Chris is driving us back from unit base to hotel. It’s about an hour’s drive, north westwards. “It’s not really dark and I’ve finished,” says Chris. “This is a new experience.” The sun is just pulling away, leaving just a stain of the memory of light. I tried to snap it out the window.
Nicola sat down beside me in the back, facetimed her grandmother, and fell fast asleep. She’s had a lot to do and long hours. We are in early tomorrow. This time is rest time.
I’m starving though. I’m likely gonna run up a tab in the hotel eating a marked up burger in the terrace bar and drilling tomorrow’s lines. It has worked out pretty well for me in terms of distribution of work, but tomorrow I’ve gotta do everything I haven’t done so I’ll have to make sure it’s all in the right order in my head. So far so good though. It’s coming out clean and fresh. I’m feeling like I’m in the right job again. It’s a nice feeling.
I really should remember to bring my charger though. Battery is almost gone – we are just down to the memory of battery, matching the memory of sunlight, this evening falling to night on the last day I will be as young as I am. Another damn birthday. They come quicker these days. Where was I a year ago? In Jersey with the Arthouse Lock-in. Now I’m in Cornwall where much of the earth power from that lock-in was based. I really wanted to get to Trebah Gardens tomorrow evening to see Guy, one of the artists we collaborated with, who has directed a Tempest there. Fuck it though, the call sheet came in and I’ll be working way too late. Working birthday. No time for fun. I’ll do something belated when I’m back and my head isn’t so crowded.
Shower. Food. Dump the scenes I shot today and soak up the ones for tomorrow. Sleep. Wake. Birthday acting and then suddenly I’m in Cornwall with nothing to do but get home. Something to look forward to.
For now I might join Nicola in a little snooze while Chris and Classic FM take us back to the Headland.
AlBarclay 