Notes From Cuckoo Island

An unusual bit of good news this week. (No, I haven’t been taken over by aliens).

Amazon has bought the James Bond franchise, and life is set to become immeasurably more jolly. (More jolly than wars, famines, the brutal subjugation of women and an orange crunchy nut cornflake in the White House? Not hard, when you come to think of it).

I mean, just imagine the excitement of having your usual order of a pack of dog wormers, a screaming rubber chicken, and an Aston Martin DB5, not only delivered to your door by a suave, handsome spy with an ironic twinkle in his eye and a vodka Martini in his hand (yes, yes, I am over 18. For goodness sake), but with the discount of an Aston Martin subscribe and save!

If this is quite a step up from drones, think how far away it is from the be-polo-necked Milk Tray Man with a box of terrible chocolates squashed into his back pocket; this is Milk Tray Man with a licence to kill and seduce beautiful women in a tiny emergency dingy in the Bahamas. What’s not to like?

I was in a Bond film once. I’m serious. (No, really).

Things You Don’t Know About Me

1. I’m a comedy writer. (No, really).
2. I was in a Bond film once.

I worked as a ‘background artist’ (that’s ‘extra’ to you) on Skyfall as a favour to a friend, who had just started up a background artist (‘extra’ to you) company.

The call time was 4am in central London, meaning no sleep the night before, but such is the glamour of a life on the silver screen.

Duly arrived at the Queen Elizabeth Conference Centre for breakfast, hair and makeup. We were wearing our own clothes – dark, neutral colours – and thankfully, I’d chosen layers and a warm coat, as we were allocated to a spot on Whitehall, where we had to stand for hours in the cold.

I was positioned next to a bubbly female actor-person, who styles herself on Marilyn Monroe. We kept warm between takes by laughing, dancing, and generally looking like we were having fun, which was commented on by a passing technician, who said background artists (you know what, if you’re not getting it by now…) were famously miserable. (Came to understand that when we discovered the mobile tea bars were only for the cast and crew).

A few hours went by. As did Daniel Craig, and his sticky-out ears. (Don’t think that was make-up, but in case he’s reading this, it was definitely make-up).

A few more hours of between-taking (which takes up most of the day), and we’d missed lunch back at the conference centre, so they brought us boxes of stale sandwiches, as if we were on a school trip.

In the afternoon, Marilyn and I were relocated to an adjacent street, where a 2nd unit director instructed us to run across a road on a signal, just before a car chase arrived in shot. Did 17 takes of this, before another unit director told us off in no uncertain terms for risking our lives.

Finally, after what felt like six years, shooting wrapped. We then trudged our way back to the conference centre to stand in line for our money, having to argue about the overtime they told us we’d be paid if we went over 12 hours (which we did. By a long shot. Pun not intended).

Having been awake for well over 24 hours, I eschewed the invitation to the pub, got the bus home, went to bed and slept for 14 hours straight.

Months later, I bought a copy of the DVD and flew to Nice, where a friend had organised a celebratory Skyfall party with snacks and everything. Opened the champagne, nestled down on the sofa, clicked on the remote.

No bloody sight of me at all.

*

Epilogue

Met up with Marilyn* a few weeks later for a night out. A couple of guys approached to chat us up, and we had a drink with them.

I went to the loo, and when I returned, the conversation had turned to Skyfall.

“We were the happiest extras [shut up] they’d ever seen,” I said.

Marilyn stared daggers at me.

At the end of the evening, after we’d said goodbye to our companions, she dragged me out onto the street, stood very close to my face and screamed:

“DON’T YOU EVER DO THAT TO ME AGAIN!”

“Do what again?”

“CALL ME AN EXTRA!” she howled.

And then the penny dropped – she’d told the guys she was a Bond girl.

*

*Not her real name