Bavarian beer and cracked cords

Just took the last meeting of the festival, and now i'm working in the lobby of the hyatt hotel [where one coffee costs £4..] waiting for my producer to arrive.

I have lost my voice somewhere in town. There is only a strangled squeak coming out. High pitched pitching.

A friend bought dinner and read the pitch. He hated it. Which is oddly comforting.

Silent running

I know, I know, long gap.

I made a conscious decision in december not to do anything - travel, films, reading, blog, until the step-outline was finally finished.

It is now, on the eve of the berlinale. One last trawl for typos etc, and it will be in the post.

Berlin is full of sunshine. Last year was sparkling with deep frost. I wore two coats and drank hot chocolate.

This year it is 11 degrees, bright blue and cold, one jacket and i'm looking for an icecream...

I have a suitcase full of gloves and hats and puffas I can't wear.

I lost my first chioice script-editor. I think she was just two keen to do it; she offered to work unpaid for a co-writing credit, but with 1/3 of the bursary ringfenced for script-editing that deal made no sense at all.

Very odd being in a city after months with sheep.