Ok forgive the pun. Just accept that I will go to hell. Those of you who read this blog through Shooting People will be only too aware of the long running and often vitriolic debate that has been raging about the National Minimum Wage and its impact on independent film. For those of you reading this because you just find me interesting and enjoyable… well, I’m afraid you’re in for a bumpy ride. Recently Jess Search and Chris Jones took…
All of which previous ranting brings me back to the bar of the Old Oak Manor and four or five pints of (appropriately named) Directors’ bitter and a conversation with some old friends about a low-budget (£500k) comedy script that we could hopefully write in the space of a weekend. I hope you’re following this. Wednesday 4th July The hole has been repaired and so I spend the morning painting my ceiling. Also start listening to the new Frank Black…
OK bare with me I’m still a bit drunk. What do I remember? I remember the taxi. The taxi to Potters Bar from Soho. Ouch. I remember getting money out to pay for that. Which is both miraculous and tragic. I remember the driver listening to the most appalling radio station in the world, playing nothing but mid eighties power ballads. I remember being woken up in Balans at four with Chris and being told to get a taxi. And…
It’s Sunday and it’s raining. Proper rain. The sort of rain I remember from childhood. People always say that when thinking back to their childhood the sun always seems to be shining, I generally remember rain. Long cold days with white skies and a persistent background crackle as the water bounces off the roof, the windows, or the sides of the car. It’s that sort of day now and I’m really having to fight hard not to pull my duvet…
OK, I meant to do the accounts on Friday and pay Adam, Chris and Martin what’s owed to them, though of course Adam has already taken some money which means we probably don’t owe him anything. Must also get Adam to ring Malcolm our accountant and sort out his tax details. Anyway, Wednesday we had our first screening of the very rough cut of Panda with the funders, which was good despite Chris getting a bit cranky ‘cos he’s not…
Thursday morning and again I’m on the train, this time coming back from my girlfriend’s house. She’s been in Wales since the weekend and I’ve missed her hugely, she’s also just as busy as I am so I’m unlikely to see her again this week and am trying not to feel guilty about spending the morning with her… It’s tough though. I got a text from Quinny last night saying that we’ve lost our make-up artist and I still need…
It’s very difficult to feel stressed or panicky about anything on a day as beautiful as this. I’ve spent the morning making scones for my girlfriend and there is a fox cub, about the size of a slipper, curled up asleep in my back garden. Life, as long as I remember to step back and actually look at it, is great. This sense is increased by the fact that Barrington has arranged us a speed boat trip for next week…
