I now have a lovely little pre-loved hardbound book written by one of my favourite thespians in the UK: Julie Walters. Her book is entitled That’s Another Story, and she is her usual witty, self-deprecating self.
I often find a lot of comfort reading about the ups and downs of people I admire and respect from afar. Two of Stephen Fry’s books languish in Cyprus, awaiting my return, for instance. William Shatner’s book was a great delight to pore over as well.
I have a little daydream where I have afternoon tea with Julie Walters and she has a grand time talking to me about the stage and working with Michael Caine and Liza Minnelli etc etc etc and being Mrs. Weasley, of course—or accepting her Bafta award inebriated in 1984—the same year her co-star (Educating Rita) Michael Caine received a Bafta from none other than Audrey Hepburn—at the same event…!
She just comes across as a real, down-to-earth girl from Birmingham and I wish we could have a nice chat over digestive biscuits and stuff. Ahh, daydreams.
Nah—I suppose the autobiography will do. But I have things to prove, bubbles to burst, strength to regain, dignity to aspire towards and re-discover and I am so happy that the charity shop had good old Julie’s twinkling eyes looking out at me the other day.
If you’re reading this and you have a long way to go before this year ends, I hope there is someone/something bigger than life keeping you from the edge and helping you put things in perspective.
And if me and thee are friends in real life, I have probably thought of you with much fondness, nostalgia and pride by the time you come across this. I have a list of friends’ names I say to myself when the isolation gets a bit much.
Be safe out there.
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