JUST AS I WAS attempting to embrace the idea of Christmas festivities, a night’s slumber was disrupted by a grisly apparition, who I soon realised to be my long dead former agent.
This sorry ghoul’s nonsensical wailing went on far too long, before I eventually found myself whisked away to the Tunisian set of Jesus of Nazareth in 1975. Now accompanied by a cheery spirit resembling late French House proprietor Gaston Berlemont, I was soon to learn my dismissal as a minor disciple proved more damaging to one’s professional standing than ever before realised — despite the offending brawl with Judas Iscariot co-star Ian McShane being entirely of his making.
While a subsequent journey and , considerably worse news lay ahead.
