AlBarclay

First official walk of the year across Hampstead in the darkness. I do enjoy it, but it takes more time than it needs at the moment. I prefer to get to places of work early. It’s a well oiled habit, crucially important. I was late once for an audition at Spotlight despite that habit. I walked to Sloane Square. It was closed. I ran to Victoria. It was closed too. I panicked, tried to wait for a bus, realised it was pointless, got an expensive black cab through terrible traffic, left it at the top of Piccadilly and sprinted the rest of the way, got there only five minutes late because thankfully I’d left plenty of time. I got into my slot but the casting director was miraculously running on time, and typically she was well known. “You should always leave plenty of time,” she said down to me and I bit my tongue. She never got me in again. Sliding doors. That was maybe twenty years ago. Funny I remember it suddenly as I write, I can’t actually remember which casting director it was and there’s no way she’ll remember I was late. It’s all very doesn’t matter, but nevertheless these things sometimes roost in the corners of our memory and sap tiny tiny bits of happy from our days until we notice them, causing them to immediately crumble to dust.

The “being early” thing currently means I’m getting to The Old Bull and Bush two hours before we start, and I don’t like being in pubs when I still haven’t fully kicked the hold of the alcohol on my daily habits. And I’m about to go on a long walk when I get there. Perhaps I’ll start to bring my book.

Only fifteen in the audience for the first night so they moved pretty quick. It’s nice the guide personality I’ve made for myself. I’ve made him just a slightly madder version of me in a top hat, so I have license to grind various axes in a silly way. It was very very dark on the heath tonight but we all came through fine and despite some brief interactions we haven’t picked up any streetlife types who know we are regular. They’ll emerge I’m sure.

On the way home I illegally parked outside a Kuwaiti place in Knightsbridge and got a mutton curry takeaway. “Do traffic wardens operate at this time here?” I asked, and they didn’t have a clue what I was talking about. I showed them a picture. I immediately went into Extreme-E getting things in Saudi mode. “Oh, police!” “Yes police for cars.” “No no not at night.” I thought the wardens might be nocturnal there near Harrods just because there are lots of rich kids who do stupid shit with imported sports cars in that area. No ticket for Bergman, and we drove home with mutton curry.

It was an excellent idea, I just scoffed it: falling off the bone, great quality, big portion, loads of veg too. While I waited in the restaurant I realised I was the only person in there that speaks no Arabic, even though it was packed at 11.30pm. Sign of a good Arabic place. Nom. You can get so much in this city.

A lovely morning filming. I was auditioning early afternoon and hadn’t had time to prep for anything, which was disconcerting, but still managed to keep my head on what we were doing. It all went by in a flash to be honest but I think we got some good bits. I was knackered but had to rush across town. In person auditions are like gold dust, and this was five of us at the same time. All strangers apart from one friendly face from The Factory. Into a room for chemistry reading. I panicked. They were all panicking too. Auditions are horrible when you want it cus you have to fight the tendency to try and show everything in a short space of time and thereby show nothing. Ooh it was full on and I left absolutely shot to pieces with sour adrenaline.

Drove across London to get some tape for Lou. Ordered a dirty chai in a hipster joint. Drove to Clara’s to have a look at it – that’s a restaurant deli I was involved with building. It looks fab. I was gonna have lunch there with Lou on Saturday but they cancelled us.

Drove home. Then bounced out pretty much straight away to see Mike at The Chelsea Arts Club. It is crowded in there still. Lively. And at my age it is always nice to feel you’re bringing the average age down. I was on the non alcoholic beer and didn’t last long. I’ve got very drunk in there before – I usually do. I got fidgety being there post audition. Wanted very much to get some liquid forgetty juice. But I can’t be in avoidance right now, have had too many setbacks this year, I have to point forward and fire myself into life.

Mike and I mulled over some ideas around the things we like to do and the need to make money. I got him a pint and thought about my mum’s old actor mate Jack Hedley who took me to the Arts Club as a teenager to try and talk me out of it all. “It’s a hard life,” he told me. And it doesn’t get any easier. The estate agents I was at school with could buy me with their tax bill.

Home now. Saw an article posted by Captain Shouty #235574 on my social media. This particular Captain Shouty really doesn’t like people who don’t look like him. The article he shared was framed with a disparaging comment about “the ‘be kind’ brigade”. This is where we are now, where small minded hateful rhetoric has been so mainstreamed that people who think that perhaps we shouldn’t be horrible are dismissed like that. I honestly don’t know how we are gonna get out of this, where kindness is openly framed as contemptible. I think we might just generally be doomed. So hey, lets make art and BE the BE KIND Brigade and keep it up as they tear us apart because they’re scared of those pesky things they’ve made up, or that all other people are secretly as selfish and rapacious as they are.

Maybe a hot bath.

Oh fuck it. Another death. Richard Ireson.

Agents have been a complicated journey for me until I found Esta. But it started well, with Richard Ireson and Frazer Ashford up in Coulsden with Narrow Road. Frazer was new in agenting but working closely with Richard. There was personality and I felt understood – I find I respond best to personality. It was a good few years before various factors began the remarkable agent waltz which saw me dance through Amy and Nicola and Sarah and David and Iona and people whose names I have actually forgotten, who were sometimes getting me in for parts I honestly wouldn’t have played in a million years and other times just sitting on me waiting for me to wither or jump. Some were great but had to quit or pull back for a multitude of reasons. This is a tough tough industry full of people trying to make it look easy. It takes its toll on people’s mental health. We stick together, those of us who still get up and start running again. There’s a lot of love. It’s why so many of us call each other darling.

Lou loves the Mike Leigh film Nuts in May and Richard plays a cop in it. I saw it with her and recognised him and loved it. Frazer went not so long ago and I’ve just heard that Richard died too. Sad news on a dark evening. I’ll miss him.

I’m recalling tomorrow for a Shakespeare. Still doing this stupid job. He gave me a lift at the start of it bless him. He was one of the people that knew I was gonna keep fighting and keep believing and keep growing no matter what. I loved him for that.

I’ve sent my love to his son. He’s carrying the torch like a hero.

I helped an actor friend of mine move house today, from Folkestone back to London. She paid me, but I kept my rate low as she’s an actor. She’s moving back into town too! Means she can come to Factory sessions 🙂

I helped move her out a few years ago. The exodus is flipping. It’s like my mate Tom who stays on the sofa from time to time – he’s gonna be coming back before long, I betcha. The vortex of this city keeps pulling. I get it. Part of me is looking away now, but even sober I do love this crazy town. Haven’t been out in it like I used to, to five different house parties in one night, but the city changes and I’m getting older, and reminding me once more, the spectre of death just around the corner for us all in the scheme of things. I watched the original Producers with Lou the other day and wondered if anyone in it is still alive today.

I didn’t know about Richard dying, it was a while ago now. I’m not in regular contact with his son and his client who is my friend – we aren’t as close as we used to be these days. Sad news though. He would have affected many actors running a big agency like that. There is a sense of family in all this madness after a while. Many will be upset by the news, announced more publicly today. Another good one. Damn. Fuck you, death.

Just made it to bed by midnight. I’m gonna need to come up with a better way of going about the Halloween Walk tonight. It was the dress rehearsal. My car was parked at the start, at The Old Bull and Bush. But we finish at the King Willy which is miles away. If Lime Bikes or scooters stopped anywhere near the Bull it would be easy, but they don’t and I’m in a cape and hat. I’d feel like a target walking back across the Heath. So my plan was to wait for Jo who usually used to leave the pub before me. But turns out I don’t want to be in the pub at all. Without booze it’s just a choice of sugar and it is all so insipid and unwanted. A lovely lady bought me a ginger beer and it was horrible and I smiled and when Jo left I jumped at the chance.

Jo hasn’t the space for me in her car, just for my clothes. So I left them with her parked outside the Duke of Hamilton and I wandered off into the dark to get to Bergie. Walking north to drive south.

I’m home now and tired and I’ll need to rethink that as I’m gonna do lots of those walks in the next few weeks. It’s fun while it’s happening but it seems without the draw of getting mildly sloshed as we go that it starts to feel more like a job than a jaunt. Let’s face it, in the end I’m doing this to make some money. And a little bit of me longs for what I was doing this time last year. But everything has a season.

A tiny little dress rehearsal audience tonight, just a few people, make it intimate and playful, find my way. I’m making this up so there’s nobody hanging over me but me, but that doesn’t stop me getting judgey. I’m still finding some of the gags, some of the moments. Sometimes it’s down to the other people there and playfulness. Other times it needs to be tidied up.

I’m knackered though. “If I was you I would have found a way to get one of those little microphone and amps,” says John, who was at Guildhall with me. “But I know you, you can always be heard, and you can keep it up forever.” Yep. Poor Lou. But being a foghorn doesn’t come cheap. It’s muscular. And I’m not as young as I used to be.

Early start tomorrow though, something different again. I’m enjoying this autumn and snatching my downtime when I can. I think I’m gonna brush my teeth and take something to shut my head up and set an alarm.

I would normally be half cut by now, so in the end it’s probably for the best I’m not drinking.

Monday. The actors day off. Brighton. A relaxing place by the sea. Lou. A very chilled person. All the things.

Inevitably we went to a sauna. I brought my Gucci Slides wot I bought off Vinted for a few quid, and the pair of Topshop trunks that Frank left at mine and replaced. If we ever go to the sauna now, Frank and I, we’ll have matching Topman fire shorts.

We went to Luna Wave up Beaconsfield Road and at this time of year with the dark closing in it is glorious to just lie in heat and let your endorphins pretend it’s summer. Of course they’re obsessed with the things in Scandinavian countries – anything that can stave off the cold. I’m sure they’re atrocious for the environment, but … no more so than air con.

I’m feeling absolutely zoned out and Lou is cooking risotto for us both so this is my window for writing. Every day she’s closer to heading off to Saudi, so I’m trying to get my daily scribblings done when she’s otherwise engaged to get maximum time with her.

I might be living here a fair amount when she’s gone, but there’s a recall for a tour that’ll put me on the road again, out in one of the most recent world dictatorships, I’ll likely have to archive a few dozen of my blogs before the visa application goes in, including this one. So I’ll have to say one of the keywords I’ll be searching for. America.

I’m feeling so very relaxed, it’s wonderful. This little happy flat with this very particular cat. I’ve just brushed her to within an inch of her life and pulled off a whole cushion stuffing worth of catfluff. I reckon we’ll be in bed by nine tonight and I’m up for that. The dark is closing in, so the morning is the best part of the day.

Fingers crossed for my little tour landing. Still got to do a recall. I’m really hoping. I could do with a bit of creative focus, and it might not be a career job but it is certainly a life job…

Dad’s 100th birthday meal. He was largely absent. Probably off racing powerboats or rally driving somewhere, diving for treasure or cutting some deal on the golf course. Or he’s been dead 25 years. I can never keep up with him. Rupert and Bea hosted it.

When I first got wind of it I thought it was unlikely I’d be able to get there. Lou is shooting off all around the Middle East for months soon and I want to spend time with her – which largely involves being in Brighton and the vicinity because of the fluffster cat. But I thought I’d invite her and see if she could make it, and it worked well. She came up.

Rupert is the head of the family now, the head of the clan. Family was always terrifically important to my dad, and when so many of my immediate relations died in a short space of time when I was young, I found myself propelled out of that world and building a chosen family held together with dreams and alcohol. Rupert stepped into the actual family void. We even had a road trip. It’s delightful.

Family meals could often be oppressive and formal growing up, but now there’s a lightness. I remember when Lou first met Rupe, it was just after the Kirkaldy Museum play I made with Sammy, and she had noticed him in the audience. “I immediately saw the smile in his eyes,” she said and it’s a clear observation. He didn’t always carry that smile in his eyes but he does now.

We all had good food in his gorgeous home. Lots and lots of Barclays, and Lou. It was great she came. Lazlo my nephew is pescatarian so he made salad and fish for her while we all ate steak and mushroom pie. Then a walk in the square.

I really want to somehow get a copy of the key to Rupert’s London Square. They are very restricted, as the locals don’t want people shooting up there at night, or throwing beer cans around. It’s like Chelsea Physic Garden in there though, perfectly manicured, peaceful, bright. At the moment though, the Amaranthus Cordatus are out – “love lies bleeding” – and they very much want you to go away:

Coffee and back here. Long old drive but we are by the seaside with mistress fluff and early bed with chamomile is calling.

Pockets of things to forget, all over this flat. Sometimes I am motivated enough to look at one of them a moment and usually it turns out that pretty much the entire contents of an area have been put there not because they’re precious but because they are not good enough to sell, I don’t like them enough to display, and they’re not bad enough to throw out.

Today the mood was on me enough that I cleared through a fair amount of it all. The crap got chucked, the mediocre got recycled, the good got consolidated. Now I’ve got much more space in my living room and one or two things in a different place, and just one thing I’m curious to get looked at for value.

Brian was brilliant helping out. It’s easier with two. I got disillusioned a few times and trapped in memory a few times, but considering I like moving energy there’s an awful lot still stagnating around me in this place. I’ll need a few more days like this for sure, but this was a good one. It still feels like I’m surrounded by shite, but we are going away from the piles and not towards them.

We had a proper hoarder downstairs in the block for years. He’s gone now. I helped him into his house one night when he was drunk and had soiled himself after a fight with a taxi driver. There was nowhere to move. Piles of encrusted junk everywhere, little corridors in them, to serve the daily pathways. I noticed things of mine that he had pulled out of bins just lying there. I think eventually his family jumped him and put him in a home and then it all went into skips. Probably a huge amount of absolute rubbish and one good thing. Problem is, the best thing was probably hidden in an old sock in the broken washing machine, and everything on display was junk. But in the end it’s all just stuff.

Brian and I went in the car to the dump. Could’ve taken more stuff, I got home and clocked some old paint pots I had just not seen, but it is clearer in here, and I’m not gonna get pissed off about anything we chucked today. I’m getting better as I get older which is a good thing. Processed too much stuff from too many people to make that old common mistake of attributing value to everything. Most of it will go for not much plus work.

So I’m chilling out in the early evening, watching the last few episodes of Breaking Bad with Brian and Maddy who have absolutely nailed that series and are doubtless gonna get into Better Call Saul next. Uncomfortable but lavish telly.

I’ve been looking forward to this morning. I switched off all my alarms and let myself sleep until I woke. When that happened I still had the guilty feeling that perhaps I was supposed to be doing something but I wasn’t. So I sent some invoices and did a bit of admin and tried not to get too pissed off with the plumber who took over my day yesterday.

Outside of the expensive plumbing bill I had a good audition for one of my favourite Shakespeare plays – it’s not done as often as the others, and I think it speaks to who I have become a lot more than many of the better known plays. As You Like It. Just a first round at the moment so I can’t give it too much thinking time. I think it would just hit the spot right now after a depressing autumn, to go into winter knowing I have some acting work, even if it isn’t an easy one to get industry types to come and see.

Today though, no audition. No real need to motivate myself outside of the ever present desire to make money. I stayed at home, topped up my pill carousel, relaxed and read books and organised my diary. I planned a few jobs, made a few phone calls, lined up the next few things.

My diary is filling up again and it is as eccentric as ever. Some days I’ll have to switch my head a couple of times, but I’ll fit it all in and come out the far side still able to eat nice food, no richer, no poorer but happy and without having to bin the bad luxurious habits. It’s just as well I also love a meal deal sandwich snack and drink. They rarely make the blog but they go in with astonishing regularity. I also have a disconcerting habit of forgetting to eat entirely. That was what I did after the plumber the other day.

Siwan Jo John Canice and I all piled onto the Heath and I staggered around hungry working out the journey through this year’s Halloween walk. I think I’ve got my head on the structure now. The content and finding ways of pinning it together and calling things back – that’s next. There’s still time. Dress rehearsal on the 14th. I hope my riding cape is still in the attic. Should probably check. I also want to try and fill my hat with helium balloons, but it’s probably not going to work like I imagine it will.

The Hampstead Creperie is still cash only and I love them for it. £10.50 and there’s a hot asparagus ham and cheese thing for you to tear into. There’s still frequently a queue and I will buy crepes there as much as I can to support one of the few people that haven’t bought into this “proud to be card only” fuckery.

I’m just writing words though at this point. I’m happy and chilled. Just had a bath. Did so little today I’m mostly having to write about yesterday. That’s a Friday. Oh wonders. Tomorrow Brian and I are gonna get our DIY heads on.

Ninja Plumbers. The clue’s in the name. Stealthy, unseen, painful.

I sent them a video ages ago and told them exactly what was needed. A new tap in the kitchen. An adjustment to the pipes under the sink. I was clear about it. I’ve been bitten before by tradesmen. Was hoping they would come with a tap like I suggested and some valves. That’s all we needed. It’s very very hard to find someone who will come to this post code and not slap a load of hidden charges onto the bill. I wanted to avoid the callout and made it very clear I was in no hurry.

How much did they charge me to change the kitchen tap? I dare you? Make a guess? Say it out loud.

It’s more.

The first figure he gave me was about £475. The work was done already by this point. I was so horrified I could barely speak. Eventually we got as far as £430. And I paid him. I had to. Couldn’t look him in the eye. I am still fuming. I paid £430 to change the tap in the kitchen. Just to stop a harmless but annoying water hammer noise. £430 is the amount I paid for that work. A business charged me £430 for a tap change. A change of tap cost £430. Four hundred and thirty British pounds sterling. £215 per half tap. £107.50 for a quarter tap. £53.75 for an eighth tap. Over £25 for one sixteenth of a tap. Over £13 for a single 32th of a tap fitting. Over £6.70 for a 64th.

I’m saying this a lot just because I need to look at it from many angles, just to see if there’s one where it doesn’t look so fucking absurd. £430. Four. Hundred. And. Thirty. Pounds. To change a kitchen tap.

The worst thing is, I dared to dream. These guys are local. “Maybe the Chelsea Tax isn’t applied when they are local,” I told myself. £430 for a tap change. For a change of tap £100 times 4 and £10 times 3 all added together.

I’m gonna need a lot of plumbing in the next year or so. I’ve needed it for years and I’m trying to look at it, but I can’t do it with no fucking money left and if all the plumbers are like this. I have not done it yet because every fucking time without fail they see me coming and that ole Chelsea Tax is applied and it drives me mad.

I once got a quote over the phone and then after I gave my address they phoned me back and slapped another £200 on the quote. “My guy quoted you wrong.” He didn’t know where I live yet. It’s fucked. It’s fucked. It’s fucked. I still need to find a plumber that isn’t gonna do that. Anyone with leads in the area, send them my way. The guy today was solid, I liked him. But he hadn’t seen the video I sent, hadn’t brought the tap and piping like I suggested, took the long way round, ended up somehow charging £430. To fit a tap. Tried to charge more. A tap to fit, £430, for a tap a kitchen tap in the kitchen, a tap a tap a tap. I’m pretty fucking sure he went shopping on the clock and had his lunch.

He charged me a decent week’s wage to fit a tap.

I want to be sick on him. Big chunky bits of sick. He can afford the dry cleaning.

I’m gonna go test it now. I haven’t even checked to see if it comes out hot.

It comes out hot. At least he fit it ok. If it goes wrong… It won’t. It mustn’t. It can’t.

BEHOLD THE TAP OF MONEY

Probably shouldn’t link the business like I have but I’m not saying they’re a bunch of thieves. I’m just saying what they charged me and talking about what I got.

Fatima’s next job could be in plumbing, she just doesn’t know it yet.

Unbelievable.

£430. Four Hundred and Thirty Pounds.

Am I out of touch? Have I died and woken up in the future after crazy inflation? Or is that way way way too expensive, particularly considering I told them ahead of time precisely what was needed? What do we need a callout when the job is known? I should have bought a tap. Two hours on YouTube and the price of a tap and some tubing.

Or £430. Nah. Doesn’t look good from any angle.

“Don’t worry, there’s nothing illegal about it.”

So my old neighbour who I barely know sent me to Boots. He lives in Thailand and he wants me to post drugs to him. Apparently the old lady who used to do it is indisposed. Maybe she was arrested? Nah I’m sure it’s fine.

Boots is a pretty legit chemist, let’s be honest. They gave me the bags and I told the guy in the Post Office that it was Prescription Medication. He wrote “Prictiscion Medicine”.

It’s Tamsulosin. I’ve got no idea what it’s for or if it’s legal in Thailand. Off it goes with my name on it. I gave him my Monzo details and told him how much it was to post. It got me out of the house so I’m not too bothered, but if it’ll be every month or so I ain’t paying the man to be helpful.

Then I did a quid pro quo with Frank. A much better way to do business. He helped me get all my tools and Lou’s costume and my spare masks etc up to my flat so I’m not worrying about it. In exchange I drove his plants to his, and also gave him one of the Glyndebourne suit jackets as he had spilled glue on the first one. I started with about twenty and kept them because they are excellent for floor managing. You have to have a plain black suit jacket, at the end of a fourteen hour event shift it will be covered in shit and doubly so if you’re kitchen managing. You want a new one for every day of the event ideally. I would often be very unhappy by the third day, and up extra early when it is already an early start just to wash out a stain. I haven’t done that work for a few years now, but I’ve got the skillset and it’s always a world you can walk back into if you need to.

Someone has clonked the front of Bergman something rotten, while he was parked outside this afternoon. It was this afternoon, right outside mine. No doorbell cams looking at me. I think it was a scaff van turning in my cul de sac. It’s cosmetic but it’s a hard one not to see. Poor Bergie, he’s a mess of scratches now. I had a moment thinking it was malicious damage, but actually no. That’s when they spike a tyre or smash a light. This is not placed enough. It’s random. And annoying.

I took him up to Hampstead to rehearse Halloween, but Siwan dropped paint everywhere so we decided to just go to hers instead and rescheduled for tomorrow. Keeping it varied. Audition tomorrow afternoon… I’m gonna sign off.