Sat Nav Suicide

There are words that strike fear into the hardest of men, freezing the blood and loosening the bowels. For me one such word is “Birmingham”.

A horrible tangled mess of concrete and tarmac, traversing one ring road after another, looking out for the piss-poor signage that only appears at the very last minute, made us wonder what circle of merry hell we were on.

Eventually we found the location hosting the medical symposium. Finding the right hall was another matter because, unsurprisingly, the interior signage sucked just as badly. One thing that did amaze us was that the on-site AV technician really knew his stuff. In the past, at various venues around the country, that hasn’t always been the case.

After that it was just a case of filming the various speakers, pack up, shake hands and head for the exit. Was it really that easy?

Yesterday evening I had the great pleasure of meeting up with William Martell who was over in London to give his screenwriting classes. Softly spoken, with a good sense of humour, he has an encyclopaedic knowledge of film and understands better than anyone I’ve met how to navigate the absurdities and contradictions that lie at the heart of Los Angeles’ film industry. If you don’t already read his blog, start now.