I've been approached by a man who wants to know if I would be interested in writing Baywatch: the musical. I agree to discuss it
When I found out I was going to be working with David Schwimmer - more commonly known as Ross from Friends - I could barely contain myself. I was the most excited I've ever been about any job; it was a great part in Some Girl(s), a new play by Neil LaBute in the West End, and with an actor whom I hugely admired. I genuinely couldn't believe it. Not that I displayed any of this enthusiasm on the first day of rehearsals. I was so wary that everyone would see how ridiculously happy I was and that the producers might deem my behaviour inappropriate to the workplace. I was just dying to ask David about Friends, but I knew he was keen to move on from that, so I played it cool.
At one point, during an improvisation in our first rehearsal together, he pulled me down to sit on his lap. That really tested my resolve. It's quite tricky maintaining an icy exterior while you're hovering just above someone's lap, trying to take all your weight on your own legs for fear of them finding out how heavy you are. I mean, God forbid he should ever discover I'm not Jennifer Aniston.
The facade I adopted did well to keep me in check during those early days. But, two months down the line, I may have reached the point of no return. I've got a funny feeling I'm just being rude. It's as much as I can do to smile at the man. Any conversation we have off-stage is of a very cursory nature and all eye contact is well and truly kept to a minimum. And all because I was too embarrassed to let him know how great I think he is.
During rehearsals we are all asked to do publicity. Most of it, naturally, falls on David's shoulders. I do my bit, but I instinctively feel cautious about a request that comes in for myself and Saffron Burrows to do a photo shoot for a fashion magazine. I say no. The thought of posing for pictures clad in the latest trends fills me with panic. I'm not entirely sure what a fashionista is, but I'm fairly sure I'm not one. It's not that I'm not flattered to be asked, it's just that I'd rather scrub floors than do it. And I hate scrubbing floors.
Our company manager dismisses my refusal and assures me it will be fun.
The dreaded morning arrives, my heart starts racing and I feel sick. I look at the rails of designer evening gowns and decide that nothing is going to fit me. Everyone rides my tetchy negativity with good humour and grace. But I feel dreadfully awkward. It's one thing being photographed wearing clothes that someone else has chosen for you; it's another thing altogether to stand next to the model-like figure of Saffron while you're doing it. She made it all seem so easy. I was mortified, and it showed. The pictures came back and Saffron naturally looks like a goddess.
I, on the other hand, look like the poor unfortunate who's missed the last bus home.
On Thursday I was invited to be a guest on The Paul O'Grady Show. The other guest was none other than Sir Cliff Richard. This live programme finished with the "Peter Pan of Pop" being flanked by myself and Paul as we attempted to do that famous dance he did with the Shadows. And I didn't even record it.
I've been approached by a man who wants to know if I'd be interested in writing Baywatch: the musical. The idea is so off the wall that I agree to meet him to discuss it further. Presuming that if the show were to happen it would be a camp extravaganza, I fully expect to find an equally camp extravaganza waiting for me at a bar in Soho. But the man looked surprisingly like a supply teacher. He talked about his vision with such confidence that Baywatch: the musical didn't seem like such a ridiculous idea after all. I left feeling quite buoyant.
A few days later, the papers report that I've been asked to write Baywatch: the movie, by Steven Spielberg. First-hand proof that you only need a tiny bit of truth to make the news.
Catherine Tate is Sam in Some Girl(s) at the Gielgud Theatre, London W1 (0870 890 1105). Booking until 13 August
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