Ooh… first time actually starting after midnight, so officially tomorrow. This is still part of my today so far, though, and it won’t get posted till tomorrow, so now shall I just shut up and get on with it? I think I shall. Sooooooooo ffffing cold. Cold. Cold cold cold. The first thing Jane said to half-undressed me as she barged back in after her dip was “MOVE!”. That really was it. Move. As in ‘get out of my way’. She was aiming for the bucket of hot water with her feet and I was at the tap. I moved. Jane’s the one who gave the man shingles for not reciprocating her interest. Jane is a political ninja, who is called upon to go and verbally batter bishops. You don’t fuck with Jane.
The getting in, down the steps, that was okay. The first push off was less so. It’s interesting what your mind and body do with each other. I was scared because I hadn’t been in for a week. If I’d spent time thinking about how I was totally prepared, then I think my body might well have followed suit.
I did a short swim between life rings and then out. The soles of my feet had already gone anyway. Esther (can’t write that name without thinking of Esther Lilley – hello, lovely girl – I miss you) and others educated me on ‘week off protocol’. Start small, go regularly, build up slowly and if you’re at all concerned, remind the life guards that you haven’t been for a bit.
The board said 4 degrees, but the ladies scoffed. It was frozen over yesterday, they said. It was no way 4, more like 2. Ah well. Now I am officially seriously hard. I haven’t done ice yet. Jane says it tinkles like music as you swim.
I chatted with the hugely dissatisfied Pakistani man in the launderette. Not happy. Homesick. Tired and lonely. I felt for him. We chatted briefly, but he needs friends and a sense of community. Or a reason to stay that fills up and becomes level with his feeling that he must. He won’t leave until his visa expires, even though he’s hating it.
I got back just in time to put some of the clean washing on for my photoshoot for the Daily Mail. I did a whole list of things your mother would tell you not to do. I arranged for the photographer to pick me up and drive me to his place where he has a studio in the loft. I was wary, especially as he’d touched the hands I had in my lap within seconds of me getting in the car.
But we do have instincts on these things, and my instinct said do it. We talked. He had been a royal photographer in the Diana years. He’d travelled with them on holiday every year. He’d seen ‘the boys’ grow up. He listed all sorts of people he’d worked with, from Michael Jackson to a ream of lookalikes on a shoot, all sitting munching their trailer food in the breaks – The Queen tucking into a pie with Elvis and Marylin Monroe. That kind of thing.
And he was lovely. Unassuming. Put people at their ease. I thought of my Bristol taxi driver. This man had that knack too. Whoever. Whatever. Ease. Familiarity, maybe, but just letting it all be. It’s quite a skill. I met his wife, who was lovely too, with a real sparkle. And the make-up artist, a sweetie, who was true to her word and made me up very naturally.
We did the shoot. Mike would show me what he wanted, by mincing or striking a pose. I went with it, actually, almost despite myself. I was no Joanna Lumley (he knew her too) but it was fine and I was full of appreciation of two people doing their jobs so well. Oh dear. My eyes are starting to go. This could be fun.
I also ate chickin out of a bag three pieces and it was quite nice I think I may be asleep.*
I did a show tonight, with The Inflatables. Lovely people, massive laughter and all that before the show. The show before us pulled out due to no audience. We stayed for a play, on the offchance that some audience would come (Alex did a sterling job and brought in friends) and so we could play.
Abag was there too – always good value, and Dylan – so good to see him, and very lovely Susan (I’m still reeling from her cat injection game). I haven’t seen Alex for aeons, it seems. Very nice. It was a lovely crew to play with, and Alex’s Emily was there too. Result!
And, get this: one of Alex’s friends from school, Duncan, was there after the show. Turns out, he’s only a fanatic of Russian and Ukranian rap. What are the odds? Seriously, though. So he’s promised me a list – and possibly even a mix tape cd. Ooooohhhhhh. Life is good. So good.
And Emily’s cross-armed sign for swimming costume totally made my day. It’s the little things, but now, every time I think of one (which is daily, of course) I’ll see it.
Grateful for steroidal cream affording me some respite. Very, very grateful.
* [I was blatantly proper asleep writing some of that]
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