One of the things I love about London is the abundance of proper celebrities. You can hardly move around theatreland late afternoon without tripping over them. I once all but knocked over Helen Mirren and, in turning round to say sorry, bumped into Cherie Lunghi.
Last night Lampeter alumni gathered to discuss our Candy Crush strategies, our opinion of Man Utd's midfield, how much Louis Suarez resembles Bernie Winters, and just how much of my novel is based on fact - (my answer to all of them: not much).
We had booked a table at Mr Kong's, an old Chinatown favourite. As we marched in I noticed poor old Mike Leigh and his partner stood forgotten, waiting in the hallway for a table. For he is just a no-one who makes the odd film or two, whereas we were with a force of nature called Jo who swished past saying “We've booked, table for nine, yada yada yada....”
As I went past I felt obliged to make a joke about the situation. So I squeezed Mike Leigh's arm and said “Never mind, we must be proper celebrities.” in what I took to be a faux patronising piece of hilarity he'll probably incubate for a few years before suggesting it to Timothy Spall as a metaphor for London in what will come to be known as his masterpiece on queuing, provisionally entitled Chop Chop Suey.
Anyway, come the end of the night, emboldened on cheap wine and pork belly with yam hotpot, Anne and Mark cornered the maestro in a pincer movement and talked of their love for his films, oh you know wossname and thingummyjig, you know, that one with Bubbles from Absolutely Fabulous – oooh now that is a good show.
He seemed a very nice chap. Patient.
Last night Lampeter alumni gathered to discuss our Candy Crush strategies, our opinion of Man Utd's midfield, how much Louis Suarez resembles Bernie Winters, and just how much of my novel is based on fact - (my answer to all of them: not much).
We had booked a table at Mr Kong's, an old Chinatown favourite. As we marched in I noticed poor old Mike Leigh and his partner stood forgotten, waiting in the hallway for a table. For he is just a no-one who makes the odd film or two, whereas we were with a force of nature called Jo who swished past saying “We've booked, table for nine, yada yada yada....”
As I went past I felt obliged to make a joke about the situation. So I squeezed Mike Leigh's arm and said “Never mind, we must be proper celebrities.” in what I took to be a faux patronising piece of hilarity he'll probably incubate for a few years before suggesting it to Timothy Spall as a metaphor for London in what will come to be known as his masterpiece on queuing, provisionally entitled Chop Chop Suey.
Anyway, come the end of the night, emboldened on cheap wine and pork belly with yam hotpot, Anne and Mark cornered the maestro in a pincer movement and talked of their love for his films, oh you know wossname and thingummyjig, you know, that one with Bubbles from Absolutely Fabulous – oooh now that is a good show.
He seemed a very nice chap. Patient.
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