Dateline Paris, France, Jan 97),
Bejart Ballet:
What a dilemma, (FT) "Ou est la. C'est les trois musketeers (there being
three of them there)".
JT: Goodness knows, how I'd have coped if there had been four!
FT: Musketeers? Hang on weren't there four - Arthos, Porthos, Aramis &
D'Artangnan. (That last bit's from FT, as if you couldn't guess - and all
the time I thought it was la plume de ma tant!)
JT: Get off my message, you interloper, you. (On stage) when they were a
collective noun - fine - but when they split formation (departing the
building via the stage door peculiarly at the front of the building, at the
top of wide stone sort of 'courthouse' steps) I found, we just hadn't had
the training to cope with diversionary tactics -
ie Brian comes out of the building and, in the well practised way, I
thrust
forward my programme and posh pen and find I'm in an armlock with a burly
security 'gorilla' and we're backing up towards the steps precariously,
(this is a bit like a pavanne, but not quite as elegant).
I wrench myself free and observe the tableau in front of me (Brian and the
generally much shorter French fans) reminds me of 'Jesus and the children',
(as if I've time for quiet contemplation now).
I proceed down the steps and catch up with Brian on the pavement, beside
the
waiting coach (bus, that is) where he is happily signing autographs
oblivious to the cold. Success, another one bit the dust!
Looking back towards the theatre, John is making his way out the building
and proceeding almost anonymously down the front steps. So I wrench myself
away from Brian's company with a hurried 'Thank you' - it was so quick that
the speech about how nice his hair looked in the Parisian drizzle, and how
good it was for him to meet me, somehow got lost in the wind.
Rushing back to the scene of the crime, I get level with an advancing
(years?) John, who is smiling, and shaking his head, saying 'Non, Non, Non,
je n'ecrir pas" in English (he's not signing anything). I manage to blurt
out something about a Silver Wedding Anniversary Card I've got that RT and
BM
have both signed - and knock me down - he stops and comes back to me and
obliges (having stopped for me, he's besieged.)
In the greyness of the evening and amongst a sea of grey people on the
steps, shining like a beacon, I see this shock of blond hair, sunglasses
and
flashing smile. So, again, not knowing which way to turn, I
unceremoniously
take flight from John and try to head Roger off (at the pass, so to speak.)
He's come down the steps among a tidal wave of people (okay so I said it
was
a sea), and I catch up with him by the bus (I remember the luxurious feel
of
lovely lovely 'soft' black velvet - jacket - (FT "Down Woman") - no
actually
it was velvet). Gerry (Stickells) is forbidding Roger to sign anything, as
he's last and they're late (and perhaps the champers was getting warm). So
a very jovial Roger leaves our 'fond embraces', and disappears onto the
waiting bus and takes his seat. I tap on the window, and he surprises us
all by springing up like the proverbial Jack-In-The-Box, smiling and waving
annimatedly.
All such good fun.
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So, to sum up then:
Brian, Roger or John - together - great - as long as they don't split
formation.
But one at a time is far less confusing.
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Having heard all the arguments can I ask: "Are you having difficulty making
up YOUR mind?" "Well" (I hear you say) "Yes and No".
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FT Here:
It was like so many kids let loose in the sweet shop with their pocket
money, do we choose the chocolate caramels, the aniseed balls, or the
gob-stopper (you must realise that I am not alluding to the three being
each
of the aforementioned).
JT again: Cummo, they are all real Sweeties.
FT: One day I'll relate the story (tale) of Jen, a red book, a man with a
muffler and a pen - its not quite as good as the above, but it will help to
pass the winter's evenings away (you can't tell the difference here in the
UK).
KGC (KYA I suppose)
Jennifer (& him)