March. The month after February, the month before April. The month that’s only one month before April and two before May. If I was having a conversation with you I would say: “Ah, mate – it’s not been too shabby. Yourself?” Alas however, it is not; it’s a column. All I can do is tell you that it has “not been too shabby.”
“I am basically the new Ryan Gosling”
At the start of die monate auf Februar – as they probably say in die Deutschalandia – I took part in the New Theatre’s Unscripted programme: I played Dopey the Dwarf in a panto and, in case anyone didn’t know, this is ironic because I’m actually quite tall. Needless to say, I completely smashed it, got an unbelievable number of laughs, and am already being talked up to replace whatever amateur is playing Han Solo in that new Star Wars film. I am basically the new Ryan Gosling. The whole shebang’s highlight was the traditional opening-night curry at Savera’s: I got chicken tikka masala, a couple of naan, and some sagaloo. Matt played an ugly stepsister and he kept his fake nails on during the curry because he claimed he couldn’t get them off, but I just reckon he finally felt like himself for the first time.
“We then drunk texted our old English teacher, Ms Georgiou, singing her praises”
The one and only, inimitable, irreplaceable, fantastical SoulJam occurred just after the whole Theatre malarkey. My mate Noah and I ended up pre-drinking in an empty JCR looking at some grime videos our friends from school had made. It made me extremely emotional purely because of how high the production value was on both – the aerial shots were fucking beautiful. We then drunk texted our old English teacher, Ms. Georgiou, singing her praises, rather than saying the usual stuff boys drunk text at that time, which generally involves messages about wanting to be with a girl just fuckin loads and loving her so fuckin much that you just can’t fuckin breathe without her. Or the alternative, that you want a shag or something like that.
SoulJam itself was a bit of a fuck up – nobody could get in because they’d sold beyond capacity, so there was just a crowd of drunk teens swaying to and fro, getting crushed like those in the front row. When we managed to get in I did my classic dance move, which is move side to side for the whole night. I personally think it’s pretty sexy and allows me to pull loads of birds, but due to the fact that I received no female attention and my friends telling me they laughed at my dancing the whole night, it may suggest that I might be wrong.
“I won’t be taking no direction from some twat”
Auditions In-House at the New Theatre were not too bad. They were a bit stressful at points and there were a lot of actor-y types who sort of scratched their chin while looking at the script before setting up the scene for you and giving you directions for how you should act. Na, how about you look after your own fucking audition because who’s the one who’s managed to nab a fucking part, you tit? Breathe, Ronan, breathe.
Anyway, yes I got a part in a play and it’s gonna be lit, and I won’t be taking no direction from some twat who thinks that just because he’s been an interpretive tree in year 11 as part of the GCSE drama module he can tell me what to fucking do. Twat. Oh, and my exam results were bang on average, got that cheeky 2:1.
“Always try and make the best out of what you’ve got”
Clearly, it’s not that difficult to have the appearance of success at uni. To a casual observer, I look as though I am “thriving”. Some may even say “flowering”, like a lily, or a camellia, or a rose, or something lovely and flowery like that. In all fairness, I kind of am. Things are pretty solid: I’ve got this column lark, got the acting bollocks, got all my limbs, got food on the table, got a roof over my head, got a family who tolerate me, got a couple of acquaintances, and a nice selection of shampoos and shower gels my mum got me for Christmas. I’m grateful. Try and be grateful everybody. Keep up the good fight. Always try and make the best out of what you’ve got. General advice (salutes). Bye in Afrikaans: Totsien
Ronan Sullivan
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