I nearly had my own little premature apocalypse on Friday, the day before the official ceremony, when I collapsed after the starters at Baritone Gareth’s birthday dinner at Cecconi’s.

All I remember as I lay on the ground, losing my breath and my sight, was the sound of the other diners carrying on as though nothing were happening. That’s Mayfair for you. Apparent heart attack, so they called an ambulance and took me to UCH. I’ve never collapsed anywhere, and I’ll admit I was very scared. Good old Gareth insisted on coming along and he left his celebrations behind.

I was all hooked up with electrodes and given two ECGs and then sent off to wait in A&E for the results and a talk with the doctor. We were in for a two-hour wait, but I was on my legs by then, so we went for a stroll down Euston Road; I wasn’t going to let Gareth spend his birthday in A&E with a bunch of vomiting teenagers and incontinent tramps.

We turned onto Tottenham Court Road; I wanted to buy a magazine and send Gareth home, but nothing was open. Well, Spearmint Rhino was open. Now, I’m not really one for strippers and you won’t catch me on a stag do, but when you think you’ve seen the end, the thought of some fun with one of Essex’s finest suddenly appeals.

We were greeted by Jenni and Tamara – Tamara was very welcoming until she found out what I did for a living, upon which she unwrapped herself from around me with the words, “All actors are poor”, and wandered off. They have marvellous common sense, these Essex girls.

Anyhow, I don’t think Jenni had ever known a punter to come in still wearing his ECG electrodes from Accident & Emergency. I suggested she advertise in the waiting room and see the upturn in business. She had great fun with my nodes and told me I mustn’t die before the Rapture on Saturday, which was when the world was going to end, then she gave me a plastic pearl as a good luck charm. I was very touched.

Gareth and I were in a quite a rapture ourselves when we left. Just what we needed, I thought as we strolled back to A&E. Quite life affirming.

The doctor appeared looking very tired.

“I’m sorry you’ve had to wait so long – Friday nights we’re basically a crèche for drunk teenagers.”

“That’s alright, I went for a stroll.”

“For a beer?”

“Just some air.”

“What do you do?”

“I’m an actor”

“Work much?”

“I get by.”

“Drink much?”

“Two Negronis and a bottle of wine earlier.”

“Do you drink in an actorly, self-loathing sort of way?”

“I drink for pleasure.”

“You’re healthy and your heart is fine. It was a severe panic attack.”

Well I’d thought panic attacks were just someone getting in a bit of a flap, but I know better now. The doctor was very good, and very tired and I thanked him, woke up Gareth and we left.

We’d evacuated Cecconi’s after the starters and were very hungry so we went to MacDonald’s and had our main course. Happy Birthday, Gareth!

I’m glad I didn’t clock out the day before the end of the world, though it was a bit of a damp squib, wasn’t it? I’d hoped for more drama. But I haven’t seen Von Trier’s Melancholia yet, which I hear is about the apocalypse and may be dramatic.

That’s a lot of impending doom for one week, but Jenni’s pearl will see me through. The Swedish star of that film, Stellan Skarsgard, was asked at Cannes how he would like to spend the end of the world and he said he’d like to spend it in bed making love.

Here’s to that, Stellan.

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Image: Adam Kesher by djenvert, available under a CC BY-NC-ND license.