Tuesday

The dreaded move looms as more boxes were ordered today. The boss is moving house and I’ve been sorting the office. All the filing cabinet draws are packed away and I got a crisp twenty for doing the bookshelves all afternoon. Katie decided to walk all over the receipts I was sorting as my final task of the day. She really chooses her moments. Wadges of car insurance invoices and Groucho Club bills (not tax deductible) swept under the desk and stuck in my Uma Thurman hair cut. She glared at me indignantly and strutted off without looking apologetic. I hate sharing my working space with a menopausal dog. You are constantly under supervision. She has particularly piercing eyes, which are usually partly hidden under her terrier fringe so that you’re never quite sure when she’s looking at you. At my interview she jumped up onto my lap – evidently spotting a likely victim to torture and licked my hands. The boss’s partner in crime commented that this was the final test… if the dog liked me. Katie is clearly the real boss and needs to be brought down a notch or two. I will leave paw prints on the Cannes ticket as evidence.
I got home today and thumbed through my Robert McKee copy of Story and then a few directors handbooks. I always find, no matter how mundane my day as an intern may have been, I always finish feeling inspired. I made notes on the Indiana Jones trilogy and worked on some research questions for my first feature film. Unfortunately I seem to have chosen a subject I know nothing about – kidney research. It’s true what they say about changing the script to lower the budget, or making it less convoluted to appeal more to the masses. Don’t quite know what they say, but I’m sure its something wise like, don’t write a film about complex medical procedures you know nothing about and have difficulty understanding even when told. Well, McKee would have said it – maybe I should book in for one of his courses and try and ask him in person. I would probably get distracted by his eyebrows and embarrass myself by forgetting to turn the Dictaphone on.