A Disaster Waiting To Happen.

Today I had a casting. It was for Sainsburys, which is huge, as it'll be seen on mainstream TV, and if I'm featured I'll be able to pay my rent for a few months (or jet straight off to Majorca). Sounds great? Maybe not. It's for the bathroom and cleaning products section, and I had to wear a swimsuit under my clothes.

A swimsuit?? Now this produces a couple of minor issues. One - on my CV it states I have a slim, athletic figure. Maybe this was true in the distant past but old age and lack of cooking ability have resulted in distinctive wobbly bits. Two - I have so far declined to tell my agent that I have a tattoo below my hip. One that can clearly be seen in the swimsuit. This is mainly because I refuse to do nudity of any kind, but the fact it can also be seen when wearing a swimsuit had slipped my mind.

So I get there, (after applying copious amounts of foundation to said tattoo), wait for an hour (note to self - saying I have a flight to catch is a sure-fire way to jump the queue), and in the meantime other actors are coming out of the studio wearing robes. When I eventually get inside, I do the mandatory ident, profile... and hand shots. Hand shots? This is just a disaster really. I've bitten my nails since I was about 2. Another fact I neglected to mention. This is not boding well.

I am asked to pretend that I have just finished cleaning and collapse onto the chair provided in relief. I do this. The casting director then tells me that's all they need to see. Oh? 'Yes, it's not that we don't like you, we are just looking at different people for different things.' Which basically means that a) they noticed my wobbly bits even through my clothes, or b) were instantly horrified by the state of my fingers and were adamant that they were not suitable for television close-ups. I exit the room in all my clothes, and get looks of sympathy from the guys, and self-satisfied smirks from the girls. One less to compete with, they clearly thought.

Well. You can't win 'em all.