One in the Hole

Last Friday I get a call for a commercial for Paddy Power. One of a roomful of potential scientists, I fill in the application form and wait, am photographed, then told to go downstairs and wait before being pulled into a room with another candidate. In turn we face the camera and state our names, give our profiles and then smirk at the camera while we poke a finger through a hole the other makes with his fingers. I'm confused by the expression and shape of the ring we have to make, while Other Candidate - a short, bespectacled figure with a suitably eccentric appearance - seems to know exactly what he is doing. Within three minutes we are released. Well, that was a waste of time, I tell myself, annoyed that I was not focused and did not perform as well as I should, I perfunctorily say goodbye to Other Candidate and head for home.

Monday lunchtime a message comes through, can I do the commercial tomorrow? I pick myself up off the mental floor. Yes, of course I can. I'm nervous about the fact that I have The Duchess in the evening, but on Friday's form I informed them that I needed to be finished by 5pm, so they have no excuse if I have to leave. Early that evening I tuck myself up in bed (the Other Half is visiting his parents) and the next morning at 5 I groggily get up, make tea, shave and shower in time for the 6am car to Black Island studios in west London.

Although the script that came through to me specified only two scientists, there are five other men in the waiting room, four scientists and one a footballer. One of the scientists is Other Candidate, Andy Bainbridge. There are also several women brought in as pole-dancer and sex bombs. Much talk ensues about what exactly the script tells us and what our roles are and we wonder why three of the scientists did not go through the same call as Andy as I did. None of us are sure what roles we each have.

All becomes clear when we are called into costume, where we pull on white chemical protection suits. Andy and I are the focus of the advert, standing by a machine from which emerges a mysterious metallic ring. Andy watches and reacts as I poke one or two fingers into the ring. In the laboratory behind us, beautiful women parade past stern scientists while in the background a pole-dancer performs in front of a footballer practising his skills in a dog protection collar. (Trust me, this concoction will make sense, once it has been cut and pulled through CGI.)

The morning passes, as such mornings do, with much hanging around and waiting. The star of the show - the ring - requires much work to ensure that it rises smoothly into the air (propelled not by machinery but by a stagehand in an uncomfortable position) surrounded by appropriate clouds (of dry ice continually replenished by two other stagehands juggling boiling water and freezing ice). Andy and I stand and repeat our gestures with various emphases and speeds. Directors and producers huddle by the screen, discuss and come forward with - occasionally conflicting - instructions. Behind us, Aaron bounces his ball, Annabelle gyrates on her pole and Nathalie and companions walk an endless conveyor of exotic femininity.

The ring might be the star, but Andy and I definitely have second-billing. Luck brought us together - the fact that we were taken together in the casting call matched us as a perfect pair. With a foot in height difference between us, with my alien-type bald head and his nerdy glasses and expression, we are the epitome of eccentric researchers. We looked good together and with more luck someone might see us and use us again.

Lunch - a good variety and filling was welcome - and by two thirty we were back on the set for close-ups of fingers and faces and sexy walks. By three-thirty we were finished and I was free to make my way to Greenwich, pleased to have made and starred in my first commercial. Online, not television, and a three-figure, not four-figure payment. That doesn't matter: it's real acting and real money; it's time to remove "would-be" from the heading of this blog...