Today’s entry isn’t about Leicester . . . although it could be considered as such I suppose, since it is an event that did technically take place in Leicester! Every night I dream about going to a particular cafe/hotel. Last night I dreamed that my father and I were sitting in the cafe when Chris Martin walked in. He was passing briskly through the cafe on his way to the main hotel reception. This woman sipping something frothy and pink at the bar, jumped up off the stool she was seated at and raced towards him. Mr. Martin noticed the trajectory and slowed his pace. The woman almost ran him over in her enthusiasm, stumbling in her VERY high heels and collapsing against him. He carefully helped her to her unsteady feet. “Oh, thank you oh, my, oh--OH MY GOD!” said the woman, who was by then almost hyperventilating. “I’m so sorry really I am, I just, I just--I . . . Oh, Mr. Morrison! I’m your biggest fan, really! I--I started the James Morrison fan club for the whole lower region of Felgary Proper! This is really, really just such an honour!”
Throughout her deluge of adoration Mr. Martin somehow managed to suppress any definite expression. Papa and I exchanged glances, wondering what would happen next! Papa leaned over to me with a little grin saying quietly “Now let’s see what he’s made of!” I know I must have furrowed my brow and was about to object but Papa just put a finger to his lips and nodded to the unfolding scene.
I was sure that Mr. Martin was about to explain to the woman that he wasn’t James Morrison but instead, he gently said “Wow, that’s great! So you like what you’ve heard of the new album? It does sound pretty good so far doesn’t it.” The woman was absolutely gushing about the new single and her hopes for the album. She convinced him to write his autograph on a cafe coaster and then to take a picture with her. She was chatting joyfully the whole time with the bartender (who took the photo for her) saying “Thank you! My friends would never believe me without the photo!” She also thanked 'Mr. Morrison' (Chris) as he swiftly if politely took his leave. The woman collapsed back on the bar chair.
The woman’s friends arrived about a minute later and as she excitedly showed them the photographic evidence of having met her idol, they (her friends) all broke into mirth saying “That isn't James Morrison! That’s Chris Martin!” “NO!” intoned the woman, then she looked at the photo, considering the possibility for a moment. “Well maybe . . .” she said distractedly, before firmly shaking her head and continuing: “No . . . no, look at this--he gave me an autograph too!” She proudly showed them the autograph and they all laughed even more as one of them read the autograph aloud. The coaster read: “With love to Elsie, James Morrison’s biggest fan, best wishes from Chris Martin.” All the women --even ‘James Morrison’s biggest fan Elsie’--were laughing now. Papa was smiling as I woke up.
