The play's the thing ......

I was going to the theatre to see Mike Bartlett's, Love, Love, Love and I was very, very excited about it. I really, really wanted to see it. I went to work in the sunshine smiling. But I thought to myself, I do hope it's not cancelled because it's sold out, what would they do? I never think that when I go to the theatre. A few hours later I recieved an email saying that night's performance was cancelled, an actor could not go on for personal reasons. No understudies at the Royal Court so no show, run sold out, awfully sorry............ whatever happened to the show must go on? Surely rule number one in the acting book of rules, no? I was very upset. I was mortified. I am not good with dissappointment. I've never been good with disappointment. As a child when it rained on our picnic and we were told we could go to the cinema instead, I was the inconsolable child. Being good with dissappointment is a good skill to have as life is more often than not, disappointing. I do not have this skill. Everything was ruined. And thing was, my mate Matthew offered me a ticket the week before and I said no thanks, I'm going next week......


The friend I was going to the theatre with suggested we go see a screeing of Britain In A Day at the BFI as her husband worked on it. A series of clips filmed by all sorts of people in all sorts of places doing all sorts of thing over 24 hours. It will be on TV in June on BBC2. It was good, very moving. A bit bleak. I did cry. And laugh. But it wasn't Love, Love, Love.

I woke too early this morning then fell back to sleep. And slept too late. I dreamt of people in the wrong place and spaniel dogs and I was angry and I couldn't move and the sky was pale and bright and blue and I could see the ghost-white moon and then other planets, many planets in the pale blue sky, and I said to my son, I have never seen this before, and we looked up and then I woke up. I felt leaden, bed-crumpled and my head ached. 

But the sun was still shining and so I actually abandoned my socks for the first time this year and went to work. I bought wholemeal sour dough bread from Ottolenghi and avocados and baby gem lettuce and Emmental cheese and honey roast ham and tomatoes and made a sandwich and sat in the park at lunch time. With my toes in the sun. But it wasn't as good as Love, Love, Love......

Top tip: Go outside ....... who knows how long it will last.

Date.....line.......

Just before Christmas I had a haircut: a cute bob, very French, very Louise Brooks. It was well received by family and friends. It worked with both a smokey eye/nude lip look and a flash of liner and a full-red-call-me-Marilyn pout. I was tres pleased. I was also pretty happy at the thought of a date with a prospective beau, v tall, v handsome, I'd met after, and I'm sure because of, the haircut. So happy, in fact, that I was still smiling after reading a text he’d sent while walking to the art shop to buy supplies to make Christmas cards with (4 years at art college not wasted……). I was doing the flash of liner and full-red-call-me-Marilyn pout look that day, the bob gleaming in the winter sun, and as I passed a man walking towards me……50-something, tall, slim, full-head of greying hair…….he smiled at me smiling. I went into the shop. I stood before a vast array of art materials making my choices when I realised the man from the street was now in the shop. I made my purchases. He bought a pen. We left together.

“Are you an architect?” he asked.

I’m not. He was. He asked if I worked near-by. I do. He asked if I go to the pub on the corner where everyone goes. On occasion I do. He asked if I’d like to go there for a drink, gave me his card, said give him a call. I didn’t.

That was then, this is a new year. The date that gave me a smile ended with a frown and so when I saw the architect’s card on my desk I thought, why not? Now, I did think it through, I did Google the practice, I did establish it was in fact his and I decided it was unlikely he was an axe murderer. I also wondered why he’d assumed I was single. And whether he was.

I called him. He did remember me. He was delighted. Happy new year....... We met that evening. In the pub on the corner. 6.30pm. He bought me a vodka & tonic. He was married. But his wife didn’t understand him. I did though. I finished my drink, suggested he explain the problems he had with his wife to his wife and got the bus home.

And this is a picture I once took of a boat on a beach in Goa.......just to remind us that somewhere else the sun is shining, the weather is hot, the sea sparkles silver in the morning and ripples gold in the evening........ and because now I can upload pictures I shall.......

Top tip: don’t talk to strangers……