Thursday, August 02, 2007

The Happiest Moment Of My Life

Because I'd eaten four or five dried apricots with no obvious consequences after twenty four hours, I threw caution to the (ahem) winds, and ate pretty much the rest of the packet the day before getting the train back to london.

I was not to know that these were the rare breed of dried apricots that took just a little longer to kick in than normal. Hence the slight air of discomfort as I got on the train at Penmere turning into 'ooh blimey that wasn't a good idea' around about Bodmin Parkway, followed by a high-pitched whining sound that could have been coming from any part of me, to be honest. Or the other passengers, thinking about it.

In my self-pitying state, I thought about how cold and lonely life can often be in the big city (London, not Bodmin Parkway), and how rare it is to simply bump into someone you know.

'Ah', I thought 'How pleasurable it is to randomly encounter an old friend, how lifted become the spirits, how gladdened the step.' And if you spend every day knee deep in show business like I do, how much even better it is if you bump into someone you know who's famous, so you can look around at other people with that look that says 'Ha ha! I know this famous person! I must be aces!'.

As the train pulled into Paddington station I clutched myself miserably, trying to avoid the accusing, tear-stained glances of my fellow passengers, and thought of how the one thing that would cheer me up would be if were to bump into someone I knew, who was also quite well-known in their own right. If they were the sort of person who liked nothing better than to discuss the workings of their own and everyone else's digestive system, that would be a bonus, but to expect three such lightning strikes of fortune would surely be foolhardy in the extreme.

And then, as I handed my ticket to the man and waited for the little flappy barrier doors to open, I realised that not ten yards from me, wearing shorts, and staring vacantly into space, was Mark Heap.

Reader, I nearly cried.


UPDATE FOR NO REAL REASON:




26 comments:

belladona said...

Aww. I feel your pain - literally as I've been off sick today with a stomach bug, feeling highly sorry for myself. Sadly Mark Heap has not appeared to cheer me up.

Billy said...

Can you send him round here? It's only a few stops on the H&C line.

Jen said...

I've had stomach cramps all day... and not the kind induced through any dosage of dried fruit.

Aside from my searing pains; apricots? A whole bag thereof?!

You...nutter.

Jen said...

...though hopefully the train was regular.*


*Sorry. That was crap.**




**heh. 'Crap'.

Mek me go bed now plz.

james henry said...

Apparently he was on his way South West to film Lark Rise to Candleford, so if anyone's Bristol-based, I'm sure he can pop round.

I warned him not to go in carriage G, it smelled of bums.

cello said...

Writer, I did cry (laughing).

I find Agen prunes do the business.

Annie Rhiannon said...

I ate nearly a whole bag of apricots just before my first night behind the bar of my new job. Not good.

What's the question in the clip? I can't make it out.

"So can you p_____ then?"

I suppose it should be obvious.

james henry said...

I'm not sure what the word is either, might be 'panic'? I think the guy's asking him about being a proper old-school physical performer, as Mark was in a Shakespearean troupe for a while, and can do juggling and proper clowning and all sorts.

Matt said...

According to the subtitles on the Spaced documentary that it's from the question is 'so can you paint?' referring to Brian's artistness.

Gotta love Mark Heap.

james henry said...

Aha! Thanks Matt.

kaiki said...

mark heap can do clowning ? (and all sorts ?)
is that for real ?
(i want to apologise for saying 'for real' back there)

patroclus said...

Is there a lot of juggling in Shakespeare?

james henry said...

There is when Mark does it.

Jayne said...

So it's you that makes my train smell like that! *frowns*

flossiemoo said...

May I warn you that not only does a bag of apricots do no good for your tumkin, but my mum ate so many she developed gout.

yes. the ol' henry VIII disease.

Ros x said...

ahh mark heap always manages to brighten up my day - as do your interesting yet slightly random tales james :)

James Moran said...

Hey, our comments are right next to each other on the Kung Fu Monkey site - we're taking over Hollywood! Hahahahaha! I mean, LOL! ETC!

Sorry, halfway through a massive coffee, starting to get the jitters. That's a mad word, "jitters", isn't it? Jitters! JITTERRRRRS!

Sorry again

patroclus said...

Heavens.

kaiki said...

crikey.
*loads tranquiliser dart into gun*

James Moran said...

You'll never take me alive, blogcoppers...

Coming down now. Coasting gently on a cup of weak tea. Smooth.

james henry said...

Leave him be, he'll have a little nap of his own accord soon.

British writers are so hot right now.

llewtrah said...

So, did you glare at Mr Heap in an accusing manner in order to deflect blame? Luckily I can eat dried apricots with impunity :) Years of high fibre food mean I've adapted. Chickpeas and kidney beans, however, are another matter. Nothing for it but to brazen it out with a farting competition among colleagues!

Boz said...

I hope Mr Heap knows just how appreciated he is in this world.

Skeadugenga said...

Yep, no one better in a bowel crisis than Mr Heap. He is comfortingly lugubrious.

I once spent an excruciatingly embarassing and unladylike night at the house of strangers whose hobby was poisoning guests and can say with a bitter and twisted smile, beware of tofu.

Imo said...

Maybe you should just avoid trains in future and find some form of solo transportation.

Liz said...

Ah, Mark Heap. So...softly manly.

Dr Weasel ate a 500g bag of dried apricots all in one go the night before we got engaged. He spent much of the day of our engagement pooing wetly, and was so impressed with my forbearance that he proposed.

It's a good thing I like the smell of a man who has apricots oozing from every pore.