From Porridge To Meatloaf

Justin’s latest audition brings back memories of one of his favourite roles, but even that was tinged with humiliation

- Justin Moorhouse

I’M in prison. I’m a little inebriated, the night before is a blur and my hands are a little shaky. I’m singing, causing a nuisance and then I realise I’m not as alone as I realise there’s someone else here who doesn’t particularly like my singing. There’s a man in the cell next to me. I call his name, he responds and then we’re talking through the wall. I want a cigarette. He doesn’t have any, but we continue talking and I inadvertently give him some terrible news.

On top of this all the time my son is filming this on his phone. Cue sound effects of car brakes.

Stop worrying about me, I haven’t slipped into a life of crime since I last wrote this column. I’m not really in prison, I’m doing what they call a self-tape audition. There’s a television programme being made, they need someone to play a, middle-aged podgy man from the north west in a one-off scene and rather than have a parade of middle-aged podgy actors from the north west to read the words in front of human beings in a former cotton mill foreman’s office somewhere in Ancoats, as used to happen, I’m doing the audition at home.