Fame Part Three

As we are such a famous family now, the above is a picture of Himself playing in a jazz band a couple of weeks ago. (He's the one on the right, playing with his mate Bob.) He was to have been playing this Wednesday but unfortunately the venue was already booked, so that will have to wait until after Christmas.

In the meantime, you know that cornet he bought a few weeks ago? The one that was JUST RIGHT, POP. The one that he spent ages reshaping, stripping of lacquer and doing god knows what else to?
It’s gone back on ebay

He did laugh, rather nervously, and said, ‘”the tone’s wrong, Pop.”
Story of my life.

He sold it at a loss of £45 .

“Just as well you’re not trying to make money,” I said (though of course this was the idea).

Out walking the dog on Saturday, he said, “Come on, Pop. I have to get back to check my internet business.” He giggled. “It’s called bankruptcy.com.”

Just to compound matters financial, he bought another cornet last night on ebay at the knockdown price of £42. I despair.

For those of you asking if I could put my moments of fame on Youtube – I don’t (yet) have a DVD of the programme, but for a good laugh, you can see it on the Westcountry TV website - http://www.itvlocal.com/westcountry and click on Documentaries.

Unfortunately I sound like Ann Widdecombe. But we don’t look alike.

Flowerpot's 30 seconds of TV Fame

Tonight the Westcountry Hall of Fame programme series starts on ITV Westcountry (ITV1) at 1930 (that’s 7.30pm to the likes of me).

I have to say here that the fame in the programme title refers, sadly, not to my participation but to those featured - i.e. famous writers. Of which I am not one YET.

Tonight's programme will feature writers, music and painters. The second one on 13th December looks at entrepreneurs, politicians, campaigners. Programme 3 looks at sailor/adventurers, inventors, visionaries on 20th Dec, and the last programme on Thursday 27th December is all about saving lives, soldiers, sporting heroes.

As Dermot, the producer, says,

“In addition – and to facilitate viewers’ votes – we will have a strong presence on the new, dedicated ITV Westcountry web page: http://www.itvlocal.com/westcountry which will go "live" for each programme immediately after transmission. This will guide online visitors through the voting process, and will allow them to view either the entire programme or – to refresh memories for those who will already have seen it – the background films on the nominees. Do please log on to vote yourself and, perhaps more importantly, ask all of your friends, colleagues and neighbours to do the same!! The results of the viewer voting for each programme will be posted on the website on the Monday following the programme, and will be announced soon thereafter on “Westcountry Live” (weekday evenings 1800-1830 on ITV1).

We are sure you understand that we have had to edit the discussions (which averaged about 25 minutes) down to a fraction of that. Sadly, to squeeze 3 categories into a programme that runs for 23 minutes in total, each discussion runs for less than 4 minutes or so. Rest assured, though, that we have chosen the very best of the discussions, that every panel member contributes, and that all five nominees get a mention. This means that some material that we had hoped to include has had to be dropped, but the end result has much better pace and rhythm without hesitation, repetition etc.

We hope you enjoy watching.”

It will be interesting to see whether my bit about Mary Wesley and sex will remain in. I’ll just have to wait till this evening to see my 30 seconds of fame..

Claim to Fame

My first claim to fame – or the first one that I can remember – was at an office party in 1977 when I was working in London for Campaign magazine (THE magazine in the advertising industry) which might sound glamorous but wasn’t. I filed cuttings for most of the day in a tiny dark office (‘the library’) filled with grey filing cabinets.

The journalists, who worked next door in The News Room, terrified me, so at the office party, I skulked in a corner trying to look insignificant. I was 19, skinny and awkward, desperately shy. To my relief I spotted someone who looked as uncomfortable as I felt, and for some reason I went over and said hello.

‘Hello,’ he said, a great tall man with a shock of upstanding hair and big eyebrows. ‘My name’s Michael.’

We got chatting and I think he got me a drink and shortly after that I was rescued by Gay, the lady I worked with in the library.

‘What where you talking to Hes about?’ she said.

‘Who?’

‘Hes,’ she said. ‘Michael Heseltine.’ She shook her head at the look of bemusement on my face. ‘He not only owns Campaign, but Haymarket Publishing.’

Oh, God.

On a note that has absolutely nothing to do with fame, I now have a furious Bussie shut in the kitchen. This is very Infra Dig and an infringement of his civil liberties. He will doubtless sue me when he can. But he hasn't eaten for a week now and having had a long chat with Ruth, the vet nurse, I'm taking him to the vet to be Looked At. Think of me at 5pm, by which time Bussie will be incandescent with rage.

Oh, God. Times Two.

Support

No, no news but we’re trying to be positive. Perhaps he is lying smugly on someone’s bed, being fed tuna on a silver spoon. (In which case, why not come home?) Perhaps he couldn’t wriggle away because of his bad leg. Perhaps he’s locked in someone’s garage. You can go mad speculating, so I try not to.

At least some decent weather helps; Bussie will be warm and dry, wherever he is. As Breadbox said, it’s the not knowing that’s so frustrating. You can’t do anything if you don’t know what’s happened, can’t move forwards. I can only hope that my Bussie is safe, and that he’ll come home soon. Whoever can tell what a cat’s thinking?

But thank you so much for all your support. Not just from people I ‘know’, but from those I have never met before. When I read Lesley’s second comment just now I felt blessed that so many people have taken the trouble to say they care. It means more than I can say and brings back faith that despite what happens, often unaccountably, there is a brighter side to life.

I’m sorry I’m not able to thank you all owing to a very wobbly Broadband connection. I spent nearly two hours on the phone to some BT fellow whose grasp of the English language wasn’t too good and spoke very quietly, so I kept shouting, ‘SORRY, COULD YOU SPEAK UP?’ down the phone. He failed to solve the problem, but apparently the problems is caused by BT upgrading our Broadband connection. No, it doesn’t make any sense to me, either.

So for the next week I could be having a wobbly Broadband connection which means I may not be able to thank you all personally, and visit your blogs. Bear with me. I will keep you posted – it just takes hours to add a comment on my own blog, let alone anyone else’s.

(While I don’t want to wish my life away, I can’t help thinking I’ll almost be glad when this week’s over.)

On a brighter note, I see from the Western Morning News yesterday that Bilbo, a Newfoundland accompanying his lifeguard owner at Sennen Cove, managed to save a Dutch tourist’s life. Weighing 12 stone, Bilbo tried to stop Lein Snippe from entering the water. When that didn’t work, he swam out so that she could see how hard it was for him to get back.

‘It was incredible,’ said Lein. ‘It was almost like he was talking to me.’

I was hoping to end with a cheerful cat story, but I can’t quite see a cat diving into the surf. On the other hand, I’d never be surprised by a cat’s capabilities. And Bussie, if nothing else is a prima donna. He loves the limelight. So come home soon, Bussie. You’re famous now.

So nearly a star...

Yesterday my friend Sue and I walked our dogs through the deeply muddy woods round the reservoir and commiserated on our weeks – my inability to write anything lucrative, her problems with pets: one of their rabbits died and the family are all in deep mourning, particularly the children.

However, she had to go and see a client who had nine jobs to offer, and duly set off, arriving at a huge mansion with those big black gates you see in films. Picture CCTV, razor wire looped over the high brick perimeter walls, and behind the gates were two massive Dobermans, but these were American Doberman; half as big again as the ones we get over here.

Being a wimp, I would have turned tail and run, but Sue is made of sterner stuff and was rescued from the jaws of death by The Boss who took her on a guided tour of his estate. This covered several hundred acres and housed a variety of tarantulas, six Arab horses and several birds of prey.
‘How big – like buzzards?’ said Sue, her voice rising to a squeak.
‘Bigger,’ came the reply.

At this point she cursed the fact that she didn’t have a mobile phone and wondered if she was going to get out alive. The children would be motherless, her dear husband sobbing over her coffin – and all because she'd been torn to pieces by a buzzard the size of a house, or at the very least as big as a vulture.

‘What did he do?’ I asked, ever nosy and beginning to wish that I’d gone. I could have taken notes, put him in the next book.

‘He said he made horror films,’ Sue said. ‘Hence the tarantulas and things – oh yes, and rats.’ I gulped here. I really don’t like rats. Neither did Sue by the look of her face. ‘But he said they don’t harm the animals,’ she said, looking faintly green. ‘They just run across the set.’

At this point Sue said she looked down at her feet, wondering if any vermin were going to shoot across the floor, and tried to find out more about this man. It turned out that he’d made a lot of money out of these films and asked if Sue liked that sort of thing.

‘I’ve shivered behind the sofa with the rest of them,’ she said, diplomatically. (I’ve watched one horror film in my life and that was one too many. Couldn’t sleep for weeks.)

Delighted, Mr Hammer Horror then gave her several videos to take home – three lots of trilogies – so she has her viewing cut out for the next few weeks. He also mentioned he’d had the likes of Christopher Lee over for the weekend – they flew over in their helicopters. As you do.

At this point, Sue got a whiff of Stardom. ‘I thought he might want me in his next film,’ she said. ‘So I pursed my lips and looked at him, sort of like this.’ She made a Marilyn Munroe type pout. ‘But he took no notice.’

‘They usually have a ravishingly attractive woman in horror films,' I said, remembering the trailer I saw for King Kong.

‘That's what I thought,’ she said thoughtfully. ‘After all, I’ve got experience. I’ve been in Oliver.’

Sadly at that point his phone rang and he had to go. And she was so close to being famous…....