Sutherland, Scotland.

 

A place where you'd see, nothing but sheep;

Have little food and little sleep;

Hide under your poncho, as the rain would pour;

A miserable place is Mauvalley Mhor.

I wrote that little verse when I was doing just that. Hiding under a poncho – and if you don't know what a poncho it's what Clint Eastwood as the man with no name wore and it that doesn't ring a bell you need to get out more.

The place Mauvalley Mhor is somewhere; I have looked for it on maps of Sutherland, which is right at the top of Scotland, almost as far as Cape Wrath which is the top on a slightly different peninsular and to the east of Jon-o-groats. But I can never find it; can't even spell it. The poncho was right over my head and I was huddled up with my knees near my face. 

Somehow I was supposed to read a map to see the six, or was it eight, figure map reference where I had to be for a certain time either later on, or the next day, and the light was fading even though I was in the lightest and the latest part of Britain.

Aged just eighteen my eyes were at their most perfect, in later years they were 20/10 and up to ten years ago they were 20/15; at the moment they are 20/20 which is great for a fella my age, even though the left one has taken a hike. Very little sight in that one, now, but it still twinkles.

At eighteen I joined something called the SAS; I have written about it before, but at the time I had no idea what it was. My pal wanted to join and I went along for the craic. From the age of fourteen I had been in the army cadet force, which is slightly different from the schools version of the army cadets which is run by teachers. So before going on the course, which is what I was doing under the poncho, I had map reading skills, weapon training and with 20/10 eye sight I was a crack shot. Thinking back I would have had a shit job in the army – a sniper. What a nightmare that would have been.

We were stationed at Fort George with the Black Watch and had been in the wilderness for a few days. Don't ask me how many or even how many weeks we were there. We socialised in Inverness where I met a girl and when she spoke to me she was a cockney. Well I say cockney, she was from London. Everybody is a cockney if they're from London if you are from any other part of the British Isles but it's not strictly true. There is a church in east London, in Bow, in fact, and you have to be born within the sound of Bow Bells to qualify as a cockney.

Sometimes in Los Angeles, someone would not quite be able to understand what I was saying and they would say, 'I can't understand your cockney.'

But London is 567 miles from Inverness so the last thing I expected to hear from a beautiful girl was a London accent and I might have been wondering about her as I crouched under the poncho. I was worried about the rain going down the back of my neck. I wore an SAS grey beret which seemed to be keeping the rain from actually drowning me.

I was just what they were looking for, in the SAS, the exact size they want but my pal was over six feet four and they didn't fancy his chances. When you think about it, it's not surprising – too big for a racing car, a space ship, a comfortable parachute jump – just think about it. At the end of the course we had to join up and just like the story of the tortoise and the hair when Dan crossed over the finishing line he found Christy waiting there.

Not really there was no finishing line, or anything like that, but I was the lazy one. I didn't care that I was sleeping in the middle of a field when morning came I didn't want to get up – still like that now. But on the last day I found my second wind and passed with flying colours.

It was tough training but I was eighteen and, even though I smoked like a trooper, and drank with the boys, I was fit.

So if you come across a place that sounds like Mo Valley More, but looks more like, Mauvalley Mhor, let me know. I think Mhor means big.

The movie is still doing the rounds. The Chicago Festival contacted me last night so who knows.

Take a look:

https://vimeo.com/505608541

Hair Cut Sir?

 

I had to go into the west end on Friday to get a hair cut. I used to go to Pall Mall Barbers, in Trafalgar Square, but since the pandemonium (that's what we're calling it in this post) my Italian barber has moved to the Fitzrovia shop; still Pall Mall Barbers, but another branch . A bit of a difference from the Trafalgar one as it has about three chairs and a big window. The other shop has been on television more than Hugh Edwards and it is surprising. The shop is very small, with four chairs on the ground floor and a further two on lower ground.

At one time I would save my receipt from the barbers, as the cost of the cut was tax deductible. I don't know whether it still is but I don't bother. I have never ever actually shown a receipt to the tax man in all the years I've been an actor which has been since 1970 – although I did an episode of a TV series in 1968.

Running on TV at the moment is a commercial with a man sitting in the chair, having his hair cut and on the top he has very little hair for the barber to deal with– in fact it is a little tuft of hair and is right on the top of his head – it has to be said it looks like a tiny growth of on the end of a coconut.

'A little bit off the top?' the barber asks.'

'Yes' says the man.

Then the barber moves his scissors and the man says 'not that bit.'

The scissors are moved again 'not that bit' and the barber gives the camera a look of what the? And the scene moves on to show the product.

Great idea a bald man advertising a hair product.

That commercial was shot in Pall Mall Barbers Trafalgar Square shop. That is in fact in Whitcomb Street which was the original shop and ostensibly called The Toilet Saloon obviously using the correct usage for the word toilet. In fact the shop doesn't have a loo and the customers are obliged to use the lavatory at the hotel over the street.

Pall Mall Barbers is very close to The Houses of Parliament and it can be assumed that Members of Parliament use the place. I asked once 'Do MPs come here?' and the answer NO, was so loud I assumed I was correct.

Even though it's small, its very impressive and feels like a place where James Bond would get his hair cut.

I did a commercial for Brylcreem many years ago; I played a footballer based on Georgie Best; in fact I was called Georgie in the commercial. The big thing about Brylcreem in the commercial was that it was never used. They sent us to a trendy hairdresser in Knightsbridge who would serve the likes of Chrissie Shrimpton, who was David Bailey's girl friend at one time, and they would tidy our hair up and make sure it was clean and off we went to somewhere in the Surry countryside where we spent two days filming.

This is the only picture I have of the shoot but I was sent many more – they're here somewhere.

I heard yesterday the our film, CONFESSION is a finalist in the Independent Vancouver Film Festival so it's still circulating.

Here's the link: https://vimeo.com/505608541

How to succeed in business,

 I don't know if I mentioned this, but I have two computers here on my desks: one is a PC and the other a lap top. Most of the posts, on this blog, get written on the lap top and if I have to do a load of typing, like writing a whole book in an afternoon, I use the PC which has a separate keyboard and can be put on the little table under the desk which doesn't put too much of a strain on my wrists.

Now I'm not talking about carpel tunnel I'm talking about repetitive strain injury, which is what I had (have) in my right wrist from typing on the lap top keeping the screen at eye level.

I have just put an extension to my USB portal as I have added another keyboard so I can type with a small table under this desk and I have to plug the keyboard in –

hey! I know! I know you can get a keyboard without a cable but not an American one which is the type I like. I can't stand the English – or British one; I mean if I want to do this ; and then : they are on the same key (maybe with the UK one too) but if I want this ' and “ they are also on the same key but on a UK board they are miles apart one is a cap over the figure 2 and the other at the end of the middle letters.

So I was trying out the extension to the USB port, up to now, and it's working.

Now what am I to say?

Don't worry I don't usually have anything prepared.

Ever wondered why the great footballers of the day make terrible managers?

It's because they are great footballers and terrible managers – plain and simple.

It's the same with everything else in life. It's the reason people who are really good at their job should never be promoted. That's the reason they get someone else in to be the boss for a while because they are good at being the boss.

For some reason, when someone is good at their job, they get a promotion which means they have to do a different job and the people (the bosses) who appoint them are taking a giant chance in the hope that the person they give the new job to, can make a good fist of it.

If they are no good at the new job, that's where they stay because they have reached, what is called, their level of incompetence.

Likewise, the top salesman sells millions of pounds/dollars selling motor vehicles. On that premise alone this idiot thinks he can start up on his own and keep all the money for himself.

So they borrow as much money as they need, they mortgage themselves up the hilt and because they have made a lot of money for General Motors the banks think they are a good bet.

That is without taking into consideration that the person in question doesn't know anything about business in fact what they know about business, and twopence, wouldn't get them a cheap haircut.

I have just thought that that comparison might be where they got the expression in international business circles of taking a haircut.

I have just bought a book called The Peter Principle. The reason I bought the book was that I heard someone talking about it the other day on the radio. I only think that it will add up to what I have suggested as I haven't read it yet so I am getting in first with my theory.

If you know or a TV series called Yes Minister you might remember that the Member of Parliament, Jim Hacker, gets promoted to a post in government – The Department of Hogwash as far as I know and he doesn't know anything about Hogwash; he has to rely on the civil servants to instruct him and then he runs the department.

It might be the army, the whole military or the arts.

In fact a year or two ago the Prime Minister here appointed an estate agent to be The Secretary of State for Defence. He didn't have a clue – not a jot.

I think he went to enormous expense to land (or at least manipulate) a helicopter outside number 10, Downing Street.

For people of foreign climes, that's where the Prime Minister lives.

He was relieved of that job because he leaked something – some secret that's all – to a journalist pal.

This fella had military secrets in his head, other sensitive information and so he had to go.

This item on his CV (resumé), which the whole country knew about, betraying a secret, promoted the current Prime Minister to give him the job of Secretary of State for Education.

We have to pity the kids.

He had reached and over reached his level of incompetence and his name is Gavin Williamson; he of the funny voice. He is quoted – and can be seen on YouTube, I expect – of telling Russia to 'shut up and go away.'

Come in Oscar Wilde – all is forgiven.

https://vimeo.com/505608541

Actors: Rogues and Vagabonds.

 

                                                       CLARK GABLE

The last film Clark Gable ever made was The Misfits – it was made in the desert in Nevada not far from Las Vegas on an Indian Reservation – actually Pyramid Lake Paiute Tribe Reservation.

At the time Frank Sinatra was doing a show in Vegas and invited Clark Gable across to a party. Gable asked if the invitation included the crew and was told no; in that case, said Gable, we won't be going unless the crew are invited too. Sinatra relented and they all went to the party to the chagrin of old blue eyes.

Just a bit of snobbishness.

You'll see all classes of people on TV, the theatre and the movies who as actors will be representatives of all classes; working class, middle class and upper class. The one class they (or we) try not to be is middle class; the dreaded bourgeoisie.

But we don't really belong to any of those classes as actors are rogues and vagabonds; always have been. Actors who don't like that description should think again but that's what we are.

When I lived in America I kind of got used to living in a classless society where they are all considered middle class apart from the blue collar workers, the residents of trailer parks and those who lived in their cars. I got to know quite a few people, mostly actors, who lived in their cars.

There were two ways out of middle class: one was to live in your car and the other way was to make a lot of money and become upper class. Of course it's not the same as being upper class in Britain where you are born into it.

As actors we learn to adopt the habits of the classes and we usually learn from other members of the cast as there is bound to be a member of all three.

Being an actor there is a strong possibility that you will work with an upper class person, or a representative of that class. They will tell you how to hold your knife and fork, what to do with your napkin and the like but generally, in the theatre, we are big happy families. You may get into the west end and have to work with divas and divos but, mostly we're friends.

There is another kind of class: when I was at drama school I would go to the BBC in Birmingham and do a bit of extra work – just walk ons and crowd scenes. I noticed that the actors never talked to the extras. If one of the actors talked to one of the extras, other extras would gather around to listen to what the 'special' person said. If it was to mention the score in the test match, Wimbledon or a football match the extras would be very interested even if they knew nothing about the subject.

Later on when I left drama school and played proper roles I noticed that most of the extras didn't talk to me. Whenever I tried to break the ice, other extras would gather around to hear what I had to say.

I thought that was very strange.

Another thing was the actors who didn't have much to say, or had a small role, didn't mix with the players of leading roles. They didn't sit with them in the canteen so, if you were looking at the scene from afar, you would see a table of extras, a table of actors with small roles and a table of stars. When I say stars I mean people who are well known this week.

It is a kind of class distinction isn't it.

When you get into a new play everybody meets in some kind of rehearsal room, maybe the theatre, and the men will gather together to chat with the women over the other side of the room. Then everybody takes a seat, maybe at a table, and if you sit down first and a pretty girl comes and sits next to you I'd say you're in with a chance, no matter what class you are.

Most of the people, in regular jobs, will probably go through the rest of their lives, at work, and never meet an upper class person. They may meet a bank manager or a doctor, who are middle class because of their jobs, but there is a very strong possibility that actors are used to upper class people who, as I have said, give them a few tips.

I remember I did a Shakespeare play for the BBC, many years ago. I only had a couple of lines as I was the only person in the cast whom I had never heard of (ok: what play is that from?) and when I met the director he asked me if I could sword fight. I told him I did and a couple of weeks later I was hired.

At the BBC we sat around a big table and read; Helen Mirren was in it, members of the Royal Shakespeare Company (the RSC) and other well known faces. We sat down to read and amongst the gathering were people with a chair at Oxford or Cambridge and various other experts who would tell you which folio such and such was from and then we all broke up for a coffee break.

One of the experts came to me who had noticed that I had pronounced a word wrong. The word was importunes. I think you have the pronunciation wrong there, we think it's imporTUNES – you said imPORtunes – that may be the other way around but he was the expert - Expert, texpert choking smokers
Don't you think the joker laughs at you (ho ho ho, hee hee hee, hah hah hah) – got to get a bit of John Lennon in there.

During the coffee break the director came over and said he had cast me because I could sword fight and, indeed, I had three weeks rehearsals to stage and learn one, which we would do in Scotland after the rehearsal period.

This did happen and also in the cast was David Prowse who played Darth Vader in the Star Wars movies. He who learned his lines, did the fights etc and then went to see the movies and found he had been dubbed by someone else.

We were in Glamis Castle in Scotland and on the wall one day was a notice, with the cast list on and an invitation to a party. The arsehole of a producer drew a line across the list and stated that only those above the line were invited to the party – so there we are; we weren't posh enough and neither was the world famous David Prowse.

Oh for Clark Gable!!

Nothing to do with the above post but there is a little bit of news on our little film CONFESSION – it has been accepted into two short film festivals:

Venice Shorts; (California) Best film, Best Actor.

Toronto Film Magazine – Best film.

https://vimeo.com/505608541

Asperger's.

What most people will deduce from my writings on here, for the past 11 years or so, is that I don't profess to know anything about anything. You read my views and opinions at your peril.

I was watching Jeopardy one evening in Los Angeles, a quiz show that I enjoyed right up to the day we came back. One of the answers – they always give you the answer first, and then you have to answer with a question – was 'I coined the phrase autism' and the question to the answer was 'who is Asperger.'

I am sure I heard it before, and it intrigued me so I looked it up and from then on I could usually tell, when I met someone who had Asperger's Syndrome.

First of all let me say here that I am not talking about you or our other friends and acquaintances so rest assured. None of you know these guys.

There is an English TV host here who would go on and on about how the way the Americans pronounced it; he would say, they say AssburGers – AssburGers! The usual, oh the yanks are saying it wrong, act, as if they should say things the way we say them – even if we're wrong. I mean the guy, Hans Asperger was Austrian and worked with the Nazis during the war and sent Asperger people to the camps. Asperger should really rhyme with Hamburger but it has been un-nazified for the English ear.

I had to meet a film director, one day, at his lovely big house in Beverly Hills and when I got there, he answered the door. There was something about him, something about his eyes which seemed half closed, kind of with a few blinks, looking away and then back again and he would make a wise crack at nearly everything.

I was supposed to audition for a role and as we chatted I made him feel more comfortable and I said 'do you want me to read?' and he said 'oh er, yes . .yes. I can see you can act, but er . .yes . .why not?'

So I read for the role and we eventually worked together.

There were other things about him, later on, which made me doubt his Asperger status and I got used to it but eventually I settled at my first impression.

I do things like looking up a name when I hear it and these days, with the Internet, it's a lot easier.

I saw a movie called 'The Land that Time Forgot,' years ago, Doug McClure was in it and there was a line 'Plato was right!'

So I had to find time to look up Plato – a Greek Philosopher. And what was he right about? His name – Plato – platonic?

He taught Aristotle – another Greek philosopher, but don't worry; we're going back to Hans Asperger. What was his nickname at school? Arse? Ass.

My film director guy used to think the world revolved around him. He made many documentaries in foreign countries making fun of the Russians, the Armenians and other countries and I never saw him eat. He would sit and watch me eat because by the time I got to the table he had finished his meal. All gone, down like a dog.

The best demonstration of Asperger's is a film about someone who doesn't have it. Rain Man with Dustin Hoffman. Tom Cruise is also in the movie playing Hoffman's brother. They build up a relationship, what we believe is a strong relationship, and he finds he has many talents. He can remember numbers, facts that we wouldn't necessarily think of and the audience feels a warmth to him. We can see that Tom Cruise is loving him as a brother and we think we can see an improvement but there is nothing there. He has no feeling at all for Tom Cruise. And at the end he just walks away.

Most movies about people in crisis are about that crisis and the crisis gets better or it is solved. Not with autism. Not a jot, they never ever change, they can seem normal – and in fact they are but just not our kind of normal – but they have problems communicating, don't read body language and have no empathy.

 Psychopaths have no empathy, get bored easily etc. and other things which are in the book The Psychopath Test by Jon Ronson.

But the Asperger is no psychopath. They can be depressed, can be alcoholics and never figure out why ceasing to drink will bring their problems to an end. They could read this and get nothing from it. They will threaten suicide when up against it. My pal the director had it figured out exactly how he would top himself and went into it with me in every frightening detail.

Today the people with Asperger's run the world. They are the people in Silicon Valley, they built Google, Facebook and the rest of it. Einstein, it is said, had Asperger's even though it wasn't fully diagnosed by anybody till 1991, and if he'd have stayed in Germany he would have been sent away as he had two minuses, as far as the Nazis were concerned; Jewish and an Asperger.

But we all remember those strange kids at school. Not the ones who had no hope but the ones who would be obsessive with things, doing every painting in the paint by numbers series, remembering every date and happening, when their pets were born, when they died, what time their dad came in last night. The Asperger guy would be the guy who would go to Wembley to see the cup final and go on and on about the décor in the bus that took them there.

But the thing about Asperger was that he did work with the Nazis – this from Wikipedia - Asperger managed to accommodate himself to the Nazi regime and was rewarded for his affirmations of loyalty with career opportunities. He joined several organizations affiliated with the NSDAP (although not the Nazi party itself), publicly legitimized 'race hygiene' policies including forced sterilizations and, on several occasions, actively cooperated with the childs 'euthanasia program.

Look at those last three words and the first two in particular 'child's euthanasia'. Here is a picture of the bastard.

 

Stammering and Stuttering.

 

                                                                  Michael Palin.

The strange thing is, and this is a strange thing to say as an actor: most of my life I suffered from a stammer – a stutter. Apparently the Americans say stammer and the UK stutter; I found that out yesterday. Not many people notice it and one time I met a well known actor who had one. It disappeared when he was working and that's what happens to me.

Most of the time I don't have one but I would be in – shall we say – a town hall meeting and I wanted to say something and as my turn came I would start my sentence with 'err' and then ask my question. I asked a question once when my dad was with me and he said he could see me contorting in the seat as my turn got nearer. I didn't notice that, of course.

My dad had a friend called Kendrick. He had a terrible stammer and one day he wrote his name on a piece of paper as Kackity-Kackity eeegh effing Kendrick. The effing means the F word and this isn't the place for it. Kendrick would use it all the time and my mother would say 'he doesn't stutter with that word.'

He had a sense of humour about it and the other day I saw a comedian who stammered. When talking to the audience one of his comments was 'people come up to me an tell me I have a stammer; as if I didn't know.'

If ever I'm in the company of someone who stammers I feel uncomfortable and feel I might stammer if I say anything.

One of the things I realised is I didn't stutter when I sang. So I kind of sung answers on things I was going to say – it seemed to work and it really only happens now if I'm some kind of insecure situation which is not often.

When I started school I had an Irish accent and when I met the other kids they spoke with Birmingham accents. You many notice that some vowel sounds are the same in each dialect. The 'U' in Dublin, for instance, but that is the same in the north of England too.

At that age I didn't want to stand out so I gradually started to speak the way they did but when I got home in the evenings I reverted back to the Dublin. I think this did me good as I developed an ear for accents and also the pitch people spoke in so I could impersonate a lot of people. I wasn't the best there was always someone else who was a better mimic that me and that goes for when I went to work and even as an actor. Always someone else funnier but I remember all those people and their talents so that has stood me in good stead.

I think the last words to go from Irish into Brummy – or the sounds – were walk, work, talk etc, but when we went back to Dublin for the summer we – me and my two brothers – came back with Dublin accents. It seemed to be okay for the other two as by the time they started school they could hear how I spoke.

One time we got on the bus in Birmingham from the station and heard the Birmingham accents for the first time in months; they all seemed to be singing.

The big trouble for me was when my two worlds collided.

Sometimes I couldn't get any words out at all – the Irish side of my life and the English side of my life coming together almost struck me dumb; which way to speak should I choose; my insides would be panicking and I would be churning up inside.

Many years later when my mother was dying she came to live with us and I looked after her. Of course a lot of the Irish came back but I would go out each lunch time and leave her in the wheel chair watching TV. I would go for a couple of pints of Guinness in an Irish pub close by. I can't remember or didn't notice how I spoke.

But one day I was somewhere else, talking with a load of Londoners and one of the guys from the pub came up and said 'hey Chris: why are you speaking in an English accent?'

I hadn't noticed.

These days if I meet someone from Dublin or Birmingham I tend to slip into a bit of one of those accents.

When we lived in Los Angeles, I knew an Irish actor who brought his English wife and their two children across from London. The children had well spoken London dialects, the mother was quite posh and the husband had a lovely Dublin accent.

After a couple of months we went to their house and the children asked how 'we guys' were doing; we guys!!! I think they'd be between five and ten years of age, and those accents were certainly American which had developed in that short period.

It brought me to mind when I started school, in Birmingham, I didn't like it, I didn't know why I was there and why I was left alone. So I screamed the place down and when the teacher, Miss Jones, picked me up I kicked out and must have hurt the poor woman and didn't deserve the kindness she always showed me.

I was speaking to my cousin over the phone yesterday, who was in Dublin, and my wife said the longer the conversation lasted the more Irish I became. I think it was the same as a child when we would go to Manchester, where my other granny and granddad lived as they had come over to England too.

I would always say 'I don't know' in the Manchester accent. They wouldn't say things like 'I'll be here till ten-o-clock' they would say 'I'll be here while ten-o-clock.' There were lots of other things, other phrases and sayings, and I would get mixed up sometimes.

Last night there was a programme on TV about stuttering and stammering – that's where I found out that the Americans say stammer: hey! They say stammer here too.

They seemed to figure out that it was caused by the way our brains are wired – a bit like autism. I don't know if I agreed with that no matter how clever and well researched they are as I think it has something to do with confidence.

Most of the time I appear confident. 

Lately I have a problem remembering certain words or names but I think that has always been the case with me. One time I could never remember the name of the actor Ray Winstone. No reason why I should remember but when you see people on TV you do remember and that's all that's to it.

At the same time I can remember cast lists from films many years ago. Scripts from plays I've been in – I did The Caretaker once by Harold Pinter and I can still remember one of the speeches. This is not unusual when it comes to actors remembering Shakespeare's speeches and I can remember some of them too.

Michael Palin, who played someone with a stammer in the movie A Fish Called Wanda (above) has started a school where they coach or teach a way to rid people of the stammer. I don't know if it works. His father had a terrible stammer and he had reservations when accepting the role but he did and it was funny. But so is falling on a banana skin – especially if you can see the banana and the person walking towards it. A lot of comedy is laughing at other people's misfortunes – I wonder if they all mind.

Fame and Fortune.

 I had an idea the other day of what I was going to write here. It had something to do with the bloke, above, who I think is one of the funniest and talented people in the movie business – well any business for that matter. I know some people think that our business is a bit shallow or unimportant and there is only one answer to that and I would put it here - if I could spell it.

When he made the second Ace Ventura movie they also cast in it a very respectable English actor with a posh voice and because Jim Carrey wasn't well known in Britain, the respectable English actor had probably – and I am guessing probably – never heard of him.

If you see the movie you will see that Jim Carrey does a lot of face pulling, mugging and improvisation and when they were filming there was a special camera on Carrey all the time. This must have really foxed the Englishman with his acting priorities of minding his diction and keeping clear of the furniture. I look out for his reactions, the Englishman, every time I see the film.

The film above is The Truman Show; it is a favourite of mine and was made in the late nineties. I saw it again recently – a few times – and there are magic moments in it for me. One scene is when the Philip Glass soundtrack is used for the first time. I particularly like the director – Peter Weir. He also directed Witness which is also one of my favourite pictures. It has Harrison Ford, in it, and a particular scene when the Hamish are building a barn and we see Harrison Ford working as a carpenter, which is what he trained and worked at before, and during, his time as an actor, the music in that sequence is by . . . now who was it by? Maurice Jaare.

The Truman Show put a stop to a film based on the TV series The Prisoner the Patrick McGoohan cult TV series, which was seen in the 1970s. I knew someone quite well who knew Patrick McGoohan and he changed his mind for some reason when The Truman Show started shooting. He probably went back to writing and directing episodes of Columbo.

In the movie Jim Carrey plays Truman. There is something very strange about it because when it starts it seems like a regular film, set in the suburbs of small town America, - the burbs - but Truman's wife tends to mention various products as if she is making a TV commercial. Sometimes, when he goes to work, he stands near an advertising billboard and if it's not quite in shot he seems to be moved by another member of the cast so the sign can he seen.

The Philip Glass music comes in when Jim Carey is walking along the street and a light seems to fall out of the sky (there he is above with it). Loads of confusion when people come from nowhere to move the light – a big spotlight used in movies – and as Jim drives along, cars seem to veer him over to change his route and then . . . . we get the picture. He is actually being watched by everybody else in America and is the only one who doesn't know it. His character's wife, is played by an actress, his pals, work mates, the guy in the news-stand and everyone are actors. And that is the Truman Show.

It is an experiment where they took a child from birth and the nation watched him grow up. A bit similar to the TV series 7UP where they took children from upper, middle and working class backgrounds to see whether the Jesuit saying is true 'show me the child at seven and I will show you the man.'

The last episode of the series – or the last that had been shown – was 63UP. It seems that the predictions, in lots of cases, have happened. But the kids who did the show have been plagued by it and some of them have feared, every seven years, the inevitable invitation to film again. Sometimes it has affected their lives quite badly and one or two of them dropped out. It was an exciting sociological experiment. I studied sociology in my forties and I can't remember how many essays I wrote about this series, how many lectures and discussions we had, and when I see it now I go back to them and their little histories as if they are my relations.

When I said I was thinking about this, in my opening sentence, it must have been this series that I was thinking about as I saw 63UP a couple of weeks ago.

The Truman Show shows how the media works or could work. How we are obsessed with fame, celebrity, renown – we rush to the TV every time we hear that a famous person has had something happen to them. Yesterday every newspaper in the UK (and there are many of them) had a picture of Tiger Woods' SUV on the front page. Every news bulletin led with the Tiger Woods story and millions tuned in to see if he was dead.

The Truman Show shows what affect if has on Truman Burbank. When he finds out he wants out. He tries many ways and that's where it is similar to The Prisoner. When I was working in a play in Cheltenham I was working with an actor who had been in an episode of The Prisoner and he received post cards and a few autograph hunters at the stage door – in fact when I did my play in London in 2016 a few blokes were at the stage door one night and they had photographs of me in their binder and I was asked to sign under them in various places and these were fans of a movie called Lifeforce which is a kind of cult movie very popular with film students and horror film buffs, which I was in.

It never worried me being recognised whenever I have been in a TV series or on TV but some actors find it a strain especially when it's been going on for years. I was on the tube once and when I got on there was a gang of skin heads near where I was going to sit and when I sat down they started saying 'TV' and nudging each other. Then they all turned around menacingly 'Oye TV?' I just nodded and smiled. I remember too when I was in the north of England on a train and as I took my newspaper out to read a couple of yobbos shouted 'Oye! Guardian!!' They took a dislike to my newspaper.

So fame is not as great as it is painted. Very famous people get it all the time. The Truman Show is a fantasy - a stretch of the imagination when the unfortunate subject was viewed like an animal in the zoo.

But this is no fantasy.

This family has been locked up for years. The whole world takes a daily interest in them especially in America where they look and admire; all knowing of course that the family, as long as it is locked up and used will prevent a monster like Trump ever happening in the UK. When Charlie takes over it may be a chance for pieces of faeces like Farage to take a chance on getting rid of them but . . . . I don't think he'll stand a chance!

England's upper classes.

 There he is; above. What a lot of people might think is an eccentric Englishman, or even an upper class Englishmen. Well he is neither.

That is Mister Jacob Rees-Mogg.

His father was a journalist, and editor of a newspaper and then the Chief Executive of Channel 4 Television. The poor fella, his father, had an unfortunate lisp which made him very easy to impersonate. The staff of Channel 4 would mimic him all the time.

Channel 4 was a groundbreaking television service introduced into the UK in the early eighties. A lot of it was experimental and it was part funded by the government and the other ITV stations. One of the regular late night programmes was a relaxed discussion kind of chat show with people sitting around shooting the shit. Most of the time these people would be fairly well known in their field and some would be celebrities. Also because of the late hour a lot of those were, to put it mildly, shit faced. The show was open ended and would end when the conversation ground to an halt.

One evening, Oliver Read was one of the guests and was sailing three sheets to the wind, drinking and cursing: effing this and effing that and the insults were flying with some sober person trying to talk sense to him and telling him what kind of an arsehole he was – if ever you've tried this, or had someone try and tame you when you've been pickled, you'll know all about it.

I was watching this with glee when suddenly it all went off. The continuity person was explaining why it had been taken off and then, suddenly, it came back on again.

What had happened was some wag had called the Channel 4 switchboard impersonating William Rees-Mogg and told them to end the programme – 'take it off' he said. Now William the father (not the son or the holy ghost) was The Lord Rees-Mogg. He didn't inherit this title, so he wasn't landed gentry, an aristocrat or even upper class. But he thought he was and taught his son, laughing boy Jacob, to do the same. William was a 'life peer' which meant his title died with him so poor old Jacob would have to be a Mister, not a lord. There are not that many inherited titles left and the life peerage was introduced by Harold Wilson's Labour Government in the 1960s.

Jacob will probably get kicked up to the House of Lords when his time comes. The House of Lords is the second chamber, in the UK, rather like the senate in the USA. One difference – The Lords, in The House of Lords are selected. I have no problem with this as the senate, in America, has an election every two years. One third of them have to stand every six years but as soon as most of them are elected they are fighting the next election. That's why most of the Republicans voted not guilty in Trump's last impeachment. To me the House of Lords doesn't have that incentive and, even though they can claim £350 a day expenses, it's worth it even if they all went in every day. The total added together is a teeny weeny bit of the British economy and the government borrow at a very low rate – in fact the bonds they are now selling (which is one way they borrow money) offer zero interest. The bank rate at the moment is 4.00% and reverse repo rate at 3.35% so don't tell me they don't lend some of the money they borrow - the banks charge around 30% on some overdrafts.

Back to Jacob:

Most, if not all, of the upper classes are Roman Catholic, even though the Queen, who is head of the Church of England, is a Protestant. The public school for Roman Catholics is Ampleforth College in Yorkshire. The upper class people I know all went there but I don't think many of them profess to be descendants of Charles II.

Jacob is a Roman Catholic. His father was born into an Anglican family but his mother was an Irish Roman Catholic (as I was) so that is why he is of that faith and not because he was a Baron.

The Rees-Moggs, for some reason, go for strange names: Jacob's sister is Annunziata, which is fair enough, but Jacob's children, of which there are six, has the sixth child named as Sixtus. Rather like the parents of another member of the same government, David Davies? Little imagination.

When announcing his birth Jacob said that Sixtus Dominic Boniface Christopher, a brother for Peter, Mary, Thomas, Anselm and Alfred.

Give me a break!!

Jacob has the attitude of an eccentric but it is practised. I have known and worked with eccentrics and they are not practised, they just are.

When the Coronavirus pandemic started last year we were advised by the government to wash our hands frequently, wear masks and keep at least six feet away from other people.

Jacob's solution was to tell us to 'sing happy birthday, twice, as you wash your hands; that should do the trick.'

For some reason Jacob, who is leader of the House of Commons, had to take over a debate and here he is conducting it:

A few weeks ago when they were debating the new fishing policy, because of Brexit, and because they dumped the fishing industry under a bus, he said the fish now being caught are British fish.

When I first moved to America I got a job selling tickets at The Los Angeles Philharmonic Orchestra and Hollywood Bowl and one of the perks was free tickets. It wasn't that easy as I was a telemarketer and had to make loads of calls to sell a series of tickets. It was good if you sold them but they're not all tickets to see Yo Yo Ma or Rod Stewart, who are easy sales, but maybe a series of Mahler Concerts, a series of Schubert concerts etc. 

The first thing I learned was that the Americans pronounce most of the foreign words in their native pronunciation. The first one was brochure; the first time I offered to send one to someone they didn't know what I was talking about. I would say browsher but they wanted bre-shure. The French words kept cropping up: Maurice, filet etc although they had their own way of saying Boulevard as Bullavard and Louis as Lewis.

I found it fascinating and when I ordered Mexican food I found out that Tortilla was torteeya etc. They didn't pronounce Picasso with a Catalonian accent though.

The first time I got back to the UK I had dinner one evening with a few people and one of them was an upper class bloke and I was talking to him about the French pronunciation and then . . . . of course he wasn't impressed. And then it hit me - the colonial attitude kicked in – they didn't use French accents as they thought the Americans were plebs for doing so. 

It was the same as when they invited the middle classes into their big houses in the country and laughed at the way they dressed, the way they held their knife and fork and laughed to themselves when they referred to the lavatory as the little boys room or, heaven forbid, the toilet. You can think of the worst curse word and the upper class county set mother would sooner they asked for the shit house than use the word toilet.

Of course it can be useful to know some of these things and as an actor you have to know certain manners and etiquette when playing different roles especially in rep. Whilst living in Los Angeles we dabbled in antiques and got to know all the dealers, who were really actors, singers and writers. One of them, a girl who had small business, was also producing a play and one day she said that she knew an upper class Englishman who wanted to do business with her and she wanted to introduce us. He came along and he had the swagger, the swish of the scarf okay, but he kept calling Sri Lanka, Ceylon. And stressing it, complaining that it should be called Ceylon. He also used the word toilet. I told her he was a phoney. A couple of weeks later she told me he had disappeared. He didn't swindle her out of any money but let her down badly about some money he was to provide – I was right.

So when you look at Jacob Rees-Mogg, with his top hat and lazing about in the house of commons, boasting that he's never changed a nappy in his life just don't believe what you hear or take it with a pinch of salt as you sing happy birthday twice, when washing your hands.

CONFESSION.

 Hi folks: I thought I would promote my film with this post as there is very little chance of a screening the way things are; the way things are? Well this blog seems to be viewed for years so if this is someone reading it way into the future who has only heard of the Lockdown this is written during the second one – or is it the third one? Or the turd one as my poppa would say.

Here it is – the movie. All twenty seven minutes of it and if you like it you can always put a 'like' where there is a heart – that's if there is a heart from the viewer and you are not a robot.

If you are a friend on Facebook, or just a friend or even related to me or my agent - this won't be the only notification about CONFESSION - yup, that's the name of the movie, or the film or even the picture.

I'll write a few more original posts soon as my typing fingers are telling me to carry on now in a stream of consciousness but no – here it is the movie.

Enjoy it – just to put enjoy, without the 'it,' is a bit like English actors in TV series set in the 1950s using a fork only to eat dinner – a la American; it doesn't fly.

https://vimeo.com/505608541

Crimble.

to lighten things up here is a picture of our wedding all those years ago.

                      

Let's hope things will be different this time next year for everybody's sake. Then we can have, what people seem to think is the biggest priority this year, a Christmas.

But is it that important? Maybe for people's peace of mind, a link to a kind of normality – or as an American President said, normalcy! But every time you look at TV to see a movie or a play, you can see people in crowds, hugging, kissing and being normal and regular.

I don't think the hug or the hand shake will ever come back. Maybe in family circles but not generally. Maybe the fist or elbow bump? I don't know. The open-handed handshake was to prove you came as a friend and it stuck through the ages and maybe the elbow.

People in the south of England, in the London area mainly, would always greet you with a hug and a kiss. Men to men; women to women. In the midlands and the north, where they are supposed to have a friendly reputation, it doesn't happen so much. When you visit people in London, say meet some friends, the trend and the custom it to kiss your pal's wife. Maybe a kiss on the cheek but in the north, and this has happened to me, they think a kiss means you are flirting or trying to 'get off' with the wife so the next step is everybody throwing their car keys in to something so couples can pair off.

Of course, as I have said many times, I am no expert on anything and these are only my opinions and what I surmise as I lie in bed listening to the Today programmes on BBC Radio 4 every morning.

The Today Programme, by the way, is considered serious news in Britain. It has an obligation to devote a few minutes to tell the public what happened in Parliament the day before. This is supposed to be without political bias or prejudice although some people think it does have a bias but those people maybe don't know what playing devil's advocate is. Extreme left wing people think the BBC is too right wing and extreme right wingers think it's too left wing.

There are people in this world who don't know the difference. They say they are 'right wing' and have left wing views.

I like the BBC, I have always preferred their programmes from any other channel and that includes Netflix which I no longer subscribe to. I had it for years but when it became popular, using and making TV programmes and shows, I missed the movies I used to get from there. I don't know, it might still be the same in America where they sent, by mail (snail mail to use the expression) DVDs. I watched all the French films I missed over the years, all the film noir Hollywood classics, which are my favourites to this day, and now I miss them.

I also liked working for the BBC and they paid more money than ITV to an actor like me. Big stars – Tom Jones etc – would get big money from ITV, even though the quality was on the BBC, but to me not that much. It's hard to show comparison because what seemed like a lot of money in the 1970s sounds a tiny amount now but when you did a drama your fee was, shall we say, £10. That was the fee they worked on for the repeat fees and that would be for the London area only. As the programmes would be networked, shown on all the nation's stations, the actual fee would be £40. The same job on BBC you would get £40. Then when it was repeated or sold abroad the repeat fee was based on the original fee £10 ITV and £40 BBC. That's why when John Hurt won an EMMY for The Naked Civil Servant in America he told the press how much he was paid for the American showing which was only in double figures.

'Oy' an old pal said to me 'I work on the building as a chippie, a carpenter, and I put the doors in the houses.'

'Yes?' I said.

'Why don't they pay me every time somebody uses it?'

'That's a silly question' I said.

Happy Christmas.