Yes, yes, yes I did recognise you in the restaurant and I did think I should have made it known. I would have thought that a respected actor might well appreciate being definitively recognised by nice strangers (we are such strangers) but that they would also be desirous for said strangers - whilst making it very clear that they recognise the actor - not to impede any further on their dinner, conversation, or any other part of the space in which the actor is evolving.
The problem is: how do you achieve this acknowledgment, yet uphold the ensuing necessary discretion, with the elegance of a retired ballet dancer? With most people there are only two initial settings in eye contact/body language. These are either: "I know you" or "I don't know you". Mark Rylance, an actor of your status could no doubt convey with an arched eyebrow the full text of "I know you and I like your work and I am really looking forward to seeing Jerusalem on 13 January 2012 - please do not suddenely lose your voice or break a leg on the 12th - but if you did that would be frankly typical of my luck - I mean Derek Jacobi lost his voice on the day we were supposed to be seeing his myth-making King Lear - and it was cancelled - which led to the mother of all hangovers the next day as, instead of watching a play we drank a couple of barrels of wine instead - you'd have thought we'd know better at our age but we never learn, Mark Rylance. We never learn. So we plough on, regardless. Keep up the good work and we will see you in the new year, whilst respecting your privacy in the here and now. But hey. We know you. We certainly know you and the pork pie hat was a helpful reminder, should one of our contact lenses have fallen out of our otherwise perky eyes. We just don't know how to communicate that without words."
Really. It is not cool for non-famous people to approach famous people. So Mark Rylance, next time we meet, nod your head, doff your hat, and then I can smile and wave at you with ease. But unless you give me the sign, you will be saved from meeting the plebian that is either of us. Which will have its upsides!
Love, M&T xxx
Monday 17 October 2011
Monday 5 September 2011
How to travel into the sofa
The holiday season is now well and truly over and so we sink into the despondency of the pre-winter grumpy slump that is September. It's like a giant lumpy sofa with too much textured fabric. You're stuck in it anyway and it's largely impossible to haul yourself out of it.
Cheer up! It could be worse. It's grey but it's not raining.
Travelling does broaden the mind but being small minded can be fun too. There's a special pleasure to be had in missing things on purpose. You know - you're in an exotic place and you can't be bothered to do the things that guidebooks the world over bug you to do. We did a list recently with two friends - and we discovered that we are champions at this.
We've been to Hanoi and not seen Halong Bay. To China, and not seen the Great Wall. To Japan, four times, and ignored Mount Fuji. To Australia three times, and avoided Uluru. To New Zealand twice, and not seen Milford Sound. Argentina was just as amazing without the Igazu Falls. In Katherine, in the middle of Oz, we avoided the gorge and spent time observing the high street instead.
Our friends beat us with a granddaddy of avoidance - they went to Egypt - and didn't see the Pyramids.
There would never be time to see everything. So, this September, visit the depth of the sofa - and enjoy every minute of it.
M&T xxx
Cheer up! It could be worse. It's grey but it's not raining.
Travelling does broaden the mind but being small minded can be fun too. There's a special pleasure to be had in missing things on purpose. You know - you're in an exotic place and you can't be bothered to do the things that guidebooks the world over bug you to do. We did a list recently with two friends - and we discovered that we are champions at this.
We've been to Hanoi and not seen Halong Bay. To China, and not seen the Great Wall. To Japan, four times, and ignored Mount Fuji. To Australia three times, and avoided Uluru. To New Zealand twice, and not seen Milford Sound. Argentina was just as amazing without the Igazu Falls. In Katherine, in the middle of Oz, we avoided the gorge and spent time observing the high street instead.
Our friends beat us with a granddaddy of avoidance - they went to Egypt - and didn't see the Pyramids.
There would never be time to see everything. So, this September, visit the depth of the sofa - and enjoy every minute of it.
M&T xxx
Monday 25 July 2011
Amy Winehouse - a London memory
Living in London you bump into *famous* people from time to time. *Stars in eyes!* Jo Brand squeezes past you at the theatre. You step on Ian Hislop's toes at the High Court (he was very nice about that). Amy Winehouse's sad death last Saturday reminds me of the one unexpected time that we happened to be in the same room together.
I have a underground employment practice, by which I mean that I help friends (as friends, not as clients) on issues arising out of the nefarious and slithery relationship between employer and employee. I am still very proud that in England & Wales we at least have a semblance of legislative protection in that area - but even in our little ole island this area is a dubious sand pit of abuse at the best of times.
Anyway a friend C had had a nightmare (which had its funny moments) with a bunch of breathtakingly disingenuous lawyers, whom we had battled for a few months and finally achieved some good. So we went to the Savoy bar for a drink to celebrate. This was before the refurbishment. The Savoy bar was eye wateringly expensive but atmospheric and pleasant. It probably stiull is. In the Age of Austerity I am giving it lots and lots of space to breathe. Any road, back then we fancied ourselves having an elegant glass as we quietly congratulated ourselves on not actually having punched anybody's face in, but used instead the twin virtues of patience and reason, even when faced with the most insidious provocation.
It was not a quiet night. We arrived to find a busy room. Disappointingly, a couple of senior corporate lawyers that I knew were plotting in a corner. That just about ruined the atmosphere, right there. Elegance died on the carpet. On such occasions, corporate tedium is more like a bad smell than anything else.
That was to the left of us. To the right was a boistrous bunch of people, just in from some afternoon awards event, or something of that ilk. And at the heart of the group was a little dark pixie, with impossibly bouffant hair, and eyeliner like coal seams. She was weaving around, quietly - I did not recognise her at first but as she brushed past me as we moved tables, she said quietly "All right, love" as if talking to a ghost - and I saw who she was. She was very tiny, frail and yet coiled as a tiger about to spring. She was not a soft touch - she snapped a bit viciously at someone else a few moments later (I think a question had been asked).
It all kicked off. Things got louder and louder. At one point, Amy wandered over to the Savoy's piano, and started caressing the keys. A flustered attendant rushed over to say "No. No. No". She did not insist but one of her entourage was particularly outraged and jabbed a finger at the attendant. "You are making a big mistake. A big mistake." he or she declared a la Pretty Woman. (The entourage were a blur of hangers on. They seemed interchangeable. I supposed our onlooker's focus was on the famous face. Amy's face was very strong, as we all know).
I could be wrong but I think Rob Brydon, the comedian, was there too.
The large group disappeared into the night, in a blur of noise, like a giant hive. The bee hive will be quieter now, always.
Love,
M&T x
I have a underground employment practice, by which I mean that I help friends (as friends, not as clients) on issues arising out of the nefarious and slithery relationship between employer and employee. I am still very proud that in England & Wales we at least have a semblance of legislative protection in that area - but even in our little ole island this area is a dubious sand pit of abuse at the best of times.
Anyway a friend C had had a nightmare (which had its funny moments) with a bunch of breathtakingly disingenuous lawyers, whom we had battled for a few months and finally achieved some good. So we went to the Savoy bar for a drink to celebrate. This was before the refurbishment. The Savoy bar was eye wateringly expensive but atmospheric and pleasant. It probably stiull is. In the Age of Austerity I am giving it lots and lots of space to breathe. Any road, back then we fancied ourselves having an elegant glass as we quietly congratulated ourselves on not actually having punched anybody's face in, but used instead the twin virtues of patience and reason, even when faced with the most insidious provocation.
It was not a quiet night. We arrived to find a busy room. Disappointingly, a couple of senior corporate lawyers that I knew were plotting in a corner. That just about ruined the atmosphere, right there. Elegance died on the carpet. On such occasions, corporate tedium is more like a bad smell than anything else.
That was to the left of us. To the right was a boistrous bunch of people, just in from some afternoon awards event, or something of that ilk. And at the heart of the group was a little dark pixie, with impossibly bouffant hair, and eyeliner like coal seams. She was weaving around, quietly - I did not recognise her at first but as she brushed past me as we moved tables, she said quietly "All right, love" as if talking to a ghost - and I saw who she was. She was very tiny, frail and yet coiled as a tiger about to spring. She was not a soft touch - she snapped a bit viciously at someone else a few moments later (I think a question had been asked).
It all kicked off. Things got louder and louder. At one point, Amy wandered over to the Savoy's piano, and started caressing the keys. A flustered attendant rushed over to say "No. No. No". She did not insist but one of her entourage was particularly outraged and jabbed a finger at the attendant. "You are making a big mistake. A big mistake." he or she declared a la Pretty Woman. (The entourage were a blur of hangers on. They seemed interchangeable. I supposed our onlooker's focus was on the famous face. Amy's face was very strong, as we all know).
I could be wrong but I think Rob Brydon, the comedian, was there too.
The large group disappeared into the night, in a blur of noise, like a giant hive. The bee hive will be quieter now, always.
Love,
M&T x
Tuesday 19 July 2011
Things that make you go "oooo"
This morning I passed an old lady who was heading to the eye hospital. She had been given a very boring looking white plastic eye patch. So she had stuck some colourful dried flowers on it.
It's the sort of thing that makes you do a double take. How does one put this - it did not - in any way - make things look any better. In fact, white plastic is hard to liven up at the best of times, let alone when cupped over some poor suppurating orb. But, on the other hand, bully for her. You're getting on a bit, you have a poor suppurating orb, you are instructed to cover it up with a giant guitar pick, and you glance at the mirror on the way out. "No," you think decisively, "No. This will not do."
It is a heroic effort to stick anything onto anything these days. Gluing well is something that takes practice. But she takes a decision to do something. She takes action. She sticks the flowers on. Making things better in one's own mind is brave and important.
I take my hat off to you, O Pirate of Moorrrrrrrfields. I hope the eye recovers.
Love,
M&T x
It's the sort of thing that makes you do a double take. How does one put this - it did not - in any way - make things look any better. In fact, white plastic is hard to liven up at the best of times, let alone when cupped over some poor suppurating orb. But, on the other hand, bully for her. You're getting on a bit, you have a poor suppurating orb, you are instructed to cover it up with a giant guitar pick, and you glance at the mirror on the way out. "No," you think decisively, "No. This will not do."
It is a heroic effort to stick anything onto anything these days. Gluing well is something that takes practice. But she takes a decision to do something. She takes action. She sticks the flowers on. Making things better in one's own mind is brave and important.
I take my hat off to you, O Pirate of Moorrrrrrrfields. I hope the eye recovers.
Love,
M&T x
Tuesday 21 June 2011
The Big Hedge Society
As it happens, we have gained responsibility for a large Afro-style hedge in a nice London square. This hedge is a beast. It is large and bushy and if you so much as ignore it for a second it sprouts like a crazy Amazonian patch. "Yee-haa", it goes, wildly flinging out stiff leafsome tentacles in all directions, a green firework frozen in time.
So every so often the ball and chain and I go down to trim the bush. It's one of those jobs that is a bit - how do we put this - better in the abstract than in practice. For starters, we do not really have the correct tools for the job. Old slightly rusty shears that spring open with alarming enthusiasm, slightly wonky clippers, a long handled slicy thing that neither of us can operate with any degree of precision. We are the Incapability Browns.
Still, we go at it patiently, armed with bins bags and brooms to clear up the rubbish.
It's the comments that get you.
One elderly gentleman thinks we do not tend it enough. He'll drag his scrawny carcass by, muttering vitriolically all the while. "About time, too" he'll grunt, "That thing is an eyesore!" An eyesore? Dear boy, what do you call a shanty town? I've taken him to task: "If in any way it bothers you, please feel free to trim it yourself". He backs down. Never trust a person wielding pointy shears. Another lady was slightly too interested in proceedings. She watched us with her child for just a little bit too long. I mean, we're not doing a show here. Finally, she said to her young one: "I wonder if she's going to make it into a shape?" I look away to roll my eyes. Make it into a shape? I can barely get it even. The child skips up: "Hello!" it breathes. "Are you going to make it into a shape?" I look down, teetering on my ladder: "Oh yes!" I say brightly, "I'm planning on it being a large nude lady!" This moves mother and child along.
We don't have to make it look especially nice - but we do our very best. If anyone out there sees people doing their very best whose best is manifestly not good enough, where possible, provided that they are not surgeons operating, just be kind, be silent and let them be. Silence can be as golden as autumn hedge leaves.
With love from the pink thumbed,
M&T x
So every so often the ball and chain and I go down to trim the bush. It's one of those jobs that is a bit - how do we put this - better in the abstract than in practice. For starters, we do not really have the correct tools for the job. Old slightly rusty shears that spring open with alarming enthusiasm, slightly wonky clippers, a long handled slicy thing that neither of us can operate with any degree of precision. We are the Incapability Browns.
Still, we go at it patiently, armed with bins bags and brooms to clear up the rubbish.
It's the comments that get you.
One elderly gentleman thinks we do not tend it enough. He'll drag his scrawny carcass by, muttering vitriolically all the while. "About time, too" he'll grunt, "That thing is an eyesore!" An eyesore? Dear boy, what do you call a shanty town? I've taken him to task: "If in any way it bothers you, please feel free to trim it yourself". He backs down. Never trust a person wielding pointy shears. Another lady was slightly too interested in proceedings. She watched us with her child for just a little bit too long. I mean, we're not doing a show here. Finally, she said to her young one: "I wonder if she's going to make it into a shape?" I look away to roll my eyes. Make it into a shape? I can barely get it even. The child skips up: "Hello!" it breathes. "Are you going to make it into a shape?" I look down, teetering on my ladder: "Oh yes!" I say brightly, "I'm planning on it being a large nude lady!" This moves mother and child along.
We don't have to make it look especially nice - but we do our very best. If anyone out there sees people doing their very best whose best is manifestly not good enough, where possible, provided that they are not surgeons operating, just be kind, be silent and let them be. Silence can be as golden as autumn hedge leaves.
With love from the pink thumbed,
M&T x
Monday 23 May 2011
Superinjunctions!
Given that there is as much flak flying around about superinjunctions as there is dust in the Sahara, the time may have come for another post with a legal tone. Superinjunctions were never meant to be permanent tools (unlike most of those who invoke their protection). They are supposed to be temporary relief measures. The aim is to secure information for short periods of time, with that confidentiality being carefully balanced against the need to have an open and public system of justice.
Judges are not infallible. Perhaps they have been too quick to grant protection to the undeserving. But it's not all about footballers playing away.
We're back to free speech - a vexed question. So obviously a good thing, and yet freedom of speech must be exercised responsibly. Actions have consequences. Peddling plain untruths - as we see happening in the States, with the Obama birth certificate nonsense a prime example - should be actively discouraged. We saw some of that over 'ere during the AV campaign, too.
However, exposing a sexual dalliance is not always OK - why should it be? It may however be OK sometimes - especially if hypocrisy is exposed by the disclosure. How can anyone seek to impose rules of behaviour on others - moral or social - if such rules manifestly cannot be complied with by those seeking to impose or uphold them?
Privacy and freedom of speech are not necessarily compatible. This makes for a good Venn diagram argument. How large is your overlap? Does freedom of speech trump privacy every time? Should it?
Good Lord. We are almost being deep. We now wade back into the shallows, with a pina colada safely in hand, watching a long stream of our handsome lovers doing the conga on the beach.
Love, M&Tx
Judges are not infallible. Perhaps they have been too quick to grant protection to the undeserving. But it's not all about footballers playing away.
We're back to free speech - a vexed question. So obviously a good thing, and yet freedom of speech must be exercised responsibly. Actions have consequences. Peddling plain untruths - as we see happening in the States, with the Obama birth certificate nonsense a prime example - should be actively discouraged. We saw some of that over 'ere during the AV campaign, too.
However, exposing a sexual dalliance is not always OK - why should it be? It may however be OK sometimes - especially if hypocrisy is exposed by the disclosure. How can anyone seek to impose rules of behaviour on others - moral or social - if such rules manifestly cannot be complied with by those seeking to impose or uphold them?
Privacy and freedom of speech are not necessarily compatible. This makes for a good Venn diagram argument. How large is your overlap? Does freedom of speech trump privacy every time? Should it?
Good Lord. We are almost being deep. We now wade back into the shallows, with a pina colada safely in hand, watching a long stream of our handsome lovers doing the conga on the beach.
Love, M&Tx
Thursday 19 May 2011
Reading, reading, and bookshop!
Tonight we proudly read at the Ritzy in Brixton - and on 15 June 2011 we are reading at the Albion pub in Barnsbury, Islington, at 7 pm. Come on over! You can also pick up Big Ben the book at Prowler, a fabulous and fun store in deepest Soho. The summer is coming and it's definitely time to pick up a read for the beach. "If not now, when?" as we always exclaim when passing a cake shop.
Love, M&T x
Love, M&T x
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