I promised myself I wouldn't watch it.
The time had come. Remember that little telly that I did last year? Well it was about to be broadcast and the world and its wife knew about it. Well.....maybe not the world and its wife but certainly me family and close friends (and maybe their wives). Anyway. The papers had been previewing the new season of Judge John Deed so people knew it was coming up but they didn't know what episode I was in.
I did though.
Episode 3. January 27th 2005.
Oh christ.
Picture it. I was having a whale of a time in rehearsals for Moby Dick and I had just gotten meself a nice little gig for the summer and all was well in the land of make believe when the text messages started to roll in from various sources:
- Well boy, are u on the telly tonight? -
- Hi Jamie, is it Judge John Deed the program that you did? -
- If u don't tell me what episode ur in I'm goin 2 watch them all so I can give you the jeer -
And that was just the start of it. All of a sudden me flatmate is smiling at me over the paper in a way that's making me uncomfortable. No, not that way! In a 'you're going to be on the telly and I'm going to watch it to see if you're any good' kind of way. Me mother is going on about it so much that I have to warn her not to tell everyone. She'd tell everyone I had a great part in it and they'd all get some shock when its only 3 lines and I'd look some fool sure! Me agent is getting on to me to order her a DVD of it from the BBC and everything. And its like this great big thing that I'm hurtling inexorably towards. These 3 fecking lines meant more in some people's minds than any of the deadly things I'd done in theatre in the past year. The whole world could be watching and dya know what? I couldn't give a shit. Because I sir will not be one of that audience watching BBC1 at 8 - 9.30 pm Thursday the 27th of January. No way boy. I cannot think of a worser form of torture than to sit through that and see my ugly head on screen for all of two seconds. I was absolutely resolute in this decision and it was one I had made almost immediately after I filmed the thing. I was immovable on this point. I walked around the London content that I wasn't going to see it. So there was no need to worry or be nervous. The mirror's enough of a shock every morning I can do without primetime on the BBC. No way boy. I was going to miss my first ever appearance on telly and I was a happy man.
Dya know what?
I have fuck all willpower!
After a long day of whaling on the high seas in a rehearsal room just off Tottenham Court Road I had come home to me flat with a bit of shopping. I make a bit of food and settled down to have a well earned watch of the telly, while flicking around I see a very familiar man in a wig. And not just any wig. A Judge's wig! Nah hang on actually. I can't lie anymore. It would probably make a better story if it transpired that I just happened to flick onto the very channel and the very time when I happened to appear on telly, but that's a load of shite. I consciously walked into my living room and of my own free will switched on Judge John Deed and sat down to watch the fecker. Curiosity killed this cat I'm afraid and there's no going back now. Here we go so. The program starts off exactly like I remember from the script but its a while before we get to the first courtroom scene. And of course that's where I spent that mind numbing 3 days so I'm bound to be on screen here.
Not a sign.
Right. No hassle. Well to be quite honest the camera wasn't facing where I was at any point during that scene so fair enough. I'm sure the angles will favour me soon. I sit through some more lovey dovey stuff which I don't care about and has nothing to do with the reporter (my character) and soon enough I'm aching for some courtroom action. Bit of a difference from constantly saying 'There's no way I'm going to watch it!' I was feckin glued to the screen. Surely the viewership are all bewildered about the lack journalistic representation in this program because I know I am at this stage. About 40 minutes in, there's another courtroom scene. Now this must have a bit of Beamish in it. The camera pans onto the female lead as she delivers instructions to the Jury. Yes! This is it I can feel it in me water. I was sitting behind her so the camera will definitely catch me talking notes on the proceedings.
But there's some other guy sitting where I should be.
Hold on a minute? What the feck!!??!!?? Who's this scab bastard stealing me job?
My telly is spared a cup smashing through it as I remember that I missed one days filming because of the Lord of the Rings workshop. Ah yes of course. That's the explaination. He's obviously some extra..sorry....supporting artiste that filled in for me that day. Grand.That said though, he was onscreen for a nice length of time. I should be ok so. No doubt there's a nice bit of journalism to be seen in the background soon.
Its another 30 minutes before you catch sight of any part of me. And its me elbow.
Ah Jesus! This is getting stupid, I'm sitting in me living room shitting meself over seeing meself on the telly and me elbow has all the fame at the moment. Now don't get me wrong, I have a grand looking elbow. But that's not the point. Its starting to get embarrassing now and I'm just thinking to meself that it's a good thing that no one else is in the flat to see this when the door opens;
'Hey, have I missed much? Have you been on yet?'
Me flatmate Gary walks in and plonks himself down on the other sofa and I retreat further into my own private hell which will now be witnessed by someone else in this world. Aw great! I'm really starting to think that I've been cut from the episode. And all I can think of is me mother's disappointment and the jeer I'll get off any of the lads back home that hears about it (and they will!). I'll never live this down. I close a show in the West End and I get cut from me first (and possibly only) telly. Well that's just brilliant, fuc...
And there I am.
The camera's on the Female lawyer for all of two seconds and there I am in full view just over her shoulder. Two seconds is all but me heart jumps at the sight of little ol' me on the telly. I'm on the telly. I think I'll remember me reaction for the rest of me life because all I can think is;
'Look at the fucking head on me!!!!'
Aw boy! I was not looking well that day. Crap hair (done by myself I might add not any of the nice ladies on set) and a dodgy costume (like I said before I looked more like a criminal than the accused did). Well lets be honest it was an inauspicious debut. The only way is up I suppose. I point out my fleeting appearance to Gary and he makes me realise how fleeting. He missed it. He must've blinked so. But wait all was not lost there was still me 3 lines coming up surely we'll get a good long shot of me doing me investegative reporting and even though I look like shit, I still want me screen time baby.
And therein lies the greatest embarrasment of all.
We get to the scene outside the court after the trial and all you can hear is this big knacker Irish accent asking questions. Oh my god. Now this is quite a well to do program so throughout the evening all you've been hearing is well spoken English people so my best blaa sticks out like a sore thumb. It gives me a bit of a shock because I thought that I had softened my accent a bit on the day but obviously not. Actually it was pretty funny and meself and Gary (posh Dubliner though he is) fell about the place laughing at the paddy among the posh on the telly. And did I finally get my close up Mr. DeMille? Nope. You caught sight of me as the camera swept up the steps of the courthouse but all that was seen after that was the top of me head. Probably just as well in the long run.
And that was it. Hardly the horrific experience I was envisioning but then again I hardly set the screen on fire. Then as the credits were rolling me phone started going, it was the start of a few calls that night cos me Mammy and me Nanny were watching back at home sweet home but the first out of the gate was me sister. And what were her words of congratulation and admiration for her favourite (only) brother who had just been on the telly?
'We knew it was you, sure you had some Waterford accent on you when you were talking.'
And proudly so girl.
