I’m sure that “waiting” is the biggest pain in our collective arse! I mean, war and famine and such are more than a pain in the arse…unless you’re that soldier who got shot in the arse…balls, I’ll start again.

Uh…feck! See what I mean?

All that nonsensical rambling was written as I am waiting for my frigging train to arrive. My mind is not at its razor-sharpness when I have to wait for junk! It grabs on to thoughts like “I wonder if this train has power sockets” or “that hair growing from my mole…is it ok if my girlfriend plucks it out? It won’t get worse, will it?”

When you’re a mediocre actor, like myself, your time spent waiting is roughly four times more than, say, an oil-rig worker. Oil-rig workers don’t sit in their house thinking “maybe if I’d tried an Irish accent”. Oil-rig workers don’t sip at luke-warm cappuccinos in the Starbucks next door to Johnny Jenkins’ Casting for two hours because they miscalculated how long it takes to drive to Manchester and are 3 hours early. Oil-rig workers wear overalls, not their god damned pyjamas for days and days and days hoping against hope for your agent to ring.

Last week, I waited for 2 and half hours to be asked: “Oh…can you come back tomorrow?” 2 and a half hours of sitting and looking at the floor and wondering why I hadn’t brought my IPod and what do I get?!  24 more hours of waiting. AAAARGH!

Oh well, I suppose I could be doing a job that involves “working” or “thinking” or “Business acumen”. We have made our own beds, so let’s…uh…lie…in them? Does that butchered idiom make sense?

Oh shit my train’s here……

by Ceri Phillips