I didn't know about this strange urge until last April, when I spotted an ad on one of the many extras wanted sites I belonged to then. A film student needed an old(er) male corpse for her graduation piece, a short film about a mortuary worker befriending one of his deceased clients, and then spending each shift chatting to this old stiff on a slab.
I thought, well, I am well qualified: I'm not that far off from being a corpse, and I could make a good shot at what I imagine I will look like. It helped that I have been described by good friends as having a distinctly cadaverous appearance.
I applied, and the film student called me in for an interview. I met her in the canteen of the London Film School in Covent Garden - a place I knew well from long ago, as my former landlord was its former director.
She seemed keen - though she also seemed slightly surprised when I asked if any make-up would be used to give my skin the correct deathly pallor. As if she hadn't really thought of this until then. Soon after this I had a call from another student, her friend who would produce the movie - it all seemed to be good. I began practising lying very still and controlling my breathing.
A few days later, hearing nothing, I emailed again. A couple of days later another email confirmed that they had decided to use a dummy instead.
Of course I was sad - and I still haven't sublimated this oh so recently opened desire to play dead. SO.....