Decisions, decisions...

So it's 16 days until we get the keys to our first house! One more week of work, then we're off to Jersey for 6 days, and then it's back for a frantic few days of packing! We get the keys on Thurs 5th, and the plan is to paint for the first couple of days and then move in on the Saturday. Which brings us to one of the most difficult questions for new homeowners...

What colour to paint the walls??

The owners before us were an older gay couple and although the house is in fairly good nick, some of the colour choices are a little... well, let's just say not to my taste. We've got deep forest green in the bedroom and alternating red and yellow in the living room. Lovely! So these will be the rooms we deal with immediately.

Now, Paul (bless him) has pretty much surrendered the interior design to me, so off we went to Homebase on Saturday to look at paint colours. I'm thinking off-white with a warm pinky-yellow hue for the living room, and off-white with a bluey-grey hue for the bedroom. (Off-white- always a winner!)

We bought three tester pots for each room and after an initial attempt to paint pieces of A4 paper (I was desperate!) Paul's mum offered her garage wall to test on. (See above- apologies for dodgy camera phone pics.)

Cue lots of standing and staring, fetching of various family members and a multitude of opinions, painting a border of white around each to see what it would like against white skirting, deciding I didn't like any of them, before finally realising that it's only paint, I can't spend any more money on tester pots, and that I can always change it if I really don't like it.

And the winners?

We've gone for the middle pink, which is Blossom White by Dulux (the cheaper option), and the top grey, which is Cornforth White by Farrow and Ball (the How much?! option) for the bedroom.

Will try and take some Before and After pictures when we're in!

Finally!

After months of house-hunting, negotiating, begging a mortgage lender to lend us money and sooooo much waiting, me and Paul finally exchanged contracts on our first house today!

We get the keys on the 5th August and I've already bought a trio of lanterns from Asda and a clothes hook that spells out Love.

To say I'm excited is an understatement.

(I would just like to point out that Paul does not have a mullet. Nor is our house that big.)

What's in a name?

'Sama' is an unusual name. Fact. I have been on this earth for almost 26 years and I have never met another Sama.

Once, aged 13, I heard from a friend that her sister's mate's brother (or something like that) was called Sammer, spelt with two m's and an 'er'.... But he was a) male and b) of African descent. And occasionally I'm in the supermarket and I hear my name called (or something very similar) and 9 times out of 10- although I don't think it's actually happened 10 times- an Asian family will walk past. This makes sense because apparently Sama means tranquility in Sri-Lankan. Which is quite nice.


Growing up with an unusual name was... unusual. At primary school anything different is seen as freakish. Other children would wrinkle their noses and roll the name around their mouth as if it had a bad taste. Adults would first stop as if they'd misheard, then say the name out loud, just to make sure they'd got it right, and then say:


'That's an unusual name!' (meaning 'I don't like that.') 'Where's that from then?' (meaning 'Are you foreign?)


I would answer dutifully that apparently it's Sri-lanken for 'tranquility' but no, I'm not Sri-Lanken; I'm as English as they come and my mum and dad found it in a name book as an abbreviation of Samantha but they didn't like Samantha so they just went with Sama because they were hippies. (And breathe.) Which is all true. But quite a mouthful when you're 10 years old and you just want to get back on your bike and chase after your friends.

Fortunately I'm now old enough and wise enough to realise that having a different name does not make you a freak. I don't love my name- not like I love maltesers or having my legs stroked at least- but I certainly appreciate it, and as an actress it can be a big plus to have a unique name!

In the call-centre though, it's quite a different story.

Ahh yes, the call-centre. That wonderful place where day in, day out I greet people of all shapes and sizes, colour and creed with the joyful line:

'Thank you for calling *Weight Loss Wonders*, you're speaking to Sama, how can I help you?'

'Hello Barbara', comes the reply. Or 'Emma', 'Sandra' or even 'Sally'. The list goes on. And they always, always sound so familiar with me. Like I'm Babs from next door who pops round from time to time for a cup of tea and a fag. So assured are they that a) they heard me correctly and b) we're best friends from way back, they manage to get my new name in to every single sentence. Or that's how it feels.

'Oh Barbara, what I'm ringing for is...'
'I don't like my leader Barbara, I just find her so rude...'
'Nice talking to you Barbara!'

Of course, I could correct them from the beginning, but what would be point? There would be a slight intake of breath, a pause as they process the fact that my name isn't Barbara, but something altogether quite different, the confusion as they wonder whether they've been re-directed to a call-centre in India, and I'd only have to repeat myself a third time. And then spell it out.

Still, having to spell your name out is no bad thing, especially when I'm the one asking the name. I had a call recently from a lady called Tracey who wanted to cancel her account. Unfortunately, I couldn't find her details, no matter what I did. It was only ten minutes later, when we were both ready to tear our hair out- her insisting that she had an account and me telling her she absolutely did not- that I asked her to spell her name for me. How was it spelt?

Tray-C.

Obviously.

Loves and Don't Loves

I love:

planning my future wedding despite not being engaged; buying house and wedding magazines and imagining that a) I'm getting married, b) I own a house and c) I have a large amount of money to spend on a and b; laughing and banter with friends, preferably in a sunny pub garden with a large bottle of cider; food, of pretty much any description; white wine spritzers (with soda, NOT lemonade); Baz Lurhman and anything he touches (particularly Strictly Ballroom); coming over all funny at the sight of David Beckham and annoying my boyfriend no end; my boyfriend Paul (despite his many flaws).

I don't love:

the amount of money I spend on house and wedding magazines; asking for a white wine spritzer with soda and getting a white wine spritzer with lemonade; my inexplicable ability to start many, many things and not complete any of them; waiting for my agent to call; fennel, tarragon and anything else that remotely tastes of aniseed or liquorice; people who love talking about themselves but aren't interested in hearing about anyone else; The Jeremy Kyle Show; coming over all funny at the sight of David Beckham and realising it's never gonna happen.

Where to begin?

My name is Sama and I'm an actress.

I think.

Well, on paper I believe I qualify as one. I went to university to do a degree in Drama, and then on to drama school. At my showcase I performed a monologue that involved me whipping out a samurai sword from my handbag (seriously), and somehow managed to bag myself an agent who wanted to represent me. Three years and countless (although not as many as I'd like) auditions later, I've had several small roles on telly, met some nice and not so nice people a great deal more successful than me, and even signed autographs at a collectors fair! (Yes really, but more on that later.) So far, so glam.

And yet for approximately 359 days a year I am not acting.

I'm not auditioning, I'm not rubbing shoulders with famous people and I am definitely not signing autographs. No, for approximately 359 days a year (excluding Christmas and my birthday) I am sat in a call-centre, taking calls for a well known weight-loss company and waiting for the phone to ring with news of an audition/job/miracle.

All the while I'm coming home to my very lovely but inherently lazy boyfriend, who, despite us being together for 5 years, has only just realised we actually make quite a good team and that it might be quite fun to live together. We are in the process of buying our first house. God knows how- this time last year he pretty much had a nervous breakdown at the prospect of moving out of his mum's and in with his best mate approximately half a mile down the road.

Yes, this is the (not so) glamorous life of a bit-part actress/weight-loss advisor/long-suffering girlfriend.

Enjoy...