Who's training Whom?

First let me explain why I am wearing that tee shirt: I only ever sleep in boxers and when I get up I usually do my ablutions and wear an old Hawaiian shirt I have had for years and a pair of shorts till I take a shower.

I hate tee shirts, don't know how people can sleep in them as I feel I'm choking when I wear one.

This morning, before I got up, my wife put all my shirts in to the laundry which included yesterday's shirt and my Hawaiian one. So I looked in a drawer and found the above tee shirt.

Now I am going to write a little story for you and the photo is relevant.

My little office is about ten feet by ten feet. You wouldn't believe there's a hundred square feet in here but that's the way it goes. I don't use desks, I have two tables which are next to each other in an 'L' shape.

Behind me, and the camera taking the photo, is the window, and as you can see there are two screens in front of me; one is a PC and the other a lap top so I have two keyboards on a tiny table which is just above my lap.

This morning I put my camera on the tripod, set the camera and asked my wife to take the photo. I knew I had this tee shirt on, of course I did, but forgot momentarily till I looked at the shot much later and not only do I have the name of a show I did about ten years ago on the front it has it on the back too.

Here is where I sit when I do any writing, it's comfortable and last week I sat here, eating dinner and watching Chelsea play Arsenal which was free to watch on YouTube.

A couple of months ago I came in here, started to type, when I heard some tapping behind me. Tap tap tap; just like that: tap tap tap tap tap; tap tap tap tap tap.

I turned around, saw nothing then turned back to write.

After a while tap tap tap tap tap; tap tap tap tap tap .

This time when I turned I saw a tiny bird on the window ledge – well it wouldn't be a human being would it at this height.

It looked a bit like a dunnock – small bird - and it was pecking the glass. On the window ledge inside there are photographs and maybe, from outside, he or she could probably see its reflection and it kept on pecking on the window pane. When I walked over there he flew off and into the tree which is about five yards away.

After a while he came back – I think we'll call it a he. He started tapping again then he came to the right side of the window and started jumping up and down. He seemed to be stretching his neck. I wasn't sure if he could see me or himself in the reflection and was bumping himself, or heading himself or what!

Then he flew away – a few times he came back: tap tap tap – then I go to look at him and he flew off again.

Eventually we cottoned on - we bought some bird seed, put a handful out on the ledge and he ate it.

Once in a while a magpie has been there and, whilst they are not huge, they look it on our little ledge. But they don't come very often even though they are very prevalent around here. We watch them bring their young up, teaching their babies how to fly by trying to get them to jump to the top of tiny plants in the garden but the little dunnock keeps coming.

If there is no food there he will tap tap on the window then fly away. We will put food there, close the window and the blind till it's almost shut, then he comes back and eats some of the food.

My original plan was to put a computer on each table but as the PC is quite slow (it isn't wireless) I put the lap top in front and in order to be able to see the screens I had to nearly close the blinds which is why the bird came in the first place.

Here he is – that's as close as I could get. Hope you can make him out.

Two Guys in North Hollywood.

The last post was supposed to be about the following story but I never plan these things. I start writing and I just waffle on till I finish then I copy and paste; so this is what I meant to write last time:

When I was in Los Angeles my agent called and told me that someone wanted to see me about doing a play called The Homecoming by Harold Pinter; now I love Harold Pinter's plays as the dialogue is so real even though it looks unusual on the page and people don't always know what the play is about as most of it is in the subtext. 

For instance there is such a thing as a Pinter Pause although you might not see it in a dictionary. Let me look and see.

Well it isn't in a dictionary but it's on Google - The Pinter Pause. Pauses run through all of Pinter’s work – and they occur in The Homecoming a whopping 224 times. The “Pinter pause” is typically found partway through a line of speech. It’s not a prolonged or pregnant pause of the kind that’s often used to draw attention to a particular moment.

Well there it is and it mentions the very play I am talking about. I did The Caretaker many many years ago by Harold Pinter. The dialogue was so cleverly written that after more than 50 years I can still remember some of it - “There's a café just along the road; I used to go there quite a bit. Oh years ago now but I stopped. That's was before I went away just before . . .”

There we are and I didn't cheat.

The play was going on at the Lee Strasbourg Institute in West Hollywood and I had to go and meet a couple of guys in North Hollywood – the valley.

I had been up for a few roles where my agent was told I was a nice guy – charming, easy to work with – all of that but the role I was going for was a nasty piece of work and the character was eighty years of age. I wasn't going to wear 80 year old make up or anything like that, but they (the agents) wanted me to turn off the charm.

The character was Max and he really was nasty. It was played by Paul Rogers who won a Tony Award for it when he played it on Broadway when he was about 50 years of age – so I wasn't intimidated by that when I went along to see the The Two Guys in North Hollywood.

I had in mind that I was a nasty piece of work which meant I didn't want to flirt with them or try and impress them; I'd be good mannered, pass the time of day but be serious; I wouldn't frighten anybody with my smile. I remembered once I went for the role of the father in the Oxo commercials in the UK and the day after I left the casting session I got a call from them; a callback. So I went in to work that day – I was doing something for the BBC called Goodbye Darling with a very selective cast Renee Asherson, Faith Brook and TP McKenna to name but three (which I just got from the IMDb) and I told the pal I had at the time, Tom Georgeson, that I had a callback and he said 'no way – you're not a dad' and I said I've got three kids at home' 'you may have' he said ' but you're not a DAD; you're just not.'

I understood what he meant, I just wasn't the type. A bit later on that day my agent called and said 'they changed their mind' 'why?' I said

'it's your eyes!”

'what???? my eyes?'

'you have the eyes of a killer. If you don't smile there's a look of a killer in your eyes.'

I told Tom – 'told you' he said.

But they were right – I did a small movie once 'The Swimming Pool' in Bournemouth (which seems to have disappeared without a trace) and I didn't blink throughout the whole movie – yes I looked like a killer.

So I was bearing this in mind when I was heading over to meet the Two Guys in North Hollywood.

This was in the days when I had just started to carry a cell phone but I never used it; it was stuck in my pocket. After I parked I found my way to the place where I was headed, all Raymond Chandler and bright Pulp Fiction sunshine and shadows and then it started to rain – not pour just a flicker and when I got to the place there was a note on the door 'please call 555 1212 (good number that 555; used in every movie, the 555 bit, up to fairly recently – yes every movie). I didn't want to be doing that. 

I didn't know how much a call would cost and my phone could only stay in my pocket free till I used it as that meant I had accepted the terms. I looked around; this was some way from the city of North Hollywood closer to the valley and I could not see a payphone.

It rained a little heavier so I made the call 'hi' – 'you have no door bell?' I said 'who's this' the voice said 'who's this!!!' 'are you the three-o-clock?' he said 'no I said I'm the actor.'

They buzzed the buzzer which buzzed me up.

The two guys were in the living room – one was the lead actor (playing Lennie, I suppose) and the other was a lot older; the director.

'what was all that about?' I said 'it's raining out there.'

'take a seat.' so I did.

I looked at the pair of them (killer eyes; don't forget killer eyes.)

Small talk but no smile, no pleasantries, one word answers nothing more.

We read the whole play – the guy playing Lenny was quite good, had an acceptable British accent. Never English accent, by the way, they always say British.

I have to say – I read it really well; so did the other guy. There was a lot of tension on the air. He read the other roles too. I hadn't read it before but I was a good sight reader and I played it cool. Not much humour and when we finished it was 'Whew!! Wow. That was good man.'

Now was the time to let go, be nice, maybe smile – but I couldn't.

Mister nasty just sat over there on the sofa.

They felt awkward; I could tell.

'If I offer you the role of the younger guy' said the director – 'how would that be? I mean this guy is eighty if he's a day.'

'Paul Rogers played this on Broadway at fifty.' I said.

'yes well we can't take those chances.'

I tried to be pleasant but it didn't come. I remember doing a play on the stage where a tear came into my eye at the end of a scene and when I went off, the tear was still there; I had to take a few breaths and long one out to come to my senses.

It was the same with those two guys.

The director did call a week later 'that was an outstanding reading' he said 'but we just can't use you.'

'Keep in touch' I said.

And hung up.

The Casting Director Casts.

A lot has been written about casting directors and the way they cast plays, movies and television drama, and whether, in fact, they cast anything at all or even direct. The first point I'll make is that the casting directors I know are usually quite clever, sometimes with a degree in English or drama (they may even be ex-actors) or even risen through the ranks from being a casting director's assistant. It's not as easy as it looks; I have done it a couple of times – mostly for myself – for small cast productions one was for a movie in Hollywood, a movie that I was supposed to be in and which got as far as the read through but the money didn't arrive to carry on so the film went in to turnaround which is a term they use for saying it's gone up in smoke.

Now the read through is when everybody is cast and in America it is called the table read; but no matter what you call it they are quite pleasant experiences to me at least; you get to meet everybody who turns up and hang out.

Some years ago I had a role in a BBC Shakespeare in which I had only one line. The reason I got the gig was that I was a good broad sword fighter – at least that's what I told the director - so I had to learn before the job started and get better during the three or four weeks of rehearsals; which I did.

The read through for that was held at the BBC Rehearsal Rooms in North Acton, which I have mentioned before and, to use an old phrase, I was the only person there I hadn't head of; there was Helen Mirren, the guy who played Darth Vader in Star Wars – David Prowse – James Bolan and others too many to mention.

Also around the huge table were the producer, the director, famous and not so famous cast and some not too well known but considered geniuses or even genii, in the profession.

Huddled up in one corner of the table was a group of scholars and experts from some of the most renowned places of education and research into all folios of Shakespeare's work life and repute. It was their job to listen to every word, pronunciation, stress and accent and who, out of all who were seated around, do you think they came up to see when it had all finished?

Yes – me!

One of the fellows (for he was a fellow and not a fella) came up and said 'is that the way you are going to pronounce importunes?'

I was struck dumb ' . .erm . .erm . .whi . .whi . . which . . what word?'

'we think it should be importunes – you said importunes.'

' oh I see'

'a bit American I think your way.'

I sat back down.

'Bit American aye!'

You may ask who cast this production, well it was done by the director himself and the interview was arranged by his PA.

We just talked and talked for half an hour or so. He wanted to know which role I should play and I said William - I had played William in the theatre and it got plenty of laughs but he didn't agree.

I played Dennis and when I got there that day for the read through he said 'You told me you were rather good at broad sword fighting.'

That information plus my personality had impressed him and I think that's the way to cast.

But the most important thing to me, when I cast my play in 2016, was the fact that as soon as I cast someone to play my daughter and she agreed and we did the deal she was in the most powerful position in the scheme of things. From the moment I cast her I was relying on her to play the role. Maybe most directors don't realise that but it's a fact.

I was up for a movie in Los Angeles and when I arrived at the casting session there were over fifty people there for the job; boys and girls.

They were working as quickly as they could; we went in, had a quick word with the director then I filmed a scene with a girl – I say a girl which, I suppose, is not quite politically correct but who gives a stuff - but she was young enough to play my daughter and old enough to vote. They were casting for both roles and the story was about a father who kept the daughter in a confined way as some kind of obsession and I had to use an American accent.

A week later I got a call back and when I arrived I sat with two of the contenders for the daughter. A little while later a well known actor arrived – well known in Hollywood as I had seen him being interviewed on TV but no movie star or anything like that.

He didn't look at me but chatted to someone who worked there asking if he could sit somewhere else in private – I thought that was a bit of a cheek – and they put him into the casting director's office as he was with the director.

So it was between the two of us.

After a few minutes David Carradine came in and I thought well that's it then I might as well go home, but he came up to the girl that I was going in with and said 'I need a pee!'

He had been waiting in the car for her outside.

So it was between the two of us after all – well I didn't get it. 

I got on well with the director, we both did some good work in there, she produced tears and we got on really well.

A week or so later I went to the Pantages Theatre to see a musical – Miss Saigon, I think it was – and as we were in the foyer the casting director came up to me and said 'you were their other guy' which I think about sums me up.

The rhine in Spine!

Audrey Hepburn and Rex Harrison in My Fair Lady.

Hey – sorry to have been away for so long. Lots of other things on my mind recently – apart from Brexit - and that will be the last time I mention it in this post.

But it's a funny world – I looked on line yesterday and saw that a luxury hotel in Pakistan had been invaded by a couple of gun toting terrorists. I looked on TV, at the news, and the only piece of news that mentioned Pakistan was the fact that they were playing cricket against India – no mention of the gun battle.

Just how many tiny wars are going on around the world without us knowing about them, or even having heard of the country and just who is Big Pharma the mysterious conspiracy of nut cases who run the world from some cave in some desert in some place hard to pronounce.

I looked the other day at the figures for this blog and guess what? I have clocked over 200,000 page views – or hits – since I started. So you see, even though I haven't been active with new material the blog still gets red. I have often wondered how to spell the past tense of read and I think its the same, read; I put red in so you don't confuse it.

Pageviews today

79

Pageviews yesterday

40

Pageviews last month

1,155

Pageviews all time history

200,132

Sorry I can't change the font there so it remains tiny.

Here are some figures for now 2.31 pm. May 12^th:

Posts

Entry	Pageviews
The IMDb being sued by mysterious actress. Oct 24, 2011, 2 comments	79
My teenage love story! Feb 21, 2012, 4 comments	15
Are the Royal Family Lizards? Jan 29, 2011, 2 comments	13
The pound sign V the hash key. Oct 7, 2011	11
Buddy Holly, Norman Petty and PAYOLA in The King o... Jan 5, 2016, 2 comments	5

The above are for the week – there are also advertisements placed somewhere within the post – and not many of you are clocking in to them.

Another thing: have you noticed how the word so is used these days to start sentences. By politicians, contestants of Quiz Shows . . in fact nearly everybody.

QUIZ SHOW HOST.

What is your name and what do you do?

CONTESTANT.

So: my name is George and I'm an attorney.

Silly isn't it? It's like saying very fun – just bad! Plain bad English. It's either very funny or fun! Do you know why? Because fun is a noun, believe it or not, and very is an adverb and you can only put an adverb in front of a verb – it 's a bit like saying very table, very chair, but it still gets used, has been in America for a long time, and now it's creeping in over here.

I think they're very fun.

I know, I know I point out these little things out about the language and that you should say you and me and not you and I and I go around misusing the language as much as the next but – the people who misuse it, saying different to instead of different from are the professional broadcasters, who should know better, and we don't have Clive James to point these things out any more. Basically, in essence, you know what I mean. But you will know more when my people talk to your people!!!

So that's it for now and I won't leave it so long before the next piping hot piece of pure poetical particularization.

Goalie or goalkeeper?

             

                                        Gordon Banks

There's an old saying, what I know about football wouldn't get my hair cut. And that about sums me up as I haven't been watching it for very long – well about ten to twenty years; forty – let's face it sixty and I still only know it from the survival end. I have no knowledge about tactics, plans, diamond shaped formations or pressing. I just know what I know. The people in the crowd at football matches know everything about it - or think they do.

What I know about football – we are talking about asSOCiation football, and you can see that little word in caps there which is why America calls it soccer – is that I have followed, for all that time, a team called Aston Villa. I am in good company as Tom Hanks likes the Villa and so does King Billy – the next king after Charles (if, indeed he calls himself Charles; his granddad, Albert, called himself George – bit like the pope, you see).

I have followed other teams too – Liverpool and Manchester United – but only as a passing interest.

The one thing I have noticed about football, in all that time, is that it has changed and not always for the better. When I first started watching, a ball would be passed from either of the wings and as the ball reached inside the six yard box, the goalie and the centre forward would jump up for it and if the goalie caught it the centre forward would shoulder charge the goalie over the goal line and it would be a goal.

When Aston Villa last won the cup, they played, maybe, the best football team ever; the Busby Babes. The team of 1957. The final was marred by a collision after only six minutes between Villa forward Peter McParland and United goalkeeper Ray Wood, which left Wood unconscious with a broken cheekbone. Wood left the pitch and Jackie Blanchflower took over in goal for United. Wood eventually rejoined the game in an outfield position as a virtual passenger before returning to goal for the last seven minutes of the game. 

Not long after that game, on February 6^th 1958, most of the United team were killed in a plane crash in Munich.

In doze daze (those days) there was no such thing as a substitute as, before you ask, no, Wood wasn't subbed. In another cup final someone went off after a short time and the team carried on with ten men. So they introduced substitutes after a lot of nagging with old sweats saying the game will never be the same; an injury was the only reason for substitution which has evolved in to making the use of substitutes into tactical decisions which football has never been able to use correctly like other sports such as Basketball; even Rugby have a more sensible approach to new ideas – but not football. You may think they need to come into the twenty first century but I would say they need to come in to the twentieth first.

It is such a reactionary sport, very conservative when you can count on one hand the number of gay footballers who have ever come out; there are quite a few, believe me, but the powers that be in football are only just about managing racism.

I missed most of the Premiere League when we lived in America, only watching the World Cup, which was strange when we would hear the American commentators referring to PKs (penalties) and one of them used to call the goal the onion bag. So when I came back and started to watch the Premiere League I was startled at the quality of the football, the skill of the players and the excitement of the whole thing. Of course most of the live football is on Sky TV which costs an arm and a leg so I am quite satisfied with Match of the Day which is on BBC TV.

The one thing I did notice was that the goalie, these days, doesn't seem to run out to punch the ball away, or even catch it, as often as they used to, preferring to stay on the goal line and taking a chance.

Talking of goalies, I was talking about football to a pal, when I lived in LA, and I mentioned the goalkeeper; 'the what?' my pal said 'the goalkeeper!' I said – 'never heard them called that before' he said.

Gordon Banks died recently; possibly England's greatest goalkeeper, maybe even the shortest. He made a famous save in the 1970 world cup from, maybe the greatest ever footballer, Pelė, which people say was the best save ever. The people who say that didn't see all his saves, of course, and, even though I have used it once or twice, there is no such thing as the greatest anything – even a country (sorry America) – but Banks would be up there if there was such as thing.

At his prime Banks got into a car crash and lost the sight in his right eye – he was a great ambassador for football after that, but had to sell his world cup medal later on because of financial difficulties; footballers were always on low money and these days most of them are not great earners but Banks was dedicated as most footballers are.

Banks would dive for every shot – even the ones he knew were going wide – and when asked about this he would say it would warm him up, get him ready and make him feel part of the game.

                                               

Between the Sheets; a gambling tale.

Now here's a little tale for you; and it's true. A tale is usually a tale, which means it's not true and I sometimes have to think whether it's tale or tail but when I see tail I know which one it is.

Some time ago when I had only been acting for about three years, this was after a year of night school and three years full time at drama school, although most of the rest of them called it college – in fact that college is now a university, or UNI, as they call it.

We were living in Northampton; we moved there, or relocated, as they say, because we could afford to buy a house there and it was about one hour from London by train or car.

Near to Christmas I got a job in a TV series called Hunter's Walk which was shot at Elstree Studios, less than an hour from our house.

The series was set in Northampton and that may be why I got the job as they guessed I might be able to do the accent. The people from London usually think that the Northampton accent was the same as Birmingham and the Birmingham people hear it as a London accent.

The fact is the director didn't know where I lived and when I met him I was up for the leading guest role – if there is such a thing. In America it would be called guest star. When I walked in to the waiting room one of the other actors, who was up for the same role, told me that he knew the director. He was touching wood with his hand and saying 'I know him – I know him' and crossing his fingers and when he went in he said 'wish me luck!'

Well what do you know – what about my luck?

I went in and we got on okay; I read for the role in my cod Northampton accent and the director seemed very pleased and was telling me how much he liked my portrayal, now ordinarily I would take this as a lot of encouragement but then I remembered the words 'I know him – I know him' so I didn't quite believe him.

'I think you did very well with that' he said 'you could easily play it' then the kicker came in – 'there are a few other roles to cast, as this character has some pals if . . .' and I knew what was coming ' . . . if you don't get this role would you be interested in one of the other parts – he has three pals.'

'Yes' I said and when I left the room he said 'see you in rehearsals.'

And that's how it turned out.

I didn't know the other actor but he was well known and I've seen him on TV and in movies and I think he went into one of the soaps.

There was a very well known Irish singer, exceptionally popular in Britain, with hit records, his own television show called Val Doonican. On the first day I arrived in reception at Elstree he was talking to a receptionist and I walked straight up to him, shook his hand warmly and said 'hey Barry – what are you doing here?' he looked totally confused. 'Barry' I said, then I realised who it was; Val bloody Doonican.

I made my apologies and slinked off. Every time I went in the bar after that, and he was there, he would say 'hello Barry' and laugh.

It was a fine friendly job and I was in a few scenes, too long ago to remember exactly, but we had to go to Wellingborough, which is in Northamptonshire and come out of a pub, drunk, get in to a taxi after making a load of noise and banter and then after that back to rehearsals in Elstree.

I can't remember how long I worked there but it was a few weeks and when we finished it would be Christmas. Seems easy, up to Christmas, a nice load of money from the job but . . . . it usually takes a few weeks to get paid by the time they have sorted everything out; we didn't get wages we got a fee. Bit like an attorney or some other professional but to me I had to try and make sure I could pay for Christmas. Three kids and Santa to think about, in laws or parents and all that food booze and presents to buy but I reckon I had it sorted.

I know what you are thinking; this piece is called 'Between the Sheets; a Gambling Tale' and you are thinking what's that got to do with what I have been reading.

But relax dear reader as I think it comes now.

There is a card game called Between the Sheets. So you see it is nothing to do with romping rattling.

In the card game two cards are dealt to each player around the table. Everyone can see your cards as they are dealt face up.

So let us say you are dealt a four and a nine. The dealer now asks you if you would like to bet and how much are you wagering. The idea is to get the next card between those two numbers. You had a choice of (something like) 50 pence, one pound or the lot. If your card is now five, six, seven or eight, you are between the sheets. You get a pound back if you wager 50 pence, two pounds if you have bet one pound and if you have bet the lot you get all the money from the kitty in the middle of the table.

If your card is not between the sheets you have to throw your fifty pence, your pound or – and this is the interesting bit – you have to put whatever is in the kitty which is in the middle of the table.

The games last a long time as people go for the lot sometimes and clear all the money away. Sometimes people take their two pounds and they are quite satisfied with that especially when the money in the kitty has really piled up.

Oh? Something very important. An ace counts as a one or eleven – like in pontoon or black jack. If your two cards are both aces, one can count as an eleven and the other as one so if that happens you go for the lot as there is very little chance of you failing unless you draw one of the two aces left in the pack.

If you do that, and have three aces, you have to double what is in the kitty and if the game has been going for a long time there is a load of money on that table.

We had a few games, in the bar/canteen during breaks but the last time I played it, the game had been going for a long time. Some of the regular members of the cast had gathered round, people came over from the bar – not Val – and one of the clever clogs regular members of the cast said 'It's simple. All you have to do it go for the lot every time.'

Well we all heard him and as the cards went around we would win some, the odd two pounds, the odd one pound than I was dealt two aces. I didn't have a lot of cash with me, it was in the days before the ATMs but the cards were there like Steve McQueen in the Cincinnati Kid; two aces. I looked around and no one had been dealt another ace which meant there were two others in the pack and if one came to me, and I bet the lot I would have had to cover that huge pot, in fact double the whole amount.

I had to think about it. I could have bet the maximum, get two pounds but I knew I needed to take a chance. I had heard what clever clogs has said 'It's simple. All you have to do it go for the lot every time.'

But I didn't have any money – what I did have was a cheque book and with it a cheque guarantee card, which are extinct now. So I took my cheque book out, my card and said 'okay if I lose I'll settle with this.

The dealer said 'what do you want to do?'

Three kids and Santa to think about, in laws or parents and all that food booze and presents to buy and I reckoned I had it sorted but would I have it sorted if the wrong card came up?

'Deal' I said.

He dealt the card and I won – don't ask me to tell you what card it was, all I know is that it wasn't an ace.

We all shook hands and off I went in my Hillman Minx up the M1 to Northampton and Christmas.

This is a good gambling story – a bad one would be to try and do it again but there we go.