That was Bob True, manager of the Truro International Theatre Syndicate (he apparently hates the acronym), asking if I was available to do some work for him and the rest of his coterie. He said he had rung Avril, but she had told him of the situation vis my departure from their books and how I was ‘not very good anyway’ and would he prefer to hire someone who can actually act, as opposed to ‘the wooden old man with the flatulence’.
I had to think back a bit to think of when exactly I have farted in her office, and I think it’s not a great deal. I think a ratio of 8:10 is probably about right, and I don’t recall anyone complaining at the time. I remember her actually telling me once, that a certain performer, not entirely unconnected with pianos, staircases and PG Tips, actually defecated on her desk while she was in the room. And STILL got the voiceover.
I also don’t recall anyone saying I am wooden. Unless you count my stint as Pinocchio, the wooden child puppet which I played in ‘Pinocchio, The Accountancy Years’ (a savage work by the Epsom Esoteric Theatre Workshop about tax evasion) which was heralded in the Epsom Evening Argos as ‘meh’.
In fact, not one person has ever called me ‘wooden’ in any part I have played. Except where the part has required a certain timber-like quality. (Bert the Beech in The Trees of Soloman Lakes for example). No, I will not be called ‘wooden’.
I suppose it could be a compliment. Wood is after all eternal and reliable. It provides shelter, can be fashioned into weaponary and also provides a natural nesting and breeding environment for a rich ecosystem of life. Much like myself.
I shall take it that is what she meant. Although it is weighted by the phrase at the end of the sentence ‘shitbag’.
No comments:
Post a Comment