Macbeth!

We were meant to be having a nice day off in the country with mother, but then I actually got called for an audition, so I had to go back to London for one day on the Wednesday whilst Bartelt and mother just hung out and had fun. The audition was for Macbeth, not for the part, sadly, but for a witch and some other roles: probably the undead and men in drag, my specialities. Macbeth nonetheless: one of my favourite Shakespeares. This necessitated buying the exorbitantly-priced return to London, but then it was an audition, or, as I call it, a hen's tooth. And it was worth every penny, not because I got the part or even a recall, but because it provided me with one of those excellent auditioning stories.

There are many great things about auditioning, the greatest of them all being that you get to perform... that's it. Most actors spend so little time actually doing it, that even an audition is a performance. But today's audition was to provide a corker of an experience. I mean, I got to speak Spanish with the woman who was getting us to write our details down on a piece of paper outside the audition room itself, and I bumped in to a lovely bloke I had workshopped with recently, but the real gem was the rudeness and unkindness I experienced in the audition room. It is rare you get to experience genuine rudeness and unkindness in the audition room itself. For all our failings, folk in this industry, in my experience, and kind and respectful no matter how risible we think your work to be.

They wanted two pieces of Shakespeare. I had those with me in my head: no flies on me. As I went into the audition I noticed a door out to, well, not a roof terrace, but some roof space, and as one of my speeches had an entrance and an exit I thought I'd use the door from the terrace for this purpose: I'm very, very bright, you see, and work in harmony with my surroundings, yeah?. So I chatted with them a bit, did the entrance, did the scene (they were looking for physical performers, so it was lots of grovelling, up and downish type stuff, etc) and exited.

After leaving a moment for them to compose themselves after my brilliance, I went back into the room. Much to my... surprise? I found them giggling to one another. I had to presume it was due to my greatness as a performer, but there was actually no denying that whatever they were laughing about, and they never did tell me, it was pretty rude not to let me in on the joke. I just stood there why they tried to compose themselves, concluding that I was the joke.
It was useful because, as it became clear that they were, well, just laughing at me, that I, on balance, would probably not want to work with them, and so I was able to really enjoy the rest of the audition - there's nothing like the escape of failure to enjoy letting your hair down. If they already think you're absurd and you think they're tossers, well, you don't need to stand on ceremony.

Of course, I had gone to expense and time to audition, but it's often instructive, and, what's more, I received a text later in the day from my mate Shane asking if I'd auditioned for them and if so, what did I think of them. I told him... well, I told him I was not very impressed, and he said he'd auditioned for them and he'd.... not been impressed either. Shane can make me look retiring in the forth-rightness department.

It was a real pleasure to get on the train back to Suffolk, to Bartelt, to my mother. We had a lovely evening – high summer in April – and discussed how I would probably be offered the part as I didn't want it. We actors say this a lot. Turns out I didn't even get a recall, a bit hurtful regardless of the fact I'd not've gone to it. But I seem to have got over it okay.