Food Glorious Food.

There I am stuffing my face – I like that photo taken by the famous Nobby Clark.
This is an edit: after I wrote this I opened the newspaper and coincidence has it that it is Nobby Clark's birthday today.

I haven't eaten meat for quite some time; this will be my second Christmas without it. I don't call myself a vegetarian I just don't eat meat and only a little fish once in a while – the difference between vegetarians and vegans is that vegans don't eat animal products (anything with a face) at all; I wonder if they like eels?

Last Christmas I sat with the family and just ate the lovely vegetables but didn't have that ugly thing on my plate, which everybody fusses over, called meat. I don't have anything against meat but there's always a load of fuss over it and the last turkey we bought cost more than £70.

The reason I am talking about this is that the other day someone on the radio mentioned the BBC canteen and what the bill of fare was, and it all came back to when I worked at the BBC on a fairly regular basis. We would rehearse in a high rise building which was nick-named The Acton Hilton. It was maybe eleven floors or even nine – who knows? – and on the top floor was the canteen. As soon as the lift landed there you could smell the enticing appetite inducing fodder.

All self service – piles of newly cooked bacon, sausages galore with eggs, eggs and eggs. Of course there would be other stuff which I think is called fruit and they also served porridge, corn flakes and the like – even bubble and squeak - and we would pile the food on our readily warmed plates, with fresh coffee and maybe some toast.

All this for the price of a newspaper – unbelievable! I would often think that most of the people in that canteen – whoever was playing Dr Who, the cast of Z Cars, Softly Softly and the beautiful female dancers Pan People – were earning a lot of money and it seemed funny, to me, that they needed subsidizing.

I thought to myself, when listening to the article on the radio, that I wonder if I would be tempted now if I was faced with all that food.

I did a job a year or two ago in Harlesdon – or near there – where there was a canteen at the studios with the same kind of food and it was all free; so it still goes on.

But I have never been tempted ever since as egg, bacon and sausage have been cooked in our kitchen lately and it doesn't tempt me at all in fact I had stopped eating bacon since the last time I was in Dublin when my cousin cooked a full Irish breakfast – black and white pudding, bacon, sausages and eggs etc. The bacon in Dublin would melt in your mouth and the reason I haven't eaten any ever since is that when I bought some in London it was ropey, full of water, preservative and urghh!!

And then I thought of the time we came back from America on the Queen Mary 2 with the most wonderful food in the world: Beef Wellington, Sea Bass, Caviar for dinner and equal luxury during the day.

Have a Good Christmas.

Family at War

This is a kind of mish mash of stories about disappointments – not to me as I have rarely been disappointed. I've always prepared myself for one. I remember I was with a casting director in Los Angeles who actually did some casting – most of them just suggest you to a director and then you have to meet/audition. This was for a voice for a movie of which I did loads when living there – still receiving residuals even now. I voiced David Bowie, Bill Hunter, Jason Statham, a voice in Cat Woman (when I met Sharon Stone) a load of voices in Time Line and Kangaroo Jack.

The first time I met the casting director she said 'ok you got it; Thursday and Friday and maybe a day next week.'

I said 'great.'

'Is that all?' she said.

'What do you mean?'

'Well, people usually – well, usually looked pleased!'

I said 'Well I am.'

She would have seen the same reaction if she had told me that out of the hundred people they'd seen for the leading role it was between me and the other guy but the other guy got it. I always thought of it like making a sales call and being told no – try somewhere else.

You will gather, by now, that I didn't really start out to write that lot – it just came to me.

Look at that man above in the poster for Family at War! That's Colin Campbell. Family at War was a wonderful TV series made by one of the greatest television companies; Granada Television. It was, as it implies, about a family: three brothers, two sisters, mother and father, close relatives and friends. It was first shown in 1970 and is now being shown on the TV channel Talking Pictures.

I was at drama school, when they were making it, and sometimes I would travel all the way to Manchester to do a walk on for £6 per day. After a few walk ons they gave me three lines for which I got more money.

Colin Campbell played one of the sons, David, which was the best role and he was the best actor in it of his age. There are other fine performances too but he was the chap.

A few years later – 1991 – I did one of the Ruth Rendall Mysteries (Inspector Wexford with George Baker) and Colin Campbell was in it. He played a very small part as a cop in the office. I didn't see any of the episodes so I don't know if he was a uniform cop or what, but he did quite a few episodes.

The first thing I noticed about him was that he was quite tiny – even smaller than me! He also had a limp. I remember saying to Wexford's partner (his cop partner) 'you do know who he is, don't you?' and he shrugged his shoulders no. It wasn't as flippant as it might sound as he was interested – now who was he I have forgotten even though he did 50 episodes of Wexford.

I met Colin later through a mutual friend later, as we would go to our pal's plays, premiere's etc and he was a nice bloke. He still had some kind of limp, which I think I read about and it may have affected him somewhat; I said he was tiny but in Family at War he fills the screen. He has been giving a stellar performance as David Ashton most weekday afternoons in Britain lately and it has sent his STARmeter on the Internet Movie Date Base up to the 27,000s – that might not seem important to some actors but you won't get an agent in LA if you are not in the top 100,000. Colin was down in the 200,000 not that long ago. He is now quite famous which is a shame as he died on March 1^st this year aged 81.

From next week Family at War is on Wednesday evenings at 9.00 pm on Talking Pictures.

It is a funny old business when casting directors can dismiss actors like Colin Campbell and leave him to his few lines in Wexford once in a while – the other actors in Wexford hadn't heard of him either and when I watch him I often wonder if he knew the series, Family at War, was coming on; RIP.

But there are loads of disappointments – I went to Dublin many years ago to do a Guinness commercial. I particularly remember it for a couple of reasons one the song they used, which was recorded by the pop group Blue Mink famous for their song Melting Pot – in our case it was Get Together With a Guinness Right Now.

We worked in a pub in Baggot Street, Dublin. I went in to the loo and someone had written on the wall Sometimes I think I'd like to be the Saddle on a Bike. I remember thinking how wonderful that scanned.

The other thing I remember it for was the girl who was in it; we'll call her Mavis. Before filming starts the artists, the actors, the talent, or whatever you want to call us, gather on the set, which in this case was the customer side of the bar, and rehearse the scene for the camera. Three blokes and an attractive girl. The girl had been in make up and was wearing rollers. The three guys included me, and two other well known actors of the day; we were cast in London and flown over that morning. The director was an Englishman and most of the crew were from Dublin.

After we ran through the scene the girl had to go back to make up – she was a local Dublin girl. The director asked for one of the girl extras to take the girl's place whilst she was in make up. The 'stand in' was very nice and we all got on well together and then it became obvious that the director preferred the stand in as opposed to the girl who was being made up, quaffed and dressed.

'Get rid of Mavis' he suddenly said to his assistant.

“What?' said the assistant.

'Get rid of her – Mavis'

Of course her name wasn't Mavis – but what an arsehole aye.

The death of The King.

Here we have a little story set in 1952 – and it's true! A little eight year old boy with the name of Christopher Thomas Joseph Owen Sullivan was sitting in class at school. Christopher was his Christian name, being a Christian but not the kind of Christian as the school he was attending - as from an Irish immigrant family he was a Catholic – was being the operative word these days in any case.

Thomas was the second name on the birth certificate and Joseph the name on the Baptism certificate. Owen came later, when he was confirmed, and when the teacher asked for full names, in the senior school, he gave him all the names, and was known as that to that teacher forever; especially when he pulled the little side burns of the little boy and said 'so what's your answer to that, Christopher Thomas Joseph Owen Sullivan? Something Irish? Something witty?'

But enough of that let's go back to 1952.

February 6^th 1952 little Christopher was sitting in class wanting a wee wee; the teacher on this occasion said it was OK for him to go and off he went.

On that same day, Raymond Simmonds was playing the wag from school; playing the wag being the vernacular for playing truant, although playing truant is usually knocking time off from school without your parents' permission. In Raymond's case I think his mother kept him from school that day.

So when I came out of the boys' lavatory – me being Christopher Thomas Joseph Owen Sullivan - there was Raymond sitting on the school steps. 
Now if I had been playing truant, which I only did once, one afternoon, and which I have been sorry for ever since as that was, apparently, a great science lesson when Mister Edmunds, the science teacher, very bluntly told the class of fourteen year old boys the facts of life.
But back to 1952.
On that day, the first thing Raymond Simmonds said to me was 'The King is dead.'

We knew, even at my tender age of eight, that the king had been ill and in fact he had died in his sleep that morning.

There are two things I remember about the King: one was that he had the same birthday as me – December 14^th – and the other was that I thought he looked like Gary Cooper.

So now (or then) I knew what the teacher didn't know, nor the rest of the class or any of the other teachers. 
But if I went in to class and said something I would be asked how I knew and would get Raymond Simmonds into trouble.

I went back in class and kept it to myself for a while.

Sitting in front of me was Gillian Balmond and next to her was Winifred Bryant; even at that age I was deeply in love with both of them. They would turn around to chat and I would flirt in my little baby ways and eventually I had to tell one of them about the King.

I can't remember which one I told but when I did, she told the other and the other answered back 'Now Princess Elizabeth will be Queen.'

We went home for lunch and of course it was all true. 
There were no cell phones in those days, no Internet and no social media. 
Everything seemed safe and at eight I would walk home by myself; with maybe other kids; maybe a half mile walk and sometimes even raining or in the snow. 
Mothers were at home to feed and love us and the 50s never seemed dismal to me or in black and white. 
It's great me being able to publish this on the Internet and the 191,000 hits from people who read it but look what it has done and the number of zombies it has produced – millennials don't even know how to use a can opener.

On that day mothers outside the school told their children the bad news; the King is dead. Some kids would cry; some of those kids wouldn't even know who the King was as they were too young but the grown ups certainly did. 
The King's wife, Queen Elizabeth, who then became The Queen Mother, short for the Queen's Mother, always, till the end of her long life, blamed the late King's brother David (Edward VIII) who abdicated because of his involvement with Mrs Simpson. A lot of people said Mrs Simpson did a great service to Britain by taking such a dangerous and naïve man out of the running.

The public liked him even though he abandoned Britain during the war, leaving his younger brother and his wife, as The King and Queen, in Britain. During some of the war, David (Edward VIII) lived in America and whilst Churchill was trying to persuade Roosevelt to enter America into the war David, who sympathised with the Nazis together with the air pioneer Charles Lindbergh, tried to get America on the German side; now if you don't believe this look it up. In fact at one point Lindbergh was considering running for President – if you think Trump is bad just ponder on that for a moment.

I don't know who the guy on the left is but there they are: two good looking men, Lindbergh in the middle and David (Edward VIII) on the right.

Times changed a couple of years after the King died. James Dean became the first American teenager and when the draft finished – the call up – it produced plays like Look Back in Anger, music like the blues and Rock'n'Roll and, eventually, The Beatles.

I loved the influx of Jamaicans into our neighbourhood with their great double breasted suits – I remember light blue suits – with their casual walks and great music and their laughter. Even today they are still laughing even though they were treated terribly for many years and even now when some who have been here ever since then found they couldn't get passports to get back in to the country when visiting their homeland.

The Wipers Times.

I was coming out of the tube station the other day – you know something? - I might have been going in; in either case I saw a theatrical notice on the wall, as they paper the tube entrances with them, especially on the escalators, The Wipers Times.

Well I knew what that was about straight away; there was a TV film on the BBC a couple of years ago, I think Michael Palin was in it, and it was about some soldiers in the First World War who were sent to Ypres. Yes, that's right, that's how they pronounced Ypres – Wipers. And they formed a tiny newspaper called The Wipers Times.

Now that might sound strange to English people who don't pronounce the 'T' at the end of restaurant and Americans who seem to pronounce all foreign words as they are pronounced in the country of origin. 

I remember Ed Sullivan (yes a distant relation) when he introduced the Bee Gees actually pronounced Maurice Gibb as Morris Gibb, as the rest of the English speaking world do, and then said it as Maureece – the way the French do; oh and the Americans. 

Nothing wrong with that, in fact nothing wrong with anything. Anybody my age pronounces Nestles Milky Bar the way it is spelt – yes spelt, why not?

The Milky Bar Ad spelt it the way it looks https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=rCbEHHsI3zQ – but if you look at some of the reruns on YouTube (not that one) the Swiss Company that now own the Milky Bar from Rowntree dubbed all those old commercials with Nestlay. I remember the big publicity campaign when some saw the accent ' - at the end of the word. The campaign sold a lot of chocolate bars but ruined the jingle.

So you know where we are – we are pointing out the difference between the UK and the USA – again? I hear you say but . . .

When I first moved to America I often wondered why they did the exact opposite from us. Over here we switch the room light on by pushing the switch down and over there it is pressed up. So it's not only which side of the road we all drive on there are other things too. If you are ever stuck when there for how you do something in America all you have to do is do it the opposite way from the UK.

But what about music? We say 'middle 8' and they say 'bridge' but bridge is not the middle 8. the bridge is for joining 2 parts of the composition together.

Songs are written, verse, chorus; verse chorus – two verses, and middle 8 and then another verse or even the middle 8 again but what about the bridge?

Here's an example:

In the UK's national anthem the bridge is here – God save our gracious queen, long live our noble queen, god save out queen THEN the bridge – da da da da da da – that's the bridge/the join - on to send her victorious etc.

The middle 8 in All I have to do is Dream is I can make you mine, taste your lips of wine etc – that's the middle 8, usually with an F chord, then a G then an F and then, maybe Am or Em – in fact that's the way to write a song.

But what drives all ex pats mad is the Democratic Party in the USA is BLUE and the Republicans are RED!!!!

Why is that?

 and . . . . hey it was Michael Palin!

Next Time!!!

hummus - how to say it and who said it first.

Sleeeep!!

                                       RUSSELL KANE

I'm an expert on sleep; it's something I do every day. Most of the people I know sleep too: some are deep sleepers and some light – some only sleep for a couple of hours a night. But the people who don't sleep at all hate people telling them what to do to sleep. This is because we all need different conditions in order to actually fall in to the land of nod.

Lots of times, if I have an important appointment the next day, I will be awake all night. I have known a target time of getting up at 5.00 am and at 10 passed 5 I am still awake. And do you know what? That's when I drop off; for 15 minutes!

It's a strange thing and the number of times it has happened to me I can't say as it's too many times but I have always lasted through the day and been quite perky and lively and . . and . . . oh I nearly dropped off then.

I have heard about a lot of insomniacs lately and in fact there has been a convention this week by people in the sleep business, and there is a word for a condition that people suffer from when so called experts are pontificating about how great they are at going to sleep.

I am okay but when away with someone – my wife, for example, and we are in a strange place, I look at her and she has gone. Laying there in bed asleep. When away filming, for instance, I have heard snoring from the next room within minutes of the person going in there to sleep.

Once I got in a train in Marseilles intending to travel the full length of France right up to Calais and paid extra to get a sleeping compartment (yes I know a compartment that is asleep) – all I had with me was a large baguette and some water which I had planned to make last for the whole journey. I sat in my seat and watched Provence through the window, started thinking and thinking deeply and then started to think about Walter Mitty and his secret life and the sound he always heard when he started to sleep – 'ta pocket ta pocket ta pocket ta pocket' and you know I could feel the sleep coming over me, I didn't need a pee, I was very comfortable, I was going to sleep and then . . .bang on the door.

The man had come to turn the bed down. It was a normal train seat which turned into bunk beds in a flash. I couldn't even sit properly, I had to keep my back bent.

I asked him of he could leave it and he said someone else might be getting on the train and they would like to get in to bed.

That did it! I eventually got into bed and every time the train stopped I looked for the old lady with a surgical stocking and sensible shoes who I was sure was going to share the room with me – or my bed!!! Arghhhh!

So that was it; I was awake.

Then I wanted a pee.

There was a hole in the floor where I was supposed to pee – what about if I wanted a number 2? - perhaps not!

Eventually we stopped at a big city; is this Paris? No it was Lyon, a huge industrial city through the window is all I could see. Steam rising from somewhere, steam going somewhere and then – sleep.

Missed the bit where we pulled out of the station, missed Paris and the train arrived in Calais after that huge journey through the night smack on time.

The sleep convention, I mentioned before, said that you must be comfortable in bed, you must relax – no alcohol because that sleep is no good for you – and you must read a comfortable, safe book, maybe one you've read before, no computer screens nothing.

What I used to do, sometimes, was count backwards from 7000; full words six thousand, nine hundred and ninety nine etc or think that I am on the stage and I have to recite The Sick Note, which I used tom do in my Irish show 'Dear sir I write this note to you to tell you of my plight/and at the time of writing I am not a pretty sight – and by the time I got half way through it I would be asleep. The secret is – and the counting backwards – it makes your mind wander and trying to concentrate sends you to sleep.

Here is one of my favourite comedians – Russell Kane.

I remember him from Edinburgh when he scolded a theatre critic for giving someone a bad review just because she had a strange voice and was fat. This critic gave me a rave review – a great one – but only 3 stars.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=uMKcxrnwYV4

National Poetry Day

It's National Poetry Day today in the UK - not that you'd notice so here's my contribution.

Written about 10 years ago, which I used as a prologue to my first novel - yes it's a pastiche of the opening to Portrait of the Artist. Let's see how many more will follow with their poetry:

The Man with the Pen
Once upon a time, and a long time ago
It was, in the city of Dublin,
In the land of Ireland, there was a man
With a pen; and this man with the pen gave it
To a little fella who wrote many
A poem, limerick and story;
And the poems, limericks and stories
Spread to the four corners of the world, it was a square world;
And the poems, limericks and stories
That spread to the four corners of the world
Made the earth round - into a great ball -
‘Surrounded by clouds’ as the great man once said!

Near the ball there was a moon, which added
Romance and imagination to the poems,
Limericks and stories; and around all this
Were stars and planets and they formed a system
Called the solar system;
And it was solar and alone;
And writers came along and looked to the moon,
And beyond, to the stars and planets
In the solar system for inspiration:
And when they got the inspiration they needed
They used the pen to write; for that is what a pen is for.
And the man with the pen looked down at the writers,
Whenever they were in their blocks,
And gave them the start that they needed
And this is how the writers of Ireland
Told the people of the world the absolute truth –
Which they had found on the wall
Of Bewley’s Coffee shop in Grafton Street Dublin;
For there were many in Bewley’s would put the world to right
In an afternoon’s confabulation.

But the writer was always the little fella;
The little fella who had to meet the big bad bullies
When he was at school; the big bad bullies
That made him take part
In their big bad bumpy games,
Which would frighten the poor little fella,
At that very early and tender age
When all the boys had to learn to head the greasy orb
Which they called a football;
Had to go into that big bad world
Which they called a school;
Had to find out that most of the bullies
Were the teachers: teachers who took great pleasure
And unnatural delight
In striking many a young child across the backside
With their canes and slippers;
But the little writer would get his own back
On the big bad bullies for he would write about them.

Sometimes, but not often, the big bad bully
Would read what the little writer had written
And knock the be Jesus out of him;
Break his glasses,
Knock the pen out of the little fella’s hand
And burn his books:
At four hundred and fifty one degrees Fahrenheit.

But there was always somebody
To pick up that pen and look up,
Up towards the stars in the heaven
Where they would seek the same stimulation;
And the man with the pen would look down and give it.

The Monarchy.

There is a minority in this country (Britain) who are republicans. That's not like being a Republican in Ireland, in the 26 or even the 6 counties. And they are a small minority.

When I think of the royal family – the monarchy in general, which a lot of other countries would actually like to have - I think of the movie The Truman Show. A really good film and strongly recommended. A child is put into a type of reality show at birth and moves around in a village of professional actors who, unbeknown to him, are hired; they interact with him as if it's a normal life and, every now and then, mention commercial products as the show has been product placed.

In other words, as opposed to advertising, commercial products are all over the set.

I am told, when I first started and worked on (in) Z Cars, that a certain actor, every time he sat at his desk, would take from his pocket a packet of pipe tobacco and place it clearly in shot. For this he received money from the tobacco company whom he had contacted beforehand.

This was not allowed, of course, so he was doing it unofficially.

In those days (doze daze), as an actor, we had to fill out forms to say which commercials we were featured in, and those commercials would be prevented from being shown within a certain time from the broadcast going out; I think they were blocked throughout the whole evening.

It was also against the law, the rules, or whatever for any company to sponsor a show. We would listen to Radio Luxembourg and hear phrases like this show is brought to you by whoever the sponsor was, so it was not unheard of by us and we knew it happened in America all the time, with TV hosts actually turning to the camera to tell you what delicious stuffing to buy.

On Coronation Street (A British soap) a fictional brewery company was invented just for the show and is still used on it to this day.

Apart from the small minority, I mentioned before, who would prefer Britain to be a republic I suspect a really smaller minority would agree with the so called republicans; a certain family who are born in to it.

That small minority are, of course, the Royal Family; they are captured at birth, brainwashed and forced into a life of servitude. They have known no other life, they are surrounded by security men, minders, Ladys in Waiting (I presume that's how it's spelt as opposed to the plural ladies as they are Lady this and Lady that) and there is no escape.

I hear you saying, well they can always pack it in but if you think that you must look at the word back there brainwashed. They would never think of it. They have a reason to be there, after their life training and that is to stop the commoner running the place and, apart from a few administrations, the commoner has made a balls up of it; hasn't he; or more to the point she?

One government starts the National Health Service, the next adjusts it. The next thinks of a better way to run it, the next adjusts that. One government decided that it would be better to bring agency cleaners to save the NHS the cost of their National Insurance and Benefits and that's it – it's in the state it's in now.

So I am all for the royal family here in the UK as I look at America and see who is supposed to be in charge at the moment.

And a lot of people think he is doing a good job.

Well they say that as they think he is improving the economy well he isn't. This is the same kind of economic upwards swing that Barack Obama started so thank your lucky stars that he doesn't really have the nuclear codes either; I think he carries around a football (or the British PM does) which starts a process to launch a nuclear weapon.

Because of this, and mainly because there is a salesman, sleaze bag, tax dodger in The White House, there are budding businesses selling survival gear in places like the wilds of Colorado where people (above) are stocking up in their Nissen Huts and tunnels with loads of tinned food, plenty of ammunition and packs of wolves which they throw raw meat to every day.

Having a monarchy means that people like Theresa May, the current Prime Minister of the UK, cannot go to America on a state visit because she isn't head of state; she is head of the government; the Queen is the head of state. When she dies, certain people will have a go at Charles as soon as he is declared king, before the coronation. It will start the same as anything else is started: rumours, innuendo; religious leaders saying he shouldn't be head of the church as he is a heathen – they may have a point there so why not eliminate that job from the monarch. It is a country of heathens in any case.

If it was a Republic, President Blair would still be president now; following Presidents Major and Thatcher.

Depending on which way you swing that can be good or bad.

Ramblings of the actor . .

I haven't written many posts recently as I've been trying to finish my play; I wrote it about fifteen years ago and sent it to The Abbey Theatre in Dublin. They kept it for a couple of months and then one morning at about 7.30 the phone rang. My wife answered it and told me that The Abbey Theatre were on the phone; they wanted to speak to me – wow!!.

Sounds promising, don't you think, and it was; they told me they liked the play and asked if they could hold on to it for the time being as a new artistic director was due to take over soon.

Well I said of course didn't I – but that wasn't the end of it. Two weeks later it was returned to me, in the post, with a 'no thank you' note and nothing else.

So it wasn't to be. I had imagined they would do it and in my imagination I would be interviewed on the Late Late Show with Gay Byrne - I would sing them my song The Coombe - I'd get the audience to join in with the chorus and I'd have a hit in Ireland but . . .it wasn't to be; more like not to be

Recently I saw a couple of Irish plays in the West End, here, and they put me in mind of my own play. So I have been polishing it, changing the names of some of the characters, introducing a bit of friction, putting in all the bits of life I have picked up since writing it years ago.

The reason they called me at 7.30 am, by the way, was that I was in Los Angeles at 7.30 am and they were in Dublin at 3.30 pm.

I pick up bits of life as I walk along the street, maybe thinking of the past and wondering about the future and sometimes I might even get an idea or a thought and think about one of the blogs I wrote. So I will look at the figures which I see all the time which tells me how many people are reading my little, masterpieces and I think, jasus, are people still reading that? and so instead of writing a new post for you I carried on with my play and you had another chance to read something you read years ago – if you are a regular reader – or subscriber.

So this is life.

When I walk along a street and people are coming the other way, I try to look at all of them; I do.

Of course if there is a commotion or an altercation, of some kind, I try not to get involved – why would I? I look the other way.

But I am fascinated by people who don't look at anybody, or forget you after a day or so. They probably forget because they never looked in the first place.

I remember I was in a TV series for one episode. I had a nice role but it was only one scene. There was quite a bit to learn so it took a few hours - from this angle and that one - and what about this one - and can we do another few takes on that so . . . I was with the other fella from about 10.30 am till lunch.

Then we went to the bus, where lunch is usually eaten on location, and we sat together, shooting the shit and talking about this and that and what have you been up to - and oh I know someone in that give him my best when you see him again and that's it; lunch over, back in the car and the long drive home from the location which was many miles back to London.

In the not too distant future from that day, there was a screening – maybe at BAFTA on Piccadilly – and after I watched the episode I made my way out.

As I got in to the lift my co actor, co star, work mate, or whatever you want to call him – my buddy in the scene - the other part of my conversation at lunch – got out of the lift.

I looked at him – in the eye – he heard me say hello, looked at me and thought to himself: “I wonder who else is here that I might network with in case they can give me a job.” And swanned away to where he thought the in crowd were standing.

What a pisser, aye? The life on an actor!

The hello from him was a oh who is this? - time to network, not a how are you or even a kiss my arse, he's gone.

He is the kind of person I am fascinated with; so much into their self so much up their selves in fact the kind of guy that people really would describe as up himself – you know what I mean.

How can you ever learn anything about life – especially if you are an actor – if you don't look at people. Maybe even walk around with your hat on and big ear phones on your head making you look like a Disney mouseketeer.

One day I went for a role in some thing or other and sitting there, of course, was an actor who looked like me.

But it's always like that when you go for a casting session, the room is full of people just like you. For commercials it's worse – you get to see yourself; 'oh no I'm not that old am I?'

Puts me in mind of the great line from the original movie The Producers “will the singing Hitlers come here and the dancing Hitlers line up over there.” Or words to that effect.

Now this actor, after five minutes, I swear, after five minutes wanted to know how long they would be keeping him waiting as he had other things to do! In my arse he did!

I don't know who he was trying to kid – this has nothing to do with the other fella, the fella I worked with but I thought I'd let you know that it's not all milk and honey.

I look at people in the street because I'm interested in them; whenever I have studied acting I was inevitably told by the teacher, the drama coach (or even the drama couch) for movement to study the animals at the zoo and I have to say that sometimes it helped – but there's no use getting down on all fours and crawling over the stage!

Making a film on the cheap - again.

This is going to look familiar to my very very very faithful readers - and I know you're there! I found the newspaper clipping, above, which is from November 1st 1988 - my wife's birthday, would you believe. It's a clip from the Business Section of the Northampton Chronicle & Echo and when I found it - well my wife found it and didn't recognize it was published on one of her birthdays. It was also the birthday of Mary Sullivan my grandmother - so how's that for a coincidence? By the way, my brother's wife has the same birthday as my mother and - even more coincidental - Mary Sullivan's parents have the same first names as my wife and myself. So how about that?

This always made me laugh as every word in it is true. A friend read it when I published it in February 2011 and said 'how will that guy feel if he reads that' - well he probably won't and in any case I didn't say anything derogatory.

I had a good response to this post from would be film makers who were very grateful as they said the learned a great deal.

I made a film once in which I was involved from writing the script, acting and directing in it to putting the china graph marks onto the cutting copy to denote where I wanted cuts, fades, wipes or whatever on the negative.
Then I had to sit and grade it in the studio to make sure the colours were consistent and then take it to Cannes to try and sell it as a pilot for a TV series.
The story was about two antique dealers from the bottom end of the market who find a valuable item at Portobello Antiques market in London, sell it after a lot of negotiations and then lose it before getting paid.
Just a bit of fun, really, but people liked the two lead characters and thought they would look good if the short film was made into a TV series; so I was asked, by a film distribution company, to write some outlines for future scripts before setting off to Cannes - in between helping the sound editor by plying him and accompanying him with many a glass of Guinness; it's a wonder our livers survived.
This might sound a bit like a one man show but there were a lot of others involved and I sorted out a way to pay for it - eventually.
When I was working at the theatre in Northampton, I bumped into a business man on the train coming up from London, who was a big fan of the theatre. He took his wife to every play and invited us to his big house in Northampton one of the nights after the show for dinner.
I stayed on living in Northampton after finishing the season there and lots of times, when I travelled on the train to and from London, I would meet the same businessman.
We would talk of plans for the future and one time I told him of my wish to make a film of my own. He said he would fund it and he said he could easily do it as a tax write off.
So I set about writing the script based on a true incident from the antiques trade which we dabbled in – and still do.
I had directed before when someone asked me to take over on a film so I contacted the director of photography from that film, the DP, and showed him the script.
He wanted to do drama, as he had been specialising in documentaries up to then so away we went; I would get the actors and he would get the crew.
To get everybody to work for nothing we gave the crew a rise in rank; somebody new would be the clapper/loader, a clapper/loader would go to camera assistant (focus puller) a camera assistant took the job of a camera operator and the DP became the DP on a drama as opposed to a DP on a documentary.
The sound was a different story; I had to use about three of four sound people on the film.
When a documentary is planned they hire their DP and he or she would choose where they would hire the camera, lenses and camera equipment from; so we went to a camera house in London and on the promise that he would use them for his next paying project they let us have camera and equipment for nothing.
I told him about the businessman and the fact that he had a very photogenic house which he might let us use for the film.
I had to buy the stock; this is film for the camera, tape for the sound and mag-stock which is what you transfer the sound to edit in an editing machine which is the same size as the film and we planned to shoot on sixteen millimetre.
Shooting on film was and is very expensive as opposed to shooting today on Digital which is relatively cheap.
The two music videos I shot over the past few years were shot on Digital and cost virtually nothing.
The other thing about digital is that you can play it back as soon as you shoot it but the only time you can do that with film is with a video assist – invented by Jerry Lewis – and we didn't have that kind of money; in fact we had no money at all.
I opened an account with the Rank Organisation – J. Arthur Rank of the famous rhyming slang activity – to process the film we shot and the rest of the stuff was begged or borrowed as with the camera and the actors worked for food; even though the crew ate it all – I'm joking I'm sorry.
I remember one of the days I took everybody out for a meal in Northampton and, when they ordered everything, I went to the lavatory to count the money in my pocket to see if I could pay for it.
I hadn't counted on going to a restaurant as I had laid food on for them back at my house – where we shot some of the film – but off to the restaurant they all trotted.
When I counted what was in my pocket I found I didn't have enough so I went back to the table and watched everybody eating and asking for more and maybe more wine and what about a pudding? – ha ha ha ha, they were laughing and having a lovely time and there we were; me and the crew, the actors had gone back go London, and I kind of sat there and looked at them having a good time wondering how I was going to pay for it.
“Excuse me” I said and I went out; I stood there in the street and wondered if I should just go home – but I'm not like that.
I tried my ATM card at the bank over the street but it was declined so I found a phone box and called a friend who didn't live very far away; luckily he was in and met me in the street with a hundred pounds which was enough to pay the bill.
Yes you're right; what happened to that businessman. That's what we were thinking!
The last time I met him on the train I told him I was going ahead and he was very excited but when we were about to start I found him hard to get hold of; his secretary took a few messages but he didn't return any of my calls so I went around to his house and knocked the door.
He had a huge glass door and when I rang the bell I could hear his children playing in the hall; then I could see them as they were looking at us through the curtains; but nobody answered; I got the message.
I had shot the whole film, I owed the Rank Organisation money and when I took some lights back I was told that money was outstanding on them so I paid that.
My daughter's boy friend's father had let me use his big van for the shoot for nothing, so I didn't owe any money there but I did owe everybody in the movie to get it finished.
A few years earlier I did an award winning student film so I contacted the editor to see if he would be interested in editing my film and he said he would do it at the cutting rooms at the film school in Bournemouth but I would have to pay him; so I did; six weeks wages as he could only do it part time.
It was then finished at the cutting rooms at the Royal College of Art in South Kensington – but they didn't know about it; sorry RA. We would climb over the gate and creep in to the editing suites after the pub closed at night and do it then and it was eventually finished up to a rough cut. The editing and paying the editor cost more than the rest of the film, apart from the stock, even though I didn't have to pay for the use of the equipment.
My solution to funding the film was the same as any, and probably every other, businessman in the UK; an overdraft! So I booked an appointment with the bank manager.
This I did and he gave me an overdraft; with this I paid Rank and anybody else who needed paying and went to see the distributors; they let me use their cutting room for free for the sound editing and that's when I called my pal Giles and we gave our livers the Guinness test.
So I was bound for Cannes to try and sell the thing as a series. The distributors were involved in trying to get funding and set up loads of meetings in Cannes – and what a time that was.
I was asked if I would change the casting of the other character in it for an actor called Iain Cutherberson who was well known; the distributors had a connection with a Scottish TV company and as he was Scottish they wanted him in it.
But it wouldn't have worked; I promised my friend that he would be in it if we actually made the series but in any case I am about 5'9” and Iain Cutherberson was 6'4” - the dynamic would have changed. It wouldn't be about two fellas trying to make money out of antiques – it would have been about the long and the short of it.
At the end of the day we didn't get the series made; a series called Perfect Scoundrels was taken up by Southern TV, one of the people we were talking to, which was about two other guys on the make and which was very good I have to say.
My film sold to Finland and other Scandinavian countries but I didn't see a penny – that's show business.
The bank wrote off the overdraft and I came to Hollywood.
One night I went to the International House of Pancakes (IHOP) on Sunset Boulevard for a short stack of pancakes and coffee. As I sat there I noticed someone looking over at me; he was sitting with his friend and eventually came over.
“Are you Chris Sullivan?” he said.
“Yes” I said “and I know who you are.”
It was the rich businessman from Northampton.
I didn't hold a grudge so I joined them at their table.
“I'm sorry to let you down” he said “I was going through a bad patch.”
“That's okay” I said “but you could have answered your door!”

I re-cut the film - The Scroll - a couple of years ago so it's shorter than the original version and here it is https://youtu.be/WpWmesv5nVA