The Shine ™

Walking through a sunny London early this morning, trainers on my feet & music in my ears, I literally bounded through the streets and imagined I was in the opening titles of my film. 'The Life of Amelia Donkor so far' (title TBC) is a gentle perusal of a sometimes debaucherous, often excitable woman and her existence. I'm really quite happy right now and enjoying the plotlines thus far, however I'm not entirely sure who the author is because 29 years in I'm not exactly where I expected to be professionally. A decade after graduating from LAMDA I have had a fair to middling career, and though my passion has not waned, my frustration has grown!

Catching up with a couple of actor friends this week, one of them coined the term 'The Shine™' and it has stuck with me. Questioning why it was nigh on impossible to be seen for certain companies/jobs or finding yourself in 2nd place perpetually, she cleverly suggested it was because we didn't have 'The Shine™'. Now, 'The Shine™' cannot be bought, can't really be earnt, it is an intangible, magical light bestowed upon the chosen few. An actors desire, intellect and talent has no bearing on 'The Shine™', though please note that some with 'The Shine™' are bloody brilliant, it's just not correlational. In my bid to save us all from getting dirty, here are my top tips to getting 'The Shine™':

• Turn Back Time

This is not necessarily age related, but if you have the ability to rewind time and get that freshly graduated glow it will do you the world of good. The taste of the unknown and possibility of plucking a star from obscurity is an exciting prospect for the industry and may create the required shine; please note this method does have a warranty which normally runs 12-18 months after the time machine has landed.

• Sleep your way to The Shine™

Now this one is morally contentious and may not work in any way, but beggars can't be choosers! This is gender neutral but of course does require some research on sexual orientation, promiscuity etc of your chosen target.

• Reality Bites

If training and commitment won't cut the mustard, maybe a stint on reality television might? You may not make it to the upper echelons of getting dropped in a jungle or trapped in a house, but you're only one tragedy away from having that X Factor!


So there are my words of wisdom on how to get The Shine™. If I scrub long and hard enough I might find something someone else is looking for, but deep down I think I might be shiny enough. 

  

Christmas Presence, not Presents.

It's Christmas Eve and I'm curled up on my ma's sofa watching tele and eating excessive amounts of cheese. I'm lucky enough to have been off work for the last 4 days and have pretty much been focused on these tasks for the entirety of my visit. For me this is what the festive break is all about; mum & bro time, driving practice around the Spa, food and heating (that i haven't paid for!), childhood traditions with my oldest friends and lots of sleep. One thing I haven't been concerned with is presents. The hideous new terminology of 'Black Friday', 'Cyber Monday' and what I'm sure today will be 'Crazy Christmas Eve' have no place in my vocabulary or Christmas timeline.

On Sunday, I had the most wonderful day with all of my extended family and though I had a pang of guilt when presents started to be exchanged and I was empty handed, on the whole I was glad to have not wasted time and money on gifts that had no use to my family but purely acted as a marker to the accepted norm. This is our first Christmas without my beloved Grandma and a get together with everyone, including the newest addition of 2 week old Bethany, is the brightest star on my festive horizon and worth far more than any gift.

So many aspects of our modern life are governed by what we spend and how good it looks, but as we meander through this post recession world, shouldn't we face the question of the economy of gift giving whilst the spirit of Christmas/austerity is in the air. I have always had a sense of savvy and nothing gives me greater pleasure than getting a good deal. Discounts, sample sales and cashback are my raison d'etre. You could say I'm the female equivalent of Martin Lewis (Martins money saving tips) but with less knowledge, skill or research...

I genuinely love to give gifts and shopping for them too, but when my bank balance is debilitated, the shops are horrific and time is restricted, is it so bad to give something that someone else has given me? Not necessarily because I don't like the present, it may be that I love it and just have multiples or think another friend may enjoy it more. Does that detract from the quality of the gift or my desire to give? These thoughts have resulted in my gifting mantra: Reduce, Reuse, Recycle (Re-gift). It's not a new idea and though potentially controversial, could this revolutionise present buying forever more?!

Reduce

Very few people are getting presents from me this year. A lot of the time we give just because we think we should and ultimately I'd rather spend the money on an experience with my friends than unnecessary presents for them.

Reuse 

I get given awesome stuff at work, so under the tree you will find parcels that weren't even wrapped by me, let alone paid for! They are still awesome.

Recycle

I am not only unafraid to recycle old presents, but also ideas...  I believe my mum and I may have bought identical gifts for one another. 

Tomorrow will be an intimate little Christmas with my mum and bro, and I can't wait. I genuinely don't need anything, and when my brother asked me what I wanted I requested socks (you can never have enough). I have a feeling we will have a highly caffeinated house very shortly (let's wait and see) but more than anything I  just want time at home with my nearest and dearest. I haven't even bothered with Christmas cards this year, I will see my oldest friends in Leamington, call my loved ones and with the wonders of modern technology even Facetime others further afield. I hope I don't come across as a Scrooge in this; I desire all of the magic, all of the sparkle, peace on earth and all that jazz, just without the desperate dash down the high street. And any Christmas presents you receive that don't fulfil your Christmas wishes, it's less than 2 months until my birthday... Time to get into the re-gifting spirit.

Happy Holidays xxx

The Waiting Room of Death

I've been in the Waiting room of Death for so long, but that does not ease the pain that permeates through my body, confounded by the shame I feel about the words I wrote only a week ago:

'I struggle to think these words, let alone write them; I want my grandma to die' 

My grandma truly is the best. Of course my opinion is bias but here is a 96 year old woman who has been a stalwart of brilliance and love for my entire life. For the last few years she has deteriorated suddenly, and the vibrant woman I knew changed dramatically. When family pictures and declarations of love no longer brought a smile to her face, knowing I couldn't alleviate her sadness, I gave up my selfish desire to have her with me forever and wrote down the above words. Yesterday evening my beautiful grandma died and I so desperately want to take back those thoughts. I always dreamed of gran living to 100 and told her numerous times! I grieve the husband she will never meet, the children she won't cuddle and the cakes she can't bake in my first home. I realise this is possibly over sentimental grief talking and it was probably unrealistic for my children to meet gran (after all I never knew my great grandma) but this doesn't negate the intense sense of loss now.




I first realised my gran was not immortal when she had a fall and spent some time in hospital. It was like the second there was a crack in the armour of Gran's strength, she was very quickly a vulnerable old lady. She soon got back into her home and I papered over my concerns for Gran's instability, but by the time she was next hospitalised I realised the precipice she was on. Looking at this tiny little lady engulfed by her functional NHS bed telling me she wanted to die, I knew I was waiting...






The last 2 years have seen two of my good friends parents die and recently my mum had an emergency operation, all adding to this sudden feeling of imminent morbidity. When I sat at the hospital waiting for mum, I cried, not because she was in immediate danger, but somehow being in this clinical backdrop with her brought me one step closer to the same feelings of fear and pain I experienced with gran in her hospital room. Such a different situation but my loved ones' fragility is etched on my heart.

The penultimate time I visited my gran in her dull but conscientious care home I was dismayed by the lack of stimulus for the elderly patients, the stagnant environment was literally a waiting room of death. As comes naturally in my vaguely idiotic nature, I did a little dance with Gran's walking stick and everyones eyes lit up. My dance and subsequent medley of songs were in no way impressive, but a little bit of young blood and energy seemed to make the world of difference and break the bland monotony of care home life. I later chanced upon an article about German 'multigenerational houses' which seem an inspiring concept to me. Gran had lived on her own for a long time before spending a year in a care home, and I can't help but wish that her wise but frustrated body and mind could have been revived by a daily injection of youth. 

Elizabeth Margaret Downie nee Kirkham lived a wonderful life. Known to her friends as Betty, she worked tirelessly to create a great life for her family. She built (yes built!) the house I have always considered my family home and instilled in me a great sense of strength as a woman. Today was her funeral and I have been able to say a final farewell to my beloved grandma. I was reminded of her immense skills as a seamstress, cook and baker extraordinaire and most of all a carer at her core with green fingers! She was an inspiration to so many people and this was apparent in the smiling faces I shared stories with today. The heart-warming service and colourful clothing (gran didn't want all black) has celebrated an exceptional woman and reminded me to cherish my family all the more. Forever an inspiration.

Born at Feckenham 21st September 1918
Died at Studley 1st November 2014

Rest in Peace granny xxx

A Proper Cup of Coffee from a Proper Coffee Shop

I drink too much coffee. Many people are guilty of this, but perhaps our biggest bad habit is where we buy our coffee from. Starbucks has been making coffee cool for as long as I remember and as a teenager I trained myself to like the taste because this new green logo'd establishment was the 'place to be'.

So ensued years of caffeine dependency and a fully fledged flavour desire, and I dread to think how much money I have spent on a skinny latte to take-away. Membership cards and loyalty stamps have all lured me in but why oh why have I been a sucker for these giant chains? Do I prefer handing over my money to companies that make colossal profits and allegedly pay minimal tax? Not really, no! And I'm presuming that most people find this type of dishonesty leaves a bitter taste in their mouth. It seems that all of the massive companies play the game of tax avoidance and moreover flood the high street with their recognisable name. Using their superior might and money they can afford to have 2 stores ridiculously close to each other, purely to take control of the area and put all of the independents out of business.

On a recent trip to Paris I was struck by the omission of chain coffee shops. Apart from in the very centre, appealing to the tourists, Paris was an oasis of individuality. Why on earth would they want to frequent another bland and soulless establishment? On my return, I was walking home from Southwark tube station and saw a new Costa was being developed on The Cut. A beautiful road full of theatre and creativity is being defaced by yet another vapid conglomerate cafe, and I decided enough was enough. From now on these big bad coffee shops are not getting my support and I urge you to do the same.

I've discovered some gorgeous independents and let's be honest the coffee tastes a hell of a lot better too. My favourite local is Four Corners on Lower Marsh. Friendly staff, flavoursome coffee and and for a little later; tea infused cocktails that will perk you up! Free and easily accessible wifi will make this place perfect to get a couple of hours work done with a cheeky bit of cake as an added bonus. If you're looking for a stylish space, look no further than St. David Coffee House in Forest Hill, owned by three actors and creatives with a taste for great coffee. Their community credentials are second to none and this bijoux cafe boasts pop up art events and pizza nights too! I also love Artigiano on New Oxford Street. Disclaimer: there are three of these but that number seems acceptable to me! Again, friendly staff, all important appetising coffee and healthy fresh smoothies make this place a great haunt.

I rue the years I've wasted in generic coffee houses and absolutely adore the individual, quirky spots. Politically I have always gravitated towards the little places, but practicalities of life (mainly my bank balance) mean that I'm not quite ready to abandon my Tesco clubcard, but the great thing with this venture is there is no financial implication. Often an artisan coffee house will cost less and be of a higher-calibre; win-win! I know we all like what we know, but with a little bit of research it's easy to find interesting cafes that are just as convenient and far better in every way. London will be bursting with awesome choices and if you have any great recommendations please do add to the comments and we'll all share the love...

...Say goodbye to mediocrity and hello to a proper coffee from a proper coffee shop.

My Afro Diaries

As a toddler my personality reflected my wild hair; untamed & not abiding to any rules. I never saw a difference between my friends and I, racially, socially or other and joyfully meandered through my prepubescent life. I am of mixed heritage, English & Ghanaian, & my mother who is white was very much my primary care giver. This fiercely intelligent woman inspired so much in me, but hair care was never a priority! Even if my mum had shared my hair type, this would still not have been a focus in our household of which I am grateful for.

Unsurprisingly, by my teenage years I loathed my hair. The adolescent phase that so many experience of wanting the opposite of what you have- blonde to black, straight to wavy & in my case frizz to sleek. After a short & indefensible stint having a bold red fringe, I eventually took the aspirational step of chemically straightening my hair. The anticipated rewards of success, popularity & undiscovered beauty never materialised. Straight hair does not automatically make you Barbie pretty! Years later reading Toni Morrison's 'The Bluest Eye' I was painfully reminded of the inexplicable desire to capture an unreal & superficially concocted appeal.

“It had occurred to Pecola some time ago that if her eyes, those eyes that held the pictures, and knew the sights—if those eyes of hers were different, that is to say, beautiful, she herself would be different.”

Replace eyes with hair & I recognised a little of me, luckily this high maintenance style was brief; a lifetime of delinquency with my hair meant that blow drying was physically untenable & I gave up trying to have straight hair very quickly.

At 18 I discovered leave-in conditioner and this was a game changer (I exaggerate not), I finally began to appreciate my crazy curls. This coincided with moving to London and going to drama school. Though still an anomaly (my year of 28 had 1 black guy and me), the greater context of diversity in the capital began to influence and bolster my sense of individuality & defiance from ethnic expectations. At 21 I spent a couple of years having regular haircuts but since then I have pretty much lived by the mantra 'if it ain't broke, don't fix it'. I have abstained from haircuts, dyes or anything that involves cost or effort. I am a low maintenance woman with a political underscore. Firstly, I enjoy shedding the stereotypical feminine cloak of grooming, but more importantly my fro has become a bizarre badge of honour, a physical manifestation of my sense of pride in my 'blackness'.

Looking back at my naive teenage years I cringe at my self-proclaimed title of 'bounty'- brown on the inside but white at my core. My home town was not particularly diverse & I was comforted by a generally inoffensive ignorance towards half of my heritage.  In recent years as my relationship with my father has become fractured; I have become increasingly estranged to my Ghanaian family but my hair stays strong & a significant part of my identity.  I want to celebrate my African side & embrace the wonderment of being dual heritage.

On occasion I almost feel having natural hair is a barrier between me and many black women who grew up with the normality of 'fake' or adjusted hair. I am grateful that my upbringing eschewed this pressure, but can also feel alienated. Perhaps this feeling of alienation is not solely from the black community, but society as a whole? Recently I came across a news article about a young girl in Florida, threatened with expulsion because her natural hair was a ‘distraction’. This is madness! The world seems to have assimilated a view not only of attractiveness, but acceptability when it comes to hair care. Images of Beyoncé & Rihanna with wavy blonde locks make me feel uncomfortable. Not because they don't look alluring but because this perceived state of beauty is unachievable for so many. On a multimillion pound stage the weave looks incredible, on me it would come across as an unnatural & unattractive wig. One could argue that the weave is not supposed to look 'real', but it certainly exacerbates the idea that whatever is underneath does not deserve a look.  This is not necessarily a black, white or mixed issue, but we all recognise a certain level of faux beauty that clouds the media & sets unobtainable expectations, and it does feel that there is a bigger chasm for black women to cross.  

For years I wasn't sure about my own beauty or if I could ever conform to what was the norm. Now my head of hair represents an important part of me; from a shrunken ringlet after a wash to a frizz explosion at the end of the week, each curl is unconventional & unique. I am of course an advocate of freedom for women to choose to style their hair in any way, but surely we must first acknowledge the natural beauty in us all. Hoorah to my hair & to yours. Hoorah to not being particularly bothered about the latest construction of beauty & acceptance. It will probably cost a heap of money & you'll never win. Think of Ani Difranco's vociferous words in 32 Flavours & allay your fears:

'and god help you if you are an ugly girl course too pretty is also your doom cause everyone harbours secret hatred for the prettiest girl in the room and god help you if you are a phoenix and you dare to rise up from the ash and a thousand eyes will smoulder with jealousy while you are just flying back'

My Afro Diaries was first published in June by Luna Luna Magazine in an abridged version

I'm not a fan of football but I could be a football fan

The World Cup has started and nations unite in a shared love of 'the great game'. The World Cup has started and English fans unite in an unbiased animosity towards any country that by the luck of the draw has been picked to play 'us' (stated in a very lose fashion).

I've never been a big football fan. The unwritten gender guidelines instil a generalised female sense of disassociation towards football. Though we all played football in PE, at school the boys kept playing at the end of the day and the girls didn't. My dad watched football at the pub, my mum didn't. No one forced us into these divided roles, it was just the norm and has persevered into my adult life. I've watched a few games with guy friends over the years, but on the whole I really have had no interest in football, the industry or the game. But surely I could make an exception for the World Cup? So last night I watched the England match in a local pub and witnessed a thinly veiled racism, aggression and outpouring of vitriol towards the other team that I did not expect.

I recognise the passion, the excitement, the bizarrely patriotic fever that takes over so many, but suddenly we're in a realm where shouting 'c**t' continuously and at the top of your voice is not only accepted, it is applauded. Where a strident sense of malice towards 11 men who happen to be competing against your team, means the only course of action is debasing your critique to racially charged comments. I suspect that friends who would normally chastise others for this kind of language, would let it slide in this situation because it's football and because it's a big deal. Football has become a great excuse to show an abhorrent side of yourself and this is intensified during the world cup. While the 'we' becomes more pronounced, the 'other' morphs into a monstrosity on a worldly scale.

This behaviour does seem to be far more associated with football than other competitive sports: I can't remember the last time I heard Federer called a Swiss w*nker or Rory McIlroy attacked for his hair style choice. Furthermore, the venom is not reserved only for foreigners, this week Rooney's family have received death threats because of his performance. Last night after hearing one fan shouting 'pull his hair, pull his hair' and another loudly wishing for Suarez's house to get burgled, I couldn't help but feel disappointed and confused as to how we've got here. I'm not suggesting that this is solely an English thing, the same bigoted, pathetic and offensive words may be being shouted at screens across the globe. And it seems such a shame because watching this game I did begin to understand that football frenzy, feel the tumult in my heart, this may have been because I bet money on Uruguay to win but that's a whole other story... Overwhelmingly I felt uneasy in the crowd (not just because of my controversial betting habits), intimidated to be in this furor tainted with so much negativity and blatant aggression. Swimming in a sea of bolshy testosterone as men vehemently shouted abuse at the TV screen I questioned: Is this why I am not a football fan? I can embrace the competition, cherish the sport, praise the skill but I don't have time for the anger.

This may sound unpatriotic but hurry up England and lose the next game, so we can be nice English people again! Ferocious patriotic allegiance may dissipate to a general sense of enjoyment of the tournament and the game, without needing to reference a players skin tone, hair or sexual preference. Yesterday I witnessed hope jump to outrage without any joy in the middle. So here's hoping for a little more fun for the rest of the football... and if not fun then I may just stick with gambling!

The Secret Life of an Actor

I am an actor.
I am a woman.
I am British.
I am a sister.
I am a daughter.
This list could go on relentlessly but somewhere hidden in the depths of my psyche is something I tentatively whisper; I am a kind of professional, with an office job and a degree of responsibility. Oh my god, I have a day job. And even worse I quite enjoy it!
It's taken me a long time to recognise/admit that I am not defined by being an actor. What a liberation this was. Firstly, my daddy's never going to buy me a house or car so I've always had a strong work ethic. I knew anything I wanted in this life I would have to work for; nothing comes for free (unless you steal & that comes with it's own costly consequences). And secondly, even if I had the privilege I yearned after for so many years, I still would want to get out and do a hard days graft. Not because I'm some kind of superwoman but because sitting at home on your own without a purpose or timetable can be debilitating. To enjoy your days off, you need to have some days on. The confusion was, that after graduating with a BA hons in professional acting (still makes me chuckle) I thought that I would find my contentment & wealth as an actor. Well partly, but that's not the whole picture.

Drama school teaches you a lot but one thing it omits is real life studies. How do you survive as an actor? My voice, body & mind are trained for when the director says yes, but the other side of the coin is a frightening mirage. Seeing and believing the jobs are there, but often a hairs breadth away they dissolve in the harsh light of day. We've all got different stories of temp job nightmares and I've had my fair share of good and bad. Starting in retail, switching to waitressing & bar work, a little babysitting on the side, a short & horrific stint in a call centre, music teaching, catering & finally I ended up running an event space and I've been there for almost two years. I never thought I'd stay anywhere for this long but it's just worked, and as the business grows and changes so does my role and I love it. I work with fantastic people who are genuine friends and understand that I am also a trained actor. Sometimes my life actually seems quite glamorous; a couple of days in the office & then a train trip to Cardiff for a bit of filming. Well, my standards may be lower than some but it all seems rather exciting! I know it's not always easy to find a company that will welcome a working actor, but I do believe a big part of succeeding in the search is being unafraid to commit. To not feel any less of an actor because you work hard at something else.

The general trend to eschew the reality of a second job reminds me of the undeniable class bias in the industry- Barbara Ellen highlights this well in a recent article: 'the financial difficulties of developing and sustaining an acting career mean that the hard-up are gradually being faded out of the picture'. Perhaps being more transparent, and accepting and understanding the necessity to have other income streams may begin the dialogue to redress this imbalance. Being solvent doesn't have to be a taboo!

I was chatting to a friend recently & she talked about how she found it hard to consolidate her day job with being an actor. To not feel like your betraying one for concentrating on the other. Or to be embarrassed to give your credentials as a thesp whilst you sit in front of a computer scheduling your bosses diary. But why beat ourselves up? We're doubly employable! What other professional would be so ashamed to have transferable skills to excel in more than one field. OK, excel may be a little extreme but it's easy to forget how rewarding it feels to do well at something and get recognition, that in some fields there is a direct correlation between working hard & success.  Be proud of being an actor and the ability to turn your hand to so many things & certainly don't feel shame to want or need to do other work. Some people argue a side job should never be anything you get too involved with so as to not take focus away from the real goal, but I disagree. Being successful in your 'normal' day to day life has positive connotations for your acting. The stench of desperation tends to fade & others see we are functioning, intelligent human beings with other interests & desires. My career has definitely improved in conjunction with finding satisfaction in my daily enterprise. If a day, a week or a year in another work environment makes you feel stronger- hoorah! Don't feel guilty. I chose my profession for a multitude of reasons but primarily to make me happy, so if other things have the same effect this is a bonus.

Waiting is arduous. 'Resting' is unrealistic. To diversify is powerful. Writing, directing or something completely disassociated to the profession, it feels fabulous to take control.

My name is Amelia Donkor.
I am an actor and I am also Client Relations Manager at Icetank Studio.
I am made up of many things and I hope the list will keep growing. I certainly know I won't be afraid to embrace every bit of this complex puzzle that makes me who I am.

My double life!