The Flaw in Paganism

Last night I went to three parties, which was at least two too many. Today my head and stomach were reminded of the fantastic Dorothy Parker poem, 'The Flaw In Paganism':

Drink and dance and laugh and lie,
Love, the reeling midnight through,
For tomorrow we shall die!
(But, alas, we never do.)

Doctor Who?

Guess who was having a knees up at the book launch I went to last night...


And I thought David Tennant was an exciting person to see at a party.

Did I speak to him? Are you crazy? It would have been like initiating chit-chat with God.

My first choice to play Zeus, GBB fans. Though now that I think of it Ian McKellen would be a world-class Doctor...

In Which I Let You Down

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.