claytoncast

So now I am at the other end of the tunnel. Except that it wasn’t a tunnel other than in terms of tiredness. The three weeks of filming I have just been through with my director’s hat on has to be one of the most joyous experiences of a long career. From calling action on our first slate in a school in Wandsworth to picture wrap on the upper floor of a restaurant in Gillingham, the entire experience was a joy. First and foremost, the weather blessed us.After the horrendous weather of May, the bank holiday allowed the sun to shine,and it continued to bake down on us for the entire shoot. We had one drizzly Friday when mercifully we were shooting indoors, but for the rest of the time as a unit we bought shares in Ambre Solaire, and Panama hats. Lucky to have an army of runners keen to hold several umbrellas whenever necessary. I remember one afternoon taking to thestreets of Forest Hill to film our leading man walking up a steep incline andtalking to camera. This involves a large frame b...

I can remember my excitement the first time I saw my name on a television call sheet. I was lucky enough for that to happen while I was still at drama school. In the 1970s there was a healthy relationship between the Manchester Polytechnic School of Theatre and Granada TV.  Quite often the casting department would call one of our tutors. His wife happened to be a very senior producer at Granada. They would ask for a couple of students who already had equity cards to come in for an interview for these small parts. Having gained my Equity card in my first year at drama school as a walk on for the London Festival Ballet as Rudolph Nureyev’s guard (That’s another story), I was keen and eligible. So, I would often hop onto a bus into town to the Granada offices on Quay street That first call sheet on which my name appeared, probably alongside an artist number somewhere in the hundreds, was for a thriller called “The XYY Man”. I was pushing the casting envelope by playing a choreographer...

Slowly the regulations are disappearing and we are being allowed more and more freedoms. Who would have thought that planning a train trip into the centre of town would be such a brilliant adventure? Perhaps that's what we should take away from the past eighteen months. That the little things are worth even more.  Getting back into the swing of things is harder than I thought. Last week I took the train and tube to go for a long awaited walk with a very old and dear friend. We had the most beautiful day with brisk sunshine and coffee and cake in a park and a good couple of hours walking and talking and catching up.  The next day I went into Spotlight for that rare occurrence-an afternoon of live auditions. We saw six or seven people and everyone seemed to be incredibly grateful for the opportunity to be in a room together and to talk. The actual acting seemed to become the least important part of the day. Yet  by the time I woke up on Wednesday morning I was more than rea...

Normality, or what can pass for it, now seems is seeping back into our lives. Two weeks ago we had a little Tuesday night gin party of six people to celebrate that we can meet up out of doors. It was a delight, although by the time we’d chatted to people for a couple of hours- something with which we have become unfamiliar, we were both exhausted, and flopped in front of the television. I had a bit of a medical MOT this week trying to fit in the dental hygienist, a blood test, and the visit for a hearing test all before the shops open tomorrow. We can all crowd into Primark tomorrow, but we have to stay outside in a pub garden and can’t even pop inside to pay. I know. Don’t tell me. We are following the science. Although one has to ask “What science?” The television seems overburdened with scientists. From Lorraine to Pointless, every programme seems to have their pet expert. Bungling Boris and his band of inept outlaws can listen to whichever one lets them do what they want to do - or...

I wondered how many songs mentioning ages were in any way relevant to my life. I think I’d better own up to Dancing Queen at seventeen.  Even though I was still at school, I was aware of which direction my longings were pulling me. I’m not convinced if I was “tragically hip” at 38, and I’m pretty convinced that I had no need for a death cab for cutie at 60. One song that’s haunted me for years is the classic “When I’m 64” from the Beatles, and tomorrow I will reach that milestone. So, it’s time to take a look at those lyrics and see just how I have fared.  I have lost a little hair with a classic bald patch starting to show through in the middle, but at the moment lockdown has more than taken care of that, giving me a full head of tonsorial pleasure. I did get a Valentine, and I’ve already had birthday greetings, and people who know me well remember that I gave up bottles of wine 22 years ago. I think there’s little chance with the current restrictions that I’ll be out until 2...

My recent article in The Stage hinted that 2021 might not have been all that we were expecting it to be, given the number of U-turns we’ve already experienced, and how for many of us, this lockdown has been the hardest. Starting with days ending at four in the afternoon, it’s been very difficult to find a reason to push forward and get up every day. I was facing a week like that last week with days looming empty on my schedule screen. Luckily, late last Monday afternoon, the first completed edit of my new novel “The Hoax” arrived back from my publishers. With the title all about a prank, the logical publication date has always seemed like April 1, and now we are racing against time to make sure that the book is available. That meant suddenly my week had a purpose and breaking the word count down into easily achievable chunks, the last five days have been taken up with refining, clarifying, emphasising, and hopefully improving the text. Karen, the editor for the publisher, and my lovely...

Lockdown. Day 217. Actually, I do not know if that’s correct. I've lost all count of everything this time round. The good thing is that today I have had a sod it morning. After doing my exercises, ten kilometres on the bike and physio exercises with my rubber bands, I’ve taken to a scented bath for an hour. A large cup of coffee and my thoughts. I can’t even take the morning paper in there with me. It’s too full of the real world.  It’s just one of those days when I have lost the will to live. I’ve been very lucky. I’ve had work throughout the lockdown unlike many of my peers and colleagues, but it hasn’t made it any easier. In our business, they say you should never appear in a sequel. Let’s face it. “Lockdown 1” was a global hit. The Blitz spirit, the touching scenes of everyone on their balconies and in their gardens, clapping and banging saucepans for the brave boys and girls of the NHS. The orderly queues at the supermarkets Lidl notwithstanding. That was the lockdown to be in...