He was moderately known. Not a Heat-style profile but certainly recognisable. The kind of man who probably suffers from a lot of "Oi! You! I've seen you on the telly!" in the supermarket. He came in to play a small part for one episode. Nothing fancy but he still approached it with all the intensity of a young De Niro. Which was fine, except it was a bit part and this was a TV comedy not Brecht.
He was, in short, what you might call a bit precious. Handle with Care emanated from every pore. Even the thick-skinned, seen-it-all sparks gave him a wide berth less he went Baby Jane on their respective arses.
Being a single camera show, things were predictably taking longer than expected. He started to fret as he waited sulkily by the tea urn. Like a humourless grey cloud, he hovered over the rest of the cast indignant at being made to wait. We sent him back to the relative comfort of his dressing room for a few minutes. Fifteen minutes later and our Second was asked to return him to the set.
She knocked on his door. "Enter", he grandly commanded. And there he sat, in an armchair, facing the door, in all his glory. Legs spread and, bar a small, carefully placed cushion, completely naked. Mighty pleased with himself, he held her eye for a second too long.
"DON'T! Get up." She cried as he went to do just that.
Perhaps he didn't want to get his costume dirty.
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