Claire Fordham

Smiling in the face of adversity

2009-11-09T08:43:00.000-08:00

Top of my wish list for physical improvement is a smaller (much smaller), pert bottom. But this is closely followed by decent eyebrows. I hate mine. They are too thin and one of them isn’t nearly long enough.

I was in Beverly Hills for a screening of The Making Of Plus One… the mockumentary inspired by my book and in which I have a cameo role. Fearing that filmgoers might judge my pathetic brows, and as I was in the hood, I visited the premises of one Anastasia. Not only is she the world’s most expensive eyebrow plucker, Anastasia sells a range of products to give us eyebrows to be proud of.

An assistant offered to demonstrate their most popular products. The screening was in an hour and I was thrilled at the chance to look like a film star. She found a template of the perfect brow for me after measuring angles and doing various calculations. I loved it that she was taking my plight so seriously.

Twenty minutes and $122 later, I left the store with Anastasia’s Essential Brow Kit and the thickest eyebrows since Joan Crawford. I had been feeling very guilty about the expense of the ’brow kit because Colin and I have been on a strict “is it a want or a need?” regimen, as recommended by financial guru Suze Orman. The guilt soon dissipated when Colin received a $500 traffic ticket.

My mood was cheered by attending the star-studded BAFTA/LA Britannia awards with filmmaker Mary McGuckian as her plus one. The highlight for me was Kirk Douglas singing ‘Maybe It’s Because I’m a Londoner’ after he was presented with an award by Arnold Swarzenegger for his contribution to film entertainment. Also honored were Robert De Niro, Colin Firth, Emily Blunt and Danny Boyle. Stephen Fry did a great job hosting and Ben Stiller gave a funny speech presenting Robert de Niro’s award. I suspect Colin Firth regrets asking Minnie Driver to present his.

The best night of the week for me was watching DV8 Physical Theatre’s astonishing performance at Royce Hall with some dear old friends. Back in the day, Julia shared a council flat in Camden with Angie Giles (another great singer/songwriter) and Lloyd Newson. Lloyd was a dancer who went on to achieve international acclaim as DV8’s artistic director and choreographer. Lloyd and Angie had been introduced by Angie’s brother, designer Steven Giles. Check out Steven’s store, www.baseworld.com.

Angie and Steven are pictured above at the DV8 show with Julia who had to borrow my glasses to read the program.

I remember visiting the London flat and first glimpsed the artistic life. I knew then that the four of them were extraordinary people leading extraordinary lives and how honored I felt to even be in the same room as them.

Steven and Angie flew in from Miami for the show and we have had an incredible reunion, catching up and reminiscing. I won the prize for “most financially challenged but with more creative irons in fires.” Who spotted the unintentional gay pun? I tried ‘fingers in pies’ but that sounded worse.

Must dash. Colin and I are moving out today. It’s not as stressful as I’d expected as we no longer need to pack up and store our furniture. Another friend was looking for somewhere furnished to rent for three months and is now moving into our lovely apartment. We are leaving all our stuff apart from family photos and clothes. That reminds me, I have to cancel the storage and the movers.

Not so easy street....

2009-11-02T08:28:00.000-08:00

America is out of the recession. Or so it was reported last week. I’m not so sure. All year, Colin and I have been limping financially from month to month, and we have decided not to renew the lease on our apartment.

We’re moving in with friends for three months to re-group and will then probably rent in Park La Brea. We’ve looked at loads of places and really like these apartments by The Grove. And they’re cheaper than those by the beach. Our kind and generous chums have a fabulous house with plenty of room for us. It was their idea. I suspect more people than we realize are moving in with friends and family until the recession really passes.

My Man Child has suggested we go to Fiji, where folk can live like kings for $1,000 a month. Colin and I can write anywhere. Plus, Colin’s family lives in New Zealand – not too shabby and not too far from Fiji.

One friend’s son and his young family are moving to Bali. Neither he nor his wife can find work in LA, but already have jobs lined up there. They know someone who rents a big house on the island with a swimming pool, nanny, housekeeper and gardener, all for $400 a month. If her son likes it, my friend might move there too.

I’m still hopeful one of my creative projects will take off. The Making Of Plus One… is screening well in LA and the director thinks it will get picked up for distribution. If it goes straight to DVD, it could still make money, probably more than if it gets a theatrical release, because the marketing and print costs aren’t so high. And there’s no longer the stigma there once was. Director Mary McGuckian is already planning a sequel and wants me to be involved.

Mary is so well connected. She got us VIP tickets to the U2 Rose Bowl gig. I swear we had the best seats in the house. Amazing. There’s a difference between being broke and poor.

My literary agent is shopping my second book proposal to publishers and referred to its brilliance in a recent email. But I fear the publishing industry is going the way of the music business. The days of the big advance are over and punters want their music, books, newspapers and magazines for free. Yikes.

I have other options. My producing partner and I have shot the sizzle reel for my reality TV show idea. The shoot couldn’t have gone better. Two weeks to edit, then her agent and my manager can try and sell it for us. While we were out filming, a pleasant-looking man of about 30 walked into the frame and sat down nearby. This turned out to be a happy accident from our point of view, so I asked him if he’d be so kind as to do it again. He told me he would be happy to help. As we walked back to the others, he said he was homeless and asked if I could spare a couple of bucks for some food? I gave him five. A year ago, I’d have given him the twenty dollar bill I had in my purse. I’m telling you, this recession is far from over.

The wonderful singer/songwriter Celia Chavez referred to a book by Steven Pressfield, The War of Art, in her blog. Celia wrote:

"The premise of this book is that resistance is a creative person’s tireless and impersonal nemesis, and you have to resign yourself to battle it. You will encounter the worst and most heartbreaking obstacles around that which you are most called to do. It defines the different forms resistance takes and recommends that an artist hunker down and assume the mentality of a professional soldier in an endless conflict."

Most people who achieve success would agree that luck plays a part. Maybe they were in the right place at the right time, or knew someone who knew someone who could help or guide them. Yes, it’s a battle at times, but the harder we work, the luckier we are. And the ones who make it are the ones who don’t give up.

Getting warmer

2009-10-12T08:00:00.000-07:00

There is movement on “The Making Of Plus One…” front. The L.A. push begins this month. There’ll be a screening for family and friends at the William Morris Endeavor agency on October 22^nd at 6pm to start a word-of-mouth buzz within the industry.

On October 26^th at 7.30pm at the Harmony Gold theatre on Sunset, BAFTA/LA is holding a screening for its members, followed by a Q & A with director Mary McGuckian and the cast (including me).

The movie will also be premiered to selected press at the AFI/AFM at the Fairmont in Santa Monica at 5pm on November 4^th.

RSVP to screenings: info@pembridgepictures.com

Here’s the trailer:

I had a meeting with a top talent manager last week who wants to represent me and is confident she can get me work that doesn’t involve looking after children. I’ll tell you how successful she is: she just secured a $7 million dollar deal for one of her clients and it costs $24.50 to park for less than an hour at her fancy offices on Century Park East.

Clairey Poppins

2009-09-14T08:27:00.000-07:00

Last month, a number of celebrities, including Jennifer Aniston and a few much lesser mortals like myself, had their websites blocked by Google because, the company claims, they had been hacked and big chunks overwritten with malicious code. My top mate and now official web mistress, Diane Aldred, managed to remove the evil code then realized it was easier to design and write a new website than try and resurrect the old one. See what an amazing job she did: www.clairefordham.com. The photo above of me with Diane was taken at my Dad’s 80^th birthday party last May.

So, I have one movie in the can (to be premiered in LA in November), another in the works, my literary agent is shopping my latest book proposal to publishers, I have found a fabulous producing partner for my TV reality show idea – for which we are very soon going to shoot the “sizzle reel” – and I am putting the finishing touches to draft 683 of the screenplay actually based on my book, Plus One: a Year In the Life Of A Hollywood Nobody.

You could be forgiven for thinking I am doing rather well. However, I don’t know if you’ve heard, there’s a bit of a recession going on. So freelance writers like me are not exactly raking in the cash and I have been forced to take (gulp) employment to buy luxuries like food. I now babysit.

The first time I looked after five-year-old Melanie, she asked me if I had ever seen Mary Poppins and would I like to watch it with her? Oh yes. I had absolute joy in my heart as we sang along to all the songs at the tops of our voices.

Melanie asked me to sing to her and rub her back like her mum does when she tucks her into bed. I sang as much as I could remember of “Feed The Birds, Tuppence a Bag” while I rubbed her back.

She said: “I love you, Claire.”

I said: “I love you, Melanie.” And I really bloody do.

I have two other occasional charges – siblings Mitzi and Paul. Before I tell you about these two slices of perfection, please know how hard it is for me having so many Ms in my life: my daughter, my son, two nieces, Muttley the dog, my brother and the two little girls I look after. I don’t call any of them by the right name first time and have been known to go through the entire list of Ms before I get it right. I will never judge my parents again for calling their children by the wrong name.

I have vowed to be the best darned babysitter ever until one of my creative projects hits the jackpot. And frankly, I am. I happily and energetically play Teen Titans with Mitzi and Paul. Paul is Beast Boy, Mitzi is Starfire and I get to be Raven, who can lift really heavy things. Paul runs around shouting: “I am not a man. I am an animal.” I run around flexing my, erm, muscles.

Once Mitzi and Paul had grown bored with that, they showed me the family photo taken at their uncle’s wedding. They painstakingly went through everyone, explaining who they were, how old, how nice, etc. I asked if they saw much of their mum’s family.

Mitzi, aged five, said: “Our mom’s dad, Big Papa, died young. He ate hamburgers. You shouldn’t eat cow if you want to live a long time.” Mitzi skipped off and came back carrying a heavy box wrapped in green velvet. “This is Big Papa. He was cremated. His tiny bits of bone and stuff are in this box.” Paul, aged seven, said: “Big Papa may be in heaven, but he’ll forever be in our hearts.”

It felt like a change of scene would be a good idea, so I suggested a swim in the communal pool. There’s a “No Running” sign by the pool, but Mitzi and Paul, like all children, prefer to dive or jump in, get out, run round to the other side and dive or jump in again. Fearing they might break a limb on my watch and wondering why they kept ignoring my requests to slow down, I asked them in my best Mary Poppins voice: “Now children, what’s the number-one swimming pool rule?”

Paul replied confidently: “No farting.”

Here’s a picture of me with three of my Ms.

Habit forming

2009-09-10T10:55:00.000-07:00

Just had a long phone chat with Mary McGuckian, the writer/producer/director of The Making Of Plus One…

Here’s the latest scoop. It will be properly premiered at the American Film Market early November, located very conveniently just up the road from me in Santa Monica, followed by a BAFTA/LA screening later in the month. Then WIFTS (Women in Film and Television Society) will honor Mary and her brilliant film-making skills and screen the movie in Los Angeles at the end of November.

Mary has just returned to France, after spending two weeks in the Italian monastery where St. Benedict once lived, writing a sequel to The Making Of… (I just re-read this line and want to make it clear that it is Mary, not St. Benedict, who has written the sequel). It wasn’t so long ago, while she was going through the hell of financing, filming, editing, refinancing and trying to sell The Making Of… while coping with the ensuing mental and physical debilitation, that Mary told she would never make another film. Now she wants to go through the whole process again. That woman has metaphorical balls of steel.

Before finalizing distribution for The Making Of Plus One Starring Cate, Kate and George, The Story Of A Hollywood Nobody and reimbursing those financiers, Mary is now working on another ‘mockumentary’ featuring the same stellar cast (including, ahem, Julia and me). This time it’s about trying to get a distribution deal for Plus One... The opening scene will be a bunch of industry types yawning at the end credits of the three-and-a-half-hour director’s cut of a (pretend) movie based on my book. It will be shot entirely in Los Angeles.

I am not going to even try explaining this to my parents.

It's in the stars

2009-05-25T08:25:00.000-07:00

I am back from Cannes and the most amazing time. The first night was a spectacular party on the company yacht of one of the film’s producers. Our party was by far the most happening of all along the jetty. Really.

The Making Of Plus One Starring Kate, Cate and George, The Story Of A Hollywood Nobody was indeed screened, but not without some drama. It was a packed cinema full of invited guests. I was introduced as the author of the original book, some of the cast was there who also took a bow then the lights dimmed. Surely, the most exciting and nerve-wracking moment in any film maker's life.

Five minutes in and the picture disappeared from the screen. The new digital projector had crashed. It started again after the longest three minutes of my life. Then it crashed again. This time the audience was getting restless. You could feel it in the room that the famously impatient Cannes moviegoers were about to leave. The director and producer had raced upstairs to the projection room, the associate producer (a man) was crying. I knew something had to be done to stop people leaving so I stood up, pulled out the copy of my stars from the day before's Daily Mail (May 16th) that I had torn out from the paper on the flight over and read the following: (I am not making this up!). I'm Pisces by the way:

“Lights, camera action… roll ’em! Here comes another dramatic scene in the action-packed adventure movie of your life. Another roller coaster ride to take you high up to the breathtaking mountain of glorious expectation and then send you hurtling towards the deep, dark valley of disappointment. Another heart-pounding, jaw-clenching nerve-wracking experience. How worried should you be? About as worried as you get when you go to watch a film projected on the silver screen. Or when you climb aboard a ride at the fair. Things are more under control than you imagine. A cosmic hand is guiding you now, towards a truly pleasing future.”

It brought the house down. Nobody left. The director and the producer feared everyone would have gone when they came back into the theatre, but people were laughing and chatting. Astrologer Jonathan Cainer and I had saved the day. The movie started up, everyone stayed and seemed to enjoy it. You can't fake these things. There were no distributors in the audience who might have bought it - little business has been done at this year's festival, but there's been massive buzz and the producers are now taking it to Los Angeles to screen here.

For me, the most enduring lesson in all of this is that the process to fund and complete a feature film is phenomenally tough. Any movie that makes its way into production should be commended for its very existence, whether it receives critical acclaim or not.

Dad says his 80th birthday was his best ever. Julia’s UK gigs were triumphant sell outs. Both venues said they could have sold out three shows. I’m glad Julia was in Japan and missed Cannes as I think she might have broken down and wept when she heard the song she wrote especially for the film over the end credits. Her beautiful ballad had been massacred into the most heinous thumping disco beat. Not sure whose idea that was but it was a crap one.

All in all a brilliant trip, another reminder that a life lived well is one filled with love and fun times with family and friends. My Cannes experience wouldn’t have been half as much fun if my pals Diane Aldred, Sheran James and Levi Freeman (pictured above) weren’t there to share it with me.

Yes, we Cannes!

2009-04-10T12:51:00.000-07:00

I am writing this on my new laptop, a Toshiba, that my Man Child bought me for my birthday. I think I might have had more children if I’d realized they could one day provide so generously for me.

It has been a rollercoaster few weeks. Colin and I house- and dog-sat for some friends whose fabulous place is right under the Hollywood sign off Beachwood. Our charge, Delilah, had a bladder infection that involved the need for a doggy diaper. I was sorely tempted to take a photo and show you how funny she looked, but decided against it in case Delilah’s owners sued me or, worse, didn’t ask us to stay there again for ridiculing their beloved bulldog/pit bull. Yes, that’s right, half pit bull – the great white of the canine family.

Many dog lovers think the pit bull has a bad press (certainly Delilah is a sweetheart who never barks), but not a friend who turned up for dinner with her toddler, took one look at Delilah and called a babysitter to come and get the kid.

The next weekend, Colin was invited to the launch of the new Audi Q5 to write a review for European Car magazine. He looked at me over the top of his own laptop (a Mac) and wondered if I might like to go as his plus one. I politely declined until I learned the launch was an all-expenses-paid weekend at The Biltmore in Santa Barbara. I have dreamed of staying there.

It was everything I hoped and more. Margaritas (fancy ones with Cointreau) by the pool, amazing food, endless champagne, a cruise, tennis on the astroturf court, croquet, a suite, matching bathrobes, a mountain bike ride along the coast and staff – lots of staff. This is where I belong, I thought.

Having tasted and enjoyed living in the lap of luxury, you can understand how excited I am that ‘The Making Of Plus One…’ is being launched at the Cannes Film Festival on May 17. It was screened for the selection committee yesterday but canny director Mary McGuckian has hired a cinema to launch it there with a big fanfare whether it gets into the competition or not. With some 3,000 films competing for 16 slots, the chances are slim.

And I got paid the movie money I’ve been waiting for and assured was coming for almost a year. There was much rejoicing in our small but perfectly formed apartment when the money was wired into our account. This was an important moment both psychologically and practically.

I have booked my flights and will be staying in a lovely little hotel my friend Sheran found (and has sworn me to secrecy as to its location). She and another great friend, Diane, are also flying to Cannes to share this amazing trip with me. Julia will miss it because she has gigs in Japan, but she wrote a song for the movie and she’s in it for about five minutes.

Here’s a link to a trailer for the film. The distributor, New Films International, has retained the services of a top PR firm, DDA, to promote it. ‘The Making Of Plus One…’ sets things up nicely for the movie actually based on the book. I shall be armed with copies of the book and my adapted script, and will be in Cannes networking shamelessly to sell said wares.

In the meantime, my literary agent is shopping my latest book proposal to publishers. It has been rejected by four to date but is still on some good desks, I’m told. I take comfort in the fact that the first Harry Potter book was turned down by 12 publishers before Bloomsbury bought the manuscript for a paltry 1500 quid. Unfortunately, I’m not JK Rowling. And there’s a recession.

Whatever happens, this has been a wonderful adventure and Mary McGuckian has pulled off a series of miracles to get our little movie funded, finished and set for its big launch.

The luck of the Irish (or Kiss Me Kate)

2009-02-20T15:08:00.000-08:00

Trying to be a success in Tinseltown has been described as swimming with sharks, I think it’s more like swimming with sharks in a sea of bullshit. But that hasn’t stopped me and thousands of others poking our heads above the crap every single day to be rejected or – worse, much worse - ignored, in the faint hope that maybe one day, if we just keep going, we will be ‘in.’

Well, yesterday I felt like a winner. And even though I know there will be many more shitty days to come, the gods were with me, all my ducks were in a row, Mercury was not in retrograde… you get the picture.

The day started with a letter from the brilliant Augusten Burroughs, the number-one New York Times bestselling author of ‘Running With Scissors’, ‘Dry’ and ‘Magical Thinking.’ I had asked Augusten and anyone else I know who is at the top of their game to write me a letter of reference in support of my Green Card application.

Colin thought someone had died and came running (not with scissors) into the living room when he heard my sobs. I was crying, not from grief, but deep, deep gratitude that someone as busy and successful as Augusten would take the time to write a long letter, FOR ME, that ended thus: “It is precisely Claire’s rare combination of remarkable talent coupled with her shirt-sleeves-rolled-up willingness to work as hard as she can for as long as it takes – a truly American quality – which enables me to strongly recommend – without any hesitation – the swift approval of her visa application. Claire is a tremendous asset to our literary and entertainment economies. We must not – and cannot afford – to let her go.”

Then I beat Tracey at tennis. Yes, she had a shoulder injury and a bad ankle, but I WON.

There’s more. Mary McGuckian (the Irish director of The Making Of Plus One) copied me on an email she had sent to Hylda Queally at CAA who represents Cate Blanchett and Kate Winslet and who, last night, was honored by the US-Ireland Alliance. Mary told Hylda I would be there and to look out for me. Kate, who’s been repped by Hylda since she was 16, presented Hylda with the prestigious award, which is how I was in the same room as Kate Winslet.

I was there as the plus one of the gorgeous Sonya Macari, an Irish actress who played one of Anne Boleyn’s ladies-in-waiting on ‘The Tudors.’ The presentation was supposed to be at 7.30pm, but the hundreds of us who were sitting patiently waiting for a glimpse of Kate had to wait until 8.15 before the last VIP, one Tracey Ullman, was seated. Neither of us knew the other was going to be there. Tracey stopped to chat with me on the way to the front of the room. Which is why I think so many people subsequently gave me their business cards because they assumed I must be important.

I didn’t go up to Hylda or Kate and introduce myself as they were always surrounded by hoards of people. I can tell you that Kate looked absolutely stunning and positively skinny – as did Hylda. I read in ‘People’ magazine (so it must be true) that Kate doesn’t watch what she eats or exercise at all. If she hasn’t been exercising, she must have had lipo. She is perfection and so hot right now, and can play me in the movie based on my book, ‘Plus One: A Year In The Life Of A Hollywood Nobody’ if she wants.

I have a good ‘in’ with Kate – both our daughters are called Mia (it's a sign!) and I have her agent's email address. Then I spotted Harvey Weinstein, but he didn’t stay long enough for me to ask him if he had any problem with me calling my film production company MiaMax (after my two children).

It really was a fabulous evening. Just as I was leaving my chum, Patricia Danaher, who writes for ‘The Irish Times’ among many other prestigious newspapers shouted out that she’d get my letter of reference to me on Monday. She’s a member of the Hollywood Foreign Press and a Harvard scholar. I reckon with Augusten’s letter, Patricia’s letter, the others I have and one from Tracey who’s won eight Emmys and countless other awards, I could be elected Pope, let alone get a Green Card.

Dances with wolves

2009-02-11T16:41:00.000-08:00

For the first time in seven years, my hairdresser didn’t ask me to remind him which side I part my hair. Then I went The Omelet Parlor for lunch where I’ve been ordering two poached eggs on a toasted English muffin for almost ten years and was finally greeted as a favorite and regular customer.

I was so excited at the possibility that I might actually matter that I stepped outside my comfort zone and ordered the chicken tacos. And very nice they were too.

The next day it was off to the ER set on the Warner Brothers lot in Burbank where Eric La Salle and Noah Wylie (Drs Benton and Carter) were filming their scenes in this the final series of my all time favorite TV drama.

John Wells, the Executive Producer of the show wrote and directed this episode. I was sat right behind him with his wife - my great friend, Marilyn. I had my own director’s chair and set of headphones.

For one glorious moment I thought I was going the week before when Gorgeous George was filming his guest appearance on the show that made him famous but it was a closed set for the obvious reason that women like me might try and touch him. The fact remains: I am one degree of separation from George Clooney and not a lot of people can say that.

The final edit of The Making Of Plus One is in post production in Toronto. The plan is to get our little movie into the Cannes Film Festival in May. Even if it isn’t accepted into the festival (as if!), Mary McGuckian has booked a theatre in Cannes so it WILL be premiered there. Incidentally, the full title of the movie about trying to get my book made into a film is The Making Of Plus One Starring Kate Winslet, Cate Blanchett and George Clooney.

The Making Of Plus One… sets things up nicely for a film actually based on my book. Wouldn’t it be amazing if art imitates life and Kate, Cate and George star in it? My hope is that there’s a big enough buzz about The Making Of Plus One… that a big studio will come knocking and want to option my book then commission a script based on it. I’ll whip out my screenplay and say: “Here’s one I prepared earlier!” and laugh all the way to the bank.

The Cannes Film Festival is very conveniently around the same time as our Dad’s 80^th birthday so Julia, Marley and I have already booked our flights to London. Julia may not make it to Cannes as she’s been invited to sing at The Blue Note in Japan for real money. Julia asked me to go with her to Japan from England to help with Marley while she sings two shows a night for five nights. Sorry, Sis, I’m going to Cannes! My daughter is first reserve to go to Japan instead of me.

Just when you think life can’t get any better, I returned home from the ER set to learn the joyous news that some outstanding invoices that Colin and I had abandoned all hope would be paid, have been paid.

As I gazed out our bedroom window at the full moon, I saw the metaphorical circling wolves, looked them firmly in the eyes and said: “Not this time mother fuckers.”

Bum's rush

2009-01-14T11:34:00.000-08:00

I’ve been trying to kick my caffeine habit for a couple of years. I gave up tea and switched to coffee, one cup in the morning, but it seems to be enough caffeine to keep me awake for hours at night. The chance to spend a week house-sitting on my favorite street in Santa Monica where I used to live with Julia seemed the ideal opportunity to eat nothing but healthy food and drink no alcohol or coffee. Cold turkey. I’d have my own creative space as well. Brilliant.

Colin would be just up the road in our apartment and we could meet for dinner. But the best laid plans… the fridge in my holiday home was full of fancy cakes left over from a party. There were three bottles of expensive wine with a note attached: “Please enjoy these.” One of the bottles was open with just an inch missing. It was too tempting. I’d start again the next day.

On the first morning, I stepped onto the porch and bent down to pick up the newspaper, forgetting the cord was broken on my favorite baggy pyjamas. The bottoms fell down around my ankles just as the front door closed behind me, locking me out. I finally found a neighbor who had a spare key. “We’ve missed you on the street,” he said.

I did get some writing done and think I’ve finally waved goodbye to the bean and the leaf. Now it’s back to reality. Colin and I are owed over $20,000 in unpaid invoices and the wolves are closing in.

Happy New Year!

2009-01-05T15:16:00.000-08:00

I tried to shake it up a bit this/last Christmas Day and spend the day with friends but Julia was quite devastated that Colin and I could even consider not spending the day with her, Marley Rose, Arthur and his parents - Russian Armenians who are quite the nicest couple in the world but insist on calling me Clara and Colin, Kevin.

We did have a lovely day. I cooked, with Julia as my lovely young assistant. Then it was our traditional Brits Boxing Day bash for 30 ex pats who like a bit of cold meat and a baked potato.

I was very happy to see the last of the holiday ham on Friday. I think I did well to keep it interesting for five nights in a row.

Mia had flown back to freezing cold, wet London to spend Christmas Day with friends. She bitterly regretted her decision and has been wearing three pairs of socks since her return. Max is still thriving in Fiji. No socks required there.

It was great to have Mia in LA for three weeks in December, not least because she paid for her own ticket this time. She was sunbathing here. IN DECEMBER!! Sorry to rub it in.

The year has started off brilliantly for me. Some friends have offered us their fabulous house in Santa Monica while they enjoy a last minute skiing trip to Utah. I so need some creative space to myself. It's hard for me to write now that Colin works from home as well.

I spoke to my literary agent this morning and he really likes my new book proposal. He said he knows a couple of editors he thinks will find it wonderful. I'm calling it "The One." It's a sort of sequel to Plus One about Colin and I getting back together after 25 years. We both kept our love letters from that time and they will be interspersed throughout the book. It hasn't been an easy journey so there's plenty of drama and conflict to keep the publisher happy and lots of funny stuff too.

I've seen the first assembly (or rough edit) of The Making Of Plus One...movie and it's terrific. Really. Very funny and a wonderful insight as to how hard it is to get a movie made. The plan is for the film to be premiered at the next Cannes Film Festival in May. And it's Dad's 80th birthday at the end of April so everything is falling into place for a trip to Europe. Julia is planning some gigs in England too. Well, her manager is.

Here's to a happy, healthy and wealthy 2009!

Stoned Love

2008-12-10T11:09:00.000-08:00

The day started off so well. I had beaten Tracey at tennis for only the third time in eight years. I was driving home with a smug grin on my face when the call came through that Colin was writhing on the floor in agony.

A trip to the ER revealed that he was not, as we at first thought, having a baby but trying to pass a kidney stone. As we don’t have medical insurance, I am sure you will understand that my main concern was not Colin’s health, but the desperate hope that this trip to an American hospital did not bankrupt us.

I was all too painfully aware that one uninsured friend ran up a bill for tens of thousands of dollars following a two-day stay in hospital with kidney stones. Another acquaintance is fighting a $46,000 bill for his stepson’s 24-hour hospital stint following a burst appendix.

The doctor in Marina Del Rey’s ER recommended a CT scan to confirm his kidney stone diagnosis. ‘Is it absolutely necessary?’ I wondered, trying hard not to sound like a callous bitch. Apparently not, so we passed on that. But there was still the IV pumping much-needed painkillers and anti-nausea meds into my beloved. They don’t come cheap. I recall a hospital accountant insisting Julia write her a check for $1000 before they would give Marley IV fluids when she was desperately sick, and she’s insured up the wazoo.

I told Colin that I wouldn’t pay the bill when they handed it to us, but would fight it every step of the way over the next few days. You can’t escape the hospital without passing the “discharge” lady. I had broken out into a cold sweat. Couldn’t Colin hobble faster?

As the stone-faced discharge lady handed me the bill, I mused how I could always sell a kidney to pay for it. Deep joy. A very reasonable $350 ($200 for the doctor, $150 for the hospital and drugs).

This morning, Colin successfully and painlessly passed the kidney stone. We have named it Tarquin. Father and son are both doing well.

Here’s a festive photo of my second-born decorating Julia’s Christmas tree. She’s living her dream and working in television comedy. My first-born is living and working in paradise, in Fiji. He’s doing marketing for a leisure company, www.tuitai.com.

To know your children are happy and healthy is the greatest gift. I wonder what Tarquin will be when he grows up?

Claire and Julia's excellent adventure

2008-11-12T10:52:00.000-08:00

After weeks of searching, Julia and I finally found something I could wear for The Making Of Plus One shoot in the south of

France

. Colin thought it looked like an overall, but I prefer to think of it as a classic shirt dress in the style of Yves Saint Laurent - something Catherine Deneuve might wear to lunch. Dark blue, as it’s slimming, and long sleeves to cover my arms that have lost their youthful tone.

Director Mary McGuckian likes her actors to improvise their scenes rather than work from a script, so there was plenty of opportunity to interject and get my face on camera. A particularly hilarious scene had Julia teaching the brilliant Jennifer Tilly one of her songs, which Jennifer proceeded to murder. Another great scene was when Geraldine Chaplin, who plays the casting director and voice coach, gave Jennifer’s character elocution lessons. From left to right: me, Sarah Stockbridge who plays the scriptwriter, Mary McGuckian, Suzan Lori Parks who plays the director, Julia and Jennifer Tilly.

From where I was sitting, it felt like we have a very funny little film on our hands. Now it’s all down to the editing. The plan is to get it premiered in Cannes 2009 (May). Fingers and toes are crossed.

Everyone on the shoot was an absolute star. We adored our make-up artists, Suzanne and Trish. Mary should make a movie about Trish, who lives a most exciting life that includes four lovers. “A lot of men like older, larger ladies,” she says. Here's Trish with Antonin.

When Antonin, the set runner, popped his head in the Hair and Make-up room and asked if the Fordham sisters could be on set in twenty minutes, Trish replied: “These are hands, not wands.” That has become our favorite phrase; Julia and I try to say it at least five times a day. Following this amazing shoot, Julia and I flew back to London, picked up my daughter, Mia, then drove to Hayling Island for a few days with Mum and Dad. Here we are after a wonderful meal at Hayling Golf Club, one of the few genuine links courses on the south coast of England. Dad's president of the club, founded in 1883.

I dropped Julia at the airport at dawn’s crack and had an extra week in London sorting out my visa at the US embassy and spending time with Mia. There weren’t enough hours in the days to see all the friends I’d have liked.

Highlight of the week in London was going to see The Allan Carr Show being recorded. Mia works on the show as a runner. I was so proud of her. She wore a headset and looked very important indeed. I’m going to get her a clipboard for Christmas. There is no greater joy than seeing your children happy, healthy and living their dream. Mia assured me I didn’t embarrass her when I asked a man in the Green Room after the show what he did and he said he was the executive producer, but she’d have much preferred it if I hadn’t brought my Primark carrier bag backstage (bargain pyjamas for Marley Rose). Mia was working in the production office on Monday and Allan Carr asked her if I got back to LA safely. Isn’t that nice?

I took Gareth, the onset wardrobe supervisor from The Making Of Plus One, with me as my Plus One to The Alan Carr Show recording. Then Gareth took me as his guest to the new Soho House club in Shoreditch where we watched the US Presidential election unfold. A perfect day. Here's Gareth with the costume designer, Sally.

It’s been two and a half years since I was in London. I had forgotten how bloody cold, wet and grey it is. LA certainly feels like the best place to live. France was cold and wet too. And everyone smokes! Have they not heard that smoking stinks and it kills you?

Another highlight was going with top mate Sue Turton to The Fairy Tale Ball at Home House. The costumes were amazing. Sue and I traipsed around London looking for something suitable for me to wear. I decided to go as a fairy godmother and found all the accessories I needed at the Disney store. A terrific night of champagne, dancing and excellent nibbles to celebrate the club’s 10^th anniversary. You too could be a member for just 1500 quid a year. My camera ran out of battery so I didn’t get any good photos of the event. I’ll get one from Sue later.

It was an incredible trip, but I’m glad to be back in LA. Mum was sad when I told her, but LA feels like home, especially now Barack Obama has been elected president.

I can’t wait to see Julia again as I have a most excellent visual gag. I shall rummage in my Disney carrier bag, pull out two purchases and say: “These are wands, not hands.”

Custom built

2008-10-20T10:50:00.000-07:00

There was no sign of the recession at Galpin Auto Sports in Van Nuys, California when some 2,000 guests partied the night away at a star-studded bash that cost a whopping $3 million, according to a man sat at our table. Most of the event was sponsored and several local charities benefited.

Galpin – the most successful Ford dealership in the world - was launching its vehicle customization facility. Husband Colin was there covering the event for the LA Times auto website. I was there as his plus one.

Fuelled by Absolut vodka, with food by Wolfgang Puck, I danced (I use the word loosely) to Xzibit and the excellent Camp Freddy, with Dave Navarro on guitar, acting as house band for special guests Macy Gray, Mark McGrath, Steve Jones, Slash, Cypress Hill and the Prince of Darkness himself, Ozzy Osbourne.

Sporting a new facelift, Ozzy sent the crowd wild. He wasn’t the best singer of the night by a long shot. That was Mark McGrath. No spring chicken himself, but looking and sounding great, Mark acknowledged Botox for helping to keep him in the game. In his case, it’s not Botox, but talent.

My feeling is that a nip and tuck is preferable over Botox. There’s something just plain wrong about putting that poison in your face. Trouble is, once some people start on Botox’s slippery slope, they can end up with the frozen features of Michelle Tuzee, who reads the news for ABC, Desperate Housewife Marcia Cross and NBC’s Andrea Mitchell.

Of course, a face can be lifted too many times, see Michael Jackson and Joan Rivers, but I’m saving up for a one-off mini face lift where the jowls are lifted just a fraction (Moira knows someone who had it done for $4,000 in her lunch hour and looks great) and liposuction.

When one is on camera, one has a responsibility to look one’s best. Yes, dear reader, the plane tickets have arrived. It’s really happening. Julia and I are off to France next weekend to play ourselves in “The Making of Plus One,” a Pembridge Pictures film in association with Invited Guest Productions and Scion Films.

Julia has just returned from a triumphant mini-tour of the East Coast where she received a standing ovation halfway through the set after she sang one of her classics, Towerblock. The last in this run of gigs is Wednesday (October 22) in LA at the Catalina Jazz Club. The next day, she’ll be recording a sketch for Tracey Ullman’s “State of the Union” which will leave her 24 hours to wash her undies before we fly to France for the movie, then England to see Mum, Dad and my daughter.

I’ll be away for three weeks and won’t be taking my laptop with me, but when I get back I’ll fill you in on all the juicy details. A big “thank you” to Allison from Glagow for sending me these two clips of Julia and me when we were guests on Tracey Ullman’s “Visible Panty Line” in 2002.

Screen gems

2008-10-13T10:11:00.000-07:00

My gal-pal Kara Noble and I took the incredible Catherine Tate to see “Burn After Reading” last week, which we all thoroughly enjoyed. The latest movie from the Coen brothers was so much better than the trailer suggested - great writing, terrific acting and a welcome chance to see gorgeous George on the big screen. His beard didn’t move my meter, but his acting and comic timing didn’t disappoint.

Then it was back to Catherine’s hotel for a cocktail. She was here for some “meetings.” I wonder if the septic tanks (Cockney rhyming slang for yanks) will get her humor. I hope so. For those unfamiliar with her work, here’s a link to a YouTube clip featuring one of her most popular characters, Lauren.

Sometimes our humor doesn’t translate. American critics aren’t loving “Little Britain USA.” Brian Lowry said in Variety: “The American version of ‘Little Britain’ shares several traits with Showtime’s Tracey Ullman sketch comedy ‘State of the Union,’ yet virtually every comparison proves unflattering to the new HBO series. Whereas Ullman’s comedy is clever, ‘Little Britain USA’ is mostly just crude, reveling in mock condescension toward American stereotypes. Ullman plays multiple gender-swapping characters, but with more panache than the chameleon-like David Walliams and Matt Lucas. And Ullman's hit-miss ratio is simply higher, making the slog through ‘Britain’s’ gooey swamp to find laughs feel more arduous.” That’s my girl.

I’ve been catching up on my season premieres. I’m sticking with “Mad Men” because everyone else I know thinks it’s brilliant (in my book, it’s just pretty good). I’m so glad to have my weekly fix of “Entourage” back. Love it. And “House” rarely disappoints. But surely the best drama is “ER.” If there is any justice (which there usually isn’t), come awards season, “ER” should pick up the Emmy and Golden Globe for Best Drama. Not for sentimental reasons - because this is its last season - but because it is so deserving. I defy anyone not to be moved by Dr. Pratt’s heartbreaking death. Superb acting from Mekhi Phifer.

I refuse to give up on my quest to find a quirky, camera-friendly, dog breeder for my TV show idea. The first one I found did not pass the audition. My co-producer didn’t even bother getting the camera out of his bag. I have much to learn about the world of reality television.

Cinema Purgatorio

2008-10-06T10:47:00.000-07:00

It’s said there’s no such thing as coincidence. I’m not sure what the cosmos is trying to tell me about the Goss brothers, but Julia and I bumped into Luke at the Chateau Marmont last weekend. He was there having meetings with film makers who see him as a hot property after his success in Hellboy II. He told us he has five films in the pipeline. And he’s still happily married to singer Shirley Lewis after 22 years. We love stories like that, don’t we, ladies?

In Hollyweird, the more meetings you have, the more successful you are. It felt good to be having a meeting of our own with Mary McGuckian. She told us our movie looked a tad vulnerable last week, because of that pesky global financial crisis. The head of media at her main bank even said that the staff wasn’t able to make international calls for a while. I won’t mention the name of the bank, for fear of causing a run on it and losing our funding.

She said we won’t be getting our plane tickets to France until the week before we fly out, so I should stop worrying that it won’t happen. That’s easy for her to say. In the next breath, she informed me that I’ve been dropped from a scene due to time constraints, so shan’t be needed for the first two days of the shoot after all.

On a positive note, she did say that people who’ve seen the edited footage think it’s terrific and the movie will be a hit (she would say that, wouldn’t she?), and then we can make the movie based on Plus One, then a sequel and call it Plus Two. Actually, I said, the sequel’s called Plus One More. Or maybe Claire Fordham and the Goblet of Fire.

It would be grand if The Making of Plus One is a hit, because the option for Plus One has reverted to me. The conflict in The Making of… centers on whether it’s going to be a small, independent movie or a big studio picture starring Cate Blanchett and Kate Winslet. How ironic and brilliant it would be (for me and my descendants) if The Making of… is a smash and, when the film based on my book is made, that there’s a similar conflict. Kind of art imitating art.

Julia and I had a little disagreement as to which Cate/Kate would play her and me. Mary made a note to use that conflict in this film. I had to concede that Cate Blanchett would have to eat a lot more cake if she wants to play me.

Driving home, I was fantasizing about the film version of my book. Luke Goss could play Julia’s boyfriend. And instead of being a sound engineer (as he is in the book), we’ll make him a drummer in her band, so we can get in some drummer jokes. By the time it gets made, Dakota Fanning and Abigail Breslin will be playing Julia and me with Cate Blanchett as our mother.

Never give up

2008-09-30T12:25:00.000-07:00

It was like old times for Julia and me. Here we were, at a 40^th birthday bash for Matt Goss. I can’t remember the last time we went on a girls’ night out. The party was amazing. A hip and happening disco (I realize the fact that I just wrote the words disco, hip and happening means I’m not), great food - British fodder like fish and chips, bangers and mash, and mushy peas - endless champagne and a sensational cake surrounded by Cadbury’s Flakes. A truly top night. Just 100 of Matt’s closest friends.

Being 40 isn’t so bad when you have a gorgeous fiancée who adores you, a great house, a new album coming out, drive a Maserati and only look 25. Matt’s mum was there, but not his identical twin, Luke (who was celebrating their big four-oh quietly in Palm Springs). It’s wonderful that the Goss brothers are still in the game after more than 20 years.

Julia’s busy preparing for her next tour to promote her jazz album, China Blue. Click onto www.juliafordham.com for details. And we’re looking set to go to France on October 24^th for The Making Of Plus One movie. I have a meeting with Mary McGuckian this week to hear the latest, so, all in all, I musn’t grumble. Fingers crossed the current financial woes aren’t affecting our movie. She’s invited all the cast to the Chateau Marmont for lunch this weekend. I doubt she’d do that if she had bad news.

When will I be famous?

2008-09-26T15:00:00.000-07:00

I was thrilled that Brian Cranston won the Emmy for best actor in a drama series. Especially as I said I was rooting for him when we met at a party the day before the ceremony. It was plain wrong that he always missed out on ‘best actor in a comedy’ for
Malcolm In The Middle, where he played the dad so brilliantly. His victory was a jewel in an ocean of shit. The ceremony’s opening 12 minutes with the five reality show hosts was possibly the worst television ever seen.

At the same party, I saw my old chum, Matt Goss, who invited Julia and me to his 40th birthday bash. Funnily enough, I recently bumped into Matt’s identical twin, Luke, at LAX when we were dropping Mum and Dad off. I made the mistake of calling him Matt, but he still gave us his email address and said let’s do dinner. By most accounts, Luke was the best thing about Hellboy II. And I saw him in a Cadillac TV ad recently.

I remember interviewing them both for Sky News back in the day, in a helicopter flying them to a Radio One roadshow on Weymouth beach. There have been rumblings in the press about a reunion of the great Bros, the first and, in my opinion, best boy band.
I think my first-ever ‘plus one’ event was going with Julia to their after-show party following a Wembley Arena gig. Or was it Wembley Stadium? Anyhoo, it was at a fab house in Queen’s Gate and my first taste of the high life.

I asked Matt what I should wear to the party. “Something sexy,” he answered. I explained that I don’t do sexy, so we decided I could sit in the corner with his mum. Matt’s fiancée, Daisy Fuentes, is hosting the party. Now she is sexy.

Julia is on a roll right now. This morning she was booked to appear with Vonda Shepherd in a sketch for Tracey Ullman’s State of the Union. And The Late Late Show with Craig Ferguson want her to appear in November, date to be confirmed. That’ll be after we fly back from France where we will be playing ourselves in The Making Of Plus One movie.

Tracey has also asked my pal, former top model Debbie Brett, to be in a sketch. I made a bit of a twit of myself when I played Tracey at tennis last week. “How come you’ve asked everyone I know to be in your show except for me?” I said. “Because,” she replied, “you can’t sing. And you’re not five-ten and thin.” Fair point, well made.

Being Somebody

2008-09-18T15:38:00.000-07:00

The trouble with having an authentic relationship with your sister is that when you ask her to read your work and say what she really thinks, she will. Julia read my script based on my memoir, Plus One: A Year In The Life Of A Hollywood Nobody, and told me that, while she thinks it’s very funny, it needs a couple more scenes to give it humanity and depth. But it really is very good and I’m almost there but I do need to go back in again because very good isn’t great and it needs to be great, she says.

Which is why I was still under the duvet in the fetal position and sucking my thumb when the picture desk from The Mail On Sunday’s You magazine called from London to set up a photo shoot with the brilliant Mimi Haddon for a picture of me to accompany the article I’ve done for them about the myth of the empty nest.

I’ve also found some dogs and owners for my reality TV show pilot. Even though the producer is too busy to return my emails and phone calls to set up a shoot, I have done what was asked of me.

Mary McG’s producer has emailed confirmation that Julia and I will be needed in the south of bloody France on October 27th where we will be playing ourselves in a proper movie with a proper budget and that our business class tickets will be sorted any day. Julia says she won’t believe it until we’re sitting on the plane.

People of a nervous disposition might also be concerned that director Mary McG could be run over by a bus before the shoot, but I take comfort that because this is a proper movie, the insurers insist that another director be signed up to take over in case of accident or death of Mary McG. In this instance, Jim Sheridan (My Left Foot/In The Name Of The Father/In America) is first reserve.

I’ve been wondering for some time if, because I describe myself as a Hollywood Nobody, it has become a self fulfilling prophecy. To this end, and because this has actually been a very good week for me in Hollywierd: I’m gonna be in a movie film, inspired by my blinkin’ book, and my friend Marilyn asked me if I wanted to go with her to the ER set (my favorite TV show of all time; where I first gazed upon the gorgeousness of George Clooney), I shall henceforth be known as a Hollywood Somebody.

Must dash as I have a script that only needs two more scenes to make it great.

There's no business...

2008-09-11T14:39:00.000-07:00

I finally gave up waiting for the TV producer to answer my emails and asked to see him face to face. He told me over lunch that before he talks to his agent in detail about my TV show idea we need to decide what it’s REALLY about. He hadn’t even read my previous emails as he’s been so busy working on another show. Just the six weeks wasted.

So we thrashed out some ideas which he told me to write up and now we need to get something on tape. All I need to do is find four dogs with camera friendly owners who want to be on TV.

I can’t go into detail about the program idea because one of you might steal it. This business we call show is a dog eat dog world and I have been advised to trust no one.

Then Mary McG called to say she’s been ill and needs to put the second round of filming for The Making of Plus One movie back until October 25^th. I resisted the temptation to say “nothing trivial I hope.”

As Julia reminded me, it takes a Herculean effort to make any creative project happen and then survive the process.

I’ll be under the duvet, in a fetal position and sucking my thumb if you need me. In the meantime, here’s a brief promo of what’s been shot so far of The Making Of Plus One movie.

Let's Get Physical

2008-08-23T07:06:00.000-07:00

No matter how much tennis I play and how many cakes and chips I don’t eat, I am still piling on the pounds. I’m no longer a voluptuous goddess and definitely a tad on the chunky side. This is especially depressing as I have to be ready for my close-up on September 19th in the south of bloody France, when I shall be playing the role of me in The Making of Plus One movie.

As we all know, the camera is a cruel beast that adds ten pounds, so there’s a danger people will start lumping me in with Kirstie Alley once they see me on celluloid. I treated my Woman Child’s unhelpful and ridiculous suggestion that I join Overeaters Anonymous with the contempt it deserved. She wasn’t joking. That’s her pictured with me. She’s the young, beautiful, slim one on the right.

Desperate times call for desperate measures. Confucius, he say: when the student is ready, the teacher will appear. So it came as no surprise that, while loading a tumble dryer in the communal laundry room at Mariner’s Village, my gaze should fall upon the flyer pinned on the notice board, inviting me to join Kim’s boot camp, three days a week from 8 until 9am, at the beach end of our road.

Colin dragged himself out of bed to come with me. I enjoyed it much more than he did. He has a bad shoulder and dodgy knees and couldn’t keep up with the rest of us. He was singled out for “special” attention. He was given his own “easy” exercises to do, away from the main pack. He’s not a morning person, so what with being sleep deprived and getting “the special-needs kid” treatment, I doubt he’ll be coming again. But I am on a mission. If this doesn’t work, I’ll be dusting off the credit card and buying myself some liposuction, or lipo-sculpture as they call it these days.

It’s been a while since my last visual gag, but I was inspired by the Beijing Olympic gymnasts to scrape my hair back into a ponytail held in place with twenty assorted pins, don a swimming costume and perform a floor routine in front of the telly box for Colin. He was suitably impressed, but insisted my last visual gag was even better.

A few months back, I conveyed the passing of Marcel Marceau in mime, which Colin found quite brilliant. Whichever one of us logs onto our computer first will report to the other the latest celeb to pop their clogs. This week, we announced (with due respect and reverence)… Bernie Mac: gone. Isaac Hayes: gone.

The best visual gag ever was many years ago, when my parents were looking after a friend’s piano. We heard banging on the keys and rushed in to see what was going on. Dad was sat there bollock naked, à la Monty Python, beaming at us over his shoulder. Mum was not amused, which made it even funnier.

On a serious note, the opening ceremony at the Beijing Olympics was absolutely astonishing and brilliant, and I doubt I will ever see the likes of it again. Well, I can because we Tivo’d it, but you know what I mean. I get goose bumps just thinking about it. Tracey and I were raving about it in between tennis shots. She said you can imagine the organizing committee for the 2012 Olympics in London in panic, saying: “I don’t think Elton John is going to be enough.”

No news on the reality TV show, but no worries. I re-read The Secret after boot camp and have asked the cosmos to handle it. I believe and I’m waiting to receive.

An Englishwoman’s home is her chateau

2008-08-06T02:28:00.000-07:00

Apologies for the radio silence, but my Woman Child has been visiting and monopolizing the computer. If she’s not on Facebook, she’s playing poker online. Not for money, thankfully, otherwise she’d been down $385,000.

This trip has been much better than her Christmas visit. She decided to give up smoking as she boarded the plane for Los Angeles and, frankly, was pretty unbearable to be around for the month of her stay. She started smoking again as soon as she got back to London.

As those of you who have read my book, Plus One, can attest, I detest smoking, but am so grateful to have a happy, reasonable Woman Child that I’ve placed an ashtray on the balcony and haven’t moaned or groaned once when she and the Man Child go outside for a smoke. Nor have I said: “it stinks and it kills you.”

They really have been a joy. Here they are just about to set off to Santa Barbara, on their first road trip since the Man Child passed his driving test. They had a grand time, apart from getting badly sunburned. Of course I told them to cover themselves in sun tan lotion and wear a hat. Don’t get me started…

I hoped to report that the reality show has already been snapped up by a network or cable TV station, but my producing partners have yet to connect with their agent to discuss the pitch, what with him being head of worldwide television at William Morris and getting up at 4.30am every day to answer 300 emails. Patience is a virtue I’m going to have to acquire. This business we call show is not good for the health. I’m told things will get even more stressful if/when it actually gets bought. Then I really will be on the verge of insanity.

Mary McG (director/producer of The Making of Plus One) invited Julia and me to join her and some other guests at the Chateau Marmont. A few tables away, Daniel Craig was having dinner with Joel Schumacher. Ellen Barkin wandered around, chatting with various people and looking absolutely stunning in turquoise. She was immaculate – great hair, great everything. And her body. She must have been surgically enhanced. She’s in her mid-fifties and looks twenty years younger.

Amanda Plummer was at our table (I saw Amanda a few weeks back at The Catalina Bar & Grill, a jazz club on Sunset, and introduced myself, knowing she was going to be in the film. I told her Julia and I were going to be playing ourselves and she kept introducing me to people as Claire Fordham, the actress. I love this town). She’s playing the production accountant in The Making Of movie. I’ve seen the rushes of what’s been shot so far and they look terrific. Phew.

Anyway, because Amanda moved along to chat with Mary McG and Lothaire Bluteau (a dead ringer for Colin Farrell) who’s also in the movie, there was nowhere else for Jim and Fran Sheridan to sit when they arrived, so they sat with Julia and me and are our new BFFs. Jim (My Left Foot/In The Name Of The Father/In America) Sheridan! Other diners kept coming over to shake Jim’s hand.

Jim asked me if I spoke any Gaelic. Apparently, he and Fran start talking in their mother tongue when they want to gossip about someone nearby. I told him I only knew “feck off.” He nearly fell off his fecking chair.

One of Jim and Fran’s daughters directed August Rush. Jim reckons she’s a better director than both himself and Neil Jordan. I’ve put her on my director wish list for the movie actually based on Plus One. Jim can produce it if he likes.

A couple of days later, we were at another event. Lorna Luft (Judy Garland’s other daughter) was in attendance, talking about her godfather Frank and how much she missed him and dear Sammy. Don’t we all?

The main reason for going, though, was for a reunion of sorts. Pictured at the party are my husband Colin, Julia and Michelle Collins, all of whom were in Mari Wilson’s (centre) band, The Wilsations. Mari is still a singing sensation and looking great 25 years on. Michelle left The Wilsations before they hit the big time and went on to be Cindy Beale in EastEnders. I embarrassed my Woman Child by calling Michelle ‘Cindy’ a couple of times. It’s easily done.

Here’s Mari singing a couple of her hits. Colin is playing bass behind her and Julia is one of the backing singers. Enjoy.

Clean round the bend

2008-07-10T04:26:00.000-07:00

Desperate times call for desperate measures and there’s something very grounding about cleaning someone else’s toilet. Hold that thought.

A dear friend who has an apartment just up the road in Santa Monica asked me to arrange for Consuela to clean his place after he left for Europe. He’d left $70 on the dining room table.

As Consuela was already booked up, I donned my rubber gloves and got stuck in. The 70 bucks would come in handy. I did a grand job, though I say it myself, including the skirting boards which, for some reason, Consuela insists on ignoring, despite repeated requests and a demonstration.

I called my friend and told him I’d cleaned the apartment and used my initiative and chucked out the old framed album cover with broken glass I’d noticed lying around. He nearly had a coronary. And so did I when he told me it was a signed LP by Marvin Gaye and worth a fortune - which is why I was found rummaging around in the garbage skip by security. My self esteem is at rock bottom, but at least I retrieved the album cover and spent my $70 having it re-framed, even though I didn’t break it in the first place.

I went home and lay on the sofa for an hour to recover from the physical labor and stress.

The sweeping, vacuuming and polishing had taken its toll on my poor back and I’m afraid I was unable to get up from the couch without help. There’s something strangely fascinating about living as a “nobody” in Los Angeles among those who have “arrived.” My day went from mopping floors to pissing with the big boys in a flash.

I somehow found the energy and the inclination to put the finishing touches to my screenplay which, thanks to some superb notes from my friend, Sheran James, is in bloody good shape. I don’t want to give too much away, in case some fucktard (my new favorite word – thanks Mary) steals my idea, but it ends with the heroine getting her own TV show. I came up with a good premise for the show and when I’d written it into the script, I thought: hang on a minute, that’s a great idea for a real TV show. So I told the TV Producer (from Plus One). He has a proper production company and is repped by William Morris. He called it “brilliant.” His big-time agent agrees.

He said I can be an executive producer, have a production job on the show, and he’ll split the profits and producer fees. He’ll start pitching it to the networks in two weeks, when he gets back from Sweden. I shall endeavor to be patient.

The Power of Intention

2008-06-24T14:33:00.000-07:00

Here’s my idea of a perfect weekday:

9am: Wave Colin off to work.
9.05am: Meditate and give thanks for my life of health, wealth, love, and happiness.
10am: Tennis with Tracey.
11.30am: Shower.
12.30pm: Meet Julia or someone else fun and fabulous for lunch.
2pm – 6pm: Write.
6-7pm: Cook dinner.
7.30pm: Welcome Colin home.
7.35pm: Eat and exchange pleasantries with Colin.
8.15pm: A stroll around the marina with Colin to aid digestion.
9 - 11pm: Watch TV (if we can find anything decent) or a movie.
11pm: Ablutions.
11.10pm: Read.
11.30pm: Fall into a deep, undisturbed sleep.

Because I have absolute faith that my script or sitcom will get picked up for an absolute fortune one day soon, I haven’t had any feelings of guilt over Colin earning more than me since we got married (almost two years ago) and has had a hideous daily commute. Actually, I have felt bad about the commute, which is why I always have a delicious meal ready for him at the end of every day and welcome him home with a cheery smile and happy disposition.

Today was the first day of Colin being a freelance journalist working from home. I didn’t arrange a tennis game as I didn’t want him to think that I’m not sat at my computer -- all day, every day -- writing.

Colin has six articles to complete before he flies to Vermont tomorrow for a car launch. I have no commissions this week. I started the day by calling my parents to check there isn’t a trust fund with my name on that they haven’t mentioned. No. I told Colin I had to pop out and went and bought a lottery ticket.

I then sat at my desk and pretended I was working on my script while Colin typed ferociously. I peered over his shoulder a couple of times in the hope of catching him looking at guitar porn instead of writing his blog for the LA Times, but no such luck.

Colin called me to the bathroom and asked me to show him how I flushed the toilet.

“You’re kidding me, right?”

Colin believes there is something wrong with my flushing technique, which would explain why, after I use the facilities, the toilet often keeps on flushing and he must venture into the cistern to sort it out.

I refused.

I forgot that Consuela comes every other Monday. Today was her day. I suggested to Colin that we go out to lunch so we aren’t bothered by the noise and consumed by the guilt of watching her clean up our mess.

As we parked the car outside The Omelette Parlor, I closed the car door using the same gentle action as always. Colin asked me not to slam the door so hard every time. And then, as I ate my poached egg on a toasted English muffin (the cheapest thing on the menu, by the way), Colin wondered if we really needed a cleaner.

Sometimes words aren’t necessary. My icy glare said it all.

Highlight of the day -- apart from coming home to a spotlessly clean apartment with freshly laundered sheets and towels -- was my sister giving me this mug.

Gutted

2008-06-14T04:35:00.000-07:00

I am so happy and grateful I am not the German lady who went into hospital for a minor operation on her leg and woke up from the anesthesia to discover the surgeon had removed her anus.

That said, I have been bitterly disappointed that the second phase of filming for ‘The Making Of Plus One’ movie inspired by my book has been put back until September. I had put all my financial eggs in that basket and won’t get my desperately needed fee for use of title until then, or when the second round of funding has been secured. And let’s not forget my, ahem, acting fee and all-expenses-paid trip to the south of bloody France.

So I was doubly devastated to discover that, after a 36-hour, stress-induced, gastric flu bug during which I ate not a crumb and puked and pooed my guts up and out, I had GAINED two pounds.

Then, having crawled out of bed to pay online the first installment on our new, second car that Colin thought/ thinks was a huge mistake, I suggested (OK, insisted) to Colin that he ask the boss at the magazine group (which is his main gig and pays our rent, and most other bills) for a wage rise.

Colin wasn’t sure this was such a good idea. The media industry is struggling at the moment and people are being laid off right, left and center. So perhaps it would be better to continue working hard, keep his head down and hope ‘the suits’ don’t notice him, especially as they’ve already taken back his company car (hence our new one, so he could get to work), stopped his gas allowance and laid off other people.

I told him he should have a higher opinion of himself, and of his editing and writing skills (that are universally acknowledged); that the company NEEDS him. He single-handedly copy edits two magazines a month and writes for them too. He is indispensible.

So he asked. Result? Two weeks’ notice.

Colin did not suggest I get off my fat, lazy ass and get a job myself so we are not evicted from our wonderful apartment, but my sister and children did. Excuse me while I’m physically sick for a moment.

Sorry about that. Julia came round to console me and I gave her the present I bought her (when I thought we could afford it): a beautiful, over-priced, mug by her favorite potter with ‘I Am A Great Singer’ hand-painted on it. Luckily, I didn’t buy myself the one with ‘I Am A Great Writer’ though I was sorely tempted, I can tell you.

Julia and I mused about life’s strange pageant and recalled some of our lowest points over the years. Where we doubted we’d ever emerge smiling, but, of course, we did. We concluded that while life can be challenging at times, there are great bits and we have enjoyed more than most.

Not least the unbelievable bread we were currently enjoying toasted and smothered in real butter, plus my favorite jam (Bonne Maman, Wild Blueberry). The bread was made by Luba (Marley’s paternal grandmother) who, by the way, was ethnically cleansed from her beautiful home in Azerbaijan and fled to Moscow with her husband, two children, their passports and only the clothes they stood up in, feeling lucky to still be alive—unlike most of their friends and neighbors.

Our spirits were lifted further when we watched a re-run of ‘Classic Albums’ on VH1 featuring Stevie Wonder’s ‘Songs In The Key Of Life.’ I defy anyone to watch that episode and not be moved and inspired.

As the credits rolled, I heard my son’s key in the lock. He’d been house- and cat-sitting in Manhattan Beach for the month. His glorious, handsome, face beamed at us from the doorway: “Hello, family.”

“Where’s the case Colin lent you and why are you carrying your things in four brown paper bags?” I asked.

As he raised his hands high above his head, the handles broke and his clothes tumbled to the floor. “The cat pissed in it. I scrubbed and scrubbed the bag, but couldn’t get the smell out so I chucked it. MUMMY, I’M HOME!”