Renee and Renato; which is which remains a mystery.
And so I graduated early from Drama school. It was a proud
day, and one which resonates with the fraternity there. Mr Olga, the Head of
the College, told me – and I quote “We have nothing we can teach someone with
your level of talent”. As I exited the portals of the learned buildings, many
of my compatriots and fellow students were so overcome with emotion stayed
away, so warped with grief, and the few I did see couldn’t find the words to
express their sorrow at my departure, choosing instead to look at a
advertisment for a jumble sale in the students’ union rather than meet my gaze.
My work was full and varied. Ne’er a year pass without one
part or another. I hate to boast, as you know, but my work was unparalleled in
both it’s breadth and girth and quality.
3 Blob Creature in Dr Who
Crowd member in Boys From the Black Stuff
Patient in background in Casualty
Unnamed laughing Cockney Cheeky Chappie in pub in Eastenders
Dead man in Holby City
Pedestrian in The Bill
Plague victim in The Survivors
Slab Occupant in Silent Witness
It was a fantastic time; and the truth and exposure I
brought to all the roles meant it may have distracted viewers from the main
action, and would explain why I was never asked back.
It was also about this time I was asked to front a campaign
and become the face of a product so fundamental to our democratic and quasi
political way of life it had become endemic to our national image. When I was
first approached by Finchers Crab Paste, the substance had remained largely
unknown to me. I had no idea crabs produced paste, let alone what that paste
would do. I tended to use Gloy.
I was taken on a tour of Finchers’ factory, and my knowledge
of crab paste increased exponentially. “Are you up for it?” said the Managing
Director, whose name is lost to me temporarily. “Yes. Yes I am” I replied.
For five years I was the voice of Crab Paste. No one could
rival me in terms of enthusiasm for the product. Every event, every public
speaking engagement, every after dinner speech I made at the time was festooned
with humourous stories relating to, involving or somehow used as a metaphor,
crab paste.
But the party came to an abrupt end one cold day in March,
when I received the news there was no longer a Finchers Crab Paste to be the
face of. The manager, whose name still eludes me, had apparently taken a turn
for the worse, and shot eight people in his factory, before turning the gun on
himself.
This tragedy touched me deeply. How could I continue to
front a company which now was basically a warehouse full of dead bodies and
errant shellfish? How would I reaffirm myself into the world of serious acting?
My face was known, yes, but was that enough? I rang my agent who appeared to
have changed his number and I got through to a Tyre replacement centre. As an
actor you learn opportunity knocks but once and asked if they had any plans to
stage any theatre in the near future, whether traditional or experimental. I
wasn’t bothered. And neither, judging by the reply were they. I did however
avail myself of a set of smart radials, with good tread and a three year
warranty. Which was handy, a good price and should come in handy should I ever
learn to drive.
It was then I entered what is known as my ‘dark period’. A
succession of films – none of which I am ashamed of – followed. Again the range
was vast. Plumber, gardener, bridegrooms’ best friend, tv repair man, ointment
salesman and campanologist. The plots were wafer thin though, and my Spotlight
entry that year was deleted on the grounds of the Obscene Publications Act.
There was also the incident with Una Stubbs in Mother Goose
in Cirencester.
These were dark times. And my music reflected that.
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