Back On Our Feet

A photo of masked actors sat in a rehearsal room, a couple of them glance at the camera, desperately attempt to show with their eyes how pleased they are to be back, others stand chatting to each other in the background, another is intensely looking at a script while two others sit on the floor, legs splayed, mid warm-up.

An on-set selfie. Two masked actors grin intensely at the camera, one of them doing a peace sign. 'So happy to be back on set #blessed #setlife #borntodoit #backtowhereibelong'

A video of countryside whizzing past a train window before it pans to a masked actor as lyrics to 'There's No Business Like Show Business' roll on screen.

The last 16 months have been frankly appalling when it comes to convincing anyone that you are in fact still a working actor, but at least we've all been largely in the same boat. Yes, some were in first class cabins whilst the rest of us were flailing around in the sea, desperately waving to everyone on board and pretending that we're fine, but it was nice to know that a good majority of us were, basically, fucked. Of course, it was awful watching the industry we had spent years eagerly clawing our way into washing away, but there was a decent amount of reassurance from the fact that we finally had a very valid excuse of why things weren't going our way. Was I more gutted about not seeing my family this Christmas or missing out on the chance to not have to wheel out pathetic reasons about why I still hadn't quite landed my big acting break? Who can say, but I do feel sorry for all performers who weren't able to just gesture at the news when there was even a hint of Aunt Michelle asking when she'd be seeing us in EastEnders.

The problem now is that people are getting back to work. Casting calls are on the increase, rehearsal rooms are opening, sets are filling up and we're starting to see the #actorslife posts returning. Hooray. It's brilliant, it genuinely is. I say this, hand on heart, that it is bloody lovely to see performers being able to get back to work but we are very much not all getting back to work. Far from it, or at least that's what I'm telling myself. It is very easy to look online and feel like the whole acting community has landed back on their feet and we find ourselves wishing that we'd spent this last year and a half being a bit more productive. Why didn't we set up a Twitch stream? Why didn't we learn what a Twitch stream is? Why didn't we start writing that script we've been saying for years that we'd do if only we had the time? Why didn't we teach ourselves to become multilingual, multi instrument-playing performers with 8 styles of dance on our CVs? Now the boat has new passengers on board, new crew who worked hard for their place, and now we're floating away wondering if we can even remember how to swim.

I don't know what the point of this post is, but for anyone who happens to stumble here, looking back over the last year or so with a sense of bafflement as to what they actually did, you're not alone. The thought of getting those acting plates spinning again is daunting so it's okay if it doesn't feel exciting. I feel like I'm back to those graduating days from drama school but without the excuse that I've been training for the last 3 years. No, I didn't do any Shakespeare over Zoom. No, I didn't use the time to really get into voiceover work. No, I didn't work out how to use Twitch. Yes, I spent a lot of time wondering what would happen when the industry started to open up again and I was back at square one. 

So, here we are. We wait. We hope. We continue to wear our pyjamas throughout the day with pride. Maybe that plate will start turning again, maybe it will crash to the ground and we'll cry, or maybe, just maybe, we'll find something new to do with it entirely.

Spinning Plates

During my day job a while ago, I was asked if this is what I did for a living. I was explaining that no, not technically, although it did take up most of my time.

'Oh, what else do you do?' 

I explained that, really, I was an actor. 

'Oh, so what acting work are you doing at the moment?' 

'Well, nothing at the moment.' 

I starting explaining that I'd recently done a couple of things, a couple of corporates, some role play, a voiceover job. 

'Have you got any acting work coming up.'

'Not right now but you never know.'

I suddenly realised that, to this stranger, I might as well have said that I was an astronaut. No, NASA don't know anything about me but I saw some stars recently and I'm pretty sure that I spotted the ISS flying past although it could have been a plane. 

I think there are two very distinct stages of being an actor, There are the times when you can very proudly declare, 'I am an ACTOR,' as someone luckily asks what you do for a living when you're in a whirl of auditions and acting work and emails asking for your availability. Then there are the times when you mumble, 'Well, technically I'm an actor,' as someone unfortunately asks what you do for a living when you're in a whirl of day jobs and commuting and emails asking if you fancy coming back to your old call centre job. 

When you're in your proud stage, it's glorious. THIS is what you expected at drama school, this flurry of spinning plates, you're doing it so expertly and you realise that this is what you're born to do. Then suddenly you remember that you have to eat off one of those spinning plates, then you see that one has a crack in it that needs mending and, oh, here comes someone else spinning the same plates as you but, hang on, where did they learn that Triple Platter Spin into Double Saucer Dive? It's then that you realise you're all spinning those same bloody plates from Ikea and you realise that you've been trying to keep them spinning for so long that you're not 100% sure what happens if you just stop.

Stopping is terrifying. Everyone thinks you're a plate spinner. You've dedicated your life to being a plate spinner. Your parents gave you money to go to plate spinning school. Everyone you went to school with knows you're a plate spinner. All the other plate spinners compare their plate spinning to yours and you know that if you stop spinning, everyone will assume that you're not very good at plate spinning anymore. 

The thing is, there are many reasons to stop spinning plates. It might be that want to try a new technique, or maybe you fancy a break so you can save up for some better plates or maybe, just maybe, your arms are just fucking tired. 

I made a decision a few years ago to not beat myself up over a lack of work. I worry sometimes that this attitude makes me a terrible actor, that I'm not committed enough to the cause. Social media can make you feel that if you're not living and breathing your acting career as well as making mnemonics to remember every casting director for every show in London right now then you're doing it wrong. The truth is, since I made this little pledge to myself, I've never been happier about my career. Sure, I'm not going up for the biggest acting roles but I also don't make myself feel like a worthless piece of crap every day either. 

I think I've realised that I like doing a little bit of everything. 

*rewind back to the spinning plates*

I'm a big fan of the picky tea. Or the bits plate. Or bits and pieces. Whatever you called it in your house, it's that tea that you'd have on a Sunday evening. A bit of cheese. Some crisps. Maybe a little sausage roll or pork pie. Some carrot batons. You might add some cherry tomatoes if you're not me. A gloriously crispy and tangy pickled onion. Nowadays it will also include some olives or artichoke hearts, some hummus and those bloody quinoa crisps that are too addictive for their own good. It's a beautiful fridge buffet that although looks like a mish-mash of leftovers, is actually a stunningly thought-out thing of all the things you enjoy. It's comforting and lovely and satisfying and, best of all, 

That's the plate that I want to keep spinning. Some acting work. Some writing work. My day job. Trawling casting call sites. Role play. Dedicated time to watch Drag Race. Thinking up excuses so I can blame a lack of acting work on National Sandwich Week or International Leaf Day. It's taken me eleven years to realise that this is how I like to do things. It might not make the most successful actor and it might not always give me the most exciting answers when someone asks if I've got any acting work coming up but, for me, there's less stress, I enjoy it and sometimes, just sometimes, there might be a pickled onion. 

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I've recently set up a Ko-fi page where the idea is that, if you like what someone does, you treat them to a virtual cup of coffee by donating them the money of what a coffee would be in a reasonably pricey cafe. I'm not a fan of coffee, I'm more of a tea person myself, and, to be honest, just people reading, sharing and commenting on what I do is payment enough but sometimes going through these casting calls requires much tea-based comfort so, you know, it's there if you fancy it... ko-fi.com/castingcallwoe 

Laying Bare

A few weeks ago, I stumbled upon this casting call..

Of course, I laughed. Everything about it is bloody funny, from the idea of being festooned by the occasional crab to being the Meryl Streep of stunt corpses. But, as this beautiful dead woman lies on our examination table and we investigate further, we quickly gain an insight into a huge issue on how women are portrayed.  Setting these hilarious little crabs aside, there is a huge problem with the casting of the Beautiful Naked Female Corpse.

Dead, naked women pop up regularly on casting websites. If they're lucky, they're not being shagged...

What these roles do is boil down to what is essentially wanted from a female character: attractive, naked and silent. Little thought has gone into the character. In fact, there's no character at all. Just a body to be gawped at, fleshy set dressing, a goose-pimpled prop. I'm starting to think that drama school is failing women in not teaching them how to get their kit off and learn how to keep as still as possible for as long as possible.

Reading these casting calls is utterly heartbreaking.  I'd find it easier if I didn't come across these so often but they are everywhere and it's reducing women to literally a piece of meat, a role that could be played by a mannequin. What's incredibly sad is that, often, the actress is cheaper than a mannequin. Pose this role as incredible experience, wonderful showreel material, some easy work, and save yourself a few pennies in the process.

I've never paid a dead, naked woman. I have, however, played a woman in a coma. I joked around at first, at how I was just getting to lie around all day in bed. The crew joked that I could have been horrendously hungover and it wouldn't have mattered. But then there's the horrible realisation that anyone could do this. There's no acting involved, nothing to draw on, nothing to feel proud about, you just lie back and think of what the heck you're doing with your life.

So why are there so many? Why, every time you watch a crime drama, is there a scene been played out as a woman lies there, nipples out, like a meaty coffee table? We have a woman, the victim, shown at her most vulnerable. She has no lines, no personality, she's just a thing to be referred to. Maybe, if she's lucky, there might be a flashback where we see how she dies, because if there's anything we like more than a dead woman, it's seeing that naked (obviously) woman being tortured...

But what angers me more than the nudity, the lifelessness, is that they're still, so often, required to be beautiful. Even in death, even after unspeakable murder, she must still remain magnificent. She is a woman, and even on the mortician's slab or dragged into a ditch, she must fulfil her duty as stunning set dressing.

Look at that last one. She's dead and yet she's still seductive, still beautiful, still a sex object. She's a piece of attractive meat that is there to be fucked. They mention that the actress needs strong acting skills, presumably ones that allow her to remain lifeless while she reminds herself that she deserves better than this. 

It was recently International Women's Day, a day that we clearly still need to have because this is how the world still sees women, as nothing more than a mannequin. My hope is that, by the next one, the Beautiful Naked Female Corpse will no longer be the role I see on a daily basis. We are not slabs of meat, we're not lifeless sex objects and, my god, we are not to be festooned with occasional dead crabs. 

I've recently set up a Ko-fi page where the idea is that, if you like what someone does, you treat them to a virtual cup of coffee by donating them the money of what a coffee would be in a reasonably pricey cafe. I'm not a fan of coffee, I'm more of a tea person myself, and, to be honest, just people reading, sharing and commenting on what I do is payment enough but sometimes going through these casting calls requires much tea-based comfort so, you know, it's there if you fancy it... ko-fi.com/castingcallwoe 

Back to Basics...

I was talking to someone the other day about setting my blog up and I remembered that I did this for any actors who were out there wondering if it was just them going through this, just them wondering if they were finding it hard, just them realising they've seen this episode of Homes Under The Hammer before. So I thought I'd go back to that today, to look at the real root of being a resting actor and not working.

Not really working can be hard for a number of reasons. Of course, there's the financial issue because, you know, tea doesn't buy itself. Then there's the morale issue because not working leads you to questioning what on earth is wrong with you. Then there's the question of whether you can still really call yourself an actor. My acting work over the last year or so has been very few and far between, to the point where, if someone asks what I do for a living, I could just as meaningfully say lawyer, doctor or brain surgeon as I could actor. I've had a couple of jobs here and there but nothing something my mum can tell distant family members about. I've done corporates, I've helped train lawyers and I got a TV acting job that didn't end up happening (one day I promise you an EPIC blog about that), and that's it.

Looking at why I've had such little acting work, and without dwelling too much on my level of talent, there are a few reasons. One, there's hardly any. I know it's cliché to say that it's really quiet right now but it really is quiet right now. Then there's the fact that I have to earn money, I have to do a day job so that I can eat and live and make sure that I've got enough clothes. Having to do a day job means I can't take time away from that to do unpaid acting jobs, not that I want to do unpaid work anyway, but sometimes unpaid stuff is all there is. Then, of course, I've been able to do other things. Writing, creating a Casting Call Woe show, watching every American boxset under the sun, they've all taken me away from acting.

I think what I've learnt in the nearly 11 years since I left drama school is that it's all about finding a balance. In the last few years I've learnt to be a bit easier on myself when it comes to the amount of acting work I do and not to beat myself up over a lack of it. Yes, I do more of my day job than I'd maybe like to and I'd love to dedicate more time to writing and creating things but, as balances go, I'm actually not that down about it. Of course, if I could then I'd make all my money from performing and writing but the performing work isn't there and my writing isn't at the level it needs to be so, right now, this balance works for me. The fact that I get to do any acting and writing work at all is, honestly, a bloody honour and I feel incredibly lucky to do what I do.

A friend of mine recently got a few of us together to, in the face of all the horror that's going on right now, look at what we're doing and how we're getting on. It's a way for us to learn from each other, help each other and just talk about what's going on in our lives and how we want to improve. I honestly can't recommend it enough if it's something you're able to do. Just making a list of what we see others do that seems to work and something we'd like to employ in our daily lives, something actionable and possible and that might make a difference but won't mean the end of the world if it doesn't. Acting can be such a stupidly tricky little beast where it often feels like things are out of your control so doing something where you can have the slightest grasp is a blessed relief.

So if you're at home wondering if it's just you, it's not. Believe me. I know it's hard and sometimes we don't get the chance to do this but remember to not be hard on yourself. Sometimes we have to be, sometimes we have to remind ourselves why we chose to do this and to stop being so bloody lazy (that episode of Stranger Things will still be there tomorrow) but we also have to be nice to ourselves too otherwise there will be nothing of us left to do that short film in Droitwich about a reincarnated llama with a murderous past. And you do not want to miss out on that opportunity...

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I've recently set up a Ko-fi page where the idea is that, if you like what someone does, you treat them to a virtual cup of coffee by donating them the money of what a coffee would be in a reasonably pricey cafe. I'm not a fan of coffee, I'm more of a tea person myself, and, to be honest, just people reading, sharing and commenting on what I do is payment enough but it's there if, you know, you fancy it... https://ko-fi.com/A478KN0

Thoughts Every Actor Has Doing Their Tax Return

January, a month of detoxing, curling up indoors wondering whether the sun will ever return and, if you're self-employed and disorganised, a time to cry over receipts and spreadsheets.  Yes, it's tax return month, and here are the various thoughts you'll probably have while doing it.

1.  It'd probably be better to just go to prison.

There will be a moment, usually when you're trying to hold a fraying receipt up to the light to work out whether that's an eight or a zero, that it'll dawn on you that if you went to prison then you wouldn't have to be doing his.

2.  Next year I'll put my log in details somewhere safe.

Seriously. Every. Bloody. Year.  'Oh, I know, I'll just write it on the back of this envelope that I'll definitely keep in the same place until next year.  I'll just put it on top of all the other envelopes that I've also written past log-in details on.'  Seriously, I've done this.  I'm an idiot.  After 10 years, I've now learnt to keep them in a draft email, on my phone and in the back of three different notebooks.  Next year I'm getting them tattooed on each limb.

3.  I will do this earlier next year.

You will think this. You will tell yourself that you will definitely get this sorted as soon as possible next year. Ohh, you'll show Moira, won't you? Come April, you'll smash that tax return, won't you? Of course you bloody won't. Come April you'll be embracing the possibility of sunshine and the possibility of maybe having a drink outside. The only thought you'll give that pesky tax return is whether those drinks are deductible after you drunkenly pledged that you'd show those directors what they've missed out on.

4.  Keep. Track. Of. Earnings. And. Spending. Throughout. The. Year.

I had this thought during my first tax return and it's one of the very few things I've stuck to. Seriously,  this helps. I have a boring file on my laptop with all my tax things tucked away and in there is a spreadsheet wishing I'd explore their full potential because all I do is put self-employed earnings in one tab, any PAYE earnings in the other and then my spends in the third. It's boring but it makes me feel super-organised. Plus it avoids the need to trawl through bank statements come tax return time, and anything that prevents me from seeing just how much money I spend in Itsu and Japanese Canteen in Holborn is something I'm all for. And on that note...

5.  Why do I spend so much money on...?

When you do find yourself working your way through your bank statements, cringing at any payment made between the hours of 2am and 5am, you'll start to see a pattern. Maybe it's daytime Ubers, maybe it's post-10pm KFCs or maybe, like for me, it's the alarming amount of £10+ payments made in Itsu (yes, I'm always there on my own. No, I don't think one Hip, Humble and Healthy is enough). Anyway, whatever it is, there will be something that just keeps cropping up. Maybe you hate yourself enough to tot all that money up and see just how much you're frittering away on overpriced miso and then think about what more meaningful things you could have spent that money on. I don't suggest doing this. Doing a tax return is awful enough without beating yourself up over a few unnecessary splurges in Whole Foods over a year ago. Did you enjoy that eye-wateringly expensive raw almond macaroons at the time? Great, then move on.

6.  Thank heavens I don't earn more.

This is the one time of year that I'm thankful for not earning enough to do nice things. Imagine having so many bloody acting jobs that you had to work out what you'd earned from all of them and then pay tax on it. Being a rester has its perks because even the HMRC self-assessment team don't care about how many days you've spent sat at home in your pyjamas eating Chipsticks.

7.  Why the heck don't they teach people how to do this at drama school/uni/anywhere?

When I was at drama school, tax returns were mentioned in very much the same way that Theatre in Education jobs were, they are inevitable but the less you know, the better. This is the sum of what we were told about tax returns at drama school...get an envelope for each month of the year and put all your receipts in the corresponding envelope. Now this is good advice but you do really need to let people know what to do next. I do worry about the class of '06, all found some 60 years later, dead amongst a sea of yellowing envelopes, each housing a desperate attempt to claim numerous Health and Happiness boxes, their poor families faced with a terrifying tax bill. Do I benefit from pre-owned assets?  Was I not domiciled in the UK and claiming the remittance basis? WHY THE HELL AM I BEING ASKED TO MAKE A PAYMENT ON ACCOUNT (this is the most terrifying thing in the world when it first happens)? Maybe drama schools are better now, maybe other drama schools are just better than the one I went to, but seriously, these things need to be taught. It's bad enough that you're churning out swathes of unemployable buffoons each year, don't make it worse by making them criminals too.

8.  Seriously, is prison that bad?

We've all watched Orange Is The New Black and thought that, overall, it actually looks okay. Obviously it's not but, come on, you might get to be friends with Taystee...

9.  Next year I'm going to pay someone to do this. 

I will never do this because I'm cheaper than value brand baked beans but there have been times when I've been on the phone to HMRC for 2 hours because I entered ONE BLOODY DIGIT WRONG on my log in too many times and it then locked me out where I've thought it would be preferable to have someone else pour over my pathetic earnings. Then I remember how many bowls of chicken tantanmen I could buy from The Japanese Canteen for the money I would spend on an accountant (yes, I know they can save you money in the long run) and I continue to patiently sit on hold and listen to The Boy Is Mine on the harpsichord for the nineteenth time.

10.  At least I only have to do this once a year.

Unless the introduction of quarterly tax returns happens and we have to go through this palaver EVERY THREE MONTHS. Time to start saving for that log-in tattoo. At least it would be tax deductible, right?

Lesson The Pain

I realised this morning that, give or take a couple of weeks, I graduated from drama school exactly 9 years ago. Bloody hell. Gnarls Barkley was at number one with Crazy. We’d only seen 2 series of The Apprentice. The best mix up on TV had just happened when Guy Coma ended up accidently on BBC News. And, like it knew there were a whole new bunch of actors in need of procrastination, Twitter arrived…

But, after a few hours of dicking about on Twitter, it got me to thinking about the lessons I’ve learnt in those 9 years. There are fair few supposedly wise words that I’ve kicked to the curb; chiefly that a pair of character shoes and a character skirt are a wise investment. I can only assume drama schools suggest buying these so you can own something that gathers more dust than your acting career.

However, a fair few have stuck and, because I’ve got a spare hour and blogging time is scarce these days, I thought I’d share them with you.

Lesson 1: KKK

Now, when we were told at drama school that we should consider the KKK when looking at potential jobs, I was shocked to say the least. I know the industry is rather in favour of white actors but, really? They went on to explain that when you’re faced with a job offer (it took a while longer to learn what one of those was, sadly) you should consider the 3 Ks:

Kicks

Kudos

Kash (hey, we weren’t at drama school for our excellent spelling anyway…)

I must say, I dismissed this at first. When you graduate and you stare into the awful void that you thought would be your glittering career, you, sometimes foolishly, take on whatever job you can get your hands on. But it’s wonderful for those jobs you’re just not sure about. So, when in doubt, see if you can get at least 2 of the 3 Ks covered. And it kinda works. Of course, you can never be entirely sure and we’ve all had those jobs that we thought would be fun but ended up being an utter nightmare (hello eating dried apricots on a riverbank at 2am…) but it’s a handy little technique for those of us who are a little less decisive than we’d like to be.

Lesson 2: We all have our own career path

This was a tough one to learn. You spend your 3^rd year determinedly planning your career. You’ll do a spot of TiE first because, y’know, that’s totally the done thing. Then you’ll do a bit of fringe theatre, a few short independent films…and oh, that’s what I did do. However, that’s when it all starts to fall apart. I thought I’d then do some TV, maybe a major advert and then, obviously, Hollywood would be ready for me and I’d be sorted.

Hahahahahahahahaha.

Now, that totally happened for some people in my year. Others got the massive film job instantly and haven’t stopped working since. Others got a TV job immediately and then never worked again. Others gave up the second they graduated and I now get to log into Facebook and look at the houses they own and the holidays they go on. But the majority of us just toddle along our own little road. Sometimes we’re striding along looking fabulous, sometimes we’re stumbling around drunkenly and other times we’re sleeping at the side of the road while surrounded by biscuit crumbs and cups of tea. At some points our paths will cross and at other times it’ll take us out somewhere horribly remote. But I now find having my own path rather comforting. Yeah, maybe I don’t look after mine as well as I should. I’m sure others get more money for the upkeep and others are more resourceful but I like mine just the way it is, potholes and all. Which takes me on to my next lesson…

Lesson 3: Don’t compare yourself to others

This has been the toughest one of all to learn. It seems straightforward but, believe me, it’s bloody hard to not compare yourself to others when you’re sat on the sofa, you’re wearing your oldest pyjamas, you’re picking crisp crumbs out of your hair and you look up to see one of your drama school mates looking a bazillion dollars on TV.

If we didn’t compare ourselves to others then we wouldn’t be human. I don’t care how sorted you say you are, if you say you don’t sometimes look at someone else’s career and then look at your barren CV on your barely functioning laptop and wonder where the hell you went wrong, then you’re a liar.

The point is that, when you see someone else doing fabulously, you don’t beat yourself up over it. Yeah they’re on TV playing a part that you’d kill for but have they ever got to pretend to be an electric toothbrush in a church hall in Derby? Sure they’ve been listed in that ‘Ones To Watch’ article but have they discovered that Papa John’s Special Garlic sauce makes the filthiest, most glorious topping for macaroni cheese? See? You’re doing just fine. You might want to get your cholesterol checked out but, seriously, YOU’RE FINE.

So there we go. 9 years and 3 lessons later and here I am. Sat indoors on a sunny Saturday afternoon wondering where the next acting job is coming from. But I have biscuits in the kitchen, tea on the go, Netflix on the telly and a pair of pyjamas that will last longer than any of the acting careers of my peers so, y’know, my path ain’t looking too bad right now…

Don't Believe The Skype

Technology is great. It means I can check the weather on my phone without having to even open the curtains, I can watch telly and not really take in what’s happening because I’m too busy tweeting about it on my laptop and I can judge the lifestyle choices of ex-schoolmates via Facebook while I sit around in my pyjamas on a Wednesday afternoon, wondering if I’ve already seen this episode of Escape To The Country.

Technology is bloody everywhere and, because actors are bloody everywhere too, it was only a matter of time before the two worlds collided. It’s hard to tell whether this has been a good thing or not. On one hand, I can now apply for acting roles that I’m never going to get at the click of a button but, on the other hand, I can’t check my phone without seeing I’ve been invited to like yet another actor’s Facebook fan page. NO I DO NOT NEED TO KNOW ABOUT THE THREE AMAAAAAZZZZZIIIIIING AUDITIONS YOU’VE HAD TODAY #SOBLESSED #ACTORSLIFE

But the biggest impact the world of technology has had on casting (apart from, OBVIOUSLY, film, TV and the fact that we can now obviously be both seen and heard on screen too now like a particularly irritating Victorian child) is the introduction of Skype auditions. Now, don’t get me wrong, there’s something very lovely about not having to leave the house to get work. Anything where this is an even slight possibility of wearing slippers while auditioning is top banana. But, ultimately, Skype auditions are a proper pain.

Imagine, if you will, that you were called up one morning and they told you that instead of coming into the office for your interview, the panel had decided to come to your house instead. One, on a reasonably slow day, that would probably make the national news and, two, your house will never look as grubby as when you realise someone who doesn’t live there is going to be seeing it for the first time.

Just like you’re never more than 6 feet away from a rat or 2 feet away from an out of work actor, you’re never more than a camera pan away from a laden clothes horse, much-neglected plant or patch of damp wall in our flat. So, time that should be spent preparing is instead spent finding the one camera angle that is well-lit, doesn’t include your pants drying in the background and stops the director being distracted by the mold visibly creeping along the wall behind you.

And then there’s making yourself the living embodiment of ‘all dressed up with nowhere to go.’ There’s something rather heart-breaking about spending the best part of an hour doing your hair and make-up and picking the perfect outfit to just make the 3 second trip for your bedroom to the living room. 

Then, of course, there’s praying to the Internet Gods that your flaky broadband holds out, roping in the elderly lady from across the road to read in the other part and hoping the daily Jehovah’s Witnesses don’t come by in the next 7 minutes.

But all this is nothing compared to what you actually have to do...

That is a genuine list of requirements that I’ve seen for a Skype interview. Now, I know actors can be worse than piles when it comes to being pains in the arse but an actor has had to have done something seriously awful to you to make them go through that. And actors will have put themselves through it. Actors will have shamelessly paraded around their living room, finally putting their copy of The Complete Works of Shakespeare to good use by precariously balancing it on their heads while they wonder if they're now meant to show their best moves while it's still teetering up there.

Now, thankfully, I didn’t do this particular audition but I did put myself through something vaguely similar. I received an email last year asking if I’d do a self-tape to apply for a role in a music video. They wanted it done by the end of the day. Fine. I wasn’t doing much else that day and, thankfully, my boyfriend was on hand to film it for me. I opened up the instructions. They wanted me to be dressed in smart business attire, put money into a vending machine and pull out a branch. This was already too much effort for someone who had been holding a wee in for the last 30 minutes because they couldn't be bothered to get up. I read on. They then wanted me to move to a photocopier, switch it on and be amazed at all the weird photos coming out of it. And they wanted all of that in one 30 second video. If it went over, they said that they'd refuse to watch it. Oh for crying out loud…

I refused to actually find somewhere with a vending machine and photocopier to film the damn thing and was determined to do it all at home. The next two hours were then spent with me putting together an outfit that looked vaguely like what I’ve seen people on TV wear in offices and rearranging our study to basically hide everything in it. The photocopier was to be played by our knackered old printer. The vending machine - a wardrobe full of sheets and pillows. This was about as convincing as an actor saying they know the different between stage left and stage right without having to think about it first.

I already knew this wasn’t going to work.

First take – 30 seconds has gone by and I’ve only just established that I’m a bored office worker trying to get a drink out of my wardrobe vending machine.

Second take – I realise the ridiculousness of pretending to put a coin in a wardrobe.

Third take – I manage to get to the point where I quizzically look at the branch (played admirably by Thin Air) and then 30 seconds is up.

Fourth take – frustrated by this point, I race through it at such an angry speed that I’ve done the whole thing in 18 seconds.

Fifth take – like my last day of woodwork class in Year 9, I'm as close to nailing it as I'll ever be. The whole scene comes in at 31 seconds. I’ve already decided the email I'll be sending to Watchdog if they dare complain.

Then it’s back into pyjamas (I leave the make up on because I never do it this nicely and damn me if I’m wasting the time and effort spent on not looking like a clown) to then faff around with WeTransfer for the rest of my life. 4 hours. 4 bloody hours the whole debacle took.

I didn't get it.

Creating Diversions

Today, Channel 4 announced that they are issuing strict diversity guidelines to ensure there is greater diversity and representation in shows being commissioned. This means that commissioned dramas and comedies must have at least one lead role played by a BAME, LGBT or disabled performer and 50% of lead roles are to be played by women, if there are no other minorities featured.

So far, so bloody brilliant. But unfortunately these guidelines have been brought in with a threat to cut Channel 4 executives' bonuses if they fail to meet diversity targets.

Oh.

Because there’s nothing like seeing diversity on TV and knowing it’s there because an exec has been bribed with money. That’s a definite victory for female, disabled, LGBT and BAME performers everywhere. Getting to be on telly because someone’s been threatened with having their pocket money cut is what we all dream of.

What we actually need is encouragement for dramas and comedies to be created with these under-represented groups because it’s more interesting watching something that isn’t just a bunch of white men dicking about. What we don’t want are so-called “minority” performers being crowbarred into programmes, especially given the way that these characters can be sometimes written...

Women can be fully dressed for the duration of their screen time. They can be over 18. They don’t have to be but they can. They can also be over a size 6. Again, they don’t have to be but they can. They can also have a role that isn't defined by their relationship with the leading white male.

Not all BAME males are criminals. Or shop owners. Or wise-quipping mates. They can also have a role that isn't just a bit part in furthering the lead white male's story.

Not all BAME females are oppressed, a sassy best friend or over-sexualised. They can also have a role that isn't just a bit part in the lead female's life, the female who is in a relationship with the lead white male.

When establishing an LGBT character, their first scene doesn’t HAVE to be about confirming their sexual orientation with the audience. They can also have a role that doesn't require them to deal with an unrequited love for or from the lead white male. 

Disability doesn’t necessarily mean being in a chair. Or being a pitiful character. But, likewise, they don’t have to be the villain either. That’s not the way to show you’re TOTALLY RELAXED ABOUT WRITING A CHARACTER WITH A DISABILITY. They can also have a role that doesn't involve them being called upon to give advice to the lead white male.

Basically, don’t base the character’s character on their minority status. You don’t have to ignore it completely but female, BAME, LGBT and disabled characters can have depth too.  If our streets were full of such stereotypes it would be bloody weird, and it’s no different on our screens too. 

Hopefully these new guidelines will be a celebration of the UK's diversity without a crowbar in sight. Hopefully they'll allow previously unseen performers have a chance. Hopefully it'll make television even more brilliant than it already is and be the shake-up that this industry needs. Hopefully I'll finally get a telly credit on my CV... 

OH, AND DON’T THINK I’VE IGNORED THE FACT THAT WOMEN ARE STILL BEING CLASSED AS A MINORITY. THAT IS FOR ANOTHER BLOG WHEN I'VE RUN OUT OF THINGS TO SMASH.


Many thanks to @margojmilne, @daisymartey, @hayleynovember & @ShamirDawood who all helped with this blog.