The past few days I have had cause to leave phone messages at my flat. Unlike someone I have lived with in the past, I don't like to phone in to leave caring messages of love and support to myself, or reminders for that matter.
No, I was leaving highly topical reminders for my flatmates. Important stuff, like, "do you need me to get fuse wire so we can get the electricty back on to the kitchen?". It is so demoralising to get home and hear a blip on the phone signifying an exciting new message, have a palpitation, only to hear my frankly boring droning voice on the other end of the line talking about topics as disperate as coffee, sweatshop labour, and fuse wire. I quickly erase all evidence and fume a bit that no-one is interested in what I have to say, not even me.
But then, think how much worse it would be to be Oliver Driver, voicing over warehouse ads. Or being the briscoes lady, or one of the briscoes ladies in training. Maybe you have seen the ad? The premise is that ***** has bagged a millionaire, all because of her new home furnishings from Briscoes, and two of her acquaintances are gossiping about it on the phone. I'm fairly sure that one of those women doing the voice over went to highschool with me.
Is it possible that I went to school with a putative Briscoes lady? I wonder how she feels about hearing herself on television?
Then again, if you are going to be an actor, you probably love the sound of yourself talking, even about manchester.
See how that neatly links to the sheets in the previous post.
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