I really shouldn't go and see Jon Ronson, read his column, watch his documentaries. But I do. I sat there last night, getting angry, unable to ask the question I really wanted to ask whenever the opportunity arose. Instead, I just stewed, nursing my almost empty glass of lager (the bar, naturally, had shut, as you wouldn't want to interrupt a man with a PA and a big screen with your silly requests of the bar staff for more Carling Extra Cold on the hottest night of the year, at least not with minnows running towards Ronno with fresh bottles of Becks. Oh no, you wouldn't want that. Dehydration, that's what you're after). Ah well. Come back soon, Jon, I'll pay to get in next time. And bring David Icke with you. Let's do 6 hours in a room with no air, not just 90 mins! Louis Theroux rocks, btw.*
Toby Young sent me a good luck message about the play this morning. "I know just how you feel!" he said. What a nice chap. And a much more active blogger than Jon Ronson, I note. This was tempered somewhat by an email from Kate Bassett, of Independent fame. Next time, she more than hinted, I should drop arts-related information to her via the Royal Mail, and not bother with fancy email as she gets a lot of spam! Eh? Don't we all? I will write back to her and ask her, in future, to communicate with me via carrier pigeon and/or smoke signals.
*Ronno kept mentioning Louis Theroux and I get the feeling this is an unhealthy obsession. He seemed to be saying that both have similar ouvres but there's not room for the both of them. In my humble opinion at least - and you can disagree if you like (though you'd be wrong to) - Theroux is way ahead of JR as a filmmaker and is a much funnier, nay, more entertaining, proposition.
Listening: Macy Gray - Still.
No comments:
Post a Comment