Tomorrow afternoon I'll be taking part in an audition for the role of a football manager in a crisp advertisement for television. Yes, you did read that sentence correctly and, yes, my ludicrous life really is that absurd.
Now that the pub is tootling along quite nicely and requires a good deal less work on my part, especially now that the Christmas period is over, it seems like a good time to indulge in a few off-the-wall antics to brighten the long winter months.
If I get the light snack gig, it'll be a lot of fun, that's for sure. I used to do quite a lot more of this kind of work and have always thoroughly enjoyed the experience.
There was one advertisement for Castlemaine XXXX lager which we recorded out near Granada over two long days (for a 15-second spot) which involved, among other things, a specially constructed Australian outback bar in the middle of the 'desert' and a helicopter for shooting panoramic views. It was a huge project, with the main actor being flown over from the UK. He told me he'd never done any acting before and only went along to the casting to keep his friend company.
The best bit about that weekend was sneaking out of our overnight accommodation to go to the nearest pub with the other 'actors'. Two hours sleep and a raging hangover for the twelve hour shoot - someone told me recently that it's still on YouTube somewhere if anyone wants to see five blokes looking like death warmed up dressed as Australian bar flies. I think they call it method acting.
There was another advert I got a call to do for mobile phones that went out in Germany which, bizarrely, involved about a hundred people in bathing costumes rejoicing in a massive sun cream squirting battle. Quite what it all had to do with telecommunications I'm still not sure. The girls were beautiful though and to improve matters even more, I was chosen for a slow lingering death close-up which meant my fee was increased quite considerably. Dying can be a lucrative business.
Mostly, though, these things are just waiting around for hours on end and drinking tea out of plastic cups, which, let's face it, isn't the worst way to spend a working day.
Now then, I wonder if they'll want my best Jürgen Klopp or Pep Guardiola tomorrow. Or, God forbid, José Mourinho.