Last weekend was flippin awesome, was it not? Nothing like a scorching bank holiday to make you forget about the troubles of work and the general shitty state of the West End as we approach the dreaded month of May.
The highlight of the weekend, for me, had to be the moment on Saturday afternoon, when I sat on a conveniently placed log on Clapham Common, leafing through Vogue in a sundress and fabulous flipflops, waiting for Blondie to join after her matinee, and the heavens opened spectacularly. As one, the whole of Clapham Common stood up, stuffed half eaten pots of hummous into varying qualities of shoulder bags, and LEGGED IT.
Thank goodness we live in a world with a Starbucks on every corner.
The next day, after half a box of Lindt Lindor for breakfast, my presence was required at a birthday brunch for the Aussie, one of my favouritest people from the world of work. Cue a bottle and a half of champagne before midday, and hilarity on a terrace filled with hot Australians and a delightful variety of London’s finest media peeps. By the time the gang stumbled in a bubbly haze to the local pub, however, it was time for me to head further into the treacherous world of South West London to Bridget’s birthday Barbeque (Jesus, who? Cruci-what now?) so I picked up another bottle of fizz along with some high quality veggie contributions (quorn burgers – I think not, thank you very much) and hopped in a cab to BBQ land.
Thankfully, I was not the only one who’d been ever so slightly hammered since 11am. Blondie, by the time we’d eaten and successfully kicked ass in a garden party pub quiz, was so smashed that she seemed to lose the ability to access her memory. Particularly the part about The Knob, who – you may recall – treated her to a nice little bout of fucking and chucking a couple of weeks back.
“I want to play with the knob” she tweets (she does that now) “@RitziCortez says I shouldn’t but CRIKEY I want to!”
Luckily, I was able to use my powers of persuasion, and convinced her that going there again would be a BAD idea. Despite the fact that he was looking mighty fine that balmy bank holiday evening. She will claim that she had no intention of going there but I think the world will agree that in this case, twitter doesn’t lie.
Which brings me on to the startling revelation that – quite terrifyingly – I appear to have recently been living vicariously through Blondie and co. Good lord – I have officially not gotten laid since the Little Drummer Boy! I do declare, the blame lies entirely with this bastard thing called a JOB that seems to be kicking my ass all over theatre land at the moment. I keep reusing the same completely crap phrases to myself; ‘After the show opens… after the reviews come in… when my week has less than 60 working hours in it again…’ and wondering if that time will ever actually come, since 2011 is turning into the year of the theatre flop. The age of austerity has finally hit us, and it’s making life depressingly difficult.
I lamented this the next day to Nora, while full on sunbathing on the grass beside her boat in idyllic West London with Pina Coladas in hand. Nora has a refreshing way of making you feel better about such things; she shuns real life London and lives on a boat (which finally – after about 5 years – has running water, gas and electricty at the same time), writes songs all day and plays gigs with her band in the evening, and still finds time to flit off to New York every now and then to contribute to the mental world of Off-Broadway, while also keeping an adorable skinny-jean clad teddybear of a boyfriend interested. The woman is an inspiration.
“Life’s too short,” she says, knowledgably as she sips on non-alcoholic pinapple-coconut mush. “You’re super busy at the moment, but then you won’t be and when you’re not you’ll be able to think of something else. And then, in July, we’re going down to Cornwall anyway so you can get together with some hot salty surfer boy.”
This, I consider, is a very good point. Holiday romances with surfer boys are always fun.
But good lord I need to get laid before then.