Miranda Hart - Is It Just Me?

Hello.

My publishers have asked me to write a biography of the author.

So:

Miranda Hart could have been a top model or Olympic athlete but at an early age decided to turn her back on these natural gifts and forge a career in comedy.

She is one of the most beautiful actresses to ever grace the screen. George Clooney has cast her as his next leading lady. She is tipped to not only capture an Oscar but also his heart.

She regularly dines with Obama, lunches with Wills and Kate, parties with Madonna, and plays golf with Kylie. Basically, shes an international player. This book is her first, but probably the best book ever written.

This book would not have come into existence without the help of some very lovely and kind people. Many thanks firstly to my agent Gordon Wise at Curtis Brown and Hannah Black at Hodder, for their wisdom and patience in guiding me through the process and for the encouragement to accept the task to write a book. And most importantly, for the laughs along the way.

Also thanks to Rowena Webb and all at Hodder for their support and generally being a wonderful bunch. Would any other publishing house gallop a mile for Sport Relief in my honour I wonder?

My Mum and Dad deserve a big thank you for allowing me to treat their house like a hotel and putting up with me regressing to a teenage like state when I retreated homeward to get the book written.

And finally, for their advice, comment and input Rose Heiney, Paul Powell, and my sister Alice, who remains patiently at the end of the phone to be asked the constant question Is this funny? for anything I do.

Right, thats enough about you all, back to me and my book...

M y Dear Reader Chum, a very hearty hello to you. What an honour and privilege it is to have you perusing my written word. It is nothing short of tremendous to have you to chat to and, I hope, now that were on sentence three, you are sitting comfortably. Or maybe youre lying. Lying, perhaps, on a beach, or snuggled in your bed; perhaps youve constructed a small fort out of cushions, in which case I applaud you. Or maybe youve thrown caution to the wind, and youre lying on the bookshop floor having a little breather (if thats the case, Im not being rude, but youre a bit weird). Maybe youre standing on a commuter train, using this book as a filter between you and a repellent armpit. If so, Im terribly sorry. Thats no way to start the day, is it? Face in a pit. Commuter trains are the only place youd not question standing what in any other social scenario would be freakishly and embarrassingly close to a friend, let alone a stranger. But, I welcome all readers standing. Maybe there are others kneeling? Perhaps youre in church; maybe youre at a wedding, with this book tucked surreptitiously into the Order of Service.

Whatever position you find yourself in, I hope you are ensconced and comfortable, for we are can you believe it? already on our second paragraph, and well in to this little literary journey together. Should you wish to continue, I suggest that you take this opportunity to arm yourself with a cup of tea and a biscuit, or a bucket of cappuccino and a bollard-sized muffin, or a nourishing soup or, if youre so inclined, just break all the rules and grab yourself a full-on roast. For weve got a book, yes, a whole book, to romp through together, and I wouldnt want you going hungry as we begin a-romping (now stop it, cheeky: youre making up your own jokes).

What Id most like to say up front and with all the love that I can muster is that you are very welcome indeed. Whoever you are, however youve chosen to arrange yourself, and whatever snack youve selected, I clasp you firmly to my writerly bosom. Let there be no confusion about that. You are a much-loved guest in my storybook castle. I applaud you for choosing and I say this with absolutely no impartiality or objectivity of any kind such a marvellous book. Of all the books on the shelf, just look what youve gone and bought. Give yourself a round of applause, even if youre in public. I dare you. Actually I tell you what, as this would make me very happy: if youre in public and see someone else reading this book, why dont you applaud each other? What a lovely moment that would be. I advocate that as much as I advocate adults galloping, or people randomly wandering into an optician to try on the most unflattering and amusing glasses for no good reason. Its what I call making your own fun. Because you have to, really, dont you? As, lets face it; life does have a tendency to throw up difficulties, depressions, moments of boredom, loneliness or grind. I dont know. Life, eh?

Life, eh? Its a phrase Ive heard myself and others say over the years, many times. Its often only just audible, thrown away over a sigh, or comes at the end of a laugh. A phrase, or tic, or jerk, or (and I beg your pardon) ejaculation reserved for significant moments. Times when you just cant put into words the emotions and happenings of this weird and wonderful journey of existence. I recently said it on holiday with my friend, Nicky, looking out at a sunset over the sea, when she and I realised wed known each other ten years to the week. We looked back at all we had wanted then, and all we had achieved. It was a lovely moment, and I heard myself punctuating the conversation with, Life, eh? When my little sister had a daughter, we sat with my newborn niece in our parents garden, where she and I had often sat as young girls thirty years before. We said together, wistfully, Life, eh? It says everything without having to say anything: that we all experience moments of joyful or painful reflection, sometimes alone, sometimes sharing laughs and tears with others; that we all know and appreciate that however wonderful and precious life is, it can equally be a terribly confusing and mysterious beast. Life, eh?

Those kinds of moments the big ones, the meaty ones, the births, the deaths, the reminiscences I can handle. Those kinds of moments I enjoy or endure, much as we all do. Theres usually a sort of road map for them. Traditions. Procedure. But... where I feel alone and unprepared is with the less serious but undeniably discombobulating and embarrassing hiccups, nuances and foibles of just... being a person.

Let me furnish you with a recent example: has anyone else, whilst negotiating a slippery prawn in a smart restaurant, catapulted said prawn over their shoulder so it hit their next-door diner in the eye? Now it is, of course, at times like this that one should remain very serious. Stand. Go over. Perhaps say to the poor lady, Are you alright? Im terribly sorry. Could I get you another coffee? (the prawn landed in her cappuccino and sank delicately through the foam), and generally make all the right social noises. But in that sort of situation, I get stuck in a helpless state of giggles and cant communicate at all. I couldnt help it: it was the noise of the prawn when it whacked her in the eye. A sort of dull splat. Of course I exploded into giggles and called her a bit of a name: Mrs Prawn Eye, to be precise. And to her face. Which didnt help. Nor did my trying to make her see the funny side by saying, I wouldnt drink that coffee, it looks a bit fishy, ha ha.

Her stern look would normally have warned me off, but on seeing a prawn whisker on her lash, again there was nothing to do but laugh.

So, I changed tack and regrettably, as sometimes happens, embarrassment tipped me into rage directed at the unfortunate waiter: Excuse me, good sir. Thank you very much, to you. Now can I just say, on behalf of both myself and poor Mrs Prawn Eye nay, Whisker Lash, here that if I order prawns I want them ready to put straight into my mouth, yes? Why should I have to remove the inedible bits and do all the prawn-administration, the prawn-min, if you will? Whats that you say? Its all part and parcel of eating prawns? Well, I tell you this, good sir, thank you to you: I quite firmly believe that any activity that is messy enough for a restaurant to provide me with a finger bowl should be carried out by the kitchen staff. Sorry, could you come back, please? What? No, I wont leave. Ive paid for these prawns and Im damned well going to finish them. No, YOU calm down.