Tuesday, April 08, 2003
Last night was the big Dinner with the Beeb - there were lots of us there: my co-author, our agent, the producer, her assistant, the scriptwriter and script editor. The producer explained the way the process works: the scriptwriter has produced a treatment which they're going to have a meeting about this week. If that goes down well, he'll be commissioned to write a script. If that's any good it will be shown to - I think - the department head. If she likes it, it goes to the head of the channel (ie BBC1 or 2). Once we've leapt all those hurdles it will stand a good chance of getting made! Flamin' eck!

But enough of that... I'm sure what MarkCity readers really want to know is 'what was the food like?' Answer: well worth a couple of people's licence fees. Some little goats cheese ball things dipped in honey. Then cannelloni as a starter, followed by a baby vegetable platter. The vegetables were arranged in a kind of wigwam shape, which had to be dismantled before I could tuck in. There was a blob of what seemed very much like ice cream on the plate. Surely it wasn't ice cream? There were truffles too, apparently, but I couldn't identify them. The wine flowed.

The journey home was less pleasant. I don't want this to become a Connex-bashing site... well, actually, who cares? Let's bash. The trains were in a state, as was I, and after a 20-minute-late start (from the wrong station) we were finally on our way, every lurch of the train making me think I was going to throw up, the orange liqueur that I'd foolishly had instead of dessert sloshing around in my stomach. Made it home, fell into bed, couldn't sleep, spent the night adrift in strange, waking dreams and felt surprisingly okay this morning.

I'd just like to say, I really hate Real Madrid.