I lived like Orlando Bloom for a day. It did not go well…
After reading about Legolas’ unfeasibly LA-type day in The Sunday Times, I decided to follow the big man’s lead. And after 24 hours being Orlando Bloom, I only have one question — how many times a day does he go to the toilet?
I drag my 50-year-old carcass out of bed at 6.30 — a full hour before I usually wake up. I don’t have a smart sleep tracker like the Bloomster, but my iPhone does have an alarm setting that sounds like a robot ejaculating rivets onto a corrugated iron roof, so that helped.
Like Bloomy, I went to check on my child, who’s definitely asleep and definitely not cooing. He is 15 and smells that way. I leant down to give him a kiss, connecting only with the Pam Greer-like afro he has been cultivating during lockdown. His eyes cracked open in terror before he recognised me. The terror then turned to confusion.
“Hey, superstar, it’s only your old dad,” I laughed. “I’m not Slenderman.”
“No, you’re certainly not, tubby,” he grumbled, before farting and going back to sleep.
I can believe I’m not Buddha
I’m not a Buddhist. But I needed to follow The Bloomers’ 20-minute chanting regime. I strolled out into the garden and started singing “Nam Myoho Renghe Kyo” over and over again. This got intensely annoying after about 30 seconds. It then got embarrassing when my neighbour peered over the fence and gave me a look that said: “You are ruining the one morning of sunshine we’ve had in the past 6 months, you selfish bellend.” It was quite the look.
Continuing to follow the Bloomingdale’s schedule, I was forced to read 20 minutes of Buddhist teachings. I went to history.com and perused the religious pages. I discovered that Buddhism prohibits killing living things; taking what’s not given; sexual misconduct; lying; and using drugs and alcohol. Given those last two, it’s unlikely I’m going to be the next Dalai Lama.
Powders to the people
Orlando likes to earn his breakfast and so do I. He starts by mixing “some green powders…with brain octane oil, a collagen powder for my hair and nails, and some protein.” I have none of these. So I chucked together some crystallised Manuka honey, a teaspoon of turmeric and a Berocca. It made me gag.
Then, like the star of Carnival Row (no, me neither), I went for a hike. Unfortunately, I don’t live near the Hollywood Hills, so I yomped down the A3. I think I may have black lung as a result.
I too listened to Nirvana and Stone Temple Pilots. Grunge is not morning music. In fact, grunge is barely music. If I wanted to listen to dead white guys moan about how terrible their lives are, I’d join UKIP (AmIright! Try the veal! I’m here all week).
Food, inglorious food
By 9am, I was back and ready for my proper breakfast. I tried to follow Bloom’s recipe — but, once again, I had very few of the ingredients — so I improvised. I mixed porridge, lacto-free milk, cinnamon, more turmeric, vanilla ice cream and a handful of dry-roasted peanuts. It was truly revolting — Oliver Twist would have passed on this slop. I washed it down with a cup of PG Tips — the only normal thing I did all day.
Unlike Orlando of Hope and Glory, I am not 90% plant based. But I did decide to see if he was right about cows — he called them “the most beautiful thing ever”. He is wrong. They are very much the Elephant Man of horses.
Working 9 to 5
Like Fruit of the Bloom and his Amazon contract, I too have an exclusive deal with my employers where I only work on projects for them. They call it indentured servitude. I spent my day, like every other day, editing features from writers and others. Some of whom in the words of the Bloomful “are minorities and women.” Like our hero, I am trying to be “a voice for everyone”. I, too, wanted to feel like Martin Luther King or Billie Jean King — truth is, I just felt f**King tired.
More blooming plants
“Lunch is mostly plant-based again, vegetables or stew,” says Impending Bloom. My bowels were already roiling, this could put me over the edge. I made a salad — lettuce, a bit more lettuce, cucumber, olives and a slab of feta that was on the turn.
I spent the next hour going back and forth to the bathroom. The turmeric and Berocca had turned my evacuations into fluorescent lava.
Lego-less
During Covid, the man who shot to fame as Noel Harrison in Casualty has taken to building Lego. Unfortunately, we tossed most of ours when my son went fully automated in 2019 — however, we still have a few mini-figures kicking around. I grabbed Batman, Wolverine and Deadpool, took them apart and then put them back together again. Satisfying. So satisfying. A creative achievement on a par with Guernica. Then I went to the toilet again.
After another luminous volcanic eruption, it was time to hit the heavy weights. I did a couple of sets of prison lifts (arms and chest only) with a pair of rusty old dumbbells that were in the corner of the shed. I pulled a muscle and think I may have tetanus. Went to toilet again.
And so to blooming bed…
Unlike the high-kicking hunk from S.M.A.R.T Chase (literally no clue), I don’t have to put my son to bed as he’s a man and no one puts a man to bed unless that man happens to be an alcoholic. I was all alone and had two hours left of being the star of Retaliation and The Outpost. All that was left was for me to watch a film — perhaps something from Orlando’s extensive back catalogue. I never made it. A day of plants and powders, vigorous exercise and innumerable bowel movements, left me spent. I was asleep by 11pm (just as Herr Bloom had ordered).
So, what did I learn from my day as Orlando Bloom? Well, as the great man says: “Time is so precious. I was always giving my time to other people. Now I have space to dream.” Well, if this is his idea of a dream, his nightmares would make HP Lovecraft look like Anne Summers.
Let’s face it, he punk’d me — no one could possibly live like this, the cost of toilet paper alone would be crippling. Thanks but no thanks, Mr Katy Perry.
