Page 2 of Hello Darling
Ever since word got out that last year’s Golden Globe winner for supporting actress Georgia March had “dumped her former co-star for someone her own age,” concerned friends have been advising me that I will most likely have some sort of uncharacteristic emotional reaction in the wake of this, my first experience of being broken-up with at the ripe old age of thirty-one. My agent has sent me a list of female clients he’d “like to discuss” with me before I find myself in another relationship, but the last thing I need is another relationship with another actress. Meanwhile, I’ve promised myself a monk-like existence for a while.
I need to take this opportunity to slow down and start to think about getting involved with the kind of woman I could actually get serious about for a change. It’s time to look into buying that little house in Cornwall with a view and finding someone special to hide away with there when I’m not on set. I might be coming down with a case of whatever you call the opposite of wanderlust. Homehunger. I’m sure there’s an untranslatable German term for it.
It’s called being a giant pussy.
Sod off, Hugh.
Wish I could. You’re the knob who’s always wondering what I’d think about things.
It’s just a picture.
A picture that I can’t stop staring at.
I can’t frequent that gym knowing there’s a woman I’m this attracted to there—the whole point of taking this film was to throw myself into work…Oh who the fuck am I kidding? Of course I’m going to choose that gym. Throwing myself into work has never stopped me from throwing myself into a pretty fanny at the end of a long day. I mean—it’s a Hollywood thriller, not Shakespeare. I had all of my lines memorized after the second time I’d read the script.
Of course—she could be married. If not, she probably has a boyfriend. Even if she’s single, she might not be into guys like me.
She might be the only woman I’ve ever met who isn’t into handsome charming wealthy world famous British movie stars.
What do you think, Hugh?
Please refer to 1999 hit Notting Hill for completely realistic, not at all cheesy depiction of how easy it is for an impossibly likable mere mortal with floppy hair to date a glamorous movie star, and then please remind yourself that you are by no means a celebrity of Julia Roberts’s stature.
So chances are good that she just won’t be that into you.
But definitely try to shag that gym girl once or twice because she’s totally hot.
