“Even though we are pushing the boundaries of human exhaustion from over-working – how about we go to the Film Festival, inappropriately cover ourselves in stickers and create an impromptu dance-floor after heckling the dj for hours to replace the post-ironic afrobeat ambiance with a more populist Whitney Houston / George Michael disco fest?”
“Amazing idea. Hey you know those curved white stairs in the bar are perfect for an MGM musical type entrance / helter-skelter type slide down / erotic burlesque show.”
“Tell me about it, we’ll decide the precise nature of the performance according to a subtle reading of the audience demographic (based on the exact semiotic science of how sexy their shoes are)”
Quotes from Ed (edit assistant):
“Half my time is spent telling you not to feel guilty about how much food you eat and the other half is spent fetching you food.”
“You’ve got some shit on your face, unless it is a spot and then I feel bad” (me: “feel bad”).
“When you hang round with me does it make you feel like a Royal? I open doors for you, make you tea, fetch you lunch, keep an eye on you in case you say something inappropriate to people who don’t know you…”
“It’s ok that we are always walking into doors and dropping stuff. We are more evolved. My brother is really good at practical things like walking round the house. I haven’t got time to think about stuff like that. My IQ is too high to think about walking straight.”
“Sometimes you look like a squirrel. You look at me with these eyes like you are in a park and I’ve just caught you eating food.”
“You’re like the older sister I never had and never wanted”
Not a physical manifestation of my inner turmoil but the doorbell on the local post office. This is a place where my only friends (apart from the crew) were two seals, a sheep and a hen that looked strangely like Peter Crouch. All very lovely and idyllic for about two days until I realised there were only three meals to eat at the hotel, the milk went solid over night and at 9pm the hotel manager played the recorder in the empty bar. It was like being in The Wicker Man (surely only a matter of time before seal started playing the recorder and Peter Crouch turned up to serve me dinner) Half way through I started dreaming about driving two hours south to Inverness just so I could go and stand in a queue.
I’ve been reconsidering my ideas about what will rescue me from a future of dark rooms and bad stories (this time it is not Benicio Del Toro). Some people make decisions in their life based on the dice, others follow religious doctrines, some say yes to everything to see where it leads… I’m going follow Jose Mourinho (quoted above).
It was one of those moments when everything feels hard and bad and you imagine you’re like Sisyphus with his rock and just when you’re about to have a public cry something small happens that reminds you that there are good things in this messy world. And that was it: ‘Love’. Just written in felt-tip pen on the flagstone near our house. And I had to stop and look at it and then bend down and take a photo. And later after tea and gossip and ‘do you think it is ok to defrost these prawns by just running them under the warm tap for a bit?’ We ventured out into the night to look for the ‘Love’ again so that we could look at it together. Except, it wasn’t there. And it’s not been seen since. And now I’m left wondering, ‘Am I looking in the wrong place? Was it real? Did it ever exist at all?”
Now, I know what you are thinking. You’re thinking “why?” and in some ways you’d be right… but then maybe you shouldn’t be so closed-minded? I mean it starts off logically enough, “why a freestanding tinfoil rhino model?” but soon enough your on a slippery slope to “why am I alive at all?” and soon you’ll be living under a bridge with a dog on a piece of string, shouting incoherently at strangers. So perhaps lets avoid all that and just say, “What an amazing tinfoil Rhino! Lets make a whole zoo!”
I first went to Brownies when I was about 6 and I was given a hand me down dress that was a bit big but I was very pleased with. Unfortunately, I was so excited getting ready that I forgot to put my knickers on and then when I got there and realised, I was mortified and refused to play ladders and battleships in case anyone noticed. All the girls spent the next few months thinking I was an unsociable idiot. Fortunately, hindsight is a glorious thing and I learned from this experience. So in LA I wore all the underwear I needed which gave me the confidence to mingle amongst the A-List.
Don’t get drunk.
Don’t tell Tom Hanks that Philadelphia is an intrinsic part of your emotional cleansing routine.
Don’t thank him on behalf of all the worlds Gays.
Don’t scream at Nicole Kidman in the catering toilets then thank her on behalf of all the worlds Gays for showing us Billy Zane’s arse in Dead Calm.
Don’t accidentally roll sideways off a chaise-lounge in a zillionaire’s house in Bel Air while trying to give off casual awesomeness vibes.
Don’t know how. Or why. I’m operating a strict policy of keeping my mouth shut and not asking lest some terrible mistake is revealed followed by a swift retraction of my invitation.
I’m thinking of running a sweepstake competition – guess how many minutes before I score an own-goal and make some mortifying and personally humiliating faux pas. I’m hoping for never, obviously, but realistically I’d be happy with an hour.
Back of the net! Fixing Luka scores a hatrick at the Limelight Awards! Best Animation, Best Visual and Best Film. We made idiots of ourselves on stage, had to sneak out to the pub half way through and felt a bit like we were at the Christmas party in Die Hard but that just made it all the more special.
Pop Quiz: What’s better?
Making a film or cheese toasties or er… Aston Villa?
It’s cheese toasties right? I mean it’s obvious. I can’t believe you even asked to be honest…
Trusting their instincts, demonstrating strong understanding of life’s important questions, making good cups of tea – these are just some skills the three new First Light filmmakers possess. That’s three more than us then. The film ‘I Could Live Yours’ is another My Pockets project and we think it might be the best one yet. It’ll be out later in the year.
We weren’t sure what was more worrying – the fact that the world may or may not end before we finished the funding application or the fact that the computer had underlined our sentence with a wonky line and when we checked to see why it just said, ‘Passive voice’.
(F*&kinghellwhat?) A short phone call to a parent later and we concluded that it is damaging to self-esteem to work on machines that are cleverer than you are.
It was just another evening, you know, at BAFTA. There I was, on the stage, microphone in hand, presenting myself to the world, trying to simultaneously promote myself while appearing self-effacing and hilarious, selling my
soul script. It would all have been wonderful apart from the fact that I had to do it sitting down because my dress, it turns out, was see-through…
‘Until My Heart’s like Finished’ won the ‘Youth Voices’ prize at the First Light awards. The YMCA kids came to a swanky ceremony in Leicester square. Peter and Jim and I cried a bit in the dark then pretended we didn’t. Peter enthusiastically thanked an uninvolved bystander for his “great speech opening the ceremony”. We lost a camera and accidentally paid for drinks at the free bar. In short, chaos reigned – in perfect keeping with the project itself.