extras

The hall was filling up quickly. It was barely eight in the morning and I stood in one corner, behind the TV monitor, discussing the script with the writers. The sparks were still rolling cable around me and the director was deep in conversation with the DoP. I look around the room trying to tot up in my head how long it will be before we start turning over. We are on location, and time really does mean money. 

As I'm sizing up the scene before me, I slowly become aware of a man staring at me from across the floor.  Judging by the skin-tight leopard skin and long tartan scarf, he is one of the first coach-load of Rod Stewart impersonators (circa 1974) to arrive on set. We need to fill the room with them. He catches my eye and gives a nonchalant nod, one that seems entirely at odds with his appearance. I double-take. An enigmatic smile plays on his lips. At least, I think it is. It's hard to make out what is going on underneath that enormous blonde Rod-wig. There it is, he smiles lazily at me again. Surely he's not actually flirting with me? He readjusts his leggings. Well, they are tight. I blink. Embarrassed, I look away and immediately fall back into the job at hand. Logistics. Timing. Team.

"Excuse me"

I look up. He's now the other side of the monitor. He laughs and waves his hand at his outfit as if for me to inspect. He seems quite pleased with the costume and leans in, companionably:

"Soo, I couldn't help but notice you across the floor and wondered what you have come as...?"

It strikes me his outfit is more Atlantic Crossing than Maggie May. I look down at my jeans, T-shirt and trainers. I'm already wearing cans around my neck and the script is tucked under my arm. 

"The producer'' I reply with a firm smile, "I've come as the producer."

He scuttles away, mortified and I feel quite sorry for him. He'll get thrush if he's stuck in those trousers for too long and at this rate, that's very likely indeed.