Notes From An Unexpected London Holiday
21 Feb
“Alright, let’s get this show on the road,” I said to no-one in particular, checking the time on my iPhone once again, “I’ve got a flight to catch.”
“What time?” asked Emmanuel, a journalist from France.
“4:30pm to London.” I replied, noting his concerned look.
“4:30? And it’s 2:30 now? Oh, you’ll never make it.”
A week earlier I had written to my London based friend Erin, informing her of my upcoming trip to London to cover the BAFTA red carpet. Don’t worry, I had added, I’m much better at catching flights now. I knew on the day I would fly out that I had an interview scheduled with Amanda Seyfried, the gorgeous young star of the thriller ‘Gone’, but assumed that it would be held in the morning. As TV interviews ALWAYS ARE. But no, it was to be at 2:30pm, for 10 minutes, leaving me not enough time to get to the airport. I know… these are terrible problems I have.
And of course it was running late. At 2:40pm I started squirming in my seat. 2:45pm my leg bounced, 2:50pm a panicked text was sent down NOT. YET! to my friend Nadia, who was instructed to have my car running and waiting downstairs, ready to zip me to LAX poste haste.
“When is your flight again?” asked several journalists, waiting with me in the hallway of the Four Seasons, ready for their interviews.
“Oh you’ll never make it,” said some.
“You’ll be fine!” said others, “Just take Robertson down to the 10 then the 405. Don’t go La Cienega.”
“Ok,” I replied, using maternity hee-hee-hoo breathing to calm my nerves.
“No,” said another, “Don’t take Robertson. It’s Friday afternoon! You’re crazy!”
“The only way you’ll make it now is if you are choppered in!” joked someone.
And just as I considered leaving an Alicia sized hole in the front door, I heard, “Miss Alicia Malone, you can come in now.”
Bursting through the hotel suite door I tried to wait patiently as Amanda’s hair and makeup was checked, and she went over her schedule with her publicist.
“Amanda, this is Alicia Malone from Australia…” I was introduced, and took my seat opposite the actress, noting her shiny thick hair, big blue eyes, full gorgeous lips and slim body.
“I need your driving skills from this movie,” I joked while they fixed the lighting, “I have to go straight to a flight to London.”
“What time is your flight?” she asked, head cocked to one side.
“4:30pm.”
“Oh… you’ll never make it,” she replied gently.
But make it I did, and one film; a bit of work, and a tiny snooze later, I hopped off the plane in disbelief that I was actually in England. The trip seemed doomed from the start and I didn’t think it would actually happen. And thanks to renewing a US work visa, I was forced to stay for (a longer than expected) 10 days. Again, I know, terrible life I have. Stuck in London for 10 days. These are real problems I have.
“Oooh it’s hot inn’it?” I said to the alarmed journalist standing on my left on the side of the BAFTA red carpet, in my best, slash most offensive, Cockney accent.
“I’m sorry?” he replied, all posh and nice sounding.
“It’s boiling hot today! It’s a scorcher! I think I’m sweating!” I turned to the nice girl on my right, “The sun is really beating down!”
It wasn’t. It was bloody freezing. Well below zero, but one of my favourite tricks when I’m cold is to pretend I’m in the Bahamas. These two just weren’t getting it.
“I might have to go for a swim later!” I muttered to myself, “And reapply my sunscreen!”
Five hours standing in one position meant I couldn’t stop shivering. Forget simply not being able to feel my toes or hands, I was so cold, my butt cheeks were shaking at a different speed to my body. The only thing able to briefly warm me up was a flash of a familiar white smile, those crinkly eyes and that face which stops hearts all over the world… cough, George Clooney, cough… what? Did I drop something?
I love people watching in London. After a year being brainwashed in LA I looked around wide-eyed, Wow, different body shapes do exist! Different hair colours! Different clothing styles! I couldn’t get enough of the variety, and it made me feel… positively NORMAL sized! When the cheeky US Embassy security guard said “I fought you was Australian, you are bootiful you are.” I had to resist the urge to look behind me to see if there was a younger, skinnier, blonder girl standing behind me. What has LA done to my self-esteem?
I love how London men and women love to drink, eat and have fun. Straight after work the pubs are overflowing with people getting together, laughing, ‘having a pint’ and EATING CARBS. Sure, a lot of the food can’t be good for you, but there is something nice about the non-guilt of it all, about coming together and enjoying life’s simple pleasures. And I can’t think of any food less ‘LA’ than a chip buttie. We’re talking white bread and hot chips. That’s DOUBLE carbs. Oh the horror… the (delicious) horror.
English folk are even more polite than me. And seeing how just last week I apologized to a pole for bumping into it, that’s really saying something.
“You’d make a good mother.” I remarked to my friend Erin, as she made me another cup of tea.
“Why? Because I fix you up with hot drinks?” she laughed.
“Yes, that, and you have a ceramic butter holder. That to me says ‘adult’.”
“Nah, not until we have those ceramic dishes for salt and pepper to put on the table. When we have those you’ll know we’re adults.”
Erin and Gareth may not have those just yet, but they did have a heated towel rack in the bathroom of their cute country cottage, plenty of books for me to read, and a crackling fireplace to sit next to. One thing this unexpected London trip has reminded me, is that it’s the smallest things –sharing a wine with someone I haven’t seen for years, friends like Ashlea and Robin who let me stay on their couch in the city, or just taking a moment to unplug from the computer and yes, occasionally eating naughty things – that make you the happiest.
