Diary – 24 March 2012

Asked to write a diary for The Spectator, my first reaction was: ‘Why me?’ To sit down at my laptop and write — rather than read a script — feels a bit strange. I am still getting used to people wanting to know about me. A mere nine weeks ago I was anonymous, now I can’t move for those bloody paps. er, well, not quite, although I sometimes get a bit stared at, and a surprising lot of men express how much they enjoyed Call the Midwife. I even got a free biscuit from the man in the buffet car on the train to Hereford. My dream, however, is to play wildly different characters, so here’s hoping. (Fast forward to Series 15: a haggard-looking Jenny cleaning her glass enema tube. Yeuch….)

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In the theatre, unlike TV, you know instantly (boy do you know) whether the audience is bored out of their brain or wide-eyed and in awe.