There are two certainties in a life in the theatre;
Rejection and Taxes.
In general all actors are self employed creatures. We are our own business, our talent is the product we sell (or perhaps pretty faces in the case of those who have no talent but still work. Hollyoaks, I'm looking at you here......) we have to register as self employed either when we leave drama school or when we get our first professional job. This means that each year we have to perform that most horrific and disgusting of deeds;
THE TAX RETURN!!!
Its not a pleasant task let me tell ya. It might be a pleasant task if all us actory types had the common sense to keep all of our accounts nicely in order in neat files and remember to keep all receipts and maybe even put them all in lovely categories week by week, month by month. What a nice and easy life it would be if all who tread the boards were to act in such a sensible way. Not a sign boy! If there are only 10% of actors working then there is only 5% of those who actually do their accounts properly each year. I hate the idea of paying taxes in the first place but for it to cause so much grief makes it all the more painful. But why? Its only tax? Ha ha, that's easy for you to say mister PAYE. When you come to November each year to find that all over your house there are random plastic bags and envelopes stuffed full of hundreds of receipts for the previous year and you know that you must sift through each bag and put those little paper bastards in order of date and then categorise them while your eyes start to bleed from squinting at the 307th blue fecking Boots receipt, then my good sir and only then will you know the trauma of the self assessment tax return.
You may think I'm being dramatic but I'm not. This happens to me each year and this year was no different. The time came before christmas when I had to sit down and spend a week putting it all together and cursing myself that I didn't keep it in better order like I should have. What made it worse was that I had a brilliant year work wise last year so I know needed to find every receipt possible to write off as much as I could to keep my tax as low as possible. Actors are jammy in a way however as there is a load of things we can write off.
See that haircut I had? I needed that to look good at an audition - Write off!!
See that DVD I bought? I needed that for research due to my blossoming film career that's about to start any day now - Write off!!
See that £60 round I bought? That was due to the fact that I was about to gatecrash the Olivier Awards 2004 and wanted to impress my friends - Write off!
And so on and so forth. Once you can make a good case that it is a reasonable business expense well then its a write off and happy days as long as you don't take the piss. And I don't. I have an accountant to do that for me. Its his job to take all the crap I give him and make sense of it as only the mutant accounting brains of accountants can and make sure that I pay the least amount of tax I can. I'm looking at a hefty bill this time though and I'm prepared. The Inland Revenue (boo!) owe me £900 (Yay!) due to me overpaying 2 years ago and I have 2 grand in the bank saved. Surely it won't come to more than that says I.
Don't count on it.
When I get back to the London after the (expensive) christmas break one of the first things I receive is a letter from jimmy accountant telling me my total earnings and expenditure for the previous tax year. Its not nice reading. I made quite a lot of money and for the life of me I cannot tell you where it went (it went on £60 rounds while I was showing off in the west end perhaps) and with me basic tax knowledge I work out from the figure in front of me that I may have to pay up to £3,500.
Oh shit.
Well the peanuts I'm on for Moby Dick won't cover that shortfall. Aw Jesus!! I now start looking around the flat for things I can sell. Maybe I'll sell meself? No cop on, ring the accountant. So I do and they just say that they can't give me a proper figure just yet because I have to sign the letter and send it back first. Alright. Whatever. It says at the end of the letter;
-If you are happy with the accounts please sign a copy and return it to us at your earliest convenience-
Happy? Are you taking the piss buddy? I'm up shit creek!! Big time. This money has to be paid by January 31st for christ sake. That's 3 weeks away! No time for saving I'm afraid!! I spend the next few days waiting to see what my fate is and working out how I can make some money to pay the difference. I still may sell myself. Its all out of my hands now anyway. Shit on me anyway for enjoying myself too much. £60 rounds? What a fool the Beamish!
Then one wet January morning I realise how basic my knowledge of tax really is. I'm on me way to rehearsals for Moby and lo and behold but the post is on the mat. I sift through all the crap and catalogues and there staring at me from the pile is a thick envelope with the accountants' name on it. This is it so. This is the one. This is worse than waiting to hear about an audition for feck sake!!! Put me out of my misery!! I crack it open and stare in wonder as a shocking figure stares back at me;
£2,031.92
Yeeeesssssss Booyy!!!! In my stupidity I had forgotten all about my tax free allowance and my capital gains write offs. I mean how could I be so silly? Actually I'm still not sure what they are to be honest but who gives a shit!? Well I skipped down the road in the happy knowledge that I wasn't about to become destitute and homeless and I thanked the gods of accountancy for delivering me from the hell of not having enough to pay me tax. And I had it all paid up by the deadline of the 31st and I made a silent promise to myself that next time I would do it right.
Next year I would be prepared and keep my accounts properly in order from week to week like a good little actor.
Oh yeah?
Some hope.
Thursday, March 24, 2005
Monday, March 14, 2005
21. A WHALE OF A TALE
As you know, I love going home. But then the time comes when I have to go back to the London to sink my teeth into a new gig.
This time I had no gig to go back to.
Scary shit so.
From previous exploits you can probably guess how my Christmas and New Year went in the Déise so I won't go into it here. Needless to say it consisted of the usual drunken antics around the Munster and various ballady bashes at the Hill of Strawberry and a dose of the flu that had to have something to do with falling home at 7 O'Clock one morning after stealing the Light Opera Festival Christmas card from a party and taking the piss out of it all the way home. We're mad we are. Some buzz in other words and a great time to forget about all the crap back in London. But now I had to clear the head and get on a plane and head back to the actors life for me. Not knowing when the next job is coming is the worst bit. I'm going from the comfortable familiarity and safety of me Nanny's creamed potatoes at home back to fuck only knows what. Well if I wanted comfort I wouldn't be an actor now would I? And anyway before I could get the serious New Year's jitter I had an audition to prepare for.
Oh yes. The Recall.
Nearly forgot about that. This was for the workshop of 'Seagull's Dance' and looked like a pretty done deal. The casting director likes me, the MD wants me to do it and now all I had to do was impress the director with a bit of Beamish. Here we go then. I was after getting a cheapo flight off of good old Ryanair but of course I had wisely booked it for the morning of the fecking audition! I had to be it Dublin Airport for 7.30 in the morning so I headed up the night before to stay with a friend the lovely Ursula Hauck (now Legally Blonde!!) and when I get up at stupid O'Clock the following morning....the throat feels a bit shit. Oh no. Well no panic, could just be the early morning sure. Chill. In the Airport I'm told my case is over weight and I'll have to pay €50 extra. Not a hope girl! I'm out of work sure! The reason its overweight is because I decided to bring back a few cans of lovely Bulmers. And also me Nanny had insisted I take a spare tin of chocolate biscuits with me. So I end up having to open up me case in the middle of departures and put the offending Items into another bag so I can carry them on and not incur the charge. There was no way I was dumping me Bulmers boy! Cider in hand I eventually got back to me flat in the London and tried to have a kip before me audition which wasn't until after 4. Not a sign. I'm getting the fear now as me throat is still a bit sore and I'm not in the best of voice. Damn you Christmas festivities! Look at what you've done to me! To hell with it I'll be grand. I put on my Sunday clothes (although its a Thursday) and go auditioning.
It goes ok.
I meet the director who's a grand chap and there's no messing around, straight into singing a couple of songs. They ask for a song from a musical first. Hmmm that's different than last time. But not to worry I have me trusty old 'If Ever I Would Leave You' from Camelot. I first learned this for a concert at De La Salle College and has done me very nicely in auditions ever since. But not this time. The voce is not in the best of form. The bottom register is absolutely fine but the minute I start moving up the scale you can hear the Christmas holidays in me less than dulcet tones. Crap. I mean its not terrible, but its far from the best I can do. I get through it and, surprisingly, they ask to hear me Irish song. I give them a bit of Water is Wide and its a bit better this time but still not the smooth baritone I'm capable of wowing them with. Then they ask me to read. Cool. I'm not singing great but the audition still seems to be going really well. I give them a bit of me young Irish rebel and all seems well with the world. At the end the director says;
'So you know David Hayes then?'
Absolutely! Good auld Mr. Hayes, true to his word. I leave with a spring in me step and a song in me heart as this one looks like its in the bag boy.
Not a sign!
The next day I'm getting spruced up to go on the lash with the bosses of Bowler Hat Theatre Co. Mickey Power (Déise) and Liam Butler (Tipp) when I get a text from Sharon Clancy;
-Hi hon. Just found out I got the workshop. Have u heard anything?-
No I hadn't!!! Shit! I can't even phone the agent to see what the story is, she's still on her Christmas holidays in Israel! The conclusions start jumping. So have I got it or not? Maybe there's message waiting on me agents phone. But to be honest probably not. The casting director knows she's away and so they have my mobile number and there wasn't a sign of that ringing all day. Crap. But still you never know hey? I put it to the back of me mind and have a deadly session out in the county of Kilburn with the boys which ends up with a load of cans and ballads back at the flat. The following morning I've some head on me but for two reasons. Obviously the drink but I'm like a dog about the workshop. What a great way to start the New Year. This was turning into a serious run of bad luck with auditions. Bollox. This was the crap side of the business, the constant rejection, the......hang on! That's me phone ringing! Jesus that could be the agent!
Its not.
Its me mate Giles Taylor. Poshest man ever and all round good egg who I did Pirates with. Now what would he want. Well its only to give me a job!!!!!!
'A director friend of mine is doing a workshop of a new musical of Moby Dick and she's looking for a good baritone who reads music. I've suggested you dear boy. What're you up to at the mo?'
Shag all Giles, my new best friend.
'Shall I give her your mobile number?'
Post haste good buachaill! Post haste I say! Oh but hang on, what about Seagull's Dance? Feck that sure I didn't get it. Weeeellll I don't strictly know that's true and while its great to be offered a nice little gig straight out I wouldn't like to say yes only to find out that I got the other one after all. Ah shit! Why is my career never easy? To be honest I wouldn't normally even be dealing with this but the agent's away and so its all on my plate to deal with people. It makes me really appreciate the work my agent does for me. First thing to do is find out whether or not I'm doing Seagull's Dance. Now how do I do that? Its Saturday and the casting director won't be in her office and I don't know anyone else....hang on a second! The Maestro himself Mr. David Hayes!! Of course! I'll ring him, he'll definitely know what's happening.
'Sorry Jamie I'm not sure what's happening.'
Crap!
'But I'll get on to the director now and ring you as soon as I know.'
Lovely. The director of Moby Dick calls and I have to explain my situation to her and thankfully she says she's glad to hang on for my answer. Then its a case of waiting by the phone. That doesn't normally happen on a Saturday. This is a completely new experience for me. Me hangover is completely forgotten about now and it takes nearly 4 hours for the answer to come back, and its through text.
-Just spoke to Mark. No Joy with Seagulls. Take the other workshop-
Right so. Shite. I didn't get it. Feck sake! Another one bites the dust. But that bitter pill is amply sweetened as I dial the phone number that will bring me work. 3 weeks rehearsals and 2 nights play. And in which fine London Theatre shall I be singing for me supper? The Greenwich Theatre. Right, now that's interesting 'cause this was the place where I was noticed and offered my first paying professional job nearly 5 years ago. It seems like I've gone full circle. I'm getting paid for the show there this time though. I came back to start the year with no work, only a recall. I end up not getting that gig but a longer one. As one door closes another opens, and I didn't even have to audition to get through that door.
Moby Dick it is so.
Thar she blows!
This time I had no gig to go back to.
Scary shit so.
From previous exploits you can probably guess how my Christmas and New Year went in the Déise so I won't go into it here. Needless to say it consisted of the usual drunken antics around the Munster and various ballady bashes at the Hill of Strawberry and a dose of the flu that had to have something to do with falling home at 7 O'Clock one morning after stealing the Light Opera Festival Christmas card from a party and taking the piss out of it all the way home. We're mad we are. Some buzz in other words and a great time to forget about all the crap back in London. But now I had to clear the head and get on a plane and head back to the actors life for me. Not knowing when the next job is coming is the worst bit. I'm going from the comfortable familiarity and safety of me Nanny's creamed potatoes at home back to fuck only knows what. Well if I wanted comfort I wouldn't be an actor now would I? And anyway before I could get the serious New Year's jitter I had an audition to prepare for.
Oh yes. The Recall.
Nearly forgot about that. This was for the workshop of 'Seagull's Dance' and looked like a pretty done deal. The casting director likes me, the MD wants me to do it and now all I had to do was impress the director with a bit of Beamish. Here we go then. I was after getting a cheapo flight off of good old Ryanair but of course I had wisely booked it for the morning of the fecking audition! I had to be it Dublin Airport for 7.30 in the morning so I headed up the night before to stay with a friend the lovely Ursula Hauck (now Legally Blonde!!) and when I get up at stupid O'Clock the following morning....the throat feels a bit shit. Oh no. Well no panic, could just be the early morning sure. Chill. In the Airport I'm told my case is over weight and I'll have to pay €50 extra. Not a hope girl! I'm out of work sure! The reason its overweight is because I decided to bring back a few cans of lovely Bulmers. And also me Nanny had insisted I take a spare tin of chocolate biscuits with me. So I end up having to open up me case in the middle of departures and put the offending Items into another bag so I can carry them on and not incur the charge. There was no way I was dumping me Bulmers boy! Cider in hand I eventually got back to me flat in the London and tried to have a kip before me audition which wasn't until after 4. Not a sign. I'm getting the fear now as me throat is still a bit sore and I'm not in the best of voice. Damn you Christmas festivities! Look at what you've done to me! To hell with it I'll be grand. I put on my Sunday clothes (although its a Thursday) and go auditioning.
It goes ok.
I meet the director who's a grand chap and there's no messing around, straight into singing a couple of songs. They ask for a song from a musical first. Hmmm that's different than last time. But not to worry I have me trusty old 'If Ever I Would Leave You' from Camelot. I first learned this for a concert at De La Salle College and has done me very nicely in auditions ever since. But not this time. The voce is not in the best of form. The bottom register is absolutely fine but the minute I start moving up the scale you can hear the Christmas holidays in me less than dulcet tones. Crap. I mean its not terrible, but its far from the best I can do. I get through it and, surprisingly, they ask to hear me Irish song. I give them a bit of Water is Wide and its a bit better this time but still not the smooth baritone I'm capable of wowing them with. Then they ask me to read. Cool. I'm not singing great but the audition still seems to be going really well. I give them a bit of me young Irish rebel and all seems well with the world. At the end the director says;
'So you know David Hayes then?'
Absolutely! Good auld Mr. Hayes, true to his word. I leave with a spring in me step and a song in me heart as this one looks like its in the bag boy.
Not a sign!
The next day I'm getting spruced up to go on the lash with the bosses of Bowler Hat Theatre Co. Mickey Power (Déise) and Liam Butler (Tipp) when I get a text from Sharon Clancy;
-Hi hon. Just found out I got the workshop. Have u heard anything?-
No I hadn't!!! Shit! I can't even phone the agent to see what the story is, she's still on her Christmas holidays in Israel! The conclusions start jumping. So have I got it or not? Maybe there's message waiting on me agents phone. But to be honest probably not. The casting director knows she's away and so they have my mobile number and there wasn't a sign of that ringing all day. Crap. But still you never know hey? I put it to the back of me mind and have a deadly session out in the county of Kilburn with the boys which ends up with a load of cans and ballads back at the flat. The following morning I've some head on me but for two reasons. Obviously the drink but I'm like a dog about the workshop. What a great way to start the New Year. This was turning into a serious run of bad luck with auditions. Bollox. This was the crap side of the business, the constant rejection, the......hang on! That's me phone ringing! Jesus that could be the agent!
Its not.
Its me mate Giles Taylor. Poshest man ever and all round good egg who I did Pirates with. Now what would he want. Well its only to give me a job!!!!!!
'A director friend of mine is doing a workshop of a new musical of Moby Dick and she's looking for a good baritone who reads music. I've suggested you dear boy. What're you up to at the mo?'
Shag all Giles, my new best friend.
'Shall I give her your mobile number?'
Post haste good buachaill! Post haste I say! Oh but hang on, what about Seagull's Dance? Feck that sure I didn't get it. Weeeellll I don't strictly know that's true and while its great to be offered a nice little gig straight out I wouldn't like to say yes only to find out that I got the other one after all. Ah shit! Why is my career never easy? To be honest I wouldn't normally even be dealing with this but the agent's away and so its all on my plate to deal with people. It makes me really appreciate the work my agent does for me. First thing to do is find out whether or not I'm doing Seagull's Dance. Now how do I do that? Its Saturday and the casting director won't be in her office and I don't know anyone else....hang on a second! The Maestro himself Mr. David Hayes!! Of course! I'll ring him, he'll definitely know what's happening.
'Sorry Jamie I'm not sure what's happening.'
Crap!
'But I'll get on to the director now and ring you as soon as I know.'
Lovely. The director of Moby Dick calls and I have to explain my situation to her and thankfully she says she's glad to hang on for my answer. Then its a case of waiting by the phone. That doesn't normally happen on a Saturday. This is a completely new experience for me. Me hangover is completely forgotten about now and it takes nearly 4 hours for the answer to come back, and its through text.
-Just spoke to Mark. No Joy with Seagulls. Take the other workshop-
Right so. Shite. I didn't get it. Feck sake! Another one bites the dust. But that bitter pill is amply sweetened as I dial the phone number that will bring me work. 3 weeks rehearsals and 2 nights play. And in which fine London Theatre shall I be singing for me supper? The Greenwich Theatre. Right, now that's interesting 'cause this was the place where I was noticed and offered my first paying professional job nearly 5 years ago. It seems like I've gone full circle. I'm getting paid for the show there this time though. I came back to start the year with no work, only a recall. I end up not getting that gig but a longer one. As one door closes another opens, and I didn't even have to audition to get through that door.
Moby Dick it is so.
Thar she blows!
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