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Dammit, the plane didn't crash and thus add poignancy to the end of the last entry. On we go.
Off on hols, at least partly courtesy of Richard Branston in return for doing some jokes on his plane. Luckily I didn’t have to do any more today, not that I wouldn’t consider that as a form of payment if he wants to employ me in future. We got use of the Virgin lounge where a man happily bound up to me and asked if I’d like him to polish my shoes. As much as this felt like some awful indictment of the injustices of society and like we were living in Victorian times, the boots I was wearing were in dire need of a polish, as I don’t think I have ever polished them and have had them for several years. I imagine most of the people who use the airport lounges have quite easy shoes to clean, but they’d let in someone who by all rights should not be here and this is what you get. But the man did an amazing job and even if the holiday is rubbish it will all be worth it for the shiny boots. I must not be allowed to have nice things, either boots or access to airport lounges. But at least I was embarrassed by the situation unlike the man who rudely called the man over when he saw him giving me back my boots. I guess you get used to this kind of thing if you have it all the time. It must be hard to be rich and not turn into a prick.
Later on, when my wife popped into the loo, Daniel Radcliffe left the lounge to get his plane. He had been in a special VIP section of the lounge. My wife is a massive Harry Potter fan so I knew she’d be gutted to have missed seeing the tiny, sinewy, Hobbit-sized international superstar. I was tempted to shout, “Hey Harry, why are you taking a plane, use your broomstick, you plonker… I mean you muggle. Oh whatever.†But I didn’t. I just looked on impressed that I was seeing someone famous in real life. He was carrying a guitar and accompanied by a bodyguard (who I guessed had the job of killing anyone who made a rubbish Harry Potter joke). Some of the staff later told my wife that Radcliffe had been modest and lovely with them, unlike some of the reality stars they have through their doors, who are entitled and rude. So it’s nice to report that Radcliffe is as nice a man as he seems and also he plays the guitar. And he was also cool enough not to get over excited about being in the same room as me and shout “Moon on a stick†at me and stuff and just behave like I was any regular passenger.
We had a good flight which passed quickly. I watched “Twelve Years A Slaveâ€, which again seemed an odd juxtaposition as I travelled in a plane whilst being served champagne and scones. It’s as difficult to believe that humans could be so badly treated so recently in a country like America, as it would be for them to imagine that one day a film would be made about their plight which would be watched by someone flying in a plane across the Atlantic. But maybe future generations will feel as moved and uncomfortable when the film about the man who cleans shoes in airport lounges comes out.
I then watched the latest Muppet movie which made me feel less uncomfortable (in some ways). It’s written and directed by James Bobbin who came to Fiji with me in 1999 to make a documentary about me writing my play, “It’s Not The End of the Worldâ€.
It was raining in Barbados and we were a bit spaced out from the flight and the extra five hours in the day. The hotel is a little way from the sea, but seems nice enough and quiet, which is all that I want. I am happy just to sit by the pool and read and not venture too much further than that. And Netflix works out here (though it’s got slightly different stuff on it) so we were able to watch a bit more Bojack Horseman before we fell asleep at about 8.30pm. Looking forward to doing nothing and having nothing to write about (though the holiday blogs are usually quite interesting and will make a blessed relief after me moaning about Edinburgh for a month - thanks for sticking with me).
