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Coming soon to a cinema near you. Me! Well, hopefully. There is, of course, a chance that I will be edited out and that my portrayal of mean, mouldy and magnificent will end up on the cutting room floor and the movie Freebird will be flying into the multiplexes without me.

Worse still, I could be the clown prince of the outtakes. A shade too much front brake did see me crash out of one scene, and my depiction of a weapon-wielding bike gang member keen to inflict GBH on members of a rival mob of weapon-wielding bike gang members suffered somewhat from a lack of fitness. This left me breathless at the back of the pack in those scenes that involved running. I don’t do running.

When UBG volunteered me as an extra in this movie I wasn’t at all sure what I’d be letting myself in for. The comedy/drama Freebird is Jon Ivay’s project and one very close to his heart. He wrote the successful stage play and has fought long and hard to win the money to make it into a movie.

Jon contacted UBG about the project, UBG ran a story (July, 2005) and I found myself, due to my vast experience in amateur dramatics both as an actor – “Is this a dagger I see before me?” And director, “Yes luv, that’s a dagger,” – being asked to perform for the cameras and write about the experience. I was won over when I met Jon at the UBG Day at the Ace Cafe this summer. His enthusiasm was infectious. Shooting of the scenes in which I would appear was scheduled for a weekend in Wales in September. I had hoped I would be going to Hollywood and indeed some scenes were later shot there. Unfortunately, my role was less five-star glamour, more catering van and camping. My part was small but it’s what you do with it that matters, so I took it seriously, did my homework and made sure I turned up looking all Brando and McQueen. Well, Brando and McQueenish.

Preparations began with my acquisition of a copy of The Wild One, the 50s bike movie that was banned for many years in Britain. And quite right the censor was too – it’s an awful movie. However, it did serve to highlight a problem I might have portraying my character, namely my age. There are flecks of grey in my beard. Actually that’s rubbish – it’s almost completely white. I decided to leave that dilemma to the make-up department. I mean, people get Oscars for making young people look old and old people look young.

My hair, or lack of it, would be hidden under my helmet. Ah, yes, my helmet. It’s a nice, white, open-face job, with a peak and built-in visor, which I bought for long-distance touring. It’s about as suitable for a bad-ass biker as a Kate Greenaway bonnet. I would have to use my previous helmet, which is now my spare.

It has always struck me as interesting that Novak managed to produce a helmet in a shade of metallic red that doesn’t match any known motorcycle. I pulled it out from the depths of the shed. To my relief, nothing had made a nest in it. I scrubbed it inside and out, and then checked that it could be painted. Well, it could, in the sense that there were no stickers telling me not to. A small can of Wilkinson’s best matt black and the job was done. Having done the spraying outside I left the helmet out in the rain to weather. Actually, that’s not true – I left it out in the rain by mistake. And a bit too close to the bird feeder. Result! One matt black, crapped on, crash helmet.

After several hours of searching, I eventually found my old Mk VIII goggles, which are very uncomfortable. For filming purposes I decided I would wear them on the helmet. My black leather jacket was fine, well over 12 years old and nicely scruffy.

I dug out some black jeans, which just about fitted, and my boots, still covered with Rock and Blues mud. OK, these are Hotter walking boots, but when you own a Harley, it’s not a bad idea to have boots that are comfortable for walking.

My bike was OK, a scruffy 1989 Harley-Davidson Sportster. The metallic blue paintwork was a bit bright, but I wasn’t going to repaint the bike as well as the helmet. I removed the windscreen. The rack and top-box would have to come off, too. I devised a method of fairly rapid removal, once we were on location. It was all systems go.

Eventually I got the call from Chris Brown, a very likeable young man, who was to be our liaison with the film company. The ride down was fun with no windscreen – I’d forgotten about eating insects. Tasty. The extras, or ‘background artists’ as we were called, were based just outside Hay-on-Wye, at the Holly Bush pub and campsite. I think the film company may have chosen this pub because the name suggested Hollywood. The place, however, did not.

The best bit of the site had been bagged by the Vincent Owners’ Club, who were really thrilled to be invaded by a gang of film extras, many of whom, like me, had tried to make themselves look as mean as possible. At least, I assume they had. Several of us ended up in the lower part of the campsite, which had no grass, just two inches of topsoil over rock. This bent the tent pegs nicely. It was surrounded by large trees, with no illumination after dark, but the pub itself was fine, with excellent beer and food. I set up my tent, and tried to remove the rack and top-box from the bike. My quick release system would have worked fine if I’d remembered to bring the right spanners. I got the box off, but not the rack. I needn’t have worried.

Having arrived on the Friday, I reported for duty early on Saturday morning. The pub car park was full of bikes, and bikers, of all shapes and sizes. And, I was pleased to note, ages. I was surprised to see a few sports bikes, with riders in full leathers, but these, apparently, were part of the plot. There were also some trikes, two of which could have been straight out of a Mad Max movie.

Chris sent us off to the location site, high in the Welsh hills, just as it started to rain. The locals, three people and two million sheep, were bemused to see a long convoy of noisy bikers going past. We parked up and queued for our breakfast at a catering van. After waiting for over an hour to be fed, a few people decided the tough, outdoor life of a film extra was not for them, and went home. They missed a lot of fun.

A couple of large tents had been put up next to the van and several of us grabbed plastic chairs and made ourselves comfortable. Eventually we were told that filming was off for the morning and that we could go back to the pub. About a dozen of us, including some very attractive young women, decided to stay – we were dry and comfortable and saw no point in getting soaked riding back down the hill. A number of our little clique were members of the Free Style Riders, a club based in Briton Ferry, near Swansea. Check them out on their website –www.freestyleriders.co.uk– they really are a great bunch of people. And they tell terrible jokes. For example, what do you call a woman who can cook dinner with her left hand, tidy up the kitchen with her right hand, polish the floor with her left foot, clear up the kids’ toys with her right foot, and make a cup of tea with her teeth?

Answer: A Swiss Army wife.

I have to say that this is an edited version, the original involved other jobs, which we needn’t mention here.

Others in the group were Steve, who conjured up a bottle of single malt whisky from somewhere, and generously shared it round, and Sean from Trick Trio Customs in Pontlottyn (www.tricktriocustoms.co.uk). Sean is fairly noticeable, being quite large and sporting a two-tone Mohican haircut. He builds trikes, and was riding a terrific BMW-based machine that he’d made.

I haven’t spent many Saturday mornings in a tent on a Welsh hillside, waiting for rain to stop, but if I had to do it again, I’d want to be with this lot, especially the person who found the box of chocolate bars. Thanks, guys, it was a great craic, or whatever that is in Welsh. Eventually, filming was called off for the day, and I went down into Hay-on-Wye to get lunch and mooch around the bookshops for which the town is famous. I spent a very enjoyable evening in another tent, this time in the pub garden, chatting to long-distance riders Paul Crumpton and Sarah Thackeray. I started to show off about my motorcycle trip to America only to find that these two had done it as well. And Canada. And Central America. And New Zealand. I kept quiet after that. But I certainly seemed to be making some new friends.

Sunday. The rain had stopped. Back on location, I joined the queue for breakfast, hanging my helmet on my arm. As I bit into my egg and sausage bap, the egg yolk burst, straight into my helmet. Then we were sent off up to the filming site, where we lined up in a row, trikes in the middle. At this point someone asked the director if he wanted us to wear helmets. He decided it was up to us. Suddenly an impromptu helmet park appeared, next to the coffee van. After all the trouble I’d gone to, my crash hat ended up on the grass, with all the others. Some of us were then issued with medieval weapons, clubs, maces, axes, things with bits of chain on, with strict instructions not to actually hit anyone.

We were told – or should I say directed? – to ride forward to the top of a hill and pull up in line. This was on wet grass, with a liberal scattering of sheep poo. The rehearsal went fine. The director went for a take. We got back into position and rode forward again. As we came to a halt one rider used too much front brake and went over, taking out the bike next to him. Yes, it was me. How embarrassing to fall off while being filmed on very expensive, wide-angle, Super 35mm film stock. I mean, anyone can do it on video. No one was hurt, and I managed to straighten the bike out with a good whack. Take two went OK, as did take three. Look for me in the outtakes.

We then filmed further scenes that involved walking menacingly down the hill brandishing our weapons. Finally, we were divided into two gangs for a fight scene, which was shot several times. We had to charge at the opposing gang yelling bloodcurdling threats, and then run between them. I don’t do running, me, and I certainly don’t do running and shouting. In each take I was several yards behind everyone else. More embarrassment. Finally it was a wrap‚ as we movie people say. The day ended with a raffle – a not very subtle ploy to keep us on site – and some very nice prizes were dished out. Not to me, though.

Chris then asked for volunteers to stay on till Monday morning to film additional scenes, so I camped for another night. In the morning, however, it became clear that we would not be filming till the afternoon, and I had to get home. I hope he got enough volunteers.

So did I enjoy it? Definitely. Would I do it again? Any time. I hope the film turns out as much fun to watch as it was to make.

End of on-line article

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