Journey through space to the Planet Fabulous, where the Ruler of the Universe will see you shortly.

Wednesday, May 25, 2005

Waiting at the Stage Door for Brooke Shields

10.31: London stage version of Chicago ends. The Wife suggests going and hanging around Stage Door to meet Brooke Shields. Note odd gleam in his eyes.

10.37: Wife getting slightly hysterical at possibility of meeting Brooke.

10.39: Transpires Wife spent a good deal of formative years drawing pictures of Brooke. Apparently hundreds done. Have a disturbing peek into Wife's childhood.

10.41: Discuss whether bringing said pictures along would have enticed Brooke out any faster. Also discuss quantity of B2 pencils needed to do a decent job on her sizable eyebrows.

10.42: Discuss deforestation of Africa.

10.45: Wife deciding what page of programme Brooke should autograph (still no sighting). Compare and contrast Brooke's wig in photographs to somewhat inferior affair atop her head this evening. Posture that either a) someone had accidentally machine-washed it or b) a rat had got hold of it and that raggity mess was all they could get back.

10.49: Various chorus line leave, getting our hopes up.

10.50: Recall I spent some months of my childhood drawing many detailed pictures of Donna Summer. Neglect to mention the fact.

10.53: Wife nervous and agitated, supposing that if she'd have wanted to do autographs she would have come out by now. Have secretly agreed, but decide to wait her out for him.

10.54: Last orders in bar opposite.

10.58: Admire lovely exterior of theatre building. Wife also taken, particularly enjoying how all features have been smoothed away by time and inches and inches of paint. Compare and contrast with Sharon Stone in recently viewed 'Catwoman'.

11.01: Still no sign of Brooke. The Wife now embarrassed far beyond that time I got drunk and assured him you can gargle fondue at his works party, and then demonstrated. He is eager to go; last train is imminent.

11.04: Gayest chorus line boy flounces back to Stage Door to find it locked, showing pointedly that everyone else has gone home. We admire his heavily plucked eyebrows. Note stunning similarity to Nicole Kidman's eyebrows: pencil thin and forming an acute v-shape above the nose. Wife calls them The Devil's Eyebrows. Both postulate she puts them on using a protractor.

11.05: Discuss Julia Roberts' eyebrows. Postulate she puts those on with a pair of compasses.

11.07: All other cast members and most theatre staff have left. Wife tries to go, stating Brooke has probably slipped out of a side entrance. Point out several vehicles that could be hers: a waiting taxi, a Rolls-Royce and a rickshaw. We favour the latter.

11.12: Wife now convinced that Brooke doesn't want to do autographs and is waiting us out. He is now thoroughly embarrassed and implores me to leave. I wish to wait five more minutes, but he slopes off.

11.14: Resolve that, if ever famous myself in any way shape or form, to make myself as accessible to said imaginary fans as possible. Catch up with deflated boyfriend on The Strand.

11.21: Head home. Propose a daft scheme where I photoshop him into a camera-phone shot with her. He recommends that the shot is so ludicrous that people have to believe it's true and he did actually meet her.

So, my dear Wife, this is for you.


Mr Kenneth said...

Semi-naked on the Strand? Why, I've never seen the like!

Rob said...

Awww. The image of a deflated Wife sloping along the Strand after having his hopes so cruelly dashed is oddly moving.

Although that said I'm a little perturbed by the Donna Summer revelation.

Lee said...

Ah. In retrospect, it wasn't Donna Summer. It was Helen Shapiro.

Rob said...

A perfect example there, if any were needed, of instances where corrections don't improve the situation any. Frankly Helen Shapiro's just way more obscure than I'd have expected from even you.

Although now of course I'm singing her hit. Curse you.

Owen Blacker said...

I'm somewhat disturbed that neither Donna Summer nor Helen Shapiro surprised me in the slightest, as revelations go.

Eden said...

Did you hear what Tom Cruise said about Brooke? He says she should have used vitamins, not Paxil, to fight post-partum depression and he says her career is over. I blogged it today.

Miss Mish said...

Now she was staying at the Savoy the other week when she was in rehearsal - just over the road and handy for flunkies.

And the best way is to drop them a line back stage and hope for the best. always works for me but then I think I have a bigger cleavage than the wife.....

Skip said...

Jef? Brooke Shields? Dear my boggling brain.

Even more funny - last night at Central Station was a transvestite who looked just like Jef - the beard, the hair, the dismissive laugh... Only with high heels, cheap earrings, leather mini-skirt and a potbelly.

Saw him giving head while holding a cigarette in one hand and half a vol-au-vent in the other.

Miss Mish said...

Jeff, I think that was one of my staff - I noticed the earrings were missing.

l'il sis said...

Between pencilling Brooke Shields and his furtive sketchings of Sigrid Thornton's tousled mane , I should have taken out shares in Faber Castell I'd be a squillionaire! Did he mention the album of Brooke clippings he kept?? (pictures that is, not *actual* Brooke clippings... although that would have been cool.
Love your work Lee xxx

honeybarbara said...

I feel so sorry for The Wife. His nuanced, moody sketches of Brooke took hours of slavish, tongue-dangling, furrowed brow devotion and were the source of our whole school community's pride. [hey, we only had two TV stations] If only he could have had his moment with Brooke to show her what a REAL fan looks like. I feel tears brimming...

I am thrilled though that the Wife has found a more Da-Da esque style in his recent flamboyant oral street work. So much more grown up don't you think?

Hoodia said...

Help me Dude, I think I'm lost..... I was searching for Elvis and somehow ended up in your blog, but you know I'm sure I saw him in a car lot yesterday, which is really strange because the last time I saw him was in the supermarket. No honest really, he was right there in front of me, next to the steaks singing "Love me Tender". He said to me (his lip was only slightly curled) "Boy, you need to get yourself a San Diego cosmetic surgery doctor ,to fit into those blue suede shoes of yours. But Elvis said in the Ghetto nobody can afford a San Diego plastic surgery doctor. Dude I'm All Shook Up said Elvis. I think I'll have me another cheeseburger. Then I'm gonna go round and see Michael Jackson and we're gonna watch a waaaay cool make-over show featuring some Tijuana dentists on the TV in the back of my Hummer. And then he just walked out of the supermarket singing. . . "You give me love and consolation,
You give me strength to carry on " Strange day or what? :-)

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