And may I be the last to wish you a happy Yule. Ah yes, Yule. That time when an actors' thoughts turn to Pantomime, and in my case, David Withlows' arse. I don't mean that in a derogatory way, because I have been playing Helmut the Heffalump in Withenshaw since late November. Sadly, I played the tail end of the said beast, and what a sterling performance it was. Here are some of the reviews (I have edited them for brevity)
McPhereson shines through the rear end of the Heffalump - Daily Margoles.
Rarely have I been so moved by a pantomime, especially that thing in brown (Me) - Atrich Outlook
Mcphereson gives his finest and delivers convincing Heffalump arse - Dorrick Advertiser
The thing was it wasn't all that challenging; as an actor you learn these little tricks and routines. I remember in college, the lecturer said 'we are all going to pretend to be animals this year'. We all had to decide which animal portrayed our personalities best. Young Dan Barker was a Conga eel, which involved a lot of splashing about I remember. Freda Newton was a lythe and cunning baboon. Her conviction in the part was unquestioned, although it did go a little far flinging dung at me in the canteen. And Dexter Lowe, dear Dexter, whose promise in acting and indeed life was cut short by loneliness and a tangerine, took on the mantel of a yeti. We didn't see him much after that.
I, of course, was in a quandary. I mean, a personality as complex and intertwined as mine would be difficult to equate or replicate with an animal. What beast would one second be a bursting volcano of activity, the next a plumb the cavernous depths of depression and solitude whilst maintaining the outward illusion of showmanship? What in all of Gods' creation could duplicate my drives, my intellect, my full and frank range of emotion and expression that made acting not only my vocation, but my birth right? It was with some thought therefore that I settled on being a herring. This noble fish evoked all the right emotions, although I must admit breakfast became something of a cross between a guilt trip and cannibalism.
Oh, the phone. I shall return.
Well, that was indeed interesting. A call from Derek Abuharb, informing me the heffalump has be rescripted to attract a disability interest, and will no longer require back legs (ie me). I argued the point with Derek, but I have to say this is an intriguing idea. The thought of the disabled heffalump, not my imminent unemployment. I mentioned that I was under contract and under the terms of said contract, subsection three, paragraph nine, clause s
The performer will be required to appear until the performance terminates its' run, save for any scandal, besmirchment or publication of any materials which could be construed as being detrimental to the production as described in article 3. The management shall not terminate the performers' contract without due and impartial reviewing of material facts prior to the decision being reached.
His reply was 'like your kneecaps, do you?'. I do indeed value my kneecaps, and although the novelty value of making them work - as he described it - in interesting new ways would be something I could put in spotlight, I was keener to maintain the current traditional arrangement.
As luck would have it, no sooner had my conversation ended with Derek than the phone rang again. It was the National Theatre of Omsk, who had read the Dorrick Advertiser while looking for a replacement hob, and seen my review. They were mad keen to employ me in "Vladmir - The Tale Of The Wolf Bear" which is apparently a work by the dissident Russian playwrite Uri Tshitsaq. What tempting morsels could I prize from this literary oyster? Then, having put the phone down again it rang once more. Rene Bellski, who is one director I have always wanted to work with was on the other end.
"Hey McFearsom <sic> How'd you like to be the next big thing?" I have no idea what the history of big things is. But apparently I am placed penultimately in the queue. "We got a project which is so far up your alley, it's up your alley" went on Bellski. On my enquiry as to what his reply was "You are a tough, west Los Angeles Dentist who investigates murders. Crime and Cavities". The rest of the conversation is a blur as I think - and I am putting this politely for my younger readers - I may have had an orgasm. I do however remember certain key words 'murder, money, expenses, hotel and Paris Hilton'. Trembling I said I would check with my agent and get back to him. No sooner had the handset returned to the cradle than the phone gave it's oh-so-familiar sound and it was Avaton Lazor on the phone. Would I do a voice over for Preedle Nappies?
Choices choices.
20101227
20100926
Big League
I have just had a call from Sandy, my agent. The Gent series don't want me back.
for those who don't know, the Gent is a series very much in the style of The Saint, except it's a Gent, not a Saint. Played by Peter Bowles, it is a heavy action series, as he, the only survivor of a crack squad of US Marines sent into Saigon, battles injustices and his own psychosis, while settling scores in the dark shadows of Dulwich.
I played Montmerency Quintet, his butler and confidante, the only man alive who knows The Gents' weakness, past and underwear habits. The reason I am being 'disposed of' are listed as follows
Rubbish. I always conducted myself with professionalism and dedication. Yes, I was late on occassion but that was entirely due to traffic. And at no point did I intend to bruise Mr Bowles, and even if I did, I'm sure they could cover it up with makeup.
I don't care. I can do without them. I have a role as a detective/ringmaster in Circus of Crime, a gritty, gory drama for ITV with Su Pollard as the love interest.
for those who don't know, the Gent is a series very much in the style of The Saint, except it's a Gent, not a Saint. Played by Peter Bowles, it is a heavy action series, as he, the only survivor of a crack squad of US Marines sent into Saigon, battles injustices and his own psychosis, while settling scores in the dark shadows of Dulwich.
I played Montmerency Quintet, his butler and confidante, the only man alive who knows The Gents' weakness, past and underwear habits. The reason I am being 'disposed of' are listed as follows
- I am told I was a problem on set.
Rubbish. I always conducted myself with professionalism and dedication. Yes, I was late on occassion but that was entirely due to traffic. And at no point did I intend to bruise Mr Bowles, and even if I did, I'm sure they could cover it up with makeup.
- I was always complaining about my lines
- I ran over the director
- I dropped my trousers and said to the make up girl 'Ever tried touching up one of these?'
I don't care. I can do without them. I have a role as a detective/ringmaster in Circus of Crime, a gritty, gory drama for ITV with Su Pollard as the love interest.
I have cheese
The Cheese people have rung. In short, I went for a test to become 'Cheery Cheeky Cheese', the friend of Frankie Flannel, the American cartoon creation of Delaware Animation Studios. The cheese is a friendly fellow, always advising Frankie not to do things, which Frankie does, with hilarious results.
I have been shortlisted as mine was apparently the sort of face the could imagine being inside the Cheese costume. I cannot wait for the second audition. The first one was tense, but I did meet my old friend Peter Davidson there. Peter speaks with a strange falsetto since Dr Who, partly because he's trying to break out of that slightly uncomfortable, nervous stereotype he is so often cast as, but mostly because he banged his testicles on the Tardis console quite severely.
I have been shortlisted as mine was apparently the sort of face the could imagine being inside the Cheese costume. I cannot wait for the second audition. The first one was tense, but I did meet my old friend Peter Davidson there. Peter speaks with a strange falsetto since Dr Who, partly because he's trying to break out of that slightly uncomfortable, nervous stereotype he is so often cast as, but mostly because he banged his testicles on the Tardis console quite severely.
Piccadilly et al
And so the day arrived. My planning and rehearsals and practice. I got changed in a newspaper vendors booth, which surprised me and him. After all, it's not many sellers who have a world class actor disrobe and place a flan on his head.
Then onto Piccadilly itself. Oh, the rush. The uninhibited exhibitionism I felt I cannot convey in words. Imagine being on a Rollercoaster while eating a roast beef platter. That was the feeling. Although the potatoes probably weren't done the way I like them. I think if you cook them in a garlic butter instead of a standard fat mixture, you get a more flavoursome result. You try telling the so-called Chefs that in these places and they get all hoity-toity about it. I've been cooking my potatoes like that for years, and apart from one incident of Berri Berri with no ill effects.
It was about now I was arrested. I have to say there's a lot written about a Police state, and I didn't agree with them or believe in such a thing, but the actual monstrosity of being manhandled into a van, naked, my flan laying crushed on the floor seemed to indicate otherwise. Savagery. The Illuminati. You wouldn't have got this treatment in Columbo.
Upon reciept of my one phone call I called 'Tatchelliski' and told him my predicament. Which was met by howls of laughter and not the supportive swing into action I had expected. It was then I smelled something of a rat. He sounded exactly like Charles Dance. "You stupid cock!" said Dance, yielding to his native cockney tones "We was yanking your chain". The line went dead.
The papers of course had a field day. In my haste to get the characterisation right, I had forgotten to have anything to actually say what cause I was supporting, and very little chance to articulate it because the Filth arrived. I would like to say I was not sexually liasing with a flan in anyway whatsoever.
This is not the first time Dance has stitched me up, as he would put it, 'like a kipper'.
Then onto Piccadilly itself. Oh, the rush. The uninhibited exhibitionism I felt I cannot convey in words. Imagine being on a Rollercoaster while eating a roast beef platter. That was the feeling. Although the potatoes probably weren't done the way I like them. I think if you cook them in a garlic butter instead of a standard fat mixture, you get a more flavoursome result. You try telling the so-called Chefs that in these places and they get all hoity-toity about it. I've been cooking my potatoes like that for years, and apart from one incident of Berri Berri with no ill effects.
It was about now I was arrested. I have to say there's a lot written about a Police state, and I didn't agree with them or believe in such a thing, but the actual monstrosity of being manhandled into a van, naked, my flan laying crushed on the floor seemed to indicate otherwise. Savagery. The Illuminati. You wouldn't have got this treatment in Columbo.
Upon reciept of my one phone call I called 'Tatchelliski' and told him my predicament. Which was met by howls of laughter and not the supportive swing into action I had expected. It was then I smelled something of a rat. He sounded exactly like Charles Dance. "You stupid cock!" said Dance, yielding to his native cockney tones "We was yanking your chain". The line went dead.
The papers of course had a field day. In my haste to get the characterisation right, I had forgotten to have anything to actually say what cause I was supporting, and very little chance to articulate it because the Filth arrived. I would like to say I was not sexually liasing with a flan in anyway whatsoever.
This is not the first time Dance has stitched me up, as he would put it, 'like a kipper'.
Ah ha.
It has been sometime since I posted, and for good reason. I have to say my experiences have been less than good.
Three weeks ago, I recieved a telephone call, asking me if I would appear in a series of televisual advertisments for the Gay cause. I am not gay myself, but I have many gay friends. Some of whom I suspect are gay, some of whom are openly gay, and one another who seems to be a self-elected recruitment officer. Some of their music is a little much tho. it's so loud.
"We need you" said the voice at the other end of the phone, whose name I cannot mention (though I will use a non-de-plum) "What is it, Mr Tatchelleski?" I asked. He went on to explain they needed a man of my build, stature and name to appear at a protest for equal rights. I am a firm believer in equal rights, whether you are male, female, straight, gay, black, white or Welsh.
Older readers may remember I was a big tool in the movement for Vaccination for Voice Over Artistes, something even today I feel passionately about. What could be more important than informing people that the lady loves milk tray, or that your whites could indeed be a shade whiter or even that the new Nissan is about a quarter of an inch higher than the old one thus justifying the eight grand extra on the price? I was also a founder member of the Society For The Liberation of the Caged Tiger, although that was discontinued after several incidents of supporters being eaten. And so I am no stranger to political controversy. I also stood for office in Dagenham East some years back, garnering over 8 votes.
"What is it, Mr Tatchelleski?" "We need someone to stand up and be a mascot for our cause. Someone to do something to get attention. We need you naked, wandering around Picadilly Circus with a flan on your head". It was a challenge. It was acting and art in a symbiotic relationship which would allow me the freedom of expression so rarely enjoyed. "I'll do it!" I said. Although I had no idea where to buy a flan at such short notice.
Over the next ten days I played with flans and poses in front of the mirror. Coy with Coucous, coquettish with Apricots, Bold and Brazen with loganberry. It became an obsession. Should I be a stout defender of the cause? Should I shove this message into the conciousness of the great unwashed? Should I stand proud and unashamed? Where can you get mango in September?
My cleaner, Mrs Everidge called. I was not to be distracted. "You'll have to tolerate my nakedness and vacuum around me" I told her "I am working on something". Old Pro that she is, she vacuumed around me while I experimented in a Chekov aspect with a merange. Visitors came and went. It was a blur. My agent. My best friend and his wedding guests. Some people from Social Services. All their protestations simply reinforced my belief I was on the right track. Despite the injections.
Three weeks ago, I recieved a telephone call, asking me if I would appear in a series of televisual advertisments for the Gay cause. I am not gay myself, but I have many gay friends. Some of whom I suspect are gay, some of whom are openly gay, and one another who seems to be a self-elected recruitment officer. Some of their music is a little much tho. it's so loud.
"We need you" said the voice at the other end of the phone, whose name I cannot mention (though I will use a non-de-plum) "What is it, Mr Tatchelleski?" I asked. He went on to explain they needed a man of my build, stature and name to appear at a protest for equal rights. I am a firm believer in equal rights, whether you are male, female, straight, gay, black, white or Welsh.
Older readers may remember I was a big tool in the movement for Vaccination for Voice Over Artistes, something even today I feel passionately about. What could be more important than informing people that the lady loves milk tray, or that your whites could indeed be a shade whiter or even that the new Nissan is about a quarter of an inch higher than the old one thus justifying the eight grand extra on the price? I was also a founder member of the Society For The Liberation of the Caged Tiger, although that was discontinued after several incidents of supporters being eaten. And so I am no stranger to political controversy. I also stood for office in Dagenham East some years back, garnering over 8 votes.
"What is it, Mr Tatchelleski?" "We need someone to stand up and be a mascot for our cause. Someone to do something to get attention. We need you naked, wandering around Picadilly Circus with a flan on your head". It was a challenge. It was acting and art in a symbiotic relationship which would allow me the freedom of expression so rarely enjoyed. "I'll do it!" I said. Although I had no idea where to buy a flan at such short notice.
Over the next ten days I played with flans and poses in front of the mirror. Coy with Coucous, coquettish with Apricots, Bold and Brazen with loganberry. It became an obsession. Should I be a stout defender of the cause? Should I shove this message into the conciousness of the great unwashed? Should I stand proud and unashamed? Where can you get mango in September?
My cleaner, Mrs Everidge called. I was not to be distracted. "You'll have to tolerate my nakedness and vacuum around me" I told her "I am working on something". Old Pro that she is, she vacuumed around me while I experimented in a Chekov aspect with a merange. Visitors came and went. It was a blur. My agent. My best friend and his wedding guests. Some people from Social Services. All their protestations simply reinforced my belief I was on the right track. Despite the injections.
20100825
Wednesday Evening
I have to say old people are so ungrateful. I mean, I expect that sort of thing from teenagers or middle aged folk, but old people? I told stories. I sang. I danced. I told a few jokes. I even did my impression of Derek Jacobi eating Brie. Nothing. There was even the sound of running water from one of them during a annecdote about Jon Pertwee.
Then, on teh way out, someone stopped me, and, poised to sign an autograph, I was told "Come on Mr Mallory, you can't go home today". The last thing I expected when asked to come here was a post performance colonostomy. This is worse than when I appeared in Bath.
When I finally convinced them of my indentity, they were most apologetic. Although on the way out I SWEAR I heard Cants' laugh.
Then, on teh way out, someone stopped me, and, poised to sign an autograph, I was told "Come on Mr Mallory, you can't go home today". The last thing I expected when asked to come here was a post performance colonostomy. This is worse than when I appeared in Bath.
When I finally convinced them of my indentity, they were most apologetic. Although on the way out I SWEAR I heard Cants' laugh.
Wednesday
If I told you I was nervous, would you believe me? There's an audience of people in the building I am parked outside, waiting for me. I have no prep, no material. I am just going to go in there and be me.
Some of these people fought the Germans. Two of them while the war was on.
Some of these people fought the Germans. Two of them while the war was on.
Update - Tuesday
My Spotlight entry online has been hacked. I would like to assure you I have never appeared in 'Gangbang', 'Ninas' Wandering Hands' or 'Speculum Madness'. I rang the people straight away and they were very insistant I had run them and specifically asked them to put these into my entry (so to speak). I informed them in no uncertain terms this was rubbish, and they should put my entry back how it was.
The only person I know who could have done this, impersonated me with such authenticity, is Brian Cant.
I shall ring him now.
POST CANT
I spoke to Brian, even though it was kind of late at night, and he seemed surprised to hear from me. Indeed, he didn't seem to know who I was. Poor man. Obviously age creeping up on him. I informed him of what he had done and he put up some cock and bull about it not being him and how he doesn't do that sort of thing. Piddlecack! I saw him once put superglue in Sylvester McCoys' sandwiches. I think it was him. He had his back to me. And it may actually have been pickles. thinking about it McCoy didn't seem to mind. Anyway, the point is that he has cost me work and I want to know what he intends to do about it. So there. He's gone away to think about it.
BRIAN RANG BACK
He just rang back and has the temerity to offer me an hours' work in his rest home entertaining old folk. What does he think I am. I mean, I am going to do it because I have a tremendous respect for the elderly, my Mother is one, but this is the last time. And I hope he's learned his lesson.
The only person I know who could have done this, impersonated me with such authenticity, is Brian Cant.
I shall ring him now.
POST CANT
I spoke to Brian, even though it was kind of late at night, and he seemed surprised to hear from me. Indeed, he didn't seem to know who I was. Poor man. Obviously age creeping up on him. I informed him of what he had done and he put up some cock and bull about it not being him and how he doesn't do that sort of thing. Piddlecack! I saw him once put superglue in Sylvester McCoys' sandwiches. I think it was him. He had his back to me. And it may actually have been pickles. thinking about it McCoy didn't seem to mind. Anyway, the point is that he has cost me work and I want to know what he intends to do about it. So there. He's gone away to think about it.
BRIAN RANG BACK
He just rang back and has the temerity to offer me an hours' work in his rest home entertaining old folk. What does he think I am. I mean, I am going to do it because I have a tremendous respect for the elderly, my Mother is one, but this is the last time. And I hope he's learned his lesson.
What a week so far!
This week has shot by and I cannot believe it is Wednesday. A veritable whirlwind of activity has befallen me.
Saturday
I was awoken by the singing of the birds, the sweet melody of rain and the oddest feeling. I had done something which I had not intended to do; I had spent the night on a bench. I don't recall the circumstances exactly; I do know that Ben Kinglsey called me on Friday and asked me to go for a drink to discuss a new film he hd been offered. I can't go into the details of the project or even describe any detail whatsoever of the narrative, but I will say this; Ben, if anyone can play a cyborg assassin from the future, it's you. You're so much better than that bloody Austrian.
So our discussions of motivation, technique and method went on long into the night, and the more we consumed the louder we got. Should this be an emotional robot, an android with a past? Or should we just settle for something Morphy Richards would try and pass off as a kettle with arms.
It is at this point my memory of the night falters slightly...
I remember at some point Stephen Fry and Sting having a heated argument over who ordered tortillas, and Bjork vandalising a phonebox. I can remember some blue lights. Then, the bench. No sign of Kingsley.
Later I discovered a tattoo of Microsofts' Internet Explorer on my left buttock, which I distinctly recall as not being there at all. I rang Kingsley, who said he had ignored all my advice, and, if I knew what was good for me, I'd stop calling him. He asked me for my advice. Well, if I see that film and he's wearing an Easter Bonnet, I think I can sue.
SUNDAY
Was spent in quiet contemplation. I have many important decisions to make; should I go to the Oban Playhouse to play Dougal, the wronged cousin of Angus in the Jeavens' play 'Quick, Mr Kopple'. The part isn't particularly big, and much of my time 'on' is spent in a wardrobe. I also have 'Danger Bubbles II' on offer, in which I play a scientist who has the ultimate weapon; washing powder which makes clothes get itchy in combat. There is a certain amount of nudity, which personally I have no problems with, having appeared in a full frontal in 'Gerards' Early Bath'. A performance which, many have said, moved them so much they were actually physically sick.
Monday
The woman from Enders rang, and said I could play Dot Cottons' new love interest. Apparently the part has been written with me in mind; only I - the woman said - could bring meaning to the filth and squalor of a middle aged park prowler.
I'm keen, the money is good, almost £50, but I am also wary after my appearance as Dr Yak on Casualty. As viewers of that show will remember, Yak became embroiled in a CIA conspiracy involving cocaine and arms sales in central America while lancing a boil, and was found dead with his mouth stuffed full of beetroot. Yak was a good character, and became a firm favourite with many viewers, although he did have a dark side. Yes, Guardian, he was meant to be bad. My performance sucked you right in, which I think says something considering I was only in the series for two weeks.
Saturday
I was awoken by the singing of the birds, the sweet melody of rain and the oddest feeling. I had done something which I had not intended to do; I had spent the night on a bench. I don't recall the circumstances exactly; I do know that Ben Kinglsey called me on Friday and asked me to go for a drink to discuss a new film he hd been offered. I can't go into the details of the project or even describe any detail whatsoever of the narrative, but I will say this; Ben, if anyone can play a cyborg assassin from the future, it's you. You're so much better than that bloody Austrian.
So our discussions of motivation, technique and method went on long into the night, and the more we consumed the louder we got. Should this be an emotional robot, an android with a past? Or should we just settle for something Morphy Richards would try and pass off as a kettle with arms.
It is at this point my memory of the night falters slightly...
I remember at some point Stephen Fry and Sting having a heated argument over who ordered tortillas, and Bjork vandalising a phonebox. I can remember some blue lights. Then, the bench. No sign of Kingsley.
Later I discovered a tattoo of Microsofts' Internet Explorer on my left buttock, which I distinctly recall as not being there at all. I rang Kingsley, who said he had ignored all my advice, and, if I knew what was good for me, I'd stop calling him. He asked me for my advice. Well, if I see that film and he's wearing an Easter Bonnet, I think I can sue.
SUNDAY
Was spent in quiet contemplation. I have many important decisions to make; should I go to the Oban Playhouse to play Dougal, the wronged cousin of Angus in the Jeavens' play 'Quick, Mr Kopple'. The part isn't particularly big, and much of my time 'on' is spent in a wardrobe. I also have 'Danger Bubbles II' on offer, in which I play a scientist who has the ultimate weapon; washing powder which makes clothes get itchy in combat. There is a certain amount of nudity, which personally I have no problems with, having appeared in a full frontal in 'Gerards' Early Bath'. A performance which, many have said, moved them so much they were actually physically sick.
Monday
The woman from Enders rang, and said I could play Dot Cottons' new love interest. Apparently the part has been written with me in mind; only I - the woman said - could bring meaning to the filth and squalor of a middle aged park prowler.
I'm keen, the money is good, almost £50, but I am also wary after my appearance as Dr Yak on Casualty. As viewers of that show will remember, Yak became embroiled in a CIA conspiracy involving cocaine and arms sales in central America while lancing a boil, and was found dead with his mouth stuffed full of beetroot. Yak was a good character, and became a firm favourite with many viewers, although he did have a dark side. Yes, Guardian, he was meant to be bad. My performance sucked you right in, which I think says something considering I was only in the series for two weeks.
20100819
Update
my luck is changing! Apparently a long lost relative was a big wig in the Nigerian government and needs me to help him put his money somewhere safe.
Oh, this could be the break I have been working towards. I may be able to put on the musical to eaise awareness of Irritable Bowel Syndrome, "Hums From My Bum".
Oh, this could be the break I have been working towards. I may be able to put on the musical to eaise awareness of Irritable Bowel Syndrome, "Hums From My Bum".
Friday is upon us
Ah, Friday. The day that heralds Saturday and in a very real, dangerous sense, the day which comes after Thursday.
I have now stopped taking calls from Gerhardt. THere's only so much anatomical advice one can take, and frankly, I don't want to talk about castration in Waitrose. So that's that. Sandy has been brilliant, of course. I mean, who needs a big poster role in a multi-million pound production when I am offered such jewels of work as 'third man in launderette' in a Daz commercial. People are going to see that time and time again. Unlike his production, which can only be seen once, at expense, probably by leaning over because someone with a big hat is sat in the seat in front of you. Plus I have never had someone recognise me from a theatrical production, whereas when I played a dissident diplomat damaged by a secret service plot who is attacked by a lion on Bexleyheath in Casualty, the plaudits rolled in. I quote "One thing I am pleased about last Saturday night is the savage attack on Tarquin McPhereson by a lion on a common. It seemed so real and oh, that it could be so". A testament to my acting, I think.
Besides, these big ticket things have a habit of going on tour, and frankly I can think of nothing worse than being imprisoned with a bunch of egos in a small space for three months. That to me is simply asking for a Hiroshima of acting fury. Light the touch paper yourself, Gerhardt, I carry no matches.
So today I have another audtion for a childrens' show, "Mr Buttons' World Of Cotton Reels". It's a simply adorable role, playing Mr Buttons, who runs a small tailorage in a little village and the scrapes and problems that obviously brings. To really bring the kids in, there's also quite a bit of rap music. I don't understand rap myself, seems to me to be mostly about transgressions of the law, theft on a variety of levels and relationship issues. So it's educational as well.
I have now stopped taking calls from Gerhardt. THere's only so much anatomical advice one can take, and frankly, I don't want to talk about castration in Waitrose. So that's that. Sandy has been brilliant, of course. I mean, who needs a big poster role in a multi-million pound production when I am offered such jewels of work as 'third man in launderette' in a Daz commercial. People are going to see that time and time again. Unlike his production, which can only be seen once, at expense, probably by leaning over because someone with a big hat is sat in the seat in front of you. Plus I have never had someone recognise me from a theatrical production, whereas when I played a dissident diplomat damaged by a secret service plot who is attacked by a lion on Bexleyheath in Casualty, the plaudits rolled in. I quote "One thing I am pleased about last Saturday night is the savage attack on Tarquin McPhereson by a lion on a common. It seemed so real and oh, that it could be so". A testament to my acting, I think.
Besides, these big ticket things have a habit of going on tour, and frankly I can think of nothing worse than being imprisoned with a bunch of egos in a small space for three months. That to me is simply asking for a Hiroshima of acting fury. Light the touch paper yourself, Gerhardt, I carry no matches.
So today I have another audtion for a childrens' show, "Mr Buttons' World Of Cotton Reels". It's a simply adorable role, playing Mr Buttons, who runs a small tailorage in a little village and the scrapes and problems that obviously brings. To really bring the kids in, there's also quite a bit of rap music. I don't understand rap myself, seems to me to be mostly about transgressions of the law, theft on a variety of levels and relationship issues. So it's educational as well.
20100816
Agents
I rang Sandy, and at the mention of what I was doing with my sausage she put the phone down. I can only assume someone important walked into the agency, Hugh Grant or Michael De Caprio or someone.
Chester is looking more and more likely. The sausages say so, and I have also taken the liberty of consulting my psychic guide, Madame Busty. She is a true gift I found in the back pages of a magazine. For 1.50 a minute, she advises me on all aspects of my life. It was she who first advised me to get my sausages out and give them a good quizzing.
I need to pack. Oh, what to do!
THINGS TO PACK
5 Shirts
5 Trousers
5 Underpants
5 Vests
Picture of Proust
Travel Olives
Foot odour powder (in sealed container)
Trilby
Camera (with film this time)
Dr Hoots' Book of sexually transmitted diseases
DVD of Ricky Gervais
Some candles (not lit)
That should about do it. I haven't put down bathroom bag because we would be here all day listing the ephemera in there and I have also not listed pajamas, simply because when on the road, one likes to sleep au natural, to really get into the skin of the character. Also Timothy West took the piss out of my Porky Pig PJs last time.
Chester is looking more and more likely. The sausages say so, and I have also taken the liberty of consulting my psychic guide, Madame Busty. She is a true gift I found in the back pages of a magazine. For 1.50 a minute, she advises me on all aspects of my life. It was she who first advised me to get my sausages out and give them a good quizzing.
I need to pack. Oh, what to do!
THINGS TO PACK
5 Shirts
5 Trousers
5 Underpants
5 Vests
Picture of Proust
Travel Olives
Foot odour powder (in sealed container)
Trilby
Camera (with film this time)
Dr Hoots' Book of sexually transmitted diseases
DVD of Ricky Gervais
Some candles (not lit)
That should about do it. I haven't put down bathroom bag because we would be here all day listing the ephemera in there and I have also not listed pajamas, simply because when on the road, one likes to sleep au natural, to really get into the skin of the character. Also Timothy West took the piss out of my Porky Pig PJs last time.
Mr Binkley
Mr binkly is a remarkable man, with remarkable insight. How he earns his living cutting up meat and making sausages is beyond me, but make it he does. He provides one of the few anchors to ordinary people I have.
"You want some sausages then you old Queen?" he ventured, as I entered the shop "Yes. Sausages are my intended purchase" I parried "What you want then queer boy? Lamb? Pork? Spicy mix? I bet you like a spicy sausage in your mouth, don't you, you faggot" he rallied "No, I prefer a nice pork tonight" I vollied back "You shitbag" he instantly replied "and don't think I haven't forgotten about your slate, you shirtlifter" he returns, faultless in his delivery "Yes, I'll settle that today" I smash back over the net. Game set and match. He clearly has no answer as he wipes his nose on some paper and then wraps up my sausages. I love ordinary people.
Of course, no sausage based tea would be complete without veg. And I have a good rapport with my greengrocer, who affectionately refers to me as "you fucking bastard".
and so on.
Once home, I unwrap my sausages and quiz them for a full half an hour about the future. should I go there, thence or thither? Silently they mull over my entreaty, until finall my stomach rumbled the answer. Syncronicity is a wonderful thing. On then, with the grill.
I'll ring Sandy and tell about my sausage.
"You want some sausages then you old Queen?" he ventured, as I entered the shop "Yes. Sausages are my intended purchase" I parried "What you want then queer boy? Lamb? Pork? Spicy mix? I bet you like a spicy sausage in your mouth, don't you, you faggot" he rallied "No, I prefer a nice pork tonight" I vollied back "You shitbag" he instantly replied "and don't think I haven't forgotten about your slate, you shirtlifter" he returns, faultless in his delivery "Yes, I'll settle that today" I smash back over the net. Game set and match. He clearly has no answer as he wipes his nose on some paper and then wraps up my sausages. I love ordinary people.
Of course, no sausage based tea would be complete without veg. And I have a good rapport with my greengrocer, who affectionately refers to me as "you fucking bastard".
and so on.
Once home, I unwrap my sausages and quiz them for a full half an hour about the future. should I go there, thence or thither? Silently they mull over my entreaty, until finall my stomach rumbled the answer. Syncronicity is a wonderful thing. On then, with the grill.
I'll ring Sandy and tell about my sausage.
Update
Well, that's that then. Gerhardt and I have parted the ways. It was a polite discussion, involving an economy with words I have rarely witnessed in theatre. A verb, adverb, adjective, command interjection noun followed by an adverb. So that is that. His assertation that I should never be employed in the acting profession again I found slightly bemusing, since I am an actor and therefore very likely to be employed at some point in the acting profession. At some point.
I'm not sure what I want to do now; Sandy has suggested a brief spell in the Chester playhouse as Emile in Enklfuhkers' "Potentious Omlette" but to be honest I am not sure how that would work. I would definately need someone to mind the mews house, and since the incident with the Chelsea Pensioner I am wary of such a suggestion.
Being a Thesp, I am pulled by my emotions, guided by my heart and navigated by my innate acting compass. Should I do Chester? Would I be best chomping down some Chekov in Maidstone? I am guided by Butcharis, an ancient and sacred guide I picked up during my days in India. Meats so often give nourishment and wisdom which is unheard of in the West. So I have bought some sausages, and intend to quiz them and see what vibes they give out before I have my supper.
the unfortunate thing about Butcharis as a way of life is you eat your advisors; therefore they are not really accountable if something goes awry with your plans as a result of their advice. It's sort of like Tony Blairs' time in office, but without the cannibalism.
I'm not sure what I want to do now; Sandy has suggested a brief spell in the Chester playhouse as Emile in Enklfuhkers' "Potentious Omlette" but to be honest I am not sure how that would work. I would definately need someone to mind the mews house, and since the incident with the Chelsea Pensioner I am wary of such a suggestion.
Being a Thesp, I am pulled by my emotions, guided by my heart and navigated by my innate acting compass. Should I do Chester? Would I be best chomping down some Chekov in Maidstone? I am guided by Butcharis, an ancient and sacred guide I picked up during my days in India. Meats so often give nourishment and wisdom which is unheard of in the West. So I have bought some sausages, and intend to quiz them and see what vibes they give out before I have my supper.
the unfortunate thing about Butcharis as a way of life is you eat your advisors; therefore they are not really accountable if something goes awry with your plans as a result of their advice. It's sort of like Tony Blairs' time in office, but without the cannibalism.
20100815
an affable meeting
I'm putting this down because I want to remember everything. I did attempt to take a tape machine with me, but the whirring noise alerted Sandy to my scheme, and frankly it is difficult for a jumper to conceal a reel machine. Besides, it was chaffing my nipples.
Sandy detailed to me the contents of her late night conversation with Gerhardt, peppered as it was with swearing, accusations and slander. I must say I would have been aghast had he said this to my face, but sandy had the good sense to record the conversation with him and play it back to me. Never in all my years have I heard such unbridled fury on tape, apart from when I stood on Dame Peggy Ashcrofts' foot at the Lycium.
Gerhardt said things which frankly I would, in any other circumstance, consult a solicitor about. He made reference to my foot odour. It's a condition, for Gods' sake. Some people have commented that the oniony tang could be considered a trade mark of my work. Although they were sat in the Upper stalls.
Then he commented on my punctuality. Let me tell you, getting across Chichester is no easy task, especially for a celebrated actor such as myself. People stop you, for Heavens' sake. They ask for all sorts of things, "Will you attend my Daughters' wedding", "Aren't you the man from 'Oh What A Palavar?" and "Where are you going, have you paid for that couscous?". Then there's the boutiques. It seems every day there are new and exciting additions to their range of walking sticks, which demand urgent and detailed attention. I'm only grateful I haven't so far been swamped by autograph hunters. I remember Billy Smart telling me he was forced once to sign a womans' chest in the middle of assisting a member of his team in his lion taming routine, something which cost him the audiences' attention and indirectly a vacancy in his troupe. Public transport is a nightmare for someone like me. The conversation usually goes something like this
DRIVER : One to the Playhouse
Me: Yes, one to the playhouse. For I am Tarquin McPhereson, and I intend to give the people in the audience a show to remember.
DRIVER: Yes. One to theplayhouse. £4.50
Me: Oh, badger me not, stout navigator of this mobile fortress! Tis for the want of better surrounds, of deeper understanding and to become one with my allotted stage persona that I do board this metal hulk.
DRIVER:Four pounds fifty. Please.
Me: You're obsessed with monetary gain, as are your temporary wards. Look beyond, I say! Look beyond and into the chasm of your-
DRIVER: Four pounds fifty or I am calling the Police.
As any actor will tell you communicating with Joe Public is not easy. Oh, they may protest that their job as heart surgeon, scientist or explorer are vital, but I say this "Piffle!" the job of the actor uncovers their folly, reveals their sanctimony, exposes their shallowness. I must admit though I was surprised when several of these auguste people took this to heart, and I was administered what the Victorians called 'a right good kicking' by Dr. Michael DeBakey, Richard Dawkins in a dark lane outside the Cottesloe. They wore masks, and spoke in Middle east accents, but I know it was them.
I digress. The upshot of all this is Gerhardts' statement that I should not turn in for work on Monday. Which is delightful as I have a few things to do and it frees my day up nicely. I think it'll do them good to work for a day without my input, give them a chance to grow. Could be quite interesting when I go in on Tuesday.
Sandy detailed to me the contents of her late night conversation with Gerhardt, peppered as it was with swearing, accusations and slander. I must say I would have been aghast had he said this to my face, but sandy had the good sense to record the conversation with him and play it back to me. Never in all my years have I heard such unbridled fury on tape, apart from when I stood on Dame Peggy Ashcrofts' foot at the Lycium.
Gerhardt said things which frankly I would, in any other circumstance, consult a solicitor about. He made reference to my foot odour. It's a condition, for Gods' sake. Some people have commented that the oniony tang could be considered a trade mark of my work. Although they were sat in the Upper stalls.
Then he commented on my punctuality. Let me tell you, getting across Chichester is no easy task, especially for a celebrated actor such as myself. People stop you, for Heavens' sake. They ask for all sorts of things, "Will you attend my Daughters' wedding", "Aren't you the man from 'Oh What A Palavar?" and "Where are you going, have you paid for that couscous?". Then there's the boutiques. It seems every day there are new and exciting additions to their range of walking sticks, which demand urgent and detailed attention. I'm only grateful I haven't so far been swamped by autograph hunters. I remember Billy Smart telling me he was forced once to sign a womans' chest in the middle of assisting a member of his team in his lion taming routine, something which cost him the audiences' attention and indirectly a vacancy in his troupe. Public transport is a nightmare for someone like me. The conversation usually goes something like this
DRIVER : One to the Playhouse
Me: Yes, one to the playhouse. For I am Tarquin McPhereson, and I intend to give the people in the audience a show to remember.
DRIVER: Yes. One to theplayhouse. £4.50
Me: Oh, badger me not, stout navigator of this mobile fortress! Tis for the want of better surrounds, of deeper understanding and to become one with my allotted stage persona that I do board this metal hulk.
DRIVER:Four pounds fifty. Please.
Me: You're obsessed with monetary gain, as are your temporary wards. Look beyond, I say! Look beyond and into the chasm of your-
DRIVER: Four pounds fifty or I am calling the Police.
As any actor will tell you communicating with Joe Public is not easy. Oh, they may protest that their job as heart surgeon, scientist or explorer are vital, but I say this "Piffle!" the job of the actor uncovers their folly, reveals their sanctimony, exposes their shallowness. I must admit though I was surprised when several of these auguste people took this to heart, and I was administered what the Victorians called 'a right good kicking' by Dr. Michael DeBakey, Richard Dawkins in a dark lane outside the Cottesloe. They wore masks, and spoke in Middle east accents, but I know it was them.
I digress. The upshot of all this is Gerhardts' statement that I should not turn in for work on Monday. Which is delightful as I have a few things to do and it frees my day up nicely. I think it'll do them good to work for a day without my input, give them a chance to grow. Could be quite interesting when I go in on Tuesday.
20100814
Just had a call from Sandy. apparently Gerhardt saw my previous entry and was not amused. Of course the conversation he had with Sandy is confidential and I am not privvy to the exact nature or content, but I will say this;
whether or not that came up in the conversation I have no idea; as I said, not privvy. Don't want to know. But I also have actually had training, thank you. And I was on time, ta everso. Oh, and that was Beckhams' fragrance I was wearing. Cheap shit? I think not. As I say, I thought I would cover these areas in case they came up in conversation.
Sandy said in her call I had more or less blown it, and that if I turned in for work on Monday Gerhardt may not be able to control his urges. While I have no issue with homosexuality, Gerhardt will have to look elsewhere to assuage his 'urges'. Despite a small amount of dabbling in RADA, I have never really had any desire that way. Except for John Simm. And we all remember what the Daily Mirror made of that court case.
If the play falls through, there is a chance I may have a shot at Binko Breakfast Bear. It's a series of commercials, you know the sort of thing, they did a similar thing with Tony Head and Sharon...god, how awful. I can't remember her name. Anyway, he goes around for coffee or something and it all develops and becomes a drama. Anyway, I might play Binko Bear, the bear who loves breakfast. It's a series of ads in which Binko demonstrates how brekky is the most important meal of the day.We see Binko with his meal and how his day goes, and how it goes without it. My favourite scene is where Binko goes without it and has to present a powerpoint presentation to Toyota executives, loses his cool and, well, even I have to say I was magnificent as angry Binko, biting, knawing and roaring. I don't want to spoil the ending but suffice to say I have bought Berk Kwok some flowers and get well soon card. He'll appreciate them when he wakes up.
My novel is coming along fine as well. It's a torrid tale set in the herring industry. Roman loves Pook, but is stopped in his love by circumstance he must somehow overcome. That's as far as I have got. I lent the script to Perrigrin Dawton but it appears his daughter has got hold of it and sellotaped images of parrots all through chapter three, obscuring the words. I have had no end of support from some of my acting bretherin. Brian Blessed, when I rang him was speechless when I read him the first chapter, Ken Roache suggested one or two changes and Barbara Windsor charmingly impersonated a fax machine.
Looking forward to the meet tomorrow, I must say. Now to Bedforshire, where my Jackie Collins is waiting. She's such a good writer. I could read her books over and over again; and have done.
I HAVE NEVER SLEPT WITH FARM ANIMALS
whether or not that came up in the conversation I have no idea; as I said, not privvy. Don't want to know. But I also have actually had training, thank you. And I was on time, ta everso. Oh, and that was Beckhams' fragrance I was wearing. Cheap shit? I think not. As I say, I thought I would cover these areas in case they came up in conversation.
Sandy said in her call I had more or less blown it, and that if I turned in for work on Monday Gerhardt may not be able to control his urges. While I have no issue with homosexuality, Gerhardt will have to look elsewhere to assuage his 'urges'. Despite a small amount of dabbling in RADA, I have never really had any desire that way. Except for John Simm. And we all remember what the Daily Mirror made of that court case.
If the play falls through, there is a chance I may have a shot at Binko Breakfast Bear. It's a series of commercials, you know the sort of thing, they did a similar thing with Tony Head and Sharon...god, how awful. I can't remember her name. Anyway, he goes around for coffee or something and it all develops and becomes a drama. Anyway, I might play Binko Bear, the bear who loves breakfast. It's a series of ads in which Binko demonstrates how brekky is the most important meal of the day.We see Binko with his meal and how his day goes, and how it goes without it. My favourite scene is where Binko goes without it and has to present a powerpoint presentation to Toyota executives, loses his cool and, well, even I have to say I was magnificent as angry Binko, biting, knawing and roaring. I don't want to spoil the ending but suffice to say I have bought Berk Kwok some flowers and get well soon card. He'll appreciate them when he wakes up.
My novel is coming along fine as well. It's a torrid tale set in the herring industry. Roman loves Pook, but is stopped in his love by circumstance he must somehow overcome. That's as far as I have got. I lent the script to Perrigrin Dawton but it appears his daughter has got hold of it and sellotaped images of parrots all through chapter three, obscuring the words. I have had no end of support from some of my acting bretherin. Brian Blessed, when I rang him was speechless when I read him the first chapter, Ken Roache suggested one or two changes and Barbara Windsor charmingly impersonated a fax machine.
Looking forward to the meet tomorrow, I must say. Now to Bedforshire, where my Jackie Collins is waiting. She's such a good writer. I could read her books over and over again; and have done.
Hello
My agent has been telling me to get a presence online, and since there has been so much mentioning me I thought I should put a few lines up myself. But mine will be polite.
For those who don't know me, I am Tarquin McPhereson. I have been under the spell of Thespis for 40 years, and in that time have bought joy to many people. And occasionally pizza. For tis my zest for life which I feel sets me apart from my fellow actors. My dedication to my craft. Many people think being an actor is a piece of proverbial piss, but no. It involves conventration. It involves knowing yourself and your fellow man. It functions best when the actor is able to dig into the deeper recesses of their past, to dredge up all that angst, pain, fury, sorrow and joy that is life. and if you can do that in a bear costume, that's even better.
Tomorrow, Sunday, I am to see Sandy, my agent, about the attitude of Gerhardt, the director of the play I am currently auditioning for. While I respect him deeply as an artist, I do think his advice to me during my audtion was both rude and misplaced. "Learn waitressing" he said. I spoke to Sandy about this and she said Gerhardt had already called her about something else, but my name had come up several times. I can only assume his English failed him, because in his exciteable manner, he relapsed into his native tongue, and sounded, according to Sandy like Angela Merkl on helium. Of course, I would never dream of saying that to his face. That would be professional suicide.
For those who don't know me, I am Tarquin McPhereson. I have been under the spell of Thespis for 40 years, and in that time have bought joy to many people. And occasionally pizza. For tis my zest for life which I feel sets me apart from my fellow actors. My dedication to my craft. Many people think being an actor is a piece of proverbial piss, but no. It involves conventration. It involves knowing yourself and your fellow man. It functions best when the actor is able to dig into the deeper recesses of their past, to dredge up all that angst, pain, fury, sorrow and joy that is life. and if you can do that in a bear costume, that's even better.
Tomorrow, Sunday, I am to see Sandy, my agent, about the attitude of Gerhardt, the director of the play I am currently auditioning for. While I respect him deeply as an artist, I do think his advice to me during my audtion was both rude and misplaced. "Learn waitressing" he said. I spoke to Sandy about this and she said Gerhardt had already called her about something else, but my name had come up several times. I can only assume his English failed him, because in his exciteable manner, he relapsed into his native tongue, and sounded, according to Sandy like Angela Merkl on helium. Of course, I would never dream of saying that to his face. That would be professional suicide.
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