La-de-da, there I was listening to my newly uploaded iPod, strutting about the building with my white in-the-ear Shure headphones (and wearing a pair of shit hot white Converse trainers too!) when I stepped into the TVC lift at Stage Door this morning and who should enter but none other than star performer and untouchable talent Dickinson Moss AND his agent Perry fucking Mansell.
GULP!!!!!
Desperately tried to reduce the iPod volume (these modern gadgets are awfully fidly) but by the time I had killed off In My Place by Coldplay I think I had missed the brunt of *exactly* what they were chit-chatting about.
FUCK!!!!!
There was just me, Mansell and Moss. Alone. Together. The three of us. Them talking (whispering in fact), but me feeling like they were totally blanking me. I tensed up, knowing I'd sent Mansell that abrupt email some weeks back telling him to put on hold any more self indulgent-Japanese-wankfest travelogues.
But there was no reaction from them. No comment. Not even a second glance. This very uncomfortable 35 seconds (they got out on the 3rd floor) left me reeling and confused to say the least.
How can Mansell fail to recognise me when I'm stood right next to him?
Must be all those late nights in seedy Marble Arch hotels...
[But just in case, I make sure Anthony calls Press & Publicity and checks my photo/biog has gone out to all the necessary departments].
3 comments:
how sad. It would seem that the honeymoon has ended and the bright young controller has already been dulled by the creativity-sapping curved corridors of W12.
Knowing Perry, as I do, he blanked you completely on purpose. He's done it to me when I annoyed him.
It's the little details I'm enjoying so much. The Coldplay. The 35 seconds. The Converse. I've never met the charming TVC in person but I feel like I know him.
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