Technology me

One of the proudest moments of my early years as an actor was purchasing my first car, an old Renault Six. A couple of weeks after passing my test I walked into the AA office in central London to arrange some proper insurance cover. A few forms to fill out, a hastily written cheque, and the world would be my oyster.

I didn't know how hard it was going to be. Everybody likes talking to actors, but when it comes to providing us with mortgages, bank loans or motor insurance we are somewhere between stunt men and serial killers in the list of desirable clients. The popular perception is that we are reckless, hard-drinking hell-raisers who think nothing of getting behind the wheel after an all-night bender of booze and drugs, usually with some international celebrity in the passenger seat whose insurance claim if they go through the windscreen will bankrupt the entire western economy.

Of course I didn't know this when I breezed up to the counter. I anticipated merely having to answer a couple of simple questions. Indeed, for the first few minutes all went smoothly. Type of car, size of engine, third party or fully comprehensive, will the vehicle be garaged or parked on the street; I already felt the young man behind the desk was becoming a good friend. Then we got to the item marked "occupation".

"Actor," I said, anticipating a delighted smile and a few requests for theatrical tittle-tattle. "Aah," he replied. He wasn't smiling. In fact he was looking anxiously at his notes. "I'm afraid I'll have to refer this to head office. Just a moment," He picked up a nearby phone and waited for a supervisor to respond.

During the following 30 minutes the youth behind the desk was given a series of subsidiary questions to ask down the phone by the supervisor, each of which had to be relayed to me, with my answer relayed back down the wires to the supervisor. "Are you in the theatre or on television?" I replied theatre, omitting the fact that this was through necessity rather than choice. Hopefully that would be the end of it.

"What was your last role?" - "The part of Hickory Wood in One For the Pot," I replied, through gritted teeth. What the hell had this to do with my driving ability? The relaying of this answer seemed to wrong-foot the supervisor. I was asked to spell the word Hickory, and a further minute passed while whoever was on the end of the phone wrote it all down.

"Would you describe it as a lead role or a small role?" - "Is this really necessary?" I snapped. The youth stared blankly at me and assured me it was. I told him that as I had 51 separate entrances in the play, it could be safely counted as a main part. After a few seconds of whispered conversation, he looked up at me again. "Er... could you give some idea of what you had to do in it?" My temper snapped. "I had to lift up a Scotsman's kilt and squirt the contents of a soda siphon up it," I rasped. "Are you going to give me some car insurance?"

"I'm sorry sir, I'm just following company rules," replied the youth. He turned away again to communicate to his supervisor the single funniest moment of the play. I hoped the supervisor wasn't from Glasgow. At length he spoke again. His brow was covered with a thin film of sweat.

"Would you describe it as a drama or a comedy?" - "It's a bloody farce," I roared, "and so is this." I marched out of the office.

Three days later I returned. This time I was wearing a jacket, shirt and tie and corduroy trousers. A different employee was on duty. It was time to back my hunch. "I'd like to arrange some car insurance please," I beamed. Ten questions later I gave my occupation as drama teacher. Five after that I was back in the street with a year's fully comp in my hot little hand; the word teacher had done the trick.

Insurances are a very necessary part of life. Car Insurance protects us should accidents happen on the roads and Life Insurance is there to protect our families should we unfortunately die..