Robin Williams and I laughed so hard that I’m sure I suffered a prolapse.
It all started on set.
I’d arrived at the tea table after him, on the fist day, and didn’t know what to say. It was Robin Williams!
I loved the guy.
Years ago, I had worn my Live At The Met video away and had been admitted to the hospital on several occasions due to laughing my pelvis clean off. The man was a comedy genius.
I grabbed for a teabag as he scooped a teaspoon of sugar into his coffee, before then dropping the spoon back in the near empty bowl. As he began to pour hot water into his polystyrene cup I reached for the sugar and seeing that there was about a spoonful left I shrugged and tipped the bowl into my cup.
‘OH MY GOD,’ Robin hollered in his campest diva voice. ‘HE’S USED THE LAST BIT OF THE SUGAR AND IIIIII WANTED IT.’
I looked up, mortified. What had I done? Where was my hero?
Robin Williams stood opposite grinning that famous wide grin of his.
I dropped to my knees.
‘I’m soooooo sorry, Mr Williams, sir/madam. Please don’t be beating on me again, sir. I can’t for the life of me take it no more.’ I whimpered in my best cockney accent.
I may as well have just put a tenner in the silly slot. Because for a solid five minutes we swapped surreal lines in stupid voices. To be fair, mine were stupid: his were brilliant. He went from John Wayne to Marlene Dietrich, Jack Nicholson to Ronald Reagan. Though he was generous enough to allow my nonsense head to explode with talk of android turtles moving Reagan’s limbs to marsupials with nutritional OCD.
Our tirade drew quite a crowd.
It culminated in Dietrich sauntering away to wander off up the stairs.
‘She’s only gonna collect fistfuls of stairdust,’ I jibed, in the worst Cagney accent ever performed. ‘And throw it in our faces. The dumb broad.’
I’m sure Robin’s raucous laughter was more for the bad accent than it was for the line, but I got a laugh from Mr Robin Williams and it made me belly laugh in return.
In fact, I was laughing so hard that it woke me from the dream and in turn the lady by my side.
She mumbled something in broken English, through her mat of bed hair and drifted off back to sleep.
I would tell you her name, but I can’t remember myself.
My memory’s shocking, see? That’s why I’m quickly writing this down before I forget it.
I know it was only a dream, but he sure as hell as made my morning a smiley one.
If only I’d met the legend in person.