Insta-Ham

A weekend of walking by the glorious Rutland Water has given the newly sculpted foot the ultimate road test. Mr Singh, I salute you. I give it a Gold medal.
The rest of the body gets a booby prize. Dear Lord, once I'd sat down I could hardly lift the creaking frame.

Before I'd finally collapsed in a heap, however, we had strolled round the Lincolnshire town of Stamford. A beautiful weekend's sunshine showing off its elegant limestone buildings dating from 17th century.
I still love it.
Even though it was this town that brought my acting ambitions to an abrupt halt.

In 1994 the BBC made a production of Middlemarch; Stamford provided the perfect setting.
My brother was the First Assistant and Anthony Page was directing.
I was starting my career as a supporting artist, or Film extra as it was called then. The children joined me on this shoot and they too had the pleasure of dressing up. Dearest, in case you're curious, chose to be their chaperone, as fancy dress has never been one of his idiosyncrasies.

The Hustings, which if you are familiar with the book, is where Arthur Brooke (played by Robert Hardy) takes a pasting from the crowd who pelt him with ripe plums.
It probably comes as no surprise to learn that most actors are protected (and their costumes) when it comes to doing a reverse shot on the crowd.  The job of walking the Robert Hardy walk was delegated to my brother who had to walk across the stage carrying a large wooden board so that the crowd could go mad with the plums.
Well, that was how I understood the direction.
Imagine my unalloyed joy at being given the opportunity of slinging squishy plums at my kid brother, and being paid as well...
I was giving it some, when I saw Anthony step down from the stage. And heading towards me.
Apparently he had said to my brother, "Rob, is that your sister down there?" At which my brother, nodded with a heart that must have plummeted...(No other way to describe it.)
He wended his way through the crowd, took me to one side, and said, "Lesley, you're going a little Yoko Ono with the plums, darling.."
Dear readers,  this little Yoko curled up with mortification at his kindly intervention. Over-acting? The cringe-factor was beyond over-statement.
Some six weeks later, my brother bumped into Anthony coming out of an editing suite. He said he had just been editing the Hustings scene, and that his sister was really rather good. (I italicise to rub salve into fading scar.)
I was grateful to hear that. I now know what was meant when Anthony Page had been described once as an "actor's director".

I don't believe my brother made it up. Because you'll know, if you've been following these ramblings, that my brother doesn't believe in buttering me up. No, not at all...

Stamford 1994   

Douglas Hodge (remember him in The Night Manager?)

We're not yet ready for your close-up Mr Bunion...

Big event of the day. Major preparation for recuperation period.
A single bed was brought downstairs by two very able-bodied nephews who achieved this with remarkable ease and an astonishing lack of  bad language. This was in stark contrast to the scene that would have taken place if dearest husband and I had attempted it. There is, of course, only one thing worse than having a gammy foot: it is having a husband who develops a bad back. Thanks to this kindly intervention we both have been spared this plight.


It has been suggested that before the operation a little before photograph would be useful. Presumably to be superseded with an after photograph. Maybe on the basis that I will be enjoying a drug-induced euphoria at the time of the operation, I would probably be unable shoot straight anyway, so there will be no during. I suppose, however, I could take a photo of my surgical boot to complete the triptych.

This leads me to be a bit coy about the Bunion. It is a little on the small side. I state this with faint embarrassment on the basis I have endowed it with the grandiose moniker of  The Great B.B. When I asked my surgeon, Mr Dishan Singh, where it came on the spectrum of Bunion problems, he said it was "moderate". This satisfied me way back in November, but I hadn't intended, at that point in time, to share this intimate journey with you.
So I tell you this now  to avoid a Big Let-down. If you are expecting to see something straight from "Embarrassing Bodies" (never watched it; got one at home; imagination sufficient) then may I direct you back to the Daily Mail web-site. There you will find girls for ghouls aplenty.

Anyway, no photographs tonight, folks, as preparation for Bunion's close-up involves a pedicure on Friday. With no nail varnish, of course, in readiness for the op on Tuesday. So the toes will be well pruned but totally unadorned. In readiness for the ultimate pruning of  them all.