Just to make you run from the room screaming; here's my useless prattle about redheaded Englishmen for the week. From an article someone uncovered on the web:

FRIDAY: When I get out of this limo, I’m going to walk into a room and meet Tom Hanks. I must remember to tell him how much I like Philadelphia, Saving Private Ryan, Apollo 13, his ‘serious’ work. But all I really want to talk about is Splash, Big, and Bachelor Party, the ones I grew up on.

‘Hey, Damian, thanks for coming. You must be tired after flying all the way from London.’
Tom is speaking to me. Before I can stop myself, I’ve launched into one of the unfunniest jokes I’ve ever made. I rub my arms, and blurt out: ‘Yeah, my arms are pretty stiff,’ (implying I’d actually flown). Geddit? Genius. Traffic comes to a screeching halt. Tumbleweed blows through the room. Silence.

‘Did this guy just say what I think he said?’ At least, this is the look on Tom’s face. His jaw slightly open, a look of utter disbelief in his eyes. The silence lasts a few seconds before Tom, realizing that he simply has to help me out of this horrible moment, yells out: ‘Aw, okay, funny guy. Very good. Sit down over here.’

He can’t possibly give me a job after that, I’m thinking, but undeterred, Tom cracks on. We act together. I play Winters. Tom does all the other characters. My accent is now rock solid. Nothing can shake it. Not even Tom’s beard, now so big for the film Castaway that I can’t be sure it’s even him talking.

‘Okay, you’re too good. Get outta here,’ he yells, oozing bonhomie. Tony To appears from behind another door. ‘Nice work, Damian, you have nothing to worry about.’
A little cryptic for my tastes, but assuming he means a job well done, I go out and get absolutely smashed until five in the morning.

8AM NEXT MORNING: ‘Damian, are you awake? Steven would like to see you at midday.” It’s Meg, the casting director. I cry into my pillow. Little simpering sobs at first, then naked hysterical screaming. The biggest meeting of my life and I’ve blown it. I’ve had three hours’ sleep and I’m still drunk.

By midday I’ve had three cold showers, five coffees and stubbed my toe a lot. I walk into the office sweating heavily and shaking. We’re introduced. ‘I used to live in Hampstead,’ Steven tells me. ‘Maybe we know the same people?’
Not unless you’ve been around Kensal Green lately mate, I thought to myself.
‘Do you know Ralph Fiennes?’ he asks.
‘Yes, yes, I do,’ I nearly fall off my chair with excitement that I can actually continue this conversation with Steven Spielberg.
‘We did Hamlet together on Broadway. I played Laertes,’ I say.
Steven remembers the show and even me in it. He saw it twice. He liked it. This is good. We chat some more. Steven’s off to watch his kid play soccer. I want to tell him it’s called football. Probably not the best time, though.

Tom has to go and buy a Christmas tree with his daughter. They leave. Tony looks at me and says:‘So, ready for boot camp in March?”
I leap up and kiss everyone in the room. I’ve got the part! I’m Dick Winters. I’m in Band of Brothers.

Hey, he's an actor, therefore he's a Twinkie; he seems to write well for a Twinkie, though. I want him for my birthday, in case any one's trying to think of a gift for me.