THE OFFICIAL WEBSITE
BILL NIGHY’S EYES
Every time we go to London we see someone famous. I don’t mean on the stage; I mean on the street. First it was John Simm, fresh from success in Life on Mars. Next it was Terence Stamp who was enjoying the attentions of a young, oriental woman. Then there was the time we were in St James’s Park and my sister asked if I could put a name to the face of ‘some guy off TV’ who had just walked past her. I was pointed in the direction of a disappearing back and ran after him, occasionally looking at my watch so people would think I was late for something (as if they cared).
I ran past them, again looking at my watch, white-rabbit-like and threw myself onto a bench. With a not very discreet tilt of the head, I looked up into the face of Nigel Planer as he walked by, deep in conversation and oblivious to my triumph.
This time, we were strolling down a street off Shaftesbury Avenue. Mum had fallen behind a bit and I hadn’t noticed. But I did notice the vaguely familiar, good-looking man walking towards me. It was Bill Nighy. It’s strange to see someone famous so close, so real, so...three dimensional. I wanted to hold out my hand to him, so he would shake it and I could tell him how much I enjoy his work. But, as I made eye contact with him and my lips twitched into a slight smile, I suddenly understood what it must feel like to be him; to be John Simm, Terence Stamp, Nigel Planer and all the others. I understood all this from the fleeting flicker of panic in Bill Nighy’s eyes. That’s why I nodded. Not in deference, but to let him know that I knew who he was: and that he was safe. I wasn’t going to whip out my mobile and capture him for You Tube or ask for his autograph or, worse, a kiss. There was only one thing I could do. I kept walking.
©Audrey Songhurst ,April 2009
