square, sliced Lome sausage that my pal in the Royal Mile has stocked for years. I’ve never struck it lucky though;
North Americans seem to go for quantity, not quality.
I had been looking forward to a good fry-up since I’d known that I was coming home to Edinburgh. There had been no chance at Susie’s, since she was watching what she ate, both for the baby’s sake and her own.
I called her, once I’d demolished my supper, and a can of Harp; the flat seemed empty without her and the baby. I pondered on the fact that here was I, back in what I regarded as my home city, shacked up in the sort of pad I’d dreamed about back in the old days, and I was bloody lonely. Not the sort of all-embracing loneliness that had engulfed me after Jan died, nor the vague sort from my twenties, when I was between steady women, but a sharp, biting feeling that I found unsettling, even when I was indulging myself with my spicy supper.
“How’s the baby?” I asked, as soon as she picked up the phone.
“Perfect, as always,” she answered, with a chuckle. “Don’t worry, Oz.
I really can look after her, you know.”
“I know; but I miss her.”
“I’m sure she misses you too, but I’m not going to waken her to ask her.”
“I miss you a bit as well, of course.”
“Glad to hear it. Let me know when you miss me a lot. Now go on out for a Chinky or something.”
“I don’t need to.” I told her about my visit to Ali, and laid it on thick about the sausage.
“Stop it!” she said. “You’ve got me salivating. I love square sausage too. If it’s that good, then next time you come through, you can bring me some. Now bugger off and amuse yourself for a while. I’m in the middle of getting things ready for the nanny.”
I said goodnight, and went back to the Skinner book. The story hooked me, good and proper. Apart from cracking another can of lager, I didn’t put it down until I’d reached the explosive conclusion. By that time I’d got to know Andy Martin pretty well, and I was beginning to look forward to bringing him to life.
For the first time since I’d left the States, I began to think hard about where I was going with the movie, and how it would be different from the first two parts I’d played. Actually, there was something I’d never told Miles; it wouldn’t be the first time I had played a detective. In our middle and senior years at Waid Academy, in Anstruther, Jan and I had joined the school drama club; we’d worked our way up to the leading parts, and had got ourselves some decent reveiws .. . albeit only in the East life Mail. We were pretty used to the greasepaint by the time we left for Edinburgh, but although we threatened to join the university theatre society, other things, like study and sex, got in the way.
I had enjoyed those school day plays, though. I never had any inhibitions as a kid.. . ‘shy’ is a word that has never been used to describe me ... and I didn’t have any trouble getting up there on stage and performing. I never had any trouble learning lines either; I was able to read the script a couple of times and my own part stuck; I could even prompt my fellow amateur thesps on the frequent occasions when they dried up.
Our acting highlight, Jan’s and mine, came when our group took part in a county drama competition, and lifted the trophy. One of the judges was a Scottish Television producer, who thought enough of us to offer us parts, there and then, as gormless country teenagers in a forthcoming Taggart episode. Filming clashed with the run-up to our Highers exams, though, so we were forced to turn him, and his money, down.
When Miles gave me my first screen test, somehow it had all come back. He’s still quite chuffed that he’s taken a complete beginner and turned him into a feature player, and I’ve never got round to explaining that it wasn’t quite that way.
I laid down the
North Americans seem to go for quantity, not quality.
I had been looking forward to a good fry-up since I’d known that I was coming home to Edinburgh. There had been no chance at Susie’s, since she was watching what she ate, both for the baby’s sake and her own.
I called her, once I’d demolished my supper, and a can of Harp; the flat seemed empty without her and the baby. I pondered on the fact that here was I, back in what I regarded as my home city, shacked up in the sort of pad I’d dreamed about back in the old days, and I was bloody lonely. Not the sort of all-embracing loneliness that had engulfed me after Jan died, nor the vague sort from my twenties, when I was between steady women, but a sharp, biting feeling that I found unsettling, even when I was indulging myself with my spicy supper.
“How’s the baby?” I asked, as soon as she picked up the phone.
“Perfect, as always,” she answered, with a chuckle. “Don’t worry, Oz.
I really can look after her, you know.”
“I know; but I miss her.”
“I’m sure she misses you too, but I’m not going to waken her to ask her.”
“I miss you a bit as well, of course.”
“Glad to hear it. Let me know when you miss me a lot. Now go on out for a Chinky or something.”
“I don’t need to.” I told her about my visit to Ali, and laid it on thick about the sausage.
“Stop it!” she said. “You’ve got me salivating. I love square sausage too. If it’s that good, then next time you come through, you can bring me some. Now bugger off and amuse yourself for a while. I’m in the middle of getting things ready for the nanny.”
I said goodnight, and went back to the Skinner book. The story hooked me, good and proper. Apart from cracking another can of lager, I didn’t put it down until I’d reached the explosive conclusion. By that time I’d got to know Andy Martin pretty well, and I was beginning to look forward to bringing him to life.
For the first time since I’d left the States, I began to think hard about where I was going with the movie, and how it would be different from the first two parts I’d played. Actually, there was something I’d never told Miles; it wouldn’t be the first time I had played a detective. In our middle and senior years at Waid Academy, in Anstruther, Jan and I had joined the school drama club; we’d worked our way up to the leading parts, and had got ourselves some decent reveiws .. . albeit only in the East life Mail. We were pretty used to the greasepaint by the time we left for Edinburgh, but although we threatened to join the university theatre society, other things, like study and sex, got in the way.
I had enjoyed those school day plays, though. I never had any inhibitions as a kid.. . ‘shy’ is a word that has never been used to describe me ... and I didn’t have any trouble getting up there on stage and performing. I never had any trouble learning lines either; I was able to read the script a couple of times and my own part stuck; I could even prompt my fellow amateur thesps on the frequent occasions when they dried up.
Our acting highlight, Jan’s and mine, came when our group took part in a county drama competition, and lifted the trophy. One of the judges was a Scottish Television producer, who thought enough of us to offer us parts, there and then, as gormless country teenagers in a forthcoming Taggart episode. Filming clashed with the run-up to our Highers exams, though, so we were forced to turn him, and his money, down.
When Miles gave me my first screen test, somehow it had all come back. He’s still quite chuffed that he’s taken a complete beginner and turned him into a feature player, and I’ve never got round to explaining that it wasn’t quite that way.
I laid down the
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