After my meeting
I drove to Southend on Sea to see Joe Longthorne in
concert. Mr Longthorne is from the same part of Hull
as me and as well being a fan of his I wanted to see
how he'd recovered after his recent battle with cancer.
As I took my seat, apart from realising I was the only
person in the theatre that didn't have a loyalty card
for Elizabeth Duke of Argos, I noticed the woman to
my immediate left would not stop looking at me. As I
took my seat it was the only one remaining on the row
so it was hard to conceal the fact that I had gone to
see a show on my lonesome. I felt her pikey, piggy eyes
burning into me but of course I couldn't say anything…
because she was old. When I say old she must have been
about sixty; not ancient but old enough to get away
with such a social faux pas. After about two minutes
I decided to turn and lock eyes in battle; not that
it would last long, there was no way I could lose, she
obviously didn't even realise I knew she was starring.
I turned quite quickly hoping to use the element of
surprise for a split second knock out. Boom, I turned,
eyes slightly narrowed in a "eerrrr, excuuuse me???"
expression. She remained motionless. Well, not entirely
motionless, her saggy turkey neck wobbled gently under
the weight of her gold earrings and Deidre Rachid glasses.
1, 2, 3 seconds, she's still looking at me, eye to eye
direct contact. This woman's good. OK, now we're at
about 5 seconds, she's got to buckle anytime now, anything
longer than this and it's no longer a faux pas, sixty
years old or not, it's just plain fucking rude. Ten
seconds. You've got to be fucking joking, she HAS to
turn away any second, it's now beyond rude, it's personal.
Twenty seconds. I'm now trying not to laugh, this is
totally bizarre, the woman will not look away. Twenty
five seconds. She hasn't even blinked. She is quite
obviously dead; my first attempt to stare someone out
since Upper School and I have lost on a technicality,
my opponent died during the match. Thirty seconds plus.
I turn back to look at my crisps, a defeated, no, broken
man; my eyes burning and my mouth dry. To add insult
to injury I see her in my peripheral vision as she slowly
shakes her head and goes back to her bag of Malteasers.
I wondered if anyone witnessed what had just taken place,
hopefully there is someone who clocked the whole thing
and I can laugh it off as we raise eyebrows to each
other in a "what a mad bitch!" kind of way.
I turn to the man on my immediate right. He is starring
at me. This time I make no attempt whatsoever to engage
in battle; I know when I'm outclassed, this is not the
Cliffs Pavillion Theatre Southend, it's an episode of
Hammer House of Horror. I do realise that because I've
been on the telly every now and again for the past 10
or 12 years, occasionally people recognise me. This
is thankfully not the recognition actors get who are
actually famous; it's more of a vaguely quizzical "I'm
sure I know that face" kind of look. Not on this
occasion, these people were appalled that I had gone
to see a seaside show on my own. Everyone had gone out
on a nice, social evening with their families and had
it been spoiled by some fucking nutter that had bought
a single ticket in the middle of a row. Christ, if they
had known I'd driven for 2 and a half hours in the Friday
rush hour from London they'd have taken me out and given
me a good kicking on the sea front.
Saturday, 29 April 2006
Went for a "high powered" meeting with a big
film producer today. Odd really as I haven't written
a film, nor am I going to be in one (not "ever";
just in the foreseeable future). The meeting was about
a musical I've been asked to write (just as well 'cause
I can't sing or dance). Before the meeting I parked
in Golden Square and there was 57mins left on the meter;
surely the gods were smiling on me. They didn't smile
for long; as soon as I shut the car door I projectile
vomited five times in the gutter. Five times. I'd felt
a bit queasy on the way there but the air conditioning
seemed to settle me a bit but as soon as I stepped into
the warm afternoon sun I repeatedly heaved a bright
ribena red liquid into the street splashing anyone within
a five metre radius. I can't imagine I'm the first person
to wipe vomit off his shoes before going into a meeting
in Soho;
Jeffery Bernard would have been proud of me.
