Mug Shot

To the Moors Theatre last night for the publicity photos for Clouds of Grey. I had given writer / co-director / co-producer Seth my next, chest and waist size for the white shirt my character wears and he produced a garment that would have been ample for Arnold Schwarzenegger at his most pumped and which had room for both me and any passing homeless waif. Luckily the leather jacket disguised the size and allowed me to strike a variety of poses for photographer Lauren.

There were five of us on set: villains Andrew St Clair James and myself, police Warren Brooking and Barry Somebody (full name still not up on the website) and mysterious individual Phillip Piggott all striking appropriate poses. In my case that meant, among other things, toying with a (real) knife and telling photographer Lauren in graphic detail exactly how I would wield the weapon in her flesh. Which quickly brought that part of the photoshoot to a quick end.

In the meantime I had blotted my copybook by spilling a container of "Creme Puff Gay Whisper" make-up (I kid you not) all over the floor of the gents' toilet. I was using it to take the shine off my pate, and not, as bar-owner Andy possibly suspected, laying a trail to lure the drag queens in Crouch End into his establishment. Mind you, having never visited the bar in drinking hours, I might have been taking coals to Newcastle. And after resurrecting that old simile (if you're old enough to know how it arose, I'd keep quiet about it), I'll get back to learning my lines. Luckily for this aged brain, Steve has a limited vocabulary...