2001-07-17 - 11:11 p.m.

�Saturday night, where am I goin�? I�m going to work inside a kitchen.�

So cinematic history indulged some of its lesser lights last night with the hyperbole-tinged �West End Premier� of the film I wrote. Despite my best efforts at accelerated relaxation techniques (no dinner, export strength beer), the first showing was akin to having teeth extracted through the non-oral end of your alimentary canal. Actually, people laughed where they were supposed to, and didn�t where I knew they wouldn�t, so at the very least it�s reassuringly predictable. 150 people were very polite, and more to the point, ritual humiliation was deftly avoided. The minor soap star came along and held court, but more strange was the presence of a fairly well known newsreader from channel four, who nobody seemed to be connected to. Maybe he was just lost.

�I�ll be making you mush, and cleaning your deep fat fryer�well, here he comes now, the king of irony��

Of course, the production company goons were in their element � full of self-congratulatory flatulence, and I skulked around trying to avoid having to meet anyone involved in �the industry�. I spent a fair amount of time trying to dodge cast/crew members that haven�t yet been paid, though I hope the one that cornered me for 45 minutes and embarked on a relentless coke-fuelled rant about how humanity is so disappointing will be polite enough to waive his fee. All I could see for the entire wretched speech was the less attractive goon having his tonsils explored by some nubile young actress who was obviously well on her way to being offered a part. Good job I have the warm glow of artistic satisfaction, otherwise I�d be really quiet disappointed in not getting any of the drugs, money, misplaced admiration and endless handjobs that seem to accompany all the other positions on the project.

�Who�s good to you? I am, I am the boss�.of the century��

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