Heavy

I have put on the most astounding amount of weight recently. I only realised when I shaved and saw I had a double chin, and then I pulled out (or perhaps I should say "dusted off") one of my headshots and realised, as Blackadder once observed, I have turned into a pie shop.

This is very annoying, because I had convinced myself that my metabolism had altered and I was now one of those people who remain whippet-thin no matter what they eat. I now realise that my body-image is based on only looking at myself in the mirror when it's slightly cool (and my skin tightens up with gooseflesh) or when I get up in the morning when I haven't eaten for at least 12 hours. And I'm usually sucking in my tummy, too, as a safety net.

I used to get a lot of stick from people, especially porky people, about the whole dieting thing. Granted, I'm naturally tall(ish) and athletic(ish) but I do put it on when I'm not careful. One very chubby friend of mine used to berate me for going to the gym, but as I pointed out, no-one was likely to ask him to take his shirt off at work, were they? And as Charles Dance once observed, sooner or later someone's gonna as you to do that, and when they do you'd better have something to show them.

This was brought agonisingly home to me during rehearsals for "Pera Palas", where we debated what my character might be wearing when he re-enters after suffering extreme diarrhoea in the bathroom.

"I dunno - maybe he's had a shower?" I said. "He'd probably be in a bathrobe".

"Or a towel?" said Michael, the director. And that was it. Five minutes later Sheila Burnett arrives to take production photos, overhears the plans for the scene and immediately knows what shots she wants. And here, featuring the lovely Alex Giles, is the result:

I spent the next three weeks eating salad. I've never been in better shape.