Phew! But hang on - no! Now I'll have to leave a voicemail! A pointless conversation I can get away with ... but a pointless voicemail? That shows real commitment! Commitment to saying nothing!

Beep ...

I remain perfectly quiet. Now he'll never know I rang. I'll just sit here in silence for two minutes and he'll get a blank message and he'll think nothing of it. I stare out of my window, wordlessly.

And then I realise: it rang! His phone rang! I'll be on his missed calls! It'll say I left a message! And now, already, he's got thirty seconds of silence!

'Oh, hi, Will,' I say, casually, as if I'd only just remembered I was supposed to speak. 'Just ringing to say hi.'

More silence. This is dreadful.

'And ... that I'm sorry my car keeps ringing you! Ha ha!'

What else? What else can I say?

'So yeah ... '

Hang up! I think, trying that button again. Hang up!

'Anyway, that's it, really ...'

Outside, a truck overtakes, loudly. That'll definitely be on the message.

I sigh.

'It did it again,' I say.

ACTING

I am standing under the head of a dead moose in Los Angeles, about to make my feature film debut.

It is not the way I ever thought I would make my feature film debut. I had assumed that my feature film debut would see me with at least a pistol in my hand, or a glamorous lady on my knee. But no. It is under the head of a dead moose. And I look like a nitwit.

But this is OK. This is fine. Because Jim Carrey is standing opposite me, and he's just slapped me on the arm and said, 'How are you?'

Jim Carrey has a special nickname for me. It is Braveheart. This is because the first time we met, he referenced my surname and asked me if I was any relation to William Wallace, King of the Scots and Knight of Elderslie. Inexplicably, I said yes, and that William Wallace was in fact my dad. I had thought that perhaps we could laugh about this, and bond, and become best friends and walk dogs together, but the moment I'd said it, his assistant had turned up and told him he had to be somewhere else, and now I couldn't help but think that Jim Carrey was under the impression that I genuinely believed my dad was William Wallace, King of the Scots and Knight of Elderslie. He's not. He's Ian Wallace, king of the teapots and a man who once spent a night in Elderslie.

Out of embarrassment, I consider naming William Wallace as my father on Wikipedia, just in case Jim Carrey is concerned, and decides to check it out.