Quite sweary today (sorry Carol)

Back in Cornywall now after more fun meetings. Film meeting was particularly odd, in that a man burst into the office to give the lady I was meeting a bunch of flowers for chasing thieves away from his parked bike, particularly impressive since the woman concerned looked like a slightly slenderer version of Naomi Campbell (but much nicer).

I was having one of my less coherent days, unfortunately, and when I was asked why particularly I wanted to write films, I said it was because 99% of the films I've seen in the last ten years have been 'just.... fucking... fucking.... shit.' She got up and very quietly closed the door at that point, although the fact that she was still on my side of it has to be counted as a victory of sorts.

Although I may have squandered it by later using the sentence 'God, it's so bloody fashionable to be dark, isn't it?' to a black woman - meaning to talk about current vogues in comedy commissioning, although of course it suddenly sounded like I'd segued into rather regrettable racism. Slightly awkward pause, although I was quickly able to list a few examples of current comedy stuff I can't stand (no names, as I might bump into them) at which point we seemed to be back on track. She barely blinked, although I can't help noticing she didn't attempt to share any chocolates. I probably would have picked out the one white one anyway, so maybe it's for the best.

I was about to use the phrase 'I've only ever had one black friend in my life', when I realised I can't even remember his name, so clearly I can't even count him. Anyway, he used to go out with a friend of mine, and he was (and presumably still is) a law lecturer as well as being a very large man indeed. His favourite joke whenever he saw me out was to steal whatever of mine I'd left lying around (bag, coat, laptop) and race off at high speed, then stop and turn round so he could see the resultant clash of emotions fly across my face:

1. Oh my God, someone's stolen my bag
2. Still time to chase after them
3. Shit, it's a huge black guy, that's slightly more frightening
4. Guilt/Rage
5. Oh for fuck's sake it's (insert whatever his name was)
6. Bastard.
7. Rage/Guilt

And then he'd give me my bag/coat/laptop/current girlfriend back and smirk at me. Sometimes my liberal/Guardian-reading sentiments would clash so severely with my primitive/Daily Mail-reading dad upbringing, all my synapses would misfire at once, and I'd collapse in the street, foaming at the ears.

Anyway, I think he's dead now.