Otway talks about Otway, so no change

So last night alone I went to London to see Otway The Movie at the Apollo in Piccadilly. My oldest pal, the master schemer and subject of the piece, John Otway, was introducing it and then doing questions and answers afterwards. I was tempted to ask when I might be expected to get my money back for his first recording that I paid for in 1972, the first in a long line of unwise investments in this errant genius, but decided not to press it because I have had so much fun with him being involved with him ever since.

As I still have some business with Otway, we had agreed as usual to meet in a pub to discuss it over a few pints. As is also usual, we then have rather too many pints and forget the decisions we have made, so we need to meet again to discuss those matters, again in a pub and so it goes on. It has been like that for about 40 years and I still don’t recall what we have decided.

I do know that he has now satisfied several levels of criteria to be able to have his film about himself eligible for a BAFTA nomination, and is scheming as I write to try to ensure it does. Best film, best debut, best director, best writer, cinematography, you name it, he wants it.

Otway holds court

I had considered not watching it again, and instead heading out into the west end for some food, but in the end I relented and watched it for the 4th time and it still made me laugh. It is a bit daunting to see ones self on a very large screen, perhaps that is why I had developed an appetite, but that was slated later, after the questions and answers, by a very unwise trip into China town for some late dinner.

Things are a little hazy this morning, but I woke up in what appears to be my hotel room, at least I think it is, so I must have found my way back there all by myself in the early hours of the morning. I have come to one conclusion; I am now too old for 8 hour social occasions.

Later this morning, in fact nearer midday I am scheduled to appear at The Canteen in Spitalfields for brunch. Who in their right mind would want to set up a restaurant in such a moistly named place? One has to think how it got its name? I do hope there is not too literal an explanation. I suppose it could be worse, it could be the Killing Fields. Actually that about sums up how I feel at the moment.

That Nice Lady Decorator kindly phoned me three times at 7.30 this morning, just to see if I was up. I was after the third call. Could she not just have left me in peace for a few more hours? Answer; no. She was horribly lively and refreshed, having not done all the stupid things I did last night, Now I am in a quandary. Breakfast is included at the hotel, I have hardly eaten all week due to this infernal diet, I am also lined up for brunch and yet the whole idea of food is anathema at this moment. It’s like buses; you wait ages for one to come along and then two turn up together. I will be going back to bed to consider the options as soon as this column is delivered into your loving and demanding arms by way of the internet. I shall be dreaming of finding some new customers for Currencies Direct.

Chris France
@Valbonne_News