One really fabulous thing about being the significant other of a succesful writer, is that i get to meet people off the telly.
Not very often, but when i do, it's a real experience for a sprouty like me.
People who, in a parallell world (ie, if i had not met Sy),would still just be people off the telly, and i would just be watching them, thinking, 'I wonder what they are like in real life?'
The first well known face Sy ever introduced me to was the actor Neil Pearson, he of 'Drop the Dead Donkey' and 'Booze Cruise'.
Sy knew him from 'Between The Lines'.
Now, i'd lusted after this man for some time...Sy knew this (well if he didn't he does now- sorry darling, you know it's you i truly love, ....) and when he told me that Mister Pearson was in theatre close by to us and would i like to go and see the show- well i couldn't get there quick enough.
Sy had a script that he wanted him to have a look at, so we would go back stage after the show to say hello.
Out came the incontinence knickers again, in case i got too excited, i had me hair done and went on a crash diet for a day, that left me no thinner, but on the loo a lot.
The show was a bit rubbish actually but i couldn't wait to meet The Man.
As you know, i am one hell of a rabbiter...one thousand a forty words a minute, and although Darling Daughter can top two thousand, i can still hold my own.
As we scurried back stage, i wondered what we would talk about.
I Knew i would have to calm down a bit- talking at the speed i do, The Man would just stare at me and possibly question Sy quietly as to how he ended up with a mad woman from the country...
Finally, there he was in front of me.
Looking a little smaller than i had imagined.
And i shook hands with him.
And Sy and Neil were talking like old friends, Sy gave him the script and they caught up with what each other had been doing.
And i couldn't utter a word.
Not even a sound.
Not one syllable.
So that was that.
I was soooooo pissed off with myself.
Can you believe- a moment to shine, be witty and interesting...
and i blew it completely.
The next day- back to normal, doing the ironing and thinking about how feckin useless i had been the night before.
Life is going on around me- Homework, tea's cooking, neighbours rowing through the wall.
I can't even be bothered to get the phone when it rings.
Ironing is just too important (being a Housekeeper an' all.)
Sy comes home from a scriptwriting workshop he had been running.
'Guess who rang me about a script.'
'Surprise me', say's i.
'Neil who?....Oh God- not Neil'.
'Apparently he rang here first, but he only got the answerphone, so he phoned me on the mobile instead....'
At which point, i put the iron down, unplugged it and went and sat down.
And since that day, a few years ago now, i have only used the iron six times.
And each time i have used it, i have had the phone swinging from a piece of rope attached to the ironing board.
Till next time,
Shakespeare's Housekeeper xx
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