warmlove's Diaryland
Diary
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Goodbye Simon and Miquita.
#I get high alot/aint got much to do/I'm always in a daze# Macy Gray Jeez-us... I'm back, complete with one more wonderful moooovie under my
(Ew. Unpaid) belt. �Wings�, a touching short piece, having nothing to do with any new, improved, �no more leaks� method of sanitary protection.
Oooo, and it was sooo funny ( in a you had to be there style) with that producer Lysander who I mentioned a few weeks ago as being 'fabulous' just because of his girlie name. It turned out that he was one of those slightly posh, very uptight Englishy blokes who was an Astro-Physicist and is possibly a closeted Gay person. He got very flustered sometimes and confused by weird jokes and females. He was one of those �mystery� people who you�re never quite sure were you stand with, So, of course, me and one of the costume designers took it upon ourselves to 'peel his onion(s)!' and I started this (frankly, bloody hilarious) running gag/rumour that Lysander wore music headphones to bed in order to enhance the sexual experience!! He was soooooooo confused and mystified every time we slipped a �headphone gag� into conversation.
Unfortunately, the crew was low on the �fit male� supply (God, that sounds really pathetic and shallow, I�m just bein� honest)but there was five of us, who were all �single girls� (ha, ha that sounds more pathetic) all the similar age working on the film so we acted like really girlie girls, laughing at the manly, men (grrrr�ha ha!) on set and trying to match-make everyone. There were kind of 3 wrap parties on this film, so that was a good sign. For a couple of scenes we smashed up and (I keyed the sides a little) set fire to a car in Barking quarry. That rocked for some reason. I sawed out one of the seat belts before the Pyro-boy came along with his gas pipes and I am�get this�.making it into a belt for trousers!!
There was another one of those 'emotionally scarred' Runners working on the film actually. I've noticed a few over my years (erm, months) in the Industry. He, (which is what broke my heart) constantly BOWED(!) to people after he had, for example, carried a light stand for them, or offered to make the Director a cup of coffee! Really subservient and negative about himself. At one point, after I joked that Ruth, the sound recordist lady couldn't walk to the Bus stop without me cos she'd get killed he looked at me oh-so intensely, with more than a glint of Hannibal Lector in his eyes and said: "You know I'm far more likely to kill you than anyone out on the street."
I met up with lil' Alex Smith....so funny, we went down this old-mans pub in Wimbledon. She seems to mingle in a romanti-sexual way with men who are mid-to late 20's who are fricking, fucking loaded. Loaded in a 'just bought a new apartment in Canary Wharf, have a �12 cocktail, on me and lets do Milan this weekend.' kinda way. Good on her I suppose. I've never even met a rich person my age...except that late night Lord Cardigan's son made me 3 poly-styrene cupped teas outside his mansion. (God, that isn't even made-up! Wonder what he's doing now?! Probably Fox hunting.)
I also hung out with my (pot smokin', Reggae totin') Uncle loads too. He is genuinely a pretty cool guy, despite living, at the age of 50, back at his Mum's house because his friend burnt down his house Streatham. Uncle F said that he wants to show me round the real Brixton where I guess the real Jamaicans party, get �dem weaves, buy fish and get shot. Think I saw a Kaiser Chief wandering around swinging Islington though! Way-Hay! There wasn't enough time for any Black Culture field trips but he is, I can't actually believe, giving me a gift of this gorgeous old mini cooper that�s been sitting in his garage for 4 years!! I just need to get a new exhaust for it, new tyres, a new battery and get it to pass a MOT (ha ha) and its mine to drive!! How cool is that? I ask???!!
It was complete Hostel-stylie (but with more ethnic meals) staying at my Granmas. I slept on a thin mattress on the wooden floor in my 16yr old Cousin�s bedroom. Cous� would usually stomp in at about 2am reeking of weed and devour a (I lie not) elephant sized platter of rice and peas, chicken, dumplings and sweet potato then settle down with his Jamaican dancehall blasting or PS2 racing game for a few hours. He got taken down the Police Station a couple of times though and Uncle F had to go bail him out in the middle of the night. But he only got arrested for dealing Class A drugs, so, you know, no biggie! x
1:58 p.m. - 2006-04-25
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