On Wednesday I had two lovely roles in an un-rehearsed reading of a pilot episode of a very funny sitcom.  The first role was of an Office Manager; a powerful character.  I got to be assertive, a bit sarcastic and bossy.

The second role was voicing a pen possessed by the spirit of a (sexy) French woman.

It was a paranormal comedy.

I am, as those who have worked with me will know all too well, an intensely serious actress.

I always do my character A,B,C.

• A: What my character says about herself
• B: What others say about her
• C: Most interesting of all, what is implied

One of my most annoying habits is to ask too many questions.  (The great, late Ken Campbell rid me of this habit for a few years but now it has returned.)  If I am to play a character I want all the background information possible.  I thus gave the author the third degree.

What sort of pen was I?  A fountain pen, Mont Blanc possibly?   A felt tip?  If so what colour felt?  Was I a biro, a roller-ball or even a quill?

“I just kind of thought an ordinary pen,” he said.  “A bic.”

I felt deflated.  A bic!  A plain, sort of cheap plastic thing?

“It’s funnier that way.” said the writer.

Inwardly I was not amused.  An actress of my stature being asked to portray ordinary was a bit of a come-down.

Thus in a room above a pub on the fringes of China Town, I did my best to inject life into this writing implement most ordinary.

Ah, an actress’s life can sometimes be fraught.