I've literally not stopped today. In fact, right now, I'm sitting in a bath doing very little for the first time since I was sitting in the same bath some thirteen hours ago!
My only respite today was a trip up to Tally Ho Corner, which, it would seem, is our nearest Aldi! I had all sorts of things to buy for Saturday's quiz, and Nathan's father has informed me that Aldi is THE place to be seen these days. Tally Ho Corner, up in North Finchley, is a bit of a schlep and the Aldi website has it listed under the wrong post code... but blimey that shop is cheap!
I felt a bit lost as I wondered around. It doesn't really look much like a supermarket. You sort of need to wander around without any specific expectations, looking at the strange tins of things on offer and deciding whether they look palatable! What didn't they sell? Candles, for starters, which I felt was a touch surprising. Anything by Cadburys. Anything really with a recognisable brand name. There were own brand Pringles, and even own brand Celebrations. I did see Marmite for sale, but otherwise it was likely to be an oral lottery! I've taken some risks... Let's see if they pay off.
The highlight of the day was obviously voting. I like voting, and might have tweeted a picture of myself in the polling station had I not read some dross on the internet about it being illegal (and punishable by death) to photograph anything inside!
I guess I'll wake up in a hung parliament, which will be no bad thing, and we'll all start moaning again, saying all politicians are corrupt sleaze-balls, or walking clowns, and the cycle of life will
continue!
I've just switched the telly on to find the film Kinky Boots playing, which, curiously, I've never seen before... I say curious because it's full of trannies and set in Northampton, which is about as "up my street" as things get. I'm not sure why I've never seen it before. I'm a little disappointed by the Northampton accents. The only one who's even got close is the leading man, the Australian, Joel Edgerton... But his "a" sounds are all wrong. Still, it's lovely - and really quite moving - to see all the locations. You don't often hear the word Northampton spoken outside the place itself, and it's a curious treat to hear it mentioned in a film.
Friday, 8 May 2015
Wednesday, 6 May 2015
Brighton studios
It turns out that the recording studio we were working in today is freakishly close to Fiona's flat, which made getting up and walking to work rather pleasurable this morning.
It was a lovely studio - cozy and charmingly run-down - situated in a sort of mews courtyard which looked like something from the 1950s. In fact, it took me ages to find which of the unmarked wooden shuttered doors led me to the right place. Fiona subsequently told me that they often make recording studios a little indiscernible to prevent them from becoming targets for passing criminals.
PK and I worked in detail through half the tracks in the show... Or irritatingly, not quite half way through the show. We stalled and timed out about mid way through the last number we'd opted to tackle today, which meant we left the studio feeling one sandwich short of jubilant!
Fiona popped in with David to see the studio and listen to a couple of numbers. Having attended some of the sessions for the project, she instantly recognised the sheer amount of hard graft PK has done to get things sounding as good as they do. He has left no stone unturned in the process of making everyone sound incredible. Many a mixer would have done a cursory job and said, "that's your lot..."
It's been ludicrously windy in Brighton today. The doors and windows in the studio were rattling like something out of A Christmas Carol, and every time I went outside, people on the streets seemed to be walking along at increasingly curious angles.
Speaking of wind, on the train home I was forced to vacate the carriage I was in - with a lovely table to myself - because the Chinese woman sitting across the aisle kept making the most horrendous smells which seemed to hang in the air above my head like the waves of dust and flies hovering above that character in Charlie Brown. I think he was called Pig-Pen!
I glanced through a copy of the Evening Standard this evening, which I always though was a somewhat right-leaning newspaper. I must be mistaken. The Labour-leaning bias in there is quite extraordinary. Obviously I'm really gunning for Lynne in our constituency, but I'm not at all unhappy at the prospect of a Labour government, but the Standard was something else. On one page they showed a list of London constituencies where there's nothing between the Labour and Conservative candidates. On all occasions, the Labour candidate's photo was twice the size of the Tory one. Hardly surprising as it happens. The Labour candidates were all intelligent, friendly-faced, cosmopolitan-looking women, whereas the Tories all looked a bit sleazy and pleased with themselves.
On the next page the sub-heading read, "warm reception: Labour's Sarah Jones meets Beverley Wellington and gets a hug for helping her obtain a new kitchen." And there she was, getting a lovely hug. On the opposite page the sub-heading read, "Tory, Gavin Barwell chats to voter Hugh Gray." The photograph showed Hugh Gray standing at his door, gesturing angrily as though he were about to slam the door in the Tory's face. Plainly this might just have been a moment in the discussion which had got a little heated, and for all I know, Mr Gray may well have been a conservative supporter, but The Standard, it seems, don't want us to view the story that way!! Hysterical.
It was a lovely studio - cozy and charmingly run-down - situated in a sort of mews courtyard which looked like something from the 1950s. In fact, it took me ages to find which of the unmarked wooden shuttered doors led me to the right place. Fiona subsequently told me that they often make recording studios a little indiscernible to prevent them from becoming targets for passing criminals.
PK and I worked in detail through half the tracks in the show... Or irritatingly, not quite half way through the show. We stalled and timed out about mid way through the last number we'd opted to tackle today, which meant we left the studio feeling one sandwich short of jubilant!
Fiona popped in with David to see the studio and listen to a couple of numbers. Having attended some of the sessions for the project, she instantly recognised the sheer amount of hard graft PK has done to get things sounding as good as they do. He has left no stone unturned in the process of making everyone sound incredible. Many a mixer would have done a cursory job and said, "that's your lot..."
It's been ludicrously windy in Brighton today. The doors and windows in the studio were rattling like something out of A Christmas Carol, and every time I went outside, people on the streets seemed to be walking along at increasingly curious angles.
Speaking of wind, on the train home I was forced to vacate the carriage I was in - with a lovely table to myself - because the Chinese woman sitting across the aisle kept making the most horrendous smells which seemed to hang in the air above my head like the waves of dust and flies hovering above that character in Charlie Brown. I think he was called Pig-Pen!
I glanced through a copy of the Evening Standard this evening, which I always though was a somewhat right-leaning newspaper. I must be mistaken. The Labour-leaning bias in there is quite extraordinary. Obviously I'm really gunning for Lynne in our constituency, but I'm not at all unhappy at the prospect of a Labour government, but the Standard was something else. On one page they showed a list of London constituencies where there's nothing between the Labour and Conservative candidates. On all occasions, the Labour candidate's photo was twice the size of the Tory one. Hardly surprising as it happens. The Labour candidates were all intelligent, friendly-faced, cosmopolitan-looking women, whereas the Tories all looked a bit sleazy and pleased with themselves.
On the next page the sub-heading read, "warm reception: Labour's Sarah Jones meets Beverley Wellington and gets a hug for helping her obtain a new kitchen." And there she was, getting a lovely hug. On the opposite page the sub-heading read, "Tory, Gavin Barwell chats to voter Hugh Gray." The photograph showed Hugh Gray standing at his door, gesturing angrily as though he were about to slam the door in the Tory's face. Plainly this might just have been a moment in the discussion which had got a little heated, and for all I know, Mr Gray may well have been a conservative supporter, but The Standard, it seems, don't want us to view the story that way!! Hysterical.
Tuesday, 5 May 2015
Brighton gales
I'm currently walking through the incredibly windy streets of Brighton. The weather here is deeply unpleasant; winds bordering on gale force, and puddles as far as the eye can see. Tomorrow I'm doing the first of two final days' mixing on Brass. We're working in a small studio down here with a big sound system which will enable us to hear what we've done so far with more subtlety.
Brighton feels a bit edgy tonight; full of drunk, homeless people who seem to pop out of darkened doorways looming and lurching. It's all a bit Victorian. I'll be relieved to be back at Fiona's.
I spent the day in London manically doing admin for the Brass soundtrack, the filming, and Saturday's quiz. Our artwork for the album has been completed, and looks really professional. I'm really very happy, not least because it's another thing less to think about.
I'm now studying the weather like a lunatic. It's like looking at reviews, or what trolls have said on the internet; you know there's no point in doing it, but that hideous little voice in your head says, "perhaps if I look again, the weather won't be as bad as it was the last time!" At the moment the weather is set to be fair on the day itself, but rain is forecast the day before, which could turn our trench system into a quagmire! I might have to buy a load of bed sheets to put under the lads' feet!
I did a ludicrous thing in the high winds this afternoon, and attempted to take a group photograph of all the placards that Little Welsh Nathalie painted with shorthand characters from Pepys' Diary. I've been taking individual portraits of the singers holding them for the past few months, taking the twentieth and last of Jem, the night before he left for the States.
Anyway, I thought how nice it would be to have a photo of all the cards together, in order and without people, for the back cover of the Pepys album. My concept was always to attach them to an old brick wall, but chose the windiest day in the world to do it. The first attempt (using masking tape) was catastrophic. The placards dropped off the wall and flew around the garden as the man who lives in the basement stood and watched, periodically adding to my frustration by asking what each of the symbols meant. I felt like a bad plate spinner. As soon as I'd attached a new card, the old one fell off.
I gave up and stormed down the Archway Road to the little shop which sells random cleaning products and only opens if you ring the doorbell. I'd remembered seeing some hard core Gaffa tape in there when I last went in. He's very reliable, that little man. You'd be surprised what he sells. Though quite how he stays afloat I've no idea.
Anyway, the Gaffa did the trick, and I attached all the placards to the walls and photographed them just before a huge gust took one of them into next door's garden.
As the day wore on I became progressively ratty. By the time I reached Victoria I was in a foul mood. The woman making incessant announcements at the train station got under my skin so badly that I wanted to ram her electronic voice up her virtual jacksy! It didn't take long for me to realise I was hangry... That combination of angry and hungry which turns even the most reasonable person into a drooling spanner. The relief I felt to be out of the noise and in a lovely quiet train carriage was spectacular. I ate my Marks and Spencer's sandwich, had a lovely cup of tea, and all was well in the world again...
Brighton feels a bit edgy tonight; full of drunk, homeless people who seem to pop out of darkened doorways looming and lurching. It's all a bit Victorian. I'll be relieved to be back at Fiona's.
I spent the day in London manically doing admin for the Brass soundtrack, the filming, and Saturday's quiz. Our artwork for the album has been completed, and looks really professional. I'm really very happy, not least because it's another thing less to think about.
I'm now studying the weather like a lunatic. It's like looking at reviews, or what trolls have said on the internet; you know there's no point in doing it, but that hideous little voice in your head says, "perhaps if I look again, the weather won't be as bad as it was the last time!" At the moment the weather is set to be fair on the day itself, but rain is forecast the day before, which could turn our trench system into a quagmire! I might have to buy a load of bed sheets to put under the lads' feet!
I did a ludicrous thing in the high winds this afternoon, and attempted to take a group photograph of all the placards that Little Welsh Nathalie painted with shorthand characters from Pepys' Diary. I've been taking individual portraits of the singers holding them for the past few months, taking the twentieth and last of Jem, the night before he left for the States.
Anyway, I thought how nice it would be to have a photo of all the cards together, in order and without people, for the back cover of the Pepys album. My concept was always to attach them to an old brick wall, but chose the windiest day in the world to do it. The first attempt (using masking tape) was catastrophic. The placards dropped off the wall and flew around the garden as the man who lives in the basement stood and watched, periodically adding to my frustration by asking what each of the symbols meant. I felt like a bad plate spinner. As soon as I'd attached a new card, the old one fell off.
I gave up and stormed down the Archway Road to the little shop which sells random cleaning products and only opens if you ring the doorbell. I'd remembered seeing some hard core Gaffa tape in there when I last went in. He's very reliable, that little man. You'd be surprised what he sells. Though quite how he stays afloat I've no idea.
Anyway, the Gaffa did the trick, and I attached all the placards to the walls and photographed them just before a huge gust took one of them into next door's garden.
As the day wore on I became progressively ratty. By the time I reached Victoria I was in a foul mood. The woman making incessant announcements at the train station got under my skin so badly that I wanted to ram her electronic voice up her virtual jacksy! It didn't take long for me to realise I was hangry... That combination of angry and hungry which turns even the most reasonable person into a drooling spanner. The relief I felt to be out of the noise and in a lovely quiet train carriage was spectacular. I ate my Marks and Spencer's sandwich, had a lovely cup of tea, and all was well in the world again...
Monday, 4 May 2015
Running in the rain
Working on a Bank Holiday always makes a bloke feel rather virtuous... And simultaneously slightly tragic. It's been a nice day in London weather-wise, and I could see people exiting the tube on their way up to Highgate Village and the Heath. Most of them had that carefree look about them. The one that says "it's a bank holiday and we're all off somewhere fun." I looked at them, enviously, through the window, and felt like a lonely widower waiting for a phone call from his grand child! Not that Bank Holidays have a great deal of significance in the Till-Gaitch household. In fact, it was Brother Edward yesterday who reminded us that it was a Bank Holiday today...
So, today, and for the whole day, I sat on one sofa whilst Nathan sat on another. I created a shot list for the Billy Whistle film and Nathan knitted his big commission. He's putting in twelve hours of knitting a day at the moment, which is giving him cramps in his fingers and arms. I had to stick him in a bath at 10pm just to relax his muscles! How surreal is that? Perhaps what he's suffering from ought to be called "knitters wrist" to go into that lexicon of hobby-specific ailments like tennis elbow and Charleston knee!
I went for the briefest of runs tonight, just as the heavens opened. Running in the rain is a deeply pleasurable experience. My favourite thing is brushing past an overhanging fir tree and having a massive blast of rainwater smack me across the face. I probably should have run faster and further, but I was too busy limping like a flamin' asthmatic!
The rain is making me a bit twitchy about the shoot on Sunday. Much as it would be hugely authentic to have the lads trudging through mud, I have hired costumes which cannot go back plastered with muck. Can everyone keep their fingers crossed on my behalf for a good dry spell between now and then (despite the forecast?!)
So, today, and for the whole day, I sat on one sofa whilst Nathan sat on another. I created a shot list for the Billy Whistle film and Nathan knitted his big commission. He's putting in twelve hours of knitting a day at the moment, which is giving him cramps in his fingers and arms. I had to stick him in a bath at 10pm just to relax his muscles! How surreal is that? Perhaps what he's suffering from ought to be called "knitters wrist" to go into that lexicon of hobby-specific ailments like tennis elbow and Charleston knee!
I went for the briefest of runs tonight, just as the heavens opened. Running in the rain is a deeply pleasurable experience. My favourite thing is brushing past an overhanging fir tree and having a massive blast of rainwater smack me across the face. I probably should have run faster and further, but I was too busy limping like a flamin' asthmatic!
The rain is making me a bit twitchy about the shoot on Sunday. Much as it would be hugely authentic to have the lads trudging through mud, I have hired costumes which cannot go back plastered with muck. Can everyone keep their fingers crossed on my behalf for a good dry spell between now and then (despite the forecast?!)
Sunday, 3 May 2015
Why I'm voting Lib Dem
I had the most horrifying, yet classic anxiety dream last night. I dreamt I was back in my old school hall, having directed a production of Oh What A Lovely War for which, for some peculiar reason, I was also part of the pit orchestra... Playing piano. The whole thing unravelled at high speed. Highlights of the carnage included my forgetting how to play the piano and suddenly realising what a terrible idea it was to put countless ABBA songs into a show about the First World War. On top of everything, none of the performers made it onto the stage in time and several resigned in the interval. I was forced to as lib dialogue and scene change music and every time I put my fingers on the piano keyboard, the most horrific notes sounded. The school hall was full of agents, all thinking I'd created the most dreadful piece of musical theatre ever! That's the sort of dream which tells me there's too much going on in my life which feels out of my control!
It seems we're four days away from a general election, which I assume is going to end in some kind of hung parliament, which I don't think will do us any harm whatsoever. This country doesn't require brave, sweeping reforms at the moment, so I quite like the idea of a chamber of people who actually have to try to get along if they want to achieve anything! My advice to anyone who is still undecided about how to vote is to be brave and simply plump for the candidate you think is the most decent human being, regardless of who their leader is.
In Hornsey and Wood Green we're rather lucky in that our MP, Lynne Featherstone, is not just a fiercely good constituency MP, but a person with great integrity who fights for human rights on an international platform. I can't really think of a better combination. She has been marvellous in the fight against FGM, and, of course, instigated the same sex marriage bill, which was so important for Nathan and me... And LGBT people everywhere.
Lynne happens to be a Lib Dem, which means a lot of people will turn their backs on her this time round, which, frankly, if you're a member of the LGBT community, feels a little ungrateful, particularly when you consider what a mountain she had to climb in order to get that particular bill through parliament.
If Lynne doesn't get in, she'll be replaced by Labour, who, I'm told, are so certain they're going to win here that they've all but stopped campaigning, which seems a tad arrogant. I've had nothing through my door from them and seen no evidence of them canvassing anywhere.
We had to work all afternoon today. No rest for the wicked and all that... Nathan sat knitting, and I completed a call sheet for the shoot next week, which seemed to take an inordinate amount of time. You have to be thorough or things have a habit of falling apart.
We went to Brother Edward and Sascha's this evening to eat wonderful food and watch Eurovision Song Contest highlights... Or pre-lights. This year, as I've found myself saying so many times, it's all about Sweden, who've entered another absolute corker with a brilliant gimmick. Italy, Norway and Slovenia are also submitting strong songs. I'd love to say that the UK will do well but we won't. The more I see our entry, the more ashamed and angry I feel. It's cheap tat. Like a plastic necklace in a jewellery box otherwise filled with beautifully crafted gemstones.
It seems we're four days away from a general election, which I assume is going to end in some kind of hung parliament, which I don't think will do us any harm whatsoever. This country doesn't require brave, sweeping reforms at the moment, so I quite like the idea of a chamber of people who actually have to try to get along if they want to achieve anything! My advice to anyone who is still undecided about how to vote is to be brave and simply plump for the candidate you think is the most decent human being, regardless of who their leader is.
In Hornsey and Wood Green we're rather lucky in that our MP, Lynne Featherstone, is not just a fiercely good constituency MP, but a person with great integrity who fights for human rights on an international platform. I can't really think of a better combination. She has been marvellous in the fight against FGM, and, of course, instigated the same sex marriage bill, which was so important for Nathan and me... And LGBT people everywhere.
Lynne happens to be a Lib Dem, which means a lot of people will turn their backs on her this time round, which, frankly, if you're a member of the LGBT community, feels a little ungrateful, particularly when you consider what a mountain she had to climb in order to get that particular bill through parliament.
If Lynne doesn't get in, she'll be replaced by Labour, who, I'm told, are so certain they're going to win here that they've all but stopped campaigning, which seems a tad arrogant. I've had nothing through my door from them and seen no evidence of them canvassing anywhere.
We had to work all afternoon today. No rest for the wicked and all that... Nathan sat knitting, and I completed a call sheet for the shoot next week, which seemed to take an inordinate amount of time. You have to be thorough or things have a habit of falling apart.
We went to Brother Edward and Sascha's this evening to eat wonderful food and watch Eurovision Song Contest highlights... Or pre-lights. This year, as I've found myself saying so many times, it's all about Sweden, who've entered another absolute corker with a brilliant gimmick. Italy, Norway and Slovenia are also submitting strong songs. I'd love to say that the UK will do well but we won't. The more I see our entry, the more ashamed and angry I feel. It's cheap tat. Like a plastic necklace in a jewellery box otherwise filled with beautifully crafted gemstones.
The Chilterns
I've spent the day today on The Chilterns, walking for miles and miles up and down hills, through ancient bluebell woods, across heathland bedecked with bright yellow gorse and over chalky ploughed fields. Our journey was observed by scores of red kites. Coming over the brow of one hill we were confronted by ten of the majestic creatures, swooping up and down and gliding on the thermals. A rare sight...
In those parts, most of the names of the towns and villages are also well-known folk songs and dances, which I guess is an indication of how rural and ancient the area is. This fact becomes somewhat more surprising when you consider it's perhaps only thirty miles North of London.
I'm told the area was also chosen to represent the perfect English idyll on First World War anti-German propaganda posters. It's hardly surprising. Some of the views are utterly staggering. The villages are exquisite.
Five of us did the full walk. Meriel, Iain (whose birthday we were celebrating) his sister Libby, Beth and me.
We had a picnic on a bench made out of a tree branch, and watched several groups of young people doing their Duke of Edinburgh bronze awards trekking through a nearby field.
We stopped for a drink at a country pub outside Princes Riseborough which had an epic rope swing which kept us busy for a good half an hour. Meriel was particularly entertaining. She's utterly gung-ho, but the tiniest bit uncoordinated!
Raily and daughter Jeanie-Rae joined us at the pub, and the next part of our journey found us walking along the Ridgeway, past an Anglo Saxon chalk cross carved into the hillside, through a wood and past the Prime Minister's country residence, Chequers. The PM was obviously in. We saw a helicopter flying past, and then an assortment of police-escorted cars making their way down the long drive.
The walk ended back where it had started and we drove on to Raily and Iain's house in Aylesbury for some Moroccan food, and a bit of a sing song, which was an unexpected delight.
I came home just in time to receive a phone call from Fiona who'd missed her last train home to Brighton... So she's currently tucked up in the loft... And I'm writing this... And now I'm going to bed.
A lovely day.
In those parts, most of the names of the towns and villages are also well-known folk songs and dances, which I guess is an indication of how rural and ancient the area is. This fact becomes somewhat more surprising when you consider it's perhaps only thirty miles North of London.
I'm told the area was also chosen to represent the perfect English idyll on First World War anti-German propaganda posters. It's hardly surprising. Some of the views are utterly staggering. The villages are exquisite.
Five of us did the full walk. Meriel, Iain (whose birthday we were celebrating) his sister Libby, Beth and me.
We had a picnic on a bench made out of a tree branch, and watched several groups of young people doing their Duke of Edinburgh bronze awards trekking through a nearby field.
We stopped for a drink at a country pub outside Princes Riseborough which had an epic rope swing which kept us busy for a good half an hour. Meriel was particularly entertaining. She's utterly gung-ho, but the tiniest bit uncoordinated!
Raily and daughter Jeanie-Rae joined us at the pub, and the next part of our journey found us walking along the Ridgeway, past an Anglo Saxon chalk cross carved into the hillside, through a wood and past the Prime Minister's country residence, Chequers. The PM was obviously in. We saw a helicopter flying past, and then an assortment of police-escorted cars making their way down the long drive.
The walk ended back where it had started and we drove on to Raily and Iain's house in Aylesbury for some Moroccan food, and a bit of a sing song, which was an unexpected delight.
I came home just in time to receive a phone call from Fiona who'd missed her last train home to Brighton... So she's currently tucked up in the loft... And I'm writing this... And now I'm going to bed.
A lovely day.
Friday, 1 May 2015
Cheerio
I went to Abney Park cemetery to work out where we're going to be filming sequences next Sunday. It was a beautiful sunny morning and the place was full of twittering birds and strange little rodents rushing around in the undergrowth. As a direct result of the London Requiem (which was a musical setting of inscriptions I found written on gravestones over the course of about three weeks' solidly wandering around in cemeteries like some sort of daylight Vampire) I no longer feel uneasy in graveyards. In fact, I find them incredibly calming places.
Abney Park obviously holds great significance for me as it's where The London Requiem received its premiere, in 2012, at dusk, in amongst the gravestones. It was a hugely magical experience...
Anyway, I had a charming walk there this morning and have chosen the locations where those sequences of the film will be shot.
I had a lovely nostalgias-fest on the way home, listening to music by the band Renaissance. The song Northern Lights has triggered a memory from my childhood which I'm still trying to place. A good chunk of my extreme youth was spent on a sort of commune on the outskirts of the Bedfordshire town where we lived, and I think the song reminds me of that period somehow.
I came home and started to put together a call sheet for the shoot... Somewhat hindered by not having photoshop on my computer, and not being able to work out how to change the placement of a pin on googlemaps to show people exactly where to go. It turns out that postcodes aren't always that specific... Even in London.
At lunchtime, the mastered version of Oranges and Lemons came through from Denis, who does his work from a house in the tranquility of the Isle of Skye. I've always liked the fact that it's possible for one of my songs to disintegrate into the ether and reemerge for a good polishing on the Isle of Sky... It was rather surreal to sit listening to the piece on headphones whilst I ate my spaghetti on toast for dinner, but the track sounds amazing, and once I'd started listening, I couldn't stop. I'm incredibly pleased with Denis' work. He complimented the piece as well, which is always a good sign.
I started storyboarding the film this afternoon, which involves drawing a sequence of inexcusably dreadful pictures to represent the shots I want to feature in the film. I cannot draw. Not for toffee.
This evening we said goodbye to Jem, who takes himself off to the States for a new life tomorrow morning. We had a little meal in Pizza Express with a few of his closest London-based friends, hugged him goodbye, and, well, that was that. We shall miss him bitterly; a kinder, funnier, more talented, more generous man you'd be hard-pushed to find.
Abney Park obviously holds great significance for me as it's where The London Requiem received its premiere, in 2012, at dusk, in amongst the gravestones. It was a hugely magical experience...
Anyway, I had a charming walk there this morning and have chosen the locations where those sequences of the film will be shot.
I had a lovely nostalgias-fest on the way home, listening to music by the band Renaissance. The song Northern Lights has triggered a memory from my childhood which I'm still trying to place. A good chunk of my extreme youth was spent on a sort of commune on the outskirts of the Bedfordshire town where we lived, and I think the song reminds me of that period somehow.
I came home and started to put together a call sheet for the shoot... Somewhat hindered by not having photoshop on my computer, and not being able to work out how to change the placement of a pin on googlemaps to show people exactly where to go. It turns out that postcodes aren't always that specific... Even in London.
At lunchtime, the mastered version of Oranges and Lemons came through from Denis, who does his work from a house in the tranquility of the Isle of Skye. I've always liked the fact that it's possible for one of my songs to disintegrate into the ether and reemerge for a good polishing on the Isle of Sky... It was rather surreal to sit listening to the piece on headphones whilst I ate my spaghetti on toast for dinner, but the track sounds amazing, and once I'd started listening, I couldn't stop. I'm incredibly pleased with Denis' work. He complimented the piece as well, which is always a good sign.
I started storyboarding the film this afternoon, which involves drawing a sequence of inexcusably dreadful pictures to represent the shots I want to feature in the film. I cannot draw. Not for toffee.
This evening we said goodbye to Jem, who takes himself off to the States for a new life tomorrow morning. We had a little meal in Pizza Express with a few of his closest London-based friends, hugged him goodbye, and, well, that was that. We shall miss him bitterly; a kinder, funnier, more talented, more generous man you'd be hard-pushed to find.
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