A heap of rubble

Our garden had turned into a building site by the time I woke up this morning. I suspect someone had done someone else a favour, either because they were too nice to say no, or because a little bit of money had exchanged hands! When you live in rented accommodation, it's always hard to get to the bottom of what goes on in the communal garden! Whatever the case, I woke up with the bricks, rubble, mortar and God knows what else of an ten foot wall from God knows where sitting in a heap under our tree! I don't really know who was more confused: Me or the squirrels. It looked like a sort of post-earthquake hell-zone. I was half expecting to see a load of sniffer dogs searching for survivors. I can only assume one of our neighbours - quite a long way down the terrace - has knocked a wall down, which is being rebuilt somewhere. As the day went on, a rather camp little petrol-powered wheel-barrow was going up and down the alleyway collecting bricks and taking them elsewhere. It was all very curious. And a little noisy!

Anyway, true to their word, every thing was removed by the close of business, and the garden was swept and left looking rather lovely.

I spent the day sitting at the kitchen table slowly working my way through the Brass re-writes, stopping periodically to apply for a job, or send an email to someone or other about another potential idea. I'm like an ideas factory at the moment!

I am now at the end of the first draft of the eleventh draft of Brass, if that makes sense! Eleven drafts! Eleven Drafts, I say, (for what I tell you three times is true!)

I went to the gym and worked the late part of the afternoon and into the evening on my sofa, before signing up for a website which advertises jobs in TV and film. I tend to assume there's no such thing. Jobs in my industry are invariably only advertised so that no one can be accused of nepotism or internal appointing when it turns out that the job has already been given to someone known to the company! But, hey ho, if we all remained jaded and brutally pessimistic about our industries, we'd end up going entirely mad! Sometimes you've just got to keep your fingers crossed and hope there's a chance.

I'd gone entirely cross-eyed by the time Nathan returned from work and he had to take me for a walk around the block to buy a tin of pears and clear my head which was filled with little stubs of dialogue from Brass all shouting at one another and vying for air.