The dedication of cleaners.

A typical Craftsman's House in the USA.

It's a funny time for us at the moment as we are about to embark on another adventure by moving in to a cottage at the end of the week – if everything goes through that is; if all the I's are dotted and the T's are crossed.

So this is about this and that – I have always had problems with cleaners; not vacuum cleaners but the ones that come in and clean. I suppose they have trouble with me too.

Many years ago, when I stopped working for the post office on the motor bikes, and before I went to drama school, I took a job in the British Car Industry at Morris Commercial Cars, as a matter of fact. They gave me a job in which I was out of my depth but if they had told me what I was supposed to do I might have been able to do it. I was a Material Controller. On the first day they showed me to my desk at the back of a big office – something like in the movie Metropolis!

The first thing I saw on the desk were the 2 phones; I asked myself, why will I need 2 phones?

One was for internal calls and the other for outside ones. I had to ask the girl on the switchboard to put me through for each outside call and dial the internal ones myself. If someone was away from their desk someone else had to answer it and take a message. There was no 'I'm either away from my desk or on the other line' business because if you didn't answer the phone the office manager would tell you to answer the bugger!!

My job, now I think back on it, was to make sure that all the materials, that I was responsible for, were on the premises and ready to be taken to the assembly line for when it started.

That's quite easy if you think about it; if they were to manufacture the following week 200 Morris Minor vans I had to make sure that the tyres that fit that model would be delivered from Fort Dunlop and if they were late I would have to get on that phone – the external one – after talking to the very nice girl on the switchboard. If they were late I would have to call Fort Dunlop again and chase them up.

That's where the other phone came in; it would ring from the assembly line and ask me where the tyres were. Sometimes the man on the other end would just say “where are those f-----g tyres?”

That sounds simple but it wasn't. I was also responsible for other things – maybe door handles or something to do with the dash board.

I would have to look in a book and see how many particular parts were needed for each vehicle – each van needed 5 tyres so if you forgot the spare and only ordered 4 you were in trouble - or at least I was.

I think it was the first week that I was there that I forgot something and they had to send the whole assembly line home!!

I'm not sure whether I was just no good or just not trained; my desk would get full of papers and one morning I was called in to the office manager's office; the cleaners could not clean my desk because of the papers.

I had nowhere to put them when I left each night; I needed to leave them where they were so I could find everything the next morning. One morning I came in and there were all the papers in a pile on my chair – and they had cleaned my desk!!!! It wasn't dirty – I had kept it free from contamination by piling papers on to it. It took me a long time to put them back in to some kind of understandable order again.

Was it really so important to wipe that tiny bit of surface?

Even though I am sure they are wonderful people, and I have always got on well with them, their duties drive me up the wall.

When I was in Edinburgh recently I had to share a dressing room with quite a few people of all ages and sexes. But there wasn't a mirror in there to apply make up etc so I would go into the disabled person's lavatory next door. I'm afraid that coincided with the cleaners who wouldn't let me in one day – they had complained to me before that by walking passed them and just getting on with it disturbed them; so I was shown to a better place from that time on by the management.

As I have said they are wonderful people but . . .

I did a film once in Bournemouth at a film school and one of the students told me that they were making an animation film in one of the offices; the idea of the film was that all the papers on the desks and the rubbish bin came to life and moved about the office. This would be achieved by a stop motion technique when they film one frame then move things and film another frame and so on. I'm sure you know what I mean. When they do this they have to shoot 24 frames per second for it to be played back in real time.

One day they left the door to the office open and the cleaner came in and put all the rubbish into the bin and took it away – ignoring the 'do not touch' notice.

Oh no! People are going to think I am having a real go at cleaners but let me ask you this: what is the matter with a bit of dust??

When I moved to Los Angeles I lived in Silverlake – the Paris of Los Angeles, so they say. I was sharing a house with a few others; we had the run of the house and our own rooms. It was a 'craftsman’s' house built maybe in the 1920s and was very attractive. In fact the picture above is very similar to the house where I stayed.

We had a wonderful garden and the weather was glorious but none of the other people knew how to tune the television so that was left to me.

The landlady had been paying for cable TV and never watching it so as soon as I tuned it in for them they were delighted and thought I was a genius. Every TV in Los Angeles, I don't know about the rest of America, had to be tuned in to Channel 3 and then you could use the zapper – it was a simple as that.

One night per week I would come home and they would be sitting in the sitting room with no TV on; the reason? The cleaner had unplugged the TV during the day to use the vacuum cleaner – it didn't matter how many times I asked her not to and to use another socket she didn't and vacuumed away with its infernal noise as if there was nothing as important in the world – or on the planet as people annoyingly say these days.