Arts and Minds

So I got there early having been to a caff next door where I downed the biggest baked potato since the famine, more baked beans than Heinz, a coconut cake and a pot of Earl Grey tea. The proprietor called it a herbal tea and I didn’t want to disappoint so I kept quiet, the eleven quid it cost me for my pre-theatre meal was worth every carb.
I waddled into the ‘Apollo’ on Lower Regent Street, having walked the whole length of Upper Regent Street before I realised that the ‘Apollo Cinema’ was not a moon walk away but literally round the corner from LBC.
I sat down in the second row and gobbled up the popcorn that had been left for us BAFTA members, then started on the sweets, another pot for the privileged.

CRAZY HEART was better second time around. Jeff Bridges plays a wonderful flabby drunk. He inhabits the part of Bad Blake with the ease of the ‘Dude’ that he is. When it came to the Q/A it felt like a Tom Jones concert. If the BAFTA biddies could have ripped off their panties and thrown them at him they would have done. As would I if I had had the right kind of undergarment.
Mariella Frostrup questioned him and we all sat forward on our seats to catch the pearls that fell out of his mouth. He’s an actor for goodness sake but he is Hollywood Royalty. he makes no bones about being the product of nepotism, and likes talking about the process of acting. He deserves the accolades he’s getting for his performance, and given that the film took 24 days to shoot its a testimony to his weight – and I don’t mean the 28 lbs he put on for the part.
I took the 19 bus home and pondered what it must be like to be a face that everybody knows. How do you deal with that kind of celebrity?
I crossed over the road and there lying in the gutter was the glove I lost last week. Sweet serendipity, would Mr. Bridges have been so made-up if he had found a lost Polyester glove I wondered?
Last night I went to ‘The Barbican’ to see Peter Brooks’ latest offering – ’11/12′. I had another bag of sweets and promptly fell asleep in the part that described what the play was about. The intention was good, worthy even, had The Bridges been in it I might have stayed awake, but I didn’t manage to engage.
Took the tube back to Victoria and 25 minutes later watched good old Jeff being interviewed by Johnathon Ross. Twice within two days, I nearly threw my panties at the telly….
I stayed up in town this weekend. So had brunch with a dear young actress and then met the ‘nearasdamnitson’ and his consort at ‘The Tate’ to see the Chris Ofili exhibition. Mr. Ofili was thrust into the public gaze by his use of dung on his paintings. Dung is only part of it, his work is utterly beautiful, colourful, thoughtful and worthy of his ‘Turner Prize’ status. It was a handsome reward for my OAP concession, I much prefer the ‘Tate’ to the ‘Tate Modern’, but being an old mistress-piece myself I would wouldn’t I?
This evening I’m meant to be going to a party in Hammersmith, I have to wear vintage or futuristic. If I get my work done I will attend, otherwise it’ll be burning the midnight oil with two projects I have to learn.
So there we have it. It’s 18.38, I’m hungry and about to start some work.
If the weather holds we’re back home tomorrow to spend one night in the cottage and collect the car that has been mended. I spent a good deal of dosh on myself buying supplements on Friday, the car cost twice as much, so hopefully us two old jalopies will keep running for a few more years.
Have a good Saturday night.