Diary of Lisa Taylor, reluctantly 42 (and a half)

Or.. 'f.ck me I'm forty.. two.. and a half', though can look 38 on a - not so deluded - good day. Or 'How to reconcile a well experienced mind trapped in a still - but for how long? – youthful body.' Don't have the 30somethings angst/problems, neither have the resigned (?) ageing baby-boomers in safe family territory outlook yet. Here's how I cope, one day all sexy women will get old... but never invisible. © Lisa Taylor 2005/6/7/8/9. Jeez.. so much for the 42 and-a-half delusion

Monday, February 01, 2010

2 February - Jerusalem & Gems

There he is, on a stage, being absolutely mega wonderful. Imagine like seeing Brando do Streecar on a stage (did he ever or only in movie?). The script, cast, direction help, but it's Mark Rylance's show. Am sat in 4th row for a change, Toph having decided that I'm not safe to buy theatre tix ever again, since I go for the cheap seats and after that time watching the top of Kenneth Branahgh's head in some Chekhov he sad no way.

So, I can see/hear everything super well. And am left to feel so sorry that the snow didn't snow harder a couple weeks back. Bascially S. was in London over from Vienna. She was due to return on such and such a sunday and said I hope the flight will leave, if not I'm going to this party at this actor's house, do you know him, Mark Rylance? Do I know Mark Rylance??? No, unfortunately I only know 'of' Mark Rylance, so I had to explain why he's so revered. She, living in Vienna is hardly au fait with London theatrealand. But more to the point, why she going to his house? Wouldn't you know, her London based brother used to date actor's stepdaughter and voila', three-degrees. I beg her to take me with and she says yes, will ask, but only of course if she's not flying off back to Austria. Which is exactly what happens and I never meet him and thus cannot go backstage after to prostrate on floor and declare I'm not worthy.

And talking of small world linked to S. How about this story. So, she's in London and as we're going nearby to visit J. who wants to show us his refurbished, de-gayfied house. I ask him if she can come along. He says yes. We walk in, she loves it/him. We admire the shelves, the state of the art sound system connected to every room and so on. In the living room she admires one large painting and says 'I know that room (in the painting), it's my upstairs neighbour in Venice, G.' And so it is, J. confirms was in Venice a few years ago, got to meet his painter, went to his studio and bought said painting of views on Giudecca. S. tell him she often has coffee in that room.

At some point I ask if J. has seen the ex B. the one who works in opera. He says she's coming to London soon and will meet up, things are friendly again sort of, after the final split. A few moments later S. says, 'Since you're talking opera, I wonder if you may know my good friend T. opera singer?' J. nearly spits his tea and so do we. This being the man J. sprinted B. from and very badly so. I'm horrified, I feel as if I've introduced a spy, an enemy into J's abode. I cry 'I didn't know you knew T'!' She says, yes you do, I was telling you about him only earlier.' 'Yes sure, you talked about a T. in Vienna, w/o the 'he's an opera singer' I'd have never made the connection. Turns out she has never met B. only heard of her and so the name means nothing to her. We sit there for a while in silence, wondering if there's any more coincidences to floor J. with. Then we leave. Oh dear... That was early January. Not heard from J. since.

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