My friend and I saw the play Richard III off Trafalgar Square—it was amazing. Set in the ‘60s, it boasted incredible set and atmosphere. The play itself was immersive, twisted, morbidly captivating, and suspenseful! Martin Freeman himself was phenomenal; there was nothing redeemable about his character. You could just feel the emptiness of his soul—as though it were a bottomless pit with nothing but vice and the darkest of ambitions. The whole thing was a sucker-punch of sorts.
Before the show started, we got down to the bar to wait for the doors to open. I needed to use the restroom, so Amber and I headed there. This lady in line ahead of us was conversing with some other women, telling them how she knew all the guards really well, how she came there nearly every night, and how she'd met Martin before. I instantly thought, “I need to talk to this lady!” So, I waited for her to use the loo, and when she came out, I asked her about it: “Hey, I overheard you talking about a special place in line. You've met Martin Freeman?” She was the sweetest, most emphatic lady. She asked if I was a fan, (I said yes, obviously. Sherlock is my favorite show!) and asked if I liked Benedict or Martin better. I said I love Martin, but Benedict’s my favorite—she agreed with a laugh. Then she invited me to come with her! Her name was Theresa, and we decided to meet at the bar afterwards.
So we did. She was a sweetheart; we talked about her encounter with Benedict on our way there. Also, she told us that Martin hadn't signed all week, and that he wasn't likely to that night, especially with the “grumpy, bald driver who always leaves quickly.” Still, the guard ushered us to the front of the line when he saw Theresa. Very graciously, she said, “Oh, I've already met him, you go on ahead,” and shoved me to the very front of the line.
There I was, standing at the front with my planner and the only writing utensil I had—a purple highlighter. “What do I say to him?” I squeaked to Theresa. She replied, “Tell him you loved the show, that he did a great job, and that the whole thing was really phenomenal.” I nodded, and we waited.
Soon enough, he came out. He came right up to me with a sharpie! I asked him if he’d sign my planner, to which he replied “Yes, of course. How are you?” “Hello, Mr. Freeman, it was an honor to see you perform tonight. I really enjoyed it, and you were phenomenal, thank you!”
“Thank you very much, that really means a lot.”
“Oh, and I’m very well, thanks for asking!” (Aah, how clumsy of me!)
“I’m so glad to hear it. Thank you for coming tonight.”
Oh, he was lovely. All smiles and quiet kindness. Though I didn't get a picture (too dark, and I didn't want to flash a camera in his face after such a precious act of courtesy) or a hug (I wish I’d thought to ask!), it was a glorious experience. Soon afterwards, as he went on to greet other fans, I started crying. I’d just met Martin Freeman, one of my very favorite actors and a man with stellar talent, and my heart just couldn't take it. The sheer kindness! It was unreal. I sobbed nearly all the way home. I didn't think I’d be one of those people, but I am. It was amazing, and I’ll always cherish it. I got such a good feeling from him.
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