Webs are made mostly of spaces. They break easily. They barely exist. They belong to the category of half-things: mist, smoke, shrouds, ghosts, membranes, retinas or rags; and they quickly fill up with un-things: old legs and wings and heads and hollow abdomens and body bags of wasps.
My mother has always encouraged my creative side. She is a very eclectic, creative woman and looks incredibly glamorous, even when trudging about in wellies. Our family home is full of items from her travels and her amazing etchings and drawings.
I feel more like I'm a person who has so much to offer in different capacities that it would be a danger for me not to give myself a chance to spread my wings in all different directions.
I started off when I was seven years old doing musicals. I was in 'Les Miserables' and 'The Sound of Music,' and my mum's an actress. My parents divorced when I was young, and when she couldn't find a babysitter, I was in the wings, sleeping.
I suppose we carry photographs now, but I think it's rather wonderful that people used to carry drawings and watercolours. I wish people did that more often.
We're all the same. We all want the same thing in life. Everybody going around like ants and we all want the same thing. And it's not one queen. It's not one queen with the wings.
When I was young, I colored in the line drawings in vintage editions of the Oz books that had been handed down through generations in my family. This was a bad thing to do.
Lonesome Rhodes had wild mood swings. He'd be very happy, he'd be very said, he'd be very angry, very depressed, and I had to pull all of these emotions out of myself. And it wasn't easy.
I'm spreading my wings at last.
How do I tone my bingo wings?' is one of the most commonly asked questions that strikes fear and dread into a personal trainer's heart.
