Day 24 – manners in motion; indiscretion in the film industry and potential problems of using one’s phone
After conducting the penultimate train journey in aid of researching by article soon to be published on the terror of trains I was feeling particularly positive about my journey. I had managed to avoid buses or delays rand right up until the very last stage of my journey I was able to say I had a fairly pleasant travelling experience.
All that changed however when I boarded the bus to Mauldeth Road last night which would take me to see the boy upon its route to Manchester Airport. As I tried to relax and read the week’s review in The Sunday Times, I suddenly became frightfully aware of a verbal assault on my ear drums. A particularly toffish type character was spouting away about his latest film project in spite of being surrounded by people who were too poor to get a taxi. At first I stuck my fingers into my ear hoping he would get the hint but his dulcet tones still evaded my delicate drums. As he had not get the hint I decided that if he wanted people to hear every details of his film project and his meeting with the elusive Catherine as well as his opinion on Rio Ferdinand and the girls of Coronation Street, the least I could do was give him an extra platform for his drivel and practice my teeline at the same time.
The dress I am wearing today is strangely enough from supermarket giant, George at Asda. I brought it when I was working at McClelland and the boy was doing some recording at blueprint. I was rather poorly and had gone to work looking like a scruff so changed into this dress before going to Blueprint if I bumped into the Elbow boys or Justin Timberlake who had recorded there the previous year. Obviously I wanted to look nice for the boy as well. Today’s photos are once again taken by him and this is perhaps obvious by the fact he chooses to focus more on my legs than the dress but hopefully you can see enough to appreciate it is a cute little number. We took the photos in Fuel again as we had been to a comedy night before chilling out afterwards with some strawberry beer.
What follows is a script of the boy on the bus speaking on his phone to an actor involved in his project which sounded as though it was going to be another zombie inspired apocalyptic reel. The poor actor barely had a chance to speak but I have also left out some details to prevent too much of the project being given away and to protect the privacy of some of the people he mentioned but otherwise it is an exact account of his ramblings. Chris Moyles could have been inspired by this gentleman.
“We are going to blow them up. It’s going to be a full on explosion. Going to be a big blow…
She is living with one of the girls in Corrie’ at the minute and she wants her to have a part. She also knows other people that she knows in that area…
apparently she is doing some singing at the moment at a club that is owned by a United player, what’s his name, I don’t know because I don’t care about any of those United players, Rio Ferdinand that’s it, that was his name. Anyway she has sung at his club and Catherine is going to try to get us that as a location.
She was really positive, she was saying I will get you this, I will get you that. She has done TV, she has done feature films so she has picked up some contacts along the way. As they say it’s not what you know, it’s who you know
I will tell you what, the Romoans now have a mansion to live in.. it has a massive basement and a moat. They found the remains of a priest who lived there and there is a cella which we need
I know, you are a legend for introducing us…
I am going to teach her to fight how to use a gun and get her in the look of being a very interesting character who is also a gun touting maniac.
This is just when everything starts happening and the only way this film is not going to get made is if you or me die or me being completely ridiculous and stupid and not working on it.
Catherine know some people from the BBC so we will be able to get some good interest from the press and get some journalists really listening to us and interested in this film.
I really want to get a helicopter in the scene, I think we need it.
When I was growing up and my baby brother was still, well a baby, my Dad had no choice other than to take me along to Premiership football games at Coventry City. This was back in the days of Dion Dublin, where every single season we managed to hang on from relegation by the skin of our teeth. Although my father spent much of his time trying to shield me from curse words and hooligans; politely informing them if they bumped into me one more time he would have to punch them into next week, fellow supporter though they may well be, we used to have a great time together and until my brother started to come to the games it was our little father and daughter day out. One of our collective favourite memories of going together, I would say my own was when I met Kevin Keegan when we played Newcastle but I think my father was too busy trying to prevent me defecting teams to enjoy the experience; was when we scored a goal in the last minutes of play thus escaping relegation for another year. It had snowed and everyone was so overjoyed that there was a massive pitch invasion which my father joined in with. I felt extremely proud as I watched him return his face aglow having thrown a snowball at one of the opposition players.
As I got older and my brother got taller my Dad started taking both of us along to the matches. It was a pity really but the costs just got too high and naturally he felt obliged to bring his son along to an experience which is more often associated with father and son pairings. I had reached the wonderful age of answering back and instead of attending matches in a pom-pom hat and baby blue corduroy coat I wanted to go in tight leather trousers, thick green statement knits and berets. It was not that I wanted to be a wag I had just started to become as interested in fashion as I was in football and I guess it was difficult for my father to take a Faux French daughter to a football ground. I still went to see Coventry play from time to time and watched football on TV when I had the time, particularly match of the day if my Dad had it on and I had been allowed to stay up, but slowly but surely I started to spend my Saturdays hanging out with friends in town shopping with the little money we had, drinking hot chocolate, chit chatting and checking out boys.
These days my Saturdays are spent in much less clear-cut pursuits, but I would do myself an injustice if I did not admit that football and fashion are still the main focus of this day. If I am not checking the web to see how the games are going, I am bopping about town looking for bargains whilst glaring at anyone foolish enough to mention the results, hoping I can catch them on match of the day before anyone gives the scores away. I have been lucky enough to report on matches for the non-league paper, and got to take my father along to a spectacular end of season final between Durham City and Woodley Sports where visitors Durham came behind from three down to win the match and rise up to the next division.
As I wondered round Manchester yesterday however I was struck by how many things have spilled off of the field to become everyday behaviours which have a negative effect on my fashion finding. As I waited outside the Arndale I was shocked by how many people emerged from the double doors to spit out the contents of their mouth, be it spit or chewing gum. Assuming these people had not been engaged in rigorous sport inside the shopping centre, (though shopping can at times be a fast paced activity it can certainly not be compared to the cardio kick which is the great game) I could not understand why they thought it was acceptable to spit in a public place. I wish I had had the courage to face them but foolishly I had read an article about a woman who was knifed after asking someone to be quiet in the cinema and my usual interfering nature escaped me. The other fashion I noticed whilst waiting for the boy to emerge from the shops was bear bellied girls. It was not that I found the sight of these girls stomachs particularly hideous, they were extremely tone tummies, it was just that they looked so completely wrong in context. Although most of the snow has left Manchester it is still utterly freezing, even I have lately had to abandon outside shoots till the weather improves, and yet these women were walking round like they are in the Bahamas. Although this dress leaves little to the imagination in terms of length (I did have to exclude some photos from the blog) when on the street I was cloaked in many layers and more importantly other than my face and hands no bare flesh is being exposed to the Northern elements. In a club or on a hot day you expect to see flesh, on the football pitch you hope to see it either in appreciation of the beauty of the male form or because your team have just scored a goal and the scorer is celebrating by whipping off his top regardless of the card he will receive, but outside in Manchester in January bare flesh is about as unexpected as the spittle which lines the pavements.
Today’s dress is 1980s vintage Miss Selfridge. The material is thick and heavy and although I had to wear a vest tucked firmly into tights to protect myself from the elements it does feel like a winter dress with minimal need for remodification. I must admit I was thinking of saving it for an interview or a film inspired post but I was feeling a bit low yesterday and needed the kind of lift which wearing such a brilliant item can give you. Like much of 80s fashion it has the all important power dressing factor. The shoulders are so wide that even my cloak hanger upper form struggled with wearing it. It has really unusual braces which you pull in and clip to the material to give you as little or as much of a waist as you might want. I wore it with patterned tights and Kurt Geiger statement purple and dark blue heels from last years collection. They are all of about sis inches high with a platform at the front and mean I do not feel at all intimidated by lout returning through town with too much drink in their bellies as I am usually several inches taller than them by the time defeat or alcohol has bent their back. I went full force with the make up, tracing gold and beige shadow up to the brow and leaving my hair naturally large to fit in with the time although I had to wipe off my lipstick as I was looking a little too lady of the night. I got the dress from eBay for 0.99p plus postage and packaging. Sometimes you get really lucky on eBay if nobody else can see the potential of a dress off the model or the floor especially if you decide what you are paying and take into account postage and packaging. I think I had to pay £4 to have this delivered, but even for £5 I think it is a good bargain and am already a little sad that I didn’t have the energy to wear it out last night and settled for match of the day and Poland’s finest export to date krupnik instead.