Twelve hour days are not good for a girl.
I arrived home, my bag strapped to my chest, my coat gaping open, telephone in left hand, keys in the right and a head full of toxic thoughts.
The flat is peaceful, quiet, empty and all enveloping.
The train ride home was full of ugly people. Do you ever get days like that where everybody has got something wrong with them. I know its my eyes that are actually out of kilter not them, but there were overbites and underbites, overweights and overbearings, over the tops and over here, with a big ruby red fraternity ring and a very loud mid-western telephone manner.
I think I’m Little Miss Jinxy today, and here’s why;
At 7.30 the alarm went off, getting out of bed was like Indianna Jones trying to tear himself out of quick sand. I left Jim, who was all curled up and warm, all sleepy and innocent, and woke myself up with a wash.
Got dressed in the same outer garments as yesterday – no hassle – put on two shades of lippy and opened my two herby capsules into a glass of water. The kettle boiled and the doorbell yodelled simultaneously.
Goody Suzall arrived all cold air and shoulders bags. I had printed off a re-write of ‘Risk it for a Biscuit’ and was raring to go, well not quite raring, but ready to go, she set up the mic- stand, took one sip of her fruit tea and groaned. Goody Suzall had left her tape-recorder at home. So we put on our coats and scarves and set off for LBC.
Chitty chatting to The Junction all seemed well with the world until we got to platform 10.
First train – it was like being in Hell.
Second train it was like being in Tokyo.
Third train it was like being in Clapham in the rush hour.
Fourth train it was a mission but we pushed ourselves forward like Jordon’s calling cards.
Goody and I talked and made ourselves laugh, a release of stress, and the girl sitting next to the other girl in the fur hood and very pink-blushered cheeks, tried to stop herself laughing with us. I wish she hadn’t it would have been the only real laugh of the day….
We got out at Waterloo and sauntered in the spitting rain to ‘Pain Quotidian’ opposite the festival hall.
I ordered granola and yogurt with an occasional piece of melon and my companion chose scrambled egg, mushrooms with four pieces of healthy bread. I ordered a BIG BOWL of Americana coffee with hot milk whilst Goody ordered a small Machiatto. All good so far until our waitress, for her own Serbian reasons, decided to curse us. Under her breath and with just the slightest of malice I could lip read her expletives. Unless there is a Serbian word that rhymes with ‘hit’ she was definitely having a go. I asked a Kiwi waiter why she was so surly and he said they had all been up early, well so had we but we didn’t make unnecessary comments over our petit dejeuner
My young producer paid for brekky, she felt bad about her recording gear, we then headed off for Leicester Square.
I had precisely one hour to do two hours work. before you could say ‘It’s one of those days’ young Goody realised she had left the script on the faux fur throw-all which was hanging over the back of the settee here in Battersea.
We managed with an old script and worked until my mouth started tying itself up in knots. She left, I went upstairs to my desk and was promptly removed to interview the great-great-great-grand-daughter of Charles Dickens. Very interesting and inspirational.
A quick lunch and then Ronan Keating talking about his new CD, Stephen Gately and the loss of Steo and his mother, I really like Mr. Keating he is dignified, gentle and a great role model.
The rest of the show was about forced marriages, the NHS and sponsoring children. lest we forget children are for life not just for Christmas so we discussed giving a man a fish and feeding him for one day and teaching a man to fish thus filling his larder for a lifetime.
Off I went to meet up with a delightful young woman who had worked with me on GFL. I went into the Curzon cinema, opposite the fire station on Shafstbury Avenue and bumped into somebody I hadn’t seen in years. She was with a Venezuelan designer who was too good looking for his own good, they were perfectly balanced on high stools at a table. It took me at least eight minutes to manouvre my body onto half a stool, which I guess is better than no stool at all.
When my young woman arrived we four chatted and shared stories, giggled and swapped names until my guest went white. Somebody had stolen her red bag with everything she was in it, everything from keys, ipod, telephone to driving license and wallet. The three of us dispersed to see if we could find the red bag but to no avail. I gave her some money and left feeling dreadfully guilty. My old friends glasses snapped before my very eyes. I thought I was jinxing everybody so I set off into the melee of China Town
Wandered around and ended up in a Persian restaurant. Had a perfectly turned out humus and falafal, went downstairs to the ‘ladies’, and was horrified at the smell and general grubbyness of the place so I gave back my main course and left.
Went to Gaby’s, next to ‘Wyndhams’ had a plate of salads and a hot blackcurrant which was so sweet my lips crocheted together.
Walked round to see THE CALENDER GIRLS. Julie Goodyear was being understudied so I decided enough was enough, the day had started badly and was about to end in a less than sensational way, I walked to Waterloo and there they were all the ugly’s going home.
The day had got to me, arrived in the flat and Goody Suzall called to say her day had come to a grinding halt as she had spent all day in the hospital with her fiancee.
I don’t know what planets are playing around up there but whatever they’re doing they had better stop it as soon as possible because everything around me is breaking, including Goody’s boyfriends bones..
Tomorrow I am cancelling my evening theatre trip, I am cancelling Thursdays as well and I am making a date with my wooly sox, pyjama bottoms and a big mug of Rooibosh tea, there’s just so much a girl can take before she starts seeing the ugly’s….