Born in the same year as I. Expensive rough. Chatting on a cell phone and spinning around to break eye contact at the intersection.
Tall, square, in a suit so sharp you could slit your wrists on it. Talking about doubt and walking north.
Mike Leigh, famous director and resident of the mansions south of the British Museum. He looks exactly how you would want your favourite uncle to look: a chubby, kindly hangdog kind of face, rather like a fat peanut with a beard. He also has observer’s eyes and that’s not so friendly. They seem to flick around taking in the scene before him and evaluating it immediately.
Sitting on the pavement chairs outside a cafe near the Hairspray musical he is appearing in. Presumably a victim of the smoking ban, reading a paper with that distinctive lower lip lear.
Spotted over lunch, thinner and younger than on the telly, with more hair. Very nice taste in jumpers… and pub lunches.
I’m slowly clearing my backlog of techie posts but everyone who is visiting the blog at the moment is after Alan Davies (he lives near where I work, his wife is very thin). According to the Evening Standard he was “tired and emotional” (usually a euphemism for being coked up) and bit a beggar. “Man bites tramp”, tabloid gold.
Glad I’m just snide about him in a blog rather than mixing up his character and real name and getting a trip to A&E as a reward.
Wandering past the Almeida, side by side, like they were friends in real life. Higson had a white paper bag, which given the location and the improbability that he was out seeking a crafty afternoon kebab suggests a bite to eat at Ottolenghi. There is a certain odd couple quality to them, Whitehouse slightly brash and London; Higson diffident, quiet, very well-spoken. Both smartly dressed and not short a bob either.
Spotting them together must be extra points. Weird trivia: I am one of twenty people who have actually read Higson’s novel Full Whack. It is gruesome in parts, strange in others and is the only book I have read that features a dash along the M4 through Wales during which all narrative momentum is lost.
Okay he’s officially too easy now, he’s wandering up and down Islington like he lives there. Not quite as impressively tall the second time around. His blond girlfriend is painfully skinny and painfully trophy.
Very much like on television, only taller. Sporting tramp chic dishevelment and slightly pot bellied.
Heading North to Highbury Corner (home of the Hen and Chickens). I only need Noel Fielding now to complete a Mighty Boosh 3 writing team.
David Mitchell on the tube, picking his nose and reading the Plot Against America. Looks better in life than on film. Meanwhile once off the Tube managed to spot Justin Lee Collins weaving towards the West Country train on his way from Heathrow. Another tall television presenter, sporting brightly dyed hair. Actually looks like some outlandish cartoon character in real life.