Sometime after 3am the tenant upstairs arrives home. He is quiet enough. The challenge is that the floorboards in his Art Deco apartment creak, though they are not as noisy as the possums in the roof back home. Sleep evades me for hours it seems. Just when I am blissfully out to it, my mobile beeps a text message from No One daughter in Paris. It is exactly 6 am. Just as well Sam texted, because I'd forgotten to turn on the alarm. Phew! Then we chat for an hour on Skype. Bless technology.
The email I have been waiting for is in the inbox. Great. I train train to North Sydney, meet with Alan Harkness, our script editor and consultant, and train back to the city in search of the simplest piece of the film jigsaw. A suitable presentation folder for the screenplay. You wouldn't believe the variety of folders, but none as good as the one I have been shown. The challenge is that Alan can't recall where he bought it. I explore the stationery shops of Sydney CBD and find a couple of folders almost as good. Success at last. Back at Elizabeth Bay the sun is out at last as I work my way down my To Do list.
I decide to attend an evening art show in nearby Paddington. I daren't take Mr Skittles, Sam's Smart car, because parking here and there is such a challenge. The walk will do me good and has the added benefit of being sustainable.
Just as I arrive at the gallery Alan phones with bad news. He's discovered an error in our scene numbering. Bizarrely, we have two scene thirties. The dodgy, ancient TAFE-invented software beloved of impoverished writers has bitten me on the proverbial. What is adequate for a rainmaker is not for a filmmaker. I will have to delay meetings till I can renumber the scenes manually, a time consuming occupation, and print off the correct version. What a blow. Thank goodness Alan found the error. Wouldn't want to look unprofessional and all that.
I remind myself of my favourite Winston Churchill speech. “Never give up. Never give up. Never give up.” And for some obscure reason I remember the wisdom of Shogun. Patience. The mindset of an Olympic athlete and the organisational ability of a wedding planner are definitely at the top of the list of requirements of film producers.
The art is very intellectual. The subject matter is “Adaptation” from novel to film. I am interested because, like Steven Speilberg, movies were the literature of my youth. Some pieces are witty, many are incomprehensible to me. None move me the way most Indigenous art does. Conversation is impossible because of the decibel level. Judging by the noise, the event is a success. I leave before the official opening.
The highlight of my oh so quiet journey home is finding a lemon myrtle tree near Trumper Oval. Gubbi Gubbi elder, Bev Hand, says that lemon myrtle makes a great tea and also an antiseptic good for sore throats. So my journey is not in vain.
Oh so quiet, that is until I reach Kings Cross. I eye off the pie shop and pizza places, but simply cannot make up my mind. Comfort food is definitely calling. To my joy back at Sam's apartment I find a tin of Heinz baked beans. Baked beans on good rye toast, sprinkled with tasty grated cheese. Sophisticated it ain't. Yum. Food fit for the gods.
I am so grateful that the elders asked me to co-produce Liquid Assets. What a journey!
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