Redgrave does not boast the most tactful history of acceptance speeches. Four years ago, having been recognised for her lifetime's achievement by the Transylvania film festival, she dedicated the award to a group campaigning against a gold mine in Romania owned by one of the festival's sponsors. A number of villagers then put their names to an advert that was published in the Guardian stating that they were very happy with the gold mine and wanted the development it would bring.
In 1977, she won the best supporting actress Oscar for her role in Julia and told the audience at the Academy Awards that she wouldn't be intimidated by a "bunch of Zionist hoodlums". That's the kind of sentiment that might play well in, say, Tripoli or Tower Hamlets, but it doesn't win you many friends in Hollywood. Winning friends, however, has never been high on Redgrave's list of priorities. Saving humanity has long been her main objective. But when not giving her active support to a variety of causes, from the plight of Chechen separatists to the battle against supermarkets, she has built one of the most lauded careers in acting, both on stage and in film.
In 2007, Redgrave wrote an open letter to Natasha in which she regretted her absence as a mother. Most saddening of all is that Natasha was to die two years later. In May 2008, before Natasha died, I watched Vanessa's amazingly intense performance of the one woman show "The Year of Magical Thinking," at The National Theatre in London, Joan Didion's unsparing play about grief following the unexpected deaths of her husband and daughter, which transferred to New York. In the time since she last performed the part, the life of star Vanessa Redgrave has taken a grimly similar turn to that of her character. Hopefully more cheery will be Driving Miss Daisy which comes to London in a couple of weeks and yet to buy tickets for. Set against the backdrop of the civil rights struggle, it's the story of Daisy Werthan, a wealthy Southern Jewish woman, and Hoke Colburn, her illiterate chauffeur, and how, over a number of years, they grow to depend on each other. Long live Vanessa and her off the radar magical thinkings.
One silly season over, i.e. August and another one begins, i.e. London Fashion Week: http://www.londonfashionweek.co.uk/ #LFW as it is known, certainly beats the gormless velocity of dullness of the Lib Dems conference in Birmingham it has to be said. Politics is showbusiness for ugly people was never truer when you accidentally turn over to the Parliament channel and see Danny Alexander, only to think you inadvertently tuned into Friday the 13th by mistake. Nick Clegg giving a passionate speech, that even Miriam would look glazed over at. Still swooning over David Miliband's excellent turn at Question Time last week, however, that's for another time and back to #LFW for now. London restaurants are full of fashionistas, Nobu, Zuma, the newer Hakkasan Mayfair, in fact everywhere that doesn't serve carbs, is packed out with strange size zero people with huge sunglasses and oversized Birkins. I was surrounded by them whilst I was having lunch at Nobu in Park Lane (never the Berkeley Street one, too chav) yesterday lunchtime. I was far more interested that Lakshmi Mittal was having lunch two tables along and regret having the momentary lapse in pushiness to have given him my property business card. Far more likely to be reading Fortune these days, rather like Zoe Lucker's character in Footballers Wives, than digesting Closer.
Bring back John Galliano, all is forgiven. Well not quite forgiven to be fair and what a silly boy he was, everyone has since been to La Perle having their photos taken since the outrage, making faces. As well as the fact that he hasn't showed his collection in London since the early 90's for what I remember, buying a brilliant ruched skirt in Square in Bath in about 1988/89 which was the height of chic and about a week's wages in those days. Whilst London is buzzing during LFW and twitter is on high alert of new trends, nothing beats Paris Fashion Week for glamour, sheer talent and the fact that you can waste hours watching vaccous TV of Rachel Zoe's reality show. Did you see the one where she went to Mademoiselle Chanel's salon above the shop and lay on the immaculate cream sofa with her dirty shoes on, said 'oh my gawd, this is awesome' about twenty times, whilst dozey Brad nodded like a parrot on speed, mon dieu!
Have you seen Tinker Tailor Soldier Spy? Nope, nor have I. Not since my favourite Curzon cinemas decided to raise their prices to the equivalent of feeding a small African country in entrance ticket fees. Have read at least four reviews, listened to John Le Carre's excellent Radio 4 interview on the Today programme driving to work. Perhaps I will see it, it sounds like the sort of film that so rarely gets made with top British actors and described as a spy Su Doku by The Times. A client of mine watched it at Bafta the other night, only to have been nudged by his ex(obviously)-girlfriend, when he thought it too slow and promptly fell asleep on her shoulder, snoring loudly.
On a separate note, did anyone hear Sophie Dahl begging for £500k on the Today programme the other morning, the monies to move her late grandfather's garden shed? The £500,000 will cover the cost of conserving the hut's contents and designing a space for it in the museum. The exterior of the 1950s brick structure will remain in the orchard but the interior will be moved. It has been left as it was when Dahl was alive, down to the screwed up manuscripts in the wastepaper basket and the cigarette butts in the ashtray. I appreciate that Dahl was a national treasure, however, in between talks of dire austerity coming to meet us like the grim reaper and bailing out the damn Greeks, the timing from the multi-millionairess Sophie was very 'off'. I was so furious I almost drove straight into the Thames from Battersea bridge incandescent with rage, although former Dahl flatmate Toby Young has written a piece to support her. The back catalogue will now be know as: You're a right Charlie in a chocolate factory to pay for my shitty little shed and the Fantastic Mr Foxed-you good and proper.
Aside from above, 10 other things I read, did and encountered this week that may be of interest, or maybe you would prefer me to shut up and you can go back to reading your new Heat magazine:
1. Here we go again, Downton Abbey Series 2 , written by the dear perennial snob Julian Fellowes;
2. See you at Soho Lit Fest: http://www.soholitfest.com/
3. Philip Hensher & Peregrine Worsthorne spate 'Are explicit sex scenes ok?' in this week's Spectator;
4. Abba's 'Mamma Mia', the Mandarin version?!;
5. Guessing who Simon Cowell's next girlfriend will be;
6. The Lapada Art & Antiques Fair preview evening, see you at the Mortons champagne bar for the Rhubarb canapes;
7. Fascinating reading of Kweku Adoboli, the new 'rogue trader' from UBS;
8. Tickets ready to see Sylvie Guillem - 6000 miles away at Sadlers Wells next week;
9. Must be the only person in London who hasn't yet been to see the new Westfield in Stratford, apparently amazing views of the Olympic village from the John Lewis furniture department;
10. Wondering if my blog is creating its own Arab Spring judging by the fine number of visitors from the freedom craving countries.
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