I'm writing some sketches for a comedy thing, only they're being rubbish at sorting out contracts, and naming specific amounts of money, so said sketches are currently chained to a radiator in the dark somewhere until it all gets sorted out.
This happens a lot. Everyone wants material in as soon as possible, but the very mention of contracts and payment is so terribly ungentlemanly that to even mention it causes loud coughing, awkwardly adjusted ties and being shown an office with a bottle of scotch and a loaded revolver.
- And as if to prove something, I don't know what, Agent Matt phoned while I was writing this very post, to say movement has been made with contracts and I can start sending some stuff off, which renders this whole post irrelevant, but there we are.
At least I have an agent to sort this stuff out - poor old PP is having to re-interview for his job for a second time. He phoned me about this last time, and to be honest, I should really have logged off World of Warcraft for the duration of the call, but I tried to do both things simultaneously, and it didn't really work. PP thought there was an odd satellite delay, and Garnethor, the warrior I was supposed to be protecting from a distance with a barrage of healing spells (this character's a priest, which means you hide behind a tree and support butcher characters), got chopped down by four club-wielding thugs.
THUGS: (all four at the same time) Aha! Now you give us the chance to use this freshly-sharpened blade!*
GARNETHOR: Argh! Heal me! Heal me!
ME: Ooh, hang on a tic, I'm on the phone.
PP: So it's the day after tomorrow. I've prepared for the questions though.
ME: Shall I do big heal, or renew?
ME: Hmm, I've got a potion somewhere...
ONSCREEN INFO: Garnethor has died.
ME: Ooh sorry dude, I was on the phone.
PP: Yes, I know.
GARNETHOR: Oh okay, NP.
ME: Still, I sure it'll work out fine. Hey, did you see the banana thing?
PP: My mum told me about it in excruciating detail.
ME: Heh - someone described it as 'the troll office woman is tit-raped with a banana by the mad pregnant one'.
PP: Is that how it was in the script?
ME: Not really.
It's very uncool to lay claim to bits of GW, they're not 'mine', as without the top performances they'd be nothing. But I'm going to do it anyway, as that scene was based on a real-life thing, where I was eating a banana, when a friend who was slightly inclined to embonpoint leaned very close in (I think she was dyeing my hair for me) and the banana started making its way almost involuntarily into the darkness while a friend sitting on the sofa opposite (Hi Jeremy) stared at me, transfixed with horror. Fortunately a rare outbreak of common sense stayed my hand in time, but I've always wanted to put that in a scene somewhere.
UPDATE: the ho from the taxi would like to give credit for the 'I've still got my tights on' line to Richard, although I've talked to him, and he can't remember if that one's his or not, but he thinks, on balance, it probably is.
I knew I shouldn't have started this.
* 'freshly sharpened clubs!' it should have been of course.