It was Friday the 14th of March and I had just come back
from the dentist on Carnaby Street. My face was still half
numb but I wanted to eat something, maybe something
that didn’t need much chewing like a smoothie.
I popped into Waitrose, the big one on Finchley Road,
it’s the best one. They have everything there.
I saw Bill Nighy. I was so siked! I acted all normal. But then
he dropped his loaf of bread. I ran after him and picked it up.
Hallo! Hallo! I said. You’ve dropped your loaf! He was so cool.
He was wearing a stylish dark blue coat like in a film.
But his basket was too full. He needed a trolley, didn’t he.
But I had interfered enough. I could have said I love you I love
your films but I was all anonymous and didn’t suggest
anything. Should I have got him a trolley? They shouldn’t
let people walk around like that all laden with stuff.
I should have looked more carefully at what was in his basket.
What does Bill Nighy eat? Was he having a party?
He probably knows people like Jude Law and
Michael Caine. Would he ever invite me to his party?
He doesn’t know me. Maybe I should have talked to him
some more. But I was all anonymous and I rushed off.
Later when I was at the till I kept looking out for Bill.
And as I stood there I realised he probably wouldn’t want
that loaf, not after I had touched it with my fingers
and hands, and certainly not after it had been on the floor
which is touched all the time by the underneaths of peoples
shoes which have also been outside. But maybe he didn’t mind.
Do you think he would have minded? I wish I would have
talked to him some more. I looked him up on FaceBook
when I got home. I wanted to friend him to thank him to say
Hallo! Hallo! I was the girl in Waitrose who picked up your loaf.
It was nothing. Don’t mention it. But listen, do you want to come
to a party? But I couldn’t find him. There were all these Bill Nighy’s
and none of them were the real one. None of them were my Waitrose Bill.
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