claytoncast

So as I'm sitting here typing this, Mum is sat on the sofa asking endless East Enders questions to Richard who is maintaining a stilled sense of calm as they watch it together, and it's wall to wall soap operas on the tv. yes...it's Christmas Eve. Time to be surrounded by ones loved ones and maintain that fine balance between a family gathering and a hostage situation! We're lucky. Tomorrow we get to go and be part of someone else's family for the big day. After opening presents we set off for lunch,this year courtesy of the beauteous Miss Ellis - Bextor and then by the time we arrive back, stuffed and fulfilled in the evening, the day is almost over and a New Year looms. We've had the festive theatre visit - to the Old Vic to see "A Flea in Her ear" - fun but not fabulous. We have the ice skating with the god daughter booked for next week and in between we hopefully have rest and calm. Four days away by the sea for New Year and hopefully we'll be

And so the leviathan that was the X factor trundled onto its conclusion and last Saturday the best act was finally named. I was quite pleased that Matt was the winner. Rebecca was a little too like a sort of downmarket mix of Alexandra Burke and Leona Lewis, and heaven knows what it would have said about the country if the charisma bypass that was “One Direction" had actually made it to the finishing line. Of course in these instances there is actually no such thing as “best". It's a matter of taste. It's like acting. You can't ever say that one person is “the best". Mercifully for those of us who do it it's not something that can be measured. It's not quantitative. You and I can sit side-by-side in the same theatre on the same night and watch the same performance and look at the same actor-and I can think they're absolutely appalling, and you can think they're brilliant. We are both right. It's a matter of taste. It's nice to be l

And so I think I have just managed to get to the end of my Christmas Shopping. As many who know me will be only too aware, shopping is something I can do for England. Corporate jobs with several actors onboard that I have run have often been known to have "retail calls" where actors are required to disperse into the town or city we are visiting for an hour or so and shop. Purchases and most of all bargains are compared back at the hotel. Fond memories of this linger on. Miss Ryan's fur coat in Munich, Mr Puddephat and Miss Kanter's cameras in Bath, and my own list of bargains too many to mention. At Christmas then you woudl think I would be in my element. Licensed retail opportunities to do good for others. And yet Christmas shopping bores me! I love shopping for Richard. Every time I come up with an idea of a gift, and I buy it, I imagine the surprise or joy on his face as he unwraps the parcel on Christmas morning, and the delight in getting it right. Sometimes it&#

So this week as I sit down to write my blog, I don't have a problem as to subject matter. You'll soon see why. The week had promised to be a little boring. My job for Wednesday and Thursday of this week had been cancelled at the end of last week and Sunday afternoon saw me driving down to Gatwick to jet off to Amsterdam two days to work as a speaker coach on a conference for Astra Zeneca, courtesy of my lovely honorary goddaughter Maddy Williams. To be perfectly honest there wasn't really a job there. Many senior people often don't want to be told anything about presenting and certainly not in front of their colleagues. I can understand this, so apart from providing a little useful advice as to how to deal with the stage that was laid out as a catwalk, I divided the time between wandering round a very cold Amsterdam–so cold I ended up buying a coat in H&M as in a moment of rashness I'd thought that a suit, two T-shirts a shirt, cardigan and a large pashmina