Cannes

Off to Cannes in the morning, and I've just realised I don't have a bag. Consequently, all my stuff is in carrier bags in my bedroom. Absolutely typical of the chaos that prevails when you make a film. I'll have to borrow a suitcase with wheels on from my mother or sister, one of whom will also draw the short straw and take me to the airport in the morning.

There are two types of being busy: one where you achieve things, and the other, where your blood pressure goes up and you don't seem to get very much done at all, except heighten the likelihood of keeling over and being rushed to the nearest hospital. Or preferrably, pub. It is the latter sort of being busy that has been rearing its ugly head today - and over the last few weeks in fact.

[DOP from Porlock enters the room - blog writing suspended while we go to the pub.]

OK, I didn't mean to end the post there, as I have just had to go out to the pub with a DOP who is interested in lighting Folie. So, now I'm back, and all my carrier bags are bulging with T shirts and the one or two pairs of trousers that still fit me. (After a recent 4 stone weight loss, almost everything I have in my cupboard resembles a circus tent.) Friday is the big day for meetings, but, to be honest, I rather hope that's it, and I can spend the next few days soaking up the sun and doing as little as possible, as I badly need a rest. Trouble is, 'rest' and 'Cannes' are not easy bedfellows. So, I will probably get home next week even more burnt out than I am at the moment.

Oh well, balls to it. We're making a film. It fucks your life up. Get used to it. To keep myself going at times like this, I have to remind myself what the fuck I think I'm trying to do, and I recall something a woman from Gorky (not that Gorky is in itself is important, it's just that that's where I remember her being from) once wrote to Tarkovsky. She'd seen Mirror, and wrote that the film made her feel that, for the first time in her life, she was no longer alone.