I leapt out of bed our first morning in Tampa, and threw back the curtains to let the Florida sunshine pour in. It was pitch dark outside. I checked the clock. 4.30 am.
‘What time is it?’ my wife mumbled.
‘9.30,’ I answered. I didn’t add ‘In London’, but I crawled back to bed and fell asleep, leaving her to lie awake until the sounds of tropical rainstorm outside roused me again. ‘It’ll clear,’ I assured Hanan. ‘This is the sunshine state’.
Well, we spent most of the day looking like entrants in a wet T-shirt contest but, luckily, the Tampa Theatre, one of the last remaining movie palaces in America, had it’s own starry skied ceiling and truly stunning architecture. As we walked through the theatre to the green room, a woman began shrieking and tearing across the auditorium towards us. I looked behind me, expecting that Angelina Jolie was shadowing me, but no, the woman was heading for me and I knew it had to be a Facebook Super Fan, but all I had to go on are the little photos of all of you. She reached us at last.
‘Sallie from Chicago,’ she panted. ‘You’re all so much shorter than I imagined.’
Lovely to meet you too, I smiled, suddenly feeling like a Hobbit. Maybe I just have the stature of a giant in our You Tube videos, maybe I just looked smaller amongst the vast size of all things North American. Anyway, it was really wonderful to meet Sallie, as I do feel I almost know you all from your comments and photos. In the green room we all felt even tinier when we were introduced to Kathy De Buono (‘Out at the Wedding’) who is seven feet tall if she’s an inch. I was beginning to get a complex, but there was no time to brood, because I Can’t Think Straight started and I didn’t want to miss any of the story, because you know how hard it can be to catch up.
By the time we made it outside to the book signing, Hanan and Sheetal had fallen into their familiar pattern of bickering, a tradition which began on set. I signed a book and passed it on to Sheetal, whose leg generally taps up and down with compressed nervous energy.
‘Here, sign this,’ Sheetal said to Hanan.
‘How about saying ‘please’?’ Hanan growled, thumping Sheetal’s knee to make her leg stop jiggling
‘You wanna sign it or not, HK?’ she asked, tapping the other foot.
‘My name is Hanan.’
‘Sure, HK.’
After an hour, I’d had enough and looked for help. Luckily, as I turned around, I found a policewoman standing right behind me.
‘Can you sign this please?’ she asked, waving The World Unseen at me.
‘Yes, I can but then I need you to handcuff these two together,’ I said, cocking an eyebrow at Hanan and Sheetal.
‘I’ll chew off my own arm,’ said Hanan.
Ah, the delicate relationship between producer and actor. Always a joy to watch. Luckily, the evening ended with more wine, courtesy of our hospitable festival progammer, Jill.
We’re en route to DC now, having gone to the airport via the local public radio station for a live interview on the Woman’s Show. My last radio experiences were at the BBC in London, which was all steel barriers, metal detectors, security badges and cubicle studios. Here it was like being in someone’s living room – quilts on the walls, ornaments, a dog roaming around and hot coffee brewing. Even in the rain, I could get used to this. But Washington DC beckons followed by some time with Lisa Ray in Toronto, and so we have to leave the (alleged) sunshine of Florida for the cold cut and thrust of the seat of political power. Not that it bothers Hanan. ‘I’m thinking to send Michelle a copy of the movies, and invite her to the screening tomorrow,’ she just told me.
Michelle, Michelle, I pondered. Not a fan, I think. Is she a festival person? I rarely forget a name so I turned to her in chagrin. ‘Who’s Michelle?’
She regarded me with pity, as though I may have early Alzheimers. ‘Michelle Obama.’ She left out the ‘Duh’ on the end, but it was in her tone.
Right, then. I really hope she doesn’t come, or I’m going to feel even shorter.