Anita Waller-One woman, one city

The trees just turn into a blur after youve been staring out the window too long, that's what I hate about train journeys, you can spend so long trying to entertain yourself that in the end you feel as bored as you started out only slightly queasier.

I decided to just stick to watching the raindrops run down the glass, it would rain today of all days, my hair was blown and battered already and it was only 6am, I'm not used to this sort of punishment, I was beginning to wonder why even agreed to this, it was Jason's idea, he's a great best friend, but sometimes a little too optimistic.

"No Jason, I don't want to do it, I mean I'll be a terrible TV presenter, especially on a children's show-and London is such a long way." I'd said.

"Anita, Darling, you'll be wonderful, you look magnificent and you told me you always wanted to be famous." He'd said, enthusiastically.

I sighed.

"Yes, but my talents lie onstage, when I'm acting I can be someone I'm not, presenting is totally different, I've gotta be me and to be honest, right now, I'm pretty boring." I'd replied.

"Oooh, honey, you know I don't like negativity, you'll be amazing, we can go to London together, it'll be fun, please think about it."

So, I'd agreed and I'm still mad at myself for it. Of course, Jason was not with me, typical, so much for well go to London together. Then again, I can't really blame him, after all, if I had a boyfriend taking me for a long weekend in Paris, I think I'd miss out on a trip to cold, miserable London too. Lucky Jason.

My phone started to ring, it was Jason.

"Hello." I'd said, sulkily.

"Hello, Anita! How are you darling?" He replied.

"Oh, Jason, hi, Im very well thank you (ok, a slight lie) How are you?"

"Im just super!" He replied.

"So, what are you doing calling grey old England, I thought you and Malcolm would be having a monster shagathon?" I asked him.

He laughed.

"Oh we are, Paris is amazing! You must come here someday, it really is the city of love." He gushed. "Anyway, I was just calling to wish my best girl luck on the TV appearance."

I giggled; I could imagine him grinning at the phone as he said that.

"Right, must dash, were off sight-seeing. Have a great day, toodle-loo."

"Thanks, you have a great weekend, bye." I said as I ended the call on my phone.

The woman on the other side of the table was beginning to annoy me, her mobile kept ringing and she kept answering it really loudly, almost taking pride in the fact she was a stuck-up business woman who's children probably hated her. I seriously could have told her where she could shove that phone. No, no, must not be bitchy, after all, my mobile had rang once too, but at least I'd been discreet and talked quietly. Who was it that said it? 'Hell is other people.'

I finally got off at Kings Cross, honestly, that journey felt more like 5 hours than two and a half, I should have taken a Walkman or a book. Oh well, we learn from our mistakes I suppose.

I made my way to the nearest tube station so as to get to Meadervale as early as possible. After all, I had to at least try to make a good impression.

I've never been to a stranger city than London, it doesn't understand me and I don't understand it.

I get the feeling that the whole city was looking at me strangely; everyone on the tube was looking at me as if I didn't belong, it's a cold, hard city, full of cold hard people, I was the freak, the sore thumb. In high school I'd always strived to be different, get noticed, but this was possibly the first time I'd wanted the opposite.

People piled off at each station and the carriage was fairly empty by the time it reached my stop. It slowly ground to halt and I set off on my short walk to the BBC studios. Yes, you read that right, the BBC, not a local channel that might only be viewed by a small number of people, oh no, I'm going to be watched and criticised by the whole country!

Make-up was terrible, well, not really the make-up, it would be wrong to blame the make-up, it looked quite nice. It was the make-up artist that I wasn't so keen on, terms of endearment, such as 'hun' and 'love' annoy the hell out of me. Dont get me wrong, not from close friends, but from strangers, it tends to get on my wires.

Then I met Cindy, the other presenter. I wanted to die; I wanted the ground to swallow me up there and then. She was gorgeous, Long, blonde hair, a perfect figure and a winning smile. She looked like an angel as she walked across the room towards me. Sure, jealousy isn't a good thing, but she was too perfect, anyone else would have felt exactly the same, she was perfect.

The directors sat us both down together on a sofa and gave us our lines, and then they did the unimaginable, they introduced us to Melvin the mouse. Melvin the mouse, a puppet, a puppet! If I'd known I was going to have to talk to a puppet I would never have came. I know that I act, so I should've been able to deal with these things, but this was ridiculous.

As we started filming it got worse, Melvin insisted on calling me 'neeta' which I hate and Cindys voice was beginning to annoy me. I wanted to just turn around and hit her. Maybe my primary school teacher was right, she always said I'd grow up cruel and intolerant.

I don't think there's much more to say about the actual filming other than the fact that I'm dreading the moment its on TV.

The train journey home was a nightmare; I was sat with a drunk Scotsman who kept trying to make conversation with me. I tried to pretend to be asleep, but my head kept banging against the window and he kept on talking.

It was just getting to the end of the journey when he dived down on the floor and crawled around under the table. He finally popped his head back up.

"Are those my sunglasses?" He asked, slurred.

I looked down but there was nothing there. Great, I thought to myself, a hallucinating drunk, just what I need after today.

"Yes, those probably are your sunglasses." I said, trying to shut him up.

The moment I stepped off that train at Darlington station, I couldn't have been happier, I was sick of the smell of booze and his drunken ramblings.

Anyway, Im at home now, sat at my kitchen table, having a much-needed glass of wine. Today really has been hell. Ah well, its 10pm, the days nearly over, I'll be glad when its tomorrow.

Oh look, next door still have that sweatshirt on the washing line, what's it been now? Eight days, that must be a record for them, but you'd really think somebody would bring it in.

I'm tired, I think I'll go off to bed now, just remind me never, ever to get involved in one of Jason's hair-brained ideas again.