St. Georges Day

Its been a week full of meetings, meals and merry making.
Monday found me eating greens beans with garlic and olive oil in the ALICE HOUSE in West Hampstead.
A gaggle of wise women celebrating a birthday.
I left at 10.00 and turned left towards The Edgware Road, took the wrong fork and ended up driving down Abbey Road, through Lisson Grove and onto a slip road to Marble Arch, pictures of my youth flashing before me. It took me less than half and hour to get from North West London to South West London. My little red car nipping through the green lights.

On Tuesday I took a friend to see the ‘Jersey Boys’ in Old Compton Street. We had tea in Patisserie Vals and ended up talking to Steve a fan of LBC. His friend was a big lumberjack of a man covered in tattooes. Garishly gorgeous. I commented on his arms and expected a big butch baritone instead this dear painted geezer was as sweet as as a thistle, all the way from Scotland and as camp as a row of tentsin Inverness
JERSEY BOYS was executed professionally but the air con was so cold I was wrapped up like an Innuit. What is it with these theatres its Spring in London not Summer in Mombai….
I’d had a meeting with possibly one of the nicest blokes I’ve met in years. Him and my agent and another Scottish geezer talked through an idea we’ve had for years. I left Fiori’s knowing that finally we would get it made the ‘Jersey Boys’ topped the evening off nicely.
I’d had an acupuncture face lift in the morning so I looked all tight and youthful, inevitably by Wednesday evening, when I had another meeting with a really posh outfit, my face had fallen into my trainers and I looked every inch the 78 years that I felt.
The meeting frightened me, I’d forgotten the hard sell that is British television. At my age I wondered whether I could be bothered with the adrenal thrashing, but actually by yesterday morning I felt fine. Talking to the old git and Sybil, in Hollywood on Skype, was the support I needed.
Last night the ‘oosbind and I went to ‘The Young Vic’ for a farewell do with LOVE AND MADNESS a theatre company that he’s worked with. We ate in a wonderful restaurant opposite the theatre. TAS is Turkish cuisine, we think, and tasty if a little over attentive. No sooner have you finished your meal when somebody whisks the plate away. No dipping in of the finger for a licking of the sauces. Jim had lamb thingies with roasted veg and I chose a melange of moist vegetables that makes our met and two veg look like plastic imitations of Manolo Blankets…….
After a wee drink at the Vic the old man was asked to think about working with them again and then we grabbed a taxi back to the flat to watch the debate.
You know I think we all really know where our allegiances lie the debate just makes us review the leaders like a Miss World Contest. Scrutinising their ties, their eyes, their hair and then their policies. Which after listening carefully sound plausable and mostly unworkable. Unworkable because when the day to day running of the country faces them reality gets in the way of their pontificating and rhetoric.
Its a them and us country at the moment and I wonder who really is going to look after our extended village best. All of us villagers, red, brown, black, yellow and a toasty caramel wait with baited breath and our voting cards.
I’m about to wash, dress and walk to Leicester Square. The suns up the buds are bursting. The blue ceonathus on the river is remarkable, the white blossoms by Battersea Bridge brilliant, in fact they initiated a conversation between me and the French woman who lives on the houseboat opposite my flat. She lives there with her son, rabbit and two dogs.
‘Smell them.’ she said in her delicious French accent, so I did.
I shall sniff them again, take whatever route presents itself, do the show then meet with my oldest girlfriend for tea in town . Then its a bus to the flat a loading of the car and then a drive home. Hurrah for the sun, hurrah for my home and Hurrah for the Eurostar that delivered the daughter safely back from Paris. She has good news from a musical person which I know about but she doesn’t. Can’t wait for her call when she finds out.
It’s 9.00 exactly, time for that shower.
have a good day.

4 thoughts on “St. Georges Day”

  1. Dear Jenni. You could never look 78 more a youthfull 45! i think! Yes i know there both the speeds of those things people used to play on the gramophone Ha Ha! But your the popular 45 i think!
    You said that driving home the other day felt hairy to you but you took a wrong turn and ended up at your flat quicker than usuall, well i had the reverse happen to me when i was driving home late one night from Hollywood to my then home in Santa Monica. I thought oh ill drive west straight along Santa Monica Blvd so off i went feeling rather tired as the car purred on towards Beverly Hills i passed through Beverly Hills carried going straight on then i had to turn right as i found my route blocked by The Los Angeles Country Club and i thought thats funny ive always driven all the way home on Santa Monica Blvd. I thought ill drive around the Country Club and work my way back to Santa Monica Blvd so off i went and suddenly i was driving along Sunset Blvd and i thought much better as id driven this twisty road during the day several times so on i went and on and on and i went up some very out in the boondocks canyon roads that seemed to lead nowhere and eventually i got to Temescal Canyon Rd and found myself soon back on Sunset Blvd and drove to the Pacific Coast highway to Palisades Park and then along Ocean Avenue into Santa Monica. I was so relieved ant it was 2 in the morning but there was the sea weith the moon shimmering on it and The Pier and i turned left into Colorado Blvd and left again to my flat and when i got out of the car i felt like kissing the tarmack like the pope as i was so glad id got home! I hope this dosent happen to you Jenni when you visit your frind Sybil in Hollywood! Have a lovely weekend in the Cottage and a great week next week! love Terry

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