So yes. I am, as the youngsters say, dead. D-E-A-D. Pushing up daisies. Six feet under. Kicked the bucket. It’s rather disconcerting, really. One minute you're eating a rather excellent scone at the National Theatre, the next you're being ushered through a celestial security checkpoint by a bloke in a toga who insists his name is Kevin who patiently explains that harps are not a thing.
So i was a furniture salesman first and then an Actor. All Creatures Great and Small. Upstairs Downstairs. Edward & Mrs. Simpson. I’ve had a go at everything, haven’t I? Theatre? Check. Shakespeare with the RSC. Television? Oh, yes — so much television. Radio? You bet, I’ve narrated more audiobooks than the entire cast of The Archers combined. Movies? The Day of the Jackal anyone?
But let’s not pretend I was Olivier. I was more… reliable. The sort of chap they’d call when Olivier was busy being Olivier and needed someone dignified but not too imposing and doesn’t mind wearing a wig.
And the wigs! Good lord, the wigs. I’ve sported so many hairpieces and some of them looked startled badgers had taken up residence on my head.
I married well, Prunella Scales. Yes, that Prunella. Sybil from Fawlty Towers. Tiny, fierce, and capable of silencing a room with one raised eyebrow. We were happy, even when I accidentally called her 'Sybil' during an argument about bin day.
Now, as I drift through this peculiar post-life limbo (still no harp, Kevin, still no harp), I wonder: what did it all mean?
Did my 1978 portrayal of a constipated vicar in Crown Court change the world? Perhaps not.
Did narrating 14 seasons of Great British Railway Journeys teach the public anything useful? Well, they now know how to pronounce Eccles correctly so that’s something.
So here’s to the lot of it, the spotlight, the flop, the wigs, the scones, the snoring, the love, the pratfalls, the CBE for my services to drama and the occasional bout of mistaken identity (no, I am not John Thaw).
I lived. I worked. I tried (mostly) to be kind. I once forgot my lines during a live broadcast and blamed it on 'technical difficulties' which was neither true nor dignified. But I got away with it as us National Treasures can occasionally.
My demise came when first i fell over and damaged something important and months later I’m dead and looking for Kevin to tell him I want that harp. And a better signal. And possibly a cup of tea. I expect eternity to be slightly better organised than this.
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