Prologue

"We're all in the gutter - just some of us are looking at the stars". Oscar Wilde.

The sun is glittering through the window as I sit at one end of the table. Opposite me sits Patrick Marber, a newspaper and his mobile phone close at hand. And, so far, everything seems to have gone quite well. We've discussed my finals. He's said some nice things about my play. I've even managed to rein in the urge to ask for an autograph or, worse still, profess my undying love and quote chunks of Closer back at him.

Then we start to talk about the play I'm writing at the moment and I tell Patrick that it's about a band -

"A band you've been in?"

After scoring some minor league Oxford University success with my last play I've been asked a lot of times about this new play. Not one of those times has resulted in my being asked this question. So I'm quietly smug that Patrick thinks that I look like I spent my formative years jamming in someone's garage when, in reality, my school recorder group is the closest I've been to being in a band.

Once I've stopped feeling smug that Patrick thinks I'm a rock-chick I realise that I'm going to have to answer the question. And I'm going to have to answer it honestly or risk blowing the semi-credibility I've managed to acquire in the last twenty minutes. There's only one thing for it.

"No - but I've followed a few bands, I've maybe followed them rather, erm, excessively".

Patrick looks at me and I try not to stare, blush or throw up. It's a battle I'm rapidly losing.

"Are you a groupie?"

And I want the floor to open up and swallow me. Patrick Marber, the man on whom I wrote a lovingly gushing 2000 word essay last term, has been in a room with me for twenty minutes. Already he thinks I spend my spare time shagging popstars. And undoubtedly minor popstars at that. As he smiles back at me I can already see where this is leading.

"Define groupie".

Patrick laughs. Why did I say that? Why didn't I just refute the whole groupie debacle? Now Paddy definitely thinks that I'm shagging those minor popstars. I've got to keep going.
"Not everything that 'groupie' suggests, I've just supported a few acts, followed them around".
Brilliant, I've moved from groupie to stalker in one sentence. I'm giving it thirty seconds before Paddy calls security.

"How did you start supporting these bands?"

Oh God, Oh God. Please don't ask me that, Paddy.

"It's kind of embarrassing..."

Paddy looks straight at me.

"It won't go outside of these walls".

I can pretend that I have options. That I have the possibility of claiming that it is simply too embarrassing. That I can thank Patrick for his time and leave before the issue goes any further. That I can make up something marginally less embarrassing. But I can't. I like Paddy. He's just played 'Desert Island Shakespeare' with me. Damn it, I've read all of his plays; I almost feel that I know crappy, embarrassing things about him. If Paddy, however obliquely, is willing to put himself up on stage I should be able to do it here.

And if it's going to go no further…