mostly david ephgrave

I’m starting to wonder if being pencilled for a commercial actually means anything. When you're pencilled, the production company want you to keep the shooting dates free in your diary; in other words, you’re down to the last few. It’s a step up from the alternative, which is not hearing anything, and assuming – but not knowing for sure – that you’re out of the running. I’ve been fortunate enough to get to this point a fair few times in the last couple of years, but have been unlucky enough to not get any further. In some senses, it’s a boost in confidence: I must be doing something right. Then again, maybe I’m not getting it quite right enough. I'm aware that's a stupid thing to say, knowing how fickle the world of commercial casting is. A lot of it is down to how you look – but it’s frustrating to get close so many times, without getting the money in the bank. The worst thing is you often don’t hear anything else after being pencilled. The filming dates ge...

I don’t think Costa in Stevenage spend a lot on this advertising campaign. I saw this sign in the cubicle of their unisex toilet. I hope it wasn’t the venue. You could only fit seven people in there, tops, and the lack of power points would necessitate a completely acoustic performance; Mumford & Sons could play to an audience of three, but you’d never cover your overheads without charging a fortune. It would also be awkward. The owner of the marker pen was clearly a big fan of quavers (the note value, not the crisp). He could have thrown in the odd crotchet or treble clef to spice things up. Semibreves wouldn’t have read out of context. They’d just look like eyes. I like it that the poster comes in installments. Maybe each sheet was put up a week apart to create tension, like Charles Dickens used to do with his novels, or Stephen King did with The Green Mile. They didn’t stick them to toilet doors; they serialized them. I think you ...

If I’d just overcome erectile dysfunction, I’d smile into the middle-distance too. (Though I wouldn’t use the word ‘overcoming’ in this context.) Was that picture taken pre- or post-coitus? If it’s the former, it’s a flagrant misuse of the couple’s time. While it’s nice to gaze out at the horizon and appreciate the subtle curvature of the Earth, there’s a time and a place. You don’t do it at the precise moment you've cheated impotence. Not unless it assists arousal (which would be a cause for concern). There are other ways to interpret the photograph. Maybe the person who’s recovered is a friend standing out of shot. They could be about to indulge in a threesome, presumably after a very long wait. If so, I hope he isn't doing a run up. There was an alternative suggested to me via Twitter, that paints the picture in a whole new light.  I wish I’d thought of that. Bollocks. Well, nearly.  

‘Barry Scott’ must find it hard to be cast as anyone else. (Barry and the Scott is gone.) I’ve used those inverted commas intentionally. There’s no such person as Barry Scott. Well, there probably is , but he’s not the chap we associate with Cillit Bang. He is a figment of an advertising executive’s imagination; as fictional as the tooth fairy, the Easter Bunny or Adrian Chiles. The Barry Scott who’s obsessed with household cleanliness is merely an actor playing a part. His name is Neil Burgess. He’s got lots of other credits to his name, yet his face will always be synonymous with limescale removal. Playing Barry Scott must be a double-edged sword. While it might preclude you from other work, such as advertising rival products, the income generated would probably make up for this. He should count himself lucky that he isn't Mr. Muscle. What was once a lucrative earner for the scrawnier actor is now a computer animation. Adver...

Recently, I caught the train into Central London with the express purpose of holding a fish.  I walked to my local station, bought a peak-time Travelcard (£31.00), took the train to King’s Cross and then the tube to Farringdon, located the right address, pressed the buzzer by an unmarked door, walked up four or five flights of stairs, held the fish (a mackerel) - and then reversed all of the above (minus buzzer and Travelcard) until I was back where I started. All-in-all it took about two hours, and the key moment – the fish moment – was filmed for posterity. Why? I was after a job, that's why. I've recently signed with a new agent who specifically represents me for commercial castings. As a result, for the first time in about nine years, I’m often to be found trudging my way into town with a similar objective to this dangling of a mackerel in front of a high-definition camera. Imagine the detail it must have captured. All those shiny, tessellating scales...