Nando Returns

Tonight, I was sitting in the lounge, watching TV, when I started wondering when Nando would return from his trip to Italy. He said he'd be gone for twelve days, I think. He left on October 28th, so...ummmm...he should be back any moment, I thought to myself. Maybe, even tonight. Within a few minutes of me thinking that, there was the sound of someone putting a key into the front door lock. Who would it be coming in? Hitler's Nephew? The Landlord? Nando?
I looked to my right, towards the door. Nando stepped through the threshold, with a large suitcase. He looked well rested. Even though I have enjoyed having undisputed control over the TV remote, while Nando's been away, I am pleased to see him return. "What are you doing here?" he asked, in heavily accented English.
"I live here," I responded.
"You're not going up to do the radio, this weekend?" he probed further.
"I got a good price on a Saturday train, this week," I explained. After hearing my explanation, Nando adopted the look of someone satisfied. I asked if he enjoyed his trip and how his mama, and sister, were. "Yes," "good," and "good," were the replies I got back. He proceeded to take his heavy suitcase upstairs, to his room. It would be full of food, as his mama always sends him back to England with loads of food. I don't think she realizes that they have invented supermarkets, here in England. She's more like Christopher Columbus' mother, sending him off to explore. "Christopho, taka dis meat wid you, fa da tripa. Youse neva know wat mite appen," I imagine Columbus' mother saying. Wait a minute...why would she speak English with an Italian accent? She wouldn't. Like Nando's mama, she'd only speak Italian.

Sharing Chocolate

My racist, Italian housemate, Nando, has been doing a lot for me, lately. Today, I was able to do something for him. I brought home three chocolate brownies, from work. After dinner, I asked Nando if he wanted to join me for a brownie. I happen to know Nando loves chocolate, so I wasn't surprised when he accepted. As I was dishing them out, I decided to give Nando one and a half, while taking one and a half for myself. In this way, we used up all three brownies and avoided that awkward, future situation where I would have one for myself and none to give him.
I brought Nando's on a plate, to him. As I was back in the kitchen, getting my serving, Nando called out to me, "this seems like more than one." I chuckled to myself. Was he complaining? I explained that as I had three, I decided to split the entire amount in half. I think Nando wanted to make sure it was all for him, before he scoffed it all down, just in case I had put both of ours on one plate. Although not helping either of us in our diets, the chewie, chocolaty brownies tasted so good. Sometimes, even in the autumn, it's good to indulge yourself.

I Dream of Onions

I woke up this morning and remembered dreaming. They say that we each dream every night, but only remember dreaming occasionally. If we don't remember dreaming, what good is it? Anyway, this time I do remember. In my dream, I was walking along what is known as a "dual carriageway," here in Britain. In America, we'd call it a "divided highway." The point is, there's a "central reservation" (UK), or "median strip." (US) In the dream, I am walking in this center part, on the grass. All of the sudden, as I am walking along, looking down...
There's a tendency to look down, when your life is crap. It's as if you keep your head down, then no harm will come to you. Kind of/sort of a "see no evil" strategy. Or, the mindset of an ostrich. If you don't see it, it can't see you. It's not so much being scared, as it is feeling tired. Don't make eye contact with anyone and maybe they won't try to speak to you. Anyone who speaks to you must want something. Sometimes you can feel tired of being confronted with everyone else's wants.
Another reason to look down when you're walking is that you might find money. That does happen, sometimes. Still, I think the main reason is tiredness. Being tired of the constant grind life seems to have you under. "Leave me alone. I just want to get home and have a rest."
All of a sudden, as I am walking along, looking down... I see onions. A whole field of them. The grass seems to be full of them, still growing. I start picking them up, as many as I can carry. I am thrilled to be getting these free onions and carry my bounty home. What's it all mean?

Nando Feeds Me

The other day, Nando came home from work and started cooking. I was in the lounge, watching TV. Nando told me he was making homemade lasagna and asked if I wanted some. Free, homemade lasagna? Sure! I didn't have to lift a finger. I just sat back and continued watching television. In due course, dinner was ready. What a treat. Freshly made lasagna. What with Nando being Italian and all, I would expect his lasagna to really be good. It tasted good to me, but then I don't think I have that discerning a palate. So what's with Nando, lately? First he gives me two T-shirts, now he makes me dinner. Actually, I suspect it had more to do with him making more than he could eat himself. He even gave me seconds.

Love of Chocolate

The other night, my racist, Italian housemate, Nando, and I were watching TV together, as is our habit. Nando entered one of his occasional, talkative moods. He began telling me how he loves chocolate, but only at night. He's convinced that chocolate consumption is the root cause of his being overweight. I am more skeptical of this, suspecting that the double size dinners he often has have more to do with it. Even when he does limit himself to a single portion, the combinations of high calorie pasta and bread, which he likes, can play havoc with one's waistline. Washing it all down with beer, or heavily sweetened coffee, doesn't help either.
Nando said, "if there's chocolate in the house, I'll eat it." He reminded me how I have often witnessed him coming downstairs in the middle of the night, in order to eat some chocolate in the kitchen. I love chocolate too, but don't feel as compelled by it as Nando does. He told me that when he goes into a petrol station to pay for his petrol, seeing the chocolate bars on display, while he's queuing for the cashier, can lure him into a spontaneous purchase. I pointed out to him that I always resist buying chocolate bars at a petrol station, unless I am very hungry, as I realize the prices there are much higher than I can get in a supermarket. It seems that my desire to save money is even stronger than the lure of chocolate.
While we were having this conversation, all of the sudden a thought occurred to me. Stereotypically, it's women who are supposed to be into chocolate. Nando is a very masculine, man's man, yet here he was fawning over chocolate like some character in a chick flick. I know that the gay radio presenter, Bill Buckley (LBC 97.3 FM, London), is into chocolate. Like me, Bill likes his chocolate refrigerated. Nando is anti-gay enough to probably not appreciate having something in common with a gay man. Nor would Nando like being accused of having a girly fascination with chocolate. All of this makes me wonder, are men into chocolate as much as women are supposed to be? This question can best be considered while chewing on a milk chocolate bar.

What a Treasure

Last Saturday, I worked on a new film. It was only extra work, but I was grateful for the opportunity to earn some extra money, to put toward my car fund. I was pleased to discover that I was working on "National Treasure 2." The day's filming was at Pinewood Studios, on the back lot. I was playing a cowboy walking along the sidewalk in a town in one of the Dakotas (North, South...one of them). The costume department outfitted me with a black cowboy hat. How cool was that? The scene involved one of the principals, Ed Harris. I walk past as he comes out of a store. At a couple of points during the afternoon, he and I were as close as I am to this computer screen, right here on my desk. We passed each other like two ships in the night, only it was day and ships don't usually pass each other on the sidewalk. All this and we were served steak for lunch. Man, the movie business is great, isn't it?

Now Anchovies

Recently, I embarked on another culinary, experimental adventure. I was having lunch at the restaurant where I work between acting jobs, and I chose an item from the day's menu that came with anchovies. Anchovies are another one of those things that I decided I didn't like without trying. It stems back to childhood. I think I heard so many people say that they didn't like anchovies that I just imagined they must be horrible. The only place I had previously been offered anchovies was as a pizza topping. I couldn't imagine why anyone would want to ruin a perfectly good pizza by putting fish on it.
I can't remember what the dish was that Chef Anthony had adorned with a pair of anchovies, although it definitely wasn't pizza. I ate all of the meat, leaving the anchovies on the side. I looked down at the two, tiny fishies on my plate. Suddenly, it occurred to me that I had never tried anchovies. Emboldened by my recent success with cucumbers, I decided to try them. Picking up one little fishy with my fork, I shoved it into my mouth in one gulp. Not bad. I went on to eat the other one, as well. I still don't think I would chose them as a pizza topping, but I can now eat anchovies. Fortune favors the bold.

Sunday in the Pub With Neil

Having spent the night over my friend, Mucky Sarah's, flat, I started feeling hungry on Sunday morning. After hinting to a newly awakened Sarah that I desired sustenance, she graciously provided a piece of fruit. Realizing that one piece of fruit, while being an excellent start to the day, wouldn't sustain me for long, I gently inquired what her meal plans were. She responded by saying that she usually does Sunday roast. Of course, I mistook her "doing" Sunday roast for meaning that she actually cooked a Sunday roast dinner, as is traditional in Britain. I later learned that what Sarah meant was going to a pub and buying a roast dinner, served there.
Sarah received a telephone call from Neil, her ex-boyfriend. Neil and Sarah remain good friends, she assures me. I suspect that he still holds some interest in her, beyond friendship. The upshot of this telephone call was that Sarah was invited to meet Neil at a pub. I wondered whether I would be included, or cast aside. I needn't have worried, because Sarah expressed her intention to bring me along, before the phone conversation ended. I had mixed feelings about this development. Although I had heard Sarah speak about Neil on many occasions, I had yet to actually meet him. What would he think of me? Would he think there was something going on between me and her? I had already gathered that exactly that suspicion had occurred to him, based on overheard segments of the phone conversation. There is almost always a tension between strange males, when they come face to face in the presence of a woman.
Sarah decided that it would be best if we drove in separate cars, so I followed her to the pub. She brought her lovely little dog along, as the pub in question permits dogs to enter. Despite leaving late, we arrived there ahead of Neil. Walking through the door, I was surprised to discover the pub was empty of customers, except for us. It was July 1st, the first day of England's new smoking ban. I wondered if the ban was contributing to the low pub turnout, as it was now illegal to smoke in a pub. The woman behind the bar said the place had been packed the night before. They had a party to celebrate the last day of legal smoking, which the woman thought was causing people to be late getting out, this day. Even the food was running late and she advised us that the roast dinners wouldn't be ready until about 3PM. As it was already a little past 2PM, we didn't have long to wait.
Sarah bought me a drink and we set ourselves up at a moderately sized table. Even the dog had a drink, enjoying a bowl of water. After half an hour, Neil walked in. He looked older than I had been expecting and shared the trait, with me, of wearing glasses. He seemed very standoffish, at first, but gradually, we warmed to each other. By the time the food arrived, we had teamed up to tease Sarah about her refusal to eat certain meats and vegetables. All too soon, it was time for Neil to go. He left first, then Sarah. I stayed behind for a bit, enjoying one more drink before hitting the road. Don't worry, I was drinking sparkling water, all day.

I'm Eating Cucumbers

Recently, I have begun eating cucumbers. Not on their own, but in salads. For practically 47 years, I have disliked cucumbers. Now, all of the sudden, I have started eating them. Okay, to be fair, I didn't try them for the vast majority of that time. You know how when you're a kid and you just decide you don't like stuff without trying it? It was one of those type of things. However, in my defence, when I first ate some cucumber, accidentally, I didn't like it. It was all cold and gave me the shivers. It seems, now, that I have developed a taste for them. The same thing happened with me and beer. One of my mother's boyfriends gave me a sip of beer, when I was little. I thought it tasted horrible! It was all bitter and stuff. I pretty much stayed away from beer until I was 17. Then, while I was attending Syracuse University, I gradually developed a taste for beer. At Syracuse, many of the parties included free beer from kegs. It seemed to be drink that, or nothing.
About 14 years ago, I started eating zucchini. Speaking of which, in Britain they call zucchini, "courgette." That surprised me, when I came over here, that they have different names for some food. We speak the same language, supposedly, in America and Britain, but we have so many different names for things. Back then, I was dating a woman who was older than me. One day, she cooked pasta for me with zucchini in a cheese sauce. It was another case of trying something I had never tried before. Maybe the moral of this story is that you shouldn't decide you don't like a food without trying it. Either that, or it's that women get me to do stuff. The cucumber thing was caused by a woman, too. I was visiting a female friend of mine and she offered me lunch, or dinner, or something. Let's just say she offered me a meal. The meal included a salad. She put cucumbers in it, as she didn't know I didn't like them. The British seem mad about cucumbers. We go through a shit load of them at the restaurant. The salad was all tossed and covered in salad dressing, so I didn't spot the cucumber until I bit into a piece. It wasn't that bad. Now, I'm buying them myself.
I have stated buying lettuce, cucumbers, peppers, and making my own salad. I've been dieting for a few weeks and I decided to cut down on cole slaw, replacing it with fresh prepared salad. So, I wonder if cucumbers are good for you? They are green and stuff. I asked the sous chef, at work, if cucumbers are good for you. He said they were, because they are green and all green vegetables are good for you. I pointed out that green potatoes are not good for you. Trust me to rain on his parade. I've lost 14 pounds over the past month and I feel better. My friend, Tom, thinks cutting out the cole slaw will help my weight loss. I'm not so sure. Today, I got really freaky-deaky and bought some radishes to slice for my salads. Okay, they were marked down. This seems another point of compatibility I have with Jodie Marsh. She's started eating healthy, lately, too. Sadly, I don't think she's noticing all these points of compatibility we have. I wonder what will be the next food I start eating?

Robot Nurses (Part 4 of the Hospital Saga)

I awoke from my nap at about 5:30PM, Tuesday. Jan still hadn't returned from her mission to bring me some stuff from my house. I began to worry that she'd gotten lost again, or something else had happened to her. She had been gone about two hours on a journey that should have taken no more than an hour. As it was Nando's day off, maybe they exploded into an irresistible lust for each other. Come on! Shag later guys, I need my stuff. I couldn't imagine Nando exploding into anything. If he could roll downhill into lust, then it might happen. Besides, I don't think Jan finds Nando attractive in that way. Still, one never knows. The main reason I was in a hurry was that I was due at an audition for a short film, at 6PM. If Jan returned with my email from the casting person, I could call her and explain why I wasn't coming. I hoped I could reschedule. I get so few auditions, I don't want to blow one. In my mind, it seemed important to notify the casting lady before my call time.
I sat up, on the edge of the bed. The fat nurse had told me that I shouldn't walk around, so if I needed to use the toilet I was to do it in a bedpan, instead of going to the loo. Yeah, right! I guess she doesn't know me that well. If I got up and walked to the loo, would any of the nurses at the ward nurse's station stop me? Would they even notice? A strong urge to take a piss pushed me past the boundaries of indecision. I had forgotten that fat nurse had insisted that I put on some special stockings, designed to prevent blood clotting in the legs while one lays in bed. I didn't bother to put on the flip-flops I wore to the hospital. It would be quieter to walk in just my stockinged feet. Bold as brass, I stood up and walked out of the room. The opening was right next to the nurse's station. Two of the NHS's finest robots sat there, chatting away. They reminded me of the two Stormtroopers in "Star Wars," who were gossiping while Obi-Wan Kenobi sneaked past to disable the tractor beam. Yeah, I liked that idea. Here I was, Obi-Wan Kenobi, sneaking to the toilet in his stockinged feet.
Once I had relived myself, I crept back to bed 21. I lay there, with nothing better to do than wonder what was keeping Jan. A few minutes later, I heard her voice, asking the NHS robots where I was. Finally! I looked at the time display on the flat screen above my bed. It was 5:45, just 15 minutes before my audition call time. Jan came around past the curtain that separated the creature in the bed to the right of mine, from me. To my left was a window, which I enjoyed, even though it only provided me a view of the side of a building. Jan had brought everything on my list expect one item...a pen. I hurried to look at the email print out. Scanning it, I couldn't find a phone number. I re-read it, more carefully. There was no phone number. I couldn't call the casting person. I could email her, later. Jan got it into her head to ask one of the robots if I could use her computer to send an email, now. I told her not to, but then Jan has this knack for going ahead and doing things that I have asked her not to do. It's a trait I admire, when she does it to other people, but one over which I feel annoyed, when she does it to me. Taking the email, she went out to speak with the robots. It all seemed rather pointless. With the audition starting in ten minutes, the casting person is hardly going to be reading emails. If she was going to find out after the session, then the next day would be just as good as that moment.
Jan returned, having succeeded with her powers of persuasion. She'd been much more successful with the robot nurses than I had been with the beautiful, Indian doctor lady. She'd gotten one of the robots to email the casting person, on my behalf, explaining that I was "in hospital," as the British like to say. I was feeling very hungry, as all I had eaten thus far, that day, was the poncy sandwich and biscuits that fat nurse had given me, four and a half hours earlier. In addition to the things Jan had brought me that were on my list, she'd gotten me a Cadbury's Fruit and Nut bar, as an extra treat. I tore into the chocolate taste treat like a famished, wild animal, while Jan was away talking to the robots. It didn't last long, as it was only a small bar, but it took the edge off my hunger. The next order of business was to get my TV turned on. I phoned Patientline and paid for the service, using the financial resources that resided in my wallet, which Jan had brought. I may have been missing the audition, but at least I wouldn't miss "Eastenders," that night. No sooner had I turned the TV on, than a nurse came around, offering me dinner. I wish she'd turned up a few minutes earlier, before I demolished the Cadburys bar. I would have preferred saving the treat till later. As she read the menu out to me, it seemed to mostly consist of sandwiches. She had mentioned something about sausages, in the beginning. Interrupting her robotic recitation, I asked, "are all of these sandwiches?" She told me the first item was hot food. Sausage and mash, a traditional British dish. While not usually my first choice, I wanted a hot meal, not just another sandwich, so I opted for the sausage.
Jan explained that she had a meeting to attend, about this open studio exhibition she was supposed to be participating in. If she was going to the meeting, she would have to leave. She didn't feel like going, so I asked her if she could get the information which would be presented at the meeting, later. When she agreed that she could, I suggested that she skip the meeting and stay visiting me. She could use me as an excuse, telling the people holding the meeting that she had to visit a sick friend, in the hospital. Jan seemed genuinely pleased at the suggestion and went to move her car to free parking on a side street. The parking in the hospital car park was expensive. My dinner arrived just as Jan got back from relocating her car. I tucked into the bland meal with the enthusiasm bred of hunger. Feeling a tiny bit guilty for chowing down in front of my only visitor, I got the robot who offered me tea or coffee to give a cup of coffee to Jan. Anyway, I don't like coffee.
I persuaded Jan to watch "Eastenders" with me. Because the sound was coming over a headset, so as not to disturb the other patients, we shared the headset, turning it upside down and each putting one phone to one of our ears. On Tuesdays, "Eastenders" finishes at 8PM, which was also the time visiting hours ended. I said farewell to the only visitor I was ever to have during my entire hospital stay. At least I had TV to keep me company. The Patientline service also included some video games. I got addicted to a version of Tetris, alternating between playing it, reading, and watching TV. Eventually, I dozed off, only awakening again just past 11:30PM. The only thing worse than unattractive, female, robot nurses, was a male robot nurse, as the night nurse. He came over to engage in the ritual of taking my temperature and blood pressure. This one was named Mowbry and came from South Africa. Earlier, a female robot nurse had left a menu for the next day's lunch and dinner. On the back I read that one could have snacks at any time, by asking a member of staff. I read this passage out to Mowbry, as I was feeling a bit hungry. He refused to understand and kept telling me that there were printed explanations on the back in order to answer patients' questions. I ended up giving up. That Cadbury Fruit and Nut would have come in handy, then. I played the video game until I felt sleepy. The person in the bed next to mine had the oddest snore I have ever heard.
In the morning, I woke up and went back to playing the video game. The first attractive nurse I had seen showed up. She was skinny, with curly red hair and small breasts. She had a sweet face, with sparkling eyes. I asked her where she was from. It turned out that she was from Prague. I told her I had visited Prague, because I have and I thought it might win her over. Prague nurse offered me breakfast. No eggs were on offer, so I settled for some bran cereal, buttered toast, and some orange juice. After breakie, a group of doctors turned up, making the rounds. Amongst them was the beautiful, Indian doctor lady. I looked at her hand for a ring. She wore some silver ring, which didn't look like a traditional wedding ring, but then I don't know what the traditions are in India. She seemed to dress like a married woman...descent, but not as sexy as she was capable of. Indian doctor lady seemed to be deferring to some tall, dark haired, pale, English doctor, who acted like he was the boss. They discussed my condition. I didn't see what use he was. Indian doctor lady was more than capable of treating me, thank you very much. Tall doctor informed me that they would be removing the pack from my right nostril, then seeing if there was any further bleeding. If necessary, they would cauterize. In other words exactly what Indian doctor lady had told me they would do.
A little while later, a Scottish nurse came around. She removed the pack. I expected it to tear open the wound and the bleeding to start again, but that didn't happen. She gave me a small ice pack to put on my nose. I held it to my nose until I got tired of doing so. Still no bleeding. I was pleasantly surprised when Indian doctor lady turned up, wearing scrubs. She still looked so pretty, even with that ghastly surgical cap hiding her luscious, dark brown hair. No longer able to contain myself, I told her she was the nicest looking doctor I had ever met. She smiled as if she was blushing (I couldn't tell if she was blushing as her skin was rather brown) and thanked me. Her face displayed a combination of pleasure at being complimented and embarrassment. She examined my nose, shining some light up my right nostril. Doctor lady decided to cauterize a spot in my right nostril. She wasn't sure it had been the source of the bleeding, but thought it would be best not to take a chance. After spraying some local anesthetic in my nose, she employed a chemical cauterization stick. There was a slight delay, then I felt a burning sensation. She said she would keep me in till about lunch time, then, if there was no further bleeding, I could go home. I hoped I would get to eat lunch before I left.
After a while, the Scottish nurse came back and disturbed me while I was playing the video game again. She was oldish and manly looking. She complained that I needed to walk around, so they could see if my nose would start bleeding again. First they didn't want me to walk, now they did. Can't they make up their minds? I went for a stroll around the ward. It wasn't that big, so I ended up doubling back. Back and forth, back and forth. How dull. A different robot nurse at the nurse's station asked me if she could help me. I told her the Scottish nurse had told me to walk, so I was walking. For some reason, this robot nurse, who was English, somehow misunderstood what I said and thought that I was waiting for someone parking a car. Odd woman. I tried explaining again. This time, she understood. She said I had been walking for ten minutes already and that was enough. I was happy to go back and get in bed. At lunch time, I opted for chicken fricassee over rice. The food was so bland and no pepper was available, but desperation rendered it palatable. After lunch, Scottish nurse came around and asked if there was any bleeding. There wasn't. She told me I could go. I was being discharged. It was almost sad. I had gotten used to laying down all day and watching TV, playing video games, reading, and sleeping. She gave me the certification of my stay in hospital. Reading it, I noticed that Indian doctor lady had written that I wasn't supposed to go back to work for a week. The heck with that! I discussed it with Scottish nurse, pointing out that it seemed excessive. She said it was up to how I felt, but that at the very least, I shouldn't go back to work until Monday. I called Nando and he came to drive me home. When I turned on my mobile, I found that Tom had called and left a voicemail. Jan had told him I was in hospital. I decided to call him back later, when I was home.
Finally, I was out of the hospital and all in one piece. I didn't see why they couldn't have just cauterized my nose on Tuesday afternoon an let me go home, then. When I emailed the casting person again, she informed me that the role had been cast and I was out of luck. Checking with work, I found that the Manager hadn't gotten any cover for me. He wanted me to return to work on Thursday. Reluctantly, I agreed. requesting light duties. I then had a nap, as I was supposed to perform at a comedy talent search, in London, that night. The sleep did me good and I drove into London, happy as Larry, whoever Larry is. I wore my hospital bracelet on stage, like a badge of honor. I had survived and at the end of the day, that's the most important thing.

Attending the World Premier

On Friday night, I attended the world premier of a short film, "Traffic WARden," which I have a small part in. The Premier was held at the British Academy of Film and Television Arts (BAFTA) headquarters, in London. This film was basically a showcase for director, Benjamin Johns, and actor/writer, Steve Hart, but they let me be in it too and I got a credit, so that's cool. I invited my artist friend, Jan, to go with me and she graciously agreed to drive, and to bring her camera.
When we arrived, we compromised on seats in the second row of the auditorium. It would be my first time seeing myself in a film at a cinema, rather than on DVD, at home. While waiting for things to commence, I stood up and looked back over the auditorium, trying to see if I could spot any actors I know. I managed to locate one and we gave each other a visual acknowledgement. After continuing to look for a few minutes, some strange man, several rows back, shouted for me to sit down. Why he shouted this is beyond me, as nothing was happening behind me, so I was blocking his view of a blank screen and an empty stage. Pretending not to understand what he was shouting, I waved back at him, as if waving "hello" to a friend. This confused him enough that he didn't say anything else and I, having tired of scanning the audience, sat down.
In the days leading up to this event, I had fretted over what to wear. The invitations hadn't specified a dress code, but as this was my first such event, I didn't know what the protocol was. The start time was 5:30PM, a little early for formal evening wear. I opted to wear a black suit. When discussing it with Jan, I urged her to go for something a little smarter than denim. Ironically, she chose black, as well. I needn't have worried, as the majority of attendees were dressed quite casually. When proceedings commenced, a woman walked on stage in a short evening dress. I was pleased to see that someone else had bothered to dress smartly. Employing a microphone, this woman introduced the film and asked us to remain seated after it ended, as there would be a presentation by the film makers. She spoke with a heavy, foreign accent and I wondered where she was from.
The film was better than the other short I did, although I had a bigger part in that one. This one was longer, running for about twenty minutes. I was surprised to spot my friend, Dave Lee, in a scene. I didn't know he'd worked on the film, as he shot his scene on a different day to the one I did. Eventually, I spotted myself in two scenes, although in the second, you really had to know what to look for, as my back was to the camera. All too soon, it was over and I scanned the credits for my name. Once I found it, I was a bit happier. Benjamin Johns and Steve Hart made their presentation, after the film, then we were all invited to move to the David Lean Room, for drinks. Drinks we had to pay for.
Jan offered to buy me one drink. At the bar, Jan ordered white wine, while I opted for lager. For some reason, they only had Japanese lager. Maybe the manager was Japanese, or something. This is the first time I can recall having a Kirin beer, but then my memory isn't what it once was. I think we were both stunned when the tab came to £8. We wouldn't be having any more drinks, there. We stood in a central location, while I looked for any recognizable faces. Jan suggested that we go up to some strangers and start talking to them. Me being more reserved than she, that idea horrified me. Suddenly, the point became moot. Two women walked up who recognized me. The shorter of the two I knew as "Toxic Bunny," from the "Big Brother" Forum. She had worked on the same day of shooting I had and had recognized my voice then, having heard me on LBC Radio. I was very pleased to see her again, but I couldn't remember her name. I couldn't even remember her internet name, "Toxic Bunny," at first, so, I stood there for an awkward moment, not making introductions. Jan was wondering why I wouldn't introduce her, while I was desperately trying to remember the girl's name. In the end, I think I introduced Jan, then just remained silent, while Toxic Bunny introduced herself. Even now, I can't remember the name she gave. The woman with Toxic I had also met during filming, although I hadn't recognized her at first. Toxic Bunny is a pretty, young, short, dark skinned woman, who looks even younger than she is. She always seems to wear her hair in pig tails, which probably adds to the impression of youth. After a brief conversation, Toxic and her companion went off to search for Judith, a model who had worked with us on the film. I hadn't seen any sign of Judith, but asked Toxic to let me know if she found her.
Jan and I moved around, aimlessly, as I eyed the crowd. A curly haired man approached me. He recognized me from somewhere. Oh, we had worked together on "Seconds From Disaster," last year. He gave me his card and now I know his name is Andrew. In time, we spotted Toxic sitting on a window sill, with her friend and Judith. I led us over to the trio of young women. I was pleased to see Judith again. She and I had subsequently worked on another, feature length, film, "Oh Happy Day," after doing "Traffic WARden." Although Judith primarily works as a model, she does some acting as well. Judith is much taller than Toxic Bunny and was wearing a red dress that stood out against her chocolate brown skin. Originally from Uganda, Judith now makes her home in London. I sat down between Judith and Toxic, while Jan sat on Judith's other side. Judith had said she wanted my number when we did "Oh Happy Day," but when filming wrapped for the day, we got separated and hadn't managed to exchange details. This time, Judith handed me her card, so we could keep in touch. I spoke with Toxic for a time, while Jan and Judith talked. When I turned around, I discovered that, somehow, Jan and Judith had managed to get into conversation with the woman who had presented the screening. It turned out she was the director's wife. I couldn't resist the opportunity to ask where she was from. To my surprise, she told me she was from Mexico. Another North American. Looking at her dress close up, I decided it wasn't a good color for her. It was beige and too close to the color of her skin.
It finally occurred to me that I hadn't seen any sign of Jan's camera. I asked her if she had remembered to bring it. She had and proceeded to fish it out of her bag. Jan took a photo of me sitting amongst the girls. Sadly, the director's wife had moved off by this point. A man appeared in front of me, who acted like he recognized me. I couldn't place him at all. Lurking behind him was a blond woman, who looked like she was with him. I tried to place the two of them, but drew a blank. Then he said something that gave it away. He'd been in "Oh Happy Day" with me. The lurking woman was his wife. I didn't recognize her, because she hadn't been there when I met him. I still can't remember his name and he didn't mention it on Friday. His wife had a camera in her hands and asked me to take a picture of her and her husband in front of this giant mask. I tried to talk my way out of it, suggesting Jan, but this woman insisted that I would be fine. I hate being responsible for taking other people's pictures. I did the best I could with their digital camera. Then she insisted on taking a picture of me and Jan in front of the poxy mask thingy. Jan and the guy's wife then started to take photos of me and the guy. I called Andrew over and had him join in. All the flashes of cameras were starting to make this seem like a real premier.

As the crowd started to wind down, the director announced that anyone who wanted to could join in on moving the party to a nearby location; a bar at Waterstone's book store. Our only problem is that we had left Jan's car parked in a location where we could only stay for three hours. We decided to go get the car and move it closer, now that it was after 6:30, and some street parking was free. By the time we got to Waterstone's, everyone I knew had left. I got Jan and myself a drink of water, each. There was an inner circle of people hanging around with the director. I hoped his wife would notice us. If we could get talking to her again, she might pull us into the inner circle group. This failed to happen and Jan started complaining that she was hungry. I suggested a cheap buffet I have passed a few times, in Chinatown. Jan agreed, saying she didn't want to spend a lot of money. We walked from Waterstone's, through Piccadilly Circus, towards Leicester Square. Turning up Wardour Street, I found the place I was looking for.
The restaurant is called Mr Wu Chinese Restaurant. It features an all-you-can-eat buffet for £4.95. It's a small place with a limited buffet, but the food is hot and tasty. Where else can you find a hot meal in the West End of London for such a low price, without eating fast food? I wanted to pay for dinner, to balance out for the £8 drinks tab that Jan paid. However, upon arrival, I quickly spotted a sign that said no cards. Pointing this out to Jan, I asked if she wanted to find somewhere else. She said it was okay and I could owe her. Chinese restaurants always remind me of my evil ex-wife, the Black Queen, because she was half Chinese. She loved eating in Chinatown and referred to Chinese cuisine as, "real food." I eyed up the Chinese waitresses with suspicion. We were seated, then started on the buffet. I was surprised at how much she ate, as Jan's so small. She's about 5' 2" and a half, and thin, but she made a sizable impact on that buffet. As we both struggled to finish the last of our meal, a commotion broke out. I heard the owner shout at a couple of Indian men, saying, "I'm not in a good mood today, so get out!" The bigger of the two Indians said he was going to complain. The owner responded by saying, "go ahead, complain to whoever you want. Complain to Tony Blair. Complain to George Bush, if you want. Now, get out." When the Indian men were at the door, I herd what sounded like shoving. I wondered what the disturbance had been about. Speaking to the owner as we paid the bill, he explained that the men had refused to sit at the table he had directed them to sit at. Instead, they tried to sit at a table that was already taken, but whose occupants were up at the buffet. When the owner directed them to move, they started arguing with him. He said, "I sell cheap food, so get a lot of trouble." I was impressed. A full meal and a floor show, all for less than £10. Mr Wu is at 28 Wardour Street, London W1D 6QN. If you go there, just make sure you sit where they tell you.

Working At Shepperton

Last Friday, I got to work at Shepperton Studios. It was the first time I have worked on a studio sound stage. Up till now, I have always done shoots on location. The only time I have been to studios is for costume fittings. Shepperton is one of the most famous studios in Britain. It has a history in film making that goes back to 1931. Some of the famous films to be made at Shepperton include, "The Day of the Jackal," "Alien," and "Gandhi." One nice thing about Shepperton is that it's only two junctions from Bracknell, on the the motorway, so it doesn't take me long to drive there.
I had an 8AM call time, but arrived early, to take advantage of the free breakfast. For me, breakfast consisted of a bowl of Frosties (known as Frosted Flakes, in America) and two slices of toast. As a beverage, I selected a fruit juice blend. A fellow I worked with on the "Texas Oil Refinery Disaster" episode of "Seconds From Disaster," recognized me and said hello. It was nice to see a familiar face. He and I have the same agent, so it's not surprising to run into each other on a shoot. After breakie, the Third Assistant Director (AD) led those of us who were background artists for the shoot over to wardrobe, and hair and make up. An attractive brunette from the costume department checked me over to make sure I was wearing the exact outfit I was supposed to have on. She compared my appearance to a photo taken at my costume fitting, the day before. Once I passed her inspection, I was directed to the make up artists. They didn't do anything with my short hair, but did apply anti-shine and powder to my face, so my skin wouldn't be so shiny under the lights.
After passing through wardrobe and make up, I was taken to the sound stage where we would be working, that day. Along with my fellow background artists, I was seated in a quiet corner of the stage, where there were chairs for us to sit on. Bottled water was also provided. A famous actor once said that acting is mostly waiting. We sat there for hour after hour. It was cold on the stage and a runner brought a couple of us cappuccinos, with a hot chocolate for me. The camera didn't even turn over until 1PM. The first scene involved only the principals and after a few takes, it was time for lunch. We marched back over to where we'd had breakfast and joined the queue at the catering truck. When it was my turn, I opted for the Thai chicken kebab, with rice.
Lunch break was an hour and once it was completed, we headed back to the sound stage for more waiting. One of the runners asked us if we were available to come back on Saturday. Several of the other background artists grumbled at this, but I cheerfully said, "I'm very available." I liked the prospect of working on Saturday, as I am off from the restaurant on the weekend, anyway, so it would be a chance to earn some more money without taking a day off from the kitchen. After finally using some of us for a few takes at the end of the day we were wrapped and told we wouldn't be needed on Saturday, after all. The Third AD did say we might be needed sometime the following week, but our agents would contact us with the details, when those were finalized.
It was after 7PM as I made my way home. I was surprised at how little we'd done, after a ten and a half hour day, including paid overtime. Most of the time, we were drinking, eating, sitting, sleeping, reading the paper, playing sudoku, and chatting. What a way to make a living. Because of confidentiality agreements, I can't reveal any details about the film we were working on. To outsiders, film making seems like an exciting, glamorous business. That is it's public face, once the product is finished and in cinemas. The day to day reality can be a little dull. The hardest thing is not to die of boredom. Still, it's easy money and beats the hard work at the restaurant. I got to talk with several of my fellow background artists and might have made a few new friends. All in all, they seemed a happy bunch, even if bored at times. I have an advantage over most of my background colleagues, because I never feel bored. So long as they provide us with free food and drink, and a place to sit, I'm happy.

That Damn Pritam!

While I was on location, at Waterloo, Wednesday, I received a missed call on my mobile phone, from my agent. They know I am on a shoot, so why are they calling me? I listened to the voicemail, but it was hard to hear with all the noise in the train station. With a heavy heart over the expense, I called back. A young man answered, then passed me to a woman, once he knew who I was. She said the film company I was doing the shoot for needed Americans to play the role of scientists, for a shoot on Friday. I would also need to attend a costume fitting on Thursday, at Pinewood Studios. In addition, she said she wanted to put me forward for a commercial shoot at the end of the next week. When I finished the call, I was pretty happy about having so much work coming in. Things had been pretty quiet for the first three months of the year.
The next morning, I was back at the restaurant where I work between acting jobs. Upon arrival, I immediately told the manager about needing to be off Friday, tentatively Thursday and Friday of the following week, plus about my costume fitting later that day. I suggested that I leave work in the afternoon, go to the costume fitting, then return and finish my work. I promised to stay late and make up any time I was away for. He's a great guy, so he agreed to my proposal. Not long after I started work that morning, one of the chefs came to me and offered me a entire tray of whole trout. If I didn't want them, they'd be thrown away. I was suspicious that this was a practical joke, so I checked with the Head Chef. He confirmed that there was nothing wrong with the fish and that I could indeed have them. There must have been around a dozen fish in the tray. I told him I couldn't use that many, but he suggested that I freeze them. I thought about it for a moment, then concluded that would be an excellent idea. He even gave me some suggestions as to how to cook them.
I went to see Chef Anthony and asked him if I could store the fish in the fridge in his work area. He told me he wasn't allowed to have meat or fish in his fridge and directed me to put the fish back in the main meat, walk-in fridge. Explaining to Anthony that I was going to a costume fitting that afternoon, I told him I was worried that the chefs would leave before I returned. As they locked the walk-in fridges before going home, the trout would be locked away from me. His little fridge isn't locked, which was why I wanted to use it. Anthony promised to leave it out for me, just before he went home. That seemed like a good plan.
At 1:30PM, I left the restaurant to go to my costume fitting. My fitting appointment was for 3PM, but I needed to stop home first and get the clothes I was instructed to bring with me. While I was waiting to see the costume people, at Pinewood Studios, I sent Anthony a text, reminding him to leave the fish out for me. He didn't send me any text in response. The costume fitting took much longer than I thought it would and I didn't get back to the restaurant until 5PM. Most of the staff had gone home and only the managers were left. Looking around my work area, I discovered there was no fish. I assumed that Anthony had forgotten to leave it out. Using my mobile, I called Anthony on his mobile. When he answered, I asked him what happened to the fish? He told me that he had put it out for me, but had placed the tray of trout in the racks of dirty pots and pans that needed washing. Subsequently, Pritam, my Nepalese co-worker, was instructed by the Head Chef to throw out some plaice that had gone bad. Pritam had taken the plaice and mixed it with my trout, then thrown all of it out. What an idiot! That prat had thrown away £50 worth of fish that I was getting for free. Fortunately, by the time I learned of this, he'd gone home already. Otherwise, I might have been tempted to throw him into the rubbish skip, after my fish.

A Night of Culture

I accepted an invitation, today, to go to the theatre with my good friend, Jan, the Artist. The evening started out with a home cooked meal at her house, in the company of her and her daughter. I contributed roast potatoes, while Jan provided pork chops, spinach, parsnips, and onions. Daughter was supposed to accompany us to the theatre, but after dinner, she announced that she was staying home, to work on a project for university. Although I was disappointed t suffer a fifty percent reduction in my escorts for the evening, I pressed on. After all, the show must go on.
Jan took me to Guildford's Yvonne Arnaud Theatre, where she secured standby, discount tickets at 30% off. The show we saw was a production of Jean Paul Satre's adaptation of "Kean," based on the original play by Alexandre Dumas. "Kean" is the story of British actor, Edmund Kean, although why two Frenchmen, like Dumas and Satre, would be so keen to write about a British actor is beyond me. This particular production starred veteran British actor, Antony Sher.
I had two beers while waiting for showtime. Once the play had gotten under way, I dozed off for a few minutes. This was no reflection on the quality of the acting, but was the result of failing to have an afternoon nap, today. I awakened refreshed and went on to enjoy the bulk of the play. This was the first theatrical production I had seen since 2004, when I saw "The Woman in Black." I fell asleep at that one, as well. Tonight was the final night of this production run, in Guildford. It was competently executed and entertaining.
If you are in the Guildford area and want to attend the Yvonne Arnaud Theatre, you can contact the box office at: 01483 440000

Let Her Eat Cake

I was enjoying controlling the Sky TV remote, last night, on my own. Nando was in Italy and M1 was out, which is where I prefer him. At 9PM, I decided to watch the Hugh Grant film, "American Dreamz," which was premiering on Sky. About half an hour later, I heard the dreaded sound of M1's key in the front door. I could feel my body tensing in anticipation of the uncultured, lanky young man, hair covered in styling wax, slithering into my environment. Then I heard another voice, through the door. This one female. That would be slither boy's sexy, exotic girlfriend, the Exotic Flower. As usual, she was turning up for another weekend hanging around our house. Originally, she had been the one compensation for putting up with intellectually challenged M1, a generation my junior. Lately, however, things have been frosty between myself and the half Seychellian, half Spanish beauty. So the compensating factor has lost its effect.
The Flower hasn't been speaking to me much, since our argument a couple of weeks ago. She's also vindictively stopped giving me her cast off gossip magazines. I've been happy to not have seen much of her, lately. In they walked and the Flower broke the ice first. "Hello," she said. This time there was no confusion. She wasn't speaking to Nando, because he wasn't here. I responded warmly, greeting her by name. When she came in the lounge, she asked what I was watching. I informed her and she grew as excited as a kid on Christmas morning. A kid that lives in a household that celebrates Christmas, that is. "I've wanted to see that," she said, in that lovely, girlish voice that usually sounds like fairy song to my ears; lovely and sweet. Well, that's how it sounds when I am not cross with her. "How long has it been on?"
I looked at the time display on the VCR, under the television. "Thirty-three minutes," I advised. She asked me what had happened so far. I filled her in. I was pleased that she was excited to watch the film, because she would veto any application by M1 to change the channel. "Have you done anything to your hair?" I asked. Nando hates when I ask her about her hair. He claims it sounds gay. What Nando fails to realize is that women love it when you notice what they do with their hair. Maybe that's why he spends his nights on the settee, with no date. It's become second nature to me to notice a woman's hair. Anyway, Nando's not here.
"It's just been rained on, that's all," she said, modestly.
"Well, it looks lovely," I volunteered.
"When it gets wet, it forms ringlets," she explained, forgetting that she's told me that before.
"A lot of women go to great lengths to get their hair to look like that," I said. "Have you heard about Nando's dad?" She told me that M1 had told her, but that Nando had said nothing to her, so she decided not to say anything to him about it, unless he brought it up. She'll have a long wait, because Nando doesn't like her. Chef Anthony had given me a whole plate of cake to bring home. Half of it was a coffee flavored cake I like, but the other half was some berry flavored version that I don't much care for. I offered the Flower some cake. She declined, saying she had just finished a big meal.
We watched the rest of the film, which is a spoof of reality TV shows, like "American Idol." I didn't enjoy it. I think it is the worst Hugh Grant film I have ever seen. Even the Flower said she was glad she hadn't bought it on DVD, which she'd recently considered doing. With the film over, the Flower started whining to M1 that she was hungry. He wasn't pleased. He's not been working steadily, lately, and struggles to feed himself and her. I reminded her of my cake offer. She asked what kind it was, so I knew she was interested. I did my best selling job and she agreed to try a piece. I grabbed a piece of the coffee flavored cake that I prefer and we both settled back in the lounge with our baked treats.
The crucial question was, "would she like it?" If she did, I might be able to unload much of the cake on her, this weekend. I watched her eating it tentatively. What would be the verdict? She liked it! It seemed that relations were on the mend between me and the Flower. They way to the Flower's heart seems to be through her stomach. Let her eat cake!

Fat Tuesday

Today is Shrove Tuesday, the day before Ash Wednesday. It's also known as "Pancake Day," here in England, because of the tradition of consuming pancakes on the day. Not proper American style pancakes, like you have for breakfast, with maple syrup. That's one thing I miss from America, proper pancakes. They need an International House of Pancakes (IHOP), here. These pancakes are basically what the French call crepes. They are thin and bland. I prefer the French name for the day, Mardi Gras, which translates as, "Fat Tuesday." Happy Fat Tuesday everyone. Go eat some stuff.

The Flower Gives Me a Cake

On Friday night, the Exotic Flower arrived for her usual weekend hanging around at our house. When she came in the front door, she presented me with a Thornton's Toffee cake, still in the box. She explained that her mother had given it to her and M1, but that because it was two days past its sell by date, they wouldn't eat it. So, she offered it to me, remembering that I am not bothered by sell by dates. Oh for Pete's sake! How silly some young people are, these days. When I was a kid, we didn't have sell by dates. If it looked okay and smelled okay, you ate it. Well, it worked to my benefit. I happily took the cake off her hands.
Nando has had the results of a medical examination he had, while visiting his family in Italy, recently. He says that he's been told that he has high cholesterol. He's decided to eat less chocolate and sweets, although he's said nothing about cutting down on the fried foods he eats in copious amounts. Given all this, when I asked Nando if he wanted to share the cake with me, he declined. Then end result was that I had the cake all to myself, this past weekend. It was a small cake, so it took me just three occasions to finish it off.