The rolling fog is fake but the biting cold is very, very real.
Among the multitude filming The King's Speech on the concrete terraces of Leeds United's Elland Road ground is a lonely policeman. Muffled in uniform, cape, helmet and gloves, he stamps his feet in a futile attempt to fend off the winter chill.
Th
at policeman is me, and he is fighting a losing battle against the cruel blast of an icy December. Emoting madly ten feet away is Colin Firth, he of TV legend as the hunky Mr Darcy in a soaking wet shirt.
Alas, the reflected glory of a close proximity movie star can do nothing to stoke my fading embers and, after four hours on location, I'm barely mobile.
I rarely see Firth's face. He emerges from a spectators' tunnel, stands at a microphone and delivers a halting speech that, as history tells us, was a pivotal moment in the life of the young Bertie, Duke of York – later King George VI – in 1925.
It's a constant, seemingly never-ending process. Bertie takes his position, closely followed by Helena Bonham Carter (as Princess Elizabeth) and Sir Derek Jacobi (as Archbishop Cosmo Lang), and begins a speech punctuated by stammer and stutter.
Watching him is a crowd of 250 extras who have a far better view of Firth's acting abilities. Me, I get the back of his head and, occasionally, the weary look he gives to the watching throng as director Tom Hooper orders yet another take.
As Hooper switches camera angles and moves around crew and crowd, I find myself sitting alongside the stars as all of us seek even the most meagre form of heat. Firth rarely gets the chance to sit and talk. Instead he's continually being asked to repeat the scene.
The few extras not needed for one take complain about the weather and worry about the snow forecast for later in the day. One wag dubs Hooper "Tommy Twelve Takes" for the amount of time he dedicates to covering every aspect of this crucial scene.
Then it's back to the terraces as the nervous young prince once again addresses the nation. By this time only a resilient few remain. Bonham Carter, Jacobi, supporting actors and 200 background artistes have been discharged.
Just 60 hardy souls, including myself as PC 752 (a last-minute change to my original role as a soldier), stay on for Firth's close-up. By now everyone is struggling. It's been a long day and energy is rapidly dissipating. Glamorous it ain't.
As we leave after the final shot of the day, Colin Firth is given a standing ovation in recognition of his tenacity in presenting a performance despite the chill, and then he is mobbed by extras, mostly adoring females.
He poses for snapshots on sundry mobile phones and, despite frozen fingers, scribbles a few autographs.
Everyone goes away delighted. After half a day spent standing in the bitter cold, sometimes a moment of kindness and a smile is all it takes to warm a tired heart.
