Christmas mk3

So here I am on Xmas day and I must say I feel very festive. All my friends I see have the traditional invites onto panel games, year review shows, almanacs, satirical guest spots, appearances on BBC Breakfast and various cameos on certain dramas, comedies and in one case, the news. I myself am very private about Christmas. I believe it is more than just appearing on such trivia to say what it means to you, and I have to say even if I was asked to appear I would politely decline, which is probably why they didn’t ask me. They respect me too much.

Of course, there is always the risk that as an actor you can become better known as an actor than for the parts you play; When I was in the BBC Playhouse production of ‘The Gay Rastafarian’ in the 1970s, the reaction from the public was nothing less than abusive. Some of them didn’t seem to realise I was trying to expose what it was to be a black, gay, Rastafarian living in Merthyr Tydfil, and the language was such I decided to move to another area.

I would hate to be known as an actor. It breaks the illusion. I like people to come up to me and say ‘You know, Tarquin, I loved your drunken milkman in Borradene Close or your tipsy Lord in ‘Not My Trousers, Asquith’ or your merry do-gooder in ‘The Salmon Of Furley Way’’. Of course, it would be too much for them to remember a name for the characters (even if the writers had bothered to think of one) but to think I moved them so much that they would approach me in the Magistrates Court is touching.

Yes, being known as an actor is the pits. For once people see behind the mask, there is no point in having a mask at all. You may as well go on and be yourself in whatever role you do, just pad it out with some silly faces, maybe an eccentric gesture and a seemingly involuntary rolling of the eyes. Did I actually ring Lesley Joseph? I can’t remember.

So here I sit, Xmas morning, listening to the excellent shows provided gratis by the BBC. Like many others I suspect, shouting at the set when I think something isn’t done to the proper standard, or an actor forgets his lines and mugs his way through. One thing you need as an actor is to be able to remember your lines. It’s not hard, for Gods’ sake. Remember your lines. I am sure I would remember my lines had I been given the part. But that’s the thing about showbusiness, it’s not how good you are, it’s who you know. And what you know about them. And the receipts where they bought the equipment.

My card adorns the wall, as does my now admittedly worn paper chain. And I have gone for a tree which is both theatrical and festive, covered in lights and baubles and tinsel. I am sure the Garrick were closed today and didn’t need it.

Under the tree is a little present to myself. I always buy myself a small trinket just to show someone cares. I carefully fill in the label with my left hand to complete the illusion. I always tell myself not to, but sometimes one feels better having something to open from someone who truly cares.

And of course, what Christmas would not be complete without a traditional English breakfast? Although I have abandoned certain aspects of said meal for health reasons, and updated the entire platter with 21^st century comestibles. Cold Chinese.

I wish you a Merry Xmas, whoever you are, and hope you see me in 2012.