Thursday, October 08, 2009
How's this for a bizarre London story (like a lot of things in London, it starts boring and ends up interesting): so, earlier this year I adapted as a screenplay a novel called 'Gifted' by Nikita Lalwani (pick up the book, it's great). I've never met Nikita, but tonight, after I got back from dance class, I had an email from her saying she thought she'd perhaps stood behind me on the escalator going down into Bond Street tube, wasn't sure, and had taken this cell snap to send me. Yes, that's me, wearing my favourite jeans! After the pic was taken, I got on the tube, went to learn how to rhumba, and then bus'd home in my workout gear. It's only when I got Nikita's photo, I realized I'd left my jeans at the dance studio. BUT NO! They say they are not there! Oh where, oh where are you, favourite jeans? Was your soul stolen by being photographed, and you vapourized in sorrow? Did you hail a cab and hit the town whilst I was dancing my ass off? Are you wandering the tunnels of the London underground like a denim ghost? Or are you in a cafe, having a cup of tea and reading Nikita's novel? If you see my jeans - Chip and Pepper, medium fade, size 25, petite (I'm not ashamed), I authorize you to make a citizen's arrest.