October

I again am forced to apologise for my tardy postings.

Being an actor, one is forced into a set of circumstances; auditions, applying for auditions, doing auditions, asking the director what it is exactly they want, arguing that the vision they have is not one you share, waiting the call back, hanging around the theatre, finding out where the director lives, finally accosting them in Waitrose dressed as the part you auditioned for (in this case a transexual Viking) and then all the legal and custodial events I shall not bore you with.

It really is rude of people not to do the simply thing of letting one know whether one will be able to afford to eat. You pick up the phone, you call me, and tell me “Sorry, Tarquin, we cannot see you are Eugene this time”. I can take it. I'm not a monster. Contrary to what Mssrs Aldkirk and Weston have claimed, I am professional enough to accept defeat.

I must say though the mafia had a good thing of placing a severed horse's head on the pillow next to their intended victim. I couldn't actually find a horse, and I did feel somewhat odd harming an animal just to make a point, so my decision was right, I think, to use sprouts.

Voodoo is also something which I have found to be ineffective, and I have now disposed of all my dolls and pins.