“No,” she demurs, copping out of the question with non-committal diplomacy. “I’ve been too busy. I’m either filming or on planes or putting my sons to bed.”
Too busy to make time for young Jamie whipping and chaining and rumpy-pumpying? Come on, woman, haven’t you got a pulse? Aren’t you even a little bit curious?
“I will see it,” she insists. “I am very interested to see his – range.” The imperceptible pause is too perfect an opportunity to ignore.
“Oh-ho, Gillian is that what we’re calling it these days?” And with that she dissolves into shrieks of laughter. Yes, Gillian Anderson isn’t just laughing, she is dabbing her eyes and laughing.
“That’s terrible! I mean, I like a good double entendre as much as the next person…but I really did mean his range.” She trails off and throughout the subsequent pot of tea there’s more laughter, a bit of relaxed swearing and an unflinching honesty that is, in its way, almost as discombobulating as her unflinching gravitas.
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