It's Red Nose day and I'm sitting in Grope Towers with mine which I didn't have to stump up a quid for because it's natural, acquired over 30 years of imbibing JD and coke. Be assured that I'll be doing my bit later at the 12 Bar in a sponsored Drinkathon when we'll be looking to raise a few bob for the cause.
Anyway, news that the bearded fairy from LOTR has landed a gig on Cornonation Street sent yours truly into a flurry of activity. Not to be outdone by some northern thespian, I start ringing around the long-running soaps (Eastenders, Hollyoaks, Today in Parliament) to see if they're in the market for a global mega-star. It beggars belief but no-one seems very interested. So I get on to Quentin at the PR agency and tell him to stop gelling his hair and kick-start the Grope board-treading career.
A bit later on, I'm in the Carpathian Tattoo and Fish Bar having my ex's name altered when the the mobile starts up. It's Quentin, all breathless and twittery, telling me to get over to the Groucho pdq. I pitch up to find him in a huddle with another meedjah type. Apparently, she's a producer on the Archers and they've come up with a story-line where I play Walter Gabriel's long-lost musician son, Peter, who's been living in the west country recording people banging logs and playing nose flutes.
Thinking that this is a result, I shoot off to the countryside - well Hackney Marshes - to commune with nature and hone my farming skills - milking sheep, mangling wurzels, that sort of thing.
Just as I'm getting into the swing of it when I get another call to say that they've had second thoughts. They've found someone more closely matched to the character and they'll be developing the idea with him. Well you could have knocked me down with a sledgehammer.
Duplicitious or what?
Blog of the Day - 10/3/2005
2 comments:
A kind of turnip, SB. (No doubt you'll read something racy into that)
Fantastic "son of Walter" joke. It all makes sense.
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