Spare Time

One thing I love to do when I am resting is visit people in hospital. I know – you are thinking ‘Tarquin, where do you find the time?’ Well, I don’t act all the time. Sometimes one needs to take a break from the cut and thrust of the art of Thespis and walk the path of real life. Too meet one’s public is an honour, not a chore, and it’s especially nice when they know who I am without having to tell them. I carry a CV around with me now and a couple of colour prints.

Hospitals contain all life. From the new mother and her charge, to the old fellow in the corner who is making odd gurgling noises behind a curtain. The staff are quite ameanable to my presence, and direct me to whoever they deem most deserving of my attentions. 

I am told the patients face strict competition from each other to garner my audience. As I approach the bed, the game continues, and they pull the blankets over their face or sometimes pretend to be asleep. What japes we have. Now, I do have strict criteria of who I will and won’t visit. Prisoners – who while I feel should get medical help will only be encouraged if a celebrity such as moi comes to see them. 

And anyone who has some sort of skin ailment. Or has toilet issues. Or keeps being sick. Or has to be strapped down. Or anyone with any strange contagion. Cuts and bruises. Broken stuff. And anyone who, frankly, is on the brink of meeting God. Take my word for it, you don’t want to be at the apex of an hilarious story about a pantomime in Crewe only to find your audience has very literally died of excitement. As long as they don’t have any of those things going on I am delighted to pull up a chair and be their new buddy. 

Of course, staying healthy is vital in my line of work, and therefore I have invested in a Hazmat suit.