I'm out of practice. Either that or twenty years or more on Eastenders have spoiled me. I have just done the longest and most arduous day in my filming history. Hot, dehydrated and on my feet for many consecutive hours, I was beginning to look my age. And I 'd forgotten my makeup bag.
So anxious had I been to remember the obvious things like continuity costume, shoes and hat, that I left the bag of life's necessities on the bathroom floor. I'd applied the first layer at 5.30am, sufficient for the morning, and thankfully the bacon butty did not wreak havoc with the lippy. Possibly because I ate it sans butty.
But post-lunch, the make-up girl absently tousled my hair.
"I'm wearing a hat," I told her.
"Good,"she said, a little unnecessarily, I thought.
When I looked in the mirror later, the old barnet was indeed looking very yesterday's mane, and I was looking progressively the worse for wear without any cosmetic enhancement.
Nobody commented. This is not in the slightest surprising. Our function is purely to fill a void in a room, to laugh on cue, disco dance to silent music, and occasionally to hide a lamp by moving just two inches to one's left.
Lost lippy was the last thing on my mind as I struggled to get through this long day's journey that had started at 5am and ended with a cup of tea at 9.45pm with Dearest. But how sweet the pleasure in telling him, as he has so often told me,
"I've had a bit of a day."
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