May, 2007

Just back from Morrissey gig with old pal Mark Lynas : author of climate change classic, "High Tide", daily pub companion when we were both stranded for six months in Oxfordshire outpost, occasional McLibel microphone holder, Alaskan snowmobile driver, Tuvaluan shoulder-to-cry-on - and only other person who would say "What time does worship start?" when enquiring when a Morrissey concert begins.

En route to Chamonix once more. Hoping to film aerials of the mountains for the opening scene in a bid to fool our viewers (and potential distributors) that they're watching a big budget extravaganza. Left it right to the last day of the ski season (tomorrow), so we can get lots of skiers on the mountain, but with patchy snow. Which was a good plan, except there's been thunderstorms all weekend, with more predicted for tomorrow, so looking highly likely to be a flop.

Despite numerous invigorating discussions with my 12 fellow filmmakers - half from Camden Town, half from rest of planet - and plenty of excellent solutions to Crude's various problems - I have now officially lost all interest in films, filmmaking, Crude, climate change and saving the world. And, what's worse, I've done so for the oldest reason in the book: girl meets boy. Unfortunately, the particular boy has now gone back home. Back to Tel Aviv, a 6-hour, 0.47 tonne flight away.

Seem to have accidentally become some sort of focal point for the protesters. There's a constant stream of people coming for meetings at our hotel at all times of day and night - suspect it may be because Robinson is doling out free drinks with our money.