Twelve hours later and, thanks to the International Date Line, I'm back where I started. Monday the 29th of January. Just in time for lunch with Marti in Santa Monica.
Marti: So, tell me Dickie, whereabouts in England are you living?
Me: In a beautiful English coastal town called Ramsgate, about 90 minutes from London. I tell you, Marti old chap...
Marti: Yeah, Margate, I heard of that. Hasn't Cher got a place there?
Me: Yes, yes, I think she has been spotted there, but I tell you, Ramsgate is...
Marti: And I worked with a guy called Ray Winstone recently, did you see The Departed? He just wouldn't stop going on about Margate, and something you guys eat called jellied eels?
Me: Yes, er, yes, Ray is a bit of a fan, but getting back to Ramsgate...
Marti: You know, Ray's one hell of an actor. The first time we met for lunch, he blew me right away.
Me: Well, um, Marti, er, I think I'd have to get to know you a bit better first, or at least go and brush my teeth.
Another one bites the dust, methinks.
6 comments:
If it weren't for that particular trait of Margate-minded people, I don't think I'd bother going there at all.
At least he was aware of the concept that not all brits come from London.
One step at a time I say.
Forget Hollywood face it nobodies interested,the only way you'll get into a studio, is if you pay ( I recommend Universal) go hire a car, spend a few days drive north to San Francisco use the coastal pacific highway Route1
Oh well, one can but try Tony. And I've already got the Chevvy Malibu pointing up the PCH, maybe they'll let me blow them right away in San Fran.
Be sure to wear some flowers in your hair.
I'm sure I'm going to meet some jolly nice people there, Lucy old gal!
Post a Comment