High Church

I remember that ‘eyes burning’ thing. In press week in the 90s, at Premiere, I used to go to church at All Saints, Margaret Street at lunch hour just to be in darkness. In those pre-Wikipedia days, I didn’t know it was famous (’architecturally, England’s most celebrated Victorian church,’ S Jenkins). I just thought it was nice and gloomy.

And then I was chatted up by the very swish young vicar (or Father, seeing as it was High Church) in his ornate robes. It was enough to put one off going to church, except during services, and that’s just so BORING…

This was shortly after being mistaken for a rent boy (to follow a train of thought…). I was lounging on some steps in Denman St in my denim jacket when a policeman stopped me. I immediately found my best Oxford vowels when saying (truthfully): Oh no, officer. I’m waiting for my girlfriend who’s a follow-spot on The Rocky Horror Show, at the Piccadilly Theatre…
He was a bit non-plussed, and let me go, doubtless thinking he’d catch me next time.
We laughed a lot. Ah, 1991…