I was on the brink of making a French Exit from this blog, until yesterday, when I noticed that I had acquired several more followers on Twitter, on the blog itself and from Linked-In, so as a duty to the new followers, I feel I owe them a blog or two. Those faithful readers who have stood by me for the last three years, I thank you, and my still possible French Exit was with no disregard to your fidelity. It is just that I began to bore myself.
Some readers have perceived my musings as the real interpretation of a person who lives the life of Reilly. On reading some of the blogs that I have written, I can understand this misconception, so I hope you will allow me to correct this. It has not been explained properly, by the author, myself, that is, that I heavily edit my musings, heightening the drama and events in order to make it entertaining. I avoid actual names of real people, and I work hard to avoid my very personal issues, so that I can retain parts of my life to be private.
The events of this blog are sometimes true but not always the whole truth. I reserve that as my privilege. If that offends, stop reading or stop following right now. That is your right. Essentially this blog has selfish purposes, to stretch my writing muscles by learning how to put stories across within the boundaries that I set myself. I am the CEO of this blog, and its mission statement belongs to me. So if I choose to write a pile of lies or a pile of truths, this country’s freedom of speech allows me to do so. But it is important to be warned that it is entirely up to the reader as to whether he or she believes the events in it are real or entirely my invention.
With that pompous speech out of the way, I will now try to entertain any of the remaining readers of the blog. I’m not sure I’ll manage it, as it has been a funny old summer. The Captain and I tend to become child-widow and widowers through most of July and August, while every friend of ours dedicates their life blood to their children’s school holidays. They emerge in September, eyes wide with fatigue, unable to string adult sentences together, catatonic with exhaustion.
Knowing this, the Captain and I decided on a holiday in August instead of the usual cheaper June, since August was always devoid of work and our friends. We travelled round large portions of Andalusia, Spain, idiotically thinking we could naïvely turn up in various places and stay. Suffice to say it was permanently scorchio, but the shortages of rooms surprised us. Here are the good bits: the supermarkets were fun, with glorious cartons of gazpacho and mammoth hams hanging for incredibly cheap prices. I could have sat down on the floor and pretty much have eaten the lot. We visited Vejez de la Frontera, where the food was delicious and I learnt that Sherry was called Sherry because the Brits, being the brilliant linguists that they are, felt that was their best attempt at saying the word Jerez, where the aforementioned fortified wine originates.
The Andalusian scenery on the long drives was fascinating in terms of its utter similarity to Arizona in California. It was as if the landscape had originally been two identical brothers who were split at birth, except one was much larger. It became clear why Sergio Leone kept using it for his Western films. The Captain introduced me properly to The Good, The Bad and The Ugly when we got home, to see if we would recognise bits, since Mr Leone brought Mr Eastwood to film it all in Spain fifty years ago.
A highlight was Seville which due to it being low season was cheaper than everywhere else. The city was architecturally very beautiful, the hotel still having old fashioned windows that you could open and watch the world wandering on the cobblestone streets, so it was romantic as well.
Ironically August has seen both the Captain and myself being very busy when we were not in Spain. He has had a series of adverts, and as I write this he is returning from Budapest where he was dangling from a harness that the aforementioned Mr Eastwood had to wear for a previous film. The Captain has a new couple of projects this next few weeks, whilst he oversees the renovation of the new home in Chiswick. We move into it at the end of October, despite the delays, it will not be quite ready, so I, the Princess, will have to tolerate the Pea. To my surprise, I was offered role of a bent copper whose love was unrequited in a German telly job, filming in Cornwall, thanks to my brilliant agent. That proved to be tremendous fun, although I don’t think I am in love with Cornwall. In fact, the Atlantic Ocean and its rugged winds are not my cup of tea, frankly. Bit like Cádiz in Spain, which we also visited.
I became very attached to my make-up artist, who was confronted by me, looking bleary eyed having slept with pre-filming nerves accompanied by howling winds outside. The miracles that he achieved on my face were nothing short of award winning. I had to go back and forth from London to Cornwall, going on one of those tiny planes with massive propellers for a couple of the trips. On the return journey, I sat next to a charming man who was employed by the actual airline as the Chief Engineer of the fleet. So when the steward tried to explain how to use the emergency exit to me, I teased, ” Don’t tell me, tell him, he’s the chap who knows how to deal with an hysterical actress while he’s trying to open the door.” Thankfully, he had a sense of humour.
I also got down to the last two for a rather good theatre job recently. The only reason that this is being mentioned at all, is that the marvellous agent forwarded me a letter from the director, in which there were some heartening compliments. But I did not get the job, so none of you will see me open the second act dressed as a kangaroo, which I venture would have been worth seeing. Time for Kate “Skippy” Terence to sign off. Or skip off.