I knew Adam Lambert, my idol, was in the UK, and I knew he was making appearances in London, which I live about half an hour out, on the edge of. The only thing was, as of until the previous night, I had no idea where he was actually going to be.
Until the previous night, any likelihood of actually meeting him was superseded by the reality that I had no idea of where he was set to be or any idea of times where he would be there, so I’d literally just be wondering around London aimlessly until it got too cold to stand it any longer.
But then I’d been given the information I needed- a location, and most importantly, a time he as known to be there- 5pm, at the Heat Towers (where ever they are- ah, wait…) 189 Endeavour House, Sharftsbury Avenue. And so, I spent the best part of the night in what can only be described as an exhausted state of excited panic, where I lay for several hours just thinking/fantasising of all the wonderful, convoluted scenarios of actually meeting Adam Lambert and the Band that would obviously never happen, that I hadn’t even considered fantasising about before. Every so often, I’d dart out of bed in a catatonic stupor and add to my ever expanding list of what needed to be done before leaving tomorrow. Shame I forgot to add ‘pack everything’ to the list.
The oddest thing is, even then, I still had actually no definitive idea whether I was actually going to go ahead with this at all.
But I did know one thing- if I didn’t, I’d be regretting it- I’d never forgive myself from now until eternity. Even after the burning immediacy of this current obsession, if I didn’t take this perfect opportunity to actually meet this man that I have the utmost respect, admiration and awe for, when he was right here, in the most current of any of my obsessions (the others have always been after the fact- after the musical closed, after MJ’s death, in another country after the cast has moved on) then it would be something that I would regret for a very long time, even after the immediacy and passion for this obsession had passed.
So, the following morning, I woke up tired, exhausted, and late. I’d disabled my alarm- in the haze of my desperation to fall asleep, I’d decided that rest was more important than time.
I had spent the first part of the morning- or what was left out of the two hours prior to noon, in denial- casually researching travel plans, painting Adam’s mouth on my Varnish Painting (I’d intended to give it to him, but it wasn’t finished, so if I was gonna show it to him, he better have a mouth!)- just generally fixing up the ‘things to do’ jobs on my 3am to-do list. And the second part of the morning/afternoon? Spent in a blind panic.
I am very studious when it comes to planning trips- I work everything out, I have contingency plans, and I am generally very good at doing this myself. Throw back into the equation that I’m a twenty-four year old still/now living in my parents house, and you get a nightmare.
My dad seemed determined to do whatever was possible to set me in a blind panic- from announcing (whilst I was only wearing a nightgown) that we had a painter/decorator due to arrive in just under twenty minutes for which I was woefully ineptly dressed for, to announcing that I had ‘my priorities wrong’ when I was scrambling to put my pasta on first to cook whilst I dressed- as it’s the slow-cook stuff that takes double the time stated anyway, which set me into a blind, frenzied panic/anxiety attack to which he just kept complaining/arguing about to my mother, whilst she sorted my breakfast out for me. He also gave me helpful reminders, that I had absolutely no hope in hell of even actually seeing Mr Lambert- I’d just be standing around getting frozen, and the most I’d ever see would be just a glimpse at most as he jumps from his car and into the warmth of the building. Adding to the fact that when the painter actually came, it was half an hour before I needed to leave, and when I was running around like a blue-arsed fly trying to pack my bag (including discovering my phone was dead, I needed a small piece of something to protect my Varnish Painting, etc) , my parents were busy taking this painter round the house and chatting well into the time I was adamantly told I’d need to leave by- well, I was in a bit of a state!
I had five minutes to pack up my varnish painting in such a way that the glass it was painted on wasn’t going to shatter on me- yes, it’s happened before; and making sure that the casing wouldn’t touch the fresh varnish I had just applied that morning, spending the better part of an hour giving Mr Lambert a mouth!
I also happened to forget to pack anything I could give to Adam to sign, and any gadgets to keep myself entertained along the way- iPod or eReader. But I did however print off a copy my sketch drawing of him… on the wrong paper, and under the wrong quality settings. But it was okay, because I got the settings right for my Tommy Ratliff sketch!
Let me tell you one thing about London at this time of year. It’s bloody cold. We very seldom see snow, even though it often feels bloody well cold enough for it- we get snow one or two days per year, if you’re (un)lucky, and then the whole country grinds to a halt. The British don’t cope with snow very well, by the way. Luckily, we’re in one of those, bright sunshine, clear blue skies and bone-chillingly cold spells. For the most of winter, we generally get wet, damp, perilously dark clouds making you want to curl-up-in-bed or kill yourself spells.
I had dressed accordingly. I knew I was going to be waiting/standing around for a very long time. At least I got something right- that was a mercy. Hot drink in a flask might have been nice though!
The most bizarre thing is- I left the house, stepping into the car with this surreal state of calm. Everything that was done was done, the prelude was finished, I was on my way to London now. On my way to meet Adam Lambert!
DYING to hear the REST of the story!!! Your drawings are awesome!!!
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