Thursday morning, before breakfast, my best time. It is two days after Valentine’s Day. On Valentine’s night, I watched In Her Shoes, a romantic chick flick that looked appalling in the trailer but turned out, under the directorship of Curtis Hanson (LA Confidential, 8 Mile etc.) to be quite sound. I hate to think of films being aimed at a specific gender anyway. Toni Colette played the ugly duckling character (hair scraped back, boring job – gasp! – glasses) and Cameron Diaz her ditzy party-girl sister. Yes, they learned lessons about themselves along the way, but at least their problems weren’t solved by meeting a Prince Charming each. In fact, Diaz’s problems (dyslexia, mainly) were solved by an old man in a Florida rest home. So there.
The Radio 4 programme I present called Banter is on tonight. My hair has reached an unmanageable length. I am very tired. Last night I was too tired even to watch Shameless or part two of Lefties. After an hour and a half of Dermot O’Leary backstage at the Brits on Radio 2 (which brought flashbacks of when Stuart and I did the same gig for two years’ running for Radio 1, as implausible as that now seems), I put my sore head on the pillow.
I am seeing two comedians. I’m currently working in an office in Central London with Lee Mack all day. We usually finish up around 3 or 4. However, when he’d gone home last night, I saw Simon Day. As one left the building, another one entered. It’s like a Whitehall farce.
Very good piece by Stewart Lee in today’s G2 about taking Jerry Springer on the road. I think you might have to register to read it in full, but it’s here.
Good if sometimes demanding day at the office with Lee. We wrote half a scene. If that doesn’t sound like much, a) fuck off, and b) it is. We sculpted those words. We slaved over each one until we were happy with it. Also, it’s a long scene, and it’s the climactic one in Episode 4, so it’s important we get it right.
I had one of those embarrassing moments where I was walking towards somebody I was pretty sure I knew, but couldn’t quite place. He looked at me and clearly thought the same thing, but as we passed, neither of us acknowledged the other with a smile or a wave. We just kept on walking. It was only when he’d passed that I placed the face as Gareth, genial director of the pilot episode of me and Lee’s sitcom, Not Going Out. I felt such a twat. Maybe he only recognised me afterwards too. You meet so many people.
I also saw a young man being wrestled to the ground by two other men, who looked like security guards, albeit in fairly casual uniform of jumpers. I expect the other man had stolen something, unless they were the least discreet muggers in Central London. This provided a good spectacle for the people on Oxford Street, who stood and stared.
I saw a dead blackbird on the way to the station this morning, in the middle of the road. I know I should pull myself together, but it broke my heart. I keep thinking of his poor wife.