Teary Eyed Tarquin

The sadness which pervades the end of a run is something I have always found hard to get over. Indeed, on occasion I have witnessed many actors anticipate the final performance when I attend the first day of rehearsal, blubbing and wailing and calling their agents in quivering tones.

The problem is that we actors are sensitive souls; we bond so easily. Our company becomes like family, a close knit unbreakable bond develops which can only be broken by death, coma or a Bovril commercial. Yet we are also pragmatists. We know that ultimately, as in life, a run must end and we must move on to the next role, the next challenge, the next audience who have yet to sample our delights.

I am in this sort of mood because I have just finished a run as Cedric in 'Dobermans Dilemma', an interesting mid 18th Century piece about industry, slavery and beans. The play, written by Mallard, is one of the most moving ever put on in Wolverhampton Community Centre (I am informed) and immediately garnered plaudits from the local press. The Wolverhampton Messenger described the play as a 'rollercoaster of emotions' while the Tribune noted 'a hearty, meaty subject tackled with deft moribundity by a cast who were assumed to know what they were doing'. Of course we knew exactly what we were doing; we were creating the actual atmosphere of the 18th century, and this was enhanced no end by the faulty drains.

The team consisted of Miranda Nyta, Christian McColl, David Lewes and Rachel Pargetter-Gratton. Fine performers all, and topped off with yours truely as the seedy smuggler who's intent to court young Agatha was as strong as his desire avoid import duty. The cast formed a strong bond, almost immediately, although I am always cautious of such temporal attachments. Chinese meals were eaten, nights in bars were commonplace, the savouring of all Wolverhampton had to offer, it's exotic and erotic, its' studious and serious, its' meat and drink were all undertaken during the rehearsal period. Apparently. I of course preferred to stay in my hotel room, studying the script and looking at the patterns in the wallpaper, and I am pleased they spared themselves the embarrassment of asking me to join in such things. I find the process of bonding with fellow thesps a joy, but I know the heartbreak of goodbyes all too well and such things can be bad for the spirit and the soul. and I can always order a pizza.

The thing is, I think Wolverhampton CC is haunted. I was struck by the number of times my door was knocked yet no one was there. By the strange way people seemed to look over my shoulder in mid conversation, and by the almost subliminal yet constant whispering from mouths unseen of the word 'cheesy'. In theatre one gets used to such phenomena; the production of raw human emotion is bound to elicit a reaction from beyond the grave - even if it doesn't get much from the audience - and spirits are drawn to our naked and vulnerable exposition of the mortal condition. Also it has heating, which may be a factor. I remember appearing at The Ladbrooke some years back in the 1930s farce 'Binky and the Butler' and was surprised to see the disembodied entity of Sir Henry Irving sat, as real as I am now, in my dressing room chair, brandishing a waste paper basket and what looked to be a gonad. "Beware" said Sir Henry "beware the reviewers, Tarquin". Then the figure was gone. I mentioned it to the Theatre manageress and she said Sir Henry only appeared to a select few, offering his wisdom and guidance and would I like a complimentary bag of wine gums. "My good woman" I replied, my hands still shaking from the phantom encounter "by wine gums this spirit shall not dispel!" and left in something of a huff. I refused to use the dressing room again, but space being limited I had to change in the public toilets, and due to a misunderstanding was cautioned under the indecent exposure laws.

Sir Henrys' words were apposite, however, when the reviews for the show did finally appear. All were what could be described - and I make no apology for using a show business term - not good. Even Exchange & Mart broke with tradition of advertising car parts and dodgy, unfumigated furniture by mentioning how bad they thought the show was, although they were kind to place it under 'Fridges'.

Interview

I was recently interviewed by Jo Toxic on Cumberland Gold, the radio station service Cumberland and surrounding area. She seemed very poorly informed as to my career, but you cannot turn your back on publicity.

Speaking of which I would like to distance myself from the commercials for the Nazis. I now realise this was a bad career move, but in all honesty I was under the impression that Na Zi was a detergent. "We need to get all the filth out" said the representative. I apologise for my involvement and any offence I may have caused; it was entirely innocent. I thought at the time it was a very big washing machine, and it only goes to show you should research things thoroughly before becoming involved.

Bad

I write this from the Mild Attention Care wing of Dunstalls' Hospital for actors. I was in Intensive care, and when I arrived I was in the Keenly Observed In An Intrusive Manner Which Should You Wake Up You May Feel A Bit Annoyed ward.

The hospital is specifically for actors. No extras, supporting artistes or crew are allowed to benefit from the services offered. Around me are some brilliant yet ailing thesps, many of them making a desperate final encore before moving into retirement. Jon Crisp, the actor who starred as the mysterious Agent Pork in Reasonable Cause lies opposite, his legs in plaster suspended by pulleys which neatly lift his buttocks from the bed. Ironic his final illness puts him in the same position as his first audition. Hilary Quim, who I appeared with in Portsmouth in a Pizza Hut promotion, completely covered in psoriasis, poor love, and every time she moves she sounds like my leather bound Encyclopedia of Sexual knowledge. And to my right Bernard Yakob who seems to have bought some pills off the Internet, judging by the ruffles in his blankets.

The staff here are excellent, and all needs are catered for. Mr Battersea was ill Sunday last, with low blood sugar and difficulty breathing and the staff leapt into action with an impromptu version of 'The Producers'. Oh, that funny, funny performance. Most excellent. I know Mr Battersea enjoyed it and am sorry he missed the end.

So here I lay, with splints, bandages and a poor recollection of what exactly happened to situate me thus. I do remember saying to Brian Blessed 'You are a bit loud' and the next thing I woke up here.

Three weeks I will be in here apparently. It could be longer. Depends on how long Blessed is waiting outside.