Annabel vs the Internet

by Annabel Port

  “Will it be mushrooms, fried onion rings? We’ll have to wait and see,” is going round my head as I go up to them. The four of them are all standing in a skip. I’m not really sure why.

  I try them all and none want to sing with me, but they point out a guy in a pink top, who’s doing some painting, and say that he likes singing.

  And he does! He agrees to duet with me. I press play and we get going. His singing is not the greatest, but what I like is that he adds some nice improvised spoken bits to the end of my lines, which include “I’m listening” and “I understand”.

  This more than makes up for his reluctance to make eye contact with me. I really try but he is very focused on the words.

  It goes really well though. I feel we make a real connection. When we finish, my instinct is to hug him, but I hold back as he has quite a lot of inexplicable sweat on his face.

  When I go, he tells me he’ll be in the same place tomorrow. It’s a tentative second date! And as I walk down the road, I can hear all the builders singing the chorus of the song.

  It’s time for my second show. As well as re-enacting TJ Hooker, me, my sister and Helen would also pretend we were in Fame, the American drama set in the New York school of performing arts. This show was amazing, so why wouldn’t re-enacting it be just as amazing?

  I briefly consider flying out to New York but then I remember the recent hurricane. That’s definitely the only thing that stopped me and not that I’m reluctant to travel more than ten minutes from my home or work.

  I decide to go somewhere more London-based and find a drama school nearby. I’m getting very excited about who I’m going to be. I always wanted to be Coco but I think I’ve always known that I’m more of a Doris.

  When I get there, I go straight up to two women chatting outside.

  “Hey!” I say, pointing at a parked car. “Do you want to dance on that with me?”

  They were always dancing on parked cars in Fame and I have always wanted to do it.

  The two women are surprised though. One of them replies, “Well, as delightful as that sounds, I think I’ll pass.”

  The other asks, “But what if you damage it?”

  It’s a good point. Why did nobody say that in Fame? I decide to leave that. Especially as it’s a bit cold and I want to go inside, where maybe I’ll find the cranky music teacher Mr Shorofsky.

  I go to the reception of the drama school. There’s an older lady and a younger man in his twenties.

  “Hello. I’m here to see Mr Shorofsky,” I say to the older lady.

  She looks confused. I have to repeat the name. She tells me she doesn’t think there’s anyone there of that name. I assure her there is. I get told to take a seat.

  I hear her asking the other receptionist about a Mr Shorofksy and then on the phone saying his name. I’m still waiting. To pass the time I sing “Starmaker” figuring that all the many people that are passing through will join in. They don’t. It’s very disappointing.

  Eventually I go back to the reception desk to ask if she’s found him yet. She still claims not to know who he is.

  “It’s just that I’m a pianist,” I say, “and I was practising a few days ago and Mr Shorofsky overheard me and heard something very special in my playing and told me to meet him here for private lessons.”

  She’s looking at me blankly.

  “Shall I show you a picture?” I add.

  I’ve already got one on my phone from Google Images. It’s a very standard Fame one, the one with him sitting at a piano.

  She shakes her head at it. “No, I don’t recognise him.”

  I show it to the younger man. Also nothing. And then the girl standing next to me at reception takes the briefest glance and says in an American accent, “He’s a character from Fame.”

  I feign confusion. “Oh, but he works here as well?”

  “No, he’s in Fame,” she says. “It’s a TV show.”

  “So he doesn’t work here?”

  “No, he’s a character. Mr Shorofsky is a character. I heard you talking about him, he’s a TV-show character.”

  I look really upset. It’s not hard. I’ve just been caught out asking to see a TV character. The receptionist will probably spend the rest of her days wondering why on earth anybody would do this.

  “Oh, so it must be a trick,” I say weakly.

  “That’s so mean,” the girl says.

  I don’t remember this scenario ever featuring in Fame, so I have to think for myself what would happen next. I leave.

  It’s not gone very well compared to Sing Date so I move on to Geoff’s one other suggestion: The nineties sitcom, The Brittas Empire. I loved this TV show. But it’s one of those shows like Sorry with Ronnie Corbett that I’m too scared to watch again as I strongly fear they are actually terrible.

  I have a quick look on the Internet as a refresher. I’m impressed to see that it ran for seven series. And also that it’s been described as a “critique of the managerial class which expanded in the Thatcherite eighties”.

  It’s all coming back to me now. There’s Gordon Brittas, the manager of the leisure centre, who I like to think was a big inspiration for David Brent. Carol, the receptionist, who kept three children in her reception drawers. I watched the first ten minutes of the first episode. In that short time period they dealt with her postnatal depression. It’s grittier stuff than I remember.

  I also look at some episode summaries on Wikipedia and all my fears about it not actually being any good disappear. Here are three of my favourites:

  The centre is preparing for a concert by Vladimir Petrov, a visiting pianist from the Leningrad Conservatory. Brittas’s father arrives with an old piano, which after being dropped knocks the pianist unconscious. As a result, Gordon decides to perform the concert himself.

  One of Brittas’s enemies is coating random items with glue, and shady characters keep appearing. This leads to a bloody massacre in the squash courts, the felling of several OAPs and Brittas facing trial for multiple murder and drug-running.

  TV series Songs of Praise visits the leisure centre for a live recording. But a live ostrich is loose, roaming the centre. Meanwhile, Councillor Drugget is still intent on getting rid of Brittas.

  Tell me now this wasn’t the greatest show ever. I’m very excited about re-enacting The Brittas Empire and very inspired reading these summaries. I head off to the leisure centre round the corner from work.

  I get into character straight away. I go to reception and say loudly, “Hello, Carol.” Even though the receptionist’s name badge clearly says Rebekah. She lets it pass.

  I carry on with, “I’m Councillor Drugget and I’m here to see the manager about Songs of Praise being filmed here today.”

  She looks a bit bewildered then picks up the phone. “Thanks, Carol,” I say.

  I hear her saying, “I’ve got Councillor Drugget here about Songs of Praise being filmed here.”

  There’s a pause and Carol/Rebekah asks me who I’ve spoken to.

  “Gordon,” I reply.

  I’m told there are no Gordons here. I assure her I spoke to the manager, Gordon. There’s more discussion on the phone, then I’m told Ben is coming down.

  I don’t have to wait long. Ben comes towards me, hand outstretched.

  “Hello, Gordon,” I say shaking his hand.

  “It’s Ben,” he tells me. He’s a bit more precious about names than Carol/Rebekah. I introduce myself as Councillor Drugget and explain the Songs of Praise situation.

  He asks me to go round the corner to a more private area, where he tells me they’re not filming here today, he knows nothing about it and he goes on to say why it’s not possible. It’s boring stuff about health and safety forms and insurance.

  I wait for him to finish then say, “Oh Gordon, this is a farce, isn’t it?”

  He does his best to agree. He’s also given up telling me his name is Ben.

  “How’s everything else?” I ask. “Anything ridiculous ha
ppened?”

  I’d say he is getting a tiny bit suspicious of me now. He tells me no and leads me back round to reception, where I say, “Carol, I can hear a baby crying – can you? Have you got a baby there?”

  Carol/Rebekah looks very confused.

  “Gordon, can you hear a baby?”

  Gordon/Ben says to me, “Could you just come here again?”

  He takes me round the corner to the private area again.

  “Are you really from the council?” he asks quietly.

  “Yes,” I assure him confidently.

  He asks if I have any ID. “I’m definitely Councillor Drugget,” I tell him.

  It’s getting awkward now so I say I’m going to make a call about this Songs of Praise business to distract him from the fact I’m clearly not from the council.

  “Just stay there,” he tells me, pointing to a chair, and he disappears.

  I’m quite scared. Right now, the very worst-case scenario is not being arrested for impersonating a councillor. It’s having to admit I’m an adult playing a game by myself where I’m re-enacting the nineties sitcom, The Brittas Empire. And then I realise there is something worse. Admitting I’m doing this for work, for a job. When I could be being a nurse or charity worker or human-rights lawyer. I’m so ashamed. I can’t face this.

  I pretend to be on my mobile and slowly start backing out of the leisure centre while saying, “Sorry, I can’t hear you, the reception’s bad, yes, Songs of Praise, what’s that, hold on, still can’t hear, I’m going outside.”

  Then I leg it. With the knowledge that I have achieved one thing. I really have answered the question of why adults don’t re-enact TV shows in real life.

  17

  The Challenge:

  To stage some kind of reunion

  Pulp have reunited after nine years. If Pulp can reunite, Geoff reasons, why can’t I get back together again with some people? My answer is there’s always a reason why you’ve not seen someone for a while. But this answer is ignored. I have to stage a reunion.

  Like the members of Pulp, I’ve been in bands. Several bands that have long since broken up. My first was called SAS, named after the members: Sarah, Annabel and Sarah. We were eight or nine years old. We had no instruments so were less of a band, more of an a cappella group, but we did write a song called “At the Disco Party Tonight”, which we recorded onto cassette in my bathroom.

  Then there was Medieval Kyriai when I was eleven. I’d moved on from no instruments to a band with one acoustic guitar. We wrote a song called “Kill Sir Henry”. I don’t know who Sir Henry was or why we wanted to kill him.

  Finally, at fourteen, there was Primrose Path. There was still just one instrument and we did covers of Bangles songs, which I’m sure sounded great with just the drums my friend Michelle was learning to play.

  I’m still in contact with the members of the last two bands, so that leaves SAS. It’s been twenty-seven years since this band split. I’m worried the reunion will mostly be, “Sorry, who are you?”

  I have to find the two Sarahs. I start with Sarah La Plain. I can’t find her on Facebook, which is not a good start. But we did go to school together so I do something I’ve not done in a very long time. It’s something that I don’t think anyone has done in a very long time. I go on to Friends Reunited. I’ve not used it for so long that I don’t even have the same email address to log on with. I try to do an account retrieval with my new email address and get a message saying it will take twenty-four hours, and even longer at peak times. Really? I’m not convinced they’ve had a peak time since 2001. So I register again. It’s probably the first new registration in at least six years.

  I’m in. I find Sarah La Plain and learn that she’s changed her surname and also that she works at HSBC.

  With her new name, I go straight back to Facebook. I can’t find her. I google her name and HSBC and it seems she’s a commercial manager at this bank. One phone call to HSBC later, I’ve found out she works at a branch right by where I work and I have her email address. Being a stalker is easy! Although I suppose the time-consuming bit is sticking up all those photos of your victim on your wall. I don’t do that. I send this:

  Dear Sarah,

  I was wondering if you used to be Sarah La Plain. If so, I believe we went to school together. I’m trying to track down some people for a reunion. Do you remember being in a band called SAS with me and Sarah Lewis? We recorded our single “At the Disco Party Tonight” in my family bathroom.

  I try and find the other Sarah now. Sarah Lewis. This is much harder as she’s not on Friends Reunited and there are a lot of people called Sarah Lewis on Facebook. I try sending a message to one who has a profile picture of a horse as I seem to remember she liked horses, but I don’t hear anything back.

  I hear back from Sarah La Plain! It’s twenty-four hours after I first wrote, but I ignore the possibility of some reluctance to get back in touch and instead reassure myself that this is still quicker than a Friends Reunited password reset. She writes:

  Hi Annabel

  Yes it is me!!! Although not sure I remember recording a single in your bathroom!

  How are you and how did you track me down? Who else have you got in touch with?

  I’m a little hurt that she doesn’t remember recording a single in my bathroom. Who doesn’t remember their first band? That’s like Paul McCartney not remembering the Quarrymen.

  There’s also not any indication in her email that she remembers me at all and “how did you track me down” suggests a little that she hadn’t wanted to be found. But maybe I’m being paranoid. I push those thoughts aside and press reply.

  Hello! I’m so glad I found you. I can’t believe you don’t remember SAS and recording “At the Disco Party Tonight”! It was a great song! I’m also trying to get hold of Sarah Lewis. Do you have any idea where she might be?

  As you can see, I still haven’t mentioned the actual reunion. I don’t want to scare her off.

  While I wait for a response, I’m thinking, What’s the point of a band reunion without a gig? We formed when I was eight or nine, so we were an eighties band and these are really popular at the moment. There are lots of reunion tours. In fact, there’s a Here and Now tour coming up, featuring Boy George, Midge Ure, Belinda Carlisle, Pepsi & Shirlie, Jimmy Somerville and Flock of Seagulls.

  It’s being run by Tony Denton Promotions, which seems to do all the eighties reunion gigs and tours. I need to go there and get SAS signed up. I see they’re in London. Great. Then I see they’re in N14. I look it up and it’s zone 4 in north London. A really long way away.

  I’d have to travel through five Tube zones to get there. But I’m dedicated to the reunion of SAS, so I make the journey.

  I arrive at an anonymous-looking building and press the buzzer. After a while a man answers.

  “Hi, I’m here to see Tony. It’s Annabel.”

  He lets me in. I go up the stairs to the second floor and the man has come out of the office to meet me.

  He says, “Did you have a meeting booked? Tony’s not actually here.”

  I’m very disappointed. “Oh, I’m here about the Here and Now tour. Is there anyone else that can help?”

  “No, there’s nobody else here. Just me.”

  I’m not giving up.

  “It’s just that I’m from an eighties band.”

  “Oh, right.” He doesn’t seem very interested. This just makes me more persistent.

  “Don’t you recognise me?”

  He looks a bit embarrassed and says, “No.”

  “Take a guess, go on.”

  “I wouldn’t like to.”

  I give him a clue. “It was the early eighties.”

  I’m kind of hoping at this point that he says, “But you don’t look old enough to have been in a band in the early eighties.”

  He doesn’t. He just says, “Sorry, I really don’t know.”

  It’s getting a bit awkward so I say, “SAS!”

  “Oh.
”

  The situation isn’t any less awkward.

  I add, “Sarah, Annabel, Sarah.”

  “No.” He can’t even be bothered to pretend.

  “‘At the Disco Party Tonight’, our one-hit wonder?”

  “No, sorry.”

  I suppose it’s good that he didn’t know us or that would’ve meant he’d been peeping into my bathroom at some eight-year-olds twenty-seven years ago. I don’t mention this though, as I suddenly see, through their glass door, a man walking past in the distance.

  I blurt out, “I’ve just seen someone. You said no one was here. Is that Tony?”

  He’s looking very uncomfortable now. He says, “No, he’s out of the country. Not back until four.”

  He offers to take my details though and goes to get some paper.

  “Shall I come?”

  “No, you stay here,” he says quickly.

  He comes back with a pen and notepad.

  I take them and then in desperation I give him a blast of “At the Disco Party Tonight”. I sing:

  The lights are flashing, the music’s loud,

  The people are dancing, it’s such a crowd,

  At the disco party tonight,

  Boom, boom, boom,

  At the disco party tonight.

  He’s looking fairly horrified now. I write down my band name, email address and number and he says Tony will get back to me.

  I’m very concerned. I’ve still not heard from Sarah La Plain and I’m on the verge of signing up SAS for the tour. I think. I email her again. It’s time to break the big news.

  Hi Sarah,

  Just wanted to let you know some great news. I had a meeting yesterday at Tony Denton Promotions about SAS joining the eighties Here and Now tour featuring Boy George and Belinda Carlisle, among others.

  I’m speaking to them again today so just wanted to check your availability for this tour. The dates are: