Robin, Bobcat and me.

How do you prepare to interview ROBIN WILLIAMS?
You don’t sleep, you read until 2.15a.m. You have a shower wash your hair, put on some lipstick, a pair of dungarees and believe that he has to be a decent human being otherwise you couldn’t love him as much as you do.
How do you prepare to interview BOBCAT GOLDTHWAIT, just the same way as you did Robin Williams.
Their new film THE WORLDS GREATEST DAD is funny, rude, gripping, thoughtful, charming and honest. I loved it. I hope I didn’t sound like I was licking too much Hollywood ass when I was interviewing them.
Mr. Williams is hairy, small and huggable.
The angels stepped in and helped out with the questions.
I did that first thing this morning.

Last night I went to South Woodford to meet a Slovenian called Borut.
He realigned my spine, talked to me about the power of greens and sent me home believing that I could interview the likes of Williams and Bobcat because I was a gutsy lady. And he should know he cleans colons for a living
This week has been mad for B. A posse of men have suddenly discovered her. Decided she is the next big thing since Sophie Tucker and are going to help her become the musician she wants to be.
We have drunk champagne, talked into the night, spent more money than is good for us and bought into her future with the gusto that only gutsy gels can.
I am thrilled for her. I am delighted that all her hard work has paid off, but more importantly I am grateful that she is safe in this world with a set of wonderful mentors behind her.
The old git is in Cambridge for one more night then its commuting to Reading, Windsor and home. A couple of weeks holidaying with me then off to Prague and Gawds know where.
This summer is shaping up although I have to have one eye on my ma who is getting frail.
I need to talk about that but not tonight I am off to Ronnie Scotts with my boy, his girl, my girl. and a car full of cottage equipment.
Mr. M is out of Wimbledon. I keep shouting at him that unless he injects some humour and passion, lightness and fun into the game he will never win. But he is too grumpy to listen.
Do I feel sorry for Mr. M. No! Lessons in life are always hard. The only way for him to realise that tennis is only a game which requires more than a grimacing backhand is to lose. Our sportsmen have forgotten how to have fun. if they didn’t get huge pay packets it would be different. Professional actors always say that the way to be a good professional is to act like an amateur.
Its the love of the game that makes a winner, not the love of winning to make the game. Well that’s what I think.
I’m off now to shower away the talk of the day, to dress in a cool outfit for Ronnie and to tidy up the flat for Giles, Tim, Clarence and Deborah who are staying here whilst I carry my cargo to the cottage.
I’m back late Saturday so I can sleep with my husband, although I have a 50th birthday party to go to in Ashdown Forest. It may go on later than it should in which case I shall slip into my own bed in Sussex and dream of my husband instead. After 33 years its a good policy to keep the dream the alive since the reality can be a little shocking…