Man About Town – August 2026

By Mark Edwardson

Hollywood or bust! Oh yes, darlings! This month I’m full of theatrical bluster and voice projection. After being dormant for many years my acting career has been rekindled!

OK - that’s a massive stretch and barely believable but I have been called upon to provide my services as a thesp. And it was either a case of playing to my strengths or being typecast.

On an unbearably hot and humid summer morning the ‘phone rang. “Hello, it’s Claire. Are you busy?”, enquired a familiar but unplaceable voice. Then it came to me. Claire’s an old colleague from the BBC who’s now a proper, grown up film producer. Typically for Claire she cut straight to the chase. “I’m part of a team producing a six-part drama for TV. We need someone who can play a seasoned television reporter and news reader. Do you know any?” I detected a wide grin in her voice before she dissolved into a characteristic guffaw. “Funny you should mention that,” I replied laughing along. “What time do you want me and where?”

Next thing I know I was on the way to Le Mans Crescent in Bolton where I was introduced to a team including camera operators, sound recordists, producers, assistant producers, directors, assistant directors, reflector grips, hair and make up artists, drinks carriers, a young girl who held a parasol and, quaintest of all, a clapperboard…erm…clapper. This is the sort of treatment I never received working for Auntie. And I loved it! That was until the weather crept up on me.

When I arrived in Bolton it was 8am. The skies were blue and clear and the temperatures hovered around a pleasant 22 Celsius. But this was the height of a heatwave. Very quickly the mercury had pushed past 30 degrees. I was suited and booted as one would expect from a TV reporter delivering news of the utmost national importance. The scorching sun beat down upon me without a hint of mercy. It wasn’t long before the exhaustion started to tell. The crew were very kind. Camera operators are not known for generosity towards onscreen talent. How many times have you seen TV reporters with wonky tie knots? But in this case Andy kindly pointed out everyone else was dressed in thin t-shirts and shorts. So I took my time and probably delayed the production by at least an hour.

Lines eventually delivered and feeling slightly woozy I expected to return to my Winnebago and await a delicious five-course lunch and a couple of bottles of the finest Chianti before delivering tales of wonder and excitement to a wide-eyed throng. But it was not to be because yet more discomfort was about to befall me.

Catching my breath and guzzling pints of water in a small caravan I noticed some clothes I didn’t recognise. A black t-shirt, a heavy woollen jumper, black jeans, black woolly socks, gloves and cap, boots, a snood and a very substantial black nylon coat with a dense microfibre lining. “I wonder which poor beggar has got to wear that today?” I mused. Then the door opened. It was one of the assistant producers who informed me the costume was mine and it was time for the riot scene. “Chop! Chop!”, she barked.

Obediently, I complied. Then it was out into the back streets of Bolton to mock up civil unrest. There was smoke, riot cops and fellow rioters. The heat was ridiculous but the event was so much fun.

It was certainly more fun than my first foray into acting when, as a ten year-old, I played Flora MacDonald in a Cub Scout Gang Show production about the life of Bonnie Prince Charlie. In that production I had to shed clothing to reveal I was wearing my grandmother’s bloomers!

Small wonder it took me fifty years to get over it.