Not Wanted On Voyage

I like auditions. Most of the time. Even when I don't get the part and I know from the start I have no hope of getting it, I enjoy the process of meeting others, discussing the play with them and giving the part - either an audition piece I have prepared or some lines they sent me - my best shot.

So it was yesterday. As devout readers (all four of you) know, I was up for a part as a grizzly sea captain in Jim Cartwright's allegorical Bed. I turned up at the old BBC offices, chatted with Cecily and assistant Paul about the part, swore that when I grew my hair and beard I did indeed have the aged look, and launched myself into the monologue - a sequence in which the Captain finds himself at the centre of a storm at sea. I emoted, my voice thundered and whispered, my emotions ran the gamut from fear to defiance to loss to happiness. After several days' preparation and wondering whether I could do justice to the part, it was a thrilling experience to be reminded that in front of a live audience I can indeed bring a character to life. No bones about it, I showed Cecily and Paul what a demn fine ector I could be.

Man O'War Bay, Dorset

All in vain. Cecily was too nice to say no, but it was clear from the polite and friendly - rather than enthusiastic - discussion, that I was wrong for the part. The main problems? I assume them to be that I look too young for the part and I have the wrong accent. She wanted South-West England instead of the Scottish I came out with - and, apart from throwing in the occasional Oooh Aaar, SW English is not something I can do. Plus the fact I can't be in London for the callback later in the week. So almost certainly Not Wanted On Voyage.

Never mind. I have another audition this evening. For a bodyguard. Done it before. Can do it again. Shave the head, switch to cold, inhuman look, and there I am. Piece of Cake.