22. THE TAXMAN COMETH!

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.

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!

20. 'TWAS THE RUN UP TO CHRISTMAS....

...and all around the London not an audition was to be found. Well that's not strictly true.

I had three.

I'm greedy boy. December is always a lethal month when it comes to auditions. Most things for the new year have been cast by the end of November and most of actordom is off doing panto. I learned this to great cost early on in me career. The November after I finished drama school I was offered a Christmas schools play with Red Kettle. I turned it down because 'I was worried that I would miss auditions in London'. My next audition after uttering those faithful words was on the 4th of march the following year! What a pleb! Dark days they were. Last year however I had that fateful audition for Calico on the 4th of December. Which goes to prove that there is an exception to every rule. I'm talking shite now so I'll just move on quietly.

The Jitter I had in York had come true and I had to get a Normal job (which ye all know the gory details of) and the prospect of a dull December was looking very real. I reckoned without the hard work of my agent. Going beyond the call of duty as always she had gotten me an audition for a touring production of Chekov's 'The Seagull'. Now did I want to tour again so soon after being away for ages? To play Konstantin in 'The Seagull' I'd tour to feckin Kilmacow! As the wise Withnail once said;

'Understudy Konstantin!? I'm not going to understudy Konstantin, why can't I play the part? This is ridiculous.........Bastard asked me to understudy Konstantin in The Seagull. I'm not going to understudy anyone, especially that little pimp.'

Well anyway its a top role that's widely respected and seemingly the company doing it are pretty good, so I head in to meet the casting director and the director. The casting lady has seen me in a few things and I've met her once before as well so that's cool. The director I don't know at all but I like him straight away when he says;

'You're name came up in conversation the other day. I was chatting to Liam Doona and he had very good things to say about you.'

Excellent! Liam Doona was the designer on Beauty Queen and was to be the designer on this too, nice coincidence. The audition is even nicer as we plow through a couple of scenes. They're using a different translation to the one I was looking at but that's not too much hassle and after a bit of a chat I hit the road well pleased with meself. I'm even more pleased with meself when the agent calls to say I have a recall. Hey hey! This could work out grand! I get a copy of the proper translation and I sit back and wait for the day to go back in. But I can't sit down for long. The familiar ringtone is heard;

'You have an audition for a workshop of a new Irish musical called 'Seagull's Dance''

Now that stops me in me tracks for a minute. You see back in 2003 I was offered a part in 'Seagull's Dance' when it was going to be on at the Helix theatre in Dublin. That production was subsequently cancelled. But here it is again and I have to audition for it? Well I had heard they got a new director so I suppose that's why I had to go in. The musical director for the Dublin production was to have been the maestro himself Mr. David Hayes so I pop off a little text to him. He replies saying he should be able to make this one work out, probably referring to what happened with the panto in Dublin. What happened with the panto in Dublin? I don't know either boy. Anyway it was good to have someone rooting for you on the production team. This audition could go well, but hold that thought because the phone tinkles again;

'You have audition for a new Irish musical called 'The Wiremen''

Oh? And when would that be pray tell?

'Its on the same day as the 'Seagull's Dance' audition.'

Now there's a coincidence! That's grand! And what's handy is that I have to sing 2 Irish songs for each of them and for 'The Wiremen' one of them has to be Danny Boy. Great! What's not handy is that I don't have any sheet music for the 1 and a half Irish songs I do know and I don't know the words to Danny Boy. To be honest I'm quite embarrassed to admit my lack of knowledge as regards to Irish songs. It should be in me blood and in me bones! But alas, not a hope. I could sing you the complete works of Stephen Sondheim but hardly a come-all-ye! Its a situation I mean to redress. Well I'll have to do that quick, the feckin auditions are three days away! So I make me way to the mecca of musical sheets; Chappells of Bond Street, and I spend the best part of an hour leafing through every Irish songbook there. And there's a lot of them let me tell ya! What I was looking for was a book that had all of the Irish songs that I kind've knew so I could get to know them better in the long run. And there was one song that none of the fecking things had and of course that was the one song I wanted to sing -The Water is Wide(I knew that because I had to learn it for a play a while ago). I grab a book which has Danny Boy in it and also has the Irish Rover, a good uptempo song that should be fairly easy to learn by the auditions. In the end I just type out the words and the chords of The Water is Wide and hope that that will do them. It better!

The day of the ballads arrives and I'm pretty solid on Danny Boy and I should be able to get away with the Irish Rover if I can remember which verse comes after which. And I head into the wonderful West End...at 11am!! Now as I've said, I'm well crap at singing in the morning. Only melodjeon! So this is a great start. I calm down a bit though when I walk into the the theatre and bump into two great friends of mine; Sharon Clancy and Noella Brennan a pair of the finest Yellowbellys around! They've just been in and they said it was grand. So in I go and I get a pleasant surprise straight away. The casting director is a good friend of Tessa Worsley (of 'Beauty Queen' fame) and one of the first things she says to me is;

'Well I've just been reading your reviews from York.'

A big smile started to creep across me face. Now that's a good thing! But don't worry I'm still not going to bore you with how good they were. That's a brilliant start to be honest and I do The Water is Wide and just one verse of The Irish Rover (thank god!) and while I'm not in the best of voice, its not too bad and they seem keen. The only problem is that the director is sick so there's definitely going to be callbacks and they don't tell me whether I've gotten one or not. Not to worry I still have another audition to slow air for at 3pm. My plan of action for 'The Wiremen' was Danny Boy (obviously) and The Irish Rover (I had been practicing it all day). In I go to find a guy I know waiting to go in before me. I won't name the guy because he went in to do one of the worst auditions I've ever heard in me life. I never knew he was a singer and with good reason. He murders Danny Boy to within an inch of his life and then is asked for his second song and what does he give them? The Irish Rover!!! Crap, I wanted to do that. He commits a serious war crime on that song, forgetting the words all over the shop;

'We'd an elegant craft she was rigged fore and aft,
and something that I can't reme - e - e - ember!'

Well that's going to impress them big time. Its chronic to listen to and what's more my confidence in the words of the song is shot to shit after listening to him! There's no way I'm going to sing that song now. How would I follow that! And then to rub salt into the wound he comes out of the room all smiles and says;

'Well that didn't go too bad seeing as I'm not really a singer.'

Don't give up the day job buddy! My turn next. As I wait to be called the hallway is now full of Irish fellas all humming the Derry Air and some have the words written on the back of their hands and all of them are saying how they're not singers. Well I can knock out a note and in I go to do so. The writer and director are in the room.

'Where are you from Jamie?' Quoth the writer.

'Waterford.' proudly quoth I, chest swelling.

'Well that's your problem.' Sarcastically quoth he. Come on! Witty retort! Come on!

'I know.' Quoth I.

Whaaaaaaat? Jesus that would not be one of my finer moments! But he laughs as its all a bit of a joke anyway (let him try it again though!!) and I whack into Danny Boy. And my pipes are indeed calling, the voce is in great shape by this time of the day and they certainly like it. Second song please, and it has to be Water is Wide again as I don't trust the Irish Rover any more. Its as good as the first song. They like it. I'm asked to wait outside while they have a chat. This is to see whether I'm going to be asked to stay and read, which seems pretty likely at this stage. I go outside and the boys outside waiting are all looking despondent and one them goes;

'Jesus I hope they don't expect us all to be able to sing like that.'

Sorry chaps you caught me on a good day. And I sit there for what seems to be a long while and the casting lady finally comes out. Of course I'm almost out of my seat ready to give me best Dub accent when she says;

'Thanks Jamie that's all we need to hear today, you're free to go.'

Aw Jaysus! Ah well, off to me 'Proper' job so. Crap! The irony of it all, of course, is that I get a recall for 'Seagull's Dance' the one I didn't sing so well for. Go figure.

Not to worry, I still had the recall for 'The Seagull' to get through. And get through it quite well I did. In I go to meet the usual suspects again and we whack through the couple of scenes we did before and they get me to sight read another scene. No hassle. And then they ask me to do it in RP. Ok...well that's not really a problem but of course when you're asked to do it on the hop it takes a few minutes to adjust and get it right and of course the those cringey few minutes can be deadly! But, no it seems ok. The banter is good and he seems to like my ideas about the character and I leave pretty positive to be honest. This could be a goer. When I leave the audition there's a message from the agent saying that the recall for Seagull's dance had been postponed until after Christmas. Ok, that's cool I was all Seagulled out to be honest and just wanted to chill for the last few days before I headed back to Ireland for a deadly Déise Christmas. I'm off home again.

How bad.

I guess its a given at the end of a year to be reflective about the year gone by and in all fairness it was a pretty good year. Not as madcap busy as the year before perhaps but that said the class of work and the parts I played probably went up a notch. Although at the same time in 2003 I was playing one of the leads in the Wizard of Oz and about to start rehearsals for a new West End play, as 2004 hit the road I found myself out of work with nothing on the horizon. Well there was still 'The Seagull' maybe? Or not as it turns out. I come home one day after a stroll around Red and City Square and there's a message on me phone. Alas 'tis the agent;

'Not good news Jamie. They've offered the part in the Seagull to someone else, but they were adamant that I passed on their thanks for doing such a great audition. They really liked you.'

Another 'no, but they liked you'. Me career is full of them at the moment it seems. There was a time in the past year when I was on an absolute career high. I was in my dressing room in the west end and we were rehearsing and my phone went and I was told that I had just been nominated for the Ian Charleson award. At that moment I thought 'This is it, this is my career taking off' and essentially that's why I started this little diary, to regale all with amazing tales of my meteoric rise through the acting firmament. It didn't exactly happen like that now did it? But to be honest I think the journey has been far more interesting for that. If everything went according to plan it might get boring and samey. The struggle is half the fun, I keep having to tell myself. And while there's a lot of shit in this shitty business we call show the one thing that keeps me going is the possibilities. Tomorrow your life can change and that's all so much sweeter if you've worked for it. And I'm working for it buddy. Big time.

Instant celebrity is bollox.

I'm doing it the old fashioned way.

Bring on 2005 boy!

19. WHY DON'T YOU GET YOURSELF A PROPER JOB?

The fateful hour had come. The thing that I had been dreading since March 2003 had finally come to pass and while there were times since then when it seemed like it was just around the corner and I could almost see it rearing its ugly head, there was always a phone call with the word 'Offer' somewhere in it to scare it back to the shadows from whence it came. Not this time though. No last minute reprieve, no 'Deus Ex machina', no hope.

I had to get a NORMAL JOB!!!

Feck sake!

I had returned to the London after my triumphant visit to the northern regions rich in experience but not in pocket. I was feckin' skint! Big time! A combination of pricey digs and really pricey train journeys as well as a few expensive nights out and a sneaky holiday beforehand had left a big auld hole in me wallet. That's the tricky thing about touring. Sometimes you can save quite a bit on the job, but there are times when it actually costs you money. This was one of those times. Shite. And I still had three weeks left in the London before I went back to the Déise for Christmas. This was not a good situation to be in let me tell ya. The minute you set foot in London the money just pisses out of your pocket. You go into the West End for a little walk around with no intention of buying anything and you come home 20 quid the poorer and you still haven't bought anything. It's a weird phenomenon and a costly one and being in the fiscal situation I was I couldn't just sit on me arse and wait for the next gig to come along. So I had to do it. Jesus help me but it had to be done. I needed money to pay the rent and have a couple of quid left over so I didn't have to make me own Christmas presents. Now Like I said before when an actor looks for a proper job they have to find one which is flexible around their acting career, where its cool to have time off for auditions and the like and you can leave at the drop of a hat when that all important movie comes along......or maybe a last minute TIE (Theatre In Education - worse than any normal job). So obviously the options are very limited. There are a number of jobs where you'll always find actors, for we are possibly the only ones desperate or stupid enough to do them;

- Face to face fundraising - In other words being one of those people who stand on the street all day with coloured overalls and ask you if you've got five minutes when you obviously haven't. There was no way I could bring meself to do that job. I get enough rejection in the acting profession as it is, to have it happen to you about 50 times a day would surely drive you over the edge. Also it's winter, it's cold and wet so there's health reasons to consider. But still people do it. Christ knows why!

- Telesales - This is an obvious one and a lot of actors do it because the companies feel that actors are supposed to have good voices and a lot of balls so they can just cold call people and try their best to sell them something that they more than likely don't need. I hate it when I get phone calls like that so I'd be a bit of a hypocrite if i decided to do that. Feck that so, I ain't doing telesales.

- Front of House - Ahh the perennial favourite. Being an usher at a west end theatre, maybe working on the bar or tearing tickets on the door or selling ice creams at the interval. Now while that might not sound so bad, its also not the best. I should know, I spent 9 months working front of house at the Lyceum theatre when I first left drama school and seemingly had theatrical plague because I couldn't get a gig to save me life! 9 months of wearing a burgundy waistcoat and putting up with ignorant and rude audience members. 9 months of the Lion King and Hakuna fucking Mutata!!!! No no. I had since done a West End play and had decided that I will never do front of house again.

So I had hit a brick wall with a number of the possibilities. I turned to that great organ of the showbiz world: The Stage newspaper, and sandwiched at the back of the paper in between ads for lookalikes, table dancers and TIE you will find a litany of crap jobs. As you turn each page they just get crappier and crappier until you start seeing adverts for adult chatline operators. Hmmm, I'm not there just yet I think. Well I hope! But hang on what's this jumping out from the page at me?

DELTA FORCE!

DO YOU WANT A GREAT JOB?
WORK WITH GREAT PEOPLE?
TRAVEL THE COUNTRY AND STAY
IN GREAT ACCOMODATION?
THEN COME AND WORK FOR THE
UK'S PREMIER PAINTBALL COMPANY.

Now this could be interesting! My answer would really be no to all of the above questions as what I really want is a nice little telly job but, seeing as BBC comedy are still not baytin' down me door, this could be an option. You see I have previous experience in the world of paintball as I used to be a marshall at the much missed 'Wacky Warriors' paintball arena which used to be on Summer Hill in Waterford. Its been turned into flats since, but I remember the time I spent there ordering people about, tending to rifles and cleaning up paint. Ah what halcyon days. But seriously it was a good craic. And with a history in paintball warfare like mine this job sounded like a distinct possibility. I went in for an interview the next day and got an unpleasant shock. Sitting in a small room full of Australian and South African backpackers I listened with unfolding horror at the job description. It had shag all to do with paintball! They wanted you to go out on the streets and try and sell people a sheet of vouchers which entitled them to a days paintballing for eight people. What the fuck? The sheet cost £50 out of which you would get £48 for selling it. Ooh that's not bad, well maybe..but if you don't sell any on the day you nothing..Naaahh! Jesus! I didn't want to go out onto the streets annoying people and trying to sell them something they didn't want! Its like the bastard child of face to face fundraising and telesales. No way boy, not for me I'm afraid.

'Now is there anyone here who thinks that this isn't for them?'

'Yeah, It's not for me buddy, sorry.'

'That's cool, if you don't want to earn maybe 500 to 800 pounds a week, that's fine.'

Piss off! So I exit stage left quicker than it takes John Mullane to floor a Cork Hurler, well annoyed at this dickhead wasting an hour of my life. I didn't need this I just needed a job! Big time! I was ready to kill someone. Maybe I was just being too picky and I should swallow my pride and go back to front of house. It was getting towards the end of the week when my great friend (and the little Japanese chick out of Gorillaz) Haruka Kuroda suggested I email a company called 'Turns' . Their proviso is to find shit jobs for actors. Now the difference between them and a shit agent is that they just inform you of normal jobs. Ok lets give it a go. I email them straight away from me mobile phone being the swish bastard I am (geek!) and fair enough to them they ring me back within half an hour to tell me they can get me a job at a market research call centre in the City. Ok not too bad. MR isn't half as bad as telesales, you're not trying to get people to buy things you just want them to answer questionnaires. £6.50 an hour, not great but I've had worse. And there's training the next day. Bring it on! I needed something straight away and I wasn't going to get any better offers. My sister would get her bottle of vodka for Christmas! I accept and breath deeply as if I've signed away me soul. Training first. Shouldn't be too bad.

I nearly slit me wrists boy!

In I go at 10am (ouch!) and I'm left sitting waiting with other plebs like me until this chick whose supposed to be training us walks in at 10.45! Jesus! As we're waiting the plebs start chatting and indeed most of them are actors. Now to be honest I'm not into this chat because all it turns into is questions about what you have done in the past and I don't fancy repeating me CV to every fecker in the building. So when they ask I tell them I'm a musician. Now that's not completely a lie so I don't feel so bad. Actually I don't really give a shit. The training, when it finally starts, consists of this chick mumbling her way through a guide book on market research as we read along with her. Every know and then she asks some inane question to make sure we're following along;

'So why do we have to be patient and speak more clearly when we are talking to people in an older age bracket? Anyone?' boringly mumbleth she.

'Because they're old?' Sarcastically quoth I.

And this continues until 5pm. Oh my god! I'm nodding off by the end. I'm an actor, get me out of here!!! Feeling well and truly trained up in asking willing people boring shite, I head in for my first day and its a questionnaire on washing up liquid. Aw no. And so for the rest of my time at the call centre I spend my time chatting to middle aged to old ladies about fecking Persil and Bold. Oh joy! It seems that the world's supply of washing detergent is defined by about 3 old ladies from Stoke on Trent. I could tell you all about what's good and bad about Bold Lavender and Camomile should you ever need to know. At one stage during my first week I get an assessment (where they listen into one of your interviews and mark your technique!) and I score 9 out of 10. For a few seconds I feel a bit of pride in being told I'm good at my new job. It doesn't last long though as I snap back to reality, realising that what I'm good at is a heap of shite. One guy answers the phone and half way through my opening spiel about why I'm calling he butts in and shouts;

'Look don't call again! Stop calling! And if you do call again next time get someone who can speak English to call!'

What a bastard! Jesus I had the rage after that. So I called him back a few times and hung up straight away to piss him off. Racist Fucker! I don't need to do this. Put up with this shite. But I need a few pound so its not a shit Christmas. So I grin and bear it for the couple of weeks. Thoughts of heading back to the Déise for a load of festive craic kept me going. Also one of the plebs that started the same day as me was a nice young chick who had just finished drama school in the summer and all she had done was a shitty tour in Scotland for £150 a week. She wasn't getting many auditions and was feeling really down about the whole acting thing. She told me all this because she thought I was a musician, she would never have admitted it to another actor. Listening to her, and looking at how lucky I'd been over the past 2 years, I had feck all reason to moan. Just get on with the necessary evil. And get on with it I did.

But is it all doom and gloom? Will the end of 2004 just be filled with old ladies, ignorant people and talk of soap? Did I not have any auditions before Christmas?

'Course I did.

18. YORK, SO GOOD THEY NAMED IT ONCE

York!

City of big churches, big walls, big Viking centres, the reason that Yorkies are called Yorkies and about to be my home for seven weeks. It better be good so.

Wait'll I tell ya!

I had left Waterford a few days after the festival and eventually hit the high road to York (hangover still intact) to start rehearsals for 'The Beauty Queen of Leenane' (Actually I had slipped in a sly four days in Lisbon.....but that's my business). Now for ‘high road’ read ‘train’ and in fairness the train from the London to York is on the best line in the UK. So it only takes 2 hours from Kings Cross which is seriously good going when you consider that Manchester is closer and takes 3 and a half hours to get to. But, then again, as well as all the above, York is the birthplace of the great british railway that I've come to know so well in my time living here so I suppose it should be good. I betcha it’s even better when you have a seat. Jesus it was packed! And so my adventure to York began with me sitting for two hours on a fold down seat in between carriages on a train that was so packed to bursting I‘m sure it could be constituted as a war crime and not only that but I was sitting just outside the toilet as well so I got a blast of everyone’s business now and then. What glamour! And at what a price!! 70 quid!! Jesus! Not to worry though as that fare will be included in my first weeks wages because by equity law if you live more than 25km from the theatre they need to give you a single train fare there for the start of the gig. Not too bad so. Just as long as I‘m not jumping up and down to the London all the time. Now that would really break the bank. But sure why would I be doing that. Oh yeah.......Auditions. Shite. Well maybe I won’t get any. But that would be shite also as I wouldn't have any job to go on to after ‘Beauty Queen’. Ah crap I can feel the auld Jitter kicking in already. Never mind that now though I had a job to be doing.

The first day was like most first days with what we call the ‘meet and greet’; wherein you meet and greet (as it said on the can) everyone involved with the show and lots more from the Theatre. Meeting the rest of the cast is a quick one this time though as there's only 4 in the play and the others seem like good heads and that’s grand with me. Then there's the read through. And if I thought that the script was good when I read it first it really hit home when we read it out loud. This thing is the business. Absolutely hilarious. So much so I can’t finish a couple of lines because I‘m laughing so much meself. The set is shown and it’s brilliant. I‘m starting to get very excited about this. And its great, after a summer of prancing around in a kids play to be able to swear on stage again. Its very liberating. ’Feck!’ Woohoo! ’Bitch!’ go on! We’re all chatting throughout the day getting to know each other and of course the topic of conversation inevitably gets around to digs and the horror stories begin. None of them are happy with their digs; one of the lads says he can‘t walk around barefoot because the floor is so dirty. Now I’m not one to be happy at other people's misfortunes but I suddenly stop begrudging the £105 a week I’m paying for my digs, cause they aren't bad at all. I had arrived the previous night into a very pleasant studio flat with twin beds, kitchen and a brand new bathroom and they change the sheets for you every week. Well thank Jesus for that! Comfort while on tour is paramount and if I had to pay a little extra for it well fair enough, I’d just have to make sure I minded me money and not go overboard with drinking while I was in York. ’Yeah Right‘ I hear you shout at me, but I’m afraid that was indeed the case for the first few weeks. Now this may have been more out of necessity than any form of suddenly acquired sense and sensibility for as well as bringing Martin McDonagh’s first play to life I was also still writing the music for the Lord of the Flies back home.......oh and for the first two weeks I was bricking it about a little thing called ‘The Way We Were’ back in the fair Déise land. You see.....

I was about tread the boards of the Theatre Royal in Waterford for the first time in 5 years.

And I was more shit-scared than.......

No, wait, we've been there before methinks. Anyway you would’ve been proud of me (or not depending on the state of your own liver) as for the most part I went straight back to my flat after rehearsals each day. I even went so far as to stay in York my first weekend there and I didn't go out at all. Not a bit. I stayed indoors working on the three shows currently swimming around my brain and by the time Sunday night came around I was only hanging for a few scoops. There wasn’t a sinner willing to join me!! Janey mac! So I ended up going down the road and doing something I've never done in my life. I sat at the bar on my own and had a couple of pints while reading a Séan O’Casey play. Now that's either you’re idea of complete and utter sophistication or complete and utter sadness. I have a feeling the barmaid who served me thought it to be the latter and I tended to agree with her. But that‘s ok, I could do with some sobriety in my life after the madness of the festival and also I was saving my money big time which could only be a good thing and I could probably end up saving a few quid on this job as long as I don’t have to hop down to London. Of course I spoke too soon. The phone goes, ah sure ‘tis the agent;

’You have an audition for a new West End musical called ‘The Far Pavilions’ next Wednesday in London.‘

Ok delighted to have an audition but like a dog I have to shell out a load of bucks to get to London. That said though it could be worth it, a big new West End musical and I was up for a good part in it seemingly. Grand so I’ll give it a shot. I just have to get time off rehearsals. I work it out that I can go back down to the London Tuesday evening and be back in York for rehearsals at 2.30 on Wednesday, a rush I know but I don't think that our director, sound and all as he is, will give me the whole day off. He agrees to the half day so I’m sorted and the timing works fine. I get up nice and early to warm up the voice (I can‘t stand singing in the morning. I’m well shite until around 2pm) and in I trot to a big hall in Kensington. The panel at the audition consists of the casting director (who I know as she's cast me before at Regent’s Park, so that's a good thing), the Lyricist (don’t know him), and the Musical Director. Now this guy I had met before. Years ago, and I do mean years ago; it was 1998, I was still at music college and I went to an open audition in Dublin for Phantom of the Opera and they recalled me to London and this guy was at my recall that day. Problem was I got pissed the night before (nothing changes) and I made an absolute dogs dinner of the audition. Luckily though he seemed not to remember that so that's cool. And the audition goes very well indeed, I sing my own song of choice and then the musical director says to me;

’Well Jamie you mostly have an acting CV but you're obviously very musical.’ quoth he.

‘Well actually I studied music before acting, I have a degree in music.’ proudly boasteth I.

My reply however does not go down like a lead balloon as my previous audition boasts have. This guy is actually impressed. Its mad but now that I have a bit of straight acting on the auld CV I‘m suddenly more in demand for musicals and yet when I only had musicals on the CV I had some struggle to even get an audition. Jesus! Go figure. Anyway I walk out of the audition with a bit of music to learn and happy in the knowledge that I had to go back again in a few weeks to meet the director. They were also being very accommodating as they said they’d see me once ‘Beauty Queen’ had opened so I didn't have to get more time off of rehearsals. How bad. This could work out well and be worth the train fare.

Yeah right.

Firstly they didn't wait until 'Beauty Queen' had opened, they called me in the week before! So I had to go with my begging cap to the director and try and get another morning off. Now I'm taking the piss here a bit, the last week of rehearsals where everything goes a little crazy and mad and its imperative that everyone's there all the time, and here's auld auditionman looking for time off! I'll never get it methinks. Well methinks wrong as it turns out. It was a testament to how well rehearsals were going at that stage that the director not only gave me the morning off but he gave the whole cast the day off! Jesus! He must have been very happy with us. Too right though because we were having a deadly craic in rehearsals and, certainly from my point of view, really good work was being done. There was very little pressure and I felt I was really on a roll with the character of Ray (to be honest I based him on a mix of various characters I know in the Déise. But you would have had to've seen the show to know who they were cause I'm not spilling me acting beans!). As long as I could stop corpsing (losing it and laughing - very unprofessional) in the 'cat's wee' scene I might be alright in this little drama that we're putting on. So I had secured the Monday off for all and that weekend I set about the onerous task of finishing and recording all the music for the 'Lord of the Flies'. Yes that was still going on. I love writing music. I love it even more when there's a nice big cheque at the end when you're finished but I had already been paid for this one so that was hard going. But after hours of work I finished all the mixing and the recording and I put the minidisc and three cds into a jiffy bag ready to go and for some reason I don't send them straight away like I should've. I end up bringing the package with me to London. Now in hindsight that's a bit silly because that little pack contained the entire score and sound design for 'Lord of the Flies'. If anything happened it I'd be in deep shit. Hang on where was I? Ah yes the recall.

Well I headed back to the London on the Sunday night and got up nice and early on Monday morning to start warming up the voce. Its in good nick. Sound, because the song they gave me to sing for them is quite high so I'll need me vocal faculties about me. In I go for me 10 O'Clock appointment with the musical supervisor just to make sure I know the song properly and so he can give me any help I need with it. I sing it once through and he says;

'That's great! Come back to sing for the director at 11.15 and could you sing it in your Irish accent as well please.'

No hassle in the castle boy. Fast forward the ads and I head back into the room this time the director's there and she's nice but its the usual musical theatre audition thing. No small talk just get on with it, and I of course oblige. With style! I sing the shit out of it and all the way through it the casting director is whispering to the director and pointing things out on my CV. Good Girl. Thank you very much! I finish and I stand there waiting for her to ask me some questions about my previous credits perhaps or to give me another recall mayhap.

'Thank you, that's all we need to hear today.' she says.

Ok. To be honest that sentence is normally the kiss of death and means that's the end of any hope for that gig, but i remain optimistic. You never know. I head into town to get the train back to York but get accidently waylaid into a pub on Leicester Square by the whole man Brian Doherty. And I get a bit pissed but despite that I get the music for Lord of the Flies into the post. Thank God. And I fall onto the train back to York without getting a ticket, in case they don't check. Of course they do and I have to fork out £75 for a single...Jesus!!! I mean this is daylight train robbery. Back to York so and into the last week of rehearsals and Its hopping. I've got me lines learned (well after a fashion) and we get to the point on the Thursday where we find that that's it! We need an audience! Time to go to the theatre so and by the Friday we're in that chapel of high entertainment. And I'm feeling grand, show's going well, we open next week so if any auditions happen, it'll be easy to sort it out cos I'll just be working nights, and I don't have to worry about Lord of the Flies any more I can concentrate on.....then the phone goes and its not my agent. It's Lord of the Flies director Ben Hennessey.

'Well Jamie, were we supposed to get some music this week?'

What? Me heart sinks. I posted all the music on Monday they should have gotten it on Wednesday! Oh Jesus don't tell me its lost in the fucking post!! I'm even questioning whether I did actually post it on the monday. I was a bit pissed but not so much so that I would post it in a bin rather than a post box! They, like meself, open the following week. This is seriously not good at all. So despite being up to me eyes with the tech rehearsals for 'Beauty Queen' I end up having to redo all the all the tracks for "Flies' as well. Aaaaagh! I spend the weekend doing it all over again because I'm going to have to Fed Ex it on Monday so it gets to Waterford the next day. This is serious stress exactly when I don't feckin' want it! I get up too late on Monday morning to go to the Post Office so I head straight to the theatre, throw on the costume and hit the stage. I do me best but its not great, me minds elsewhere to be honest. I head back to me dressing room on the break baytin meself up over the crap acting and I notice there's a voice message on me phone. Its the secretary at Red Kettle....a package arrived that morning containing 3 CDs and a minidisc!! It got there!! You beauty!! And speaking of beauties, I return to the stage to rehearse me next scene and I'm on fire! We open tomorrow night, but fuck that, I'm ready to do it now boy! But tomorrow wasn't a long time coming and we hit the boards with our dark slice of Connemara life, and the audience lap it up and by press night we're sucking Diesel!! Its the business, the crowd are wetting themselves;

'She did seem nice enough to me, there, now. Big brown eyes she had. And I do like brown eyes me I do. Oh Aye. Like the lass used to be on Bosco. Or I think the lass used to be on Bosco had brown eyes......

(Pause just long enough for the gag)

...We did have a black and white telly at that time.'

Not a dry seat in the house. I had them in the palm of me feckin' hand. Oh yeah I could get used to this. That night then we get royally drunk because we deserve it! And we go to what is possibly the only nightspot in York (and certainly the only one I was brought to); The Willow. If I said to you a chinese restaurant with a dancefloor and 80's music mixing with the smell of Kung Po beef you may look at me like I was the Liar De Paor but I tell no lie, such a place exists. Shockingly bad but it somehow ended up being the only place we went to for the rest of my time in York. Jesus! To be honest I had to fill meself up with a load of pints before I went there just so as to ease the pain. The following day though the reviews came in and I generally don't read reviews unless someone tells me there's a good mention for me. Reading a bad review before a show can be catastrophic so I don't do it. The reviews were brilliant. Big time! And I was blown away with what a couple of them said about me. These were the best reviews I had ever gotten. Ever. While the reviews for Willows were brilliant for me they slated the show itself. This time the whole show was praised, which is deadly enough to begin with but then some of them singled out me in particular. Now don't worry I can still fit through a door and I'm certainly not going to start quoting reviews here and bore the crap out of ye but this kind of shit really matters in this business. The minute I sent copies to my agent she had them in the post to casting directors all over the shop. Jesus they even did a feature on me in the Yorkshire post. Now I know I've made it! Oop North anyway. So the buzz was good even if sometimes the craic wasn't as mad as I'm sometimes used to. But that's ok too. Try and save the sponds cause I'm going to be out of work soon.

Oh shit.

Forgot about that! And here comes the bastarding jitter again. But not to worry, super agent to the rescue;

'You have a meeting with the casting director of BBC comedy.' - How bad.
'You have an audition for the RSC.' - Nice one.
'You have a meeting in Manchester for a telly job.' - I do have the best agent around, its official.

So I spend a shitload of bucks to once more head back to the london for the BBC and RSC meetings, but hey it'll be worth it if I end up getting a part in Ricky Gervais' new sitcom sure. The BBC meeting goes well. I head over to broadcasting house (knowing where to go this time) and I spend a grand 20 minutes with a very nice lady who casts all of BBC's comedy output. I was keeping meself in check, because I didn't want to try too hard to be funny in front of her. I think I did ok. She spoke briefly about a couple of things but nothing definite and I left not knowing whether she liked me at all. I hate meetings. But ye know that already.

The RSC audition is far more my kind of audition; meet the director exchange pleasantries and small talk, have a chat about the character(Dromio) then read from the script (Comedy of Errors). Then read the script in an accent other than my own. Y'know the typical thing. And it goes really well. The directors seems impressed so that's cool and I'm leaving the building and I bump into a good buddy of mine jolly Jonjo O'Neil (the actor not the Jockey);

'How're ya Jonjo? What're you doin' here?' qouth mise.

'I've an audition for the RSC. For Dromio in the Comedy of Errors.' quoth.....him.

Ah shit. Jonjo's had a charmed career since leaving drama school that's pretty much the envy of us all who know him. Telly, film, straight plays, musicals, commercials he's done it all. And he's just been working with the RSC for the past few months. Add to that he's a handsome charming bastard from Belfast and I could slowly see the job slip away. That's the way things are and you have to be realistic about it, at some stage you go up for jobs against a mate and there's no way you can be bitter about it and go 'Oh well I can't talk to him we're up for the same role'. That's Bullshit. Sure Jonjo and his Girlfriend ended up coming to York to see 'Beauty Queen'. Fair fucks to him to him for that. Deadly session that night as well. But you never know I might still get it.

The meeting in Manchester is another matter altogether. I get an early train to Manchester from York and I proceed to get so lost its stupid. I cannot find this place where the meeting is and I'm running around getting sweaty and that's never a good thing going into a meeting. I finally find the fecking place and i go into an office where there's a load of people sitting waiting. What's the story here? I ask them what time they're supposed to have their meeting and they all say 12. Hang on that's my time......aw shit this isn't a meeting at all its a fecking casting and what's worse its an improv casting. Crap! Improvisation, unless its really good, makes me puke. This is a doozy. Me and this chick are brought into the casting room and told that the scenario we had to play out was that we were having a party and we were swingers but the other guests wouldn't know that. Then the other people are brought in from the office to be the guests and we just improvise for the camera. And its the usual shite everyone trying not to be embarrassed but obviously they are and then everyone is trying to say more than the other person and I'm as guilty of that as everyone else. Its like watching a train wreck. You see I don't mind improvisation per se but this wasn't whose line is it anyway. I hate meetings. Especially when they turn into improvisations.

And then it was the last week of 'Beauty Queen' and the phone started going. I didn't get any of the shows I went for.

- Far Pavilions: 'The Musical Director really liked you but the director didn't think you had the right type of voice' - Bollox.
- BBC: 'She said you were nice but there's nothing there for you at the moment.' - Crap.
- RSC: 'They liked you but its not going to work out this time' - Feck it (Jonjo got in the end).
- Manchester: 'They said you were ok but they don't want you.' - Couldn't give a shit about that one.

And so in the cacophony of 'they liked you.. but...' I was left with nothing to go on to. And then the final nail was driven in. My ever vigilant agent calls me at 10 O'Clock one night;

'I got an email from Lord of the Rings. They were looking for your home address. The director wants to send you a letter.'

Why does he want to send me a letter? This can only be bad. It is. She rings back the following day.

'The letter will just say that they've decided to cast the hobbits shorter than you so that means they won't be considering you for one of them.'

And fair enough that's pretty much what the letter says when it arrives. Its a nice complementary letter and it also says that I'll be considered for a taller role if something suits. Sure we'll see. Who knows. And there it was, the end of the gig and nothing for the forseeable. Not good. Its been a while since I've done that many auditions and not gotten any of them. I hope it isn't a sign of things to come. And although all of that bad news is a bit of a dampener on me time in York I enjoyed every minute of doing Beauty Queen every night. Its a top theatre as well. The director makes a few noises towards about doing something together in 2005 and I'd jump at it. But they really need to do something about the digs situation and the nightlife!! At the end of it all we said our goodbyes as you do and I got a lift back to the London off the Stalwart Tessa Worsley (72 and a theatrical fireball still) and Paul Meston (Top actor, played me brother) so I save a bit on the bloody train fare. Although the car journey ended up taking 8 hours. There was a mini marathon in London. Jesus!

And it was over. All I had left was the memories and a lovely overdraft thanks to all the train journeys I had to make for jobs i didn't get. Oh and the reviews of course. And although I said before, I would never bore ye by quoting my reviews, I will tell you this one. A couple had approached us in the bar after the show one night to say how much they enjoyed it and they asked me was I really Irish.

'Since I was born' I quip back, making sure that my déise brogue was clearly in evidence.

'Oh yes we thought so.' They replied, 'Its just that there was two elderly Irish ladies behind us who were complaining during the show that your accent couldn't be real, it was too strong.'

The auld bitches!

17. THE WAY I ALWAYS AM!

I was about tread the boards of the Theatre Royal in Waterford for the first time in 5 years.

And I was more shit-scared than I've ever been in me life!

Now at this stage in me career I've played over 40 different theatres in England. I've performed in front of 1200 people a night and even shown me belly off in the West End so why the hell would returning to me home town to sing a few songs in a 600 seat classic proscenium arch theatre put the fear of God in me? Because Déise audiences can be the harshest critics in the world. Nicholas De Jongh - scourge of the West End - has nothing on them. Seriously. And I guess I felt I had something to prove. I left Waterford a talented amatuer and now I was returning to ballybroadway a "PROFESSIONAL". I'd better be worth the money so. Jesus. And of course I was doing it in style! 3 rehearsals for the variety spectacular to be called 'The Way We Were' and then off to England for 3 weeks to start rehearsals for a play and then return the morning of the first performance and have a couple of hours to put it all together. AM I FECKING NUTS?! And one of the numbers I was doing was a dance number! AM I REALLY FECKIN NUTS!?!?! Oh yes indeedy!

I had left Waterford a few days after the festival and eventually hit the high road to York (hangover still intact) and started rehearsals for 'The Beauty Queen of Leenane'

but more on that later.............

Fasting forward to over two weeks later and after numerous nights of prancing around my flat trying to learn the dance routine (in a space that was very very small. A lot like the Theatre Royal then) and singing various standards in the shower, I'm being driven from Dublin airport and the fear is kicking in. This was to be a full on weekend big time. I had rehearsals from 11 o'clock the next morning to try and get me shit together for the concert. Then of course I had the dreaded deed itself. The following morning (Sunday) I had a full day's rehearsals planned for 'The Lord of the Flies', yes that was still going on and I was still writing music for it, in between learning me killer moves boy! Then we had the second night of 'The Way We Were'. Thankfully I had sorted out an NA for the monday. NA, for those who don't speak showbiz, stands for non-availability and can be sorted out prior to the contract being signed. Its like a day off of school. So I had given myself the day after all the madness to recover and gently make my way back to York, or so I thought!!! Not a sign. I had bugged the Rex of Red Kettle Theatre Co. Mr. Ben Hennessy to give me an audition for their next production; Ira Levine's 'Deathtrap'. A deadly thriller which was going to have me man who played the lead out of '2001: A Space Odyssey' in it. Oh I'd like a bit of that thank you very much. And my pestering bears fruit. But the audition was to be on the Monday! Jesus! 11 O'clock in the morning!! Christ!!! Well I'll have to mind meself then. No going mad after the last night of the show. Of course that's what happened. Of course. Aaaanyway. Up at cock crow on the day of the show and I'm in Johnny Crowe's getting a lovely €10 haircut and by 11 O'Clock I'm standing on that stage.

And it all comes flooding back.

Its just all so familiar. All the years performing there. All the shows. All the craic. I know that place like the back of my hand, probably better. The scene of some of my best performances, amateur or professional, and of course some of my worst (I live in fear of a copy of the video of me in 'Jesus Christ Superstar' ever reaching London. I have had threats.) I would say that me walking onto that stage was like the scene in 'Sunset Boulevard' where Norma Desmond steps onto a film set for the 1st time in years, but that would be a bit gay. Needless to say I suddenly felt a huge buzz about being there. And I started whacking into the songs and me voice, five years older and (hopefully) better, starts bouncing off the walls. Yes boy. This is what its all about. This is what Waterford's about. Music, drama, variety. This blue bastion is easily the cultural capital of rip off Ireland and the Theatre Royal is its Áras an Uachtarán. Steeped in history, and a few ghosts for good measure, that building is a place of power in the town. I really felt like I was at home. Rehearsal goes well and the voice seems to be in good form (thank god there was no Munster finals on recently) the dancing is ok and I'll get away with it, but I also have to recite 2 shakespeare sonnets and I've busted me brain trying to learn them in the past few days and I think I'm ok on them. Then I go on to rehearse it and on before me are two of the funniest gowlers on the Waterford stage, local treasure Davy Sutton and the eponymous Q. They've just finished singing 'Brush up your Shakespeare' which segues nicely into my bit, but I come on stage and they're still there I launch into me first lines;

'Who will believe my verse in time to come, if....' and that's as far as I get before the two boys launch into a tirade of abuse....

'The fuck's he on about?'
'What a load a shit!'
'Shakespeare me bollox boy!'

There was no malice in it just pure gowling and it sent everyone at the rehearsal into convulsions of laughing. Including me. And that as they say was the end of that and the words were well gone on me and I spent an agonizing few seconds (hours) trying to get it back together, but no, I had to reach into me pocket and pull out the words. Now that was embarrassing. I think Michael Grant was regretting the cost of the flights now. I did the rest of it sheet in hand and so afraid was I now of forgetting them again I ended up using the words that night for the actual performance.

Ah yes. The performance.

It would probably make better reading (or funnier at least) if I were now to recount a litany of cock ups, forgotten lyrics, wrong songs and all the things that make up a good old backstage farce, but alas it went really well. Alright some of it had a rough quality to it because of the lack of rehearsal but it was all heart. The minute the curtain went up the audience was singing along with every number and that was enough to put anyone at ease. Except for me that is. I was bricking it. So much so that one of the toilets in the Theatre will be off limits for a couple of years. I put on my tux, brylcreem the hair and head for the stage. Gershwin's 'But Not For Me' is my first of the evening. I'm standing in the wings and the usual panic of forgetting all the words just before singing happens, but I've learned to just go with that, the words are still there. I'm chatting to Linda Gough, another 'Pro' brought back for the first time in ages (although she's proper famous because she was on Fair City.), and I'm delighted to hear that she has an equal case of the runs. So I casually walk on the stage, no spontaneous burst of applause. I'm going to have to earn that. And earn it I do. With blood sweat and fears. The dance number 'Putting on the Ritz' goes down a storm and 'Ol' Man River' closes the first act to whoops. Bring it on! I open the second act with a duet with the well talented Kate Hayley and the Shakespeare sonnets go grand. Well they should do cos I've got the words in me hand for feck sake. My last number is 'Night and Day' with another Jamie, Murphy that is who's inexplicably blonde for the occasion and before doing the song I have some witty banter with him and I crack possibly the worst joke ever;

'Can I have an A flat please Wayne?' (Note sounds) 'Janey that's very flat!'

The audience love it! The old ones are the best ones. And that's it the punishing ordeal is over only to be repeated the following night. Unbelievably the rehearsal for 'Lord of the Flies' is called off because, unbelievably, Waterford United had made it to the finals of the soccer league and the match was that evening. Well there was no way a rehearsal was gonna happen. Although a meeting did. But that's not so bad. And then the second night of 'The Way We Were' goes just as well as the first if not better. But how did I fare with the Déise audience. Had I come back from the London only to be found out to have feet of clay? Well there was one thing said to me that meant the most. I was in the Munster after the second night and I was chatting to Archie, one of the Collins theatrical dynasty, and he says to me like this;

'Don't take this the wrong way but I honestly had forgotten how good you were.'

That's good enough for me boy. And with the smile on me face that gave me I proceeded to celebrate like I didn't have an audition at 11 O'Clock the following morning. I mean I know it was stupid but what was I meant to do? Just head home straight after the show like a good little actor. Me bollox. Even as I wandered home at 4.30 from a grand auld Strawberry hill bash I still didn't think anything of it. No, only when I fell into a room above a pub in Dublin with one eye closed cos I had less than 2 hours sleep and no voice and a head on me to match only then did I feel the pangs of regret. Sure you would watching a great gig going down the drain. I notice that there has been a certain rearranging of the furniture and that can mean only one thing: we're going to move it. Crap! They're the auditions where its not just a case of sitting down and have a read (which I would have barely been able for that morning). No, in this you have to get up and play the scene as if you were onstage. Of course I don't know the scene well enough to be off the book and so the script in my hand was a huge pain in the hole. It got worse when we got to the bit where i was supposed to be handcuffed! Say no more. I had just made a triumphant return to the Waterford stage but 'Deathtrap' wasn't going to be my second. I mean when am I going to cop on for Christ sake?!?! Will I ever learn or is that just the way I always am and the way I always will be? That said it wasn't absolutely terrible and when I was told I didn't get it (surprise, surprise) I was told that the director and actor reading opposite me were very impressed but they were going for someone a bit older. I'm not sure if I believe that but it was nice to hear that I didn't make a total prick of myself. Not to worry though, sure I was working. Back to York so. But I was still on a big buzz from being back on stage in Waterford. I can't leave it too long before I do it again. I reach York and I'm already missing home. It never gets any easier. I got a card off Michael Grant to say thanks, and even better than the compliment from Archie were his words on the card;

'You're a true blue.'

How bad.

16. LORD OF THE FESTIVAL

Every year for the past 46 years, from all over the world they come. Like the theatrical rogues and vagabonds of that bygone age they pack their sets and their actors in the back of a lorry and descend upon the sapphire of the South East, the fair Déise land. And all in the hope of walking away, after two weeks of FEROCIOUS competition, with the coveted trophy (and perhaps a few other titles for good measure) and the chance to be remembered forever on the hallowed walls of the Munster Bar.

Alright, maybe I'm being a bit dramatic.

But the Waterford International Festival of Light Opera (WIFLO to those in the know), which is between 10 - 14 nights of musicals presented by amateur, semi-professional and sometimes semi-amateur societies, can always be counted on for a few laughs, even more beers and a lot of drama. Especially this year. There was a Waterford society in competition. And Waterford societies take the festival very, very seriously. Big time. In the history of the festival a Waterford show has never won the coveted title; The International trophy. A few have come 2nd alright. So what could this society (the newly formed Flaggy Lane Theatre Co.) do that other societies before them couldn't? Well, they could do 'The Hot Mikado' for a start, that jazzed up version of the G&S favourite, a real crowd pleaser and former festival winner. Then they could hire probably the best Musical Director in Ireland who would bring with him some of the best musicians in the country. And they could bring back to the Waterford stage, to play the lead, that huge personality (if small frame) Mr. Richie Hayes. Check on all counts. These guys were armed for bear and not talking any showbiz prisoners in their quest for that trophy. The gloves were off and loyalties were discarded because this was war. It's a very interesting thing to watch. And watch it I did.

I had returned to My City of Music and was knee deep in working on the music for Lord of the Flies. To be honest I was finding it a bit difficult sitting at me computer trying to get the inspiration to write. It had been a year since I wrote a note of music and it felt like it. I was musically unfit so to speak. But what'll help that? Beer of course. My first week back, while it didn't consist of a session every night, did include me birthday, me sister's engagement party, waking up on Mick Q's couch after drinking gin and watching Borat......twice, and a last night party for the Hot Mikado which went straight through to the next day. No sleep Beamish here had to go to the bus station straight from the party and pick up the affable Richard Hardwick (Who was on tour in Cork with 'Grease'.) for more drinking.

I was back home so.

But for there to be a last night party there, of course, had to be a first night. And I was there. As is customary you do a run of the show before it goes into the Festival and 'The Hot Mikado' were doing it right by putting it in front of a crowd merely two weeks before it. Clever. And it was good. Very good. Not perfect but it was better than a lot of first nights I've seen (and been in) in the good old Theatre Royal. Like I said, all good stuff, with Richie Hayes having the audience in stitches, the great Gary Power looking like Colonel Sanders and Ray Collins proving that he's still probably the best singer in Waterford and wasted there to boot. But towards the end of act one the biggest wig I'd ever seen came onstage and with it the lovely Vicky Graham playing Katisha. Always reliable, I knew I was in safe hands with Vicky on stage. . . and then she opened her mouth to sing. Holy shit! The hairs on the back of me neck were giving her a standing ovation and it wasn't even the interval. I had never heard her sing like that. Jazzy, ballsy, absolutely brilliantly. And that was the clincher for me. They now had a show to be reckoned with. Vicky's singing was that extra bit of class they needed. They might just do it.

So the festival kicked off in its own inimitable style. Before I proceed though I have to tell you that I was a festival geek when I last lived in the Sunny South East. For the last two weeks in September I would try and see every show that was on. No matter how shit it was, I was there. And I always got a ticket. One night I even started singing outside the Theatre Royal when the chances of getting a seat for a local production of 'Chess' seemed extremely low. I got a ticket at 5 to 8. Thank god for peoples pity. I was such a regular fixture in the Gods in that theatre that in my later festivals I was asked by the legendary Jimmy Finn to help him out tearing tickets, for which my reward would be to sit on the stairs and watch the show.

'Don' shay no'hin te Larry fannin'!'

It was a job I was well proud of and I did it to the best of me ability but I could never surpass the master.

'Tchicketss Pleeaszze!!!!!'

It only ever sounded right when Jimmy said it. Four foot nothin and you never got past him. The God's are angry Mr. Finn.

I'm starting to sound like fecking Frank McCourt here! So the Festival meant a lot to me. It still does. This was my first Festival since 2000, but this year was different as the official purpose I was home was for Lord of the Flies, so of course that was taking up my time and attention and that meant my festival going was down to a bare minimum. The shows that is. Not the festival club! The place (the Tower hotel generally) you scheme over to after the Munster to drink and sometimes sing the night away and then fall home in the small hours and hope to christ you don't have work in the morning. Ahhh the festival club. Eases the pain. So (apart from the afters) I gave myself 3 shows I wanted to see; 'The Hot Mikado' (what? again? Oh yes for a local show in the Festival must be given all the support possible), Honk (A dublin show which had won AIMS, the Irish musical society oscar) and Little Night Music (which was being performed by the shit hot Trent Opera Co. who were 2 time winners already). These were the three hot tickets but would they be the top three at the end of the day?

The Hot Mikado was shit-hot on the night! I arrived to the Theatre a bit before to pick up my tickets and I bumped into the world and his wife there; that traveling balladeer Mr. David Flynn (as opposed to the wealthy builder); the funky fish himself and friend of Matthew Kelly, Mr. Fintan Kavanagh; the nemesis of elderly gentlemen on the terraces at a hurling match Mr. Kevin Kehoe and the list of criminals goes on. The lights went down and you could cut the buzz with a knife, the Gentlemen of Japan, a bit of nerves, a couple of dropped hats but nothing to worry about. This was hopping! Richie Hayes had the Royal in the palm of his hand, the singing was brilliant and Vicky Graham was even better than the first time I saw her! Jesus! The audience are clapping and lapping up every word and by the time the second act kicks in they've really hit their stride. Nice one! The adjudicator comes on at the end to give his customary crit. How the hell is he going to criticize that? He doesn't. He praises it big time. But there's something about the way he's doing it. He's being very cool about it. He's not going apeshit for it like I thought he would. And I don't know what he really thought. The lads however are in brilliant spirit and the buzz in the munster after is mighty and its even better in the Festival Club. So good in fact that the hotel manager announced that for an hour there would be a free bar. 4 lovely red bull and Vodka's and I'm all over the shop! And how bad. So bad in fact that I'm a member of a select posse still left in the hotel foyer when a member of security, being an asshole and trying to get us all out, is a bit insulting with one of the lads and a certain person who won't be named called Seamus goes ape and they threaten to call the cops. Some threat.

'Call the fuckin cops so!' quoth a man you should not mess with. We left somewhat less than quietly.

The following morning I had inadvertently agreed to lunch with two different parties. the first being the butcher of the Déise broadway, Munster Express theatre critic mr. Liam Murphy and the second being Mr. David Hayes (if carlsberg did musical directors they would look something like him.). The first bit of grub was fine but I was seriously wilting by the time i got to the second. David's a mate but the chat swings to business and I drop it in that I'm free this xmas. Well it turns out that Tony Finnegan (Good head and the best actor/director in Bettystown) is doing a production of the Wizard of Oz at the National Concert hall and David himself is involved in a panto up there as well. Lovely stuff! Distinct possibilities! I mean I've already given my Lion to great acclaim at Birmingham rep last Christmas. I bump into the aforementioned Mr. Finnegan for a few beers in the festival club the following night and in short order he tells me that he's doing 'The Wizard of Oz' to which I am overcome with surprise;

'Really!? Aw that's a deadly show boy! Sure I played the Lion in it at Birmingham Rep last year!' hintingly quoth I.

'That's funny! Cos I'm playing the Lion in our production!' Devastatingly quoth he.

Ah shit! That's the end of that then. But wait, what about Mr. Hayes' panto? Well I get an audition the following week, off I trot to Dublin, in I go, give it socks, they seem REALLY interested and .......... I never hear from them again. Y'know I don't think I'm ever going to be on stage in Ireland again. Of course I spoke too soon. The phone goes. It isn't the agent funnily enough, its Michael Grant, former king of Tops of the Town asking me if I'd be interested in performing in a variety evening, 'The Way We Were', that he's producing for the Waterford Arts Festival. There's no money for it but they'll sort my expenses. I say yes. Then I start crapping me pants. I Haven't been on the stage of the Theatre Royal in 5 years. I'd have 2 rehearsals before I head off to York and wouldn't see a soul until the morning of the first show. Is this feasible? Am I going to end up looking like a knob on a less than triumphant return to the Déise stage. Well, we'll see.

'We don't give a crap about you, what of the festival?' I here you cry. Well there had been nothing to cool down the Hot Mikado's chances but Honk was on its way and a serious contender. I go to see the show with Sinéad Kiely, the best soprano Waterford city never had (she's from Dungarvan you see) and we settle back in the Gods to check out this musical tale of the ugly duckling. We were like the two boys out of the muppets as we sat there and critiqued all the way through the show. It was good though, but for my money not Hot Mikado good. Then the adjudicator came on. He went mad for it. So much so that when he started to describe one particular sequence he got choked up and shed a little tear. And as I sat there aghast at all the gushiness, I could see the lad's chances slipping away. Not one to mince his words Flex Browne beside me proclaimed:

'That's it. They're fucked so.'

I was inclined to agree. That said though I was in the festival years ago and the adjudicator was so emotional at the end of our show, she came on and was unable to give an adjudication, she was so overcome. I turned to Ray Collins and said: 'We've won it boy!' ...........We came 6th. But the buzz now was that Honk had taken the lead. Dirty Dubs. And the feeling in the Munster and festival club that night was a bit subdued. We still got battered though (Lord of the Flies was going great - when I could see it through the drunken haze or when the music didn't hurt me head). Lots of people now had Honk 1st and Hot Mikado 2nd. But I wasn't sure about that. I still thought the could win it and in the following days there was no shows to change that opinion. Until the third heavy hitter arrived. 'A Little Night Music'. Sondheim's wonderful celebration of love in waltz time. Was this the show to beat them all. I don't know. I didn't get to see it. As bad luck would have it one of my favourite actors (the brilliant Donal O' Kelly) was doing a one man show about James Joyce in Garter Lane theatre. Well there was no way I was missing that. Sure didn't I play Joyce's son Giorgio in Calico? And brilliant it certainly was. Now that's the kind of actor I want to be when I grow up! Brilliant! And so, it seems, was 'Night Music'. Pure class in what had been a slightly lacklustre program. The buzz in the Munster was that these were now the boys to beat. Of course I had missed it! That was the Friday and the results were the Sunday.

Sunday! The last day of the Festival when all and sundry descend on the Munster and drink and sing through the afternoon and head off home in the evening for a bite to eat and a shower and come back in to hear the results and drink and sing some more. Except that is for the true, hardcore Festival goers who don't go home but instead stay in the Munster straight through to the results with the only respite being a chip and a batter sausage over the road. That'll be just me and Raymond Collins then. While there was a lot of drinking there wasn't as much singing as usual. There wasn't a piano or a piano player to be found that day so they rang me. And while I gladly gave them the use of my keyboard I refused to play the thing point blank. I couldn't think of anything worse. It wasn't too bad mind. After a short time of singing unaccompanied some guys started playing guitar and one guy could play the keyboard after a fashion but informed Ray that he doesn't do intros. Oh happy day. I gave reputation-destroying renditions of 'Oh What a Beautiful Morning' and 'Patricia the Stripper' and I wasn't even drunk. 1 pint of water for every two pints of beer, for it was to be a long night boy! So the sing song was alright in the end but you could feel the nervous energy already and when the lads from the Hot Mikado arrived back to the pub all spruced up it got worse. A lot worse! You could feel the Jitter going around the room as if Waterford was a point behind in the closing minutes of a munster final. They believe that 'Night Music' was going to win but there was this little glint of hope within them, hanging on. Maybe, just maybe they might have it. It could still happen. By 9 O'clock you couldn't move in the Munster it was jammers from top to bottom. I was hanging on to sobriety by the skin of my teeth and running a little book on the results as I've always done. On the radio the last night concert was being broadcast but there wasn't a sinner listening. They only cared about the sound of one man's voice. Brows were beaded with sweat, who would go home with the crystal?

10 O'Clock. Adjudicator onstage and he wastes no time. Straight into the individual awards. There's grown men shaking beside me. First award. Adjudicator's award. To ... Richie Hayes for the Hot Mikado! And the crowd goes feckin wild!!!! The place erupts. How bad. One down many more to go. The next few are spread between Honk and Night Music but then best Choreographer? HOT MIKADO! The crowd nearly do themselves damage!!!! Good stuff. Next one, Best Comedienne.....Vicky Graham for HOT MIKADO! At this stage I would have to equate the reaction to the reaction when Paul Flynn scored his goal in the Munster final this year! Delighted for her. Thankfully there was no casualties. i could then see a glint in the lads eyes, hope was suddenly building. But then the next slew of awards all go to other shows and mostly Honk or Night music. Not good. That said I remember a festival where the winner had only gotten one........hang on! Third place! HOT MIKADO!!!

AW YES B...................NO!

shite

Some of the crowd went fairly wild. But only fairly. There was an air of disappointment in the room and a few tears were shed (I'm not saying who). Of course there was. The last time I was home for a festival a Waterford show lost as well. I was starting to be a bit of a Jonah. I kept that thought to myself. Honk came 2nd and Night Music won but the Gentlemen of Japan were long past caring. A few pints and large bottles in the festival club will sort that out. Like I said before, Ahhh the festival club. Eases the pain. it certainly did and some night it was too, so much so that on my way to a party at five o'clock that morning I hit the drink threshold and jumped out of the cab when it passed near me house. Remember I'd been at it non stop since 3 that afternoon. I slipped off into drunken dreams about a Waterford show winning the festival. For that's what it still was. A dream. Another Festival and no International Trophy to proudly display in the Munster.

To quote a lyric from the winning show.

Well maybe next year.

It's The Truth I Tell's Ya!

To prove that I'm not just telling shaggy dog stories. Here's a pic;



"Don't forget your champagne" Quoth Sir Michael.

"That's why I'm here boy" Quoth I. You can't bring me anywhere.

But ye know that by now.

normal service will resume shortly.

15. DIGS HELL

Touring.

I know a thing or two about touring let me tell ya. As I've said before my first job was an 8 month tour around the UK. 8 months boy. I could have had a baby in that time. The best part of touring? That's easy. The craic, getting to check out lots of different towns and cities, getting to perform in loadsa different venues, and did I mention the craic? The worst part of touring? Even easier;

Digs.

When you tour to anywhere in England you have to sort out your own 'digs'. No hotels for the jobbing actors my good man. Whether its a tour wherein you are in a different venue each week or you are in situ for a couple of months you're sent a 'Digs list' to trawl through to try and find a place that's going to be home for you for the time you are in that place. And they vary in quality wildly! Big time! digs Lists are full of listings like this;

- Spacious double room with exquisite view available in nice, relaxed household. Use of all facilities. Tv and Kettle in room. Only 10 mins from theatre. Visitors by arrangement. No children but friendly dog and cat in house. £50 pw Phone Betty on 01983 93093

What that generally means is a tiny room with a double bed squashed into it so there's feck all room for anything especially the ancient black and white telly thats sitting on a dusty chest of drawers at the end of the bed. The household is anything but relaxed as poor auld Betty is only recently widowed or divorced and you're her only contact with the outside world since her Jack went and sure the kids never visit or so you're told every day. Facilities you can use are the bathroom and the kitchen but the living room is her private place and so's the kitchen when she's in there. She'll probably wait up for you at night to see how your day went and god help you if you fall in late at night off your face drunk. The bloody dog and cat have free reign of the house including your room so your stuff is destroyed in hairs and friendly they most certainly are not. Visitors are not welcome and that's the arrangement so you better be single! The £50 price tag is 5 years old at this stage and it's actually £80. And that 10 minutes to the theatre is by fecking taxi! The view is indeed exquisite, mind you, but who gives a shit.

That's not an exaggeration by any means. I could tell you horror stories about digs. One landlady I had was a crazy auld chick called Miss Pink (I kid you not.) who sat in the sitting room all day smoking what must have been dope and changing the television channel with a snooker cue and called me an alcoholic when I told her my reason for leaving was that the buses didn't run late enough to her part of Bristol and it was too far to walk. Another woman I stayed with was heavily pregnant by a previous lodging actor who had run off (on tour again no doubt). Subsequently she had a pathological dislike of actors. I told her I was a musician. I could go on and on to be honest and not just with my own tales of woe. Every actor and stage manager in the land has there own litany. Now that's not to say there's no nice digs in England. There are. I've stayed in a few and they were fine and dandy for the week I was there. But that's just it, It was only for a week. Well not even that, more often than not it was 5 nights and back to the London for a Seisúin in Shuttleworths (the seediest actors club in London but we thought it great at the time!). So staying in digs digs wasn't too bad. But I was about to work in York for 7 weeks and lovely old lady digs would just not do. No way boy!

All the drama about which job I was going to do had happened in the last week of Willows and it couldn't have come at a better time. I was now able to sort out exactly what was happening over the next few months and the plan was thus; get over the hangover after the last show of Willows (twas a doozy indeed! The show finished at 1pm and the drinking stopped at 2am. How bad. But it would get worse than that.), then chill in the London for two weeks to sort out the fecking digs for York, go to the big end of season party at Regent's Park (always a lethal night!) then head back to the fair Waterford my home for nearly 5 weeks (what a treat!) and then of course head to York to begin my deadly new job and move into my digs. Ah yes. The digs. Well the first thing I did when I accepted 'Beauty Queen' was ring the theatre and get them to send me a digs list straight away. Normally the list will come with a copy of your contract and script but there was no way I was waiting a few weeks for that to be sorted out all the good stuff would be gone. The digs list arrived a couple of days later.

All the good stuff was gone.

Most actors don't like to talk about money but I don't give a crap (because I'm in it for the art. Ha ha!) I was on £350 for 'Beauty Queen' and on top of that you get £105 which is supposed to be for your rent and your food and general living expenses. It's not that much money when you take into account that you have to put money away for tax and pay your agent etc. etc. So you have to be frugal about the digs you chose. The minute I get the List i go straight to the self catering accommodation ie. flats. For an extra bit of money I don't mind paying a bit more for my own place. But how expensive could it be? It's York for feck sake! Well the cheapest on the list was £80 for a single bedsit!! Jesus!! And it got worse. I ring the £80 guy and not a sign, its already gone. Shit. There's a crowd doing them for £90 a week but they're full as well, me man says he'll ring me back in a couple of days though because something may well come up. He never rang back. Just like a casting director. There's one advertised and it says to ring for rates as they vary out of season. Sounds promising. The woman on the other end of the line tells me that there's no way she could leave the flat go for anything less than £200 a week! Are you off your chump lady!!?! Do you know how much we get for living in York? No? Well I'll tell ya! She doesn't budge on the price.

'So you'd prefer to leave the flat go idle than to bring the price down to help this poor starving actor out?'

'Yes' .................. the phone went straight down at that stage. That stupid bitch. I mean, what the fuck is she doing on the digs list? What actor can afford that kinda money. The kind of actor that isn't working in York! Things were not going well at all and it was looking like I may have to move to the front of the list and start looking at the old lady digs because there was nothing else aaaaagh! I rang the last place on the self catering page, this guy who owned a hotel had flats as well and he said that they were from £120 a week but was willing to do deals out of season (heard that one before). I get to talk to a receptionist at the hotel and she tells me that one of the actors there at the moment was paying £140 and there was little chance of the owner going below that. Fuck that. But I ask to speak to the owner and he says that the best he can do is £120, I give him the sob story though and he says he'll think about and give me a ring back in a couple of days. I'm grasping at straws now. I really can't afford any of these places so I should start brushing up on my old widow conversation. I mean I still had a flat in London to be paying for didn't I?

Well no as it turned out.

I live in a deadly flat in county Kilburn in the London and the guy I share with (Gary O'Sullivan who's a mate from drama school) also owns the place so that's pretty chilled. He's off on tour himself in September and has let out his room to an Aussie chick and he suggests I do the same. Genius! Sure I'm going to be away from September to the very end of November, a good three months. So on to this thing called the internet I go and post my own ad for digs. Ah the irony. I get loads of emails about it and the first guy that contacts me comes over the following evening. He's an affable Aussie chap who's working in IT in the city and has just bust up with his girlfriend and needs a place until he can move into the flat he just bought which will take about 3 months. Perfect boy! He gets the flat, I see no one else. Nice one! Well that's a huge weight off of me wallet. But York digs? What's the story boy? I get a message on me phone from the receptionist which says I can have a studio flat for £110. Possible now that I've no rent to pay in London. But its a fiver over me subsistence and now it's a matter of principle. I ring the owner the next day and he seems to have forgotten the quote he gave;

'How much do they give you for expenses again?' asketh he.

'Just £105 pounds kind sir.' Replieth my poor mouth.

'Ok, I'll sort you out a studio for that then.'

Sold! Its not Ideal and its certainly not cheap but feck it! I'm sorted and I'm happy. So happy that I'm not too pissed off when the agent phones (you knew she had to didn't you.);

'I've just got a phone call from Working Title and they're interested in you for this new romantic comedy they're doing. But it's filming in October and November.'

Not a hope girl. That's exactly when I'm doing 'Beauty Queen'. Ah well. At this stage I'm thinking that I'm never going to be on screen other than me 3 lines on Judge John Deed. I have a great face for radio though. (I just hope Kiera Knightley wasn't in this one as well, I couldn't handle that.) At least I can now enjoy me last few days in London. And enjoy it indeed I do. The Regent's Park party is a beauty. Tons of free beer, I win an award (It's only a piss take award for best one liner.... 'Aha!'....the word was only in the script once but i used it throughout the show to cover time while I tried to remember my lines. The ginger Gielgud Mr. Keith Dunphy won an award for lifetime achievement beating the leading lady's 9 month old baby. Like I said. Piss take!) I'm off me face in a big way. I try to open a bottle off a wall at one stage and the neck just breaks off, I still drank it though. I was just careful of the broken glass against me lips.We all end up drinking on the bandstand in the park until 7 in the morning. Ahhh knacker drinking in the park. It brought me back to my youth in the Déise. And soon there was something else that would bring me back to the Déise.

The 1 O'clock flight from Luton that Saturday.

Thank god for Aer Arann!

Bring on the blaas and Bulmers!

And the Festival!