Six Day Hangover

Well that was quite a do.

Strictly speaking it was a one day hangover that eased smoothly into flu*, but still. Still shaky, but manfully hauling myself to the desk I think, of course, of you, dear readers.

Jesus.

It was a memorable night for many reasons - finally meeting the legend that is Tony Jordan was definitely one - but the biggie has to have been me forgetting it wasn't a Friday night, and the last train was at midnight. Not one o'clock. Which is when they bring the shutters down at Victoria.**

Damn expensive, london cabs.

Lots of drunken bets laid that night were well off the mark, as ep 1 didn't get anywhere near the ratings anyone would have expected, though ep 2 did very well on BBC 4. I hardly dare draw attention to this post...

Head still monged with viral garbage, and having had a glimpse what being 80 might feel like (physical frailty is no fun; stairs are a test of stamina and courage), I have to do proper think work today. The very idea of an idea makes me want to boak, but that's the job.

Cheered by a phone call from a producer saying that yes, she'd like to go with the approach I'd suggested for a prospective development project but all the same - I'd rather be in bed.


UPDATE: It's not a bloody diary, ego boy. Or not just. It's about new/starting out writers getting a glimpse of the process.

Sorry.

Same day of the party, we did another brainstorm session on the Top Secret Project, with 2 drafts of ep 1*** and treatments for eps 2 & 3 also on the table. We finally wrestled with all the awkward questions we'd circled round and decided to leave well alone at previous meetings, only to find they were, of course, the questions we really needed to answer. We stripped down, we greased up, and we grappled. And by god I think we floored 'em. As with every meeting so far on this project I've gone in wondering how on earth we can really make it work, and come out enthused. Maybe a good sign. May not be.

Next stage for me is to do another treatment/beat sheet for my ep.


*the genuine bone-aching article. I immediately suspected HN51 but fortunately, just before isolating myself in an oxygen tent, I recalled that the (tiny) hors d'oevre served that celebratory evening didn't include turkey guts. To the best of my knowledge.

**this may possibly be related to the enormous amount of wine and the very little food I consumed. I blame shyness - free wine never comes with a 'don't dare touch me, bone-headed writer with the restraint of a vulture in an abattoir' warning. Which it should.

***Already. I know. Lead writers work for that additional adjective.