I have just been invited to Ken Brannahs' do celebrating his ascension into the Actorium. Oh hallowed day. For those who don't know, the Actorium is the theatrical equivalent of the Masons, and many who have fallen foul of them have but ne'er been dressed up as a Pantomime Chicken throughout Europe again. Their power is such they can ruin an actors career with a wave of their manicured hand. I knew a fellow, put Anthony Hopkins, Peter Finch and Alec Guiness to shame with his immense talent, he made an error of crossing the Actori, and was run over by a truck some years later. They are not people to be messed with. Recently I saw them remove Alan Davies' name from a poster, although there is some question on what it was doing on a lingerie ad anyway.
My invitation comes care of Bob Fould, brother of the famous Norman, who is one of the Actoriums' guardians. He stands on the door of the mighty shed, and doesn't let anyone in unless dictated to personally by the hallowed Actori Luvvy Majoris, the leader of this mysterious covern-like outfit. "You might as well come along" he said "if you have nothing better to do". Well, as luck would have it, I didn't have anything else to do, and so along I go.
the investiture is a complex one, featuring dance, recital, mime and excrement. Get it right and it's Hollywood and the multimillion dollar clique. Get it wrong and it's six years pretending to bandage up people from a jam commercial in Doctors.
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