So there’s me, Jason Arnopp and TV’s James Moran in this minuscule flat somewhere in London. I’m not sure whose flat it is or how we came to be there, but we’ve just finished eating a meal which we cooked together … and by cooked I mean burnt the shit out of everything using every available pan, plate and utensil. The kitchen is a fucking mess, there’s food stuck to every surface and for some reason the prospect of cleaning it up sends us into fits of giggles.
The post-prandial conversation drifts onto writing and money with Jason and I voicing the opinion that James must be doing alright what with all that telly writing he keeps doing. Naturally James is very modest and declines to comment one way or the other, but Arnopp chips in with this odd sentence:
“He’s just bought a submarine!”
And so he had. Just a little one, apparently it only holds four people at a push. We all find this very funny and I desperately want to know why he wants a submarine. James isn’t sure, there was this guy selling them and he just bought it on a whim. It’s just outside so we pop down to take a look.
Five minutes later we’re standing on the pavement looking at what James describes as a personal mini-sub, but I’d describe as a rusty MG Metro, painted battleship grey with a periscope welded to the roof. Badly.
“That’s not a submarine.”
“Yes it is. It’s a mini-sub.”
“James, it’s not. It’s a Metro.”
“No, no, it’s a submarine, honest. The guy who sold it to me said it was.”
“It’s got wheels!”
“Yeah, it’s an over-ground one, not one of the ones which goes under the water.”
“An over-ground submarine? Are you fucking mad?”
And at that point, I woke up. Quite why I’m dreaming about these two reprobates is beyond me, especially since I’ve never even met one of them; but when you throw the Metro/submarine into the mix … well, it was a bit odd. Not raining kittens odd, but a bit odd nonetheless.
As you can see, I’m still working on this treatment and don’t have anything useful to blog about.