Apermanent cocoon

IAM reading the Woody Allen autobiography; he says that he’s often had a problem entering places, that he would get as far as the door and then have a fit of hesitancy. I’m sure that most people have experienced this at one point or another, but it became a kind of phobia for him.

On one occasion, he got himself through the door but then found himself sitting dumb stuck on a couch. It was a ground floor apartment on Park Avenue and the couch was next to a window, he seriously considered climbing out on to the street.

I could relate to this, and I am not sure why I share this fear with New York’s most neurotic celebrity.

‘We’ve been invited to go to the Movies with Elton and David.’

‘Are you kiddin me, where? What movie?’

Clare was John Reid’s Personal Assistant at the time; Elton John’s very successful manager. Up to the recent past, I had just been the husband bloke who was invited as a straggler to the occasional event. Most of the time I hated the experience, listening to music business people talking about other musicians, while I sat there like a spare tool, eating fancy food and drinking expensive wine.

Then one day while I was backstage at an Elton gig, he noticed me hugging the wall, knowingly staying away from the backstage BS. Obviously this made an impression on him, and from then on, we were invited to the inner circle, not something I sought, but who would turn it down?

The Paris Theatre was booked exclusively for Elton and his hand-picked friends. It was a luxurious cinema, in midtown Manhattan. Paparazzis and snooping bottom dwellers milled around the entrance, they studied us and wondered if we were someone. Long tables lay ahead of us with every kind of Chinese food that you could think of, catered by an exclusive gourmet restaurant called Mr Chow’s. I wanted to fill a plate and go home, but instead I was going to have to be self-conscious and appear like food was of no interest at all.

People were spread out all over the theatre, 50 or so of us with 300 seats to choose from. We sat at the back in the darkest corner. There I was, digging into my Chinese food, thinking this is OK, no one has noticed us. When I spotted Elton and David Furnish sitting alone, way down near the screen, they were smiling and looking around the room, were they looking at us? Nah, can’t be. They got up and started climbing the hill, getting nearer and nearer, stopping at the row in front of us and shimmying in sideways. I felt my mouth go dry, and quickly hid my plate on the ground. Kisses all around and painful small talk, they wanted their friends to see how great this new movie ‘Trainspotting’ was.

I got the feeling that they were mining the field for non-superstar friends, longing for contact with the outside. If they went out, they would be mobbed by parasites. This is why I hesitate at the door, who wants to be trapped in that cocoon?

I have been to many events inside the elite bubble, vetted, accepted, and allowed within two meters in a palace of opulence, and always been relieved to get out of there.

After the movie, Clare and I skipped down the road, hopped on the bus and mingled. I’m sure that Elton would give anything to get out and skip with us, but the virus of humanity would devour him. He is in a permanent cocoon. Ironic, ha?

One day while I was backstage at an Elton gig, he noticed me hugging the wall, staying away from the backstage BS. Obviously this made an impression