Broken hearts and requiems

I found out today that the water that emerges from the taps in Salford Quays comes from a bore hole rather than a reservoir. It is known up here as minging water; much poorer than the water in the rest of Manchester, which I’m told is extremely fresh. So my taste buds haven't been deceiving me!

The edit really took off today as we worked our way through the third sequence from our film, which is the more experimental one featuring young Charlie, the photographer. The head of region popped his head round the door and we played him a few excerpts. Thankfully he's a very nice chap and he seemed very impressed with what we'd done. He was particularly complimentary about the work of cameraman Keith, which is just as well, as he recently poached him from Yorkshire.

I’m now beginning to get the sense that this is the best film I’ve ever made. It’s difficult to describe exactly why. I suppose it simply feels very real; like it has a heartbeat. It's incredibly bleak and sad, but there's a sun shining somewhere on the distant horizon and this makes it feel very special. I’m sure I have these feelings at this stage during every one of my projects, but on this one, I’ve been given the space to make a film without boundaries, so I'm leaving a little piece of me inside. It's very difficult to describe the attachment I've formed with the people of Hattersley and it genuinely breaks my heart to think that the community centre, which features in every one of these films, is being knocked down.

I found out today that the London Requiem has been selected for The Space, which is an Arts Council/ BBC initiative. This means the work will be performed live in Abney Cemetery graveyard at the end of September this year. The live performance will be the climax of a ten week run of online films and media packages about the project, which is almost too exciting to comprehend. I am absolutely thrilled, and only wish that the celebratory muffin I brought myself from Booth’s didn’t taste like chamois leather!

Pepys spent the morning 350 years ago packing up glass to send to his father in the country, and books for his brother, John, who was studying at Cambridge. There’s really not a lot else to say.