Opportunity Knocks

Often in life things occur when one is least expecting them. January is always a quiet month for us thesps, many of whom are either scraping off the makeup piled on from work over christmas or furtively avoiding the call from Debenhams for the Santa costume back.

I myself have been immersing myself in decorating my new cottage; I have to say it is very cathartic to move away albeit temporarily from subtext and motivation to flock wallpaper. I have to say those that have visited me have commented that my design is both original and striking. A new, undiscovered talent perhaps? I came up with the 'farmyard' design in conjunction with Chris Wainright, although I should point out Chris generously said I should take all the credit for it. Such was his generosity he turned down any money or undertakings of favours in return, finally stating - and I am having documents drawn up legally - that he wanted nothing to do with it.

The design itself is strikingly simple; pasture shades of green, mellowing into the golden tinge of Autumn, with the occasional brown dollop. The dollops themselves are affectionately known as Cow Pies, and with the three D glasses (optional) you can imagine cattle had indeed hoofed it across your wallpaper, leaving only the goodness of their excrement as the proof. You may also, should you wish, purchase the optional scratch and sniff accompanying the wallpaper.

it really is rewarding, living in a old house, to be a custodian of the past. There are so many parts of the house which I find enchanting. Only this morning I was delving into a Priests' nook, while this afternoon saw me sliding sideways into a concealed passage. I mentioned this in the pub - The Ryder - and was surprised when the Landlord informed me that 'we don't like that sort of talk in here, Mr McPhereson. If that is what you are after, try The Beefy Bicep on the Holland Road'. Bemused at their lack of interest in home improvement and local history, I ventured to the said hostelry, mentioned the same issues I had previously in The Ryder, and within an hour I had a small group of interested young workmen - evidently just finished a long, hot shift on site by the look of them - to come back and labour through the night.

Labour down here seems to be a different meaning to the one I was intending. Whereas what I had envisaged was some pointing, plastering and the odd bit of woodwork, what actually transpired was a lot of disco music and naked dancing. All very nice indeed, but not conducive to my cottage being restored. They also refused to leave, and as the Police report clearly states, they started the trouble.

When the fire was extinguished, I was left with nothing more than a letter opener, two chair legs and a roll of my wallpaper.

Pamela, my agents' so called assistant.

I have never been so insulted. I just came off the phone to Viviens’ assistant, Pamela (I have been given her mobile number as the office is quite busy) and she wasn’t even at her desk. At this time! On a Saturday! She was in Sainsburys. Hardly a place to discuss new ideas, although they are stocking Bengali pickle now.

I suggested my idea to her – after having to remind her SEVERAL TIMES who I was – and she said ‘What do you know about food?’. What do I know about food? WHAT DO I KNOW ABOUT FOOD? I advised her to look at my Curriculum Vitae, but she said what with being in Sainsburys she didn’t have a copy to hand. When I then said she should ask them to see the unsuccessful applicants file for the tobacco counter in the personnel file, she declined. She repeated her enquiry about my level of knowledge of food. I reminded her how much food had played a part in the parts I had played

• Yogesh the Radish in The Travelling School players production of ‘Fruit and Veg’
• Dr Richard Onions in ‘The Armageddon’
• Smearing myself and Anna Massey in yoghurt during a love scene in Lady Jane Grey (although technically I wasn’t in that)
• Winston Churchill eating a Melon in ‘Winston – The Melon Eating Years’
• Cyril the Healthy Hamburger on the Streatham High Road

Was this not enough? Of course I am leaving out the scene in ‘Locks’ Fortress’ where myself, Gordon Francis and Bob Muckerjee were rolling around naked in a huge vat of blackberries. That film though may not count as I don’t think it was ever commercially released although I have had a cheque to prove it was recently shown in a club in Brighton called ‘Clench’. I do love these clique movie enthusiasts.

I’d also been eating most of my life, which I hoped counted as research.

“What do you know about food, Tarquin, do you cook?” My food knowledge is – and I am the first to admit this – limited. I had to reply that over a six week shoot my recipe for porridge would become a little repetitive, even if I added jam around episode four as a plot twist.

“You have to know something, Tarquin, about the subject. We can’t just waltz into the BBC with any old crap and expect them to say yes. We’re not Jennifer Saunders”. And the line went dead.

Replacing the handset into the cradle, I pondered her words. I then rang her back and impersonated Jennifer Saunders with the same idea, but got through to her voicemail and had a coughing fit, during which a large gob of phlegm covered the handset and caused much disgusting language from yours truly. So if you see Ms Saunders making flambé Cheese Cauliflower or icing a cake which looks like an Epsom printer, you know it’s all fixed.

Why can I not do cooking on TV? I would be very good. One of my hobbies is cooking, and then eating, and to have someone else, or preferably a couple of million people who can’t interrupt me watching me eat something, that would be ideal.

So now I am planning my McPhereson Delicious Road Trip. I shall visit theatres, radio stations and on location news reporters and cook for them and film the results. And I will send the tape to the BBC myself. Then we will see if the BBC can resist my tasty talents.

New Year, New Start...

New year was a quiet one for me. While Binky next door celebrated into the night, with his coterie of thespian friends, I opted for a good book, a cup of cocoa and a pouffe. I must admit though, I don’t like reading fiction. One of the worst things about being an actor is you are always visualising text as it would appear, as you would perform it. It is a curse of our profession I am afraid, and reading Delias’ Summertime Treats did nothing to assuage my preparation.

Soon I was scouring the Internet for pastry ingredients, convinced I could, perhaps, perform a more convincing portrayal of someone cooking something than Delia. The bells rang heralding a new year, and I was writing to Amazon to complain about the lack of pastry. I think more people should write complaints to companies at this sort of time, instead of partying with friends, colleagues and peers. It shows one cares about the business.

I could present a cookery show. I am not sure what sort of food I would specialise in. I could of course base my entire culinary output on my acting experiences; years spent on sets, with the caterers. Although I hasten to add caterers is a pejorative term. I have often considered the very real possibility that that manufacturer such poor food simply to finish you off before the cheque turns up. How could I improve this? Less sausages? A shade less mash? No flies? It would be a boon indeed to be the man who made on set location food edible. And it would lessen the work for the forensic people. I would become even more of a national treasure than I already am. And I am a national treasure. I know this because people rarely mention their valuables in case some swarthy type breaks in and steals it when they are away in the Dordogne. There would be nothing worse for theatre, film or television that I would be stolen, possibly melted down and sold. Imagine, the phone ringing with an offer for Casualty while I am being bundled into a sack. The humanity.

So location food. Awful. I remember once appearing in All Creatures Great and Small and Bob Hardy turning up with a tin of winalot, the food there was so poor. Spoonful after spoonful he consumed, all the while talking about long bows. It was lucky he was among actors, any other profession we would have had him put away.

Hospital food is another area I could specialise in. While I was visiting Bob last week, I was struck by how he had everything mashed up and was being fed by the nurse – somewhat forcefully I have to say – with a plastic spoon. Apparently he had managed to work the straps lose and there was an incident with a pudding the previous week. But mashed up food seemed to be very common in there. I could mash things up and then make them into some new sort of cuisine. And the beauty of it is, you can mash anything, virtually. And bits you find difficult to mash there are always the miracles of modern technology. The Krelby Auto Mash, The Rosco Blender, The Ford Focus.

I shall call Pamela this afternoon and discuss my idea. McPheresons’ Meals is the working title. I did ask Binky but he suggested Tarquins’ Tiny Treat and wandered off laughing.