Banks Blog

Being - You sit on the beach staring out to sea. Peaceful thoughts fill your mind. Refreshed by the vista, the sounds, the smells, everything you touch and all that touches you fills the blank canvas inside you with inspired images. Body, mind and soul at one with the universe.

Doing -You’ve met 100 times before but have never occupied the same physical space at the same time. Today is different. There’s the first glimpse, the eye contact, the smile, the hello, the hug and the kiss. If you’ve do nothing else in your life this moment was worth doing.

Faffing - You desire to “be and do”. First, where are the car keys? Look for them downstairs. En route out of the corner of your eye you notice something on the floor of the bathroom and go to pick it up. Cell phone rings. You answer and sit on the loo. Voicemail, collect some wine for tonight. You’ll never remember that! There’s a pen in the bedroom, get it to write down “wine”. You trip over the towel in the bathroom you meant to pick up. You get up and then sit on the top stair. There’s a pen in your bag. Where’s your bag? BATHROOM! You go back into the bathroom and notice SOMEONE HAS LEFT THE TOP OFF THE TOOTHPASTE! You replace it. Mmmmmmmm, bathroom, while you’re in there you may as well take a comfort break. Comfort duly broken you wash your hands and notice a mark on your face. Several attempts to tease, rub, scratch then scrape reveal the mark is on the mirror. Nothing suitable to clean it is at hand so you go to your bag and find a piece of tissue …OH LOOK A PEN!
You rest on the toilet seat and write on the tissue “WINE”. Cell phone rings. A text. IF U R THR @ 7 WE CN HLP WTH THE BBQ LUV D XXX. Predictive text allows you to reply - Barbara is in the queue to help at 7 will be three Me Xray. Sent. You’re ready to rock. Mirror, oh yeah! You take the piece of tissue in your hand and put some hand soap on it, moisten and remove the mark on the mirror. You screw the tissue into a ball, throw it into the loo and flush. You collect your bag and cell phone. In the mirror at the top of the stairs you notice what you’re wearing. That top with those shoes? You return to the bedroom to change. Clock in the bedroom shows the time as 7.15.

A Smo? Yes, a Smo! Social Media Obsessive.

In the real world as opposed to the Cyber world an interaction would play out like this.

Smo walks into a bar

Smo “Wow. Busy day at work today doing the job that I do”

Bartender “What can I get you?”

Smo “What I really need is a Bartender to offer me a drink. Because I’m a thirsty successful person who is great at my job”

Bartender “Any drink you like, we got all kinds”

Smo “I”ve just Twootered on Facetube the fact that I’m blogging from an empty bar after a successful day being successful ….All I need is a drink”

Bartender pours jug of beer over Smo.

Smo “I’ll just email myself from my iphone to remind me to tell my 123,000 friends and 234,000 followers that I’m great at my job”

Armed villain runs into bar, shoots Bartender and empties cash register.

Bartender “Ma’am….help…..I’ve been shot!”

Smo “Cool! I’ve got a gun shot ring tone ….How awesome is that!

Smo leaves bar and decides to blog about poor service and ignorant people.

Nothing.

It had to be done, a getting to know you time in the pub, specifically The Lobsterman’s Crabs.

“A’richt big man hoo d’ye say, fit’s yer quiney cried?” asked Callum.

“Easy! What’s your daughter’s name? Go on try another” I said to the twenty or so gather around the bar. There was much whispering and nudging.

“Tell ye fit. Dae a wee piecie lik the lad on the telly. Him fit maks ye ken fits on next” Jeannie looked at Jill and winked then looked at me in anticipation, there was a hush.

The last time I had done anything for the BBC was an on air promotion - or for those who don’t know the jargon a trailer - for Casualty a hospital drama if you didn’t know. I looked Jeannie straight in the eyes.

“Casualty, Saturday, 10 past eight on BBC1”. Jeannie’s mouth fell open.

“Aw f*** that is spookie! That wus jes lik it. I thought Jill wus speaking crap aboot yer work!”

Quentin our drama leader was in the group sipping a pint. It was fairly obvious he was a sweet sherry man but wouldn’t dare in public. He beckoned me over. I excused myself and went to speak to him.

“Shoo, a voish over ish it? Likely tale shonny! Word to the wishe about the shtunner Jill. You are waishting your time with that one. I pershonally myshelf tried to woo her for over shix monthsh and got nowhere! It is my conshidered opinion she shits on the other shide of the church if you get my meaning” he tapped the side of his nose in a knowing manner.

I thought I’d humour him.

“Don’t tell anyone my secret. But what do you mean about Jill and her religion?” I looked intense. He pointed to himself, did a twirl and then explained.

“A shexy, shingle woman with needsh found thish fine exshample of manhood reshishtable? In the hetero world thish doesh not happen, ergot she ish, nay musht be a leshbian!” a nod and another tap on the nose. I nodded to imply complete understanding.

“Must have happened on holiday” I said with an air of authority.

“Yesh, I shuppose sho ……Fit! I mean what?

“Went to Lesbos, met one of their church goers and converted to their religion. Thanks for sharing Quentin. Didn’t know that chastity was one of the prerequisites of fringe Greek island orthodoxy. Amazing!” I walked away from him nodding. He tried to speak but really wasn’t sure where to go from there.

I returned to the crowd in time to share some dreary showbiz anecdotes and a few more beers.

“A’body ready to play Fit’s he cried?” shouted Dougal at the top of his voice, a loud cheer rang around the pub. Great game but I now have a very sore head indeed.

The rules of this drinking game are very simple. All the players sit in a circle and drink a bottle of single malt Scotch whisky. One player gets up from the group and leaves the room and the rest have to guess who it was.

 T’was the morning after the night before, my desire was that the Angel of death visit me and be merciful.

Between my ears a motorway maintenance team were busy drilling away at my brain, my mouth tasted like I’d been chewing the carpet of a Balti House which had been closed down by the local council for contravening health regulations, my tongue was stuck fast to my upper lip, I ached all over, my lower abdomen was sending urgent messages regarding an impending evacuation and my eyes didn’t work at all.

Daylight and fresh air seemed to be a good way to start the day so I started to get up.

I banged my head and instinctively reached up. The ceiling moved and a harder push made it give way, fly open and allow bright sunshine to flood into my world.  No bed, no room, unfamiliar surroundings. I must have concluded at some point in my drunken stupor that going home was a bad idea and climbing into a skip full of foul smelling rubbish was a good idea. The wheels on the skip and a worse than usual sense of balance made my escape very easy.  As I tried to climb out the weight shift caused it to shoot backwards, hit a wall and tip over throwing me and the bulk of its other noxious contents onto the floor.

Deep pan four cheese pizzas are great but not as headwear. It was made all the more difficult to remove by the three large rats who were trying to eat it at the time. They assumed that I was trying to steal what was theirs by right. Gripping what little hair I have with their back claws they clutched the pizza with teeth and front claws. A two minute tug o’ war ensued with me rolling into a car park, a startled woman shopper in an old Nova honking her horn made my resident diners scurry for cover carrying the bulk of their feast with them.

Somewhat dazed I lay in the car park for a minute or two when I heard a clink beside me, it sounded like coins. It was a pile of change, about £3.50p.

“Thar ya ga, Pet. Divvin drink it” the pitying face of the lady shopper looked down at me, her accent was Geordie through and through. Would certainly raise a few eyebrows in Portgordon but here in her home town of Newcastle it would pass without comment. How did I get from north east Scotland to north east England? No clues in my pockets only congealed curry, kebab meat and salad.

Goularglebubleroddlebubbalalalalabubboing!  The noise from my tummy drowned the noise of the passing traffic. I didn’t remember travelling to Newcastle nor did I recall eating a middleweight boxing champion who now wanted out.

If anyone reading this keeps sporting records you may like to know that I am able to find a public loo, cover the 100 metres from me to it, enter, lock the door, de-bag and….(too much information) in 6.67 seconds. I felt SO much better! Spare a thought for anyone who went in after me, particularly if they were a smoker. If you here on the news of a Geordie bloke found on the moon with his trousers round his ankles and an unlit cigarette between his lips there is a very logical explanation.

As I reflected on that thought I realised it was time to be heading home.  

My body language was reduced to a one word vocabulary as I made my way through the centre of Newcastle; as people came close in order to gaze at a shameful example of humanity my body shouted at them loud and clear.

“M-ING!!” It’s true, I was minging, no other word for it. Would I be permitted to board a train in this condition? No. Even a ticket inspector with the heaviest of colds would have his sinuses cleared once he came within 50 metres of me.

Outside a small chemist’s I noticed a plastic model of a Golden Retriever used to collect donations for the Guide Dogs for the blind. At its feet there was a drinking bowl so that real dogs could have some water as their owners shopped. I took my soiled wallet from my pocket and used the water to rinse my bank cash point card. A three year old girl handed me her bottle of Tizer as she passed by, her mother patted the child’s head in an approving way. I felt sorry for the next dog to visit the bowl as it would be expecting water not diluted vindaloo sauce and goodness knows what else.

No shop would allow Newcastle’s Emperor “M-ing” to enter so buying new clothes was not an option so I had to think. I noticed a council worker with a power washer hosing down a building to remove the pigeon droppings.

“Excuse me, is that just water” I asked politely.

“Wy aye man, phwoar what the **** happened to ye. Ya ****ing fair chuck up a ****ing stench o’ ****ing  sh*te an’ ****ing **** knows wor else man, ya poor ****er.  Did ya just ****ing fall oot o’ a cat’s ****ing arse or owt else? Aw **** me eyes is fair ****ing watering!” He stared, waiting for some kind of explanation. I handed him £10 out of the £50 I had just got from the cash machine.

“Turn the hose on me, fast!” I insisted.

“Away canny lad.  As a public saurvant these 25 year I consider it me public duty like”. Without a second’s pause I was jet washed for a full 10 minutes. The ooze that resulted from my rinse made its way from me towards a nearby drain dissolving anything in its path. “Well away an **** a duck man! Ya ****ing soaking now like!” Twenty five years on the streets of Newcastle had obviously sharpened this man’s powers of observation. “D’ya have any ****ing change bonnie lad?” I did, I had £3.50p. He pointed down the road. “Left into ****ing Banner Street, third shop along like. Patel’s ****ing Washateria. Ya needin ****ing dollars, ya kna’ ten ****ing bob bits like. Stick ya trollies an’ keks an’ stuff in one o’ them ****ing tumbley driers an’ y’all be right as ****ing rain in a jiffy man”. He took from his toolbox a large council issue black refuse sack and punched two holes in it with his fist. “Away and git ya ****ing gear off lad and stick ya ****ing legs through the ****ing holes in here like” he ordered as he handed me the sack.

I started to disrobe without thinking, my helper pointed to his van.

“In the back o’ the ****ing van, ya dozey ****er. Na’ flashing ya ****ing todger in public like. Cooncil ****ing by-laws!”

Two minutes later, a vision appeared from the back of a Newcastle Council Cleansing Department van. I gave my thanks and headed towards Banner St Washateria. As I walked away dressed in only a black refuse sack and carrying my sodden clothes the council worker called after me.

“When ya gear’s dry bonnie lad, away an’ sort ya ****ing life oot”.  I made a mental note to put into operation a plan of action to do exactly that, if and when I got back to Portgordon.    

Rule one when working on a film or TV location – Nothing should strike you as out of the ordinary. Rule two – If anything strikes you as out of the ordinary see Rule 1.

It was mid-July and I found myself in St Phillip’s, Bristol.  A pub was covered both outside and in with Christmas decorations and half of a 45 seat coach was protruding from the building, the rest was in the bar/lounge.  Next door to the pub was a metal staircase which led to the Crystal Dome Massage Parlour “Open 24 hours”.  Parked next to the pub and the massage parlour were Ambulances, Police Cars, Fire and rescue service vehicles and a little further down the street were catering vans, crew cars, techie vehicles and all the paraphernalia associated with the production of “Casualty” the top rated BBC drama.

As we were shooting the Christmas special there would be a higher than average body count for the Doctors and Nurses to lose on the operating tables or in crash as it is the BBC’s public duty to ensure that the average viewer doesn’t feel too joyous and smug after a Christmas meal that would feed a small village in west Africa for 6 months. 

For three days I spent 12 hours per day playing the part of a TV reporter, I even had my own TV News cameraman who was played by a Glenn who made his living as a nightclub comedian.

“Bloody hell!” exclaimed Ian one of the cast who played a Doctor “that’s a 50 grand camera you’ve got there”. He had noticed that Glenn’s camera was real and not a prop.

“Just as well” I replied “we’re doing a wedding at 3”. So the great actor walked on set to play an emotional scene with a dying man. They had to wait a few minutes for Dr Hero to stop laughing. He did. The director asked what was so funny. Ian shared the “wedding comment”. Scene delayed for another few minutes while cast and crew laugh.

Eventually the time came to shoot some interiors. Elaine stepped forward, she was the girl selected to play the Barmaid. She was gorgeous, immaculate from head to foot, a vision of loveliness ready to pull pints for Christmas drinkers in a local pub. Maggie from wardrobe, Maggie wardrobe assistant, Maggie from make-up and Maggie the make-up assistant stood in front of Elaine and looked her up and down, down and up, walked around her and tutted.  Hair stylist Maggie and her assistant, Maggie joined the group.  A large sheet of polythene was unrolled on the street outside the pub and on the sheet was sprinkled talcum powder and what looked like soot.  Maggie make-up assistant rubbed her hands in it and Maggie hair assistant did the same.  Maggie wardrobe pointed to the mess and looked at Elaine.

“Ok luvvy. Don’t take your shoes off, just lie at this end, roll to the other end and back again”. There was a look of protest on Elaine’s face. Maggie wardrobe simply stared. Elaine lay down and rolled to the left and to the right. “Just sit up but stay there!” Elaine obeyed. I waited for Maggie wardrobe to give her a biscuit and a pat on the head.  Maggie makeup assistant bent over her and rubbed her hands over Elaine’s face. Maggie hair assistant ran her hands through Elaine’s hair.  “Thank you dahling, they’re waiting for you on set. Go on..chop chop!”  As she walked away Glenn and I burst into Chim-chimminee, chim-chimminee, chim, chim charree …..There was a look, you know, the girlie death-ray look.

Three days on location with lots to do and limited time in which to do it and it was obvious to me that some people are equipped to simply get on with things while others prefer to fret and fume.  On day one I noticed a girl with flame red hair in a black leather cat suit stood in the middle of the mayhem doing her best to make her face turn purple and stare hard enough at the director so that he would spontaneously combust.  I never saw her do any work but she was ever present and always about to commit murder. Such is the life of a “TV type” thought I.  Not so as it transpired!

Rule one when working on a film or TV location – Nothing should strike you as out of the ordinary. Rule two – If anything strikes you as out of the ordinary see Rule 1. Remember? Do you also remember the location geography?  Did you think that the Crystal Dome massage parlour was a bit of added creativity? So did I but it wasn’t.  It was one of the few places on the location which was as advertised.  The purple faced flame haired girl worked there but for 3 days business was slow. In her establishment she did not give massages in the traditional sense of the word, she was more a purveyor of physical companionship.  We TV types were scaring off her clientele.  Imagine you are Norman who travels in office supplies. You have spent all week adjusting your expenses in order to free up the required amount so that you may enjoy a visit to the Crystal Dome massage parlour.  Full of the joys of spring you park your car a discrete distance from the establishment and walk briskly down the street humming light opera as you mentally prepare for an encounter of the intimate kind.  You turn the corner full of excitement and see blocking you route to paradise 5 Police Cars, 3 Ambulances, 2 Fire and Rescue vehicles and 12 uniformed Police Officers chatting informally about the track record of Bristol City Football Club’s new manager.  Question. Do you (A) Fight your way though the crowd insisting that you saw her first or (B) Sprint back to your car at 70 mph ?  Look on the bright side, Norman’s wife probably got an unexpected box of Belgian chocolates and a bunch of roses………..and may be something else if the kids were out playing with their friends!

You’re sitting in the middle row, a group of Voiceoverists are looking captivated by top expert Zebedee Florence from Magic Roundabout Studios. Let’s be clear about this, Zebedee is one of the greats, it says so on his website.

“By marking in bold the focus points on the copy you will easily see where the client needs lifts and calls to action.” There are nods of approval, a ripple of applause and lots of note taking. Be honest, you have no idea. To be honest nobody else attending has a clue either.

STOP – ENOUGH

What you do next takes courage. You raise your hand. Zeb looks at you.

“Zeb, I believe I’ve just missed a valuable point. If it’s ok with everyone else would you please explain in detail what you mean and give a few examples?” You look around the room, waiting for groans and accusing stares but rather than an attack of the negs you see smiles and people with pens poised waiting to expand their, so far, meaningless notes. At this point there is more danger of the speaker looking dumb than you.

How do you determine whether your question or the answer is dumb? Simple! Listen. Apologies, that’s unfair because for the majority of Voiceoverists listening to anything other than something they want to hear is extremely difficult; you need to move beyond that trait and move on quickly. Listen. In the example I’ve used you’re listening for a clear explanation of what the concept means and how to apply it. Think of your most recent job or audition and when your host has stopped talking ask yourself how you could have applied the technique. If you can then Zeb is on to something, if you can’t then there is a chance he is talking garbage. Good or bad, you need to know as it’s your money, your time and your career.

One word of caution; check with friends who will be honest enough to tell you if you really are dumb.

I’m uncertain as to when it happened but at some point over the last 18 months to 2 years I got lost in the noise. Were there consequences? Yes.

People at best took second place.

Customer service like with most businesses became a department not a way to behave towards people who kindly chose to pay my bills.

My time was so valuable I would not waste it doing anything just for the joy of doing it.

The agenda was mine YOU had to fit in I certainly did not.

Acts of love, kindness, generosity and self sacrifice were for members of the local Saints and Clergy Guild 451.

If I phoned it was because I wanted something and if you called you were interrupting.

Your opinion if at odds with mine was simply wrong and you needed to change your mind not try to convince me.

Were you SO stupid that you didn’t realise how important I was, indeed am then I’d set you straight or cut you loose.

The interesting thing about the above list is that it’s only a partial list. Believe it or not bad things happened too!

People can’t change or so they say. Luckily for me and most of you that isn’t true. Change seldom comes as a result of gentle evolution it usually arrives in a flash. The flash is a neon sign “PILLOCK ALERT!” and there is a noise, an audible warning like a bus reversing. I needed to take notice because the next sound was going to be a sequence of doors slamming in my face.

“Oh Philip! This is terrible! Who is to blame?”

Me.

“No! Be serious!”

Me

“One last chance, who?”

Me. Believe me now?

“Actually I believed you the first time. I just needed to get you to say it 3 times so I knew that YOU believed it.”

On Friday I left home at 3.30am. I would arrive in Ireland later that day, settle into a hotel, get changed and take a team of producers out for dinner.

Flight from Aberdeen to London delayed – Arrived late.

1005am flight from London to Ireland eventually arrived at 6.40pm

Traffic to hotel was awful due to a major event taking place in the city.

I arrived at 7.30pm for the 6.30pm meet with the producers.

Going home. Flight from Ireland to London was delayed and was kept in a holding pattern over Heathrow due to congestion. I missed my connection to Aberdeen.

My late flight home had to turn back when it got to the take off point due to radio failure (couldn’t talk to air traffic control). We eventually took off 1 hour 10 minutes late.

Here’s the thing. I spent from 7.30pm until 1.15am with the producers (my clients) and it was a pleasure, every single moment. It was worth all the nuisance because of nearly 6 hours of fun and laughter…..oh and Malbec…..oh, nearly forgot and Guinness!

While stuck at Heathrow waiting to fly to Ireland I found myself in a very long queue. My problem would take 30 seconds to solve. No one “managing” the queue was interested in finding a solution, the Senor Managers were the worst offenders for not listening to what I said and then shrugging. Deepka to the rescue! She was Heathrow Staff.

“Would do me a big favour?” I asked “Go to where there’s a flight info board and see if my flight is still around.”

“Why?” she laughed.  I explained my problem, it was an error on my boarding card which caused security to refuse me entry.

“Come with me” she took me out of the queue straight to one of the Check-in staff.

“Shelly, can I use your terminal for a mo?” Shelly moved aside “Thanks Hun”. Deepka turned to me and pressed a new Boarding Card into my hand. “Sorry to have kept you waiting Mr. Banks, have a good flight.”

I’ve told you about missing my connection home. My Aer Lingus flight was late so I didn’t make my BA flight to Aberdeen. Solution? Go to BA Customer Service and ask for a seat on the next available flight.  Let’s be clear, I missed my connection and BA was not to blame. I needed to buy a ticket home.

“It’s not our fault that you missed you connection” said Kim “the ticket should cost about £200.”

“I know” I smiled “I’m not asking you for a free lift home, it’s fine, really.”  She stabbed a key on her computer terminal. Whirr, click and out popped a Boarding Pass.

“No, it’s ok! Gate 7A, 5.15 flight”

No charge because Kim decided that there would be no charge.

People, life, clients and work. I got lost.  Perhaps I should re-brand myself Deepka Kim as they both helped me find my way back.  I’m certain that from now I’ll be helping people to the front of the queue then solving their problems promptly with a smile and I’ll be using my discretion in YOUR favour as often as possible.

Look, it may take me a while but I get there in the end.

It’s said that one doesn’t have to look too far in the world to find proof that evil exists, that is true. For the doubters there is even aromatic evidence. Imagine you are in a conservatory, large and Victorian in design flowers from all over the world grow in abundance. For light and added mood this large structure is filled with candles of the scented variety designed to arouse your senses and lift your sprits. Conversation is soft and among the visitors to this paradise on earth elegant ladies with deportment worthy of the models who grace the cat walks of Paris, Milan and New York waft by teasing you with scent from Belmain, Chanel and Yves Saint Laurent. 

The hour is early and less than a mile away an 8 year old boy is deposited by his mother at the gates of his preparatory school. Well breakfasted, before he starts his day of education he feels the need for inner cleanliness.  Leg slightly apart and pulling a face worthy of second prize in a gurning contest he breaks wind.  The noise is like that of a Mercedes taxi blowing a gasket, sharp and distressing. But it is that which follows the noise that resonates with all and sundry.

Babies cry, cats are seen scuttling into laundry baskets, dog faint and the bottles of fizzy drinks in nearby shops change colour.  A few short seconds pass and suddenly all the beauty which surrounds you is piecered like a knife into a balloon. John Milton wrote Paradise Lost and you have experienced it in all its evil, acrid pungency.

What on earth is a “Voice Stalker”? I got this idea from an online horoscope I read today. “If a plan is working, make the most of it. If it’s not working, change it. And if you’re not sure whether it’s working or not? Well, that largely depends on how long you have already been giving it the benefit of the doubt. A lot of people spend a lot of time living in a make-believe world where ‘hopeful signs and signals’ are frequently seen, yet no real change ever comes. You’re not obliged to put up with an unsatisfactory situation for a moment longer than you want to.”  Interesting isn’t it? 

If I discovered a girl who I wanted REALLY WANTED and contrived to be where she was, kept in contact with her, did everything within my power to attract her attention, showered her with gifts and attention, phoned, sent texts, visited her at work, at home all to no avail what would that make me? The advocates of positive mental attitude, the marketing experts, those who say things like “winners never quit and quitters never win” would say that some day she will be mine. What think you m’lords, m’ladies? Mmmmmmmmm CREEPY STALKER!  Exactly.

Review your wants, your desires and your dreams, get real. Am I saying you should give up on your dreams? No. I am saying that you should stop stalking something that has told you many times already that it will never be yours. Don’t give up on your dreams, give up your obsession and find a real dream, your dream and that dream will come true

To make a new friend you can’t simply “click here” and nor should you use this option to keep in touch with old friends.  If you Twitter, no one really wants to know that you’ve changed your brand of sanitary wear, watch you promote your flagging career or ailing business. You have a blog? THEN WRITE SOMETHING! Don’t link to a link within a link.

“In my life I have great SEO, 9700 Twit followers, 8 million facebook friends and my blog links to 4billion other blog which in turn link back to me” so sayeth Mr Cyber-Saddo.

What you have me old matey………………is nothing and no one.

YOU! Yes, you. Get the point. Open your world and let the world in, the world of quality not quantity, the world of real people with real names and not the cyberworld of screen names.

Forget how you make your living for a moment. If your real business is not about touching the lives of real people then you need to take a long hard look at how you are living and now is as good a time as any. 

It’s well worth the effort. Good luck.