The Guinness Poster

I was asked about that picture, above, the other day – who did it? When was it? How did it come about?

Well:

I did a Guinness commercial about two blokes who go in to a bar and ask for two bottles of Guinness – here it is: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=MzzPtypCrUE – I'm the one with the black hair.

When I did this I was less than two years out of drama school; I'd been in a soap opera, Crossroads, worked on one episode of The Newcomers and at Birmingham Repertory Theatre, so I was a little green, to say the least.

The other guy, Jeremy Bulloch, was a regular in The Newcomers even though I hadn't met him when I did my episode.

Originally the advertising agency, J. Walter Thompson, wanted some name actor with dark hair to be with Jeremy in the commercial – whoever it was they couldn't get him so I got the role after auditioning with a load of other actors. Just once, no call back, or anything else.

I remember thinking that the director was really good; he wanted us to be Laurel and Hardy and on most of the shots you see we did about 20 takes; easy as they had loads of money and it was like a big budget movie.

We shot the outside scene in Windsor, around the corner from the castle, and shot the interior in the afternoon at Goldhawk Film Studios in Shepherd's Bush.

We had a few goes at the exit from the shop before shooting it and the director wanted me to do something funny on the way out so I suggested hitting my head on the bird cage. I tried it and everybody laughed.

They were rather concerned that it was hurting me but I actually headed the cage, like heading a football, catching it on my hairline so there was no bother.

What I hadn't realised, and look what I say above - I was a little green – they wanted loads and loads of takes of me hitting my head.

Maybe about ten or so from each angle – close up, shot from the back, shot from the front, up my nose, the back of the head, you name it.

I kept hearing 'does it hurt?' well it didn't as I got used to it – but where there's no sense there's no feeling!

A month or so after that, I was contacted, through my agent, by the advertising agency who wanted me to do a photo session for the poster (above).

The Production Designer or Art Director, or whatever he was, on the commercial, liked the work I did and wanted me for the poster; I was to be paid, maybe two weeks of the working man's average salary at the time, per hour, so I accepted the job.

At the time we were living in Shropshire – we bought our first house a month before starting drama school with the plan we would sell when I graduated – so I had to go to Richmond in Surrey to do the shoot and unfortunately there was a rail strike on the day. They did suggest cancelling and doing something else with me in the future but I guaranteed I would be there and stayed with friends.

The studio was full of reflectors, for the photographer to use to reflect light at me, and in the corner was a full barrel of draft Guinness. The aforementioned commercial was for bottled Guinness but this was for draft and the only way you could pour draft Guinness in those days was from the barrel; the award winning widget came in the eighties.

All I had to do was drink about one third of the pint in one go, then they would give me another pint and I would drink another third.

The photographer used a Polaroid instant camera initially, to see roughly what the final shot would look like – no digital in those days.

I found these Polaroids the other day and you can see I'm drinking the Guinness even before we started shooting seriously. They'd already sorted out a shirt for me and I've just noticed I am wearing a ring. That was my dad's and it disappeared years ago – so nice to see it.

When they were satisfied with the angle they liked they started to shoot. One third of the glass each time.

This involved someone perfectly pouring a pint for me, which is no mean feat, and they would stop shooting when I had consumed the right amount.

Then we would pause whilst a few more pints were poured and on to the next batch.

At one point, nearing the end of the session, the photographer looked at me and I can remember him nudging the art director and pointing at me; obviously I had been drinking Guinness for four hours and doing little else so I must have been having trouble getting any more down.

'That's enough!' the art director said and we wrapped.

On the tube on the way home I asked him where he had found me and that's when he told me he had worked on the commercial. 'I thought you were flailing towards the end' he said.

What he didn't know was I hadn't drunk much Guinness before that day - but I've drunk plenty since!

That was it till about a year or so later; we were still living in Shropshire, miles away from a city or any kind of conurbation, when my family called and said I was on Guinness Posters all over Birmingham; others called me from London with the same story and my aunt in Manchester reported the same.

I called my agent and she sent J. Walter Thompson an invoice who paid me the poster fee.

When I next went to Birmingham I couldn't go too far without seeing the poster. They were everywhere you can imagine and I remember late one night I was on the number eight bus going to my parents house and the bus stopped on the corner of Stoney Lane and Highgate Road, in Sparkbrook and there, for all to see, was a huge poster near the bus stop.

It was a stop where the driver had to get out and turn a key in a time lock so I had time to go to the loo nearby.

When I came out there was a drunk standing looking up at the poster. 'Look at him' he said to me 'with his bleedin' long hair; sucking that pint.'

The Tottenham Hotspur Mascot.

Big weekend, this, for football. Soccer that is for my American friends – Sarcre, as they pronounce it, trippingly on their tongues.

And what was the highlight for me?

Well the semi final at Wembley was good between Chelsea and Spurs and the latest news is that Aston Villa are beating Birmingham City 1-0 – in fact I've just heard they won.

Today Arsenal are meeting Manchester City in the other semi final – again at Wembley Stadium – but that is not the highlight either.

But . . when the players lined up to go on to the pitch, they each had a child with them, maybe aged about ten or so, possibly younger, of both sexes. They waited in the tunnel and I'm sure there was a lot of banter, some of the players of the opposing team hugged the ones they knew and liked (presumably).

And when the time came they all marched on to the pitch.

In these times when football gets a bad name because of some of the fouling and gentle kicks in the ankles and some drunken behaviour from some of them and sexual crimes against others, it's nice to see the guest mascot policy, where kids write in to get drawn from some hat, or whatever, for the pleasure of walking out with some of their heroes.

The Sunderland manager, David Moyes, was criticised recently when he half told someone off for asking a stupid question on air – you could hear the banter in his voice; the trouble was the stupid question was asked by a woman so suddenly it became a sexist remark. One person saying he wouldn't have said it if it was to a man; maybe not; maybe he would have given him a thick ear.

His team, Sunderland, have a mascot with a terminal illness. A little five year old boy who has cancer and has just recently had a set back by a new growth at the bottom of his back – the manager was obviously involved in getting Bradley Lowery to meet his hero, Jermain Defoe and here we have a picture of them. See how he holds on to Jermain for security:

But back to yesterday's game – the highlight for me was when the players stood in the tunnel, bantering, hugging and then marching on to the field of play. We noticed one of the mascots, a Spurs mascot, was marching rather smartly and proudly and then we noticed; he didn't have any legs. But out he strode with his heroes.

Here he is: Chelsea are in blue and Spurs are in white and the little lad has false legs:

Hardly noticed – but we noticed him and so did his family.

the birds and the bees!

Well I woke up this morning – dat da da da da – actually a few mornings ago; this wasn't any where near dawn, I might say, and a bird was singing a familiar refrain. Singing a song for me at his own expense (to quote Bob Dylan); when I went to the window I could see him at the top of a tree in the garden about 100 feet high. The song he sang was that of a robin and I've only ever known them to be on the ground or near to it in bushes.

I looked through the binoculars and sure enough – there it was, the red breast.

He was singing and calling out for a mate – it's a strange thing when you see them chirp as the sound they make they make without lips. We have to use our lips to whistle but the birdie does it without a bother.

The robin is supposed to be a nasty bird, or so they say, but when I have seen them being aggressive it is to protect themselves or shoo away a cat or an intruder.

I used to wake in California to sun shine and palm trees and the birds we saw there were humming birds which is the only bird, they say, who can fly backwards. I spent a lot of time, when I first moved to LA, on the balcony, or near, trying to get a photograph of one.

These days it would be easy as I would just film them, if I could get close enough, and freeze the film when editing.

That's the way I do my head shots these days.

But getting back to the birds and the trees – the tree I saw the robin in is at the top of this page. On that branch at the very top. Bit of a change from the palm trees but it's a pleasant outlook.

Here is what it is like from the front through the window of my little office:

I don't know the name of those trees. Not the green one but the one with the blossom which disappears after a short time each year. 

We have two at the front which shields us from the bad air of vehicles passing which are about twenty yards from us. If you know the name let me know.

Here is the question: the bird at the top of the tree is only there calling for a mate – any mate.

How do we do that and will we, the male of the species, always be the pursuer?

When I was young I would meet girls at or on the dance floor. It was easy as I would only ask for a dance and then it was always up to me to ask the girl out or make a date or even ask if I could walk her home. That would be a yes or no – nothing more. I might push that if I got a no but that would be the male in me pursuing.

But I could have taken a tip from the bird. I could have walked to the front of the dance floor to the stage and called out – like the robin – or I could have sung – ditto and . . .but we actually do that sometimes. Isn't that why the rock singer gets up and sings?

The other place I would meet girls would be at the cinema; I would (with a pal) sit behind two girls – and I know they would see us coming because they would tell me – and ask them to come and sit next to us; or we would sit next to them.

Then after a while I would sneak my arm around her and sit like that for a while. Then the kiss.

When the film ended I would usually walk out with the girl and maybe go for a walk.

One time, when we got outside, both girls were a good 6 inches taller than we were so we kind of went to the public loo and disappeared out the other exit. That took us to the other side of the street and when we walked back we looked over and could see that the girls had disappeared too.

Another time at the picture house in Ladywood, I sat around with a girl and didn't kiss her. I just sat with my arm around her till the end of the film.

We walked to a disused cricket field and she said 'why didn't you kiss me in the pictures?' and I said 'because I was watching the film.'

It was Horrors of the Black Museum – well??