The blogger returns...

I'd realised the other day that this blog had gone pretty cold...then I picked it up again and read through some of the things people had said and thought to myself, well, maybe this is something worth continuing.

I told someone they were beautiful the other day. We'd had dinner together and went back to her house for coffee, things went on from there, I wanted to stay but had to leave and as I did I watched her and she was indeed beautiful...which kind of begs the question that's already come up here, which is that are moments, rather than people, what we really find beautiful? Split seconds of strong emotion which lead us to betray things that we feel, or even make us feel things that we otherwise wouldn't......

Hey folks,

Just a quick post this time, there's been a really good response so far particularly since the blog is really in its early stages. If you've posted here already, or if you'd like to visit a lot, why not email your friends and ask them to come along and add their story? Go on, do it now, write a tiny quick email, post in the URL at the top of this page and bam - yet more people get onto this site and join in.

For any new people, the premise of this blog is really simple. I'm collecting stories from everyone I possibly can about the last time someone told you you were beautiful. It's kind of part social research project, part possible theatre show, but what it's all about is telling your stories to each other. Click Comment on the bottom of this or any of the other posts and tell your own story. Then, tell your friends.

And by the way, whoever said I (or the other Tom) was beautiful: thanks.

x

Slightly offtopic. But fun.

My esteemed friend and colleague Mr Tom Davies, comedian, actor, musician and media courtesan posted this on The No Show website. Kind of related to this project, I think. And visit their site. It's great.

An Open Letter To The Girl I Asked Out On The Tube This Morning

Dear The Girl,We began our tube journey this morning as strangers. We ended it still as strangers. But strangers empowered through our weakness. Or something.I first noticed you in the reflection of the window. You had lovely hair, tied back in a black hairband, and you were wearing a black shirt. You looked, and this is a compliment, not dissimilar to a red-haired version of my friend Laura. You were lovely.And as you sat, reading the copy of the Times that someone had left on the opposite seat to you, and as I sat, attempting to read my copy of "You Shall Know Our Velocity" by Dave Eggers, I began to do the thing that I normally do. My head starts saying "You should ask her out. You know, really pretty people always say that no-one asks them out because people are intimidated by their beauty. You shall not be intimidated! It's just dinner! Just say 'Do you want to go out for dinner?'"And I argue back, "Shouldn't I have some sort of jokey line? Doesn't that work?"And my head says, "No! You can't think of jokes now. Think of them later!"So I started making deals with myself along the lines of "If everyone else around her gets off the train, I'll go and sit and have a chat". And everyone around you got off the train, and I didn't move and I felt kind of foolish. "If she gets off at Victoria," the next deal went, "I will ask her out to dinner." I was getting off at Victoria, so the adrenaline rush of... um... standing up, would fill me with the neccessary determination to perform the asking. This was the theory.Damn it, The Girl, why did you get off at Victoria?As you will remember, I bounded up beside you, slightly out of breath, heart beating, patted your shoulder, and said - in a voice probably inaudible - "Excuse me, my name's Tom, would you like to go for dinner some time?"And you sort of smiled and said, "That's really sweet, but I have a boyfriend" in the cutest dose of rejection I've had. That was really nice of you. Thanks.I'm sorry I ran away quite so quickly. I would have loved to have stayed and chatted, but I felt I had somewhat cut to the chase. It's difficult to small talk after that, and I felt that time was tight. Believe you me, though, as I ran to catch the District Line train to work, I was thinking, "This is slightly insane. Running this fast." Anyway, I hope you have a nice day.Yours,Tom Davies

Blokes...

Another email...

1) No, I'm not surprised you didn't approach her. 2) You should do. Why be a slave to my expectations all your life? 3) Having said that, speaking to random girls in arches under railways when still slightly drunk can lead to embarrassing chats with police officers. Or big brothers. Or pimps. 4) So maybe you were right to stay quiet. 5) And this is the important bit. Nobody ever tells blokes they look beautiful. Cute, yes. Sweet, yes. Good looking, yes. But only David Beckham gets told he is beautiful, largely because he is in fact beautiful. The last time anyone told me I was beautiful I was eight. Months, that is.

Anyone care to disagree?

Email story 2

This is another email I received, from someone who saw a posting about this on another site:

Hi Tom,This may seem slightly long winded however, here goes. On August 14th I attend a work function at my employers head office. For one reason or another I haven't attended one of these functions in about 18 months or so. In this time I have lost a considerable amount of weight. This has changed both my physical and mental appearance. The person who said it to me may of meant it in a sincere way but I felt it wasn't. Maybe this is a throw back to my old, somewhat pessimistic trains of thought. However, I felt the word beautiful maynot of been the correct word to use in that situation. As you stated it a strong and emotive word that people may mean one this to some person and mean something different to someone else. It also stands out in my head so vividly because apart from this time I couldn't tell you the last time someone said I looked beautiful. I'm not saying knowone has, but when you have a bad mental picture of yourself you ridicule such a comment. The simple action of answering your post on the message board has made me re-think and re-play the conversation in my head and re-think my conclusions of it.

Story...

This was sent to me via email last night. The name of the sender has been removed.

Well, the last time I was told I was beautiful was a year ago, last summer. It was boy called Timothy.It was in Miami and my family and I had gone with five other families and Timothy was in the Coleman's family and we'd kind of flitted around each other the whole vacation because we were so shy around each other. I was 15, he 18. With me being black and him being white, it was one of those things where I thought, "Oh my God, if I ask him out, he'll turn around and say that he only likes me as a friend." My friends said that he liked me, but me being so gormless, I put it down to harmless matchmaking.So for half of the holiday, we kind of avoided each other, trying to eschew any possible embrassment on both our parts. We ended up having argument over petty things, like who ate the last cornflakes (the whole six families shared a huge villa). My friends thought the reason why he was becoming more and more pugnacious with me is because they said all the local boys that i was friends with made him jealous. I thought it was vice versa on my part as I has seen him with girls that he would hang around with.So we argued and argued until one day he just grabbed me, kissed me, then ran off.We met up later and we told each other how we liked each other for ages. He did say he hated seeing me with other boys, and that point he told me I was beautiful, and we kissed, and everything was fantastic. That was until we came back from our hols and Timothy and his family had to move away....Sorry, but that's my tedious tale. Boring, but true...hoped I helped!

Up and running now...sorry...

A couple of people emailed me to say they'd had problems getting messages on. Should be fine now - I hope.

If you've enjoyed getting involved it'd be great if you could pass the details of this thing on to a friend or two...

In the beginning...

So.

Yesterday morning I woke up at eight thirty am, having gone to bed the night before at two, still hungover from the celebratory drinks after our rehearsed reading of Jenny Tuckett's play Seen In An Outside Place. I updated my CV, had a play on the Upstart website, lay in the bath, had breakfast with Steve and headed off to meet a playwright in a cafe, where I got grumpy with a surly waiter. After the meeting I wandered rather dazedly through London, stopped in at the National Portrait Gallery to watch David Beckham sleeping, and then decided to go down to Waterloo over Hungerford Bridge, one of my favourite places.

On the way I passed Charing Cross station, and remembered that a friend of mine had said she was in a production of a musical at the New Players theatre under the arches there. I decided to go in and see if there were any photos up. There weren't, and as it was Sunday morning the shops were shut and the arches were deserted. Next to the newsstand there was a girl smoking a cigarette. At first glance she looked really pretty, and though I'm normally a fairly diffident kind of bloke I was still quite drunk from last night and so for a moment thought about going over and trying to chat her up. She looked a little bit down - probably working in one of the coffee shops or something - and the first line that came into my head was just to go up and ask her "Excuse me. When was the last time someone told you that you're beautiful?".

I probably should've done it, but it won't surprise anyone who knows me that I didn't. But it did get me thinking - for a start, when was the last time someone told me I'm beautiful? How many people have ever been told their beautiful? What kind of situations to people tell other people their beautiful in? There's a play in there somewhere, I thought.

A dialogue from later on that day, me and someone close to me. I tell her I'm thinking of doing a project - a film, or a verbatim theatre piece maybe - in which I ask them to tell me when was the last time someone told them they were beautiful.

- But that's really sad.

- Really? Why?

- Well, I don't think anyone's ever told me I'm beautiful. Not that I remember anyway. Maybe drunk people. Or stupid people.

- You're right, it is really sad.

- I told you.

- Yeah. I didn't realise quite how sad.

This is someone beautiful, intelligent, highly talented, and she can't even remember anyone ever telling her how beautiful she is. Surely that can't apply to everyone?

If you've read this and would like to help out, simply click "Add comment" and tell me the last time someone told you you're beautiful. And then email your friends, and ask them to do the same.

Thanks for your time!