Take a Breath

Crikey, you never know the minute, do you?

You can always suppose if I haven't rifled around my bloggage for a few days/weeks that I am either a) extremely busy; ii) on holiday; 3) can't be bothered.  In this instance, a) applies, as I really don't believe anyone is ever going to stop for Christmas this year.  It's all just go, go, go here at Tenacious Towers.

So yesterday was D-Day - or rather - SE Day (Screen East).  The journey to Norwich was, as usual, full of twisted surprise, warped timekeeping and strange occurrences.  I'm not going to run through the day in it's entirety, but please understand I only just made my connecting train to Norwich after running for 15 minutes at full tilt across central London thanks to 'an incident' involving a corpse and a tube train in the Aldgate region.  I presume it was a corpse after the incident and it wasn't just someone chucking random cadavers onto the underground lines in the rush hour for a giggle? If they were, they'd better never do it when I am trying to get somewhere again, I tell you.

Anyway, just take it from me, the day got far more weird from then on. At one point I was even wished good luck for my interview by a Priest...I still have no idea how he knew I was going for an interview but I guess The Big Guy must have given him A Big Nod or something.  

The interview itself wasn't what I had really expected but it was good all the same.  I have no idea how I did to be honest: although I seemed to answer the questions they asked, I probably babbled and wavered a great deal once my creative brain jumped ahead of my speech capacity and capabilities.  I have found recently that I need to have a pen and paper to hand at all times, due to the fact the visuals in my brain race ahead of the words.  I find it easier to (roughly) draw what I envisage, and then once it's sketched out, I can process what I am trying to achieve/see and put it into words.  But of course you can't really do that in an interview - not even one of my millisecond sketches - so I hope I didn't babble too much.  I hate babble and babble hates me.   Apparently we should know this side of Christmas, so come Christmas Day, it'll either be a big, plump turkey for me or a weeny, chicken drumstick.  I am, of course, still hoping for the turkey - and all the trimmings.

So, I did eventually get home last night - extremely late as the corpse on the line had obviously been causing a multitude of issues all day and created a knock on effect.  By that I mean delays to travel, not more corpses on the line...well, at least not as far as I know.

Today, whilst refraining from propping my eyes open with matchsticks, I met up with that mad scallywag, Dan Turner, who informed me he was very hung over, thus making me feel a million times better about having had 'minus hours' sleep' this week so far.  T'was a pleasure to share lunch with him whilst our chat veered from film-making to cameras, alien impregnation through to lifts (elevators to the US Tenacious readership).  Pretty normal film fodder really.  LOL.

So, tomorrow beckons and I am off to see the big chap in the red and white get-up.  I am going to state my total innocence over anything naughty this year and beg he bring me a whisper of a commission and/or a funding agreement for Crimbo.  I don't even require it to be wrapped up - in an envelope or over the phone would be fine...

Onwards.