I went to a party on Saturday night. David Tennant was there. I didn't speak to him.
I know, I KNOW. I've let you down, I've let myself down, I've let the blog down, as well as pissing on all the rules of narrative.
The thing is, there are other rules, rules of humanity. What a thing it must be to be David Tennant. David Tennant in the flesh is perhaps even more attractive than on TV, especially in the lovely silvery suit and open-necked shirt he was wearing on Saturday and his hair tousled just so. Think: The Doctor accepts an Academy Award. It wasn't a particularly big party, just a half-empty room in a private members' club in Soho, and he knew quite a few of the people there, judging by who he said goodbye to when he left, but what he actually did for the entire time he was there was fend off women. Women, women, women, and I'm sure this is a male fantasy, and I'm equally sure that David Tennant gets to have sex with whoever he likes, but I actually don't think it would be that fun to have total strangers monopolising your attention all night when you would rather be talking to your friends. There was one particularly persistent girl who was very, very excited and talking on and on, while our hero DT, despite being an actor, didn't seem to have much control of his body language, or at least if I am talking to a man who has got his legs crossed even though he is standing up, and keeps clutching the wall beside him as if trying to crawl away, and also keeps looking longingly at the dance floor where everybody else is having more fun than he is, I would maybe get the message and tactfully go off to get myself a drink. So I am surreptitiously watching this going on and thinking to myself a number of things:
- If I want to talk to that man, I am either going to have to interrupt or queue.
- I really don't want to be that super-excited girl who is making him crawl up the wall in discomfort.
- What the hell do you say as your opening remark to David Tennant anyway?
- Even if I want to talk to David Tennant, I am certain to my very core that he does not want to talk to me.
So I just danced instead, which I think was best for everybody.
Sorry. I know that it doesn't make for a great story.
Posts
30 comments:
Oh Marie, while I still want the story to be different, I think you did the right thing. Who wants to queue, or wonder what the hell to say, or be embarrassingly over-excited.
What I bet is that David Tennant has now found out that the famous author Marie YouKnowWho was at the club, and he's kicking himself that he didn't come over and talk to you.
Oh Marie, so near and yet so far...
I think you did the right thing too. I sadly think in your shoes I'd have got pissed and said something inappropriate. And as I'm OLDER then him, it would have looked even worse. Am in awe of your restraint.
And it's still an excellent story...
PS So glad there wasn't a Doomsday scenario thing going on chez toi, after the matches post I was beginning to worry...
Good one sis. And just think: you are now one step closer to actually being introduced to him by a mutual friend when you can perfectly nicely chat to him for a minute or two and then judge for yourself whether he's desperate to escape or desperate to talk to you for a bit longer. Or maybe you'll be desperate to escape. I feel sorry for that girl, hope she doesn't read your blog!
You'll note that I deliberately didn't mention any distinguishing features, so that even if she read this she might not realise it was her.
PS. But BLOODY HELL, MARIE!!! You were AT A PARTY WITH DAVID TENNANT????
Sorry I just had to say that. You see. I have no restraint. And as it's only lunchtime I can't even blame the booze...
Didn't your heart go thumpety-thump-thumpety-thump when you saw him? I'm sure if I saw one of my onscreen crushes in the flesh I'd go seven different kinds of wobbly and would be so TERRIFIED of talking to him I'd deliberately avoid him. You sound much more calm and collected than me!
I'm torn, on one hand it's very honourable what you did, on the other hand, I just think, blow it, maybe you should have just gone for it. That's probably not what you want to hear, is it...?!
Well there was a weird moment where we made eye contact as I walked in, but not in an our-eyes-meet-across-a-crowded-room sort of way, and I saw him looking over once or twice after that, and had a horrible, horrible feeling that he had seen that Telegraph article where the journalist wrote all about how much I adore him, and there was a great big photo of me, and that he had recognised me and was wondering whether or not he should call the police. Is that the kind of thumpety-thump heart moment you meant?
No, no, no, Marie. The way it goes in romantic fiction is he looks across at you once or twice, wondering where he's seen that gorgeous girl before, but being a bloke he can't quite remember. It is only DAYS later that he realises, she is the gorgeous girl he read about in the Telegraph who adores him. And he can't remember her name, and he doesn't have her number. And he may NEVER see her again....
He can always look me up on Facebook. Ah, romance in the age of technology.
You have not let us down! You have managed to be in the same room as a man who, let me get this straight, looks better in real life? Oh dear... Your actions, or lack thereof, were based on decency and consideration.
If it had been me... well, it wouldn't have been, would it? I'm not accomplished enough to have been at such a gathering. (And am not nearly self-assured nor pretty (or in the case of excited girl, oblivious) enough to have approached him if I had.
I strongly feel that behind those (big brown-eyed, must control myself...) glances was not "Must remember to get that restraining order", but: "Who's that attractive girl? Haven't I read one of her books recently?"
I suppose this isn't the place to mention that rumour has it that his latest girlfriend has dropped him?
What everyone above said and then some big fat more of it.
Envy at you having been there (did you mentally flash back Rosby's scenarios?)
Delight at you having been there (I can SO visualise what you describe, even the excitable clinging girl - awful really but I can't help but think 'bless her', would some of us been any different?!)
Mortification at you having felt so constrained (but please do NOT beat yourself up: you haven't let anyone down... there's always the next time...)
Imagination off on a completely uncontrollable kerpluee re-writing the event to a more satisfying conclusion
Recognition that in your shoes I'd have danced as well but with a definite casual eye to his general direction
Wonderment at how many types of wobbly I would have gone (actually, I know that feeling well and its definitely multi-digit: giddy scarcely covers it!)
And much else besides.
You were honourable and whatever doesn't come next in our romantic fiction version you can rest assured that we just felt awesome that you actually were THERE.
Right, that's my late lunch hour gone... Wish I had access to alcohol...!
Did you honestly manage to not even squeak a tiny little bit when you saw him? I am in awe at your self-possession. I would have squealed like a piglet and then spent the evening hiding in the loo.
Well i am very impressed with your calmness and being able to control yourself when he was actually in the same room as you.
Did you actually know that he was going to be at that party? Did you at least get a little bit excited?
Not true, it is a very good story indeed!
Ha! I said you'd meet him, I said. At least he didn't climb out of a toilet window to get away...
You did better than a friend of mine - we were once at the Royal Court bar and the girls opposite turned out to be friends of the Man Himself; my friend couldn't look at him when he strolled up. Her excuse? "He's like the sun, you can't look directly at him!"
She's right.
His girlfriend's dropped him, you say? Hmm... *strokes chin*
I am shocked. At your humanity, at your sensibility, sensibleness and general ruining of a good story...
Can't you just make up a really good lie and we'll forget this was ever posted? Huh? Call yourself a novelist? Huh?
Pah.
;o)
P.S. I also, by the way, hate you. Because I have met a couple of my idols, and I was always the over-excited girl talking super-fast and completely ignoring all negative body language. And I think you should have been that girl too. To make me feel better.
Although in my case they were uncle-ish figures like John Peel and Jim Dodge, rather than super-fit young blokes. Hmm. Can't decide whether that makes it better or worse.
"He's like the sun, you can't look directly at him!"
She's right.
God that remark freaks me but mostly cos I recognise where it comes from. I must admit that though I have had my share of 'just go for it' hellos I have also sometimes just basked in knowing that over my shoulder, close by, there They Are. Sharing the same space with attendant possibility if nothing else can still be powerful - and I guess the word 'bask' is telling in the context of your quotation.
Sigh.
Awh, bless you Clare!!! And there is NOTHING wrong with being hyped at having met John Peel. The man is/was LEGEND.
Though yes, DT.... swoon...
;)
I love(d) John Peel too. I actually wrote to him once with a question about a song he played on his show and he wrote back. I think I still have the postcard somewhere.
You didn't surreptitiously write your phone number on your panties and stuff them in his pocket as you walked by?
Good self control. But as the rest say, you are a good writer, so please tell us what really happened. (you weren't THAT girl, were you?)
Oh, you...!
*is jealous*
I don't blame you in the least; at least you acted with a little dignity rather than being a clinger.
And basking is good! Meeting DT for the first time, bask; if you get a second time, go in for the kill. Or the talking. Whichever seems preferable and practical at the time. And however much Dutch courage you've managed to build up. That's what I'm doing with Barrowman in April; I'll go and talk to him rather than gaping like a fish like I did back in July, because it'll be less of a shock seeing him in the flesh this time.
And at least you didn't faint...my writing's not particularly prophetic, is it?
Many years ago I was so determined not to be that over-eager girl that when Bjorn Borg came and sat in the seat directly behind me at Wimbledon, I didn't allow myself to turn round, not even for a fleeting second.
But I still remember the pressure of his knee against the back of my plastic seat...
You did the right thing!
I'm impressed by your restraint, but yes, you got it right. I suspect DT had good control of his body language and was hinting like mad that he'd rather be being eaten by ants while listening to a televangelist than prolong the conversation.
I feels your pain, sister! But I would have done the same thing. Just knowing you remained classy and respected someone's personal space has got to count for something,right? At least you got to be in the same room with him. Unless he visits the Boston, MA metro area someday, I'll never see him in person. Perhaps the gods will throw your paths together again someday...
Is this what he looked like while that girl was talking to him?
http://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/f/fb/David_Tennant_07.jpg
You did exactly the right thing.
Whoops. Link got truncated.
Try this:
http://tinyurl.com/6jucw7
Darling i believe that you were absolutely right not to take a chance at becoming David's breaking point.... but I wish you got a picture..
Post a Comment