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!
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!
posted by Tom at 2:51 AM
9 Comments:
This comment has been removed by a blog administrator.
I don't think I've ever been told I'm beautiful. But I'm a bloke. Is there a different word necessary for blokes? And why can't we be beautiful? Or are there some men out there who've been told they're beautiful?
I think "beautiful" can apply to both sexes. It`s an aesthetic thing, isn`t it? "Pretty" may not be a suitable word to apply to a bloke, but women can be "handsome". Actually, you can apply "pretty" to a bloke, but he might not like it.
I have an occasional lover who tells me I have beautiful breasts, but this strikes me as being rather unlikely, so I take it with a pinch of salt.
David Beckham is beautiful So are my lover`s feet.
August 9th
Mr Barbera told me that two years ago. It was a cool thing.
Well that was a very long time ago and I'm not sure I can remember it exactly, being just a small person in a pram at the time.
Im not sure whether this is about beauty on the outside or the inside, im going to go with the inside and her is my little tale... a month or so ago i was waiting to cross a fairly busy road and as i was crossing i noticed a elderly woman stumble and fall. I went back to help her up. Impatient drivers started leaning on thier car horns, i looked up and shouted at them "how about helping instead of hindering!!!". Much to my amazment the passenger and the driver from the taxi that was at the front of the traffic both got out and came over, my immediate reaction, was "ooops, now im in trouble" but no, they just wanted to help.
Anyway, the lady was helped off the road and was ok. Later that night i was in a club and this guy comes up to me,he had been the passenger in the taxi and says " i was impressed by what you said and by what you did this afternoon and i would just like to say that you are a beautiful person". i didnt really know how to respond, but i am a firm believer in the Pay it Forward theory, and maybe that was it in action...sometimes we have to just do rather than stop and think.
The last time I was told I was beautiful and I felt that it meant something was when I was making love. It was communication that fitted movement and the statement/moment has stayed with me.
The only other time where it has stayed with me was when i was told by a stranger. It seemed like an act of bravery and courage on his part, he may have well have been a knight in shining armour it made me feel like a damsel. Having followed me off the tube he came up to me to see if I would like to go for a drink with him ( I said i couldn't for various reasons) and he told me he thought I was beautiful. Wow.. I had just finished with my boyfriend so I felt like a million dollars all day. Lucky me I thought...
I've asked out a complete stranger recently, and I think Tom might post my story on here, or at least link to it on my blog...
As for me, my mum tells me I'm beautiful, and I think that's cool. The last serious girlfriend I had told me (I think), so it was last said out of desire (rather than maternal pride) sometime between April 2003 and July 2003. It was nice.
Post a Comment
<< Home