The last ever day filming Crude didn't start too well for poor Lizzie as the hire car she picked up yesterday developed a flat tyre and she spent half the night organising tow trucks. Then had to get up at 5.30am to pick me and new soundman Ben up to drive to Bedford for the result of Piers's three-year battle to get planning permission for his latest windfarm.
After three very long days and nights bashing together all the ideas into a coherent script, we stocked up on pastries and got everyone into the same room for a read-through. Mark was very convincing as the geeky teenage know-it-all but Emily wasn't so keen on her slightly wimpy teenage girl (maybe should swop those roles over. can't have the girl being feeble).
Rain, Cameras, Action....
Photograph: Charlotte Rushton
Am totally stuck on the animation script, so decided to try to do something - anything - positive and cleaned up three years of cat shit from my roof. Then started clearing the overgrown ivy with the thought of planting some veg up there. But as soon as the ivy went I could see a bloody great big crack in the wall.
Slightly frightening that Crude pal Mark Lynas has dreamt up, researched, written and published a book, 'Six Degrees', all within the Crude timescale. Lizzie and I went to the launch in a cold church hall in Oxford tonight. Mark was doing one of his favourite slide-show talk presentation things - think Al Gore, but way bleaker - which I've now seen plenty of times, but never fails to scare the bejeezus out of me.
Lizzie and I have made up. She agrees that "a change in attitude is needed". And I said that it was the panic of steering the whole Crude ship on my own for two weeks that caused me to overreact (was that an apology?). Anyhow, we've renewed our vows to get the fucker finished.
A good thought from the Guardian. Think there may be the replacement Crude title somewhere in the idea of "like there is no tomorrow":
Jeh with mockup planes at Airbus in Toulouse
Photograph: Patrick Igonet
Franny, and our fixer, Khulood, interviewing Iraqi widows on the streets on Amman<
The heatwave continues.
London's response: buy more air conditioners.
I've spent the last five days lying on the floor with High Tide Mark, doing pilates (him), eating ice lollies (me) and both of us trying not to turn the electric fan on (seems inappropriate somehow).
We are attempting to nail all the arguments/positions/key points to include. Extremely glad we decided to, as Mark has demolished many of my favourite ideas. (The Sweden no-oil-after-2030 is a red herring, apparently.)
Real tears are dripping onto my laptop typing this, as Emma Thompson has just found out that it's all been a big misunderstanding and Hugh Grant isn't married after all. This is extremely worrying and not just because of my history of electrical equipment and water.