Previously On The A.C....

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Before AC, my life was barely exciting enough to fuel a single episode of Last Of The Summer Wine, and now it could possibly inspire an entire season of the O.C. On the whole my week has been quite surreal, mainly because usually these sorts of things only happen in guilty-pleasure teen shows. My hidden camera crew apparently started filming at the Open Mic on Saturday night at the Globe Lounge, the final performance of AC focus week in which a lot of the teachers went up and sang or told little anecdotes about their time at the college. The open mic must have expected the rich and diverse history of Atlantic college to actually inspire rich and diverse anecdotes, because they were done about an hour and a half earlier than they planned (the show was meant to be two hours). While we were all sitting there waiting for nothing to happen (a recurring theme at Globe Lounge, unfortunately), Thea stood up and yelled unmistakeably loudly over the noise of the packed room "IS EMMA WOLLUM HERE!?!" Unfortunately I do have a rather famous tendency to wear really bright, cannot-possibly-serve-as-camouflage clothes, and that night it was my bright turquoise top with gray leopard-print leggings. I REALLY wished I'd worn black when everyone started shouting "Em-MA!Em-MA!Em-MA!",rhythmically pounding on the floor with their teacups in a way that made it more impossible to sit down than to go up and sing. I satiated the Teacup Mafia with Ain't Misbehavin', after which Globe Lounge still had an hour and twenty-five minutes to spare. Matthew went up and told some jokes while Rosh and I deliberated and jabbed at each other for about fifteen minutes over whether we should sing the A.C. song (set to the tune of the O.C.) that we had written once in Physics, and who should announce it because I had already gone up and therefore she should say it but everyone liked me so I should but she was closer to the little stage area but my voice was louder but finally Signe just raised her arm and yelled "I THINK THESE TWO HAVE A PERFORMANCE FOR US". It was not, in fact, the social death that our beet red, glistening faces anticipated. We actually had to sing it about three times as slow and stop halfway through every verse because everyone was laughing so hard. WITH us, not AT us. Not necessarily the start to a successful TV season then, but the finale episode of the previous series, where the former insecure loner geek finally feels comfortable and proud of herself, and not because she puts on makeup or changes her outfit. Series two then begins with a wide-angle landscape shot over the wind-swept cliffs with the bright early afternoon sunlight casting only the barest shadows on the rocky beaches below. As the camera slowly zooms in, three figures can be seen crossing a stream at the bottom of the biggest hill, holding small packages wrapped in tinfoil, one hopping precariously over rocks because she has just discovered the hard way that one of her wellies has a hole in them right by her pinky toe. It was so breathtakingly beautiful on Wednesday afternoon that Sioned and Eli and I decided to sprint down to the cafeteria before it closed, make sandwiches, and spontaneously hike to the cliffs for lunch. Even what we said sounded more like film dialogue than actual human conversation, but how can you NOT ponder your (unbelievably, staggeringly miniscule) role in the entire universe when you've walked three miles from the castle to end up lying on your back on the top of the highest hill, looking up at the impeccably blue midday sky with only the streaked, muted green of the winter cliffs stretching out on either side of you and without any hint of human civilization (except some sheep with neaon blue paint on them, which doesn't really count) in sight? I kept expecting to reach my hand into the gorse and lavender-scented air behind me and find out that it really was only an impossibly perfect painted setpiece. It could only be improved with the addition of Chocolate Digestive biscuits, which we plan to bring when we return next Wednesday, rain or shine. There simply are moments that must be repeated...and some that ABSOLUTELY must not. Like trying to do Russian cossack jumps at Latin Dance. Perhaps it was some sort of divine warning to not mix salsa with squat thrusts, or perhaps it was just the next italicized stage direction in the TV script that is my life. Enthusiastically, I grand plied (because it just sounds that much more dignified than 'I enthusiastically squatted') and heard a pulling, ripping noise like all the speakers had been pulled out of the sound system at once. But the music kept going, so it wasn't the speakers. It was, in fact, my trousers, which enthusiastically made a journey down to my ankles. I couldn't just leave, because that would mean both flashing everyone else in the class and acknowledging defeat. Ola lent me her black scarf and I fashioned a skirt out of it to use in the remaining half hour, which didn't really go with my clogs and rubber duck printed socks but which saved me nonetheless. If anything, I'm sort of renowned for adding a bit of dramatic flair to everything anyway, which means that maybe everyone else can SEE the camera crew that seems to be following me everywhere I go. At the CAVRA simulation today, Ivar even gave me a water bottle labeled Oscar - Best Actress in permanent marker. I almost tried to strategically miss the CAVRA van this morning, because I desperately wanted to go to the England-Wales rugby match with Sioned and Eli and Josh (who, as an English boy, was working on his Australian accent so that no one in Cardiff today would actually kill him). After all, at the last simulation I had to be a boring plane crash survivor, and the person before me got the last dramatic injury card. Today, however, karma was on my side - this time, my card said 'Casualty SJ3, 8 years old, continually crying. Does not appear to be with parents and refuses to answer questions regarding name, address, etc.' CAVRA Exercise Hydra Part II at Cardiff International airport began at 9:40 in the morning. When they shepherded us through the door of Terminal B at 9:41, I went into wailing, unaccompanied minor-ish hysterics. I managed to squeeze out some actual tears about fifteen minutes in, both because I was freezing and because I realised how ridiculously boring it was going to be keeping that sort of thing up for the rest of the three-hour simulation. The airport staff actually got worried and used the code phrase "No duff?" to figure out if I was actually all right...but that was only after I collapsed. Martin and Leonardo (as two brothers who had just lost their parents on their way to visit their aunt) were collapsing at the same time, you see, and everyone was focussing on them, so I figured I'd give the airport staff a little more to do. I was the only casualty that got real coffee and real biscuits, and a pacifier (?). I had a rather stellar weekend in terms of coffee, first at the airport (which was actually the best cup - all right, cupS - of airport coffee I've ever had) and yesterday at lunch with my link family, where I had second helpings of everything including the espresso. In TV terms, my lunch with my link family would have been some sort of glorious montage with angel choruses in the background and me in the foreground gratefully and politely shoveling fish pie and chocolate-ginger pudding with fresh custard down my throat. I would make the front page of Hello! and Heat the next week for my sudden weight balloon (which, hopefully, will begin to deflate sometime soon...goodbye Nutella and Dutch peanut butter, it's not you it's me). Then the paparazzi would follow me to my aerobics activity and take pictures from unflattering angles of me in a leotard and green legwarmers - when I go to aerobics, I go ALL the way. Down to the side ponytail. Because of the press coverage, maybe the owner of the shoe store in Llantwit might let me have those gorgeous suede boots he's been keeping in the center of the display for weeks possibly to save me the trouble of actually going IN to the store and wistfully sighing over them, for free...

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