So Man was invited to play at a well known charity's Christmas luncheon, naturally he needs moi to drive him t
o London and accompany him to the gig, whilst all the time carrying his bag (s)/boxes/cases.
Following a night of great silliness at a central London hotel involving indoor frisbee, new millinery, fab soft shelled crab and laughing more than I have in a long, long time, I ate more bacon than any one person should dare to consume (in an attempt to ward off the impending doom of hangover!) After an hour well spent repairing the damage, it was taxi time (with aforementioned bag/boxes/cases - not easily carried in a dress and heels) and off to the uber-upmarket Grosvenor House Hotel. Having gigged there myself I feel a sense of connection as I wonder through the marble and gold to the sumptuous ballroom with chandeliers you just want to swing from.
It's a hive of activity with lots of eastern european workers laying up tables and looking efficient. No time to dawdle for Man as he hops up on stage to arrange the kit that has been hired for him. It's an odd looking, silver, sparkley dinosaur of a kit with knackered heads and causes Man to momentarily lose his cool with much chunnering. He fixes this slight hiccup by turning the toms over and playing the bottom of the drum - clever bugger! Disaster and blown tempers avoided, I make myself useful by taking lots of pics of the sound check but must admit feeling a little nostalgic and missing the stage myself, but as this WAS only a corporate it's a feeling I shortly overcame!
So the club's "do" begins and we all make our way to the champagne reception. The girls in the band are highly delighted to be airing very smart dresses and big F.M. shoes, they look gorgeous if slightly in need of a sandwich! There's a brass band knocking out some christmas tunes in festive hats and lots of milling about looking at the items available for the silent auction. Only one member of the band indulges in Champagne as it's £25 for 2 small glasses, although I suspect that this is more to impress a certain blonde bombshell that certainly isn't the lady he's married to!
As for me, my ligging skills are working well and, as we go in to sit down, and I find myself with fine linen, red & white wine, 3 courses of food and a free copy of OK magazine! Yep I'd made it into the event, not a Burger King in sight. Result.
The band, singers and dancers are split between 2 tables (those in the midst of a tour canoodling, those not on the other) and as my eyes grow accustomed to the light I am at an advantage point to spot the famous folk. Yep, at this years charity Christmas do there is Vanessa Feltzs and boyfriend: Ben Ofoed, some bloke off Eastenders, the much shorter than I though he would be John Culshaw and newly very rich and personal favourite: Michael Macyntyre. Inbetween courses there is much speaking, reviewing, a choir of cherubic young theatre school pupils (far too musical theatre at such a young age), jazz trios, presentations etc. Man falls asleep but is awoken by the strains of The Soldiers, lovely blokes doing a great job, but absolutely not to my taste so it's definitely time for a fag break.
Then it's time for Man to go and be in the holding room before his set (I fear he'll have a long wait ahead of him). I join another table as mine is now empty and I feel rather conspicuous. Incidentally sitting on my new table is a lovely, keen actress who I discover also did the same Vodafone campaign as me and we must have previously met at the audition( apparently I look very familiar). She's in a play that's opening that evening, she's terribly busy, she's selling Liberty silk scarves at this event. It's mainly London bullshit but I like her enough to hope that she does get in touch. We stop gossiping about Nicole Kidman's botox just in time to watch Michael Macyntyre take to the stage to auction off some amazing prizes.
The funny man has with him a list of the richest people in the room and made it a point to embarrass them and make them buy stuff for ridiculously inflated prices. And they loved him for it, LOVED HIM! Yes the money goes to charity but these people must be very rich to throw such cash around. One bloke paid £1500 just to be given permission to leave the room to catch a train, with prices averaging out at about £2500. I tried not to think of how long I can live on £2500 and sat on my hands so I wouldn't be confused with the wealthy. Don't think the charity were after a rubber cheque and I only had a tenner in my purse!
It seemed to me that there was a definite "look how much money I've got to throw around, recession be damned" kind of attitude and lots of tanned, jewelery rattling and testosterone fuelled wallets down towards the front. Much applause followed each item whilst the charity ladies with the clipboards smiled and practised their "congratulations you won" smile, whilst all the time thinking of their bonuses. One classic moment was when Vanessa Felps paid £200 to hear her own boyfriend sing a line from his own song. In itself, cringey, but what followed made me feel a little queasy: Vanessa, overgroomed and buxom in black sequins ran up to the stage, pushing past diners along the way, with a wad of £20 notes shouting "Darling, I've got to go." She thrust them at Michael Macyntyre, who seemed a little flustered at this rather overtly public display of true love and charity donating. I must say I found the whole thing rather vulgar.
Funny.
But vulgar.
I'm pleased as punch for my friend Christian Mckay in the film 'Me and Orson Wells'. This is a man who is an example to us all: bloody hardworking, charming and hugely entertaining, it has been my pleasure to work with the chap and drink with the chap: both of which were great fun!
