The Summoning

The horror anthology has had a name change from Future Tense to The Summoning. It’s also got a natty little teaser poster:

I think all six of the shorts are finished.; now all I need to do is write the linking scenes.

With four of the shorts, the first drafts are pretty much unchanged – a couple of minor dialogue changes here and there, nothing too drastic. One of them, a werewolf tale, was too funny; so I wrote a second, serious draft and we seem to have settled on a mixture of the two. The sixth, the vampire one, just wasn’t working. I was given the option to try and fix it, junk it and run with five, or come up with a new story.

Five shorts would leave the feature a bit on the short side and fixing it would be a lot of work when it wasn’t really suitable in the first place (a fact which didn’t become obvious until I’d written it); so a new story seemed the easiest way to go.

Producer Jonathan Sothcott and I came up with a few ideas over lunch on Monday, settled on one and I wrote it up today. I sent it off for approval earlier; no notes so far, but there’s bound to be some.

Just the links to go.

In other news: I wrote up a proposal for the TV mini-series I got grilled about in Cannes. It seems to make sense, so I’ve sent it off to the lady concerned – no response yet, but it’s still early days. I sent her an email just checking she remembered me and was okay to receive email attachments. She replied:

“I remember our meeting well.  Yes you can send me the idea by e-mail.”

Which could be good or bad. It’s nice to leave an impression, but I’m never sure what kind I’m leaving. She still wants to read the proposal, so it can’t have been that bad.

Can it?

And just as I was beginning to despair about the sizeable dent in my bank balance left by Cannes; the nice people at NewsRevue sent me a hefty cheque.

Which was very nice of them. I love it when this happens, and it happens to me a lot. I wonder vaguely where the next money is coming from and someone just sends me some.

Aint life grand?

Cannes: Aftermath

I’m back to reality and I don’t like it.

The journey home was uneventful. I got back to the airport okay, I got away with something I should have paid a shit load for – I’m not going to say what here, because it’s illegal – and I got upgraded, again, on the flight back.

I was home by 13.00-ish and my bags were unpacked with washing done by 16.00. It’s as if I never went. Apart from the pile of (mostly worthless) business cards on the desk.

In Cannes, I was known as a writer – despite not writing a word all week (except this blog, but that doesn’t count). Back home, no one in my street knows I’m a writer, but I have to do it every day. I can’t help thinking it’s easier the first way.

It was fun, it was hot and it was expensive; but was it worth it?

These were my expectations before I went:

Not a lot really. I don’t for a moment believe I’m going to come back richer, better known or better connected; I don’t expect to sign a mega-bucks deal with some desperate Hollywood exec; and I don’t even expect to see many films.

I suppose my only real expectation is to come back considerably lighter in the wallet.

Right. Not much to evaluate there, but here goes:

• Not coming back richer: did that one.
• Not coming back better known: I think I failed at this one, I did manage to introduce myself to a few people. Some of them even made films.
• Not signing a mega-bucks deal … : I don’t know. I didn’t sign one, neither technically has Marion; but she has negotiated one which hopefully will be signed soon and I stand to benefit financially if it comes through. Is that a hit or a miss?
• Not seeing many films: I saw one – it was shit.
• Coming back considerably lighter in the wallet: oh yeah. No food for Phill until the end of the month. Possibly next month.

Despite all that, I came back with a couple of reasonable leads: the phone number of a producer who’s optioning a book and may need someone to write it; the email address of a another producer who badgered me into pitching a TV series to her; and the opportunity to sit down and talk about a comedy feature for two other producers.

Celeb wise: I had dinner in the same room as Mickey Rourke and Shannon Elizabeth (although she was one of three very similar brunettes at the next table, and I’m not a hundred percent sure which one was her); and I had a drink in the same bar as Malcolm McDowell.

I wasn’t exactly hob-nobbing with the stars.

Best moment: pitching ‘The Seven Swords of Bathrick’ and having people laugh in the all right places.

Worst moment: the stomach-wrenching incident which led directly to me performing an illegal act at the airport.

Funniest moment: the expression on the doorman’s face when we rocked up to this casino in this car.

Most Cannes like moment: listening to the desperate pleas of an actor who’d pulled two coked-up models and had no hotel room to take them to.

Overall: I met some nice people, had a nice time and spent a hideous amount of money.

Pretty much par for the course.

Cannes: Day 5

Right, ahem.

(Shuffles feet a little shamefacedly.)

So, yesterday’s infuriation has been sated. Marion had a phone call this morning and explained what it was all about over breakfast. Basically, it has nothing to do with me.

Well, that’s not strictly true, it has a hell of a lot of bearing on what happens to my script, but that’s an indirect result of the meeting. Or a direct result, but as a side effect. Or something.

I still don’t know all the details, and a lot of the ones I do know I’m probably not supposed to share, so I won’t; but in a nutshell, the second meeting was about a deal between Marion’s company, Dawn Dusk Films, and the company we went to see.

Their name is one of the things I probably can’t mention, yet.

They really like how far she’s come with ‘The Seventh Sword of Bathrick’ and wanted to talk with her about what kinds of films she likes and where she wants to go afterwards. They liked what she had to say, they like the way she works and they like the kinds of films she likes; so they’ve offered to executive produce her films from now on, starting with my script.

They’re bringing partial finance, production knowledge and distribution to the deal; using Marion as their producer in Britain – at least that’s how I understand it. Not being a producer, it’s all a little bit above my head; but the upshot is, it’s all good.

So in essence, the meeting had nothing to do with me specifically; it’s all about their two companies working together. It just so happens the first project will be mine. This is absolutely fantastic news, it brings the whole project another giant step closer to production, which can only be a good thing.

Could she have told me yesterday?

Yeah, probably. It was a deal between her and them, but it would have been nice to share. On the other hand, considering she didn’t even tell her own son, I now know that she can absolutely keep a secret – even one which must have had her wanting to literally jump for joy.

All in all, it’s a fantastic piece of news and I’m very happy.

Apart from that, I haven’t really done much today; just arsed around. I sat around with the producers from the Atlantic Picture Company and we thrashed out a rough treatment for a comedy feature.

I wrote up a good chunk of the character outlines for the TV mini-series I was asked about the other day.

And I ate quite a lot of ice-cream.

Now all I’ve got to do is pack up and get ready to come home tomorrow. Hmm, make that today, in five hours time; but then lack of sleep is what Cannes is all about.

Cannes: Day 4

I don’t know whether to be pissed off or not.

I woke up this morning and felt like shit. I just couldn’t be bothered to get up and drag my aching arse into Cannes, so I didn’t. There were a couple of meetings this morning, but I knew one of them was a waste of time and the only other one I was interested in was this afternoon, a follow up meeting to yesterday’s intriguing one.

The only problem was, they didn’t want me at the second meeting. I’m not sure why, but I guess it’s all business stuff so I wasn’t too bothered. It’s pointless sitting in on producer-stuff meetings, other than out of curiosity; which I have very little of, since they don’t really have anything to do with me.

Other than deciding the fate of my script, but I’ve already pitched the thing, so it’s out of my hands now.

I hung around the hotel all day, just chilling and went into town this evening to meet Marion for dinner. It wasn’t a total waste of a day, I got a lot of thinking done. I worked out the plot for the non-existent TV mini-series I was asked about yesterday, and I came up with an idea for a producer I was chatting to who wants a ‘British Dodgeball’.

I have that now, it’s done.

So I get into town, eager to hear what happened in the meeting. The exciting second meeting where the producers who’d shown a lot of interest in the project wanted to see us (or rather Marion) again. The meeting which could potentially make the difference between whether or not the project goes ahead.

“Well, ” I ask “how’d it go?”

Marion smiles and replies:

“I can’t tell you.”

Stunned pause. I think I blinked a lot.

“What?”

“They told me not to tell anyone.”

“Tell anyone what?”

“I can’t tell you.”

“They specifically said you can’t tell me?”

“No, they said I can’t tell anyone.”

Seriously, what the fuck? What’s going on? Why can’t I be told? And what is it I can’t be told?

I was on the verge of shouting when I thought again. Most of the details in these things make my eyes glaze over and my ears shut themselves off. To be honest, most of the producer-y details of a project bore the living shit out of me.

I’ve tried to pay attention, I’ve tried to take an interest and learn more about the film industry; but I just don’t care. I like being a writer, it’s just me and the laptop. It’s simple. All this messy stuff with locations, cameras, post, crew … in a way, I just want to hand someone a script and have them hand me a ticket to the premiere.

As you can tell, I have no directorial ambitions. Even less producer-orial ones.

Still, I have trailed around Cannes lending moral support, showing a united front, as we try to move the project forward. I’ve sat (slept) through a lot of meetings, I want to know what’s so fucking important I can’t be told.

But do I have a right to get stroppy? Marion’s being working on this project for eight months or so now and I haven’t been kept informed of all the details. I just get a general round up every couple of months or so; which is a damn sight more than I get from some people who’ve optioned my scripts – “Oh, you’ve started production? Really, when?”

If I wasn’t here at all, I wouldn’t be pressing her for information because I wouldn’t know anything had happened. I’m not supposed to be involved with these sorts of negotiations, it’s not my job.

And yet … I am here, I have been (a fairly useless) part of it all. God damn it, I want to know.

What the fuck is going on?

Cannes: Day 3

What a great day.

To be honest, it started pretty badly. The traffic was a bitch, it took me the best part of an hour to get into town. I managed to get lost again, and when I finally parked I realised I’d left my accreditation pass in the hotel.

Balls.

Without the pass you can’t get in anywhere. Luckily, the first meeting of the day was in a hotel where I didn’t need it. It was a great meeting, really positive and I actually got to pitch the script to someone who wanted to listen. I don’t know if that’s going anywhere or not, but we’ve got a second meeting tomorrow so it can’t be all bad.

After that we met with a guy who wanted to read the script, which is really weird. Most people are more interested in the idea than the script; but he insisted he wanted to read it and would get back to us. Maybe he actually will.

The third meeting was the weirdest of all. A series of bizarre, left field questions were fired out in rapid succession. I know we started out talking about ‘The Seventh Sword of Bathrick’, but pretty quickly, I was pitching a TV mini-series with a computer game tie in.

I honestly have no idea how it happened. I didn’t just randomly wander off topic, she started asking questions such as:

“Can it be a video game?”

“Yes, I envisaged it as–”

“Do they travel from place to place?”

“Yes they do, it starts off with–”

“Does it have any historical things in it?”

“No, it’s a fantasy script–”

“Could it have any historical things in it?”

“Yes, I suppose it could.”

“Great. Could it be TV series?”

“Erm … yes?”

“What’s episode one?”

“It could go up to the point where–”

 “Can we start in the present and go back to the past? So kids can understand.”

“Right, hang on. This script is a movie script. I have a TV idea which is really similar to what you–”

“Great, let’s talk about that.”

And so on. I found myself deep into a pitch for a TV series I’d barely thought about before I remembered Marion, the producer, was still in the room. I said I thought we should talk about the script, since that’s what we came for and it’s not really fair to Marion.

The woman seemed a bit miffed, rattled through what she thought was wrong with the idea and finished the meeting with:

“Okay, so send me all the stuff about that TV series.”

And just left us to it. Have you ever had a car crash and stood around afterwards wondering what the fuck just happened?

In the evening, we went to the Romanian cocktail party, but I accidentally defected to the Czech/Slovak party next door. I got talking to a guy who said he had 13 projects on the go: some written, some not.

I told him I was the best writer in the UK and gave him my card. Someone else heard me say that and asked for my card too. From now on, that’s how I’m going to introduce myself: “Hi, I’m Phill, the best writer in the UK.”

Seems to work.

From there a bunch of us got changed into suits and rocked up to this posh casino for a celeb dinner. Five of us crammed into my hired Peugot 207 and drove down there; for the first time in my life I’ve experienced valet parking.

The car in front of us was an Aston Martin, the one behind was a Bentley. Our valet didn’t look too impressed, even when I showed him the little switch which adds mint smell to the air-con.

The dinner was for a charity poker game which involved Mickey Rourke and Shannon Elizabeth. They were both there and autographed the poker table, which was then auctioned. For some reason, they kept putting the spotlight on me and I had to sit very, very still until they gave up.

It sold for 23,000 Euro in the end.

I really wish I’d waited to scratch my nose.

After the party was done, we went to the Gothenburg Film Festival party; swanning straight past the queue of people desperate to get in, waving three tickets between the five of us.

Another triumph for the 207 five. Mark Shields, Kirk Weddel, Mark Mahon, Kara Scott and me; and another great party.

I baled out after that, time for bed. It’s 04.21 and I’ve got to get up in a few hours. The two Marks are still going.

All in all, my best day so far. Hopefully tomorrow will bring even better things, I’ll keep you posted.

Cannes: Day 2

Only two meetings this morning; both of them completely pointless.

For me, anyway.

At the first one, the guy insisted I couldn’t join in because there weren’t enough chairs. I pointed out some free chairs nearby, but he decided they were wrong colour or shape or something.

The second was with the wrong Canadian. She put us in touch with the right Canadian, but she’d gone for lunch.

So we did too.

After lunch I managed to bump into just about everyone I’ve ever worked with, plus a few new ones. Not all were pleased to see me, some looked a little scared. I’m not sure why.

I also met a Polish producer who is acquiring the rights to a book. Was she looking for a writer?

No.

Right. I gave her my card anyway.

I’ve got to say, when people find out I’m a writer, they just totally switch off and turn away. It would appear the word writer is totally interchangeable with nobody, scum or worthless piece of shit.

Later on I went to a party for something Irish, I have no idea what it was about but the drinks were free; and afterwards the Atlantic Picture Company bought me dinner. Which was very nice of them.

Apart from accidentally ordering two lunches at the same time, today was very cheap.

All in all, today was a great success from a catching up with people point of view, but a bit lacking in the making any useful progress arena.

And it took me an hour to find my car. I knew it was parked in a street, but that was about it. In retrospect, maybe I should have read the name of the street before I strode confidently away. Oh well, you live and learn.

Tomorrow’s a fairly busy day, lots of meetings to go to then a cocktail party at the Romanian Pavilion and a party with the Gothenburg Festival crowd.

And me without a thing to wear.

Cannes: Day 1

Or at least day one for me, everyone else has been here a while.

The day got off to a nice start. Nice and early. Up at 3 for the flight, got to the airport on time, got upgraded on the flight and slept most of the way here.

Going great so far, then it I hit the first snag, I’d arranged to collect a French sim card, so my phone calls would be cheaper. It didn’t turn up. Neither did the sim card person. Closer examination of the form shows they got the date wrong and thought I was arriving yesterday.

Bugger.

Oh well, it’s just a little set back. I’m not planning on using my phone that much anyway.

I’ve been using it all day, but I wasn’t planning on using it, so it’s okay.

My luggage arrived without a hitch, the rental car was there; ready and waiting. I was back on track, until I opened the wrong door on the car and found myself facing the passenger seat. Took me a while to work it out, then I had to pretend I was examining the size of the glovebox for the benefit of the smirking teenage rental agents.

The glovebox was satisfactory and I’m on my way again.

Two things struck me as I drove away.

No, not cars, notions.

1) I hate driving on the other side of the road – I’m really bad at it.

2) The only time I’ve done it is in the States where the cars are all automatic and there’s very little danger of having to turn a corner – the roads are very straight anyway and the cars are virtually impossible to turn. It’s easier to hire one going in the right direction than turn an American car.

The manual gearbox thing was throwing me. I have to use my right hand? Oh, that explains why the window keeps opening every time I try to change gear.

Now, I’m the world’s worst navigator. I always know where north is (don’t know how, metal pin in the head, maybe?) but that’s completely useless when you’ve no idea which direction you’re supposed to be heading in.

I did my usual trick of just picking a direction at random and following it until I either ran out of land or found a road sign for where I wanted to go. Luckily, it was the latter of the two and I managed to get all the way to the village where my hotel is without incident.

Only thirty minutes, brilliant.

Then I took a wrong turn.

I knew instantly it was wrong, I could see my hotel dwindling in the rear view mirror. Instead of turning round and retracing my steps (which I’ve always seen as a sign of defeat), I kept going with the following plan:

“If I turn left up ahead, then left again, I’ll be heading in the right direction.”

Except there were no lefts. I was in a left turn free zone. There were precious little rights too, and when I did find one I also found myself heading out into the signpost-less countryside.

Half an hour later, I admitted defeat, turned the car round and made it back to my hotel.

Yes! “J’ai, or possibly, Je suis avez une reservation, sil vous plait.”

“Non.”

“Oh.”

“Apres Trois heure.”

“Oh. Vraiment?”

“Que?”

“Never mind.”

Okay, so I can’t check in until after 3. I think. So I decide the best bet is to head into Cannes and pick up my accreditation. Straight down to Cannes, no problem, entered the city and promptly got lost.

Good and proper this time.

Every now and then I’d find a familiar landmark, but I’m prepared to swear in court that someone was moving them around. When I eventually found my bearings, I couldn’t find a parking space. After driving around for a good half an hour, I panicked, took a deft series of random turns – mostly up bus lanes, the wrong way up one way streets or just generally into the oncoming traffic – and found myself in a car park right underneath the Palais.

Yes! I’m here!

Accreditation was remarkably easy. I got a little shoulder bag full of goodies and a free bottle of water which tasted remarkably like cat’s piss.

I met up with Marion Pritchett, the producer of ‘The Seventh Sword of Bathrick’, had lunch thrown at me. “Eat! We’ve got a meeting in twenty minutes!” And found myself in various meeting with various production houses in the Czech Republic pavilion.

They’re all very nice, and they all want to help make the film.

It occurs to me, these meetings are not in my best interests. I’m on a percentage of the budget and the whole point of going abroad is to get it much, much lower. I’m sitting in the sunshine, listening to people talk about how they can pay me less money.

This can’t be right, surely? I can’t be spending all this money to do myself out of a lot more money? Of course, a percentage of nothing is nothing. If the film doesn’t get made, I don’t get anything, and the important thing is getting it made; but still …

More food after that, a few drinks and a quick run down of the week’s itinerary: busy. I’m not going to have much time to meet some of the other people I know out here; it’s going to take some clever scheduling. Something I have absolutely no talent for.

At about nine o’clock I realised I still hadn’t checked in and my car was sitting in a pay carpark in the centre of Cannes. Right in the centre, dead underneath the red carpet.

What time does it close?

Surely, they can’t close it early: all those celebs have to park somewhere, don’t they?

Or maybe, they close it early because all those celebs have to park somewhere?

Shit.

In a similar vein, what time does the hotel reception close? Will I be able to get in anywhere tonight?

Double shit.

Luckily, it’s all worked out alright and I’m back in my room. I’ve had a couple of invites for a night out, but I’ve been up since 03.00 and I just can’t be arsed to drag myself back into town.

So I’m not.

Tomorrow I’ve got a couple of meetings lined up, or so I’m told. To be honest, I’m think I’m just here for comic relief. The high point of my day was when this guy from a Czech Republic production studio was giving out business cards; when I was introduced as the writer, he just put it back in his pocket.

Now I know I’ve arrived.

Ready for the off

Cannes tomorrow, in four hours time, to be precise (ish).

I’m packed and I’m ready to go. I think I’ve got everything I need; but I always think that, and I’m usually wrong.

Still: tickets, passport, driving licence, car rental reservation, French sim card reservation, directions to the hotel, hotel reservation … erm. Is that it?

Oh yeah, clothes and other non-essentials.

In the last couple of days I’ve managed to squeeze in another two segments of ‘Future Tense’. Well, three I suppose. Maybe more like two and a half.

Basically, I wrote the fourth of the six shorts on Wednesday; but there was a (possibly) legitimate concern that it was too funny. My personal opinion is a bit of levity in the middle helps as a contrast to the others. A bit of comic relief sets you up nicely for the rest. However, I also understand it might be completely the wrong tone to link with the others.

In the spirit of fair play, on Thursday morning I thought I’d just write a darker version and see which one the people involved prefer. Still waiting to hear about that one.

Yesterday afternoon/evening I wrote the fifth segment. One more to go now, plus the linking scenes which tie them all together.

But that will have to wait, I don’t imagine I’ll get much time in Cannes.

I’m still not a hundred percent certain why I’m going; because Marion, the producer of ‘The Seventh Sword of Bathrick’, asked me I suppose. I spoke to her briefly earlier on. She assures me we’re going to be kept busy with numerous appointments over the next week. Whether or not they prove fruitful remains to be seen. I’m sure it’ll be fun and it will be nice to get to know her and the others involved in the film a bit better.

I’m hoping to hook up with at least three producers I’ve worked with before, just to remind them I’m alive, available and the answer to their scriptwriting conundrums.

Or maybe the cause of their nightmares, but we’ll gloss over those bits.

Expectations: not a lot really. I don’t for a moment believe I’m going to come back richer, better known or better connected; I don’t expect to sign a mega-bucks deal with some desperate Hollywood exec; and I don’t even expect to see many films.

I suppose my only real expectation is to come back considerably lighter in the wallet.

Fuck it, it’s a hell of a way to spunk your cash. Easy come, easy … oh, it’s gone.

Okay, that’s weird

I was going to blog about my ‘First Draft Phill’ fantasy, but that’s going to have to wait for another time. If I forget, and I will forget, remind me. It’s incredibly sad, but becoming oddly true.

Anyway, the weird thing of today’s title is a mild increase in traffic to my blog.

Very mild.

But noticeable.

Closer examination shows two things:

1) not that many people read my blog.

2) a good percentage of today’s readers followed a link from the BBC writersroom blog.

The first one, I knew but had been steadfastly ignoring. The second – eh? What happened there? I check out the BBC writersroom blog and lo and behold: this blog is linked to in the blogroll.

Maybe it’s a mistake?

Nope, still there.

And one of only nine links on the roll. Eight writer’s blogs, the ninth is for the Writer’s Guild of Great Britain.

Cool. Is this some form of legitimate recognition of my writing prowess? Have the BBC finally decide to give in and recognise the genius I keep telling them (but refuse to prove) I have? Or is it a random link people at the writersroom are staring at and wondering where it came from?

You decide.

For now, I’m going to go bed a bit chuffed. Not a lot chuffed, but a bit. It doesn’t take much to please me and pleased I am.

Oh, hang on. Does this mean I have to clean my language up?

It’s been a busy few days

Again. 

I’m thinking of making that the name of this blog.

Over the weekend I signed the contract for ‘Future Tense’ which is the provisional title for the horror anthology mentioned in previous posts.

This simple little sentence probably conjures up images of a nice office where contracts were signed on a plush desk and celebrated with champagne. A handshake, a brief chat: ‘we’re so excited to be working with you on this’ and out the door half an hour later.

Oh no, my friends. It was a five and a half hour pub crawl of Eastbourne, followed by a brisk trot along the seafront in the vain hope of there being another bar open at 11.30 pm on a Sunday night.

Surprisingly, there was. Or at least, surprisingly to me. Which is embarrassing since it’s now technically my home town and has been for the best part of a year.

Never mind, a good time was had by all. Or at least both of us: the producer, Jonathan Sothcott, and myself. In fact, the more Jonathan had to drink, the more work he seemed to be offering me; a fact I must remember when dealing with producers in the future – get them drunk.

Or at least allow them to get themselves drunk.

As usual, I had to resist shouting out: “YOU FOOL! HAH, HAH, HAH, HAH!” immediately after the ink had dried. I settled for saying it quietly to myself when Jonathan had gone to the toilet; something which worried the barmaid who had witnessed the signing and wasn’t really sure what was going on anyway.

So I told her she’d signed away her soul.

We got thrown out shortly after that.

Future Tense is proving to be a very enjoyable film to write, since it’s really just six shorts stuck together (with a linking premise). I had intended to be really flash and turn up on Sunday night with the last four written, slap them on the table and shout something pithy; but it turns out my delusional grasp of time had struck again and it was only physically possible to write one.

Still, I’m three shorts in now and they’ve all been well received. The only notes I’ve had so far about the last one was “Lose the Poodle”.

Which seems fair enough.

Yesterday I scribbled down a longer version (5 pages) of the ‘K-Past’  synopsis for director Don Allen to take with him to Cannes.

That was well received too. It seems, at the moment, I can do no wrong.

Speaking of Cannes, I’ve resolved my ‘hotel in Belgium’ problem by renting a car; which will probably be a damn sight cheaper than taxis/buses and solves the other problem of deciding what clothes to take into town each morning. Casual? Dressy? Shorts? Now I can take them all, including the new (cheap) suit I bought on Saturday to replace the old (extremely cheap) suit I ruined at the Gothenburg Film Festival. I hope I’m not going to go through one suit every festival.

I also sorted myself out with a French sim card so it won’t cost a fortune ringing people trying to find out where they are.

You’d be forgiven for thinking I’m getting myself organised.

The only hassle with the sim card was the company wanted confirmation by fax and my PC isn’t connected to a land-line. The simple way was to install the relevant software on my laptop and connect that to the phone-line downstairs.

I’ve never really liked the simple way though, where’s the challenge?

It took the best part of three hours to find the right cables and enough extensions to run from one corner of the house downstairs to the opposite corner upstairs; but by god it was worth it.

Well, no. Actually, it wasn’t; but I wasn’t going to let a machine and some common sense beat me.

Speaken of beaten, that’s me off to bed now. Another early start tomorrow, another segment of ‘Future Tense’ to write and more fretting over my rapidly diminishing bank balance.

If anyone can be bothered, there are some very sketchy details about ‘K-Past’ and ‘Future Tense’ on my website; but be warned, they are very sketchy. By reading this post you’ll probably know more about them than you will from scouring my website.

G’night.