Jeni Barnett

The Belly Blues

2010-03-10T22:28:49Z

My lovely Shakeel came round this evening to talk about a new outfit for Radlett. He's got until the 21st to stitch me together. And there I was looking at myself when I whispered to Shakeel, I asked him whether I had put weight on and he said yes. I crumbled.

It's mad.

But we decided that whilst I looked like a pregnant puffin we would wait to create a new dress.

Then I put on a purple dress and went off to The St. George's Hotel in Langham Place. Took the lift to the fifteenth floor to the bar, looked at the view and hugged lots of old telly friends. They all thought I looked great...

Now it's not that Shakeel was wrong it's just that he's worked with a better canvas. My old telly posse knew me when I was the size of Totnes Town hall.

So it's all evened out in the end. I'm eating cucumber as a penance and wondering what it would be like to work in Argentina. Can you imagine, sun, sand, sea and a couple of tangoes a night. And I don't mean the orange stuff....

Last night I saw Leonardo de Caprio in his new film, it frightened the living daylights out of me. I had to remind myself I was at Bafta in Piccadilly and not on SHUTTER ISLAND . The film was so gripping I nearly rent a hole in the red cushioned seat. ALICE IN WONDERLAND was alright. The visual affects and Johnny Depp make it worth a visit but it didn't really float my boat.

My 78 year old companion left the cinema still wearing his 3D glasses. He very nearly waked into the broom cupboard.

It's now 22.50, the old man will be home from Oxford in about an hour. I'm going to prepare a meal for tomorrow night and then do some writing.

The only reason I panicked about my girth is because I am filming for the Beeb on sunday. They are providing makeup and hair

Look there's nothing that a little pancake can't do and yes I'll take mine with a little maple syrup.....

Haggis and Me

2010-03-08T20:49:51Z

Haggis for tea.

Haggis and spinach for Jim and for me.

Telly with tea.

Telly with haggis for Jim and for me.

Acupuncture for me.

Acupuncture with haggis and spinach for tea.

'Funny Women' for me.

'Funny women' for me.

The needles and haggis meant I couldn't see

'Funny Women' for me.

Bed after tea

If I still feel this ropey

There'll be no LBC.

No LBC.

JB entertains JB

2010-03-04T08:41:05Z

Tamsin Greig, Harry Lloyd, Gemma Arterton, and Rupert Friend, stood on the stage at THE Garrick Theatre and entertained a good house in THE LITTLE DOG LAUGHED. Written by Douglas Carter Beane, now I was tired so I really was expecting the worst..

I didn't get back to the flat after work. Somehow I couldn't muster up enough energy to get back to Battersea to then return to Leicester Square, that's how lazy I felt.

So I had supper at 'Food For Thought' in Neil Street. A mother and daughter sat at the next table. We were in spitting distance of each other, literally, it's a vegetarian restaurant, there's more oats and granola on the floor than an Oast House in Lamberhurst. The daughter, clearly the Coxs Pippin of her mother, father, and Brown Owls eye, scriked on about her trip to Oxford University, this charmless child, with little wit, represented the privileged sector. All grade 'A's and no sense. Her voice that could scrape candle grease off a refectory table saw the Rastarfarian on the next bench push his Eaton Mess round his plate and nearly onto her lap. That's the problem with little restaurants you get caught up in conversational fall out.

I did not want to hear quite how clever, excited, super her trip was. Why? Because I am a bitter and twisted old lady who wants education for all not just the chinless wonders of the world.

I was cold, I even had to buy myself a pair of gloves. �3.99 from a little shop on Charing Cross Road. the vendor lied to me I asked for the smallest pair and he gave me a pair 'These are the smallest' he said having riffled through the gloves hanging on the rack. His assistant told the next customer they were a one size fits all. Anyhow they're much too big for me I look like I've been let out on day release.

I walked to 'Fioris' and nursed a glass of hot water and lemon, caught up on my phone calls and sauntered of to the Garrick for a 7.45 kick off. I even bought a programme for �3.50....

I was fully expectng a West End performance, all form and no content. I was expecting a fatuous exercise of fluffy nonsense that would see me leaving in the interval. I could not have been more wrong. I Loved it.

If you get a chance go along. The acting is cracking, the directing sharp, the set white, the comedy flawless, the ensemble playing inspired. the story cute, the Greig sensational, the Lloyd and Friend witty, the Arterton, given that she is a filmic kinda bird, lovely.

I didn't move a muscle until just after 9.00

Even the strawberry ice-cream at �3.00 was an unnecessary treat.

A small tub of whipped up milk for three quid. I don't normally tot up my evenings entertainment but gloves and programmes, taxis and supper set me back more than if I had sat in the Royal Circle, next to the Queen eating a handmade bar of nougat from Paris, having tipped the hackney carriage forty quid for the privilege. That did not stop me, however, from jumping into a taxi turning on the heater and see the lights of London disappear behind me.

I finally got to bed after some writing and a bowl of cornflakes.

This morning I wakened at 5.30 meditated, then went back to sleep.

I'm off to the office and more chat.

Do join me on LBC 97.3. John Barryman joins me with chat of grannies, aunts and 'Desperate Housewives'

He's tanned and lovely, if I were thirty years younger and a bloke I'd jump on him, although I did jump on him. Thank God he's been working out otherwise he would have crumpled under the weight.

JB meets JB - inspired casting yet again......

The devil is in the detail.

2010-02-28T12:56:15Z

Dear RUSSIAN ICE STARS.

Thank you for magnanimity. I will look at my schedule. Thank you so much for your invite. I am humbled.

sincere apology

2010-02-28T11:38:04Z

Dear Vee, my total apologies. I AM SINCERELY SORRY FOR THE MIX UP.

Skating on thin ice

2010-02-28T00:15:21Z

No cottage this weekend. I miss the green, the cat, my neighbour Jonfan. I miss the air, the dark the peace BUT this weekend its been all systems go.

I rushed out of the flat this morning to buy B her birthday present.

Into Battersea High Street to a wonderful antique shop. There was a cushion I had my eye on, and a Buddah that had its eye on me.

I had under an hour to shop for her 23rd birthday.

Parked the car in a little bay and walked round the houses in the pouring rain.

The two women who own the shop are lovely.

The cushion cost �200.

'Where's it from?' I gasped.

'India.' they said. 'It's handmade.'

If it was handmade in india you can bet your bottom Rupee that somebody was cashing in on the cushion and it wasn't the people who made it.

'How much is the Buddha?' I dared to ask.

�250, was their reply, without a hint of irony.

Buddha would not have accepted half a monkey on his behalf.

So I left the shop empty handed and drove back to the flat in the rain. I'll find something next week.

Walked to Battersea Bridge. The river was high and the light a sharp, crisp yellow. The 345 arrived immediately.

Lovely route, over the bridge, down Beaufort Street, right onto Fulham Road, a couple of dogs legs and there was South Kensington Tube. The tunnel takes 12 minutes to walk, and there I was at The Albert Hall. The ticket office wasn't open for an hour so I went upstairs to their cafe. I ordered a mug of hot water with three slices of lemon, I say slices they were more like afterthoughts.

Made calls to the kids and then turned to the woman sitting next to me who started to talk. As if I had pressed a button Margaret Dance's stream of consciousness flowed.

She had Parkinsons, had come up on the train from Whitstable, althought she didn't like oysters, her husband had been an alcoholic and mentally abused her so unfortunately she left him after fourteen years. She was a Jehovahs Witness because her mother was an orphan so she had no kith or kin, The Jehovahs people were her family and friends. When Armageddon comes there will be 144,000 souls that will be saved so Margaret was putting in her order. She treated herself to a ballet when she could afford it, she was sixty five and got her pension, disability allowance and her rent paid for by the council who were very good to her. Her papery, white skin, looked dry and thin as she pulled out her Jehovah's Witness card that said she wouldn't take a blood transfusion. She had never seen anybody ask for a mug of hot water before and was concerned that the cafe might think she was taking liberties sitting there and not ordering food. She had spent �51 on buying a ticket to see the Russian All Stars ice skate their way through 'Cinderella'. She couldn't eat anything because she was so excited, was going to get the 5.22 train back to Gillingham, and had spent �10 on a taxi each way from Victoria. She said she was going to visit the little girls room, thanked me for talking to her - which I didn't I merely listened - and Ms Dance disappeared into the lavatory.

Zoe, Corin, and Maia arrived just after one. I collected our tickets, B arrived 15 minutes before the show, burst into tears because every tube line had been closed for engineering work so her journey had been traumatic. We bought apple juice, nuts, Maltesers,water and ice-cream, but were'nt allowed in with the glass bottles so we downed the fizzy drinks in the corridor and took our seats in row L, door 9, with all the other ice-skating enthusiasts.

Just how many times can you skate backwards and forwards, do a double axel and perform an icy 'Riverdance' before all the children are squirming, the adults sshing them, the children balling, the adults wondering just why they had spent so much money on a re-telling of 'Cinderella' which looked like a scene out of Eisenteins 'Battle Ship Potemkin', too many times is the answer. I was sitting next to a woman who describes shows to the blind, She had seen the show four times and still couldn't make hop nor talo jump of what was going on. The team of 23 were brilliant ice skaters but had about as much charisma as a latex kitchen glove. Maia ended up fast asleep, half undressed, and prostrate over her parents laps.

When we were released from the Russian Dancapeligo the five of us felt like we had earned our freedom.

I took the mob to a Polish Restaurant by the tube, I haven't been there for over twenty years. We had sausages and potato pancakes, meatballs and mash with carrots cooked in ginger and honey. We shared a pancake of cream cheese and cranberries and marvelled at the paper tablecloths that the waiter wrote the order on. Maia wrote her name and drew round her hand, my hand and whatever other hands she could lay her hands on.

The waiters came to the table with their frying pans and chopped up herbs on wooden boards that appeared to be placed in strategic parts of the restaurant. I can't remember the name of it and the bill was of no help as it was just a scrap of paper. But the authenticity comes highly recommended.

The Victoria, Jubilee, Central and Metropolitan lines were still shut so the Piccadilly line turned into Toyko central. We were crammed together like tightly rolled sushi. B held onto me so I wouldn't get crushed. I got out at Covent Garden she at Holborn. She went off into the night to to carouse with her friends. I went to the Duchess Theatre to see 'Ghosts'.

How is it possible to see two duds in one day. 'Ghosts' had about as much charisma as two latex kitchen gloves. By the time I got to Clapham Junction I was all cultured out. It's 1.13a.m. the old git has just walked in, I've mde him chicken wings and salad and then we'll swap stories. He about Warwickshire and Romola Garai and me about London and Inna Volianskaya, Valery Spiridonov, Ilona Melnichenko, Olga Volozhinskaya, Stanislav Voituk, and Tatiana Voituk.

night night.

Celebrity City

2010-02-24T19:51:35Z

HOWARD GOODALL, the composer, talked to me from a school in Kennington. He has got 30,000 schools on board to become musical establishments. Today is 'National Sing Up day'. Teachers joining in and children standing proud as they open their throats and let it rip. HOWARD had two, kids with him, they sung to me down the phone. I cried. As Howard himself said it was moving, really moving.

Then it was celebrity city.LEEE JOHN, JAMES EARL JONES, POLLY RAE and WILLIAM BAKER. Hows that for a days work.

I often wonder whether I'm name dropping but its my job to interview people and today happened to be chock-a-block with celebrity.

Mr. James Earl Jones, he of the voice of DARTH VADER, is playing BIG DADDY in 'CAT ON HOT TIN ROOF'. He came into LBC Towers with his son, who took notes. He belched in the middle of the interview, thats the father not the boy, we laughed James said he belched and farted like everybody else, I told the producer to keep it in. I don't know whether she will. We sat in a tiny recording studio and talked about his life, his parents, Prof. Crouch the teacher that stopped his stuttering by making James read out a poem he had written in front of the whole class. James Earl Jones went 'mute' as he calls it, for eight years, after moving away from Mississippi. He was fun and measured and a big, big man. The interview is going out on Friday.

Polly is a burlesque dancer/performer/vision. She's appearing at the Leicester Square Theatre, in THE HURLY BURLY SHOW and at 28, looks delightfully young and fresh. She was a make-up artist but somehow found her way to Jo King, who teaches burlesque. Then she met William Baker, a young Mancunian, who has worked with Kylie Minogue and Beyonce, and has directed her in this collaboration. I pre-recorded the interview and managed to squeeze enough out of them before running into the studio to do a hand-over with James O'Brian.

The first hour was dedicated to the apology from Prime Minister Brown about the migrant children - 130,000 - who were sent to the colonies. Historically poor children were sent away but from 1920 -1960 charities sent young orphans, or children who were told they were orphans, out to the british Commonwealth. Fred called in from Brentwood and told us his story, it was incredible, how he and his brother had been sent to a 'Rhodesian' farm. Fred didn't know that he was one of thirteen children and that his mother was still alive. When he met her forty years later it was not the fairy tale meeting everyone had hoped it would be. Fred said the PM's apology was welcome but it was too late to mend broken lives. I had an historian and a professor talking about the power of apology and the background to todays speech. The conclusion was the apology was necessary. In so doing the apologiser has to take responsibility for their actions.i.e. admitting to their guilt. It was fascinating.

By the time it got to 2.00 I moved on from apologies and charity to burlesque and cabaret. William and Polly are trying to make Burlesque sexy. I thought it was but Oh! The problem with prudery. I am a prude, never know what I feel about striptease, burlesque, pole dancing. I look at naked women painted by Rubens and Renoir and don't bat an eyelash, so what is my problem with todays female nudes. Paul Simpson in Lewisham emails me regularly blaming me for the downfall of our society because of my feminism. He said because we feminists opened the sleuce gates women have gone awol. Dancing round poles, taking their clothes off and sticking pom-poms on their naughty bits.

Do I take responsibility for broken Britain, sometimes I feel like I do.

Leee John was terrific. I remember him back in the day but I didn't remember that IMAGINATION was his band name. My mind had gone. I thought one of his songs sounded like George Michael but as a fierce self promoter it made no never mind that I had had a senior moment. I'm going to see him at 'Pizza on the Park' on Friday, take the daughter and hope that all is forgiven. I was told by the boss that I should take lunch down in the office to gather my thoughts so that I don't make daft mistakes. I refused. I get ten minutes for lunch, ten minutes of peace and quite. 12.42 till 12.52. I will reserves my right to have ten minutes chow time and then make mistakes!

But I don't like getting things so wrong so I left the building a little down in the mouth. I felt like I had let everybody down what with the cock-ups and all so I decided to go to the Kings Road and buy some supper. But not before I had a meeting with a telly producer who ran an idea past me. I am doing a pilot for him in a couple of weeks. The head honcho is a dear man so I agreed to do it. Is there anything in it for me - zilch, nicht, nada but I am as loyal as an old bitch and anyway I get a day in front of the cameras.

Went into a shop with an amazing sale of boots and trendy clobber, intending to get a little something for B's birthday.

A very tall, skinny, shop assistant came over to me, bent down and with THE most patronising attitude said, with a toothy grin.

'Can I help you dear?'

'DEAR' I snapped.

'Well what do you want me to call you?' she said affronted.

'Nothing.' I said.

I must admit I did look like a little old lady, faux fur coat, carrier bag, dungarees and wooly gloves, but still. I felt like children feel when a great aunt comes just a little too close and they look like a reflection in the side of a kettle.

I don't normally feel the need to shout DO YOU KNOW WHO I AM. But I was that close. In the event I walked out of the shop, like a petulant adolescent, nursing my wounded pride and holding my head up high, which was a little uncomfortable what with my dowagers hump!

The rain tumbled down as I shopped for 1. I told you it wouldn't take long to miss the old git.

Is this how it'll be, people calling me 'dear' and a piece of salmon for tea. Buying that one courgette caught my throat.

I'm off now to organise my speech for The Radlett centre on March 21st. I know I keep plugging it but I don't want to play to an empty house, I'm taking a leaf out of Leee's book. Self promotion and self belief..

I shall cook the salmon and courgette, 8 mins a side. After which I shall take to my 6 footer and drink my hot milk with nutmeg, Manuka honey and cinnamon. Who said I don't know how to give a girl a good time.

To Beard or not to Beard

2010-02-23T23:23:51Z

The 'oosbind of thirty odd years left for Warwickshire this morning. He took a bag of clothes, a basket of wine bottles and his lap top. He left at 9.30 and gave me a perfunctory scratch with his Royale. Thats the little tiny rock 'n' roll beard that aging rock 'n' rollers have. A kind of simplistic vanity for old gits. The facial furniture adopted by so many men reflects there relationship to their manhood, like the trident missile it's a perfect deterrent, never used and almost certainly obsolete. In my husbands case his Royale is perfectly pruned and tended and gets ever longer by the day thus becoming a 'Chin Shrub'.

To beard or not to beard that is the perennial question.

My ligament is still hurting in my left ankle, all walking is out of the question until after Wednesday.

So it was the bus and tube again.

I miss my ramble through the park and over the bridges.

I went to see THE CARETAKER last night. By golly but Johnathan Price is sensational. If you sat next to me you will have noticed my head snap back and forwards. I was snoozing, not out of boredom, but because I had driven up from Sussex at 6.33a.m.

I had the delightful company of the Northern partner who also loved the show. We sat in row 'E' between two other aging couples. No arm rests between the seats meant we all ended up touching each other on the thighs, arms, hands, knees and the occasional boompserdaisy.

It was so cold I could hardly speak on the way to the car which we parked by the Sherlock Holmes Pub off Northumberland avenue. A find indeed, single yellow lines and not a meter maid in sight.

Today I talked about Nuclear Power, Wills and Gap Years. Jim texted me in the middle of the show to say he had got to Warwickshire and that he was bored whilst they set up the show for their first night tonight, they are all staying together somewhere in the Warwickshire countryside, that wine will come in useful then.

This evening I emailed everybody to go to:

http://itunes.apple.com/WebObjects/MZStore.woa/wa/viewAudiobook?id=351968901&s=143444

to listen to my audio book ALL BY MOUTH. I had my producer standing over me so there was no time for modesty. Please have a listen the more people who read it the sooner it gets on the itunes hit parade. Whilst we're at the self publicity don't forget the RADLETT CENTRE on MARCH 21st for another audience WITH YOURS TRULY. I hope you can make it.

The Radlett Centre 1 Aldenham Avenue Radlett Herts. WD7 8HL

Box Office: 01923 859291 Administration: 01923 857546 Fax: 01923 857592

Email: admin@radlettcentre.com

Right now I'm off to bed, all on my own, a big 6 footer to myself - and I don't mean Jeff Bridges.

The Pelican Brief.

2010-02-18T21:15:30Z

I've just come in from 'The Wolseley', the posh restaurant next to the Ritz.

I was treated to liver and bacon courtesy of a wonderful man I have known for years. He works for a publishing house and represents Jackie Collins and Adriana Trigiani. He and his partner go to Florida every year to drink Vodka Martinis and hang out with the retired, we talked about life and the art of publishing.

'The Wolseley' is noisy and starry and perfect for an evening of indulgence. We shared cheesecake and gossip, then he went off to Sarf London whilst I walked down to Hyde Park Corner and grabbed a taxi to get me back to the flat.

Two nights in a row I've had cabbies that told me about the five bridges that are closed in London. The hold ups, the water works and the Blackwall Tunnel closures. Getting around London is proving to be a nightmare. Please can I blame Boris Johnson?

Thank you I will.

'Boris pull your finger out'.

I had a meeting at 4.30 with my literary agent. We finally had that light bulb moment of what I had to do to become a best-selling novelist with a string of titles behind me, and in front of me, not to mention the broad sides of me although if I share any more 'Wolseley' cheesecake my sides will get even broader.

My agent is in Gloucester Road, I walked from the tube and entered the world of books. His office is like something out of Dickens. Small, contained and hot. He made me a perfect mug of coffee, the effect of which re-set my thermostat. That, along with his central heating, turned me into hot property. Had I been a wax-work dummy I would have dripped all over his manuscripts.

Last night was 'THE VAUDEVILLE' for MEGAN MULLALLY. She of the squeaky voice from 'Will and Grace'. She sung with her band of twelve years. The songs were a mixture of Hillbilly twang, show tunes including a beautful version of a Sondheim that made the hairs on the back of my legs stand up and blues. She told us little stories including one about a man who saw her regularly and at the end of every vocal would shout out, loud and clear - FLAWLESS. I wanted to shout it out after her delicious version of 'Ave Maria', but a man in the top circle got there before me. When he yelled FLAWLESS everybody cheered, Ms Mullally said he should be writing sit-coms, his timing was perfect, I felt robbed, but the evening was about Megan not about my heckling....She's only doing 8 shows and we're trying to get her onto my show on LBC.

She looked a little like Nana Mascouri with her glasses, a jacket over a striped matelot tee-shirt and jeans. She's a delight. Generous, warm, funny and utterly authentic. She is what real stars are made of, earthy dust.

Yesterday morning I walked from Victoria. The air was cold and the sun shining. Entering the park, The Buckhouse end, I marvelled at the way the pigeons, geese, ducks,swans, both black and white, and the squirrels all mucked along with each other. Even the seagulls begrudgingly shared their bits of bread wihich come from all sorts of tourist handbags.

So I sauntered through the Royal Park and by the time I got to the little bridge a crowd had gathered by two St. James's Pelicans.

One pelican stood, like a grumpy old sentinel, whilst his friend bagged a pigeon. The pelican bagged a live pigeon in his very big beak and I thought I was seeing things. The size of those pelican bills are enormous, at first I couldn't make out what it was doing and then it became apparent that the pesky pelican was shaking his head, vigorously, from side to side, to paralyse the poor pigeon. The crowd roared. There was a surge as many of us wanted to save the grey bird but it was impossible to get near and anyway we were watching a real life Attenborough moment.

The pelican shook his head and neck, the pooped pigepon tried to climb out of the beak, the pelican shook his head and neck again, the sentinel stood there with his wings in his trouers. Not a movement, eyeing us and daring us to interfere.

The pigeon struggled, we could see it fighting in the neck of the pelican frantically flapping its wings to get free. The pelican shook his head even harder, shaking his head dismissively, the crowd grew silent.

I phoned Jim. He said to take a video I couldn't bring myself to film it.

The pigeon went down the gullet and fought its way up again. The crowd groaned. The pelican stood its ground and waggled his head so hard the crowd screamed.

The the pelican opened its mouth,the pigeon scruffy and defeated was dead. Very dead indeed. It was, like that famous parrot, deceased. That pigeon was no more. The pelican began crunching on his breakfast. An Italian woman turned and looked at me with disgust as if I was responsible for the pelicans antics. Her look said volumes about what she thought of British ornithological practices.

Writing about it now makes me nauseous. Jim was upset that I didn't record any of the gruesome goings on, so the next time I see a pelican shaking his head at me it'll be full exposure at twenty five paces.

Only another three days left and the old man is off on his thespian travels. I always kid myself that it'll be lovely when he's away, that I can have quality time to myself but the reality is it will be lonely and empty without the old git. I shall put my head down and concentrate on my writing, go to bed early, get up early, start walking again and run up a massive phone bill talking to the 'oosbind in Warwickshire, Lancashire, Oxfordshire and Scotland.

All being well he'll miss me, although given his Northern disposition it's something I will have to wait to find out sometime in the not too distant millenium.....

Grinding to a halt.

2010-02-16T23:22:47Z

Battersea Bridge is taking the brunt of the traffic. Albert bridge is closed and my taxi driver, this evening, told me that it cost �39.50 to get from Kensington to Leicester Square, he feels sorry for his fares!

Miles of soggy commuters chewing their nails as our London streets are being dug up and re-filled for 2012.

B couldn't get to Lancaster Gate as the Embankment was 'carnage' according to my house guest who spent two and a half hours trying to get home from Greenford.

My massoose couldn't get to me as she was sitting on the 170 stationary at Victoria. At one stage the bus driver turned the ignition off as the traffic lights changed from red to amber to green so many times he just gave in.

The old git just made it to the opening of 'The Three sisters' having been stuck in Fulham for longer than he should have.

What's going on?

The country is grinding to a halt and the freezing rain drops aren't helping.

I need another slice of bread and butter and a good slug of hot milk to calm my nerves.

Please have a peaceful night and if you are travelling anywhere God Speed.

Arts and Minds

2010-02-13T18:13:15Z

So I got there early having been to a caff next door where I downed the biggest baked potato since the famine, more baked beans than Heinz, a coconut cake and a pot of Earl Grey tea. The proprietor called it a herbal tea and I didn't want to disappoint so I kept quiet, the eleven quid it cost me for my pre-theatre meal was worth every carb.

I waddled into the 'Apollo' on Lower Regent Street, having walked the whole length of Upper Regent Street before I realised that the 'Apollo Cinema' was not a moon walk away but literally round the corner from LBC.

I sat down in the second row and gobbled up the popcorn that had been left for us BAFTA members, then started on the sweets, another pot for the privileged.

CRAZY HEART was better second time around. Jeff Bridges plays a wonderful flabby drunk. He inhabits the part of Bad Blake with the ease of the 'Dude' that he is. When it came to the Q/A it felt like a Tom Jones concert. If the BAFTA biddies could have ripped off their panties and thrown them at him they would have done. As would I if I had had the right kind of undergarment.

Mariella Frostrup questioned him and we all sat forward on our seats to catch the pearls that fell out of his mouth. He's an actor for goodness sake but he is Hollywood Royalty. he makes no bones about being the product of nepotism, and likes talking about the process of acting. He deserves the accolades he's getting for his performance, and given that the film took 24 days to shoot its a testimony to his weight - and I don't mean the 28 lbs he put on for the part.

I took the 19 bus home and pondered what it must be like to be a face that everybody knows. How do you deal with that kind of celebrity?

I crossed over the road and there lying in the gutter was the glove I lost last week. Sweet serendipity, would Mr. Bridges have been so made-up if he had found a lost Polyester glove I wondered?

Last night I went to 'The Barbican' to see Peter Brooks' latest offering - '11/12'. I had another bag of sweets and promptly fell asleep in the part that described what the play was about. The intention was good, worthy even, had The Bridges been in it I might have stayed awake, but I didn't manage to engage.

Took the tube back to Victoria and 25 minutes later watched good old Jeff being interviewed by Johnathon Ross. Twice within two days, I nearly threw my panties at the telly....

I stayed up in town this weekend. So had brunch with a dear young actress and then met the 'nearasdamnitson' and his consort at 'The Tate' to see the Chris Ofili exhibition. Mr. Ofili was thrust into the public gaze by his use of dung on his paintings. Dung is only part of it, his work is utterly beautiful, colourful, thoughtful and worthy of his 'Turner Prize' status. It was a handsome reward for my OAP concession, I much prefer the 'Tate' to the 'Tate Modern', but being an old mistress-piece myself I would wouldn't I?

This evening I'm meant to be going to a party in Hammersmith, I have to wear vintage or futuristic. If I get my work done I will attend, otherwise it'll be burning the midnight oil with two projects I have to learn.

So there we have it. It's 18.38, I'm hungry and about to start some work.

If the weather holds we're back home tomorrow to spend one night in the cottage and collect the car that has been mended. I spent a good deal of dosh on myself buying supplements on Friday, the car cost twice as much, so hopefully us two old jalopies will keep running for a few more years.

Have a good Saturday night.

Building Jeff Bridges

2010-02-10T19:56:33Z

I had a massage last night which included a guided meditation and a re-arranging of my ankle.

This morning it hurt so much I had to take three Nurofen. By this afternoon the pain and misery of months seems to have past. Apparently the tendon was pulling across the liver meridian which is all about anger.

I nearly know what I'm talking about, but only just, I couldn't be more angry at not being able to walk, let alone run.

I have no idea what my Dula does but whatever she does the Dula does it good.

I have a dry ache now in my foot but I was able to walk jolly quickly to Victoria to pick up the 170.

Dry snow - little polystyrene balls- dropped out of the sky, caught in my faux fur coat this morning, this evening the snow flakes were bigger I had to tie a scarf around my neck I looked like a Conservative candidate from the royal Borough of TWells.

I shopped for groceries and am about to make a stir-fry and settle down with some thoughts.

Tomorow I'm going to a Q/A with Jeff Bridges.He's the only man I would leave the old git for, apart form George Clooney, Andy Serkis, Jermaine Defoe, Ry Cooder, Thierry Henri and Gino de Campo.....I'm off now to chop my vegetables and still my beating heart.

Wrinklies forever.

2010-02-09T17:35:17Z

Everything is fine.

This morning a big, plump South African rung my bell.

He came upstairs and with notebook in hand, took down fastidious notes about cleaning my carpets.

Then a young man from the Far east, and I don't mean Leytonstone, arrived with a big machine, bottles, mops, and a look of deep concentration, had words with his boss and set about shifting a rug here and an armchair there.

I left.

My left ankle is no better so I hobbled to the bus stop. Sat hunched up and texted, emailed and made a noisy nuisance of myself on the 170.

LBC was calm and quiet. I had a Chinese apple, all juice and pretension. They look like a light lemon apple, have the bitability of an ordinary apple but taste of absolutely nothing.

A cup of camomile tea and a call to the old git. 'The carpets look fantastic', he enthused. I have never heard him so impressed about anything, let alone an acrylic, beige carpet that has more stains than the York Minsters Rose Window.

Last night I went to see BLIND SIDE with Sandra Bullock and a lot of Hollywood schmaltz. Schmaltz is literally dripping, the fat that comes out of the chicken. So you get the picture of the picture.

B and I enjoyed it though. It's a heartfelt story, TRUE, about a white family who take in a big, black boy, educate him, rear him, love him and eventually send him off to university where he becomes one of americas best know Football Players. The boys mother was an addict, Sandra Bullock looks nothing like the Saintly mother who took him in. All I could think about was how fantastic Ms Bullocks body is, her skin her lips when really I should have been thinking about the moral dilemma of an alienated kid from the hood. Okay so it made me cry but that had more to do with Ms Bullocks buttocks than the ball throwing boy.

Afterwhich B and I went and had a Japanese meal in Holborn. It was one of those places where you sit on a stool and your dinner passes before your very eyes. The conveyor belt, carrying tempura, sponge cakes, fried chicken, sushi and squid went round and round. I actually felt sea sick by the end of the meal. It's impossible not to pull off a little plate so the bill turns out bigger than most of The Japanese people I have ever met. A lot of money later I shoved the girl into one cab going east, whilst I jumped into another going South.

I'm grumpy at the moment as I am attempting to rectify my hypothalamus which is as sluggish as a slug in Sluggenia. I am working with a brilliant doctor who lives in Exeter and works down the phone. Stay with me and I'll tell you whether her drops and supplements work.

Jim's gone off to 'The Lyric' to give his 'Three Sisters' and I'm waiting for my Thai princess to give me a massage.

Andy Sercis won the 'Evening Standard' best acting award for playing Ian Dury in 'SEX AND DRUGS AND ROCK AND ROLL', the first of many I hope, he deserves it.

I'm setting my alarm for 5.30, jumping out of bed and turning it off. Jumping back into bed and dreaming of the writing I should be doing. I've set it for 5.30 for tomorrow, I hope that my clean carpets and massage will change my behaviour.

On todays show a woman complained about me calling us oldies WRINKLIES, as long as I am still around to call anybody anything I don't care what I'm called as long as it's not quits.

A Dear Jonno letter.

2010-02-03T20:46:37Z

Thanks to all of you callers today.

Jonno thinks I should be taken off the airways and that I should ask for forgivenss for my views on the MMR vaccine.

I like being on the airwaves, making waves, trying to make a difference, listening to thousands of you having your say.

And surprisingly enough Jonno, I do ask for forgiveness daily, as part of my meditation practice.

This time I wont be bullied by you Jonno, it does hit me in the solar plexus when it feels like a personal assault, but I am not going to be swayed by sarcasm or hostile posts.

You can have your say on my blog, I did think of deleting you but then I would have been accused of cowardice and censorship so I'll take your criticism on my chins and carry on.

I've never written a 'Dear Jonno' letter before.

4 give ness

2010-01-31T17:39:15Z

Thank you all for your supportive comments. I think this blogging lark is remarkable, even if I am a twit when it comes to the workings of it.

I watched a wonderful documentary about the world wide web, the internet, and freedom of communication. For a long time I have harboured a bitterness towards Mr. Stephen Fry, his refusal to acknowledge anything that isn't SCIENCE, with a capital 'S', but every time I see him talking, so eloquently, about things I can scarcely understand I really have to bow down to him.

His comments about the webs possibilities and Sir Tim Berners Lee, who created the www, made my heart sing. Anything that enables people to have freedom of speech and access to knowledge has to be applauded.

I watched 'QI' as an act of redemption, as I laughed I felt the liberation that comes with finally letting go. Mr. Fry believes what he believes and I have my own set of values. Hurrah that we can share the same air waves.

Obviously I have been thinking about the fury surrounding my broadcast on the MMR jab, a whole year ago now, how could I not, since Dr. Wakefield was in the news on Friday. They were sitting in judgement on his research which he conducted some ten years ago.

I know that Dr. Goldacre and Mr.Fry will be delighted that Dr. Wakefield has been found guilty of misconduct, scaremongering and whatever else they decided to throw at him. But the good Doctor was working on behalf of many unscientific parents who wanted him to research into possible links between the MMR jab and their childrens autisim. That's all that is needed - RESEARCH- why are the drug companies so affeared of criticism? Why is the scientific community so backfooted by dissenters?

Sometimes I worry that if I say the wrong thing I will be tied to a pile of hornbeam and set light to.

Last week I had a massage by a Thai Dula. She had been aprrenticed to a 90 year-old-woman, in Bangkok, where for five years she was taught the healing arts. They had to do it underground lest they were discovered as witches and severly punished. Is that the way forward for humanity that we destroy, imprison, and silence anybody who thinks differently.

I visited a mother who lost her 23 year old daughter on January 8th. We went up into the attic where her daughter had slept. Her young life was laid out on the bed, clothes, jewellery, books, shoes. Her friends were coming and taking pieces to remember her by.

And that's why I forgive Stephen Fry, he humiliated me I crumbled in his presence, it's hard not to take criticism personally, it's hard not be hurt when people challenge the very core of your belief system but, I would rather be engaged in a lively battle than not be around to battle at all.

It makes no never mind that my critics could care less about my forgiveness, but it don't 'alf make me feel better. If forgiveness is an act of selfishness then I'm happy to be self-serving.

Have a lovely next week. I'm talking to an intuitive GP on Tuesday. I have no idea what it entails but I'm looking forward to it. A scientist who believes in the invisible world, now thats what I call provocative.

Bring it on I say, there's room for all of us isn't there?.

Homage to Pedro

2010-01-27T19:19:56Z

I slept in until 9.15 this morning. Booked the man to clean my oven. Left my phone to discharge itself.

Took the 170 to Victoria.

The tube to Leicester Square. Felt like I was made out of India rubber, it was that damn massage last night.

I'm still exhausted but feel a lot less up tight.

When somebody tells you you are too old to be sitting in your chair and that you should vacate it for somebody younger it shakes your world. I am alright now but yesterday i felt like topping myself.

Thank God for Jo Wander my new agent. She says all the right words in the right places.

Thank you Jo

And Thank You Peter, from Chessington, for making me realise that I am allowed to be at LBC even if you do think I am selfish, egotistical and OLD.

I hope you have a wonderful job and reason to live like I do when you get to my age.

night night all

It's on with the Horlicks and off with the fairies.