EXTRA HELPINGS

A girl has to earn a crust. Though I'd much rather be behind a camera (even if I deserve to be in front of it) I'm thinking of signing on with a extras casting outfit, partly to get the goss and partly to see if there's anything being made in Scotland apart from Taggart and High Times, although judging by the budgets on HT, the lead actors are already on walk-on fees. Or tape and food.

A bit of digging soon turns up the facts. Like the rest of Scottish film, it's not about the money, that's for sure. By the time the agent takes their cut and you get yourself to the location - either in the back of beyond, or bang in the city centre with ridiculous parking charges - you're lucky to walk off as a walk on with forty or fifty quid for ten hours of headnip, not including the two hours of travel. Which is okay if you enjoy loitering in freezing, condemned buildings - old factories, decommissioned hospitals, manky pubs and minging clubs. And putting up with the weirdest bunch of people outside the Big Brother set. What motivates them, I wonder?

Well, a lot of them are already unemployed. Some are redundant and enjoying the break from a day job. Others are borderline schizos - you know the type - a wee bit of am-dram, a fondness for musical theatre and small parts in a couple of their mate's shorts. Convinced they're too good to be third suit in the bar, it's only a matter of time before their talent gets recognised.

Good luck to them I say. Without them, our films and telly would look as empty as Kelly Cooper Bar on a Monday night. Or a Tuesday. Or a Wednesday.