Little Voice

Thank you to all of you for your suggestions of drugs and care…I am off to my cranial osteopath on Saturday so hopefully my fat ankle will deflate.
And yes I have read my audio blog myself glitches and all.
zzzzzzzzzzzzzz made me laugh, I bet you say that to all the girls.
But now for tonights offering.

Three hours of radio every day is getting harder and harder.
Raj, one of the producers told me that there are really only seven topics that come round and round. Why seven? They say there are only seven jokes and seven stories, whoever decreed that seven was the number is anybodies guess, but I am now experiencing the repetition, thus making fresh, original radio tricky.
I can hear myself telling the same stories, the same gags, and it concerns me. So its the work done outside LBC that makes for an interesting programme. Living my life and using it as material is the answer.
At the moment I am getting up, going to work, doing the show, going to see an interviewee in whatever they are in, going to bed, getting up going to work and so on.
Today, I knew we had Jimmy Osmond coming in, so we planned the show backwards. From the rising price of London travel to Leona Lewis’s book signing attack to religious fervour to Jimmy.
Everybody knows the Osmonds, even I knew Jimmy had a long haired lover in Liddypool, what I didn’t know was that he had sung with Frank Sinatra, had won awards for his entrepreneurialism, made his debut at the age of three with Andy Williams and that he had been home schooled. That’s one in the eye for SATS.
That the Osmonds think of their fans as friends that being Mormon is pivotal to who and what they are, and that they really are as pleasant as they appear.
Jimmy doesn’t take himself too seriously and spoke to my callers with respect and genuine affection, he made my hairs stand on end when he talked about his role as a performer not as a celebrity. Everybody is equal, he said. There wasn’t a dry cynic in the house.
Which leads me to tonights homework.
I met B for a hamburger and chat. Always a pleasure now that she is 22 and cleverer than I am. I am going to tell her that she is my pension and that I have no intention of living on my own and that she has to make enough money to look after me like they do in Japan, Italy and India. I am going to insist that she honours me in a mediterranean-cum-oriental-cum-ayervedic-fashion in my dotage. Poor kid she already wishes that her mother had been Nathan Lane, well she was brought up on THE BIRDCAGE.
Anyway after paying for supper she went to catch the 38 and I walked onto the Strand to the Vaudeville Theatre. Not the most elaborate of buildings but the auditorium is squarely comfortable.
Took my seat in Row ‘H’ and swayed between the big and little geezers in Row ‘I’. I saw most of the action of LITTLE VOICE with Lesley Sharpe, Mark Warren and Diana Vickers.
The set was clever, the lighting theatrical and perfectly executed, the acting just a little too staged but by the second half everybody had relaxed and Ms Vickers, 18 and at the beginning of an illustrious career, made me cry buckets as she sung her way through Marc Owens newly penned song for the finale. No standing ovation but a genuine extended applause from a tough audience.
The old git collected me, it was lovely to wait in the cool air outside the Savoy as he drove down the Strand towards me.
Fifteen minutes to the flat, a sandwich a chat, me blog and now bed.
Tomorrow I am heading South to a wine tasting with Joe Wadsack at ‘The Coq Au Vin’. I’m sure I’ve got the venue wrong but it’s too late to care, there’s only one Joe Wadsack if I stand in the middle of Tunbridge Wells and shout loud enough I’m sure somebody will point me in the right direction. Wotevah!
cu2morrer