*'COME DIE WITH ME' (I WROTE A PLAY!)

Dear Fellowship,

So the last time I wrote a play was in 1991. And it was technically a pantomime. A sixth-form pantomime based very loosely on Cinderella. I wrote it, less because I wanted to write a play and more because everyone else was busy doing other far more boring things, like studying for their A-levels.

Writing a panto with roles for 60 girls (it was an all-girls school before you assume I'd relegated all the lads to 'Boy Sweeping Up in Background #1') was no mean feat but we somehow managed it with some frankly sensational creative thinking on my part. 

Narrative structure was cast aside for dance routines that the Backstreet Boys would be proud of and the writing process consisted mostly of people coming up to me at various points during lunch break , saying 'can you build in a scene where me and my mates can come on and dance to De La Soul / Happy Mondays / Kylie Minogue / Dee-lite etc etc?' and I'd go "Gaaaah! You are all killing my writer's soul. I bet Shakespeare never had to deal with this many requests!" and then I'd obligingly write the scene anyway. It remains one of the very worst and very best things I've ever written and I still can't watch the video of it without crying with laughter...

So that was then. And this is now. And a mere 26 years later, with a few more life experiences under my belt and 4 months after starting my M.A in Playwriting, I saw my first proper short play performed on stage last week. In public. With proper actors and an audience and applause and EVERYTHING. And it was kinda fun. Buttock-clenchingly terrifying and utterly exhausting but total fun. It's called 'Come Die With Me'. I do love a pun, me.

Despite the cheery title, it's not about cancer. I've been trying to half-heartedly write the cancer play but it isn't happening and to be honest, I've seen about three cancer plays in the last few months and one was a musical so as much as it's tempting to write a cancer panto, I figure the market for cancer plays is fairly saturated right now. My tutor is very fond of saying 'Why this play? why now?' and much as I'm always tempted to go 'huh? Because, like, deadlines?', she has a point. 

So instead, I wrote a short play about my dad, hired a coffin from The National Theatre, accidentally cast an Aussie, a Swede (the country, not the vegetable) and a Londoner who couldn't have looked less like each other to play a mother, brother and sister, closed my eyes and hoped no one would walk out. 

And it went ok, I think. 

Thanks to the hapless pals and family who gave up their Tuesday and Wednesday night to trek over to North London and laugh / cry in all the right places. And thanks to my tight team of trusted readers who patiently read every tearstained draft (there were 12) I sent them over Christmas when they were trying to open their presents, entertain their kids and drink vats of festive sherry. 

And sorry to those that I STILL haven't caught up with, despite being back for six months now. I am essentially a wild-haired recluse sitting in my pants, desperate for inspiration to strike until September 2017 so don't take it personally... :)

Love, 

VC x

*MAMMOGRAM-A-RAMA #2

Dear Fellowship,

"No change". Words you may not want to hear from a grumpy cab driver at 3am but definitely words to be grateful for following my second annual mammogram this arvo. Phew. :):)

New country, new specialists, whole new supply of ears to bend and minds to numb with dull cancer chat but pleased to confirm that the familiar buzz of the old boob-crushing machine remains the same, as does the British awkwardness of being manhandled boob-first into a fancy sandwich press by a total stranger. Good times. 

So all is well and I press on into another year 'cancer-freeeeee' (fingers crossed, touchwood etc etc) - happily, one year further away from the whole cancer shmozzle and sadly, less able by the day to legitimately refuse to do press-ups or rowing at the gym because "I've had cancer and a bad arm". Damn. 

The good news is that I've invested in a desk, got a desk lamp from my sister for Christmas, have gone crazy for coloured Post-Its and am constantly wearing a scarf that weighs more than I do so I'm pretty much killing it on the whole student front. To be honest, if I had a shiny Canon Starwriter on my desk instead of a Mac, I'd swear it was 1995 all over again.

As it is, I've just finished my first 3,000 word assignment since 1995 (it's on black comedy - seemed appropriate) and now only have a short play to polish, a TV pitch to write and three scenes to re-hash in the next ten days. Good Lord. Cue hysterical teenage tears followed by long, calming, procrastination-friendly dog walks...

So on that note, I must be off to stare blank-faced once more at my weary laptop whilst absent-mindedly chomping my way through an entire festive tin of Quality Street. It's always Christmas in VC's house when Tesco has those bad boys on special offer...

Wishing you all a very happy 2017! Am also braced and ready for the beach and sun shots to come at me so do your worst, my smug-faced, suntanned Aussie pals... :):)

Love,

VC x

* EDUCATING PETER

Dear Fellowship,

It has been more than two months since my last post and to be perfectly honest, I have wondered many times whether that might be it for the old #fotr. A slow but inevitable drawing of the Fellowship curtains triggered by the dawning realisation that I really can't and more importantly don't want to keep playing this cancer card forever (except to get out of stuff I don't like, such as burpees and speeding tickets) and that maybe it's the right time to withdraw gracefully into the shadows, like an ageing, silent film star. More emphasis on the ageing than silent, I fear..

But here's the thing. Last year's musings were, for sure, largely driven by the need to drag as many people as I could muster on the old cancery 'journeeeeeey' with me so that I wouldn't feel quite so like a bald Bridget Jones singing ‘All By Myself’ on the sun-drenched streets of Surry Hills. But I also came to realise that the sheer act of writing it all down was a decent way to process the frankly ridiculous situations that I found myself in last year.

And so now I find myself facing something of a conundrum. Because as of 6 weeks ago, I officially became a 43 year old cancer survivor at drama school in London doing a full-time Masters in Stage and Screenwriting. I own a puppy and live by the river in a cottage that would not look out of place in Midsomer Murders. I can light a fire. On my own. Today I even ordered firewood. I am virtually Bear bleeding Grylls. I commute into London with my 16-25 Student Railcard and I have an app called Unidays that I shamelessly use to drag student discounts out of every retailer in town. I scare my fellow students by reminding them that I was graduating as they were being born and that when I was last at uni, There. Was. No. Internet. 

So in many ways, it feels a bit like what I’m currently doing is even more ridiculous than that time a burping metaphysical hairdresser in Bondi chopped all my ringlets off and sold me a swishy wig for two grand. And I'm itching to write about it because a lot of this shit is comedy GOLD. 

But it’s also absolutely terrifying. And when it’s terrifying and unknown and a bit mad, it’s very easy to get lost in a world of ‘what the devil am I doing here? Where are my flip-flops and where's my green juice? Where are my beach and my boat-based weekend jaunts?Where are my Aussie maaaaaates? Where’s my job?!’ (That last one is blatantly untrue - I was born for this student life). 

Anyway, last year, I thankfully worked out quite quickly that sitting quietly inside my little curly head, over-thinking stuff like a pro wasn’t the ideal way to approach life in a rational, non-hysterical, non-screechy way and so I’m going to try to follow my own example and thus control the over-thinking by occasionally over-sharing on this very page. Ugh. Horror. 

Plus if I’m honest, I’ve come to the damning realisation over the last 5 months (I know!!) that I’m as useless at Skype’ing my Aussie loves as I used to be at Skype’ing my UK ones. The time difference is still baffling to me. So hopefully this way, when we do eventually speak, we can skip the ‘how’s student life?’ formalities and go straight to the good stuff…

But otherwise, apart from it being really quite cold indeed, all is well back in the land of Brexiteers and warm beers. I have my family quite literally on my doorstep, I've assembled a motley crew of specialists / slaves to tend to my every medical whim, I’ve bought not one but two Flump-like bobble hats for this approaching winter and am currently writing a play about a man who decides to better himself by going to university at the age of 43. It’s called Educating Peter. I think it’s going to be a big hit….:)

No such thing as a new idea, right?

Love, 

VC x

#rotr (return of the ringlets, obvs)

*WHERE DID A YEAR GO?!

Dear Fellowship, 

Because there ain't no selfie like a 'Happy end of treatment-versary to me' selfie! 

Today is a big day and not just because I intend to walk up the 4 trillion steps in the sweltering heat to our Amalfi villa without crying, swearing at my sister, hiding in a bush or throwing up on myself. 

Today marks a full year since I waltzed out of Sunburn Sue's office with a wig in my hand and a spring in my step, hopefully never to return. 

It marks one year since I cried like a loon and let my scrambled eggs go cold because of an 11 minute video of the best and most heartwarming friendship-based content on t'web. 

And it therefore also marks my being one-fifth of the way towards the old official 5 yr remission marker that we cancer survivors like to keep a watchful eye on from time to time. 

You may have gathered by now that I quite like a milestone, and this date, along with the original D-day on Jan 2nd, is the date that I will always put a nice tick next to on the calendar before quietly going about my much more important business of (this year) taking nauseating pictures of Italian sunrises, seascapes and Aperol spritzers.

So one year has passed - the wig's gone, the eyelashes, curls and arm have come back and I've now got more freckles than Bieber's got birds but other than that (and a low-key overseas move, quitting of job, renting of idyllic cottage in riverside hamlet and imminent student life), everything pretty much has stayed the same. 

So Happy Anniversary and thanks for gritting your teeth and counting to ten every time I triumphantly brandish the "but you must do this for me - I've had cancer" card. One day, I will stop. But not quite yet...

And most importantly, Happy 1st Birthday to my favourite Aussie/ Zimbabwean, Thomasina Dobson. I couldn't think of a better, brighter, happier little soul to share this date with!

Ciao for now (so Italian, me)

VC x

*END OF AN AUSSIE ERA

Dear Fellowship,

And so, after 2,942 days, 491 leaving lunches, 2 jobs, one extra passport, more weekends away than I can remember, a tussle with the big C and the discovery that 'short hair, don't care' is totally a THING, here endeth my 8 year-long Aussie adventure. For now. Because nothing is forever, right? 

Moving to Oz in 2008 with a backpack, a hangover and the mantra 'it's ok, if it doesn't work out or if it's too hot or full of spiders that will KILL me, I can always go back and live with Mum' was quite frankly the best and most ridiculous act of spontaneity I have ever performed. Until now, probably. 

More Connerty tears have been spilt in the last few months than during the whole of last year and whilst I like to blame the hormone drugs nowadays for any overt display of sentimentality, I must concede that leaving my beautiful second home and the very greatest of new and old friends feels like a squadron of tiny Navy Seals with heavy backpacks are abseiling down my heartstrings...

There's no question an adventure awaits but what a goddamn adventure it's been. 

Thank you to all my awesome pals who have tolerated my tears and tantrums over the last few weeks and quietly helped me lug crap out of the flat without complaint while I shuffled about, sulking like Kevin the Teenager. You are all phenomenal. 

And thank you to my crew in the U.K and the U.S who, over the last 6 months, have been patiently responding to my frequent 'OMG. Have I gone maaaaaaad? Waaaaah.' messages with an eye roll and "You were always a bit odd. Book the flight, loser". 

So for now but not forever, I'm off on a little trip. To London for a bit of drama school action via Singapore, Cambodia, India and Spain. It should be fun. There will be stories. And drama. Lots of drama. 

All that remains is to post a slightly smuggo selfie and bid my Aussie life adieu - get your spare rooms made up though, one day I'll be back and I have no intention of paying for my bed and board....

Big Aussie love,

VC x

*MAMAMIA FOLLOW-UP PIECE

Dear Fellowship,

So it's a whole year since I wrote that first article for Mamamia so I thought I'd write another one for them - my current output of one article per year feels very achievable.

And so here it is, up and on t'web accompanied by the most eclectic bunch of photos (chosen, I might add, entirely by them) ever!

It's a blatant and unapologetic re-hashing of my previous anniversary post from Jan but as you know, it's not entirely out of character for me to bang on about the same thing over and over again...

Love, 

VC x

http://www.mamamia.com.au/14-lesson-learnt-post-cancer/

*BIG NEWS - A NEW CHAPTER AWAITS!

Dear Fellowship, 

So perhaps because I am now fully immersed in the Julius Caesar / Cupid / Greek god phase of my ringlety re-growth, it came as no surprise to find myself stumbling across a quote the other day by my good friend in a former life, the wise old Greek philosopher Socrates. More surprising is that I wasn't wearing a toga or gladiator sandals to go with my haircut when I read it. 

He said "The secret of change is to focus all of your energy, not on fighting the old but on building the new." 

Then I spoke to my good friend Miriam Haddu on Saturday night via Skype and once she'd spent 20 minutes patiently listening to me moan on about all my ongoing aches and pains while I held my iPad above my head from my 'lying on floor because it's better for my achey back' position, she said "Well, what do you expect? You can't just go back to your old life or expect your poor body to simply sort itself out like it might have done previously. Everything has changed, so take your vitamins, eat some vegetables and stop sulking." 

She's like a modern-day Socrates but smarter. And better-looking.

So I've officially given up fighting the old. I've given up expecting my poor old musculoskeletal structure to simply return to its former invincible Northern monkey glory overnight, and I'm now attempting to do the daily rehab without rolling my eyes, take the hundreds of vitamins without gagging dramatically, knock back the nutrients without a murmur and focus on building the new. 

And talking of change, this seems like as good a time as any to announce that big changes are indeed afoot in my little world.

Of course they are. I'm not one to rest on my cancery laurels. I think it was always going to be tricky for me to return to the life I lived pre-cancer and just crack on almost as if it had never happened. I have much admiration for those who do but having last year off allowed me to not only recuperate but have a bit of a re-think about what I might like to do next.

And thanks to some wise counsel and encouragement from this here merry band, I think I've found it. At least for a year - I don't like to over-plan and over-commit, as many of you already know.

So (deep breath), in October 2016, after 8 tremendous years in Oz, I will officially be back in the UK as a student at Royal Central School of Speech and Drama in London. Yikes. 

Pastures new - Royal Central School of Speech & Drama

I'll be doing a 1 year full-time Masters in Writing for the Stage and Broadcast Media, hanging out with little Benedict Cumberbatch types half my age and trying desperately not to be the weird creepy mature student that no one invites to the pub. Yes, we all remember him / her from our uni days...

It's been a long process from the seed of an idea in October (thank you to Philippa Collier for planting it in NYC) to applying for the course in November (thank you to Mizz and Athena Mandis for their invaluable application-filling advice) to submitting some written work from Thailand in Jan (thank you to Caroline Reik for enabling me to write in the most beautiful of surrounds and being my audience of 1) to a midnight Skype interview to finally being offered a place in early Feb. 

I also need to thank my workmates at ZO for being so fabulously understanding and supportive when I resigned merely 6 weeks after I'd returned! Not many employers would hold a job open for over a year and then put up with said returning employee grumpily shuffling around the office on a daily basis. I believe it's called going above and beyond the call of duty, so thank you to you all but especially to my long-suffering team of Sarah Reynolds and Daisy Gunn.

But really, most thanks goes to all of you for encouraging me through your positive feedback to keep writing. Last year could have been really quite the shocker but having this Fellowship outlet allowed me to rationalise instead of catastrophise and more importantly, re-discover a passion that I'd long forgotten. And who would have thought a year ago that I'd be writing this particular post?! Funny how things turn out...

I will be heading back to the UK mid-June hopefully via a stint in SE Asia somewhere en route (all travel advice and recommendations gratefully received!) so plenty of time to get some lunches in and wave goodbye in style to my Aussie contingent! But as sad as I'm sure I'll be to leave, I'm very much looking forward to finally seeing my UK friends and family for the first time in eight years without the pressure of an impending flight to catch! 

So that's the latest news - I don't like to make my life particularly straightforward but then who wants a straightforward life anyway?

Love, 

VC x

My second, beautiful home..