Saturday, March 5, 2011


Telly's oh so glamorous people say. That's what they say they do. Its the life of fame, fun and other things beginning with f, like er, femur, and fromage. Maybe not those things. Anyway, today's blog, much like the oh so shocking (please read this in as sarcastic a voice as possible. Wow, you're good at that) open letter to the Daily Star editor by its ex-journalist stating he was forced to write lies. What do you mean? You mean its lies? You mean to say that all those incredibly ludicrous and in no-way believable stories about celebrities that no one really cares about, weren't true? Well I am, to say the least, flabbergasted. Next you'll be telling me that children's fairy tales aren't truth and that Sooty isn't an actual bear. Jeeesus, people. Seriously. Also the fact that Richard Peppiatt seemed to hand his open letter over first to the Guardian, suggests that all the bigots who read the Star will never see it anyway and their racist, bullshit filled equilibrium will never be shattered. Waste. Of. Everyone's. Time. True story. Unlike most of his.

Back to the hood of things, as someone cooler might say, I did some telly yesterday. Yes. Moi. Some actual tellybox work. I won't say what its for as I can't give too much away, but here's a picture of my dressing room sign, which gives it all away:

But it's not going to be screened till September so I can't tell you anything about who else is on, even though they were all awesome, especially the Capoeria dancers, the Irish hand dancers and the snowglobe ballet dancers....oh, er...oops. No more. I shan't reveal no more. Even though none of you are 8 years old and probably won't see it anyway. First and foremost, this isn't really an expose on anyone or anything at all. Everyone working on that show is bloody lovely. Absolute truth. Its a real joy to be doing filming work with people that will happily have a giggle about stuff and never seem too stressed or demanding even when everything's running over time. Meeting Ted Robbins, who plays the Governor, was ace, and I heard some excellent stories about the old school world of comedians such as Les Dawson and Ken Dodd. A truly lovely and very funny man, he was asking me what the circuit was like today and we swapped a few tales of differing worlds, mine now sadly far more filled with people who've seen it on the telly and think they can earn money from it, than those with actual joy for the job. Then again, mine is also not as filled with people stealing each other's jokes or being racist. Swings and roundabouts.

What I wanted to say though was, for everyone out there who thinks telly is a riot, well its not. A riot is a riot. That's why it's called a riot. It'd be very confusing if we heard the news on our riot about police being called to stop a television. I'm not saying it wasn't fun yesterday, but arriving at 9am and finishing at 7.30pm is a long long day. 'Some of us work that everyday' say you, you who do such things. Yeah, but I bet you actually work those hours. Whereas I spent a lot of those hours, ironically for a show about a prison, being contained within my dressing room, doing nothing. Oh sure I could've gone outside, but you might have noticed, the Brits, that things are stupidly cold for March. Stupidly cold, like the season have got confused or like some far fetched possibility that humans destroying the planet for centuries is actually having a direct impact on the weather. So I stayed in my room, by the radiator, fashioning a bed out of a few chairs and a small coffee table, and tried to snooze. Again, you are probably complaining that this doesn't sound stressful in anyway, but as much as you try to actually rest, you know you might be called up to do your bit at any minute. So you don't actually rest at all. You just sit there, not working or doing anything else incase you forget the bit you're meant to be doing for the telly, and in the end just exhaust yourself through doing nothing.

This is, of course, probably not what seasoned professionals do. Me not being at all covered in salt and pepper - HAHAHAHHAHAHAHAHAHA - did just that. I also assume that when it's warmer outside that everyone swan's around in the sun, upsetting make-up as they get redder by the minute and need re-doing, and the production runner pulls their teeth out trying to find out where everyone is. Of course, when you see it on telly, none of this waiting around will be evident. Except for the bit where I nearly forgot a line. Which hopefully will be edited out. Or the bit where a child said I was 'rubbish'. Sigh. Still I got to keep my make-up on after I left completely by accident and managed to fully experience just how horrible it must feel for all women and make-up wearing men everywhere who have gunk on their fizzog till they get home. But I sure did look real purty.

I'll be sure to shout all over the net when its going to be on and I honestly can't wait to do such things or work with such a lovely team again. Although next time I'll bring a book.

Tonight I'm in Poole. I just thought you should know.

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