I feel Theresa May's pain – vocal cords can raise hell when you doubt what's coming out of your mouth

I lost my voice ten days before filming started on my Channel 4 sitcom – the problem was all in my head

One of the reasons Theresa May has made such a poor prime minister is that she hasn’t got the voice for it. She probably has everything else, the tenacity, hide and stomach but her vocal chords betray her at every turn. When the going gets tough Theresa’s voice deserts her.

We’ve all witnessed it: it begins with a give away cough, the need for a lozenge and from then on it goes downhill until she sounds like she is gargling gravel. Never mind her ministers, even her body is betraying her.

I hope she has sought expert medical help, but if there isn’t an underlying health reason for Theresa’s dilemma, then it could be psychosomatic.

Vocal problems are every performer’s nightmare, with nodes being the commonest problem. These are non-cancerous, callous-like growths that form on the vocal chords and are the scourge of every professional singer/actor, teacher and sports coach. Basically anyone who uses their voice a great deal is in danger of developing nodes or polyps, which are similar but are typically more like a blister. Rest and voice therapy are often the solution, surgery is also an option

I have no idea if Theresa May has ever had vocal training. I suspect she hasn’t, she wont have had the time and she probably doesn’t really believe in it. I have no idea if there is anything medical that is causing May to lose her voice but her problems tend to coincide with times of extreme tension.

The throat is a delicate beast, and the vocal cords are incredibly sensitive to stress. One of the commonest side effects of anxiety is feeling like you have a constant lump in your throat, a small egg that makes swallowing difficult, which in turn makes speaking difficult. You can feel as if you’re choking.

In the past, I’ve had awful problems with my voice, mostly back in the days when microphones weren’t available at every gig and some nights I’d find myself literally screaming at audiences in order to be heard. Many’s the Edinburgh festival I spent petrified to wake up and find my voice had dropped yet another octave and I would spend entire days in solitary confinement steaming and trying not to panic.

Of course I used to smoke back then which we all know is a complete no-no for anyone involved in public speaking of any kind. Milk is also terrible for the voice and most opera singers won’t touch the stuff as if produces a thick, rather phlegmy tone! In fact all sorts of things should be avoided before performing: dairy, very cold water (shocks the cords into constricting) and the diuretic that is coffee are all best avoided.

What I have realised after almost forty years of experience performing live is that my voice is very much affected not by the amount of physical strain that I’ve put it under, but the amount of emotional strain too.

Tension affects your breathing and controlled breathing is the basis of all good vocal training. At drama school every wannabe actor is taught how to breathe into the stomach rather than just the chest (“It’s all in the diaphragm darling”). If you are het up and not breathing correctly, you forget about your diaphragm, start shallow breathing, your throat constricts, your vocal cords tighten and the damage is done.

The most frightening thing that ever happened to me vocally was back in my very early thirties when I was ten days off the start of filming a Channel 4 sitcom. I was a basket case about the show, I wasn’t entirely convinced the scripts (which I’d had a hand in writing) were good enough, rehearsals were tough, I got increasingly paranoid, so much so that during one difficult morning, I lost my voice entirely, I opened my mouth to speak and nothing came out.

I went to my GP who examined me thoroughly and explained that physically there was nothing wrong with me. I had no sign of nodes, laryngitis or virus. In desperation, the production company suggested a hypnotherapist, who concluded that the problem was all in my head. Apparently, because I wasn’t convinced by the words I was meant to say, my voice just decided to stop saying them.

The relief of being told this inevitably made me cry and I shall never forget walking back to the tube station, still entirely mute, only to find that when I asked to buy a ticket back to the Oval (this was pre-Oyster card) my voice had come back. By the time I hit South London I was talking freely to myself and laughing with delight at the sound of my own dulcet tones. Suffice to say, I had the carriage to myself.

You can take from this story what you will, but I don’t think Theresa May is convinced by what she is saying publicly and in an effort to silence the nonsense that is coming out of her mouth, her vocal cords took the chance to go on strike.