HIGNFY
Last night, in the audience at the LWT studios, Southbank, followed by salad in Pizza Express, and super-witty company from P. I gave my other two tickets to the other P, and we waved at each other across the studio.
Extra guests: Clement Freud was slightly disconnected, in a witty way, and some sports commentator... Claire (??) Balding, was kinda OK in a jolly-hockeysticks way. She was like everyone in my class at school who lived on quite a well-to-do farm and went to University to be a vet, met a Rugby player and settled down to a life of horsey-blonde highlights and swallowed vowels. I know, I can be mean, and so soon after Yom Kippur. Oh, and Jack Dee in the chair. He was nervous. Scowly, nervous, but good.
I'm worried about Paul, frankly. He doesn't know that he's my ideal man, so he doesn't know I'm worrying about him. As you probably know, his wife died about two weeks ago, and while he was about 325% funnier than everyone else, he didn't have it. The last time I saw him, he was a superbrain riffing off the slightest hint of body language or mispronounced word, but last night he was a just a competent funny-guy turning in an OK performance. It must be hard: I think in his situation, he should take a break. Don't know what the deal is with his contract. Anyway, watch it, it's cool.
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