On bumping into Bill

There I was, awaiting the producer of the musical I am about to start rehearsing for, on the steps of the Comedy Theatre in Panton Street on Saturday afternoon. He had invited me to use a spare ticket he had for the matinee of a musical about Hemingway's final days called Too Close To The Sun (but renamed To Close On Sunday by one of many scathing critics.) I went along game to learn what I could, which is easier to do from bad art than good; when art is good, its impossible to see the seams. My producer was late. Idly, I watched the bustling throng and my eyes met those of a well-dressed man who was reading the poster on the theatre wall. It was an awkward glance; we had both crossed the lines of looking a little too hard, and we couldn't back away from it without flouting the unwritten social code. He put his glasses in his blazer pocket, extended his hand and said "Hello, I'm Bill". The penny dropped; I was shaking hands with Bill Nighy. Bill "Let's get pissed and watch porn" Nighy. Wonderful actor. See Love, Actually, Pirates Of The Carribean (Davy Jones), Notes On A Scandal... I shouted down my inner schoolgirl, and we had a lovely chat. He's quiet and passionate about Hemingway and generous. He's also an actor biding his time until he becomes a writer... He said he would love to come and see my show, and ambled off into the crowd to see an exhibition of landscape paintings at the National Gallery. I went inside and subjected myself to an hour of a cringe-worthy show. They weren't far wrong when they said that its not even bad enough to be good. At least I know what not to do when I start rehearsing my musical next week. And I've invited Bill Nighy, so I better be good!