Actors tend to be a desperate bunch, often prepared to do almost anything to get a part. If the producers of Forrest Gump had said to Gary Sinise: “Gary, you’re up for a great, possibly even Oscar-winning role here, but your character ends up with no legs, so do you mind if we amputate?”, I bet he’d have said go for it, perhaps hoping it would also make him a shoo-in for the lead if anybody ever remade Ironside.

Despite having worked with hundreds of actors in his time, the director Danny Boyle doesn’t seem to understand their overwhelming need to be in the spotlight. He’s decided not to press ahead with Porno, the sequel to his 1996 hit Trainspotting, because the young, hungry actors he worked with then are now fat-cat stars and, he feels, would no longer convince as druggy lowlifes.

“Actors,” he sighed, “they’re in the sauna . . . and they’re moisturising. They’re tucked up in bed at 10 o’clock, so they look well kept. It [using the now-famous Trainspotting actors for Porno] wouldn’t work.”

But Danny, give them a sniff of a good part and they’ll be starving themselves and checking in at their local methadone clinics (for research purposes, of course) at the drop of a tab. Ever since Robert De Niro piled on the pounds for Raging Bull, painful, unattractive, cosmetic-free physical transformation has become the measure of a great actor. Everyone in the industry knows that excessive weight loss or gain for the sake of one’s art is a sure-fire way to some sort of award. And ugly gets you noticed — Charlize Theron wouldn’t be an Oscar winner otherwise.

Believe me, the Trainspotting cast would relish the challenge of transforming their glossy, prosperous selves into rough, gaunt, scabby, lank-haired losers.

Boyle is too experienced and savvy to be serious about this. I think criticising his complacent stars is his way of lighting a fire under them, to get them to whip themselves into shape and try to prove him wrong.

Alternatively, Boyle could easily make his actors look genuinely strained, pale, sickly and break out in a rash, by mentioning he can’t pay them more than Equity minimum.

The tragic kingdom

Despite my protestations, my husband won’t sanction a family holiday to Disneyland. He thinks it’s too phony and corporate. Instead, when Junior is old enough, the McCades will be holidaying at Stalin World in Lithuania, a totally realistic gulag experience, where I imagine visitors arrive in cattle trucks and armed guards prod them along, shouting and threatening that they’ll never get out alive.

Since Stalin World has to be the most true-to-life awayday in existence, I’m surprised it didn’t appear on the list of Top 50 Most Authentic Places On Earth, which was published this week. The only place in Scotland to make the grade was Wigtownshire, which apparently fulfils the criteria of being “true to itself”, not faking its history, not compromising its culture for the sake of tourism and not overpackaging its attractions.

This self-conscious worthiness makes me wary of “authentic” tourists. It’s one thing to enjoy visiting unspoilt places, but I suspect someone who insists on being “authentic” might also take photos of locals leaning on sticks and say “How quaint!” a lot.

I’m also unimpressed by several places on the list. For example, Portmeirion is there — a purpose-built fantasy village. How is that “authentic”? I’m pleased Wigtownshire got a mention, but how come so much of Scotland didn’t? What about Skye? Orkney? Shetland? Even Glasgow? For sheer take-us-as-you-find-us, pick-yer-pocket- and-call-you-Jimmy straightforwardness, what’s more real than the dear, green place?

If this list is authentically about authenticity, it should concentrate on places that deliberately limit tourism to preserve their culture or don’t expect tourists at all. In which case, the top two ought to be Bhutan and Cumbernauld.

Tops off for Titan

First we had Tracey Emin and other artistic luminaries signing a petition to keep two Titian paintings, currently owned by the Duke of Sutherland, in Britain. Now Kim Cattrall has taken her top off to, er, “raise awareness” that the paintings could be lost if £50m isn’t raised by December 31.

So, that’s the Titian petition, followed by the tits-out-for-Titian. What next? A sponsored sneeze-a-thon, the a-tishoo for Titian? If the paintings are separated, will that be a Titian partition?

Please, if you want to stop the Titian jokes, support the appeal fund. Bring the Titian appeal to fruition. Make it your mission!

How cheesy

Former Blur star Alex James has named his new Scottish cheese Blue Monday after the New Order song. What a pity he isn’t more of a Beatles fan — I’d definitely buy a slice of Cheese Cheese Me.

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