I met Emma Thompson this time last week.
HAVE I MENTIONED IT?
As a result, my desire to be her has grown to sick and disturbing proportions.
I have a relationship with Emma Thompson based on admiration and lust, with that pulse accelerating pinch of jealousy that comes from knowing she IS the close gal-pal of Stephen Fry that I have dreamt about being.
He should be looking awkwardly bemused BY ME!
If I didn’t love her, Id hate her and would have cut all her pictures out of The Fry Chronicles instead of just pasting photos of myself over them.
This last week things have changed.
Now I have met her this thing that I have is REAL.
I can watch her on The One Show knowing those eyes have looked into mine, those arms have been around me, that hand has gestured around my chest area (another story), that I was one of those people who noted “how light” her earrings look.
In short, I now know that Emma Thompson is a real human being who has managed the things I’d love to do.
Yes, my power to compare myself belittlingly to every other human being doesn’t appear to have any limits whatsoever. I am even capable of coming away from meeting a hero of mine thinking “I haven’t won an Oscar for writing yet…WHAT IS WRONG WITH ME?!”
Ok, so she went to Cambridge.
Ok, so she has reasonably famous parents, which never hurts let’s be honest.
Ok, so she probably got enough money from early successes (oh the daggers!) to be able to focus on writing endeavours without having to fill her entire day with BAFTA winning parts in BBC sunday night dramas.
BUT, it still took her around 15 years to write both Nanny McPhee films.
That is A LONG TIME.
Imagine a baby 15 years later….YEAH….THAT LONG.
Initially this knowledge fell on me like her own comforting hands had done and my pores stopped doing the weird drowning in sweat and worry thing they’ve been doing every time I remember I haven’t written anything quite yet:
“15 years. Ok, so Id be a little bit older than I’d like. I might not make it on to the cover of the Grazia literature special (it’ll happen) but I have good genes, I’d still take a pretty decent author photo. So what if I have friends who have written full books already, it took EMMA THOMPSON 15 years to write both Nanny McPhee films. There’s time! Stop worrying! Phew!”
3 and a half seconds later it dawned on me…
“It took
EMMA THOMPSON
15 years
Emma.
Thompson.
Emma Thompson of Cambridge, Emma Thompson of reasonably famous parents, Emma Thompson of the Oscar, Emma Thompson of STEPHEN FRY!! If it took EMMA THOMPSON 15 years HOW LONG IS IT GOING TO TAKE MEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE?!”
Panic, sweat and die (this may become the new title of my blog).
This issue still needs resolving.
It isn’t going to happen here.
Or even over here.
Though she has made parts of my brain freeze away with tension all week over this, and has led me to write a[nother] conclusion-less blog post, my love for her is resolved and steadfast.
Like I said last friday:
“iloveyouiloveyouiloveyou”
This is so so awesome x
“Awe” is the word. We all kept stopping just to stare at her, forgetting that being open mouthed and drooling in front of other people is not the done thing.
How did this event come to be anyway? Were you at an event? I’m very jealous x