Sweet Relief: A Brief History of my Bladder.

Penis substitute.

I was listening to Radio 4's Front Row; a good nightly magazine programme about the arts with reviews of theatre, film, literature, TV etc. There were a couple of poets reciting some of their work, which seemed to be a put down of men, and how they find it embarrassing greeting each other in the gym and other masculine places; how they find it hard not to show their masculinity off and things like that. Believe me I've seen it and it spills over into pubs when the hard man can drink the most and is the biggest glutton in the cafe. A great driver and absolutely marvelous in bed.

No man will admit to being a bad driver or being terrible in bed – what do you want here an admission from me?

No chance; I don't drive any more in any case; you don't need to in London.

The poetry wasn't that bad, and I didn't expect it to rhyme, but I like it to have a certain kind of rhythm – a bit like mine (The Man With the Pen) – but I would say that wouldn't I?

Their conversation moved on to pornographic poetry and then back to the macho thing again and how wonderful it is to stand in the open and take a pee; standing with your back arched and just letting everything just piss out.

It kind of reminded me of my life which appears to be full of various pisses I needed to do over the years which were emergencies.

As a young child my mother would take me to the market in the centre of Birmingham, the rag alley, and I hated it; it was always cold and I invariably wanted to go to the loo.

'Mammy I want a wee' I would say.

'Ah come on' she'd say 'tie a knot in it.' 
And as I'd been telling her about my girl friend at school, she would say 'I wish she was here now; I'd tell her to come and take this piss tank home.'

My mother had a wonderful turn of phrase; I was only about 5 years old.

One time at school my teacher was giving me a reading lesson and my desk was right at the front; she was sitting at the other side of it.

The archetype school mistress with hair tied tight in a bun and a name which suited her, Miss Prime.

I really wanted a wee but she wouldn't let me go: 'you should have gone at play time' she said.

'I did go'

'No you didn't; now read.'

I could feel little drops falling down my leg and the more I read the wetter my underwear became.

'You can go' she said 'but you'll stay in at lunch time till you've read the page.'

We were due to go to lunch at midday and it was 11:45; oh how could I hold it that long but I didn't want to stay inl I wanted to go home to my mother.

So I carried on reading. I would read a bit, pee a bit. I'd look at the teacher and the old sadist would enjoy seeing me sweat and strain - did she think I was pretending?

Eventually the bell went and we broke for lunch; I ran to the loo and emptied my bladder standing there like a locomotive getting rid of steam.

When I got home my mother noticed my wet underpants so I told her what had happened.

After I got changed she accompanied me back to school, went up to the teacher and showed her my wet pants: 'that's no way to send a child home' she said.

I can still see my little pair of pants in her hand as she showed them to the teacher who looked at them as if she was being presented with a cold wet fish. 
I was worried that my mother was going to swing them at her and rub her nose in them but - she really wasn't confrontational.

Many years later I was in a TV show – a soap called Crossroads; it was on TV 5 nights a week at 6.35pm and was watched by about 15 million people, maybe more, as there were only 2 channels in those days. Everybody seemed to watch and seemed to know me wherever I went.

Except for some people who made it their business to tell me they'd never heard of me which has always been the case - 'I know you're an actor but I've never heard of you, mate' it would be - which has always amused me; who are these people?

Anyway my mother was at the Alexandra Theatre, in the centre of Birmingham, and who should she see but Miss Prime, the teacher from the school, with a load of kids. She went up to my mother and said 'we see Christopher on television all the time and we're very proud' and my mother said 'do you remember his pissy pants?' 

Nice one, mom!

It is said that men find it harder to hold on to their pee the older they get but in my case it seems to be the other way round. It must have been psychological as I can keep it for hours now. 
When I was doing a show at the Edinburgh Festival I remember there was only one loo at the venue and we had to walk through the audience to gain access to it, so as soon as the audience came in you had to hold it. Many a night I was absolutely bursting to go but for some strange magic reason it didn't bother me when I was in front of the audience. As soon as I made my entrance the sensation of needing a pee went; I never felt it throughout the show but as soon as the curtain came down I was back to square one – hopping up and down till I could empty out.

So you see I have quite a history of memorable pees. 
When I worked at the theatre in Reading I was staying with friends in Barnes and after the show we would drive along the motorway back in to London and nine times out of ten we had to stop whilst I peed on the hard shoulder.

By the way this gets read in the USA by quite a few people and I have to explain that the hard shoulder on the motorway is the part where you pull in to if you break down; so a very dangerous place to pee – especially if you are standing down wind of it!!

Big Lebowski fashion in Dublin.

Jeff Bridges as the 'dude' and John Goodman in The Big Lebowski.

Still from Pyjama Girls.

If you know me, and you knew me well, you would know that one of my pet hates is the wearing of slippers – I don't like to wear them I think they're unhygienic and they are unsightly.

I had to buy a pair once when I went in to hospital. It was the only time, so far, that I have been an inpatient and I found the wearing of slippers tiresome.

The same slippers went on every day next to the skin and some of those other patients' feet stunk. I don't know about mine, at the time, but they have never stunk nor stank or even ponged.

I was in hospital for two weeks and the only thing they did to me was to remove a ganglion from my wrist but as it was an air force hospital at RAF Cosford in Shropshire, the hospital had to take a certain amount of people in from the surrounding area; and as I was one of those. I suppose they kept me in all that time to justify their existence.

At the time I had worked in 13 episodes of Crossroads, a daily evening soap opera which everybody seemed to watch, and I was in a commercial for Guinness which was shown a few times every evening; so I was kind of recognisable from those two things. When one of the officers came and introduced himself to me he said “Ah an actor. We have a jockey in the bums and gums!”

What an actor and a jockey have in common is beyond me.

Of course I said “Bums and Gums?”

“Yes” he said “in the next ward: haemorrhoids and wisdom teeth.”

In those days we had a butcher who would come around in his van and we would buy meat from our door which meant that people would come out, into the street, wearing their slippers – apart from me.

I would always wear street shoes around the house and I still do. If I have been out in the rain with wellington boots, or I am wearing muddy boots I take them off, of course, and if I am sitting watching television I might slip my shoes off.

I just don't think slippers should be worn outside of the bedroom, never mind the rest of the house, and it is a terrible way to greet visitors.

The wearing of slippers in the street spread further to the corner shop and soon people got onto buses wearing them and went to wherever they were going wearing them.

Now it seems, in Dublin, the wearing of pyjamas by teenage girls is quite a fashion in the inner city, and has been since just after the turn of this century. Someone made a movie about it last year, a documentary, which was shown at a New York film festival in October.

The idea of the wearing of pyjamas came from the fact that the girls live in blocks of flats. They consider it normal to go from door to door in the building, still wearing their night wear, and that extended to getting on the bus, as with the slippers, and then going into wherever they were going when they got off at the other end – mostly the dole office apparently.

Pyjama wearing is now banned from schools and dole offices, it provokes furious radio debates and online rants in Dublin.

I remember years ago my wife bought a pair of calico pyjamas for me; she thought I might take to wearing them but that is something else I have never used – just a pair of shorts. So I took to wearing those pyjamas around the house – my daughter eventually took them and she wore them to go out.

But this is nothing new to the fans of The Big Lebowski – the dude always wore them and there he is above with John Goodman.

I used to take breakfast at Hugo's in West Hollywood which was also frequented by movies stars and actors and Jeff Goldblum would come in for his breakfast wearing what looked like a pair of underpants, a singlet and wearing a pair of flip flops.

He would say hello, smile but he was wearing underpants and a vest!!!!!

Oh by the way – I hate I hate flip flops too.

Actor or actress; that is the question!

Brian Croucher.

There he is, above; my old mate Brian Croucher. I have known him for more years than either of us care to remember. We kind of met when we were both in the soap opera Crossroads. When I say 'kind of met' I remember him sitting across from me in the green room, chatting away to someone else, whilst I was being warned that I was sitting in the star of the show's seat; it was her day off.

Well it's Brian's birthday today (Jan 23) and as he reads this blog on a regular basis I am wishing him many happy returns. I won't say how old he is as the IMDb will lap it up and put it there with everyone else's.

As well as Crossroads, Brian has been in many TV productions such as the cult sci-fi classic Blake's 7 where he wore an eye patch. He was also in Eastenders for a couple of years and at the Royal Court Theatre.

Unlike me, Brian doesn't like the Academy Awards – the Oscars – I seem to remember. I knew an actor in Los Angeles, Bruce French, who would drive out to Santa Monica on the day of the Oscars, cutting himself off from reality, where he would read a book till it was all over. It starts quite early on TV at 5:00 pm.

I think I mentioned before that the one thing I will miss is the awards season; everybody going to Oscar parties, buying pizza and beer from rock'n'roll Ralphs and inviting friends around or just sitting there with your loved ones, giving your whole day to the Academy Awards. The pre show starts earlier in the day, and then there are the after shows live from the big parties; a bit like FA Cup Final day in Britain – or what it used to be like.

Last week they held The Golden Globe Awards in Hollywood; compared again by Ricky Gervaise. The Golden Globes is one of the biggest and best parties held in Hollywood but people in the business don't take the actual awards too seriously; some of their awards over the years have been laughable.

The Golden Globes is produced by the Hollywood Foreign Press; these are people from local newspapers all over the world who live in Los Angeles; there's one from the Standard in London who lived in the same building as us when we lived in Hollywood. I have been to some of their screenings but there are very few of them and these few people are the ones who vote for the winners in The Golden Globes.

The rest of the world don't know this; they know that the winners of the other awards – Oscars, BAFTAs etc – are voted for by many members of the profession.

As you may know Meryl Streep won best actress for a dramatic role – okay okay I've gone on about her enough – and Michelle Williams won for best actress in a musical or comedy.

When the Oscar nominations are announced soon they will both be in the same category and also when the British Oscars, the BAFTAs are announced, that too will just be best actress. But in a couple of months there will be the SAG awards where they will be nominated, if they are nominated, as best female actor in a leading role.

Best female actor in a leading role!!!!

Now what is the matter with the word actress? It has always been used so why change it? I don't think it has anything to do with women's rights and equality – it's just a word.

I don't know anybody who thinks that women are inferior to men or that both men and women should be paid different rates of pay for doing the same job. I don't think the people who actually pay the different rates believe in it either, they just take advantage of it! I know there are people who think the male is the superior but you know what – they are men!

The Guardian has stopped the use of the word actress in their obituaries? When the actress Dulcie Gray died recently, she was very famous in Britain and was 92, The Guardian put her description as the 'actor' Dulcie Gray.

The French would have called her an actrice, the Spanish an actriz, the Italians an attrice and the Germans a Schauspielerin as opposed to a Schauspieler - I think if I were a German actress I might be a bit put out at being called a Schauspielerin but you know what I mean!

We are all actors, male and female, because we act. Actress is not like being called a poetess or an authoress; if that were the case it would be actoress.

Isn't it about time we, and The Guardian climbed down from our use of political correctness, which ties people's tongues and speech flow; it's like speaking a foreign language.

I thought that when The Guardian described Dame Wendy Hiller, in 2003, as the actor Dame Wendy Hiller they would have 'copped on.'

So there we are – happy birthday Brian; it's my brother's birthday tomorrow so – happy birthday, Pat.