Supporting Artiste


1st September 2015

Mud, Sweat and Tears

Today was an awful, tiring day. The hardships that myself and my fellow SA’s endured was literally uphill struggles in some cases in possibly the worst torrential rain I’ve ever had to endure in a while. Which was all exacerbated by two things: the fact that some people didn’t get to eat for over 10 hours due to a repeated cycle of “Oh, but you’ll be needed shortly so let me hold onto your food and you’ll get it back in a bit” and secondly some guy took my boots.

Now, that second point may sound incredibly trivial but bear with me here.

See another “Curse of the Regular” is that you get too comfortable in ironically some of the most uncomfortable gear and you accommodate accordingly over time. I’d come in with the perfect combination of 1 thick and 1 thin pair of socks to create the perfect fit and insoles to to compliment as period shoes have soles as thick as a public toilet lavatory. On this occasion, our boots were separate from our costumes as they were soaked from the day before left to dry out stuffed with newspaper and labelled to our names. This chap however didn’t see my name for whatever reason and by the time he had them on (tied up with 4 lots of thonging per boot) it’d make sense just to give me new ones, right? Wrong.

Bearing in mind I am a size 9, the only boots available were a floppy 10 and toe-crunching 7 1/2. Even with 3 pairs of socks the 10’s were flagging around my ankles and from previous experience on a shoot where my boots didn’t fit and I nearly broke my neck, I opted with the latter toe-crunching option.

Which was surprisingly the best option of the two as I was given direction to walk up a giant hill towards the castle gate where I normally guarded, count to 5, then “walk out with haste”. The downpour made me base of the hill into a bog reminiscent of something you’d see at Glastonbury minus the idiots coked off their tits and I slipped on the drawbridge on my hastily walk during a take which prompted the art department to lay down some hay. The notion of tripping on saggy boots, aqua-planing off a drawbridge leading to a face-first dive down a steep hill into the Swamp-Things toilet almost made me feel glad I couldn’t feel my toes. Almost.

Still, I had better news which pushed me through the day. Last year I worked on a production as a crew member, then stepped in for a featured SA role as the gent who was cast couldn’t fit into the costume. In prep for the second season one of the Producers head-hunted me, for an SA that is literally unheard of.

So, tired, hungry, wet and walking like I’d been sodomized by Mr. T I continued my day with a smile. I guess that’d all you really need to get you through one hell of a crap day; look to the bright future ahead. If I’m not in crutches by then…

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