AlBarclay

Two hours from location and my van’s temperature gage suddenly goes from cold to DANGER. Then without ceremony, up pops the engine light and an alarm goes off This is all in about a second. And then the power leaves the engine like running out of fuel, and my steering goes all 1970 and I’m at 50mph on a dual carriageway with no hard shoulder a 3 tonne dead bit of metal on wheels, hauling thousands of pounds worth of lights. Steam starts pumping up the side of my window. I instinctively have floored the clutch so now I’m coasting. And just in front of me is a little Shell garage with a shop outside. And my momentum takes me up the hill, out of the way of all the traffic and I come to a juddering halt perfectly parked and jump out onto grass through a cloud of stinking steam. My guardian angel is once more covered in bruises. I don’t know how she does it.

Still, fuck. I pop the bonnet. An RAC van drives up into the forecourt and asks me if I’m someone I’m not. No, but could you have a look when you’re done? He might. Lucky.

The coolant tank is totally empty. There’s liquid all over the engine. Hmm. I ring Dan first as I know he’s close behind me. Don’t want him to pass. I’ve been crawling. He’s been spanking it. I tell him the circumstances and then go and see what’s available in the Londis.

They sell coolant. Also oil etc etc. I go back to the van and it is clear nobody has ever unscrewed the top up hatch for coolant. There’s ancient pine cones. Bits of dead pigeon. Some of that will get in the engine. I clean it a bit and Dan rings me. “Is it a Shell garage? Hang on, I think I see you.”

Suddenly there’s two of us. He was very close behind me. Things are better already. I buy coolant. We pour it in and it vanishes. The RAC guy comes over and sounds the death knell. “Right. It’s cool now. Turn the engine on and see if it runs.” I do. It does. “Yeah these Citroens are known for it. The cooling system goes. Was it only blowing cold air?” “YES!” “Did you just put in coolant? Look it’s all on the floor now. Went straight through. You can drive it a little bit. But you stopped just in time. You’ll fuck the engine if you try and drive it properly. Thermostat is gone. Likely it went first. Did you get any alarms? Likely not. If the thermo goes first, the bang is all you know of it.”

Dan and I get on the phone simultaneously. Everyone is in airplanes right now but for Hannah and us. I ring her. Dan starts ringing recovery companies. I tell Hannah the situation. Dan finds a huge respected recovery firm an hour’s drive away. He asks me for my company card. I give it to him because my job is to get that van and the contents to the site. AA, RAC etc, all very well but they won’t tow it 2 hours to an obscure country house. Home or an approved garage like Mister Crook ahem Clutch. It’ll be almost 500 quid to tow but it’s Friday afternoon in North Scotland and the fact they can tow a 3 tonne lowloader 2 hours for us is a fucking miracle. “Don’t book him, wait there must be another solution! Wait!” says the phone and I don’t wait because we have to do this now and we can’t balance options because time is not on our side here just before the weekend.

It’s cool again. We put the key in. We park it in the Shell forecourt. Surrounded by CCTV it is safer than it would have been at any of those shit hotels I couldn’t sleep in last night. I lock and check. I give the key to the lady behind the counter to keep in the till. We already have a relationship cos her brother lives locally and has a tow truck, but it is too small. We’ve thought about it.

Tomorrow there have to be lights at the shoot. That is the entirety of my job today. Then the lights must be moved. These things are set in stone.

Aberdeen Enterprise closes at 5. It’s half two and it’s about a two hour drive. We know there’s a Luton there. The gaffer’s guys have booked it for us. We go.

“Someone needs to stay with the car,” we get. Dan has a full tech van. He can’t leave it in Aberdeen to drive a Luton. Everyone is flapping but the two us. No, scratch that, everyone is flapping but Dan.

I notice my impostor syndrome for the first time cos I love this work so surely I don’t deserve to do it, aye? I flush that out and it is replaced with a deep conviction that we have made the right calls here. Delay would have brought disaster. £500 to be able to shoot? The fucked van is safe. We need the unfucked van for tomorrow. Boom.

The gaffer tracks his van as it is full of GPS. Dan and I get to Aberdeen and rent the new van. We part ways. I beat the gaffer and the fucked van to site. The gaff comes next. Then the van, and a guy from the AA.

He’s gonna look at it. I feel a moment of churn. “The thermostat is gone, I think.” I say. He goes digging. If he says “You chose reverse instead of sixth” I’ll never live it down. “Fuck there’s a great big hole. A the thermostat is gone,” he says, and I walk away tall. It is exactly as I told them. I hand the van over to the gaff. Should’ve driven it to Aberdeen himself anyway. And just like that, he was unpacking the tech van.

I got the kit to the shoot. Tomorrow is sorted too. And it all happened pretty much on schedule. Half an hour later booking the tow and that driver might think of the Friday night home time and prefer to sack it off to watch the football, to say goodnight to the kids, get some rest.

Having backup with Dan was impossibly helpful as I might have been too nice and waited and got us all fucked if he hadn’t reminded me to hold my ground when I know I’m right. I’ve known him for decades. When he said he found a tow that can carry us, I gave him the Pleo card without even thinking. That was the division of labour. “One call the office, one call vehicle recovery” I’m not even sure which one I would have prioritised if I had been alone.

Then noise about masks and batteries and lists and things. Then bed in the most incredible huge vast bed. They’ve booked me a wonderful room here.

First, a hot bath. Which is where I have been all this time, and from whence all these paragraphs have sprung like little salmon, flapping into your pupils. Splot. There. Want some more?

Tomorrow is gonna be hard.

Washy sleepy zzzz

I’m not the Virgin Mary, Joseph or baby Jesus. I’m the donkey. Definitely the donkey.

It all started to go wrong in Warrington. Only about ten past one in the morning, but I’ve been up since 4.30am and have mostly been run off my feet. I realised I was tired. “Time to stop,” I thought. “I’ve cracked the back of it.”

I’m driving a lowloader full of lights to Aberdeen. It’s cold and the van only blows cold air. I hadn’t left London until after 9pm as I was dealing with personal matters after work.

Holiday Inn Warrington is the nearest place. Cheap. I carefully reverse the van so it’s parked with the back against a wall in a well lit camera covered part of the car park. I open the door and a man with a torch is standing there. “Whole place booked,” he tells me. It isn’t. We go back and forth, but he’s adamant. So I drive 5 minutes to the Premier Inn. They let me in the door there, after I have once again painstakingly parked safely. “We can’t book you in. It’s too late. The system won’t let us. And there are no rooms ready.” I am aghast, but take it in my stride. She’s ok. It’s the man with his hard back to me on the computer. She makes me a latte. 2 sugars. It probably saves my life. “Try the ABYSS”, she advises me as I’m slumping back to the van. “The… the abyss?” I query. Yeah. There’s an Ibis in town. Ahh. Eye-biss. Not Ibb-iss. Common mistake. No room at the Ibis. Back to the abyss.

Driving through the dark now I shout at Google to call a number of hotels en-route. Some answer. Some are friendly. They’re all “full”. They all recommend another place just down the road that is also full. M6 on a Thursday. It’s where it is all happening. Liars. One place has rooms. I drive to the parking lot. It feels unsafe and my load is precious. I leave.

Hours pass and the coffee is fading. I’m crawling up north still though, and I find another Travelodge, and this one is in a service station. It comes with the name of the road. Travelodge Lancaster M6. I don’t bother parking until I know, I just leave it with the hazards on. Fucker won’t even let me in the door. By now it’s half 2. He tells me to go to Barrow through the intercom. On the way back to the van I start laughing crazily and then my whole face explodes with tears. I go and put diesel in sniveling like an idiot. I put more in than I need.

Ever the optimist I try one more time. Travelodge Burton Northbound. I’m recovered from my emotional thing. There’s a friendly Saffer at the desk and he’s clearly lived. No room at the inn though, but he gives me some tips about where to sleep in the van. “I’d do it but I’m SO COLD,” I tell him. “I just want a shower.” He shrugs.

Adrenaline kicks in. “Oh fuck it all I’ll just drive to Aberdeen,” I tell myself. And I go back into the abyss.

Thankfully the South African at Burton Travelodge has sewn a seed that germinates as I see a sign for a truck stop. I’m in Penrith. Junction 38 Truckstop. It’s lively at half 3, and friendly. I get advice about how to avoid the military vans and their noisy fridges. I’ve just heard about Putin cutting the fuel again so I top up diesel ahead of the run. Then to the cab. Actually, this is the safest option. This stuff is worth a lot of money. If I’m in the van it’s safe overnight.

No blanket. No pillow. I wrap myself as well as possible. I snatch a few hours of fitful something until the dawn wakes me. I’m writing this in the cab. All my muscles are tensed from cold but I’m not shivering. I have rested in some fashion. Tonight I’ll have to do it properly. I’ll make sure the radios are charging and I’ll have to supervise the tech van in, and I was wanting to draw up a new photo list as the kit has changed again. I can do these things. But will I ever be warm again?

If I had thought about it I could have brought a thermos and a blanket, even a wee pillow. It might have been an adventure. Next time. Next time.

I’m gonna wander back to the truckstop and see about that bacon and eggs. I’m so cold.

It’s BUSY here.

I thought yesterday would be peak tired. But no! Wow.

Up with dawn. Uber to production. Marlon is late again. So I get all boxes ready for loading and categorised. Load is smooth. Page wants the bedsheet. She doesn’t need it but she wants it. We get to venue two hours before anyone who knows what we need, so we unload the lot into Underworld at Camden.

The place we put it is the wrong place. I have to move it to another place, which also turns out to be the wrong place. Why the hell wasn’t I on location scout? It’s cost-cutting to the point of madness. The director is keeping some rented sliders that he will literally never use. He is pretty much entirely shooting on impulse and they take TIME to set up and balance. Mister “oh and now I’m going over here” will move on before they are set up. Could have had a person instead of them.

My concern today has been hugely for a young actress who is frequently being filmed with no sound for background shots. It’s her first gig and she’s literally a teenager. None of us realised that she’d had her suitcase filled with bricks yesterday and she had to carry it a long way. She’s a trooper. She’s one of us. But… she kept quiet until it gave her blisters. Yes, if you give an actor a suitcase, put some weight in it or they might carry it like it is nothing. But there’s weight and there’s weight.

Yesterday I said we need a first AD. We do. Today I felt maybe we want a combined first and second AD. A first, someone to call the shots… that would be great and helpful. It would save all the “are they filming” WhatsApp messages. “Ok silence on set, camera rolling and …” (the ghost of sound past shouts ‘SPEED’) “ACTION!” … something happens… then “Thank you that’s a cut…” “Ok set back we are going again, great job” etc etc. That’s helpful. It’s actually close to vital for logistics and morale. But added to that, for that poor young woman, the human who just takes the time and HAS the time because it is their job, to say: “Hey what you’re doing is great here just so you know. The director needs this from the next shot so how do you think that might be achieved? Ok interesting but maybe if you do it like x…?” “That was brilliant from your perspective but actually it would look nicer if you walked down this line here, as the light in the camera really picks up on that track, but what you’re doing really tells – remember you can swap hands mid shot with the suitcase, people do that in real life when something is heavy.” The poor thing was being given unplayable notes. Someone needs to translate that shit. This girl is bruised, disillusioned and knackered, simply because there’s nobody whose job it is to translate. First job, untrained, easy mistake to make. I know it. I did it. It’s why I trained. Lucky. I trained just before I broke my body and my voice by being obedient to people who don’t know what they are asking. Wendy Alnutt, Wyn Jones, Ken and Patsy and Peter taught me so well at Guildhall – in a golden age – how I had to take care of my longevity in this career. And I’m still here. Directors like ours today… he’s brilliant… but he will break your body by mistake because he forgets to think about you as a real person. It’s all the art the shot the feeling. Do it again again again again again.

You learn to be able to say “Mate, this suitcase is too heavy. I’m gonna get blisters.” But it takes time and confidence to be able to do that. So people have to say it for you first. And I wish I had noticed and done so.

End of the day we are in the rain, again with very bad comms, freezing cold, she’s still walking in the rain with that suitcase. The bricks aren’t in it anymore. “She couldn’t wash her hair in the shower last night for her fingers. They’re so strained they don’t work,” says her mum, conversationally, having noticed that I’m belatedly trying for some pastoral care, and just happy to find someone here who is talking to her daughter like she’s a human being who has needs.

But… I dumped this all haphazardly with Lou and Frank. I must sleep now. More madness incoming. All will be well. At the HEART of this job is an incredible graceful human being. Their kindness and fortitude will hopefully be the dominant force going forward, even if they are, inevitably, the last to arrive and the first to leave. My observation of them has been fleeting and distant, but has left me extremely impressed. I’ve met many very famous humans and rarely do they balance heart and earth so completely. And that makes everything brilliant really. These concerns are just detail. I’m involved in something beautiful.

Day two of this wonderful madness. Up at fuck o’clock and Marlon was late so I got to have a moment of stop before the van came in to get me. Then off. We have numbered and labelled all the tech now, even though it keeps changing. At one point I literally found myself volunteering to step in as a first assistant director, as this is the thing we are most visibly lacking. The information dissemination. Obviously I can’t come in as first now, and it would be weird. But I’m trying to streamline information dissemination by sending a million WhatsApp messages all the time forever. Nobody really knows when the shot is moving on unless they happen to be standing next to the director. He’s an auteur, beautifully artistic, but very used to working on his own and in a rarefied atmosphere. “Now just … just let the music carry you. Get lost in the music, and an m we will film you!” “That’s not the way it works through me.”

I’m at my usual coalface, quietly stopping things exploding before they become visible. Sometimes it’s impossible to avoid, like when the tech van was sent to an address over a mile from the shoot and then treated like the driver had fucked up.

It’s all made a little harder because I’m being micromanaged by the same person who sent the wrong address so if I even snatch a moment for a coffee after being pretty much the only person with no lunch break and knowing deeply and completely that there’s no way in hell anything is going to explode in the next ten minutes, I still get a call telling me I should move some fucking boxes. The call doesn’t come because I imminently need to move the boxes. No no. The call comes because they’re quick enough to notice I’ve gone off site, but slow enough to fail to understand that they can trust me to do more than my job. “The talent was incoming”. I knew where the talent was. I had plenty of time and time to spare. I needed a moment. I’m made of meat as well, and need to feed and use stimulants.

Which is why this blog might feel rushed. I’m home now and actually feeling very much reconciled and like this is a solid team. This blog is always just the record of a day. I think that the biggest lie of all is the myth of consistency. We change our minds all the time. It is only when we entrench that we start to become Rishi. But we are led to believe that it is somehow shameful to change our minds. Nah. I shift my views with the tide and I hope I will until I die.

There’s an idea of consistency at the core of this. I like them all. They are all competent. We are a big team, working hard, making.

The hours are always long. I’m happy though, doing it. And if I’m moaning into my blog it’s partly because I have already taken sleepy medicine and then realised I’ve got to rush this fucker before I sink into this heavy and delightful cushion of dream that is already beckoning.

Oh man I’m exhausted and this is just day one. Thankfully it’s a lovely team and the ructions that had me concerned are already smoothing. I was a little frustrated last night that I didn’t stop a decision that was made to hire a piece of kit that was both very expensive and – to my sensibilities – more effort than it’s worth. You really need 3 people to operate a Ronin 2 and I’ve seen the shoot plan – we don’t need it. Certainly not for over £400 a day. The team seem to have all spoken to one another at last now and agreed on this and they’re gonna chalk it up to experience and go a bit more low-fi for the steadycam stuff. And save a mint in the process.

The usual jumps at the start. I found my judgement under scrutiny when one of my drivers showed up for work looking too casual. I totally get it. Dress comfy, drive comfy. Why be uptight about it? Again I think it was just teething problems, and tomorrow he thought he might show up in a suit for contrast. The shoot itself went very well, and I am happy with how my drivers acquitted themselves. I sourced the gaffer through a very dear film director mate and he’s so chilled and competent. My camera guy is all over it too and I’m sure he’s got some useful footage. He just had to calibrate himself for the team he’s on. Like an acting company, everybody has to find their shape on a film set – even a tiny one like this. We are always working to a deadline, and you can’t fuck up when venue hire and staff costs are so high. We got the shots we needed. I reckon we got some lovely shots, not that I ever got had time to monitor the monitor or see the rushes. At one point I was caught and hid under a table with the make-up for about ten minutes while a beautiful grand piano was deliciously noodled and simultaneously filmed on two swirling cameras. I was happy to be in the room. I can already feel that this will be a lovely thing to watch and I’m thrilled to be a cog in the machine even if it is a cog that will wakeworksleep for the next ten days or so, and carry all the heavy stuff. Lunch involved grabbing a triangle of sandwich off a table as I walked through, and took place probably about half 4 for ten seconds. Even when I left the building for 3 minutes to return a tablet to a driver I was rung up on WhatsApp. My one attempt at getting someone to get me a coffee coincided with a sudden unexpectedly quick van unload. Lots of things needed and very few people, all of whom have choices about how they behave.

Stress is voluntary. Seriously. You don’t have to do stress and you probably get the thing done better and certainly get it done kinder if you pull stress out of the equation entirely. It helps nothing. Ever. It even slows you down cos you stop breathing properly.

One lovely day. Many more to come.

I think this will be lovely but right now it’s Ronin this and Gimble that and is the lens the right lens and why is the director insisting on that lens when it’ll cost us over £300 a day because it weighs so much we can’t pull focus on the ronin we have? Tristan met me after work and put his finger on it. “Director is insisting on the crap lens to make sure everyone jumps when he asks them to jump.” Of course. Expensive ego trip. The DoP seemed to have a workaround, but this director is super chilled in person I’m told, but he’s Cali. So he exerts his thing via equipment instead of shouting. I can buy into that, to be honest. I’m just here to help it all get made. Let them have their battles. All I care about is that it is efficient and pleasant when we actually start.

Today has been inventory and getting to know the team. The focus puller is ALWAYS OCD. This guy is no exception but its like he wants to live in the production office, and he listens to a load of YouTube videos that contradict the lived experience of the DoP. I like him. I have skin in the game though as I booked the DoP so I want him to be brilliant and loved so it reflects back on me darling.

The DoP lost my happy imagination traction when he started being heavy handed. I love him lots but he was shouting instead of talking today. Sometimes there are actors on lovely jobs who somehow reckon they are “better than the job”. Honestly my dears, if you’re better than the job, don’t do the job. Stet. Unless you’re willing to be gracious. There’s always someone else who will be happy to have the job. Either do it fully and kindly or go sit in front of Netflix.

Behind me there’s a storm. It came in slowly with hard static. Now there’s hard rain. I really hope we aren’t under the gun for the outdoor shoots. Not tomorrow, I don’t think, but soon. We are about to cover a lot of ground.

Tristan drove me home cos he needed a self tape reader for two tapes. We did them both. Then I cooked for us both. God we ate well but I’ve had no down time whatsoever but for that twenty minutes in the car. And now I’ll sleep with what is currently a crazy loud storm noise outside the open window. I could close the window but I’m pretty sure that this storm will end up chased by more heat. I’d prefer to wake naturally than to boil into my early start. But I’m gonna drug myself with Actifed. Night fun friends! zzzzx

I’m back in London. It’s hot. It’s about to break, dammit. Dan came by in an open top car and dropped his driving licence. I’ll be picking up a van tomorrow. I’m going into the production office tomorrow. It’s my first day.

Ha. My “first” day.

I’ve been building this team for over a decade, but tomorrow is the first day I’m officially on the payroll. I’ll know half the team. As ever I’ve been balancing ability and personality with the recommendations I’ve made. Once on one of these jobs, CrapDuncan the location manager who literally thought I had made my life up said “You’ve just employed loads of your friends,” and it really disappointed me that he thought that. I mean he was a bumwinnet of a human being but it still hit home, as he wanted it to. I barely knew half the people I had employed, and didn’t know some others. He was totally wrong, just as he was totally useless. But it made me question it – I got one broke friend in because they were broke, and they were the only one to let me down. They showed up steaming hungover. Lesson learnt. The rest I got in based on my knowledge of what they bring, but loads of them I had only met once or twice and was rolling on instinct. My instinct was borne out. I had lots of conversations with people – the first conversation is always theoretical – and wrote them off based on their approach to the theory. For the hardest ones (6″5′ actual policeman willing to act) I went to Funemployed. I have had some very tricky things to source over the years. Funny to realise that just by living my life wide I’m good at a thing that others aren’t. I’m good at diverse team building on a large scale. I have an absurdly wide life and a very varied and full address book, even though I mostly haven’t contacted you for ages. I’m not the guy who phones through everyone once a month. But I get to meet a very wide variety of people.

I’ll start work tomorrow on this shoot and see loads of people I’ve known for ages. Competent professionals. Some will be driving, others will be behind the camera or lights. One of them will be doing the job I usually do. I won’t see her tomorrow as she’s suddenly got COVID and is staying in Aberdeen until we get there.

Yeah which is FLASHBACK CITY! Remember when we had to send a lateral flow test before we could go to work?

I did one day of work once when we had to register the fucking test before they let us in the building. Ahhh the sweet nostalgia. Horrible craptimes. We all have to do it… Tomorrow morning I’ll send a photo of a bit of plastic before they let me in. I’m going through my old photos as I threw all the tests I had away some time ago. This is SO 2021 dude but I’m game. It’s worth it for the fact we are making something that isn’t shit, with interesting people. I’ve been looking forward to getting started and yeah, loads of crew are doing the “oh I’m sick but you still have to pay me” lark. It’s abject. I thought we were past that sort of thing.

Yay. New job. Should’ve started a week ago. But yay anyway.

I came down to Sealanes, just below Lou’s flat. My last evening in Brighton this time and the cat was asleep. It’s absolutely terrible here but there are seats and they cooked me a sausage. Right now we are being subjected to No One (Will Love You Like I Do) by Flakes and yes it really is as bad as it sounds. It’s a constant diet of this stuff that I think you can describe as Atlantic Funk?

Here by the pebbly beach they have Volks Electric Railway carrying baffled citizens through the sun. They have this brand new outdoor freshwater pool competing with the sea. And they have this complex of custom built woodenish huts.

You find a seat and nobody talks to you. As soon as a glass is emptied or a plate is cleaned someone takes it away. But you mostly are expected to order everything by QR Code. This is one of the downsides of that lovely summer two years ago when we were all supposed to be terrified of each other. Now everyone is meant to be able to order and pay for things without human contact, and enough people worked out how to do it that this place runs pretty well. There IS still a window where you can go and ask nicely for the sausage please. But they don’t want you to do it that way. It’ll go eventually. If they could bus glasses with robots they would. Maybe it’s just a matter of time.

So why am I here? Bad music, digital ordering…? I’m here because my body got tired of lying on the stones and I wanted some of that tasty merguez. I’m here because, to put it in Lou’s words, ‘you love the people”. I’m here because the sunset looks gorgeous from here. I’m here because how many more days do we have like this before February? I’m here because it is funny waving like a child at all the people coming by on the electric railway and getting them to wave back.

I’m here because I might have a beer later and I am not gonna have more than one. We don’t need a repeat of yesterday evening.

Meanwhile van hire madness in London. I have to be in town tomorrow I don’t have to be in town tomorrow everyone needs to give me driving licence nobody needs to give me aaargh. I like being immediate and responsive as it is my happy place and where I am best located, but if everyone is like that then things only get done last minute if at all.

I’m about to start another little run of work. I’ll look back on this version of myself waving at the railway people and I’ll miss him.

Now shall I have a beer or a coke with this sausage?

Another day spent in my mind. I went to Saltdean.

Just down the road from the wonderful blind veteran’s home that Brighton has already sold to the gammons we have a historic listed Lido that, despite huge amounts of funding, they can’t make safe enough to open to the public despite this being the perfect week for it. That suited me, as there’s a car park next to it which would be absolutely chocka if it was open. As was I could easily leave Bergie there for free and head to the beach. The spectacular incompetence of Brighton Council doesn’t need to be highlighted, it is evident everywhere. Sadly it aligns with the spectacular incompetence of The Royal Borough of Kensington and Chelsea. Running things is hard, even if you give a fuck. If it’s just a sinecure it is double hard. And, for generations, politics has been so overtaken by overprivileged ambitious toadies that it is a hostile environment for anyone who actually cares about anything. Occasionally there’s an Alexandra Ocasia-Cortez. Mostly it’s just another haw haw. Particularly over here where the media is so quick to sniff kindness and brand it weakness that there are still people who actually genuinely think Corbyn was a nazi.

I left all that thinking behind. I let my brain stop. I lay half naked by the sea at Saltdean, sucking in damage, giving cancer a bit of an advantage after all the care I’ve given to liver failure. Heart disease is currently hanging out with car crash hoping they can jump in unexpectedly.

It was glorious. Now I’m back at Lou’s with the pussycat. I’m having a glass from the bottle of 2020 St Emilion which is the best the CoOp had to offer, and which I’ve been ekeing out over the last few days. I’m enjoying the fact I taped today for a vicar who loves fine wine. There but for the grace of God go I. It would be a fascinating examination of one of the threads of life I might have followed had I not been eaten by the actingmonster.

It’s nice taping against a track. But wow, it forced me to go at a pace I wasn’t ready for first thing in the morning. If you’re doing a track for a friend, send 2 options, one of which you are leaving what feels like too long. I had to tape it in a rush and fuck me the pace of it forced me to be sharp.

I might get this one.

Meanwhile I’ll have a pointless squabble on the phone followed by an early bed.

EDIT: The lido has been open all summer. Just closed for seasonal reasons as the Indian summer kicked in. I was drunk blogging again. Sorry kids.

I went and lay on the stones at the edge of the world. Louring sky but the memory of warmth still in the world.

People are still swimming in this water. Climatically it’s the best time, although these days no water in this country is safe from companies greed-dumping chemicals way over any safe limits. Likely the sea in Brighton is chemical muck. BUT Sovrinntey!! Anyway, that’s my excuse for not swimming in the sea. Bite me.

Being here with the big sky and the relative peace helps with the noise. London in the heat is not a good place. The production I’m involved in has hit ructions and things are being rescheduled. COVID, apparently. Of all reasons to take a day off work, it’s COVID again. I’m told I won’t have to drop some stuff off tomorrow because things have been delayed by fecking COVID. A little bit of me hears that in the same light that I might hear it if I was told that the shoot was delayed because of a bout of scrofula. Surely we are done spannering our works with that one? Much as it was delightful to bugger around on Zoom with Creation, to meet Lou, to look after that snake, to have access to a flat in Hampstead Heath, to have time and space and breath, guiltless. Surely we are over that shit despite the guilt free time off we all had.

Now I’m back in the bollocks. Every day I’m not working makes me feel guilty. I can frame some pretty eccentric things as work, of course. And I’ve got woowoo type “work” (unpaid) where I’m very very practiced. Things about eating negative energy and converting it to light. Demon munching. Sometimes that can be very tiring believe it or not, even if it IS just made up crap. Here by the sea I can do it harder and recover faster.

So. Seaside. Water. Expanse. Access to nature. Liminal space. A cat. All the things that help my woowoo. I’m here trying to field some pretty big stuff in London and in Georgia and it is totally right that the practical needs of a sickly cat and a pushed-out friend have thrown me to the edge of this country. Either I’m strongest at the edges or it’s all a load of made up crap. I’ll roll the dice thanks.

Plus it’s great here. I went for breakfast at Café Rust. Catsitting is a bit of a holiday really. This little part of Brighton is a very chilled village, without the monolithic pomposity of my little corner of Chelsea.