“Between you and me…”

After he arranged for my services to be advertised in the appropriate place, to date I’ve sent heartfelt fiftieth birthday greetings to devotees in Thurrock and Gainsborough, and raised a toast to a ruby wedding anniversary in Anglesey.

For, I might add, under £30 a time, one really feels as if one’s giving something back!

Noting it’s coming up to 12 months since I first agreed to go on the latest agent’s books — her predecessor was a liar and a traitor — I felt it only reasonable we conducted a review of her performance to date over the telephone.

While acknowledging 2020 had not been the best of years to embark on our exciting professional journey together, I pointed out, in no uncertain terms, that we must “hit the ground running” in 2021. The listless response that followed left me to only conclude the woman must be drunk.

Shexy bootsh

Personal memories of the late Sir Sean Connery fondly date back to my small but pleasing role in his 1974 fantasy film Zardoz.

I struggle to think of a more glorious spectacle in show business than the sight of Sean — confidently clad in his character’s red underpants and thigh-high boots — flashing that winning smile in the direction of any fair maiden passing by.

One hardly needs to confirm that the handsome old wolf — in between wives at the time — enjoyed happy hunting.

a brief question?

Was it really you, John Nettles, who I passed by walking down Earl’s Court Road on the early afternoon of Tuesday, 17 November? If so, then your distinctly frosty demeanour towards a long ago co-star greeting you in such courteous a fashion was unforgivable. If this was a regrettable case of mistaken identity on my part (the said passing was fleeting and Father Time doubtless punishes us both), accept my apologies for the confusion.

PRESSURE'S BEEN STEADILY

building among fellow bachelor character actors to “bubble” over this year’s festivities, courtesy of the fact invitations elsewhere seem lacking.

At the time of writing, I remain intent on keeping this rogues’ gallery at bay. One cannot forgive nor forget the shameful scenes that accompanied last year’s Christmas Day charades, when a sorry combination of intoxication and professional jealousy caused certain individuals present to disgrace themselves no end. Spitting image contacts in the professional lookalikes industry inform me they’re tentatively making plans for hopefully lucrative functions up and down the land next year.

For those of you seeking to branch out in these difficult times, I’m reliably told they’re crying out for “slimmeddown Adeles, Marcus Rashfords, and anyone boasting a striking resemblance to a cast member from Line of Duty.” Presently less in demand, meanwhile, are “Prince Harrys, Johnny Depps and Boris Beckers.”

Losing the plot

Following last month’s discreet plug, sincere thanks to those readers who’ve expressed interest in purchasing a copy of my debut novel Only The Liars Remain

— the remarkable story of a distinguished thespian (loosely based on myself) who finally exacts revenge on so-called “friends” in the business who betrayed him decades ago.

While the identities of the very real villains were of course skilfully camouflaged by yours truly for fictional purposes, the London publishing houses presently prove uncooperative.

One impertinent type even emailed back to suggest publication would leave “Nigel Havers in a very strong position to sue.”

festive morale suffered an early blow after learning one’s services would not after all be required in a major new online adaptation of A Christmas Carol.

To add insult to injury, I hear my potential role as the Ghost of Christmas Present instead went to that intolerable loon Brian Blessed, who’ll of course make a terrible hash of it. Hasn’t the present been bad enough this year?