stories, some that are still being formed, some that went over the transom in the last century
The "Brit a Day" series
What does a months-long parade of attractive British men have to do with fiction, you might well ask? These gentlemen have inspired some lovely scenes, part of the life I live in my head. Over time, some of these scenes reach out to one another and begin to form a story. For the present, each one of these pictures provides a writing prompt for me, a way to keep me writing with a sense of passion and narrative, even when the stories are not yet fully formed.
The sleek, straight black hair of Loki that once brought a nation to its knees has apparently become a relic of the past. I've been holding on to this fantastic piece of fan art [not mine, all credit to the artist] for quite some time, but now it must be shown!
Here's Davy Jones in 1965. How I loved that guy. He passed away last year at the age of only 66, way too young.
My dad died when I was 29 [a looong time ago, about a month after the Berlin Wall fell], and at 68 years of age, I remember thinking that he had had a good, long life. Now, it seems like he was taken in the prime of his life. And the same is true of Davy Jones.
It's the last weekend in April, and spring is going by like a bullet train. In less than 2 months, summer will be here, Wimbledon will open, and Tom Hiddleston might be showing us how to make a Pimms Cup again.
So, may I elaborate on what bright idea had me googling AR yesterday when my senses were assaulted by the sight of his otherwise gorgeous face looking out from Ronald Reagan's plaster-like head? I think I had googled something like 'alan rickman rock star'. Yes, there's irony in this story.
It was because these four rock stars made a road trip from Lands End to John O'Groats on Thursday in a custom pink Rolls Royce to raise awareness and donations for Breast Cancer Care, a charity in the UK. They are, from left to right, Professor Brian Cox, who was briefly a rock star in the 1980s and apparently took his rock-star proceeds to go back to school and get a Ph.D. in particle physics; James May, who simply is the essence of 'rock star'; Gary Barlow, who actually is a rock star, well, pop star; and Chris Evans, a popular and wealthy radio DJ, television presenter, radio and television producer, yada yada yada. And we all know that DJs are just frustrated rock stars, so there you go. [Don't listen to me, I'm just jealous that he has owned a 1961 Ferrari 250 GT SWB California Spyder that cost eleventeen million pounds and I have not.]
The pictures of the four of them together reminded me of a photo montage I saw years ago that included 'Robin Hood' era Rickman and some other shaggy actors photoshopped in as various members of The Who. I'm not describing it very well, in fact I may not even be remembering it very well, but in any event, I couldn't find it and if you know what I'm talking about please contact me. I would so love to see that picture again!
I'm featuring Alan Rickman a day early this weekend because this simply can't wait. Someone should have warned me about this, preferably while I was still lying down in bed. People are all hot and bothered about left-leaning Jane Fonda playing Nancy Reagan, but life-long Labour supporter Alan is playing her husband Ronnie? I really didn't like Ronald Reagan. I'm sure he was a nice guy, but he is our Margaret Thatcher. I've disliked characters that Alan Rickman has played in the past, usually owing to his talent as an actor, but this character comes ready-made unbearable for me. What's this movie about, anyway?
On the other hand, I really hope this one will be good.
It has been lovely to see Tom Hiddleston out before the public at so many big events lately, but sometimes I want to rip those neckties right off him and loosen the collar of his shirt, right? The prettiest thing Tom has done in casual dress recently is the photo shoot for Flaunt magazine. Here's some of it.
And as the microphone squeaks A young girl's telephone beeps Yeah she's dashing for the exit
she's running to the streets outside "Oh you've saved me," she screams down the line "The band weren’t very good And I'm not having a nice time” Yeah but his bird thinks it's amazing, though So all that's left Is the proof that love's not only blind but deaf He talks of San Francisco, he's from Hunter's Bar I don't quite know the distance But I'm sure that's far
I'm sure that's pretty far I'd love to tell you all my problem You're not from New York City, you're from Rotherham
Men from Yorkshire seem to have a way with words. I've always said that Sheffield boy Alex Turner [who wrote the song 'Fake Tales of San Francisco' for his band Arctic Monkeys when he was about five or something] could make the English language lay down at his feet, rhyming.
And then, of these three idiots who make me laugh until the tears come, two have a connection to Rotherham. James May grew up there. And Jeremy Clarkson trained to be a journalist at the Rotherham Advertiser.
And then there was Albert Gardner, a displaced Yorkshireman who, along with his wife May, made us feel like family when we visited Kilwinning, Scotland, in 2000. The Gardners became like adopted grandparents to me, and while Al may have been able to keep the neighbors in stitches, I'll never really know how witty his jokes were. His Yorkshire accent was so heavy that I understood naught of what he said.
Happy birthday to the man who shares not only my birthday but my actual birthdate--we are exactly the same age. Many happy returns of the day to Jeremy Clarkson, and thank you for bringing so much joy into our lives.
A Brit a Day Post #1066. I've always wanted to say that.
My 11-year-old son accused me this morning, rather indignantly, of dumping Tom Hiddleston for James May. I don't know what difference it makes to him, unless it's because he knows there are 130+ episodes of Top Gear on Netflix and he may be forced to watch them all.
Anyway, here, to prove I am capable of decades-long devotion, have some video of Alan Rickman capering with Michael Gambon at the expense of Dan Radcliffe. And you will earn a permanent place on the Cool Wall if you know what this has to do with Top Gear.
I missed yesterday's post because I took my husband on an all-day surprise birthday trip to the Petersen Automotive Museum in LA. If you are in LA, it is a must-do. The only Brit who could do Saturday's Editor's Choice Post justice on such a day is the Flying Scotsman who so captivated my generation as kids. Even though the Petersen really has very little to say about Formula One racing, Saturday's Brit is Sir Jackie Stewart. [Always reminded me a bit of Davy Jones.]
My favorite incarnation of Tom Hiddleston: Seemingly as at home as a ginger as Rupert Grint, Tom when he was prepped to play Henry V. He is so beautiful here that it's easy to forget that he's a real, working actor. We've seen so much of him in print, at premieres, and doing awards shows lately, it's easy to forget how truly talented he is. Some of the deleted scenes from the Avengers that have surfaced on Youtube lately remind me of that fact. See them via Tumblrs like Torrilla before they're taken down, if you can.
'Top Gear' is on hiatus, but two weeks from tonight 'James May's Man Lab' premieres on BBC America. I am unspeakably excited. Watching this show should be a lot like living inside my husband's head. [See garage. See top of washer/dryer become a workbench.] I am expecting highly therapeutic results from the insights I gain.