Witcomb and I

The life of an actor.

My poor flatmate is in the middle of a task which he hates more than any other. Next week he opens in a short run (only three nights) of Twelfth Night at a chapel in Soho and is treating it as a showcase to try and get a new agent.

He's spent the last three days looking through all of the standard directories and dutifully sent out letters and CVs to all of the big agencies in London.

I really respect him for it. He's prepared to put in long hours and works really hard to get his name out there. I just hope it pays off one day - he's chosen one of the hardest industries to crack but I think he has the dedication and drive to make it.

At times I can't help thinking that we are living a modern day Withnail existence - our flat currently has a broken toilet, no running water in the bathroom and a lounge with no furniture. We have no fridge and so have to buy food that can be eaten on the same day. And that's when we can afford it. Living in London drains your finances like nowhere else and our diet seems to consist of nothing but tea and crumpets.

The crazy thing is - I don't think either of us would change it for anything.