Beware Of The Morning Make-Up Lady.

Make-up ladies are a unique breed. There are several different types for you to spot: the 'too cool for the room' and aloof, the sincere relationship counsellor, the irrepressible chatty with a steam of constant early morning banter, the hungover (greenly sipping Berocca), the down-to-Earth/friendly type and the just plain brilliant!


The following is a personal encounter from a job I did:

I arrive at my designated tube station at 7.15am for pick up, having been up at 3.30am and left at 4am. Being 'hot-to-trot' at night, I must admit I'm not huge fan of the Après-Dark (morning) and although I'm wide awake; I look a little crumpled (who can be bothered to apply make up at such an ungodly hour?)

Fortunately, Man spotted the executive taxi hidden around the corner and I clambered in, excited about the scheduled days filming (the northerner in me dying to ask the driver "been busy then?") We were both whisked across London in the early morning rush hour (does it ever dissipate?) to the first location. The Production Assistant calls my phone with hope in his voice and is verbally relieved that I'm actually in London and not stuck on some foreign (northern) motorway frothing at the traffic.

We arrive on set and have the required complimentary tea as shooting is well underway. And so begin the introductions. There's the beautiful girl playing the other character in the scene - who has put make up on at an un-godly hour, the 2nd Assistant director - refreshingly not wearing a North Face jacket (extra points for him), the Production Manager - looking trendy and aloof and the Make-up Lady who, in due course, is introduced to me.

She strides over in fabulous boots, she shakes my hand and looks at my face carefully scanning the bags, the imperfections, the spot that always springs up on the day of a shoot and I sense an imperceptible tut forming. "I've seen the other girl, very pretty girl,” she says absently, "she won't need much work." Then realising how that might have sounded, she quickly reaches over to place a reassuring hand on my shoulder; "Not that I'm saying you do, you understand?" With that cleared up, she turned on her heel and walks back to the monitor.

And, once I'd picked my gob up off the floor, I discovered that she wasn't being a bitch. In fact we were remarkably similar - we'd both left things at home in our rush to make it to set on time that morning.

I'd left my make-up behind and she'd left the tact chip for her brain!