Big League

I have just had a call from Sandy, my agent. The Gent series don't want me back.

for those who don't know, the Gent is a series very much in the style of The Saint, except it's a Gent, not a Saint. Played by Peter Bowles, it is a heavy action series, as he, the only survivor of a crack squad of US Marines sent into Saigon, battles injustices and his own psychosis, while settling scores in the dark shadows of Dulwich.

I played Montmerency Quintet, his butler and confidante, the only man alive who knows The Gents' weakness, past and underwear habits. The reason I am being 'disposed of' are listed as follows

• I am told I was a problem on set.

Rubbish. I always conducted myself with professionalism and dedication. Yes, I was late on occassion but that was entirely due to traffic. And at no point did I intend to bruise Mr Bowles, and even if I did, I'm sure they could cover it up with makeup.

• I was always complaining about my lines

I have to say here my lines were poorly written. How is one supposed to convey mistry, brooding and untold menace when uttering 'Another rice pudding, Sir?'. The story itself was ludicrous. An Heiress comes to The Gent claiming her Fathers' Rice Pudding empire has been infiltrated by a Mexican Drug Cartel who are putting crack cocaine in his fayre. Obviously this would not concern her, as the addiction to Rice Pudding which would ensue would bring hefty dividends. But apparently having a story which makes sense is a nonsequitor in television these days.

•  I ran over the director

Balderdash. There was a wasp, I lost control of the car, mounted the pavement and that's that. I was NOT laughing. I was scared and making a disbelieving laugh. Some people laugh when they are frightened of something terrible. Look at Terry and Junes' audience.

• I dropped my trousers and said to the make up girl 'Ever tried touching up one of these?'

I had a bruise on my thigh as she well knows, had she simply looked slightly left.


I don't care. I can do without them. I have a role as a detective/ringmaster in Circus of Crime, a gritty, gory drama for ITV with Su Pollard as the love interest.

I have cheese

The Cheese people have rung. In short, I went for a test to become 'Cheery Cheeky Cheese', the friend of Frankie Flannel, the American cartoon creation of Delaware Animation Studios. The cheese is a friendly fellow, always advising Frankie not to do things, which Frankie does, with hilarious results.

I have been shortlisted as mine was apparently the sort of face the could imagine being inside the Cheese costume. I cannot wait for the second audition. The first one was tense, but I did meet my old friend Peter Davidson there. Peter speaks with a strange falsetto since Dr Who, partly because he's trying to break out of that slightly uncomfortable, nervous stereotype he is so often cast as, but mostly because he banged his testicles on the Tardis console quite severely.

Piccadilly et al

And so the day arrived. My planning and rehearsals and practice. I got changed in a newspaper vendors booth, which surprised me and him. After all, it's not many sellers who have a world class actor disrobe and place a flan on his head.

Then onto Piccadilly itself. Oh, the rush. The uninhibited exhibitionism I felt I cannot convey in words. Imagine being on a Rollercoaster while eating a roast beef platter. That was the feeling. Although the potatoes probably weren't done the way I like them. I think if you cook them in a garlic butter instead of a standard fat mixture, you get a more flavoursome result. You try telling the so-called Chefs that in these places and they get all hoity-toity about it. I've been cooking my potatoes like that for years, and apart from one incident of Berri Berri with no ill effects.

It was about now I was arrested. I have to say there's a lot written about a Police state, and I didn't agree with them or believe in such a thing, but the actual monstrosity of being manhandled into a van, naked, my flan laying crushed on the floor seemed to indicate otherwise. Savagery. The Illuminati. You wouldn't have got this treatment in Columbo.

Upon reciept of my one phone call I called 'Tatchelliski' and told him my predicament. Which was met by howls of laughter and not the supportive swing into action I had expected. It was then I smelled something of a rat. He sounded exactly like Charles Dance. "You stupid cock!" said Dance, yielding to his native cockney tones "We was yanking your chain". The line went dead.

The papers of course had a field day. In my haste to get the characterisation right, I had forgotten to have anything to actually say what cause I was supporting, and very little chance to articulate it because the Filth arrived. I would like to say I was not sexually liasing with a flan in anyway whatsoever.

This is not the first time Dance has stitched me up, as he would put it, 'like a kipper'.

Ah ha.

It has been sometime since I posted, and for good reason. I have to say my experiences have been less than good.

Three weeks ago, I recieved a telephone call, asking me if I would appear in a series of televisual advertisments for the Gay cause. I am not gay myself, but I have many gay friends. Some of whom I suspect are gay, some of whom are openly gay, and one another who seems to be a self-elected recruitment officer. Some of their music is a little much tho. it's so loud.

"We need you" said the voice at the other end of the phone, whose name I cannot mention (though I will use a non-de-plum) "What is it, Mr Tatchelleski?" I asked. He went on to explain they needed a man of my build, stature and name to appear at a protest for equal rights. I am a firm believer in equal rights, whether you are male, female, straight, gay, black, white or Welsh.

Older readers may remember I was a big tool in the movement for Vaccination for Voice Over Artistes, something even today I feel passionately about. What could be more important than informing people that the lady loves milk tray, or that your whites could indeed be a shade whiter or even that the new Nissan is about a quarter of an inch higher than the old one thus justifying the eight grand extra on the price? I was also a founder member of the Society For The Liberation of the Caged Tiger, although that was discontinued after several incidents of supporters being eaten. And so I am no stranger to political controversy. I also stood for office in Dagenham East some years back, garnering over 8 votes.

"What is it, Mr Tatchelleski?" "We need someone to stand up and be a mascot for our cause. Someone to do something to get attention. We need you naked, wandering around Picadilly Circus with a flan on your head". It was a challenge. It was acting and art in a symbiotic relationship which would allow me the freedom of expression so rarely enjoyed. "I'll do it!" I said. Although I had no idea where to buy a flan at such short notice.

Over the next ten days I played with flans and poses in front of the mirror. Coy with Coucous, coquettish with Apricots, Bold and Brazen with loganberry. It became an obsession. Should I be a stout defender of the cause? Should I shove this message into the conciousness of the great unwashed? Should I stand proud and unashamed? Where can you get mango in September?

My cleaner, Mrs Everidge called. I was not to be distracted. "You'll have to tolerate my nakedness and vacuum around me" I told her "I am working on something". Old Pro that she is, she vacuumed around me while I experimented in a Chekov aspect with a merange. Visitors came and went. It was a blur. My agent. My best friend and his wedding guests. Some people from Social Services. All their protestations simply reinforced my belief I was on the right track. Despite the injections.