers how many times someone has told them they turned up just in time?

Who remembers that opportunity when they did or didn’t say ‘I told you so’, but could have?

Who remembers a day when they got to do whatever they wanted from the second they woke up to the second they fell asleep?

If you remember at least one of these things* then that means at least once in your life you have been a success. It can happen again. Have a good week!

*Yes I do I include the stubbed toe on bed in this. Never have I heard of such a large, heavy inanimate object get in the way of so many people walking the same route around their own bedroom. I consider it an achievement if I make it to the bathroom unharmed some days.