I woke up to find that my social media appeals for a replacement for Fenella Fielding had yielded nothing. The search for someone born in 1927 was never going to be easy and could well have proved impossible. The most worrying thing was that all my contacts in rest homes were either not responding, or couldn’t help, so by the time I reached UK Jewish Film offices in the late morning, I was bouncing off the ceilings.
I tried to make myself a cup of tea to calm down, but the milk was off. And let me tell you: when this man is prevented from having his first cup of tea in the morning, life suddenly becomes a very distressing place! I took myself into the communal cafe space, tried to take some deep breaths, and, after googling a list of celebrities born in 1927, was trying to work out whether June Brown from Eastenders was Jewish enough to be in the film. Quite how I thought I was going to get in touch with her, I’ve no idea!
It was at that moment, the bottom dropped out of the project when I found out that cellist Natalie Clein, whom we were due to film on Sunday, was also unable to take part. She apparently needed to rest her fingers and arms and therefore wouldn’t be able to play. The big problem was that I’d written a large ‘cello solo in the middle of the piece, especially for Natalie, so had been left with a twenty second hole in my film. I can’t feel anger. Natalie was an absolute delight to deal with and I can only assume she didn’t realise the complicated nature of the project and quite how derailing her dropping out was going to be. I was so tragically excited when she said yes and poured a lot of love into what I wrote for her. I looked back at the first draft I’d written for her section and it says “Natalie’s sequence - yay!”
I did a bit of ranting and railing and then made Michael (who’s executive producing) rather angry by being defeatist and imagining a world where I could throw in the towel and blithely pull out of the project like Fenella and Natalie. Ultimately, of course, the great tragedy about being a writer is that whilst everyone else can run away from your babies, you, yourself, are stuck with them for life, so the only option is to doggedly continue.
So I hauled my sorry arse back into the office and spent the day, with Michael, putting out feelers and trying to remedy the situation.
I went down Oxford Street in the late afternoon to find my Dad a birthday present, and walked, in a mega-daze through John Lewis and various other department stores, realising I wasn’t actually looking at anything. I was, simultaneously, buried in my phone, repeatedly checking Facebook to see if anyone had offered me a lifeline. I got incredibly antsy with one of those women whose task it is to go up to people in department stores and ask if they need help. She could plainly see I was engrossed in my phone.
Everything got a little less stressful after I’d walked up to St James’ Park to meet my parents, Nathan, Brother Edward and Sascha.
The plan for my Dad’s birthday was to visit London Zoo by night. They only open up at night time for a few weeks a year, but they really go for it. Children aren’t allowed, which genuinely makes a big difference. The little stands are more likely to sell alcohol than ice cream and, as the sun sets, everything takes on a rather magical quality.
There were a few drops of rain. The first we’ve had for some time. At one point, our noses were filled with that glorious scent which only comes when rain falls on sun-baked, dusty earth. The smell, I learned from Brother Edward, has a name: petrichor.
It was rather lovely to walk around and see the animals either preparing for bed, or preparing to get busy. I was rather taken by the bush babies and the Australian water rats, and loved seeing the fruit bats. The lemurs stole the show, however. Visitors literally get to walk into their cage and they are quite happy to run around, swinging from the branches above. If you’re lucky, they’ll even come and sit down next to you.
Are all giraffes gay by the way?
I’d never been to London Zoo before and was a little disappointed that there weren’t any elephants. My Mother shared my dismay. Both she and my Dad had been to London Zoo once in their lives: my father in the early 50s and my mother, in 1948! She believes she may have visited just after it had reopened after the war. She also remembers seeing the penguins and thinking they were actually little men, and being utterly terrified! She maintains that no one relieved her of the notion.
Mind you, as a child I remember being in Hyde Park and seeing a group of women in niqabs wandering about in a playground and thinking they were a flock of black sheep.
A little bit of research on penguins reveals they are one of nature’s animals most likely to have homosexual relationships. Fact.
Are all giraffes gay by the way?
I’d never been to London Zoo before and was a little disappointed that there weren’t any elephants. My Mother shared my dismay. Both she and my Dad had been to London Zoo once in their lives: my father in the early 50s and my mother, in 1948! She believes she may have visited just after it had reopened after the war. She also remembers seeing the penguins and thinking they were actually little men, and being utterly terrified! She maintains that no one relieved her of the notion.
Mind you, as a child I remember being in Hyde Park and seeing a group of women in niqabs wandering about in a playground and thinking they were a flock of black sheep.
A little bit of research on penguins reveals they are one of nature’s animals most likely to have homosexual relationships. Fact.
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