Love Miles

Hello anyone who might be reading this. Sorry I haven't had a moment to get the diary entries from August to December up here.

McLibel is on at a festival in Tel Aviv soon, so I did an interview for some Israeli radio station or something today. Made my best effort to be interesting in case The Boy happens to hear it.

Rooney and his pals failed to wop Israel's asses in the World (or is it Euro?) Cup qualifier last night, not that I care. But it did result, as anticipated, in the first communication from My Certain Someone since our New Year's Eve resolution. Exchanging some flip nationalistic football insults set me off pining for some real exchange with him.

Not sure what exactly changed - perhaps panic that we haven't even found our final character yet - but we're heading out to Jordan, despite the ongoing war. Lizzie's a few aisles away being tortured by a screaming baby. I have the headphones and laptop. Sure is good being the boss. Some pretty profound life and death stuff has been going on post Crude-Camp-with-Mark. Like when someone is diagnosed with terminal illness and gets six months to live - or if they survive a near-death experience - they often say their whole perspective changes.

Real tears are dripping onto my laptop typing this, as Emma Thompson has just found out that it's all been a big misunderstanding and Hugh Grant isn't married after all. This is extremely worrying and not just because of my history of electrical equipment and water.

One good thing about my sort-of-boyfriend's government killing hundreds of innocent Lebanese, is that I didn't have to blow out my dad and stepmum's 20th wedding party yesterday by being in Jordan. Not that I would've felt TOO guilty, as my dad scarred me for life by missing most of my childhood birthdays cos he was away filming important documentaries in difficult countries. Revenge is best served 25 years cold.

Lack of diary entries recently as I've been happily sidetracked. Firstly, my Sister managed to persuade a crowd of 2000-odd people to their feet through sheer enthusiasm at a Pet Shop Boys gig (we'd sneaked into the posh seats at the front and were going to get captured if everyone stayed sitting). And Neil Tennant smiled at me. He did. He did! Then I had a visitor from Israel for five correctly-speeded days (time has either been way too fast - the two days we had together - or way too slow - the three months since).

A thousand people work for Big Oil in New Orleans. All we gotta do is find the interesting one, right? We've got a few leads - and the phone book - but it all seems a little hit and miss. How do real filmmakers do this? Can't really speed the process up, either - a lot of waiting around for call backs - so we're trying to adapt to the not-knowing grey zone. Writing diary, struggling to get through chapter two of The Prize, press-ups, logging tapes and, frankly, sleeping.

Lizzie had a late night brainwave, which was executed by 8.30 this morning (the pace is speeding up - something I'd have said was impossible even two weeks ago). Went round her friend Fenella's house - former lawyer, one of the Crude funders - and raided her wardrobe of corporate-but-funky outfits. Took only 20 mins to get a couple of shirts and a jacket each and come away new people. Also had a very brief tour of their newly eco'd house, which never fails to encourage.