My star turn as an impatient patient

SOME years ago, I had a number of jobs as an extra, working for an agency specialising in TV work. It wasn’t at all glamorous — mostly waiting around for hours to see if we were needed. Sometimes we weren’t used, but at least we still got paid — and fed (the catering was very good). If we were on set we were shunted around like cattle and forbidden to utter a single word; they would have had to pay us extra for that. Once, I was supposed to be a member of a board of directors and asked to smoke a big cigar to provide atmosphere — for no extra pay. I eagerly agreed but, after a dozen takes and several cigars, I felt sick and my face was as green as the Mekon in the Dan Dare comics. But the worst experience was when I appeared in a hospital drama. I was told to bring pyjamas with me and we were all taken by mini-bus some miles away to a hospital where the company was filming. Following hours of inactivity, the director asked who had brought pyjamas. My hand shot up and I duly got changed and climbed into bed. After some faffing about with no action and with time slipping past, the director announced that he was calling it a day and ordered everyone back in the mini-bus. Keen to get home after a long day, people rapidly started disappearing, leaving me struggling out of bed. Terrified of being left behind, I threw modesty to the winds, grabbed my clothes and set off in hot pursuit, attempting vainly to at least put some trousers on. You try that when halfrunning, half-hobbling down stairs and across a car park. It’s the only time I’ve ever discharged myself from hospital and I never want to repeat that particular hospital drama.

Mike Wallace, Cheltenham, Glos.