Friday, 14 December 2012

The Izzard Effect

I am currently reading 'Moranthology'. It's a collection of Caitlin Moran's columns and it's absolutely chuffing hilarious. I have officially become one of those annoying people who laughs to themselves whilst reading on public transport. Heretofore I always thought that these people were showy-offy, intellectually snobby, 'oh-look-at-me-I'm-being-amused-by-a-BOOK' types. Now I realise that they are probably just reading something Caitlin Moran has written.

I've always idolized Moran a bit. She made people like me (unnecessaily verbose, imaginative-to-the-point-of-hyperbole, eternally child-like lefties) cool. You can imagine my delight, then, when I discovered an entire chapter devoted to Moran's propensity for making a tit out of herself in front of Eddie Izzard.

This inspired me to dig out a long-forgotten blog I wrote in 2008, detailing a time when I too embarassed myself to the point of cringe in the presence of the fishnet-tight-wearing, marathon-running one.

The blog is below. And Caitlin, in the highly unlikely event that you are reading this, we cannot be the only ones....Perhaps we should set up a support group for people still dealing with enduring feelings of shame at their inability to act cool in Eddie's company? Just a thought.

My Future Husband, from October 2008

Right, let us get one thing clear before we begin - I do not, generally, get star struck. It is not what I do. I have a slight problem when it comes to assuming because I have seen someone on TV a lot or read about them in Cosmo that I know them intimately and we are practically best mates and going in for a bear hug....... but other than that I'm quite au fait with the whole celebrity meeting THING. That is, of course, accept when the celebrity in question is Eddie Izzard. But then we ARE talking about my imaginary boyfriend and future husband, someone whom I adore to the point of worship. These factors, I firmly believe, excuse my behaviour last Thursday:

So the central question is, could I have MADE more of a tit of myself in the presence of my hero resulting in a higher degree cringey ground swallowy type feelings? Answer: probably not.

I waited for an hour and a half in windswept Leicester Square post gig for him to emerge and when he did it all kind of happened in slow motion and I went into emergency adreniline fueled flight-or-fight mode and the only reason I remember what I said and did was because Cyan (my cousin) was witness to the whole thing and told me (with not a small amount of 'ha! You idiot' style glee). You know like when you are really drunk and you don't remember doing something until one of your friends says "do you remember when you....(insert your own hideously embarassing thing here)" and then you go "oh my GOD yeah I did, didn't I?". Yeah, it was like that.

So apparently I bounded up to him in a way that suggested a searingly beautiful love ballad was being played by a symphony of violins in my brain, clasped his hand lovingly in both of mine and nestled it to my bosom, looked into his eyes like I was about to propose and said the following:

"Eddie, I have waited all this time in the wind and rain (*it wasn't raining*) to tell you that I am your greatest fan. Others may tell you that they are your greatest fans but they are in fact LIARS because I am she......"

.......and then did a huge ranting monologue at high speed all about how much I loved him, not letting him get a word in edgeways and in oddly archaic language reminiscent of an Austen novel. I then got all embarassed, turned on my heel and pegged it down the street.

To give Eddie his dues, he did thank me and tell me my words meant a lot to him rather than doing what I would have done in his situation, i.e. get a restraining order. He is, as I have always suspected, a lovely, well brought up polite man in addition to being a hilarious, charming, sexy Genius.

Sitting at the bus stop afterwards I swivelled to my left to see Cyan eyeing me strangely.

"What?" I enquired.

"Tash", she said "do you realise that you have been singing 'Toot Sweets' from Chitty Chitty Bang Bang at the top of your voice to an entire assembled party of drunkards?"
(Our Lord David Bowie only knows why, obviously Toot Sweets is my default song when my brain has left the building, or I'm on an adreneline high. Cyan was impressed that I knew the verses, though, she didn't think anyone knew them).