Heath light

I walked across the Heath earlier this evening. The sky was an incredible shade of mauve, fading through indigo, into a mix of light blue and yellow in the Western horizon where the sun once was. The air was unnaturally warm. A little misty perhaps; almost as though someone had been burning the corn fields.

It's evenings like this when I realise quite what a well-used resource the Heath is. Despite it being essentially dark there were still joggers jogging and dog walkers walking. There were quite a number of children rushing about as well. No one seemed frightened or jumpy. Everyone was having a lovely time.

The athletic tracks were full. They're flood-lit, so I'm sure they ought to have been pretty crowded at that time of night, but it was rather nice to see them being used. A group of lads were practising rugby scrums on the field next door. As I crossed the Heath, the air was so soft that I could still hear their coach shouting and whistling from a good mile away.

Clocks across London started chiming eight o'clock. It was almost as though the light mist was making them seem a little soft-focus. An owl cried out. Water was rushing into one of the ponds where a pair of swans was glowing an eerie silver colour. A pair of bats flickered past, silhouetted against the sky. The air smelt of soil and earth.

I've been hustling more again today. I'm pleased to say I've reached a stage in my career where, even if someone isn't interested, they'll at least reply, and usually fairly swiftly. It's one of the only differences between being 40 and being 20, that, needing to see an osteopath more regularly and remembering high fashion when it used to be high fashion! I actually vowed never to forget how awful it felt to be ignored and have sworn always to write back to the people who bother to write to me. Until recently, that is, when a composer contacted me and said "I'm a big fan of your work, and wondered if you'd like to collaborate with a composer." Rule number one. When contacting someone, make sure you know the facts. If she genuinely was a fan of my work, she'd have told me why, and which of my films she liked, and she would then almost definitely have drawn reference to the fact that she knew I was also a composer and therefore that it was fairly unlikely I'd want to collaborate with a composer! I could almost see the template email which she'd sent to everyone who was marked as a British filmmaker on Wikipedia!

Highgate village smelt of chimney smoke; a sure sign that autumn is upon us. And what a glorious, ancient smell wood smoke is. It's not a usual London smell. It reminds me of my childhood, and of Thaxted.

We found out today that Our Gay Wedding has been nominated for a Grierson award. Grierson awards, named after the luminary film maker, John Grierson, are seen as the Oscars of the documentary world. We're up in the category of most entertaining documentary. I'm not actually sure our film can be classed as a documentary, and as a result don't think we have a hope in hell of winning, but it's jolly nice to receive a nomination. My film about the A1 was also nominated for a Grierson - for best newcomer - and I lost out to someone far more deserving who made films about mental health. I wrote to John at Channel 4 and told him that I had unfinished business with the awards, and that I hoped we'd win this time; "I refuse to be the bridesmaid for a second time - especially at my own wedding!" He wrote back to tell me he hoped I'd finally get my man!