Kenneth Cranham

When you act for a living, you are lucky enough to get to say things you really want to say. You get lines that you look forward to, lines that jump out like a jack-in-the-box; you're thinking: 'Wait till you hear this.'

If you swap it about, do television, theatre, film, you can go on surprising yourself. The problem is you get employed to do something you've already done. They want something from that sheep pen of performances they've seen you do.

For a boy of ten, used to the coal bings and rust-coloured burns of Cowdenbeath, the fields and woodland of Kingswood, with its overgrown but stately avenue of copper-barked sequoias, felt like a local version of paradise.