Happy Fourth of July, peeps across the pond!
I’ve just spent the day on set (with no pie!) chaperoning my daughter as she was filmed and photographed from 70,000 different angles. She took instructions in English, Spanish and Italian. She didn’t whine once that she was in autumn gear for 7 hours in the sweltering heat. She sucked it up, chugged water, and didn’t falter. Even when the sweat was singeing her eyeballs. She chose this path; we’ve just supported her as best we can. She’s taken rejections on the chin, asked for feedback, and she brings her game face to every audition, casting and shoot. Her work ethic today humbled me. She didn’t get to eat until 2pm, and she didn’t moan (I complained enough for the both of us!). Her face lit up when one of the crew got her an ice-cream cone, and her thanks were profuse. I sincerely hope she carries this attitude with her forever. No matter what she does, no matter what her position in life. Because today, I really felt it in my bones – we’ve done a good job. She’s solid. She knows what ‘work’ means. She doesn’t expect things to be easy because she’s pretty or talented. I’ve had/still have reservations about letting her get involved with the industry because I don’t want her internalising crazy messages or having a weird world view. I wonder if the mother of the Sousse shooter wonders where she went wrong?
I can’t get away from the shootings. Not more than two football pitches from my house, the bodies of the British slain are being autopsied day and night, to be returned to their grieving families as soon as possible. There is round-the-clock security and flowers all along the pavement, including the wreaths from the caskets when they were repatriated to the UK. We passed there in the car home this evening, and in my head, I just picture the families waiting. Waiting to say goodbye properly. Wondering how a holiday could have gone so wrong? Wondering why they drew the short straw? I highly doubt the autopsy report can bring any comfort to families who had loved ones gunned down on a beach, on a sunny day.
As a city, London is creeping up to the tenth anniversary of 7/7. I was on the Tube in front of the bombed King’s Cross train. I was evacuated and survived. My friend didn’t. I remember her twin sister’s nightmare journey to find and identify her remains. The total chaos, grief and shock. Returning to work on public transport was a show of defiance. The Sousse shooting and the impending 7/7 anniversary reminds me again that there are people who would harm me and mine, not for anything I believe or do, but for what THEY believe. It’s a sad reality that someone could not know me, yet hate me, and my daughter, and the life we live, enough to kill themselves and others to make a point. What point? What is the point? What did my friend die for? What did the holiday-makers in Sousse die for?
Heavy thoughts, indeed, for a sunny weekend. My apologies. Eat some pie, cuddle your loved ones. Watch some fireworks. Tell people you love them. And let’s think about how we can make this world a slightly better place.