Oh for a muse of fire... etc, etc.

Can't find the photo of me on stage, haven't

the energy. Instead, here's Guildford

Cathedral. It's modern, as you may have guessed

When things go wrong in publishing (Someone gets fired. A magazine is closed. A colleague dies unexpectedly.) it’s traditional to resort to “gallows humour”, in effect to turn the bad thing into a joke.

In the early eighties a large UK publishing company decided to get rid of its specialist division in Guildford, where I worked. Without any experience I proposed writing and directing a collection of five related playlets called Guildford’s Last Launch wherein the division’s employees would perform a comical version of their coming disaster.

Although I had never acted I cast myself as the over-arching narrator linking these five pieces. Two playlets caused surprised laughter in the audience, mainly because three members of the cast had previously acted. The other playlets got by. That’s as maybe.

But how do you (ie, me) learn to act in two or three weeks? It seemed important to dress the part: black trousers and a black polo-neck endowed me with the necessary gravitas. In those days I drove to work (23 miles) and memorised my lines en route, later rewriting those that were duff. Then giving them life by shouting some, whispering others, banging the steering wheel for emphasis.

In the other direction the route I took was a busy road into London. Other drivers, caught in traffic, must have wondered if I’d been driven mad by the slow progress. But I progressed. I’m not sure I became an actor but there’s a photo of me in performance – clenched fist waving – that looks plausible. Audience laughter helped and – Good grief! – I enjoyed myself. A decade later, addressing a very mixed audience in Tokyo, I employed some tricks of timing that had gone down well in Guildford.

Yes, if an opportunity arose I’d give it a go. Old as I am.