I received a call recently from my new representative, Amy. Amy takes over from Gavin who takes over from Matt who took over from Gabrielle who replaced Mindy. Tha agenc I am with at the moment has a good promotional record; certainly many of the previous managers have moved on and pleasant though Amy was, I did feel it a bit weird she kept addressing me as ‘Mr Havers’.
She was mentioning to me an opportunity in a film in New Orleans, where the role to be considered was a charismatic Englishman. A role suited to myself and Mr Havers. Of course it would be unprofessional for me to accept this role, it would go against every fibre of morality and integrity I have. I would be taking the food from Nigel Havers’ mouth!
Then she mentioned the fee. Nigel Havers eats very well anyway. And as she had gone to such trouble booking a hotel and hospitality it would have been totally ungrateful not to comply with her arrangements. Almost an act of disloyalty. I could not bring myself to manufacture such a situation. She may never call again. Lord knows she hadn’t called before.
Of course, there will be people who will say my pretending to be Havers is a tremendous act. But am I not an actor? Is not the role of Havers a role someone is destined at some point to play? A biopic or musical based on Havers and the shows he has been in, whatever they were. It would be an insult to him to refuse this role.
The part I was selected for needed a medical; this was no problem. I was to see Dr Noys, who deals with this sort of thing. Fortunately, Noys was not the sort of man who watches a ‘Nigel Havers Big Time Big Top Summertime Special’ or whatever it is he’s been in, so no suspicions were aroused.
After the preliminary examination, and certain questions regarding a rash mentioned on the notes, Dr Noys asked me to strip off. I am not ashamed of my body; as an actor I cannot afford to be. I remember a tender and emotional love scene with myself and lovely Joan Simms. Our bodies writhed in a ballet of fleshy passion, lost in ourselves and each other, hands grabbing, exploring, tongues entwined in between breathy, erotic gasps. It was the best washing up liquid commercial they ever made. Sadly it never made it to air, apart from in a certain cinema in Soho.
As the doctor probed, measured, weighed, felt and massaged he asked me a number of questions which revealed a little more about Havers than I wanted to know. I am not about to go into details for reasons of professional courtesy, but I have never engaged in that sort of thing. It’s even frowned on in Abergavenny.
At the end of the physical he handed me a number for a decent Trichologist, as mine was obviously not up to the job. As I exited his room, Havers was in the waiting area. He challenged me about my impersonation him. Obviously I stood my ground and pretended he wasn’t there. Finally, Havers lost his rag. A scuffle broke out. Rolling about on the floor we battled for supremacy, neither of us noticing the swiss army knife of actors, Hugh Bonneville step over us and into the office. First we knew about it was when we looked up mid skirmish to see the door shut, each of us clutching a large chunk of the others hair.
We arose, dusted ourselves down, applied some sellotape to the pulled follicles. We exchanged pleasantries and promised to send each other small tokens and gifts by way of apology. We exited the premises a good ten minutes before the Police arrived.
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