The letter, such as it was, was
regarding an underpayment I am 'supposed' to have made regarding my
consumption of gas and electricity. I of course dispute this, and it
is here that acting comes into it's own. Whereas an ordinary person
would not have the tools to make a case with such a powerful foe, an
actor is ideally placed to maximise human emotion and reaction to a
point where a considerable saving can be reached. I remember seeing
darling Thora Hurd once get an entire cruet set from Harrods by
simply wailing loudly whilst spinning on the floor knocking things
over. As we left, cellars and dispensers in hand, we laughed at how
we had outwitted the humble assistant, her manager and the security
people and nabbed what Thora called 'A tidy haul'. While I think
about this I also recall the lovely late Alan Rickman getting a two
for one discount in the Harvester simply by manipulating his eyebrows
in a sinister way. He did in fact in the end pay for two though
because he had another portion on the same terms. I miss Alan
greatly, I can't believe it has been so long since I saw him, and
longer since one of those three a.m. Phone calls (he changed his
number).
Back to British Gas. I have always
found electricity to be a mysterious thing. You can't see it, smell
it, feel it but it's there. A lot like the acting in Hollyoaks. I
sometimes think it would be good to do a series on BBC 2 about things
which have no substance, and when I have put this idea forward I am
flattered people consider me to be the ideal presenter. I rang their
customer helpline, which is euphemistically called 'Customer
Services'. The voiceover telling me my call is important I find
impertinent, given as how they have anticipated I and my fellow
'customers' would be on hold and therefore commissioned a voiceover
to underline just how important we are. She interrupts the Vivaldi
with such rudeness had she been at one of my shows I would surely
have had her removed before she'd even thought about advising me that
I may find solace and solution in the website they so ably provide. I
am put off by computers and this Internal Web because of a mistype I
once made for Hotmail. This was not the sort of service I desired,
and there was many a blush in the library that day, I can tell you.
There is nothing wrong with things
being online. I am not adverse to technology. I have a microwave. But
I fear many jobs will eventually be replaced by these Al Gore
rhythms. I have no idea what they are but I think eventually they
will replace live theatre. It will be people sat at home, watching
actors sat in their homes doing performances, mark my words. And they
lose the essential thing that the theatre is all about. The only plus
side as far as I can make out is that the audience will have to clear
up their own rotting fruit from behind the screen. But that is of
little comfort. Actors need the approval and adoration of their
audiences there, in the flesh. We can't rely on tape recordings of
tumultuous applause to be triggered to make us feel good. We're not
all Michael Winner. We need people to adore us in person, and if
possible tell all their friends to come and adore us too, be it
matinee or evening performance.
I'll tell you who is good with these
computery things though; Biggins. He is a master with them. They are
like second nature. To watch those podgy fingers dance a ballet over
the keyboard is a joy to watch. He did offer to let me have a go on
his laptop, but I totally misunderstood him and we don't talk much
now.
Still on hold...
I often think of the times yonder when
there was a shop you could go into for such things. You would speak
to Terry or Elaine or Yvette and they would listen to your problem
and sort it out. It was more personal then, and the gamut of angry or
frustrated customers in the showroom would give you so much material
for a performance. A glance here. A frustrated thump on a Tumble
dryer there. If you were lucky there would be a right to-do and
Police would attend and there was all the ingredients for a character
piece in the Bill. I miss The Bill. As people may remember, I was
Denny Snorkels, a local vicar trying to reintegrate recently released
thugs, druggies and murderers into the area with little or no
success. The character was sad and lonely and unfulfilled, and I was
sadder and lonelier and even more unfulfilled when he was found dead
in a Dumpster in only his second episode. I did suggest a spin off,
Snorkels of the Dead, where he comes back Jesus-like to continue his
work saving lost souls. I told the producer and the Welsh bloke with
the big nose and both said they needed to think about it, I haven't
heard anything since so fingers crossed. The Bill were a rum lot,
really. Very dedicated to their work. When I was leaving, I suggested
perhaps we should all go out and have a few drinks and a Chinese to
celebrate new opportunities for me, but no one had even thought of
this, such was their focus on the show. What could have been a
leaving party to really remember ended up as White Lightening and a
packet of pringles whilst gazing at Ceefax through a Rumblelows
window.
Still on hold....
Now I think about it there was no real
investigation into Snorkels demise. I think one of the DCIs mentioned
it but I don't think they really looked into it. Now that is a plot
hole. Maybe I should call them and mention it.
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