It might look as though it's Spring outside. The snow has disappeared. The daffodils are peeking. The temperature is 8 degrees. Positively balmy, in comparison with last week.
But talking of barmy, that's what I was, to accept my first job back as a supporting artist, or uncommon extra, on the regular soap that I worked on for twenty two years before my retirement. Barmy because it's an outside job, and we will be filming for the end of April. No hats, no winter coats, no scarves. Because it is only the BBC wardrobe department that thinks, in Britain, from April-August, we wallow in Mediterranean temperatures.
I am not sleep-walking into this. I know what I am taking on. I am two years older and one bunion less, than when I did this job last. I have prepared my wardrobe for tomorrow. At least three cashmere jumpers, one borrowed, because they are light and layerable. It is my return. I do not wish to look like Michelin woman. I would rather freeze. No, that is not true. I don't care deeply about what I look like. Vanity versus warmth? Warmth will win.
So I have invested in an electric hot water bottle. It's for the lower back and you wear it strapped around the waist. Does this sound the remotest bit familiar? Ah, yes, but this one is heated up from a plug point. I put it on, for a trial-run at the weekend when Son et Lumiere was visiting.
"It looks fine, Mum, really. No-one is going to notice... No, really..."
Well, that additional really, did it. Upstairs to a full-length mirror to survey the effect. What did I say about vanity?
I am not going to appear on national television with a bum the size of Albuquerque.
Damnit. I won't. I will simply do an awful lot of running on the spot. Which is good for me.
And I will carry my electric hot water bottle in my shopping bag.
As I swing by, doing my invisible shopping. And having soundless conversations.
Here I go again.
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