Accent Grave

I forgot to say, too, that my accents are the kiss of death. I did an impersonation (or rather an hommage) to Alec Guinness a few years ago when I was playing Herr Ringleman in "Clockwork", and the day after I first tried it, the poor man died.

Accent-uate

Ah. Not being seen for Pitlochry this year, then. Shame, because I am now an expert Bodhranai and can croak my way through two (count them, two) musical theatre baritone songs.
What would have undoubtedly undone me, though, would have been my variety of Scots accents - or lack of. No matter how many times I watch "Whisky Galore", I still sound like Fraser in "Dad's Army". Or worse, like Billy Connolly.
I don't much like doing accents for parts anyway. I read somewhere that you expend a huge percentage of your acting energy on maintaining an accent if it's not your own, and that's a terrifying statistic if, like me, you suspect you may be just a trifle underenergised at the best of times. Plus, when I'm in an audience and I know someone's doing an accent, I don't listen - I just sit in a state of fevered anticipation, waiting for them to cock it up. It's like being at the opera when a soprano does that very high solo in The Magic Flute. Everyone just winces.

Another Humbled Man

On this day, at shortly before 4am, my lovely wife gave birth to a baby girl at the John Radcliffe Hospital in Oxford. No quips or smart talk. She's an angel and we're calling her Molly Elizabeth.
That's all!

First Steps

Jake's been cast as a sheep at his pre-school Nativity Play. A SHEEP, for Christ's sake! Not even a shepherd!
I scoped out the competition and it's not all that. But nobbling the shepherds or wise men, or best of all Joseph, will be no easy task. They're closely watched.
But I have found out that the Archangel Gabriel will be played by some bespectacled owl with a wheat allergy, so perhaps some judiciously placed Quavers will help...