Last night I gatecrashed two private functions at BAFTA, got winked at by a Piccadilly doorman in a top hat, passed Susie from The Apprentice in the street, and accidentally robbed a producer.
Even just walking to the station was miserable, because on Monday I used up a year's supply of walk. And I got drenched in the rain, but by the time I bought an umbrella the rain had stopped. Then I got lost in Piccadilly, which, if you don't already know, is the absurdly swish Westminster street that boasts the Ritz. I usually get a weird satisfaction out of asking people for directions, but every single person I saw walking in Piccadilly looked like the type of people they con on Hustle. The least intimidating person was a 6'10 doorman with white hair, who looked faintly disgruntled as I asked him for directions. I added, “sorry, I had to ask you because you're wearing a top hat”, and he winked at me, stony-faced.
At BAFTA I signed in and walked straight into a private function where snotty men in suits and pink ties were saying “nyahahahahaha” to one another, then walked out of the private function, realising that the people I was supposed to be meeting probably weren't in the snotty suit room.
I met the writers and producer of “8”, a web-series I'm excitedly helping with. I'm writing an email-based storyline, so follow the link and subscribe!
Anyway, it was great to meet and discuss with the three of them (they have enviable personalities and ideas), though the room soon filled up with more suits; a private function was being created around us. We got involved in the canapés.
On the way back, on the underground (as I briefly realised I'd stolen the producer's pencil), there was an announcement I'd never heard before. “Professional beggars must stop impersonating homeless people immediately. To repeat, will professional beggars please stop pretending to be homeless”.
I don't even know what to think about that, let alone say.