34. TOADING IN THE RAIN?

I loves working at the Open Air Theatre in Regent’s Park, don’t you?

Its a nearly 2000 seat amphitheatre right in the middle of Regent’s Park in the Centre of the London and listen lads there’s no roof on this baby. When they say Open Air they really mean it. Sure the back wall of the stage is just a load of trees. What a place though. Easily the most welcoming theatre in London and a great place to see a show whether it be a Shakespeare or a Musical or (as was my case again this year) a kids show. It was the place where I first appeared professionally onstage and I’ll never forget the shock I got as I ran out onto that stage with the rest of the Pirates of Penzance only to be looking straight at a full house and because it wasn’t dark yet you could see every single one of the audience. I nearly messed meself. And the minute we arrived on the stage the audience burst into spontaneous applause ... and we hadn’t done anything yet. They just knew they were in for a good night. This was what it was all about I thought to meself. I don’t know if its ever gotten better than that particular moment. Since then I’ve been back to the Park every year. The following year we went back for a night to do some bits from Pirates for the 70th anniversary concert. The year after (2003) I did the full season there, two Shakespeares and a musical and its that season that I really think turned me career around. It got me the Lion in the Wizard of Oz, it led me to work with Ed Hall in the West End and it got me an Ian Charleson Award nomination. How bad. Last year I cagily came back to play Toad in Wind in the Willows only to find that it was one of the best things I ever did and so I was back again this year reprising the role. All this from the artistic director, Mr. Ian Talbot, seeing me in a tiny little thing in Greenwich and having a chat with me in the bar after. Its been VERY good to me in other words.

‘That’s all deadly’ I hear you shut me up, ‘But there’s no feckin roof man, what if it rains?’

Ah yes. The rain. Well the deal with that is they have a hotline direct to the UK Met Office, no seriously they do, and if it rains, whether before or during the show, they find out if its down for the night or if its just a shower. If its raining before the show they’ll hold the curtain (what curtain????) for about 20 minutes after which they’ll cancel the show and the audience (that have turned up) get a voucher to see any show that season or for the next 10 years (that’s for real as they did have an Australian couple come back 8 years after the show they went to see got cancelled and they got their replacement ticket!). It’s trickier once the show has started though and they will try and keep it going for as long as possible. There was a company manager there once and the way he used to gauge whether to stop a show or not was to stand on the picnic lawn front of house and if the rain was so bad it was dripping off his nose well then he would make the call to stop it. But only then. If the show is stopped during a performance the Deputy Stage Manager announces over the ‘God’ mic; ‘Can the actors please leave the stage.’ Then the audience are asked to move to the cover of the bar area and they wait 20 minutes to see if the show is cancelled or if they can continue.

So you are completely at the mercy of the elements.

How bad you might think, sure that would have to mean a few nights off what with the infamous English summer. Ah yeah but the thing is you still have to turn up at the theatre, do your warm up, get into costume and be absolutely ready to do the show. So its fairly disappointing to be told the show is off when you’re all geared up to do it and if you’re in the middle of a show its worse, its a real anti-climax. And while you might get to the bar earlier and we always joke about wishing we had a show off, we never really mean it. And you’d be surprised how the weather will change in a second. One night of Midsummernight’s Dream (after the best summer since the 70’s so we hadn’t lost a show) It started pelting it down with rain at 7pm and didn’t let up. That was it we thought, no show!! We were so excited as we were all knackered after a gruelling season and two of the lads ran out backstage in their underwear and did a rain dance. The rain promptly stopped at 7.55. They must have done the wrong feckin dance! And sure enough the show went on at 8.15 and we got all the way through it. I mean there was kids sitting on the grass banks in black sacks it was so damp. The audience loved it. Lunatics!!!

Fasting forward to this summer and sure I had just finished the mental month of travelling and I have to say, while just doing one show for two weeks seemed like a holiday, I wouldn’t have said no to a bit of rain and a couple of shows off before I started doubling up again. Famous last words boy. But more on that later. The show had opened well and the start of the second week the reviews had started to come in, and they were mostly good. All good for me thank god but the Independent was particularly good and especially for the director which I was delighted with. She had really endeavoured to move it on from last year rather than just trying to recreate it so she deserved the nice notice. Nice one. That said our cursing badger did not go unnoticed, quoth Charles Spencer;

(Badger) “also inadvertently provided the biggest laugh of the performance when a technical mishap brought forth a very audible cry of "Oh, shit!“ One shudders to imagine what Kenneth Grahame would have made of that, but I .. report that it was undoubtedly the highlight of the show as far as my subversive son was concerned.”

He took it in good humour then, as did everyone else really as there was no complaints this year (unlike last year with the rude suggestion on the toast and the page 3 picnic basket incident. But I’ve promised not to go into that. We Willows people have a well bad reputation!). Not sure about the biggest laugh of the afternoon part, what am I busting me green arse doing so? Ah well, but thankfully the weather was with us and stayed pretty good. For the next week and a half we certainly got through every show and the most we had were a few drizzles, nothing major. Good stuff. And it was going well, the kids were loving it. Although houses were down a bit from last year but I have to say that had a fair bit to do with the terrorist attacks. People were afraid to come into London. Big time. I was sitting in the office at the park one day when a teacher called to try and cancel a block booking of kids. Her reason? She didn’t feel safe bringing the kids into the centre of London at the moment. OK its a justified fear I suppose but a bullshit attitude. If you let this stop you getting on with life then they’ve really won haven’t they? I don’t know, its a no win situation. Shit! Anyway we were getting good coverage in the press, actually we were getting more coverage than we expected. At the end of the second week I saw the funniest thing ever. The chief weasel himself had been out on the gay, as was his wont to do, and he happens upon a free gay listings magazine called QX. Having a look in the back he espies a listing for Wind in the Willows, surely it can’t be our show? It certainly fuckin is;

COMEDY
THE WIND IN THE WILLOWS
The Open Air Theatre
Regent’s Park, NW1
To 27th August
Tel: 0870 060 1811
FABULOUS, irreverent take on the ever-
green, pastoral kiddies’ classic, set in the
open air with vile, lime-green Toad costumes
and a radiant Julian Clary.

Ahhhhhhhhhh ha ha ha ha!! I was GONE! We were all gone. There’s a million things wrong with that listing and they’re all funny. I mean we were a kids show in a gay magazine!! ‘Irreverent take’? One of the criticisms of the show was that it was too traditional. ‘Vile, lime green Toad costumes’? Alright, the lime green was spot on, but vile? I thought I looked rather fetching! But the best ever was the ‘Radiant Julian Clary’? What the fuck?? I mean, I’m sure I’d know if that fella was in the show for Christ’s sake. The name of the Actor playing Badger was a well known older Shakespearean actor by the name of Julian CURRY! Ahhhhh hahahahaha! Some jeer. That poor fecker was already after swearing in a kids play in front of the national press and now he was being mistaken for the biggest queen in showbiz!!! His wife would not be happy. But sure we kept it as our own little secret, no point in upsetting the poor man. That said it was the source of a fair bit of craic and often was the time when Badger was having a speech and I would lean over to Ratty or Moley and whisper in their ear;

‘Ooooh Mrs. Clary’s minty dear.’

Top notch jeering material! And he hadn’t a clue. Although he does now if he reads this. It kept us going anyway! The only thing that worried me is if we got a load of only gays in the village coming to see the show expecting to see me in green leather. Nope, never gonna happen.

Another good thing about doing the show again this year was that people who didn’t get a chance to see it last year now had no excuse! So some of the lads came, which was cool and even cooler me Mammy and Nanny were coming over to see it. Now its always great to see them, but its also well stressful because I feel responsible for them while they’re staying with me. They came over (with me godson Paul) the 3rd weekend of the show. They were arriving on the Thursday, seeing the show on the Friday and flying back the Saturday evening. That itinerary was carefully worked out by me so there was two chances to see the show, if anything happened on the Friday they still had the possibility of the Saturday morning show. But sure the week had gone without any real weather problems and they arrived on the Thursday to a gorgeous summer’s evening. I brought them on a little sight seeing trip around the London, all the old favourites; Big Ben, the London Eye, Piccadilly Circus, Waterloo Bridge, The Royal national Theatre (they didn’t give a shit about that one) and the balmy evening ended up with meself and Gary and me mother on a session ending with drinking out the back garden till 3 in the morning. Now it was so warm we didn’t even have coats on us out there and I went to bed (or couch at least) safe in the knowledge that we’d definitely have a show the next day.

How wrong can you be.

I woke up to the sound of tap dancing. Aw Jesus that’s not a time step its fucking rain!!! I couldn’t believe it, it was lovely last night, now it was lashing! Ah Christ! This is well cat, but you never know though, like I said the weather can change in a second. 3 hours later I was sitting in me dressing room and it hadn’t changed. Still pissing it down. I was running around the theatre getting the vibe as to whether we were going on or not and the signs were not good. I let the management know that I had family over from Ireland, not that that was going to make a blind bit of difference, and I had a bit of a pray. That didn’t work either. I was sitting half dressed backstage without me face on waiting to hear whether they were going to see it or not, when the company manager came in with more bad news. There was kids in who had won a competition to see the show and get their photos taken with Toad, Ratty and Mole. I was in foul enough humour as it was and in zero mood to have to slap on the green and be nice to kids. I asked her was it ok if I left the make up off and just wore the suit? She was cool under the circumstances. In fairness they waited a full half hour before they finally called off the show. Shit on it anyway. All the boys were well cool saying even though they wanted the show off they really  wanted it to happen as I had family in. It was nice of them to lie. So I had to get on the rest of the costume, throw on a smile and head out to these kiddywinks. Actually I put on more than a smile, I ended up putting on the complete face. Sure it wasn’t these kids fault that it was raining and there was no point in me going out there like the grinch and ruining their day even more. Well me Mammy and Nanny and Paul got to see me in full costume at least, so that was something if the show didn’t happen the next day. That was the final hope of course, the next morning. Its always a risk when they come to the Park that the weather would be against them, but this was their third time coming over and it was the first time this happened and sure I’d be devastated if they travelled all the way over and didn’t even get to see the show (thank Christ I’m not from Australia). But that was in the hands of God, so I had a quiet night that night so as not to piss him off and woke up the next day to see a half cloudy sky. Half cloudy!! That’s good enough for me sure. By the time I got to the theatre and was doing the warm up the sun was even trying to peek through. Nice one. The show was sold out that day but I had sorted out getting them onto the directors bench (in fairness if they hadn’t let them in Andy would’ve had another show on as Toad!) and we were on!! Not a sign of a bit of rain. Not the sunniest day but I didn’t care. Also I was shitting meself as I always am when the family are in, but it wasn’t a bad show so how bad. Afterwards I brought them around town for a bit of a shop and then out to the airport with them and the stress was over.  It all worked out well in the end thank god. No seriously, thank God. Then I went out and got smashed with the cast and crew in Adam Street so I’m sure God is out with me again.

But now the two weeks grace was over and I was back to doubling up. That Monday was the first day of rehearsals for The Winter’s Tale, the doozy of a job. The big problem was that there was only two weeks rehearsals for the four new boys to go into it. Well two weeks for everyone else but I was still doing Willows so I was only available in the mornings. This was not good. Add to this the fact that like always I had barely looked at the script and had a passing glance at the DVD of the show they sent me and there was a serious disaster possible to happen. I may not make it to Swindon much less Dublin or New York! And how did that first week go? Not too well boy. The first day was grand cos all we did was music in the morning and sure if there’s one thing I’m comfortable with its that. Also I was in good voice from doing Willows so I seemed to make a good impression which is always important on the first day. They all seemed like a great bunch of guys and a few of them had seen Calico and one of them had brought his kids to see Willows the previous year and was well excited when he realised I was Toad (I was later to find out that this was actually the nicest man on the planet, Bob Barrett).  All good but the fecking lines were NOT going in. I was still big time in Toad mode. Ed hall wasn’t there himself that week thank god, his assistant Heather was but I know her from Calico and she’s no pushover, and all I could think was that I was making a real fool of meself in front of these guys, I was so under prepared, and I was the new guy with the least to learn. Jesus! On the Thursday I had a day off from Willows so I was looking forward to having a full day doing Winter’s Tale, get me really into the swing of it. They had also sorted out that our interviews at the American embassy to get our work visas was going to happen that morning too and the plan was to go there at 7am to be able to get to rehearsals for 10. Now on the Wednesday we had planned a company curry for Willows but that was ok, I wasn’t going to go mad because of everything I had to do the next day. Then after the show on Wednesday I had to head back down to Winter’s Tale rehearsals to get all my forms for the interview the next day. One of the sheets they gave me was a revised tour schedule. And there was something strange at the end after the final dates in Aberystwyth: Dec. 7th - 12th Guangzhou, China.

So sorry what now?

I asked the company manager Anthony what the craic was and he said;

‘Oh I’m sorry you mustn’t have been here when we confirmed it. We’re going to China.’

NO WAY!! As far as I was concerned the tour finished on the 3rd of December in Aberystwyth, now I find out that its been extended and not to any auld venue .... fuckin CHINA!! Ah sure I had to celebrate then for feck sake. I sped back up to the park and lashed into the whiskey and then lashed into the curry and then lashed into the cheap wine at the theatre bar and finally lashed into more whiskey till all hours in good auld Shutts. I rolled into bed at 4am twisted, knowing I had an interview or something to go to, and rolled out of bed at 9.15am. When I got hold of me watch I didn’t realise I was holding it upside down and was wondering how it was that I’d woken up an hour before I went to bed. Then I saw the clock on me laptop and I went white.

I’d missed me fuckin interview at the embassy.

Aw Jesus!!!!!! The phone rang. Of course it wasn’t the agent;

‘Jamie its Matt Flynn. Where the hell are you? We’ve been and finished and all. What’s up?’

‘Aw Jesus Matt I’ve just woken up! Me alarm never went off.’ ..... (I’d been too drunk to set the bastard!)

‘You stupid dickhead, get over there quick. We’ll let them know at rehearsals.’

Now I felt really stupid and what an impression I was making in this company. I hopped on the tube and rang the company manager who was well cool thank god. I got to the American Embassy after 10 to see the place chocablock with people. There was no hassle with me going in but I’d now have to wait me turn. And wait I did. 4 feckin hours! Not only that but 4 feckin hours with a bitch of a hangover!! Aw man it was a personal hell that I deserved every minute of and I was just praying to god (him again) that everything would be ok with me application and they wouldn’t cop that I was severely shook and not let me into their country. Finally me name was called out and I went to meet this lady who was incased in a booth behind bulletproof glass. That’s good she wont smell the booze and curry so. And she went on to ask me a load of stupid questions which I only made worse when she asked me what I was playing and I told her one of my parts was a woman. I thought I was making a little joke of the fact that I was in an all male production but she looked at me well weird and had to have a chat with her colleague. Finally she came back and said she hoped I would have a nice time in her country.

Sweet.

Jesus I got through it. What was worse than all that of course was having to head to rehearsals then and put up with some serious jeering off the lads. The King of Sicilia proclaimed;

‘I can see your going to be trouble Beamish.’

Vinny knew me well it seems. And that was the end of the first week. Heather had wanted to rehearse that Saturday but thankfully it was called off cos, I mean, I had to party for the end of Willows boy!! And twas a great final show, we were all buzzing, it had been a great run all told. Of course me old enemy the rain reared its wet head about 15 minutes off the end. I was offstage and had a look over to the stage manager and the look on his face said there’s no way we’re stopping the last show for a little drizzle like this. Good man, we wouldn’t have let him stop it anyway. Not a sign. This was the last hurrah. The show wasn’t coming back next year and this could be me last time ever playing Toad. I hope not though. And at the very end was the crowning moment. Just before the last song I had to jump up on a table to begin it. Seeing as it had been raining it was slippy and sure enough I hopped up, slipped and fell on me arse. The green face went red, but the ad libs kicked in;

‘Well it was bound to happen at some stage, I am a slimy toad after all. And now I don’t know what the hell is next.’

Not exactly Monty Python but it lightened the crowd and pulled me out of the pits of embarrassment. And that as they say was that. We said goodbye with shots and more shots in the Volunteer, then a barbecue down in the costume mistresses house (who’s flatmate has a life size Dalek in the living room), then into the West End for a bit of Teatros and back to mine to drink spirits out me back garden. The night ended as the sun came up and me and Moley were throwing stones at empty liquor bottles to try and smash them and Ratty was off his chump weeding the garden. I went to bed then and got two hours sleep, got up, went for a jog, practised cartwheels in the park, went over to the Notting Hill carnival, sobered up at 6pm and went home. NOW the show was over. We had waked it very well. But sure I had no feckin time to mourn it.

I had a show to learn in a week and a world tour to embark on.

And I had no digs sorted whatsoever.

Aw lovely.

33. TO OPEN AND CLOSE A SHOW IN THE SAME WEEK

or...........

33. PLANES, TRAINS AND AUTOMOBILES
 
(Well trains and automobiles at least.)

You know I had so many people tell me I was crazy when I was thinking I could probably do Much Ado and Wind in the Willows together. They breathed a sigh of relief when it looked like it wasn’t possible and jumped back on the calling me crazy bandwagon when it was actually going to happen. Turns out they were dead right. I was feckin crazy. But I didn’t care. I could do it. Even if it killed me.

I was REALLY looking forward to starting Willows. I loved doing the show last year (knackering and all as it was) and seeing as all but one of the cast were coming back to do it , well it was like a school reunion. And its a mega part. I’ve heard it referred to as the King Lear of role’s in children’s shows. Now I don’t know if I’d go that far but it wouldn’t be far off. Also because I wasn’t playing anything substantial in Much Ado (now I’m just stating fact there and not complaining.) it was nice to be able to crack into something really really meaty. So I couldn’t wait. Well actually I didn’t have to wait, the rehearsals started the Monday after the Wednesday that Much Ado opened, and it was straight back into all guns blazing. I had come back into the London on the Saturday night after doing a matinee of Much Ado and went down to the National to have a drink with Dots and his lovely wife Natalie, and sitting on the tube for the first time since the bombings was a weird experience. The way people were suddenly looking at each other. I didn’t want to even think about it to be honest. Twas good to see the man who killed Glenroe and of course I was able to boast about me swanky new job that I’d just gotten:

‘The National Dots? I’m off to New York, love.’

‘Go way boy, sure I’ve played there meself.’

Of course he had. After leaving him I went looking for me flatmate of the O’ Sullivan clan. Gary turned out to be in an all-night night-club called ‘The End’. Well sure I’ll head in for the one before I go home. The ‘one’ lasted until I was standing on Oxford Street at 6 in the morning waiting for a bus and watching the sun come up. Oh my god! And I suddenly got very worried. I mean the last time I did Willows I was losing me voice all over the shop, this time I had the added strain of doing another show at the same time and what do I do the day before I start rehearsing, go on an all night bender!!!! I really thought I was going to be fucked on the Monday.

I thought wrong thank Jesus.

Monday morning I decide to walk to rehearsals, now this had nothing to do with me being cagey about the tubes, I just thought it would be good exercise for me. Honestly. It takes about 50 minutes and its a grand stroll which takes you past Abbey Road and the famous zebra (or Beatle) crossing. I get there and meet all the old familiars and our new Badger and we craic into the read through. And all is well. AHA!! He’s back and he’s green. Then I have a sing through all me stuff with the MD and the pipes are in pretty good form let me tell ya. And the gas thing is they stay that way for the rest of rehearsals. I’m not sure what it was but I had a load more stamina than last year and the only thing I can attribute it too was the fact that I hadn’t come to it cold but was rehearsing and performing right up to and during rehearsals. Good first day to start with and then a lethal session afterwards wherein we start in the Volunteer pub (source of my poverty last year) and end up shitfaced at the bar at the Open Air Theatre drinking staff-discounted wine and free burgers!! We were back in a big way. The next day the travelling started. Now here was the thing. Could I do Willows? Of course I could, sure I had the reviews from last year still in me wardrobe. Could I do Much ado? In me sleep boy. No seriously I could do it in me sleep. Could I do them both at the same time? Feck it sure we’ll soon see. My daily schedule looked a bit like this;

8am: Wake up. Shower, shave and a slice of toast.
9am: Hit the road to Regent’s Park, and I literally mean hit the road as I was still walking to work each morning.
10am: Arrive at the Park for rehearsals and lash into a bit of mad toading.
3.30pm: Knackered after most of a day of mad toading I leave rehearsals to catch the 4pm train to Bath. On which I have a quick sandwich. Hopefully sleep, probably not. And if I do its the kind of sleep that you wake up from with dribble down your face.
5pm: Arrive in Bath. Hopefully sleep, probably not.
6.45pm: Dance warmup (I was still the all singing all dancing dance captain remember).
7.30pm: Hit the boards for a bit of the bard.
10.25pm: Curtain Call and peg it over to the pub for a quick pint.
10.47pm: The last train to London. Hopefully sleep, probably not.
12.45am: Arrive back in the London, at which time the tubes have stopped so I have to get two buses home which inevitably means me standing out in the cold on the Edgware Road and of course the battery in my iPod has decided to be dead as a dodo.
1.30am: Arrive home with a chip in pitta in hand.
2am: Hopefully sleep, probably not.
8am: Wake up. Shower, shave and a slice of toast............... and the rest you know.

Unreal. Now this was the schedule for the travelling days which I have to say wasn’t every day but was at least 4 days in the week, this was because there was only 4 shows of much ado a week. Of course when I had a night off from the play in Bath I would be rehearsing in Regent’s Park until at least 7pm if not 8.30. No rest for the wicked? I must have done some really bad shit then. The weekends became time to sleep rather than drink so the auld social life took a bit of a knock, but I did slip in some quality session time here and there. Sure you’d have to wouldn't you. Another worry at the back of me head was: what if there was a problem with the train one day. That’s the thing about trains in England, unbelievably expensive (it cost over 600 sterling for a travelcard from the London to Bath for the month) and unbelievably unreliable. Anything could happen, delays, cancellations, trains breaking down en route. I was taking a bit of a risk, and I would have been in awful trouble if I missed a show in Bath. Thankfully the first week went fine and everything was looking good for the second week.

Until the Thursday that is.

We had broken for lunch during rehearsals and I was heading over to the canteen for a bit of food and I tried to give the agent a ring. It wouldn’t connect . It said the network was busy . I tried another couple of numbers and they all said the same thing. Network busy. Now why the hell was the network overloaded? The last time that happened was the day of the tube bombs. I started to get a bit  worried. I got to the canteen to see the two Andys that were in the show walking out of there ashen faced.

‘Well boys what’s the craic where are ye off to?’

‘There’s been another terrorist attack on the tubes. A friend of mine just called me. Seemingly they used nail bombs and one of them was at Warren Street.’

I went white.

And then show must go on mode kicked in. If this had happened then they would have shut down the tube network straight away. Warren street isn’t far from Regent’s Park so who knows what roads they would close off as well. If it got worse then they’d stop all transport in and out of central London. This was worst case scenario stuff i know , but I had a show in Bath that night and there was no way I was going to let the terrorists win and stop me singing Hey Nonny feckin Nonny. I legged it over to the rehearsal rooms and told the director I had to get to Paddington as soon as possible just in case there was any problem getting out of London. As always she was great and understood completely so I pegged it west on the half hour walk to Paddington. It was mad because along the way you could see people coming out of office buildings in the fear of being stuck in London with no way home, or else they just wanted to get out of this suddenly dangerous place. There was a bit of that in my head as well. The only thing being that I had to return that night. I got to Paddington and it was absolutely mobbed, everyone had the same thought as me then, get the fuck out of London before the whole system shuts down. The packed train pulled out of Paddington and you could see the relief on people’s faces as they got outside the M25. Now I’m not a pessimist by nature but I really thought there was some bad shit going down here, the reports were of a new and even more vicious attack.

Sure don’t believe everything you hear.

It turned out to be a botched attempt by fools, cowards and bastards. I was angry alright. But mostly angry because it made me feel the way I did and that I had to run. Not cool. Very not cool. Thank God the show went well that night. No, thank God no one got hurt.

The rest of the running up and down wasn’t nearly as eventful and everything seemed to be going swimmingly altough really tiring. When I wasn’t able to do the rehearsals Andy Hutch (who was understudying me) was able to lash into getting a decent go at it, more than an understudy would normally get at the park. I was glad because its always worrying when you have to hand a part over to someone for a few shows. You want it to go really well in your absence sure. I knew it was in good hands though. The mad part (part one) came when we got to the tech rehearsals for willows. Of course I could only be there for some of them so I ended up only having half a tech with Andy doing the other. Meaning there was bits I hadn’t rehearsed at all with the new props and new bits of set and the new car and the new pain in me head and so on and so forth. Ah sure that’ll be no bother it’ll sort itself out.

Or will it?

The mad part (part two) was when we got to the first week of Willows. Or do I mean the last week of Much Ado?

Of course I mean both. It was the same feckin week sure.

Now I was feeling that all the people who were calling me crazy were bang on. I just wish they didn’t look so feckin smug. Normally the phrase ‘to open and close a show in the same week’ is not a good one. It should mean that a show has opened and closes days later because it is so bad. Of course that wasn’t my case. I was living that phrase in a far more literal fashion. This is where it could all go so very very wrong. Here’s how the week went;

Monday: Ok not too bad. In early in the morning to continue the tech for willows and there’s a lot of good work done, But of course the time comes and Cinderella has to get the train to Bath. I do the show in Bath although me head is full of lines from the other show. The cast of Much Ado are laughing at me at this stage at the thought that I’m opening a show in the London the next day. I’m laughing at meself at  this stage.

Tuesday: 1st preview! In early again, this time to do a dress rehearsal which doesn’t go at all well for me. Sure I never got to finish the feckin tech the day before!!! Jesus! So I was on a real wing and a prayer for the actual show. But it went fine! Thank godddd!!!! That’s the thing when you have an audience in front of you, whether its sheer determination or just pure fear I don’t know but you always seem to get through it and its never as bad a you thought it was going to be. Famous last words I know. But get through it I did and the old buzz was back. AHA!! Now that was why I enjoyed doing the show so much last year. Its just a big load of craic from start to finish. Seeing as I didn’t have a show that night in Bath and I wasn’t doing Willows the next day I got in the horrors as only I can to celebrate the sleep in. I have zero recollection of getting home. Fuck all new there so.

Wednesday: Roll out of bed in an awful state and thank me lucky stars I don’t have a show at 2.30. And while I don’t, me poor understudy does. I had heard him practising the songs after the show the day before and he was in top voice. Big time. We were all standing on the picnic lawn at the theatre having some champagne when he was giving it sox and I turned to me fellow actors with a wry smile;

‘Enjoy that while it lasts lads, because you’ll never hear those notes out of me!’ quoth the bass upon hearing the tenor sing his role correctly.

I knew it was in good hands so and on me way to the train station I dropped into the theatre to leave him a bottle of wine and a copy of the book to wish him luck. But as I walked out of there it was the strangest feeling. Not doing the show .... yes the show was going on, but without me. I felt strangely uneasy and probably a bit jealous. Ah cop on Jamie for feck sake it happens all the time. So I head to Bath and check into the very swish B&B I had treated meself to for the night. Ah sure tis a hectic week I deserve a bit of comfort. We do the show and of course there’s a nice bit of a session afterwards, which turns into a serious bit of a session and before long and ends up being a back to the digs session. 5 of us end up back in the digs of one of the girls as her landlord and landlady were away for the week and we lash into a fair bit of their booze. How bad. The craic was good an the clock ticked on and I ended up falling up the hill to my B&B at 6 in the morning which would make it;

Thursday: I got to bed at 6.30 and breakfast there finished at 8.30!! AH shit, well that was a waste of a B&B but there was no way I was gonna miss the breakfast, I paid enough for it for feck sake. That day was spent sorting out me hangover and sleeping in the theatre to be able to do the show that night. The buzz was now going around that Sir Peter wanted to meet us after the last show on Saturday and the rumour was a West End transfer. Which of course would be lovely but meant feck all for me as I was booked up till December now with Winter’s Tale (Jammy!). Show went grand and I sat on the midnight train to the London with the press show of Willows looming over me cause that was happening -

Friday:

Now I was properly shitting meself.

Why? I hear you ask? Well this was the day of reckoning sure, wasn’t it? Now I know I’d done the show before and there wasn’t that much changed but the pressure was really on me this time. I mean they really pulled out all the stops so I was able to do the show again this year and that meant I had to produce the goods. The only thing now was I had to produce said goods after having two days off from the show and the rest of the cast were just getting used to a new Toad! Jesus this could all go horribly wrong!

It didn’t.

Well from my point of view anyway. I lashed into it like there was no show tomorrow (which for me there wasn’t, I was heading back to finish Much Ado). It turned out to be a lovely sunny day which always helps the crowd at the Open Air Theatre. Obviously. The big boys were in as well; The Independent, Time Out, The Evening Standard and The Financial Times (don’t know how many kids read that to be honest), but I didn’t let the pressure get to me and I poop pooped and AHA’d me way through the 1st act no hassle. Which was a surprise seeing as last year I barely got to the end of the 1st act without an asthma attack, the auld stamina was better this year alright. Then came the 2nd act and all went well until the scene in the secret tunnel. After a bit of banter with the audience about whether to send me home or not Badger would normally grab me and throw me back into line. This time he grabbed me and a bit of my costume came off in his hand and he uttered the immortal words;

‘Oh Shit!’

Oh shit indeed Badger because you said it while your feckin mic was on, so the whole audience heard it.

‘Oooooooooooohhhhhhhh’ went the audience.

‘Ahhhhhhh ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha’ Went Toad, Ratty and Moley as we went into the convulsions.

This was funny but not necessarily good, because he did it in front of about 600 kids and representatives of the national media. I may not have a show to come back to on Monday!! After a bit of messing we got back to doing the show and the animals still beat the Wild Wooders in the end so all was well with the Willows. I was pleased with it and hopefully the reviews would be good but I felt relieved that that day had gone well. The celebrations started. Straight off to the volunteer for flatliners and then on to the Duke of Sussex for Karaoke fun as Hardwick was back doing Saturday nights which all ended up with me falling asleep at the baby grand in the corner only to be dragged home by the buachaill in question. The Willows gang had headed off early as they had an 11 o’clock show the next morning. I didn’t thank Jesus but I did have a 2.30 show in Bath. Bollocks.

Saturday: Woke up with a bastard behind the eyes to have to head up to Bath with Hardwick (who was coming to see the show). It went grand as last shows do although it was weird because it ended on a matinee. We were all on best behaviour as well as Sir Peter Hall was in the building and he had a chat with us all afterwards. It wasn’t going to the West End but it was going to be revived in September 2006 at his new theatre, The Rose in Kingston, and he hoped we’d all be available. Hmmmm .... we’ll see. And that was the end of that, we went to the pub for a swift pint and a lovely pie and the cast swiftly went their separate ways. Hardwick then said to me he was going back to Bedford rather than London so do I mind being dropped off somewhere near the M25 and sure I said not to worry that I still had the travelcard to London so I’d get the train back as it’d be quicker. He dropped me off at the station and I thought that would be the last I’d see of him till the following week. I reckoned without British Rail. I walked onto the platform only to be informed that all trains to London were cancelled due to a fire on the line and that they would be laying on a bus to Paddington. Fuuuck that. I’m bolloxed after the maddest week of me life and now I have to sit on a bus for four hours. I think not good sir!!! It was typical that after a month of problem free travelling there’s a problem on the last day. So I was straight on the phone to the Hardwick to see if his offer of a lift to the M25 was still good. Twas. Happy days. I headed down through the foyer to wait for him outside and on me way I bumped into someone I really didn’t expect to see again. My next phone conversation with Dickie will tell all;

‘Well boy listen we have a passenger coming with us if that’s ok, and you might want to clean up the car.’ quoth I.

‘Why? Who’s coming back with us?’ quoth the driver.

‘Sir Peter Hall.’

‘Fuck off you’re full of shit.’

‘No seriously Dickie, he’s stuck here too and I’ve said he can get a lift with us.’

‘Look, stop taking the piss or else I’m leaving you here. I’ll be there in a second.’

You could hear his eyebrows hit the roof of the car when I walked out of the station followed by one of the most famous directors in the world. NOW he was sorry he didn’t clean the car. It turned out Peter had planned to head back on the same train as I did, so found himself stranded. I literally just bumped into him at the ticket office;

‘It looks like we’re stuck here Jamie.’ quoth the maestro.

‘Well actually Peter I have a mate coming back to pick me up and drop me close to London, would you like a lift?’ meekly quoth I.

‘If that would be ok?’

And there transpired the most surreal car journey I’ve ever experienced. I did not know how this was going to go. 3 hours in a car with Richard Hardwick and Sir Peter Hall. I may never work again. Of course I needn’t have worried. Peter was full of chat and very funny and meself and Dickie were on good form as well. Of course Dickie got in a load of comments about him being a writer now and all about Karaoke Kings and I got to leave him know that I was going to be working with his son Ed again and Richard got him as only he can;

‘Peter, do you mind if I ask you a strange question?’ Quoth the chauffeur to the stars. I was now curled up in a ball in the back dreading where this might be going.

‘Ok........’ Cagily quoth the founder of the RSC.

‘Well, you know when you get knighted .......... is there food?’

Aw thank god. It was a joke. And it was funny! My career is still intact. I think that lightened the atmosphere as well and he went on to tell us about how he knew Tennessee Williams and when he met Marilyn Monroe and also told us stories about auditions and asked us questions about ourselves as well. In those three hours in the car I got to know the man better than in six weeks of rehearsals. Goes to show. I wouldn’t mind having a few scoops with the man. The idea of dropping me off at the M25 went to shit the minute we had a celebrity in the car and Richard drove all the way into London and dropped Peter close to where he lived (but didn’t drop me as close to where I’m going, the fecker.). Peter got out of the car, gave Dickie a few pound and shook my hand wishing me all the best. And with that handshake ended the maddest week .... actually no ..... the maddest MONTH of my life.

I had survived it.

They thought I couldn’t do it but I did!! I opened and closed a show in the same week and as well as that me credit cards were clear (ah sweet double bubble eases the pain). All I had for the next two weeks was one show of Willows a day.

Ahhhhh sure that was no bother to me at this stage.

I’d be grand as long as it didn’t rain.

Some hope boy.

32. SHOW TO SHOW BEAMISH?

Ah those deadly theatrical terms! Now you may think that I’m making them up, and to the most part I am, but things like ‘Twirly’, ‘Double-Bubble’ can indeed be found in the dictionary of show. So can ‘Show to Show’. Now this term is quite self explanatory, it means that you are in the very lucky situation of finishing one show only to start (or to have already started) rehearsals for the next one. When the term is used it is followed by the jammy fecker’s name. For example;

‘Look at the go of ‘show to show’ Beamish.’

Who me? Oh you’re very kind. Well in fairness this summer it was true. I was on me way to Bath for the last week of rehearsals for Much Ado and once that had opened I was off back to London to rehearse Wind in the Willows. Now if that’s not show to show I don’t know what is! The great thing of course was that I was coming to the end of rehearsals and there wasn’t a sign of the Jitter. Thank Jesus! I wish this show to show would happen all the time, but sure wishes never come true.

Or do they?

Well there was still the first show to open before I even thought about any other shows. The entire cast of Much Ado had relocated themselves to Bath and we lashed into the last few rehearsals. Bath is a lovely place, but because all of the buildings have to be made of sandstone it has to be the yellowest city ever. I had played Bath before in Pirates but that was in Winter and the place seemed a bit dull. This time it was summer, and it was the business. How bad. The digs were grand, although they were a bit pink and I couldn’t stand up in the bedroom. But hey, I’ve stopped the moaning now haven’t I? The first day’s rehearsals went well, we were all in good form and I was relishing me new-found role as dance captain. Power going to me head maybe? Nah not a sign, but I was determined to do it as well as I possibly could. Here was a chance to show that I was more than a two song spear carrier. We finished a bit early and I met up with my man in Bath, Neil Ditt, for a scoop. The Ditt, as he is known, is a fine fellow actor and good buddy, we were about embark on our 3rd year in a row at Regent’s Park. He was up in Bath (where he was born and bred) working in his secret identity as an architect, and he was the bearer of very interesting news;

‘I saw Laura last weekend and she was telling me she’s just landed a job assisting Ed Hall on the big Christmas play at the National.’

Like I said very interesting. The Laura in question was the director of Wind in the Willows so that was a good in and an even better in was Ed Hall, sure didn’t he direct Calico last year. Ho ho ho, could it be the Royal National Theatre for Christmas for Beamish? Well there was two brilliant contacts. I was on the phone to the agent in an act. With her on the case I knew I’d be ok. Now that would be a lovely gig to have after Willows and while it wouldn’t be a show to show situation (it would start rehearsals later) it would still be very very cool indeed. Right, time to put that right at the back of me head and get on with the job in hand. Much Ado ... about lots of things. The dancing was going ok but not as well as I would have liked but I wasn’t too worried as the choreographer was coming up that week to do more work on it. Good stuff, and hopefully now he’d be around until we opened and I’d just be assisting. Oh yeah, like I’d be that lucky. That day, the Thursday of the last week of rehearsals, was nearly a full day devoted to just the dancing and while he was doing new steps with new people (five extras had arrived to join the show) I was going over stuff and earning me £28.50. I also thought it might be wise to learn the second dance. As I wasn’t in it I didn’t know it and in fairness it was now me job to know it. But sure its ok we’ll have a few days with the lord of the dance himself. Emmmm ........ no. At the end of the day’s rehearsals, which had gone well although there was still work to do, he turned to me, wished me good luck and said he’d see me at the party on press night. WHAAAAATTTT!?!?!?! Oh yes, he was leaving and wouldn’t be back until we had already done 5 previews, leaving the state of the dancing in the show squarely on my shoulders.

Oh shit.

£28.50 was suddenly not enough. Thank Christ I had learned the 2nd dance. Now the fear descended on me and I lashed into trying to make sure that everyone at least knew the steps before we got on stage on Monday and everything went to shit in the tech. Jesus boy, I was beginning to think I had bitten off more than I could chew. A sleepless night was had and I was lying in bed the next morning with one-two-three/wait-two-three/girls-boys-together going over and over in me head when the phone went. Hark, ‘tis the agent.

‘I’ve just had an availability check for you,’

Oh yes? What for? (Please be the Ed Hall show at the National)

‘It’s for Ed Hall’s production of...’

Yesssss!!!!

‘....The Winter’s Tale.’

Whoa!! Now that I didn’t expect. Ed had put on Shakespeare’s the Winter’s Tale earlier this year with his all-male Shakespeare ensemble called Propeller. These guys were the business, critically acclaimed, highly regarded and I had seen their production of A Midsummer Night’s Dream in the West End 2 years ago and it was stunning. This production had gotten unreal reviews as well. Its also impossible to even get an audition. When you do a Propeller show you are automatically offered a part in the next production and a lot of them stay, even if they don’t stay there’s still the people who have previously worked with them to consider and all the actors that Ed had worked with over the years. When I didn’t hear anything about the Winter’s Tale when it was first casting I really didn’t think anything of it. That said I’d still give me left Bollock to work with them. Now there was a possibility that I wouldn’t have to castrate meself. This had come completely out of nowhere. The agent went on;

‘They wanted to check you for the 2nd leg of their tour. I told them you were available. And you are....sort of.’

Whatchu talkin’ about ‘Sort of’?

‘They start rehearsals for two weeks on the 22nd of August.’

Ah fuck!!!! Its never fecking easy is it? Why I hear you ask? Well Willows runs until the 27th of August and it wasn’t like I had all day to rehearse before the show, because I had matinees every day, it was a daytime show! If there was only 2 weeks rehearsals there’s no way they would let me just do mornings for the first week. I could see it slip away already and all I had had was an availability check. Now there were a lot of factors to consider. What was the part? If it was to understudy I wouldn’t do it, I was sure of that. It was touring as well, I wasn’t sure whether I wanted to be on the road again so soon after being away with Much Ado. I hopped on to the Watermill Newbury’s website (for that’s where the company is based) to see if they had the tour list up and indeed they did.

Oh sweet Jesus.

Apart from some English dates this tour was going to Madrid, Girona, San Francisco, Washington and, wait for it, New York and .... wait even longer for it ..... The Abbey in Dublin!!! I nearly wet meself with excitement. But I HAD to calm down, sure this was just an availibility check, it wasn’t even a date for an audition, it certainly wasn’t an offer. I was still as far away from making my Irish professional debut as I had been for the past 5 years! Well maybe I was a tiny bit closer. But only a tiny bit, and anyway I still had a certain little Shakespeare for Ed Hall’s daddy to concern meself with. Prioritise Beamish, you are after all the dance captain!

The run at the end of the week went well, although Sir Peter had said to me that he felt that the Watch shouldn’t be Irish as he was afraid of confusing the audience, so I had to wheel out me best cockney guv’nah. It was grand and I certainly wasn’t disappointed with the change, sure I was flattered enough in the first place. I was fighting to get time to go over the dances though. They needed rehearsals and it was on my head be it, I was grabbing minutes here and there to go over the steps with the cast whenever I could. The following week at the tech it fell around me a bit and I begged for more time. It didn’t happen. I got half an hour. Oh well, at least I knew the steps. Then the ugly spectre of facial hair loomed again. I went in to a fitting to find that my beard and moustache were a different colour to my hair and made me look like a Hobbit. Also I felt that all of the little comedy looks and expressions I had worked out in rehearsals were as dead as a dodo. This itchy heap of shit they glued to my face was killing me performance. I wasn’t the only one who felt like that let me tell you, but the response from Sir Peter was;

‘Well actors have been using false beards for hundreds of years.’

That’s a fair point to which there is no comeback, but I’m sure actors have been pissed off with false beards for hundreds of years too. Richard Stacey was delighted because he’d grown his own. Mine was cat and I betcha the fucker will fall off some night. Whatever about that the show was in good shape and I was starting to have a bit of fun with the part of the tailor that I was so pissed off with before. Camp it up? I nearly grew a moustache! But through all this there was still that thing in the back of me head about the Winter’s Tale. It had been a week since they called and there was still no news. I hate that, sitting by the fecking phone again. The first previews of Much Ado were going down very very well and we had the Sunday and the Monday off before we came back to do the press night so I headed back to London for the lash. The Monday evening I was on me way back to county Kilburn on the tube and when we came out of the tunnel me phone goes. Its a voice message.

‘Jamie Beamish, it’s Ed Hall, how are you squire?’

I wet meself.

No not literally. In this fateful message he tells me that some of the actors in The Winter’s Tale had left and offers me a part in it, saying that its a nice plot and that I’d also have to sing and play the piano, so it would be a good showcase. I nearly wet meself again. I listened to the message over and over. There it was, no audition needed just a straight offer and a personal phonecall as well. Nice o....

But.

Aw fuck sake, of course there’s a but. Sure he wasn’t aware of me availability in the first week of rehearsals. If he knew I could only do mornings maybe he wouldn’t have offered me a part in the show. Another but was this thing he said about playing the piano. Now I’m not the best of piano players so that put the shits up me as well as everything else. So I’d just gotten this brilliant news and I couldn’t celebrate because it was still up in the air. I decided not to call him back as it was a bit late and I wasn’t sure what to say, but I did call the agent. Its never too late for her. We decide that she’d ring the producer of the tour the following day and I’d ring Ed Hall and we’d both explain the situation that I was still performing at the Park that first week. There was nothing else I could do, they would either be cool with that or say no.

The next day I went to Bath and tried to get in contact with Ed. No answer. Shite. The agent got through to the Watermill and the Producer there seemed to think there’d be no problem but the man from Del Monte still had to say yes. I was sure he’d be reasonable, he’s a top head, but if it was unworkable...well. I was at me wit’s end. I mean this wasn’t just any normal job I was waiting to hear about. This was one of the best companies in England, with one of the best directors who I was dying to work with again, and would bring me home. That was the big thing. You might call me a fool for saying that The Abbey meant more to me than New York, but it did. It would be a huge deal for me to play my national theatre. For five years I’d been trying to get work back home and here it was, just within me reach. But still far away. All this runs inducing stress was of course happening the day before the press night of Much Ado.

And then I finally got through to Ed. He explained all about the gig to me and then I explained my predicament.

‘I’m sure we can work around that.’

Nice one.

‘I’ll just have to discuss it with my producer and then I’ll get back to you.’

Grand I thought, sure the producer has already told my agent that there wouldn’t be a problem. Time to break out the champagne cider methinks. Well I’ll just wait till he calls back to make sure. Yeah wait, and wait, and wait. He never calls back. Now I’m not thinking the worst here because I would still get the news from the agent whether it be good or bad but its still excruciating having to wait. No wonder me nerves are shattered. I could feel it in me water that it was going to happen but you really can’t do anything till you get the definite yes.

The following day there was still no news on The Winter’s Tale, but I had other things on me mind that day. The press night of Much Ado was upon us. The buzz was good among the players, London had just won the olympic bid, and we, like olympians launched into the bard (well it wasn’t really an olympic feat for me as I didn’t have much to do but I wasn’t complaining any more). It went down like a bomb!! And the dances were pretty good too. Nice one. The session was hopping afterwards and we all ended up in ribbons in a hotel bar and we fell home as the birds were singing and the sun was coming up.

The following day there was still no news on The Winter’s Tale, but I had other things on me mind that day. I was woken up after about 3 hours sleep to a text message on me phone; -Hope ur ok have just been watching about the bombs in London on Sky News- Come again? Bombs? What the fuck? Then the phone starts hopping, people asking me am I ok, am I anywhere near the explosions, tell me you’re not in London. I switch on the news to see that the inevitable had happened. London had had a terrorist attack. Three bombs on the underground and one on a bus. Carnage. I watched in horror and disbelief and a a little bit of me was thankful that I was in Bath rather than London. I started texting back; -I’m fine, I’m nowhere near London, I’m doing a show in Bath. Thank God for the drama- A crap little joke, trying to make light of a very serious situation. I was also getting nervous about the fact that I was about to start rehearsals in London. How would it be? Would it be safe? Well feck me to be honest, there were people with a lot more troubles in their life all of a sudden. God help them.

The following day the call came.

‘They’ve officially offered you Winter’s Tale. They’ll work around your availibility.’

Sound. Funny, it wasn’t a jump up in the air moment but just a relief that all the waiting was over, and a bit of a relief that I was going on tour again and getting away from London. Now that was a stupid line of thought but I’m sure I wasn’t the only one thinking it. Then it started sinking in. I had always said that before I was 30 I wanted to have done a show at the Abbey and a show in New York, I was nearly 29 and this one gig was fulfilling both those ambitions. Also it meant that there was another week of Double Bubble coming to me at the end of August and without stopping I had work until the 3rd of December. Straight from Much Ado to Willows and now straight from Willows to Winter’s Tale. Show to show Beamish?

Nah boy.

Show to show to show Beamish.

Oh jammy me.

31. SING (AND DANCE) FOR YOUR SUPPER

Well we actors are most happy when we’re in work aren’t we?

Not a hope.

Actors will always find something to bitch and moan about. Even if they have the lead part in a smash hit West End play and they’re on a million pound a week and they’re in the number one dressing room, which is more like a flat than a dressing room, and you’re a dead cert for at least an Olivier award and if you decide to extend your contract they’ll give you a percentage of the box office, yes even if all that is the case you would still hear said actor moaning about the fact that he doesn’t have SKY+ on the telly in his dressing room, or forever questioning why they ever invented matinees. I mean the poor fecker that’s doing dodgy TIE has something to moan about alright, people in good work really should be grateful. In other words I should have been grateful that I was in rehearsals for an extremely good job. I mean this was the Peter Hall Company at the Theatre Royal Bath (or have I already mentioned that?) so surely there would be nothing for me to moan about.

Well......

Now don’t get me wrong because rehearsals were going extremely well. This guy Hall knew how to do his Shakespeare but after the first week it did kind of hit me; we had 5 more weeks rehearsals! Now I’ve never rehearsed for more than 5 weeks altogether, 6 seemed like a marathon! We did the entire production of Wind in the Willows last year in 3 weeks. Now why the hell am I moaning about the fact that there’s a nice long rehearsal period, surely that would make things easier, I hear you ceist? Well it does indeed give you more time to get it right, but the first thing to realise is that when you are rehearsing you are on rehearsal wages. These are significantly lower than performance wages and in my case that was just over half of what I was going to be paid once the show is up and running. Its something I’ve never really understood. I always find rehearsals to be the time of the really hard work, so why should you get paid less for more work? Now don’t tell me that’s ‘Just Showbiz’ or I’ll give you a puck in the eye. Seemingly its to do with the fact that the producers aren’t making any money during rehearsals so they pay less. Whatever, we were still on barely sustainable wages for 6 weeks. Also the 6 weeks rehearsals were made all the harder by the fact that I had an extremely small role. Now I thought that would work to my advantage as it meant I wouldn’t be called all day everyday. I’d definitely have a few hours off each day to chill and do stuff and I may even have a day off here and there. Not a sign. Meself and Andrew Mack(lough)lin ended up being called in all the time only to have to wait for two hours before we got to do something. I’m not the fastest reader in the world but I got through 3 novels during rehearsals, which was a record for me. It was common sight to see meself and Andrew sat in chairs with our heads stuck in books that certainly weren’t the script. Then we would get the call to jump up and stand at the back. This is the problem with carrying a spear. They call you in to stand there and carry it. Andrew got through Ulysses for feck sake. Now this wasn’t down to Sir Peter I have to say as he left the scheduling of the day up to other people. It came to a head in the fifth week when I had been called at 9 am (we started at 9am every day. That’s not normal for rehearsals and not easy either. C’mon I didn’t become an actor to work 9 to 5!) to sing for half an hour and then wasn’t called again until 3pm. I mean what do I do for 5 and a half hours for Christ’s sake!?!? Why could I not just come in at 2.30pm do me bit and join everyone else at 3? At least I’d get a sleep in for the first time in weeks.

‘Well I’m not sure about that, I’d have to talk to Mick about it.’ the lord of the schedules replied.

The Mick in question was Mick Sands the composer, and a nicer more approachable man you’ll never meet. Approached he was and there was no problem at all. In I go at 2.30 the next day;

‘Jesus thanks for changing the time for us Mick. I needed the bit of a sleep in.’ Quoth I.

‘Not at all Jamie, I was delighted to have the extra bit of time myself this morning.’ Quoth the man of music. A fuss over nothing so.

Then I went to have a costume fitting to find out that as well as playing Balthasar and Watchman I was now going to be a tailor in a scene where I run on and do nothing more than brush another character’s coat. This was where the wanky actor in me kicked in as I wasn’t hired to ‘play as cast’ and they had just assumed I’d do it. I wasn’t happy and made it known to the assistant director. It got back to Peter that there was a problem and he looked over at me as only he can and said;

‘Is there a problem?’

Whereupon I exploded and replied;

‘Nah, its grand.’

Beamish thou art a pussy.

Then there was the issue of facial hair. Jesus don’t start me on that. There seemed to be a consensus among the design team that we should have lots of facial hair, but said facial hair was not to be our own. Aw crap! That could only mean one thing. False beards and moustaches. There is nothing in the world of wonder that is theatre so bad as false facial hair. It itches, it restricts your face, the glue gives you a rash and at the worst possible time it will inevitably fall off. All of these things did indeed happen but more on that later. I had to wear a false moustache for 8 months on Pirates and I hated every minute it was on me lip. And I believe that inevitably it looks cat. But that’s just my opinion. The fact was we had to wear it. There was no way I could grow my own (which is what I’ve normally done since puberty) because I had to open in Willows the same week Much Ado was closing. I had to grin and bear it (and that was only if I was able to grin once I had glued the bastard to my lip!). The plan was for me to have big sideburns and a moustache for Balthasar and A full beard for the watchman. Aw shite. There was now a cloud of glue, mesh and hair hanging over rehearsals. Jesus. And how that issue would indeed play out.

Stop me now if I’m moaning.

Actually despite everything I’ve just written, I had a deadly time at rehearsals. The above is to show what a fucking stupid attitude I had in rehearsals, I kept going home after work saying I was sorry I accepted the show, the part was too small, blah blah blah. What I then began to realise was that I was having a very specific learning experience. I had to cop on and get on with the job no matter what it was and I also had to make this my own. If I kept up this crap attitude I would also be crap in the show because I was focusing on the negative rather than working hard to find the positive. In the first week of rehearsals I mentioned to Peter Hall that not only was I from Waterford but so was Andrew and Matthew Dunphy (who was to be in a Shaw play Peter was directing in the second part of the season). He remarked:

‘Well you must come from a very talented town.’

Too right we do boy. I couldn’t let that perception down by acting the prick. And things started to happen that made it all better (The facial hair issue was still shit though).

Now the reason I was hired to do this job was primarily because I could sing (well the debate goes on). The thing was that there was no music to sing in the first 3 weeks. Mick Sands was busy opening some productions for the RSC, so I was in rehearsals speaking the lines of the songs I had and generally feeling like the pleb who can’t sing. Every now and then I’d get innocent comments from the other actors asking me was I a singer? or stating that they can’t wait to hear the music. Neither could I buddy, neither could I. Innocent and all as these comments were they were like a boulder on me back because I was feeling the weight of their mounting expectation. And as the weeks without music went on, the pressure grew and grew. What if I got the music and it was too high for me and I opened me mouth and they all hated it? What if I was just crap full stop? It felt like I hadn’t sung for years. Then at the end of the 3rd week I was told I was in at 9am on the Monday and that I was starting working with Mick on the songs. Despite the shits kicking in I became suddenly focused. Right, this was one I was not going to fuck up. I spent a saintly weekend not touching a drop and was in bed at 10 on the sunday up at 6.30 on the Monday to be wide awake for the sing song that morning. I had the guitar with me seeing I was accompanying meself on one of the songs. Mick had the songs and jaysus they were good. He got me range spot on. They were very very different in style, one being a real singalong boisterous number (the famous ‘Hey Nonny Nonny’), the other being a reflective lament in almost plainchant style (I knows me music so hence the big words!). Good stuff. I could show off a bit of versatility so. And the pipes were in good order too so I was pleased. That night I celebrated by going to the press night of Twelfth Night at Regent’s Park and getting shitfaced enough that I wasn’t able to sing the following day, but that was ok the first day was over and that was the main hurdle, enough people had heard me finally sing to know that I could do what it said on the tin. A couple of days later (when the voice came back) we rehearsed the scene that the plainchant song was in and those that heard it were very complimentary about me singing and I finally felt I had something meaningful to bring to the table for this production. Maybe I got too cocky though. They were working out who would be holding candles in the scene and I was told I would have to hold one.

‘Will you be ok to hold the candle if you’re singing?’ quoth Sir Peter.

‘Oh yes, sure we learned that at drama school.’ cheekily quoth I.

The assembled cast members and composer got a good laugh off it but I’ll never forget the look Peter gave me. To this day I don’t know whether it was a good or a bad one. But not to worry Beamish the singer had arrived. Then I got bolloxed again on the Friday night at another Park press night and had to sing ‘Hey Nonny Nonny’ the following morning in a run of act one. I wasn’t at me best but one of the actors complimented my singing of it to which I replied;

‘If you think that’s good, wait until you hear me without the hangover.’

He thought I was being humble. He’d learn.

And then rehearsals were buzzing by, I was starting to enjoy them. This is where you learn your craft, in the room watching others. Whether it was observing the direction of Mr. Hall himself or the skill of our two leads (Janie Dee and Aden Gillett), or the command of the language by the veteran Philip Voss, or the sheer comic brilliance of Sam Kelly, this is the education you never get for 10 grand a term in a drama school ladies and gents. I was singing well, learning me shakespeare but what of that other skill that would make me the triple threat that you need to be in this hungry business. What of the auld dancing?

Wait’ll I tell ya!

I’m doing Shakespeare right? Straight theatre? Classical theatre? Oh yes, but Shakespeare is littered with song and dance so you don’t get away with anything. I think choreographers must dread doing Shakespeare. I mean unless they’re presented with a separate cast of dancers, they walk into a room of actors of wildly varying ages, none of whom are happy to be dancing. Of course the funny thing is that most of these actors have done Shakespeare before and so must have danced in another production. Indeed they did and they hated it just as much then. Dancing is for the twirlys in musical theatre after all! Well twirly thy name is Beamish. After all have I not hoofed my way through various musicals in my time, and was I not at one point a line dancing instructor (the cat’s out of the bag now)? Well anyway I wouldn’t call meself a brilliant dancer. I know brilliant dancers and these guys and dolls are phenomenal, absolutely unreal. I can ‘move well’. Well enough for Shakespeare let me tell ya. So the day the choreographer came in to teach the two dances that were in the show it didn’t bother me at all, indeed I was only in the first dance because I had to play the drums in the second dance. Nice one, saved by the drums, b-dum tish!! Handy dancing followed, the kind of period dance which is more to do with style than any fancy moves. I was picking it up pretty quickly alright, but then I wasn’t the only one, I mean Janie Dee who was playing Beatrice is a diva of a dancer, really brilliant. But as the days progressed I found myself being called on by the other actors to go over the steps with them any time we had a break. The thing that being in musicals had given me was the super power to remember the steps the next day. Muscle memory. I may not have had fancy moves but I had a good memory. I was going to say like Stephen Hawking but that’s going way too far. So they jokingly started referring to me as the dance captain and I kept telling them to cop on. Then one day just before the end of the London rehearsals the assistant director came over to me and asked me;

‘Jamie, have you ever done dance captain on a show before?’

‘Yes.’ I lied.

‘Well we were wondering if you would be dance captain on this show for us?’

‘Ah yeah no hassle’ I replied as if it wasn’t a shock, ‘but you do realise that by equity law there would a dance captaincy fee to be paid.’

I’m no fool. I’m a union man and I know me rights and I was right to say that. She said that was fine and from the following week I was handsomely rewarded the princely sum of an extra 28 bob 50 to do what I was already doing for free. How bad. Actually I nearly bit off more than I could chew but that’s a story for next time. The 5 weeks rehearsals in London had finished, the show was in good shape, I was singing well and I had gotten over the disease of being full of shit and not appreciating what I had (the part of the tailor was coming along nicely thank you very much), and the maddest thing had happened, some mental fella had put me in charge of the dancing for the show. Jesus!! I got some load of jeers from the dancers I knew.

The pressure was on, we had one week’s rehearsals to go.

So off to Bath we went.

And not to wash ourselves.

30. BRUSH UP YOUR SHAKESPEARE

I hate the first day of rehearsals.

No, I love the first day of rehearsals, sure its the start of a new job!

Both statements are true.

The thing about your first day on the new gig is that its a serious mixture of fear and excitement. On the one hand your buzzed to be starting a new job and meeting all these new people for the first time. On the other you’re scared shitless because there’s a room full of people you don’t know;

‘Hi I’m Jamie, I’m playing whatever. How’re you?’

And that’s where the conversation ends because you don’t know the person well enough yet to have that matey witty banter. And worst of all you have to do a read through in a minute and you know everyone in the room will judge you straight away on your reading of a script which you probably haven’t read. Actually that last bit is only true if you’re me, most actors have the cop on to read the fecking play before the first day of rehearsals. Not me though. But then again not every actor has just arrived back from a week and a half long session in the Déise the day before. Priorities my good friends, priorities. So like every other first day of rehearsals I hit the road (to Clapham to start Much Ado About Nothing) with a knot in me stomach. I wasn’t too bad because I actually knew a couple of people in the show. Now that always helps! About a month before we started I read in the online edition of that most famous Waterford rag, the Munster Express, that a young actor from town was doing well in England, aw do they mean me? Not a sign! I guess I don’t qualify for the ‘Young’ bit any more. They were doing a bit on Andrew McLoughlin (Stage name Andrew Macklin). Now I remember Andrew from his days in Waterford Youth Drama cos I wrote the music for a few of the shows he was in. Grand chap, good actor and I knew he had hit the road to train in Bristol and then moved to the London and here in this article it announced that he was about to be in Sir Peter Hall’s production of Much Ado About Nothing. Well feck me so was I. Nice one, good to have another blue on board! Then, while I was still hungover at home, I got a text from Richard Stacey, the lucky fecker who got Beckett in the West End last year. He was in the show too and had seen me name on the contact list. Ah deadly! Top head this guy, I had worked with him on a show two years ago. Y’know the one that no one saw except that guy that recognised me at the call centre. Now apart from being an all round nice guy, he’s a classy actor, so it was well excellent to be working with him again. So that was deadly that I knew a couple of heads on the first day, surely that would make the ordeal easier. Again, not a sign. First days are bad enough on their own.

They’re even worse when there’s a film crew in the room as well.

The South Bank show were doing a special for Peter Hall’s 75th birthday and we had been forewarned that there would be cameras in the room on the first day. But Jesus, it was like these guys were filming a summer blockbuster with all the gear they had in the room. Now I may be exaggerating but I tell ya, it really seemed like the case at the time. The first half hour, which is always the ‘meet and greet’, was now spent ducking the cameras. I do want to do more telly, but this was not the right time! But I got caught. I was over talking about old times with el Stacey when I saw Sir Peter making a beeline for me to say hello. The minute he got to me and shook the hand I had a camera in me face and a boom mic over me head. He was very nice and welcoming and said he hoped I was in good voice. And to that I replied:

‘Oh yes. I’m grand, I’ve been back singing in Ireland for the past week sure.’

I’m some pleb. It was some lie because I wasn’t singing I was drinking and it was just a fucking cat thing to say anyway. Where was me trademark witty retorts? Nowhere to be seen! Of course this may now be broadcast to the nation in November. The funny thing is, as much as I don’t want my spastic mumblings to be seen on TV I would get paid if it was shown. Ah well, no one I know watches the South Bank show anyway, just give me the cash! The cameras then stayed for the day which was excruciating. We sat down to do the read through and they set themselves up around us. It didn’t turn out to be a read through in the end as all the way through Sir Peter would stop us and give notes on the delivery of the text. The worst thing ever happened then. One of the actresses was reading her speech from act one and she was stopped, given notes and asked to do it again, and again, and again. He was adamant about how she should speak the lines. Now this is grand and normal practice but the minute Sir Peter started giving her notes the cameras swooped in. There was one on him, another on her and a mic over her head. Time seemed to slow down while all this was happening and we all started to feel a bit queasy and just thankful it wasn’t us. But fair fucks to her she weathered it and didn’t leave it get to her and really just got on with it every time he stopped her. Brave brave lady. Funny thing is I thought she was delivering it really well in the first place. Shows what I know I guess. When they got to my first bit (all 10 lines of it) I tried it in me best RP but got a bit stuck on the ‘TH’s. Of course this doesn’t exist in the Déise accent, they all become a hard ‘T’ or a ‘D’. So my line, which was;

                                Note this before my notes
There’s not a note of mine that’s worth the noting.

when you cross Rice bridge becomes:

                                Note dis before my notes,
Dere’s not a note of mine dat’s wurt de notin’ ........ boy

So its a sound that me mouth just isn’t used to making and I used to get killed for it in drama school. So Sir Peter suggests that I do it in my own accent. That’s cool so, but I’m a bit annoyed as I’m pretty good at accents but that just made me seem like a pleb. Shite on it anyway.

The following day the cameras were gone thank god, but the read through was still going on. We got to the part of the play with the comedy Watchmen, and I was giving my watchman as well as my Balthazar. I lashed into those lines with real vigour, and in me best Congress Place accent. Afterwards Sir Peter commented that he liked the Irish accent for the Watchman so would I mind doing Balthazar in RP? Good stuff. I was getting a chance to redeem me English accent so. Sound. Actually he really really liked the Irish accent, so much so he asked the rest of the people in that scene to affect an Irish brogue. Now I’m not saying I was influential but I was an influence (although of course there was another blaa in the room, Mr. Macklin). The Irish had invaded the world of Will Shakespeare. Actually accents are nothing new to the bard, sure I did Midsummer Night’s Dream as if I worked in Kervick’s, but still I was pleased that I had made some little mark in the rehearsal room.

Now lads I have to state this for it really is the case; I had a really small bit to do in this show, and that beacame all too apparent when we did the two day read through. I sat there agog at some of the other actors (because there was some serious heads in that room let me tell ya.) but really had fuck all to say for meself. Needless to say I was hankering for more lines.

I got more lines.

This happened in two instances. One good, one bad. As always, good news first. When I got this gig I knew it was small and the main reason for the part of Balthazar was to sing one of Shakespeare’s more well known songs, ‘Hey Nonny Nonny’, sing along if you know it. When I browsed through the script before the audition I found that there was another song in the show. Ah that must be for me then. Well not nessecarily, because the lines before it belong to the Claudio part, and the song is attributed to no one so it looks like it should be Claudio singing it. So we came to that bit in the read through, this was the moment of reckoning. Did I have another song? It would have made the job a bit sweeter if I did. As fate would have it I was sitting beside Claudio at that time. I had highlighted all my lines in the script except for that song because I didn’t want to tempt fate. I glanced across the table to find that he had highlighted his lines AND the song. Ah well, he must know something I don’t. I resigned meself to the fate of only having one song. Not a sign. As we got to that bit, Claudio said his lines and just as he was about to speak the song Sir Peter did proclaim;

‘And now we have a song from that well-known Irish tenor.’

Now the well-known and tenor bit was inaccurate but that fact that he said Irish and was pointing at me left me in little doubt that I was gonna be belting out that comeallye in the show. Nice one, the little bit I was doing all of a sudden had more bits. Then the bad instance happened. As I said, as well as playing Balthazar the singer I was also contracted to play one of the comedy watchmen, and these boys had lines. Grand. There was two Watchmen with lines, ingeniously called Watchman 1 and Watchman 2, and No. 1 had more to say than the other. Of course I was hoping that I’d get the meatier bit, but as it transpired it was given to someone else. No hassle. I had my bit and was happy with me lot (and two songs). But that wasn’t the end of it. After the first read through we sat down to read it again and just before we got to the Watch bit I saw sir Peter having a chat with Watchman 1 and telling him that, in the first scene at least he had to give his lines to one of the older actors. Gutting. Now it had shag all to do with anything he was doing because this guy is a class actor, but Don Pedro Hall wanted a more senior gent doing that bit. And that’s how shitty this business can be, you have feck all to do in a show and you find that they can even take that feck all away from ya. At least he had the lines in the second watch scene. Well no, he didn’t. When we got to that scene Sir Peter pointed at me and told me to say those lines. Aw fuck. But what do you do? Its not like you can tell the director that you think the other fella should do it. I felt like a bastard but it wasn’t my fault. But I still didn’t stand up to Sir Peter. How could I.

The part was shitty but the real reason I was in that room and had waited a brain numbing, call centre working age to do this job was to work with Peter Hall. Let me tell you, you knew you were in the presence of a legend in that room. I sat there (not saying anything because I had fuck all to say) and took it all in. Now I’ve done Shakespeare before, I mean I was feckin nominated for best young classical actor, but in that room I realised I didn’t have a clue. After a couple of days he sat us down and gave us a lecture on how to deliver Shakespearean text and this was from the boy who wrote the book on it (no seriously he did ‘Shakespeare’s Advice to the Players’ by Peter Hall, available at all good bookshops). I realised in that couple of hours that I had really just busked it and got lucky the last time I did a classical play. Now it was all laid bare and it made a lot of sense to me because he described it in musical terms, the rhythm of the verse, how at a line ending you should pause ever so minutely, like taking the foot off the sustain pedal when playing the piano. Lovely. It was an acting lesson I was getting paid for. Sound!

So after all the waiting it had finally begun and within the first week I had gotten more lines, another song, learned how to speak the Shakespeare, and made a whole scene feckin Irish. As they always say;

‘There’s no such thing as small parts, only small players.’

Too right boy.

29. JIMMY THREE JOBS

(crap ones that is)

Here follows a tale of shite jobs that may astound you. Or probably not.

The end was in sight, there was a light at the end of the tunnel and my three months of unemployment were about to become merely a horrible memory for Much Ado was in sight!!!

About feckin time!

God what a wait. Jesus the pain of working in that crappy call centre every day. I was really pulling me hair out with that shit job, you'd have to do at least 45 hours a week to make any kind of decent money. Every Wednesday I'd give in the hours I wanted for the following week, y'know like signing away me life and then you have to call back on the Friday and find out what you actually got. So I'd put in for 45 hours which meant I'd get £292.50 (a far cry from the west end let me tell ya!!) but of course I'd ring on Friday only to be told that I was only working 16 hours the following week!!! £104!!!! Jesus me rent is feckin £117 a week how the hell could I survive? And then they would just ring you and cancel shifts left right and centre. I earned £50 one week. I was at me wits end. Christ I might be homeless by the time Much Ado arrives. I tried everything to get a new job including sending CVs around all the West End theatres to see if I could get some stage crew work (there was no way I was going back to front of house!), but no one called back. But I got lucky towards the end, well as lucky as you can get with crap jobs. I got a call from my most honourable friend Haruka Kuroda to say that they badly needed someone for the day at the office she was working. What kind of office pray tell?

Market research.

No but hang on, this time it wasn't about Aloe Vera scrub, it was about films. Grand. This was one of the companies who organise and run test screenings for the big movie studios along with lots of other audience research activities. I went in that first day and did a bit at the computer for them and then they started ringing with more work and it was money for jam let me tell ya! All I had to do was go to screenings in different parts of London and hand out all the questionnaires at the end of the movie (which of course I got to watch as well) and then I'd have to go to the office and input all the data from the questionnaires the following day (which is known in that business as coding dontchaknow). It wasn't brain surgery but it was light years better than the fucking call centre! Among other things I got to see a new and very crap Sean Bean horror movie and a very rough cut of the new Herbie film in which they hadn't finished all the special effects yet so it was a bit of a mess. I also got to read what the general population thought of these films. And they'd come up with some weird and wonderful answers on the questionnaires. Me favourite went thus:

Q.3:         What was your favourite part of 'Herbie: Fully Loaded'?
A:        Lindsay Lohan, man she was looking fine.

Q.4:        What was your least favourite part of 'Herbie: Fully Loaded'?
A:        When Lindsay Lohan was kissing that bloke, because it wasn't me!

Now while that doesn't seem too mad to read, you might think different if I told you the answers were from an 11 year old boy! My they do grow up quick these days. But seriously it was really great to get out of the soul destroying atmosphere of the call centre and the money was good. The coding and the handing out of leaflets were boring but feck it it wasn't for much longer as Much Ado was on the way. Ah sure hold on though what am I thinking? New job coming up? Surely there's something important to do before I start. Of course!! A trip back to Congress Place for a feed of Bulmers, Blaas and craic! It had to be done, when I start rehearsals on the 16th of May I wouldn't be able to go home until at least the 27th of August. Fuck that! I'll be getting withdrawals. So I prayed to the gods of ryanair.com and got meself a cheapo flight to Caaahhhrrrkkk to bring me home for nearly 2 weeks. Lovely, although I had a serious dose of the Déise one weekend when the ruler of Red Kettle Ben Hennessy and the other good singer from Waterford called Jamie, the chap of the Murphys, came over for the weekend. Now it might have been just a serious session as (Brian) Dots and (Keith) Dunph joined us for some scoops but we were sitting in a pub when Jamie announces that he and his lack (Tish who's sitting beside him) had gotten engaged the night before. Then mayhem broke loose and after muchos champagne and singing songs in Laurence Olivier's old dressing room, the night ended with me and Jamie eile trying to open the lock on the fridge in the bar in their hotel, Brian Dots falling asleep on the night bus home and waking in the arse end of South London (or possibly Kent) and Ben Hen wandering around Bexleyheath at 6 in the morning trying to find his sister in law's. Oh classy we. I won't even go into the following evening's jollity but suffice it to say I nearly got the P45 off me lack!! It was cool though because we were all celebrating something; Dots had just got a gig at the Royal National Theatre, Dunph had just been cast in a film, Ben's wife was about to pop a child, Jamie had the fáinne on the finger and I was off to work with Peter Hall. Go on the Déise boys.

So I relaxed with three weeks to go knowing I was going home which meant that the end of the crap job syndrome was coming even sooner.

Or so I thought.

The week before I was to head Irelandwards I was booked for a few days work with the film research crowd. Grand that'll give me a few shekels to party in Waterford with. Nah. It got cancelled. The big boys in LA rang and cancelled the screening so all me work was gone!! Shit. That is not good at all. No work a week before I go home, no large bottles for me then!!! I hopped on the phone to Turns (the crowd that ruined me life with the call centre job on the first place) and they had some work for the following week. Give me it so, I'm desperate. What is it? Research. Ah right more of that. Well not exactly. It was to knock on peoples doors on behalf of Islington council and ask them two questions about their phone line with regards to digital TV.

Ah shite.

All right it wasn't selling door to door or anything too taxing but the doors we had to knock on were in big blocks of council flats. I feared for me life let me tell ya. Feck it just grin and bear it and take the money and run. But fuck me talk about how the other half lives. Now I'm being very unfair in saying that because not all of the residents were knackers, but a lot of them were smelly and obviously out of their box on drugs and still in their pyjamas at 5 in the evening. That said I knocked on the door of some very nice people whose flats looked very nice indeed. They were the flats with the bars on their doors though! I reassured meself that it was ok to do this because no one knows me. Then, on one of the days, I stopped a lady just before she went into her flat and I had already done the questionnaire with her the previous day, but before she went she says to me:

'Were you working at Regent's Park a couple of years ago?'

I'd been recognised. This was a weird thing because I supposed she had seen me in one of the shows at the park, which is cool because I had some nice parts in the Shakespeare's that year, but here I was with a clipboard in me hand playing knockadolly for 8 pound an hour. Not very showbiz (or thinking about the amount of out of work actors its actually VERY showbiz). Well at least it made me look good in front of the other resting actors doing the job with me, so I decided to take it as a good thing that she recognised me and spake thus;

'Yeah that's right, I'm going back there again this summer actually. I'm only doing this inbetween y'know. Did you see Two Gentlemen of Verona or the dream?'

'Oh no I didn't see you in anything, my daughter did her work experience there two years ago and she recognised you that's all.'

Well that brought me down a peg or two. Ha ha. On the last day we don't knock on every door as there's another guy in the same building who's trying to sell phones door to door, so we start getting threatened when we call. Feck that for a laugh! This is exactly the kind of shite job that only actors will do but no one wants to get a slap in the head. So we head off to a cafe and waste a couple of paid hours. And thankfully that's the end of the worst job ever. But that was a funny week as at the start of it the phone went and twas not the agent but the shithead call centre begging me to do some hours that week. Now to hell with them because they had fucked me about so much over the past load of weeks, but I was going back home and the more money I had the more fun it would be so I agreed to do a day for them. And so I went in and did feck all for the day, I really took the piss just sitting there and not calling anyone, it was me last day there ever, I promised meself that. The phone went a second time that week (again not the agent) from the film research company this time asking me would I go to Chester to do exit polls on Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy. Exit polls are when you hand out questionnaires to audience members before they go in to see a movie which has just opened and you hope they fill them in and you collect them at the end. Easy gig, but chester is oop north of England and the cinema was in a retail park in the middle of nowhere, so I'd have to catch a train on the saturday at 8am get there by 12 meet 4 local plebs who were to help me and stay at the cinema 'til 11.30pm then stay at a hotel, get the train back to London the following morning and sit in the office for the day coding all the answers! Not so easy gig after all. But they were paying me £180 with all food, travel and accomodation paid for ..... I'm your man! While it was a bit like pulling teeth and the 4 plebs were indeed plebs, the hotel was a swish 4-star jobby with a deadly breakfast and at the end of the day the money was grand and much needed.

So I came to the end of a long and arduous 3 months of 'resting', which I might say is a bullshit term. Actors who are out of work are 'unemployed actors'. Simple as. It's the shite time and the search is still on for the perfect inbetween job. I certainly haven't found it yet. It was the longest time I'd been been out of work since the original famine after drama school. Rough time, but that's the business. You end up wishing your life away waiting to start the next gig. Of course for all me giving out the gas thing is in the final week of me prison sentence I actually did 3 different crap jobs. Mad. But it was worth it because the trip home was the business. The same mad craic as usual, with many a morning waking up on a couch in Morley terrace after missing 'The People Beneath the Stairs' and many an evening buckled over laughing at the tall tales of the liar de paoir. Best ever though was visiting the new lap dancing club on the hill of Ballybricken. 'The Thrill on the Hill' has a new meaning thanks to the arrival of Whispers and its eastern European lovelies. The night we went up there the bouncer on the door stopped us and said:

'Now lads before you go in I have to tell ye a few rules.'

Then he pointed at Q.

'Except for you boy, you've heard them enough times already.'

Some unreal, It had only been open about a week and a half and the bouncers knew him already. Good man. Inside it was grand but I just couldn't get it out of me head that I was sitting in a lapdancing club in the Déise! Some buzz. But all good things that have to come to an end indeed do come to an end. As always I hate leaving home, that strange twinge in me stomach as I cross the bridge or pass Ballnaneise. If the work was there I'd stay there. Ah well. This time though it wasn't nearly as bad as the previous couple of times.

I was finally starting rehearsals for Much Ado on the Monday.

It was worth the wait.