mrsronweasley (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
mrsronweasley) wrote2003-03-26 12:14 am
mrsronweasley) wrote2003-03-26 12:14 am
On Sir Ian McKellen.
Hope you enjoy...
I was bored, so I decided to write up
Date: Saturday, 23rd March, 2003
Location: (beginning) Tower of London, London, United Kingdom
Time: 3:30 pm
The NY GALs enter the Tower of London giftshop. One GAL (who may or may not have been Mrs. Ron Weasley - the Mrs. in question cannot honestly remember at this point) notices a small brochure lying on top of other small brochures. Said brochure shows “The Death Dance”, along with its key three players - one of them being Sir Ian McKellen, looking happy and smiling.
Firelocks informs Mrs. Ron Weasley that she has seen the play when it was playing in New York. Firelocks, being Firelocks (“I didn’t get a reputation as a stalker for nothing, you know”, she later claims) proposes to Mrs. Ron Weasley that the GALs go to that area of London after - or for - dinner, and look for said actor as he exits through the back door. Mrs. Ron Weasley (after some confusion, since she is quite slow on the uptake - “wait, I thought he was in New York...huh?”) squeals happily in answer and the other GALs are updated on the goings on. Somewhere, far away, Alan Rickman is twitching. Ian McKellen gets a slightly forboding feeling in his left nostril.
Cut to - 9:30pm.
The GALs, all full of yummy Indian goodness and feeling posh just for having smelled the snooty waiters, seek out the theatre they need. Upon finding it, they are informed that the play will not be over for another hour. They then begin looking for a pub that will keep them happy for the time being, since their minds are already set on (drunken) stalkage.
“The Dog and The Duck” (which, quite unsurprisingly - and much more appropriately, we must say - was just typed as ‘the Fuck’) is a nice little pub that only got it half-right. However, not being too picky, the GALs - feet and legs tired and hurting - sit down for a drink or two.
Collective ten drinks later, the group staggers out of the pub and heads - dimly but surely - towards the previously viewed theatre. New Yorkers through and through, they push and stampede their way towards the theatre, and then around the corner, where they finally see the backstage door. Right next to an exotic dance place. Soho is fun, they decide, and agree that no better place could be found for meeting Sir Ian McKellen.
They wait. They are the first in line - forgive us, queue - which quickly grows as they continue standing.
Time: 9:40pm
CoKerry to Mrs. Ron Weasley: “Oh! I just had a thought - you should tell him about the book!”
The rest of the GALs (excluding Mrs. Ron Weasley): *collective gasp*
Mrs. Ron Weasley: “Muh?”
What follows is a nonsensical, yet intriguing twisting of arms, legs, brains and other appendages, until a severe threat from Firelocks silences the last of Mrs. Ron Weasley’s weak attempts at staving off temptation:
“If you don’t do it, I will, and you know that I’m good for that. You know I’ll do it.”
“But...but...it’s...waaaaah...”
“Pshshsssh. Do it. He’ll love it. He will! He’ll look at the title and go ‘hmmm...’ and then he’ll read it, and he’ll love it...”
(CoKerry, picking up where Firelocks has left off): “And then he’ll email Jamie O’Neill and tell him that some crazed girl named Liz told him to read it!”
For some reason - which may or may not have to do with the two ciders that The Lightweight, aka Mrs. Ron Weasley has consumed - this makes sense. A piece of paper and a Quill pen are produced at staggering speed. A slow yet strangely steady hand writes out “At Swim, Two Boys” by Jamie O’Neill on that piece of paper. Much cackling and squealing is heard from the peanut gallery. The incoherent babbling becomes “write your name, too, and your email, in case he wants to get in touch with you”, and Mrs. Ron Weasley complies, not knowing what regrets will hit her in the morning.
Time: 9:50pm
Anticipation builds. A black car stops in front of the building, honks the horn once and begins to drive off.
The license plate says “LYRIX”.
The GALs take that as a good omen and wait on. Still squealing.
Still drunk.
Time: 10:00pm
The door opens and two gray haired men file out. One of them bears a buzz cut and light blue eyes. The queue explodes into jittery requests for autographs. The GALs already have their cameras/postcards/video cameras ready and are impatiently awaiting their turn.
Mrs. Ron Weasley goes first, gets her postcard signed (Liz, best wishes, Ian McKellen), and goes in for the kill, doing her tried and true bit. She excuses herself for being random, and hands The White Knight the blasted piece of paper, saying that she thinks he might really enjoy This Book. The Knight takes the blasted piece of paper, tucks it into his coat pocket and thanks the crax-head in front of him, saying that he will just put it here and save it, thank you.
Meanwhile, Firelocks is wielding the Camera of Shame. The rest of GALs get their postcards sign, thanking the wonderful actor for everything he’s done, and being all cool and stuff. Next comes the idea for a picture.
Firelocks: “Excuse me, Mr. McKellen, can we get a picture?”
Mr. McKellen, surrounded by more rabid fans: “Well, organise it, then!”
Two seconds later, the picture is organized, taken and Mr. McKellen stays on for another few moments to obligingly finish off signing the rest of the autographs.
Time: 10:10pm
The GALs head off, squealing, eyes wide with adoration. They decide that they can’t be arsed to wait for the bus, and instead flag down a taxi (Firelocks, being the expert New Yorker, does it with efficiency and style, while the rest of the GALs admire her technique), and the rest of the squealing is lost on the taxy driver who wants nothing more than to get rid of the little twits and move on with the rest of his life.
(Note: The taxi was hailed on the corner of Rupert St. Just so you know.)
End Sir Ian McKellen Incident.
Totally unrelated note:
OH MY FUCKING GOD, I finally got to watch "Queer as Folk" (British, the first, oh, six episodes?) and ohmygodohmygodohmygod, it's an addiction, I could - not - stop - watching, it was ridiculous, and SHIT, so fucking hot, and GAAAAH, I want to go to Manchester NOW, and it sucks that I'm not there, and it sucks even more that I can't watch more of it because I don't have a video player, and GAH GAH GAH, wow.
And wow. And they're so fucking hot. And - wow.
Wow.
I was bored, so I decided to write up
Date: Saturday, 23rd March, 2003
Location: (beginning) Tower of London, London, United Kingdom
Time: 3:30 pm
The NY GALs enter the Tower of London giftshop. One GAL (who may or may not have been Mrs. Ron Weasley - the Mrs. in question cannot honestly remember at this point) notices a small brochure lying on top of other small brochures. Said brochure shows “The Death Dance”, along with its key three players - one of them being Sir Ian McKellen, looking happy and smiling.
Firelocks informs Mrs. Ron Weasley that she has seen the play when it was playing in New York. Firelocks, being Firelocks (“I didn’t get a reputation as a stalker for nothing, you know”, she later claims) proposes to Mrs. Ron Weasley that the GALs go to that area of London after - or for - dinner, and look for said actor as he exits through the back door. Mrs. Ron Weasley (after some confusion, since she is quite slow on the uptake - “wait, I thought he was in New York...huh?”) squeals happily in answer and the other GALs are updated on the goings on. Somewhere, far away, Alan Rickman is twitching. Ian McKellen gets a slightly forboding feeling in his left nostril.
Cut to - 9:30pm.
The GALs, all full of yummy Indian goodness and feeling posh just for having smelled the snooty waiters, seek out the theatre they need. Upon finding it, they are informed that the play will not be over for another hour. They then begin looking for a pub that will keep them happy for the time being, since their minds are already set on (drunken) stalkage.
“The Dog and The Duck” (which, quite unsurprisingly - and much more appropriately, we must say - was just typed as ‘the Fuck’) is a nice little pub that only got it half-right. However, not being too picky, the GALs - feet and legs tired and hurting - sit down for a drink or two.
Collective ten drinks later, the group staggers out of the pub and heads - dimly but surely - towards the previously viewed theatre. New Yorkers through and through, they push and stampede their way towards the theatre, and then around the corner, where they finally see the backstage door. Right next to an exotic dance place. Soho is fun, they decide, and agree that no better place could be found for meeting Sir Ian McKellen.
They wait. They are the first in line - forgive us, queue - which quickly grows as they continue standing.
Time: 9:40pm
CoKerry to Mrs. Ron Weasley: “Oh! I just had a thought - you should tell him about the book!”
The rest of the GALs (excluding Mrs. Ron Weasley): *collective gasp*
Mrs. Ron Weasley: “Muh?”
What follows is a nonsensical, yet intriguing twisting of arms, legs, brains and other appendages, until a severe threat from Firelocks silences the last of Mrs. Ron Weasley’s weak attempts at staving off temptation:
“If you don’t do it, I will, and you know that I’m good for that. You know I’ll do it.”
“But...but...it’s...waaaaah...”
“Pshshsssh. Do it. He’ll love it. He will! He’ll look at the title and go ‘hmmm...’ and then he’ll read it, and he’ll love it...”
(CoKerry, picking up where Firelocks has left off): “And then he’ll email Jamie O’Neill and tell him that some crazed girl named Liz told him to read it!”
For some reason - which may or may not have to do with the two ciders that The Lightweight, aka Mrs. Ron Weasley has consumed - this makes sense. A piece of paper and a Quill pen are produced at staggering speed. A slow yet strangely steady hand writes out “At Swim, Two Boys” by Jamie O’Neill on that piece of paper. Much cackling and squealing is heard from the peanut gallery. The incoherent babbling becomes “write your name, too, and your email, in case he wants to get in touch with you”, and Mrs. Ron Weasley complies, not knowing what regrets will hit her in the morning.
Time: 9:50pm
Anticipation builds. A black car stops in front of the building, honks the horn once and begins to drive off.
The license plate says “LYRIX”.
The GALs take that as a good omen and wait on. Still squealing.
Still drunk.
Time: 10:00pm
The door opens and two gray haired men file out. One of them bears a buzz cut and light blue eyes. The queue explodes into jittery requests for autographs. The GALs already have their cameras/postcards/video cameras ready and are impatiently awaiting their turn.
Mrs. Ron Weasley goes first, gets her postcard signed (Liz, best wishes, Ian McKellen), and goes in for the kill, doing her tried and true bit. She excuses herself for being random, and hands The White Knight the blasted piece of paper, saying that she thinks he might really enjoy This Book. The Knight takes the blasted piece of paper, tucks it into his coat pocket and thanks the crax-head in front of him, saying that he will just put it here and save it, thank you.
Meanwhile, Firelocks is wielding the Camera of Shame. The rest of GALs get their postcards sign, thanking the wonderful actor for everything he’s done, and being all cool and stuff. Next comes the idea for a picture.
Firelocks: “Excuse me, Mr. McKellen, can we get a picture?”
Mr. McKellen, surrounded by more rabid fans: “Well, organise it, then!”
Two seconds later, the picture is organized, taken and Mr. McKellen stays on for another few moments to obligingly finish off signing the rest of the autographs.
Time: 10:10pm
The GALs head off, squealing, eyes wide with adoration. They decide that they can’t be arsed to wait for the bus, and instead flag down a taxi (Firelocks, being the expert New Yorker, does it with efficiency and style, while the rest of the GALs admire her technique), and the rest of the squealing is lost on the taxy driver who wants nothing more than to get rid of the little twits and move on with the rest of his life.
(Note: The taxi was hailed on the corner of Rupert St. Just so you know.)
End Sir Ian McKellen Incident.
Totally unrelated note:
OH MY FUCKING GOD, I finally got to watch "Queer as Folk" (British, the first, oh, six episodes?) and ohmygodohmygodohmygod, it's an addiction, I could - not - stop - watching, it was ridiculous, and SHIT, so fucking hot, and GAAAAH, I want to go to Manchester NOW, and it sucks that I'm not there, and it sucks even more that I can't watch more of it because I don't have a video player, and GAH GAH GAH, wow.
And wow. And they're so fucking hot. And - wow.
Wow.