Famous Faces Interlude

These are some of mine!

I'm sure I'm missing a few, but these are some of my bestest spots.  Admittedly the majority were at work and I do have an unfair advantage but I still get SO excited when I see people I recognise.

So, from the top:

Nicole Kidman - Came in to watch a show at work with her little tiny husband Keith Urban.  She looked like a tall, beautiful but incredibly thin alien.  He had nice hair.

Ralph Fiennes - He starred in a production of Oedipus so I saw him quite a bit around the theatre.  You pronounce his name "Rafe" not "Ralph".  He reminded me somewhat of Leonard Rossiter in some ways.  I happened upon him at one point whilst walking round the dressing room block in his pants - he did not look pleased to see me.  I wonder why?

Richard Wilson - I resisted the temptation to shout "I don't believe it!" at him.  He came along to see a show with Ian McKellen and was by far the camper and more flamboyant of the two.  My colleague suspected he might have been breaking in some new teeth.

Simon Callow - Walked past him at the bar.  He laughs VERY VERY LOUDLY.

Al Pacino - Stood by a concrete pillar, waiting for his (very attractive) assistant to collect his tickets for him.  I might have thought he was trying to look inconspicuous if he wasn't wearing sunglasses.  Indoors.  At night. Tit.  And he was very short and had scary eighties hair.

Jude Law - Came to the desk with his daughter to pick up tickets for the family show last Christmas.  Was very nice and polite and down to earth but his hairline had definitely begun to retreat.  Promised his little girl ice cream.

Vanessa Redgrave - Starred in a show at the theatre and used to see her lots in the canteen. She looked like she needed a burger because she was so thin but seemed to exist on hummus and crudites.  She once squawked at my friend who was wearing a gold sequined top and 'Nessa thought it was "Quite fantastic!"

Ian Hislop - One of my personal heroes on Have I Got News For You I was really really hoping that he'd be nice in person - I wasn't disappointed.  He asked to get a message to one of the actors in the show he was watching and despite the fact that I became extremely stupid when faced with his genius he was patient and smiley regardless.  I figured out what to do in the end.

Helen Mirren - Is about to be in a new production of Phedre at work.  Passed her in the corridor a couple of times and she actually quite small; about my height!  I always thought of her as taller than 5'4.  She also accidentally joined onto the back of one of my tours the other day which made the group very squealy and excited.

Juliet Binoche - Did a dance type show last year with a famous choreographer called Akram Khan.  She is the star of an anecdote on my tour about making complaints about the dressing rooms which illustrates the fact they are a bit like hospital rooms, only with less glamour.  I'm still trying to get over the fact that she's kissed Johnny Depp.

Tamsin Grieg - The woman of my dreams!  Or the woman I most want to be. She was in a show too and did a couple of talks while she was at the theatre.  She's very wise as well as lovely - one thing she said that stuck with me was that if you are faced with two possible ways to go, if one seems impossible, that's probably the one you should take.  She also bought my friend who works on Stage Door a bottle of champagne when her show went on tour because she'd helped her find her mobile phone when she lost it.

Stephen Mangan - Hurray!  The first one not at work!  But still in a theatre.  And a Virgin Megastore.  I am only a few short steps away from stalking this man.  But in my defence he said I had a lovely smile when I met him, and is just awesome.  I have already waxed lyrical about him before so I'll stop.

Bill Bailey - I was at a pub in Soho and saw him having a chat with a couple of people outside the theatre where his stand up show Tinselworm was playing.  I also saw him a couple of years before that in a Pret a Manger.  He was recognised by someone (not me) who asked for a picture and he was incredibly friendly and accommodating.  Greyer than I thought he would be though.

Sophie Okonedo - She stood in a long box office queue for a good long while waiting patiently and looking gorgeous.  When compared to so many other actors who think it's their god given right to be FIRST at ALL times it was amazing and lovely to see.

Miranda Richardson (Queenie) - Is completely and utterly scatty.  I've met her a few times and every time she's been baffled by everything but very friendly and giggly with it.  She has usually lost something and doesn't know where she should be.

Russell Brand - Completely changed my opinion of him within five minutes. Before I met him I thought he was a poncey twat and his comedy was shite.  I still think his comedy is pretty shite but I think he's marvellous. Basically this dramatic change was wrought by his flirting with me and being very charismatic generally.  He had come to review the family show before Xmas and his friend who had the tickets was running late.  He was offered the VIP room but turned it down, choosing instead to sit in the foyer by the stairs where he proceed to get swamped by every school party that came up the stairs, signing autographs for hundreds of very excited kids.  And he flirted with me and made me blush.  Does that make me shallow? Probably.  Do I care? No.

Jeremy Irons - Played Harold MacMillan in a show shortly after I first started working at the theatre.  Kept holding doors open for me dressed in a series of very strange outfits which made me thank him while passing through and pulling silly excited faces after he couldn't see me anymore.  My favourite was green jodphurs with stripey multicoloured socks and brown shoes topped by a bomber jacket and a Kangol flat cap worn backwards.  Quintessentially the eccentric Englishman, he lives in a castle.

James McAvoy and Anne-Marie Duff - Saw them walking along the South Bank arm in arm one sunny Saturday afternoon looking very happy ad loved up.  One of those couples that just seem so normal that you do a double take when you realise you recognise them.  Or your first impression is that they might be your neighbours or someone you went to school with and you only realise later that actually you know them off the telly...

Anna Chancellor - Been in a few productions at work.  Possibly a bit do-lally - I once encountered her while walking down some stairs holding a tall standing lamp.  She almost walked into me then shrieked with laughter at me "Oh gosh!  Don't you look FUNNY!!"  I walked on, smiling but bemused. WTF?

Ian McKellen - Always wearing a lovely soft camel coloured coat and tends to be turned out very well.  Seen him a few times before the theatre too, usually surrounded by a bevy of young gorgeous men.

Dawn French - Me and Dawny - we're like that: X.  I looked after her phone for her to charge it when she went in to watch a show.  She is exactly how she is on TV in real life too - LOVELY.  Yay for her.

Cameron Diaz - Looks SO normal in real life!  You'd never guess she was this beautiful movie star at all.  She was just wandering around the foyer with that model guy that Jennifer Aniston also went out with.

Basically without working in the theatre I would have seen a couple of the ones above along with David Mitchell getting off the tube and Melvyn Bragg in a linen suit walking around Piccadilly Circus.

Birthday and famous faces

I am preparing to actually write a proper post or maybe even two for the price of one, but don't be surprised if I bugger off to go drinking in the middle of it and finish with a hungover whimper tomorrow (or some other day in the not too distant future).

So yers.  This time last week it was my 27th birthday.  I am now officially in my mid-twenties (there's no denying it any more.  Mind you at 29 I intend to be in my LATE-mid-twenties.) and have been celebrating (read: drinking) like there's no tomorrow.  It's been an eventful week.

Thursday

On Thursday afternoon I took myself off to Kent for the funeral to be held on the next day.  My big little sis (who is at least four inches taller than me) was letting me stay with her, though it wasn't until I got down there until I realised that I'd failed to mention that I was planning on staying for three nights, instead of the originally planned one.  We went out for a bit of a shop and to meet the beauteous Jen Star who still, despite my best efforts, resides in Kent too.

The night began tamely enough but soon descended into the usual drunken mess with me having a shouting match down the phone with the Kiwi and me and Jen Star catching up on all the ridiculous things that had been happening in the fortnight since we'd seen each other.  Out of the blue we met a handful of people I used to know in the Olden Days when I was involved with the Man Who Was Bad For Me (I can't remember what pseudonym I've used for him before but most people know the type - the one you shouldn't have been with in the first place who broke your heart in many new and interesting ways) and tried to catch up a bit.

Things get fuzzy about here - they left, Jen Star and I went to many other pubs and bars.  We met other people, some we knew and some we didn't.  She started chatting with Nandos Boy and one pub - I was introduced to Dostoevsky Boy at another (who is a bar manager yet our first conversation was an argument about Dost himself) and we proceeded to an after hours establishment, where we both saw some snogging action. Individual, you understand; I was not snogging her.  For a change.  I rolled in to my sister's flat at around half 3.

Friday

We were picked up at around ten in the morning to head to the Funeral at 11am, (I did not feel too clever, as you might have guessed) by boy cousin 1 and his girlfriend.  I hadn't seen him for years and had never met her before and within a very short time they were talking about how the car smelt like a brewery.  Nice work Newb.

The Funeral itself went off ok - the chap doing the reading had been sweet to try and find out some family stories about my Grandad to relate in the service which did counter slightly the chat about Armageddon which came a bit later.  Having never been to a Jehovah's Witness... well.... anything before so it was a bit of a surprise but I just looked at the floor and was glad I didn't catch my sister's eye.  There were a few tears after the service was over but all in all it was a sweet quiet affair.  We went for tea and cake at a house belonging to one of the Fellowship but repaired to the pub pretty soon after as most people (excluding yours truly) wanted a drink.

I stuck to tap water and headed off with my parents after they'd had one drink and had a quiet day while my sister, my Scottish girl cousin and her fiance got trashed on cheapy bottles of Rose.  We picked them up at about half six when they were completely blotto and insisting that I go out clubbing with them.  Eventually, after fish and chips and the same three or four questions repeated over and over again ("You ARE coming out with us, aren't you?" "You will come to my wedding next year won't you?" "We will go to Glasgow clubbing and have chips and cheese afterwards, won't we?" etc) I relented and out we went.

It was a fairly tame night compared to the one before as I felt not great and the others started flagging early-ish.  But the event of note on this night out was bumping into the Man Who Was Bad For Me, having not seen him for at least a year, maybe two.

We were walking down the hill heading to the bar where Dostoevsky Boy managed, my sister and I arm in arm when I clocked him.  He was broader, stouter, a little rounder but him nonetheless and very very smiley.  There has never been so much undeniable chemistry between me and another person before or since but the intimacy of knowing what to say to each other has long gone.  So we smiled and asked each other how we were for a few minutes and made a couple of stupid jokes before my sister dragged me away.

Damn I knew I'd run out of time!  Birthday drinks calling - will finish this account soon.

Cool Thing

A new and brilliant blog, introduced to me by Mr B:

XKCD: A webcomic of romance,

sarcasm, math, and language.

Thicker Than Water (part 2)

I didn't mean to leave things on a cliff-hanger last time. What a silly sausage.

At the hospital the atmosphere was surprisingly cheerful - my dad was playing the clown and keeping everyone giggling despite the stress of the situation and the seriousness of my Grandad's condition. I spent a few hours there that first night, then back the next day. Amazingly, after being written off by the medical staff as being on his way out, my Grandad (who I may have mentioned, is a tough old bird), after two days of being on nothing - no medication, no liquids - started to come to.

He started to open his eyes - unseeingly at first and then with more and more awareness. By the end of that second day he was nodding weakly at various questions put to him (from my dad: "Dad! They're picking on me again. Shall I clip them round the ear?" Grandad: *shakes head wearily*) and rasping through his voiceless throat that he wanted a cup of tea.

He was still out of it most of the time, but it made everyone sit up and take notice and got him put back on the morphine. I left midway through the third day to head back to London and work. I was under no illusions that he was about to make a miraculous recovery - he was eighty-five and had been battling with throat cancer for a long while. I kissed him goodbye on his forehead, and I think I tickled his face with my hair and told him that I'd see him soon. I went back to London.

I couldn't stop thinking about how dedicated and fantastic my family - his family - were being. Despite the fact that some of them weren't speaking to each other, or even to him, over that week all of the sisters, and their children came from around the country to see him, to spend time with him. My dad and sisters had coordinated an effort over the week to ensure that Grandad was never alone, he always had some of his family around him. Their duty to their father was unfaltering and incredibly moving. It's one of the many many reasons I am completely in awe of my own dad.

On Saturday, Grandad died at around eight in the evening. There were giggles and bad taste jokes about waking the dead and also about fish and chips and the nurses probably were wondering what was going on.

I am ok. Everyone is holding up pretty well - it's just a bit of bad luck that the funeral is going to be on my birthday.

Thicker than Water (Part one)

You ever do that thing where you plan out a post that really strikes you as important or noteworthy when it comes to you which then never quite makes it out onto the page?

I've had one lately - I wanted to write something semi-serious about the importance of duty and how I was a bit rubbish when it comes to doing the Right Thing on a day to day basis; not the big stuff like "trying to be a nice person" or "Not mugging little old ladies" - that I attempt fairly constantly, but the little thoughtful things that make people realise you appreciate them.  Like doing something nice for someone like getting them a little something when you know they're a bit down, or making an effort to spend time with family.

The post that I wanted to write was going to centre around family and how amazing families (mine in particular) can be.  What follows is likely to be much less focused than if I had written it at the time but lets see if this thing takes shape.

The tail end of the bank holiday weekend saw a flurry of phone calls between my parents and I.  My dad's dad had been not that well for a long time and had taken a turn for the worse.  He went into hospital on the Saturday, worsened again on the Sunday and on Bank Holiday Monday I got the call.  Grandad was in a bad way.  I had better come home as it wasn't looking good.  Mum would come and collect me from London so that I could say goodbye.  They didn't expect him to make it through the night.

My dad's family is a complicated one.  He is the only boy amongst five sisters.  One of the sisters tragically died a few years ago following an epileptic fit so he has four left.  They grew up in a notorious council estate with his mum and dad, or as I knew them - Nanny and Grandad.

Maybe it's the fact that they grew up in such close proximity or maybe it's just the case when you get enough girls together they tend to fall out but the sisters are a combative bunch.  I don;t think I can recall a single time in my living memory when they've all got along - there's always one who isn't speaking to someone.  My dad sometimes tries to play the mediator but most of the time tries not to get involved.

In addition, his dad has always been a strong minded character.  When my dad was around sixteen, Nanny and Grandad converted to being Jehovah's Witnesses, and three youngest sisters, still living at home at the time and young enough to be told by their parents that this was the way to go, also converted.  The three older siblings chose not to, but this was not an easy time.  My dad got a good long dose of the silent treatment from my Grandad (around 18 months I think), because he wouldn't convert too.  Then there was the later palava about my dad marrying a Catholic (my mum, you donut) and the questions over whether his parents would be attending their wedding at all - they did in the end.  The story goes that they sat at the back of the church for the service and during the reception my Nanny insisted on washing up everything in sight.

Despite the ups and downs over the years, ever since I've known enough to know what's going on (ish) my dad and his parents have seemed to get on pretty well.  My Nanny passed away when I was in my teens but Grandad kept going strong - going out and knocking on doors for the Fellowship, telling people the Good News.  He'd come along to family dinners and sit there happily chomping away at anything my dad had cooked, quietly taking everything in and chuckling frequently.  He might have talked a bit more if my other Grandad, mum's dad, didn't have quite so much to say and a tendency to always say it loudly.

Over the last few months dad's dad, or Grandad F as he's also known,  had not been very well at all, and had moved in with one of the younger daughters who was acting as his carer, who also happened to be the only one of the sisters still involved with the Jehovah's Witnesses (JWs) .  He had looked to be getting better, health wise, but had started to get more confused when he took this turn for the worse.

I turned up at the hospital having been caught up with some of what had been going on.  Dad's eldest sister, who lives in Scotland, had travelled down with her husband and the JW sister were both at his bedside when I made my way through the curtain.  I had been warned about Grandad's appearance and expected the worst when I saw him, but he actually looked pretty peaceful - sleeping with his mouth open as I took up the chair next to him and held his hot, dry hand.  The thing that made my throat catch was the fact that the top half of his face - forehead, eyebrows, cheekbones and nose - looked so SO much like my dad.  I had a horrible little premonition of the mortality of one of my parents for a second or two, and it left me reeling.

Write more later - just finishing work...

God bless...

...Stephen Fry. He's such a sweetheart:

I finally know now, as I easily knew then, that the most important thing is love. It doesn't matter in the slightest whether that love is for someone of your own sex or not. Gay issues are important and I shall come to them in a moment, but they shrivel like a salted snail when compared to the towering question of love. Gay people sometimes believe (to this very day, would you credit it, young Stephen?) that the preponderance of obstacles and terrors they encounter in their lives and relationships is intimately connected with the fact of their being gay. As it happens at least 90% of their problems are to do with love and love alone: the lack of it, the denial of it, the inequality of it, the missed reciprocity in it, the horrors and heartaches of it. Love cold, love hot, love fresh, love stale, love scorned, love missed, love denied, love betrayed ... the great joke of sexuality is that these problems bedevil straight people just as much as gay. The 10% of extra suffering and complexity that uniquely confronts the gay person is certainly not incidental or trifling, but it must be understood that love comes first. This is tough for straight people to work out.

This is the whole article. I wish he were my friend. Apart from just on Twitter, I mean.

Epic fail

"If you're going to fail, you may as well do so in epic proportions."

I had been doing so well. Sort of.

Actually, that's a lie; I hadn't been doing that well really, seeing as how I'm the type of person who, rather than avoid temptation, will run towards it with a manic look in my eye and hump it, before giving in to it. Mr B had been doing ok though. We stayed at each other's places twice before the inevitable happened. Mostly thanks to him being good, not me. I just don't really understand the concept of denying myself things. Chocolate, alcohol, sex... if I want it, I usually just go and have it if I can. I'm rubbish at looking at the bigger picture, you see.

It had all been getting a bit bogged down Mr B wise again anyway - spending too much time together than was healthy. It started with deciding to write something together and we put aside a couple of Sundays to have a roast dinner and a brainstorm. Then, as you do, the more you see someone the more plans you tend to make for other days. Started seeing plays in the midweek, going out with mutual friends on Saturdays, and before you know it you're putting yourself in a situation where it seems rude NOT to say "Well, you could stay at mine of course." And that way madness lies. Either lying next to each other straight as rulers, very aware of any bit of skin that might be touching or cuddled up because lets face it; we have been spending nights in each others beds for over a year now and most of those nights were spent wound round each other.

But I have a fresh resolution! It's a good 'un too. As of this Saturday I'll have a great excuse for a new start - moving into the new flat with two of my lovely friends, both of whom I've lived with before - Bulgarian girl previously of my current abode, and Tee who I bonded with in the big old house about British comedy (Green Wing especially), illegally downloaded American series and fury at the scabby other housemates. So new place, new me!

I decided I need a project to remove myself from the current repetitive spiral of entanglement and extraction from Mr B so I may well crack on with the writing and not really get him involved unless he actually does something (like putting pen to paper) and also am thinking about joining a gym as the new flat is going to be a million times closer to work so I can walk to work and do some additional work in the gym!

So yes - I have had a bit of a history repeating type FAIL, but I now have a plan in place to stop it from happening again. Which is completely foolproof, obviously.

(This week I'm reading a brill new book - Jonathan Strange and Mr Norrell by Susanna Clarke is all about magicians in the 1800s. I recommend!)