We re supposed to be travelling to Amsterdam from Norwich airport tomorrow afternoon to shoot a documentary about cannabis and Parkinson’s for Vice.com, so I have a few things to sort out before we go. My weekly vlog (which I would normally script, film and edit on a Friday) needs, at the very least, to be scripted and filmed today so that I can edit it and publish it by lunchtime tomorrow. I have also received a message from the plumber saying he will be here to fit our replacement bath next Thursday, which would be absolutely fantastic if it weren’t for the fact that I have also received an email from the builder’s merchant from whom I have ordered the replacement bath, saying that they were unable to supply the bath that I had ordered for delivery next Monday! So I need to find an alternative supplier and get another bath ordered ASAP.
I get cracking on the script, which I manage to complete by lunchtime (with a brief, dog walk sized interlude), and then film myself (with many a re-take) this afternoon (with another, slightly longer, dog walk sized interlude). I load the footage onto my MacBook ready for editing.
To add to my stress, Vice.com seem to be one of the most disorganised bunch of people that I have ever met, and I feel that we are being messed around. They told me they would be sorting out our accommodation today, but this afternoon they still haven’t done so. Then I get a phone call saying that they require a doctor’s certificate to proclaim that I am fit and healthy enough to travel to Amsterdam and spend a day in a studio filled with cannabis smoke. Once I have explained to them that they have left it just a little bit late to decide that they need this, they change their mind and say that they will be satisfied with a signed disclaimer from me. So we are still scheduled to travel to Amsterdam tomorrow and shoot on Saturday? “Err, yes” she says, hesitantly. “You don’t sound very sure”, I said. “It could be in a different country, but the shoot is definitely going to take place this weekend” she said, reassuringly. Five minutes later the phone rings again and she wants to know my availability for Monday instead! I explain that Monday is not an option for me, so now I sit and wait to find out whether or not anything is actually going to happen this weekend.
My wife returns home from work, and we have a quick bite to eat before heading off to her youngest son’s house in Hevingham – I have promised to help him plan out the electric underfloor heating for his bathroom this evening, so that’s what I do!