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Saturday 22 November 2008

Looking for Kate

Jeremy Clarke on his Low Life

That Courtney Love was his all-time favourite celebrity, though, the snapper told me as we scrutinised the emerging passengers. She wasn’t fussy about being photographed. Or about which pictures were printed in the magazines either. ‘Tone, that one of yours in Heat was not nice at all,’ he said, taking off her American accent. ‘But that’s just her having her little joke with me,’ he explained. ‘She’s great. Not like that Jude Law,’ he said. ‘There’s someone I can’t stand. If anyone takes a picture of Jude Law, he goes mad,’ he said.

‘Jude Law is a man?’ I said.

‘Correct,’ he said. ‘I took a sneaky one of him last week and he jumped off his electric cart and started yelling at me. Michael Caine was not far behind him. Michael! I said. Michael, that Jude Law has just shouted expletives at me. And Michael says, “I didn’t know Jude Law knew any expletives.” Michael Caine — what a great man.’

Another glut of passengers from LA came through the doors at a fast walk. Not one had so far looked remotely like a supermodel. Without taking his eyes away from the doors, the snapper said, ‘Then I said to Michael, “Michael, what was the name of the first person to be killed in Zulu?” And he said, “Tone, I don’t know.” I said, “His name was Will, Michael. Because during the first Zulu attack the British soldiers were told to ‘fire at will’. Now, not a lot of people know that,” I said. He liked that, did Michael. Made him chuckle.’

It made me chuckle too. I truly love that film — the first I ever saw. I once went to an FA Cup semi-final at Villa Park dressed as Michael Caine in Zulu. I told everyone to fire at the smoke. Talking now to a man who once said ‘fire at will’ to Michael Caine was making me feel a little star-struck.

‘Great man,’ said the snapper, his expert eye roving adroitly over arrivals. ‘But that Courtney Love — she’s my favourite. I’ve seen her come through that door so drunk she can hardly stand up.’

For about two minutes no one came through the door at all, drunk or sober. My attention began to wander. Shutting one eye and squinting along the concourse from one end to the other, I tried and failed to discern the curvature of the earth. ‘Impressive building,’ I said. But turning back I saw that the bags in the hands of the latest arrivals were no longer very LA, and that the snapper had disappeared.

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