Five Years On... (written pre-COVID19)

It's a very bizarre feeling, like time travel. I'm now 66, and have just travelled back in time to read my Ill Bloke's Blog, particularly the last chapter (Chapter 30) entitled 'One Year On (and counting)'. I have re-read that particular chapter so I don't repeat myself – a habit that those of a certain age are apt to do, within a few hours let alone a few years.

Water under the bridge

Oh yes, a lot of it, and such a deluge since I was given a second chance at this life. Unfortunately many of my contemporaries, friends and acquaintances have not been so lucky. In the past few years I have been to far too many funerals, many of them in some way connected to cancer. Great strides have been made in the last half decade but there is a long, long way to go before the world is rid of it. The trouble is, it's a bit like the 'common' cold: there are hundreds of different cancers and there is no one-size-fits-all cure or vaccine to deal with them.

Distant, but vivid memories.

There are times when hospital, intravenous injections, sickness, hair loss, appetite loss, weight loss, bags of blood, bags of platelets and boredom seem a long, long time ago as if they never happened at all. But most of the time the images and feelings are still there, gently nudging my memory on a daily basis to remind me of how lucky I am and how I shouldn't waste the time I have been given. Of course there are daily reminders too of impending old age. Take the last week: notice of bowel cancer screening (again? it only seems a few months ago but is in fact every two years. And never, ever ignore it, by the way, it could save your life for the sake a bit of embarrassment). I sent off for my free bus pass which I was actually entitled to 16 months ago. My state pension will go up £5 a week from April. I have had an estimate to repair my teeth (my dentist nicknamed them Miracles in Metal when I still had some), the sum of which which would have bought me a 2-bedroom house in the 80s. My cycling group is justifiably called The Old Spokes. Luckily I am its youngest member. Whenever I am cast for a stage or TV/film role (more of which later) it is invariably as a grandfather with dementia or an age-related problem.

With a few more 'Old Spokes' on a fortnightly ride.

So growing older has its demands too, but hopefully I will not live to see out my days in some warm box; I aim to keep as mentally and physically fit as I can – without going too mad – and like most people will say to my children "put me down if I ever get like that, please", knowing full well that come the time they and the medical fraternity will do their damnedest to keep me alive whatever the cost to them, me and whoever bears the brunt of my elderly care.

Growing Old Disgracefully

I am still, to be honest, a fairly conservative person who gave up clubbing as most of my friends were just starting. Sally and I are traditional old stick-in-the-muds, really and very much creatures of habit. We still avidly avoid going out on a Sunday evening, preferring instead to have a couple of G&Ts and watch Countryfile and a TV drama. A good walk, a good book, a caravan holiday, crumpets and a wood fire, a warm comfy bed, a cycle ride, a beer at the pub on a Saturday early doors: these are high up on my priority list.

Simple pleasures: caravanning in Norfolk 2019

Life has changed, for sure. I gave up 'working' three years ago when I realised that I no longer needed to. I still do the occasional design and print project for one or two Cradduck Design clients, and I keep in touch with Ian, my old business partner of 35 years and push a few bits his way as and when I can. Sally still works three days a week at the local school which gives me a few days to write blogs, articles, theatre reviews, even (also this week and a first for me) a short screenplay. It may only be one scene long but it's a start.

The old joke about "how did I ever fit work into my busy schedule?" seems to be ringing true for me. I am as busy as ever with my stage acting, at least locally, for Cheriton Players and West Meon Theatre. I feel guilty that I have not been in anything at Romsey or Maskers (Southampton) for ten years but one thing I no longer enjoy doing is driving very far in the dark; I prefer to fall out of my door and into rehearsal. I have been involved in some great stage productions since my last blog chapter, including the zany The 39 Steps at West Meon, the challenging part of John Cooper in A Month of Sundays (for which I was nominated as Best Actor in a Comic Drama) and a cameo appearance as Prince Philip in Diamonds Are For Trevor, a Bond spoof part-filmed over the summer of 2019 and presented as a stage/film amalgam in November at Cheriton.

The cast of 39 Steps at West Meon, January 2019

And then there is my new 'career' in film and TV. It sort of started a while ago but only took off recently. I was an extra in On Chesil Beach (the screen version of Ian McKewan's odd novel) in late 2016 and this led to me signing up with a few 'extra' (or Supporting Artist) agencies in the hope (or rather Sally's) that I might get onto the set of her favourite, Poldark. Funnily enough that is exactly what happened and I spent six days on the Bristol set of Poldark as an MP, party/lunch guest and other background characters in Series 4. A hugely enjoyable experience I then went on to do various TV and major film work (only as background) such as BBC's His Dark Materials, Rocketman, Last Christmas, Dolittle and Death on The Nile. All the while I had gradually been getting involved in short film and low budget film acting roles – mainly for student productions; university undergraduates, often in the final year and for their final major projects (FMPs). I've had to audition for most, I've learnt a huge amount already, have a showreel, a couple of professional profiles and was about to be taken on by a local agent. That will have to wait because...

As a train diver in On Chesil Beach 2016 – except you never see me.

And then came Coronavirus
You will have gathered that the above was started some while ago. In fact it's less than a month but I had put down the proverbial pen having been sidetracked by a few film acting roles – no less than four self-tape auditions sent in one week and the promise of more (paid and unpaid) film work in a month than I have seen for a while. Maybe some new headshots helped – that and creating an online web based platform to get myself known to casting directors. I have also acquired an agent but yet to sign on the dotted line as we cannot meet face to face for a while. Why?

Lights, one of a few university films I've been in. Great fun.

Suddenly the world has gone into meltdown. Only three weeks ago I was on my way to Dorset to do a little filming for BBC's Close Calls on Camera, a daytime reality drama/rescue series. This will be my third such role. Not BAFTA award winning stuff but good fun and I get paid. So there I was, having fun on The Dancing Ledge on the Isle of Purbeck and only vaguely aware that there was a medical storm brewing on the horizon that was to change our lives profoundly. Not just me and my immediate family, as was the case five years ago, but globally. At time of writing, the number of people worldwide who have died of this particularly nasty strain of Cornonavirus, known as COVID-19, has reached one million. Italy, Spain and the US have been worse affected but the UK hasn't got away with it at all.

Along with the rest of the world, we are effectively locked down, allowed out for essentials only (shopping for food, one exercise a day and so on). But there wouldn't be many places to go anyway – pubs, clubs and non-essential shops are all shut, businesses are going bust, the UK government has stepped in with promises of huge wads of cash to support employers, employees, self-employed and business owners but it's not happening fast enough to prevent disaster for many. They are also slow at ramping up testing for the virus, especially for the frontline NHS staff are dealing with a tsunami of victims. Universities are collaborating with authorities and industry (even F1 motorsport engineers) at amazing speed to provide technological and medical weapons with which to fight and defend from this unseen enemy. Antibody tests are urgently required to see if someone has had it or not. Not to mention a vaccine, of course. The Excel Centre in London has recently opened as a 4,000 bed emergency hospital, aptly name The Nightingale Hospital.  The worst is most definitely to come.

And the worst was to come.
Three weeks later and the death toll has risen in line with Italy's experience and that of Spain. The USA is reeling and Donald Trump is predictably blaming everyone else, including the World Health Organization, for not doing more earlier. Oh, and how he will open up the US again very soon (mind you at the beginning of April this was to happen by Easter). The three week lockdown in the UK has ben extended for another three and talk is now divided between getting the NHS and all frontline carers sufficient PPE, 'ramping up' testing from the present 18,000 a day to 100,000 a day by the end of the month (just under two weeks away), whether or not we should all wear face masks, what devastating effects all this is having on the global economy and when /how are we going to get out of this mess which seems largely dependant on the speed of development of that elusive antibody test  and a reliable vaccine.

Another couple of weeks on and we are now facing global economic meltdown but, thank goodness, a decline in fatalities. Now the problems are: Trump, the lack of PPE and testing, the revelation of care home death numbers and, rather importantly, how to get out of the lockdown and save the economy without causing another spike in numbers and starting the lockdown all over again. It's going to be a while yet before I can restart that new career. But at least Burkitts is (hopefully) a distant memory. And now my thoughts are with those lovely nurses at Southampton General who helped me get back my life five years ago and are currently risking theirs.

A big thank you to these lovely people at Southampton.

So my five year follow up chapter has been well and truly upstaged by this pandemic and rightly so. Perhaps this chapter ought to have been entitled An Ill World's Blog. Next time I decide to write a five year follow-up I may think again.

Finally, a rare gathering of the Cradduck clan in 2017 for Sally's big birthday. Huge thanks to them too. x