Well... I guess you could say a typical day involves a lot of hiking and a lot of driving. Yup, that's the truth. I will give a run down of a packed LA day and I promise I will try not drop too many wank stain cliche'd daily routines in there. But it's LA. There will be a few and I have to admit, I love em.

So I set my alarm for 7.15am every morning. I often snooze until 8am. I like a snooze. The little pockets of extra sleep are such treats that I feel like I am somehow beating the universe (sorry universe) When I do wake up I might do a sneaky five minutes on Instagram. Post a pic from the day before and then catch up with friends, family, the boyf on Whats app and such social media. Soon as the UK has been up for a good few hours, there is often a good hour of much needed voice notes and all that jazz. When I do finally rise, it's often a choice between, a gym work out (in the park) a hike or a run (I know, so freaking wank stainy) Now you add exercise into your routine out here like it's part of your day job. Because it sort of has to be, because here they sell things like giant pretzels with honey mayonnaise and candied walnuts and jars of cookie dough... so, yup, all the hiking... it's a must. Or I may need a helicopter to lift me out of the bedroom window by the end of the trip. 

Whilst we hike we do the cliche'd reflection. Where we are at in our lives, where we are going. Whether it's worth it, and then we look out at the view and pinch ourselves. Or course it is. We look at the houses in the hills and obviously discuss the house we will have when we book 'that' job. It won't be a house in Beverly Hills, but maybe Silverlake or Los Feliz. Well, a beach house down by Venice would be nice too, with a porch and comfy cushions. We'd have a pool at both places and my place would be all white. Because well, Pinterest makes all white houses look totally practical and beautiful all at the same time. Between reflection and actual hiking we take many pictures of us jumping in the air. After about thirty snaps, where we get two of us actually in the air... 

Exercise done, legs shaking, you're in need of some food. This whole routine may be counter productive, but it feels good all the same. I often have brekki at home, because you eat out a lot here. It is sort of justifiably acceptable to eat out a lot here, because food shopping can be pricey. And eating out can be slightly cheaper than at home. Errrm, any old excuse I know. And sometimes we are rebels and eat out for brekki too..

We then head to a coffee shop for some writing. We often talk about what we want to write, more than we actually write, but either way we feel productive. I have an attention span of a gnat so often find myself writing for thirty minutes and then doing life admin for ten, then blogging for twenty and then back to the script writing for another fifteen. We make plans, we drink things like a matcha late (a wank stain cliche I like) we discuss the next days hike, we remember we have lines to learn for an audition on Friday, have a panic and start reading the script. The phone rings, it's the agent. You have another audition, but it needs to be in South African. WTF... I do not have that one on my CV, sorry, resume. Erm, Saaath Afrrican? Ok, yup sure, I say with pretend confidence. Got it. I panic. I go through the phone book, is there anyone I know that is South African and then I curse that I do not have more diverse friends. Jeez. You Tube, that will be my saviour. Or as it turns out. District 9. Fantastic, entertainment whilst learning.

Once confident enough that the lines are in, iccent is aahh kay (that's my Saaath Afrrican, in case you were unaware) matcha chai mocha cino skinny late drank, we head home to get ready for whatever evening is planned. Usually dinner out, seeing other British people out here, cocktails or comedy gigs. Tonight we are heading to the Magic Castle. A castle where there is lots of magic, literally. And you have to dress up all glam... que... a must needed trip to the Melrose. Note to self... Budget! 

You go out, meet new people, talk a lot, listen even more, drink a couple of drinks, one if you are driving. No one wants a Linsday Lohan rep of D.U.I's. You head home and wake refreshed the next day for a quick hike (again) before heading to the audition, where as it turns out, they don't need you to do South African, your British accent will do. You smile so much with relief that you actually come away feeling good about the job you just did in the casting and you breath...

Now between all the plans and the writing and the doing there are moments... Moments that you get to yourself and you suddenly feel this overwhelming feeling of angst. It isn't all rainbow farts and glitter clouds out here. There are moments that your own ego get to you. I like being busy. Busy makes me feel like I have purpose and busy means I often don't notice any negative thoughts that might crop up in my head. But the moments in between can catch you unguarded. This town has a good way of doing that to you because you are usually so busy doing, that when you suddenly stop, it feels weird. Suddenly you are aware that you are far from your loved ones. The ones that laugh at all of your jokes and listen to all of your whining. The ones that you can fart in front of and wear joggers and crocs in front of, the ones that won't judge you if you do not do your eyebrows or you can say mean things in front of and yet they somehow know you're not a mean person. You realise you are far from the place where you can talk bout Kim K and yet your people still know you can talk about things that are far more stimulating too. You are far from a place where you don't have to talk yourself up all of the time, or explain where Slough is (Yes the place The Office was based) A place where you can sit on the sofa and not feel guilty about being outside, because, well, it's raining so of course you can veg out and eat ice cream in your pyjamas. In these moments you miss sarcasm, pubs, pavements that aren't broken, driving on the left, grumpy faces staring at you on the tube, TFL... 

And then you come to and the teeny moments where you feel lonely, subside. At the mere mention of public transport in London, you're back loving the sunshine, the hikes, the views, the sunshine, the kale, the coconut water, the roller blades, the clear blue skies, the opportunities, the business, the no work, the toy money and you slap yourself for not living in the moment and feeling sorry for yourself for that split second. 

Of course you are grateful to be here. Of course you love it. The lifestyle, the chances, the new people to meet, but I would be lying if I din't let on that their are moments of doubt and insecurity. Moments when you feel lonely. Times when all you want is to hug the person that knows you inside and out or debate with you're friends that know you inside and out. There are moments when you forget the journey you are on and want to recoil back into comfort.

But also in those times, you are fully aware that life begins at the end of your comfort zone. (Pinterest says so)

Don't know when I'll be back again.

I've said my goodbyes, I've eaten and drunk myself into a coma, nearly. I've done the shitty prep. The tax return, the ironing, the washing, the bank transfers... Hair torn out, sleepless nights and I'm done. I'm nearly ready. 

I've dreamt of this sort of trip for a really long time. Since I was eleven and I played Blousy in the school play, I've wanted to go to Hollywood. And then I'm at the airport... And I can't feel anything. Well, none of the feelings I thought I might. I take a deep breath. Remember this moment. Be in this moment. Pinch myself, fart, do something to recall this exact moment where I am sitting on a plane, about to fly across the ocean, to another country, for three months. 

We can tweet tweets and state status's. Post pics on instagram of how amazing life is right now. Because it is. It's freaking amazing. But... Honestly. This moment suddenly feels bigger than me. Suddenly the intensity of disappearing for three months, spending a lot of money following a dream that is so fragile and unsteady, being away from friends and family for longer than I've ever been away from them ever... Suddenly I think I may have not just farted, but sharted instead.  

The moment feels bigger than me, because it is far beyond anything I can comprehend, but also, so right and obvious that it would be part of my journey, that essentially, I feel like I am dreaming. People keep saying things like 'good luck superstar' and 'see you when you've made it' and part of me cannot process the thoughts. I know people are rooting for me. Excited for me. But I feel pressure. Pressure to come back with a star on the Hollywood walk of fame, pressure to be in Titanic 2, pressure to be on cribs, or become bessies with Kimye... Yes I said Kimye. I have a slight panic... and then, I have a reality check. This is just about having an adventure and experiencing a life I wanted to experience since I was eleven in Bugsy Malone. It's just a little part of my journey. A snap chat of an existence based around a dream I had of heading to the land of opportunity. It is just a stepping stone onto whatever else is next in my life. 

I could meet Brad Pitt for christ sake and become his third wife, hey... Brandgelina might even adopt me.

As I came to the end of my adventures in LA the last time, I reflected on the five weeks that had been, and shit myself that that five weeks had been and gone in a flash. We plan and prep and look forward to such events and more often than not concentrate on the lead up far more than the actual event itself. Always forward thinking, always planning for the future. Even whilst I have been here the last couple of days I have caught myself a few times, wondering what it is going to be like when I arrive home. I've had to stop myself from the panic that I know may ensue. The sheer overwhelmness of coming back to the real world like a deer in head lights and keeling over at the mere mention of grey skies, rain and the London Underground... No no no I cant do it...

I'll be honest, part of me is freaking scared. I'm scared/anxious/worried of a million things that I don't want to mention. I'm worried of coming back and everything being the same. Worried that I will always look at the price tag on clothes, that I will return to a day job I don't like, that I won't be content, that I won't book regular work, that I'm following the wrong dream, that I will somehow disappoint people if I don't come back with a blockbuster movie deal and stories of how Elton John massaged my feet whilst Emma stone bought us shots and I am worried that 'I' will come back disappointed that Elton didn't massage my feet or I didn't do shots with Emma Stone.

A teacher said to me once that worry was the egos way of protecting itself from the pain they believed was coming their way. 'If I worry about the plane crashing, or the boyfriend cheating, or the lack of job I have or the five things off my list that I didn't do' then when all of those things happen, I will not feel as bad about them. I will have predicted, prepared for said shit to hit the fan and there for when covered in said shit, It will not phase me, perhaps I wont even smell it. It turns out... I was wrong! Just because we predicted being covered in feces, will not make being covered in poo any less traumatic. Instead you will have spent hours, days, weeks, months, in a negative, shitty (mind the pun) state of mind, to inevitably, what is SHIT anyway and will not BE any less SHIT because of said prediction. My teachers shortened version was... 'Worrying that the plane will go down, will NOT make it any less painful when it does'

As an actor, you get asked such questions as, 'When's your big break then?' Or 'You want to be in Easterners right?'or 'When are you gong to give up?' And I would quite like to ask... 'When are you going to give up your day job?' There is no definitive answer. There is no, (If I don't come back with a job in Curly Sue 2 or Fast and Furious 12 then I quit) This just is it... and no worrying otherwise will help.

These are the days... THE days, the ones we look back on and go 'Sheeet, I did that, I went there, I met them...' Those days are now . Brene Brown (my own personal Guru) says that the difference between people who resist joy (grumpy fearful people) and the people who accept joy less grumpy fearless people), is that the people who accept joy practise gratitude. Horrendously, practising gratitude was not built in me innately. It wasn't that I was ungrateful, it is just that my pattern was to focus my energy on the crap that went wrong that week, or the things I didn't get done and it was less easy to focus on the small little things that happened that made my day/week wonderful. 

So now I have the 'ten things I am grateful for' list and it helps me remember to enjoy every second because... these are the days!