I walked to Knightsbridge.
Very fast. My orange and black scarf tied tightly and all I needed in the pocket of my feau fur jacket.
I walked over Battersea Bridge, the sharp morning light clear and silver, down Beaufort Street past the strange little Catholic Church. Left onto the Kings Road, past the Bluebird Caff, Heales, Habitat, endless silly dress shops when a number 19 drove past me but I resisted.
Right down past Peter Jones and left down Sloane Street. Gucci, Chanel, Armani, ridiculous prices for boots, shoes and real fur coats. Another 19 came along to taunt me.
My nose was cold but the rest of me was toasty warm.
By the time I got to Knightsbride I was thinking I might be late for my own imposed deadline – as it turned out all was well.
Down onto the tube and I arrived in Leicester Square bang on. The whole trip had taken just under an hour. Three routes in three days. I’ll do another one tomorrow.
I promised myself a night in but I was invited to see THE READER at the Soho Hotel. I couldn’t say no, well I could but I didn’t.
I seated myself in one of their downstairs cushy rooms. Had a pot of echinacea tea, 2 tiny mince pies, 4 tiny egg sandwiches and 6 tiny bites of a banana I nicked from the display table.
I spent my tea-time thinking about Leicester Square, it’s beginning to sink in.
The space, the noise, the space.
When I left LBC the lights of the Leicester Square Christmas merry-go-round were shockingly pink and spangly. Royston, a wonderful bloke from Capital, hugged me and said if I needed anything he was there for me.
Yes of course it made me cry so I wandered into the local Catholic Church to get some silence. It was me and three tramps all enjoying the warmth the candles and the taped choral music. It became clear that all I need at LBC is my own little quiet spot to concentrate in before the show – there must be one somewhere, I’m sure I’ll find it and when I do you’ll be the first to know.
My tea break prepared me for The READER. A superbly shot movie, it made me realise how illiteracy makes the ignorant both criminal and victim. Kate Winslet was minimalistic and the young John Kross beautifully bleak,
Stephen Daldry, the director spoke before the film, as did David Hare, who wrote the screenplay. One of his newest lines was quoted tonight:
‘One afternoon in Israel is more exciting than a whole year in Sweden.’
Having been to both places I see what he means.
The READER is about illiteracy, guilt, humanities savagery and forgiveness.
I may well talk illiteracy on tomorrows show.
To all of you who say such lovely, supportive things to me Thank you so very much.
It really means a lot me especially now that we’re in LSQ. It’s like learning to drive a new car, I keep crunching the gear stick and stalling, hitting the break instead of the accelerator. Being a gel I get into a flap. But by Christmas I think I will have sorted out my left from my right.
You see now why your support is so necessary.
have a nice night and