In retrospect this month was poor in
terms of work and general acting tasks. Many were the auditions I
went to, for butlers, heroic men in cloaks, evil uncles and Mr
D'Arcey. Although I say Mr D'Arcey, it would appear I was somewhat
optimistic about that as it was actually Mr Donkey, a play about what
would happen if a Donkey ran the bank of England. An allegory to our
modern dilemmas and the financial situation we all find ourselves in.
Travelling the London Underground
dressed as a 19th Century fop is never easy, ask anyone
who was involved in the New Romantic movement or has a Burtons' card.
The audition itself was marred by my
interpretation of D'Arcey, pretending to be a donkey destroying the
economic system from within whilst having a mouthful of carrot. I am
not surprised that they uttered the dreaded 'next'.
Also this month I was asked to talk
about my old friend James Wilkes, the actor, for a programme called
'My Glorious Friends', a Channel Four vehicle where those who have
attained what we laughingly call celebrity are indeed celebrated. I
waxed lyrical about my old mucker for what seemed like days, regaling
my interviewer with stories and anecdotes of the great man, before
being asked to calm down a bit and not appear to be 'so bloody
angry'. Fifteen minutes and two Consulate later I am back, relating
my escapades and memories of the man. The Droitwich Caper. The
Woolwich job. Other work in other locations all over the land.
Wokingham. Penzance. Twatt.
I was surprised the producers of the
programme decided to cut down my contribution to a mere eight
seconds, four of which were me eating a biscuit.
January was, in many ways, a wash out.
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