The day Elizabeth Taylor died, everyone woke up in a bad mood. The coffee got spilled, and people didn't wake up next to the people they wanted to, and it snowed in New York, and it was rainy and cold everywhere else. Why were we all such horrible grumpy stained people, crawling out of the muck and mud, our souls tamped down like church candles that burned too long and melted the wax into the thick red industrial carpet? We didn't know it at the time, but obviously the ghost of Virginia Woolf had infected us all in her fury, raging against the setting of her sun. Obviously. She was probably pissed off that its impossible to find a youtube clip of National Velvet that some fan girl hasn't set to awful modern country music.
I remember a conversation once where someone told me, or I told them, that Liz's purple eyes were a sign she was an ancient Egyptian alien? That seems about right.
Twitter leaves a weird imprint of you when you die.
@DameElizabeth Hold your horses world. I've been hearing all kinds of rumours about someone being cast to play me in a film about Richard and myself. No one is going to play Elizabeth Taylor, but Elizabeth Taylor herself. @DameElizabeth Not at least until I'm dead, and at the moment I'm having too much fun being alive...and I plan on staying that way. Happiness to all.