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This week: Greta Gerwig

My day with Greta: We meet in Greenwich Village. She turns up on her bicycle with organic marshmallows in her bicycle basket and she throws them up in the air. We are suddenly caught in a gelatin snow storm. I marvel how she manages to be the queen of quirk, without drowning in her own pixie juice

She tells me the bike was given to her by Russell Brand after it was rejected by Katy Perry. She says of the bike related sloppy seconds incident, “it does have this sort of sadness hovering around it now. It’s a great bike, though.”

She’s starred in a load of  movies that would be too irritating to live through if it were not for her heavenly presence, but she is like the best enunciator in the mumblecore group. I can make out every word she says over our quince salad.

She has a sense of comic timing that makes the waitress wet herself, and so I reward her with ice cream and ask her what Emily Dickinson poems she knows off by heart. She’s like “like, all of them.”

Then we get chai lattes, and she asks for nutmeg sprinkles and shows me how to wear a hat.

We head to the zoo, because she loves the zoo, and she’s all like “look at that big headed fox,” pointing at the Red Panda, and I laugh and ruffle her silky golden hair and tell her she killed it in Damsels in Distress. Killed it. She tells me about her favourite role in a film called Yeast and I ask if its about the misuse of yogurt, and she shakes her head sadly and tells me she doesn’t work out, she just takes the stairs two at a time. I’m like, woah.

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