I had a couple of meetings well before Christmas, both on the same day, both very positive, both mentioning certain magic phrases rhyming with 'hevelopment bunny' and both utterly failing to ever get back to me ever.
I'm more used to this now, but at the time, when your chase-up emails tumble soundlessly into the great pit specially dug in Soho Square, you start to concoct paranoid scenarios about what actually happened shortly after you left the room...
PRODUCER: Well, we like where you're coming from, we've got some projects happening right now that should be right up your street, so let me talk to the technical people and we can sort you out some development money!
ME: Okay, fantastic! Well, nice to meet you!
PRODUCER: And you!
I let myself out. The second the door shuts behind me:
PRODUCER: Hahahahahahahahaha! Twat!
MEETING TWO. About an hour later. Different Producer.
PRODUCER: So this Romey Loves Jools thing? You're thinking sitcom?
ME: (warily) Yeeeeeeees...
PRODUCER: Because I'm thinking film.
PRODUCER: I think it would make an amazing film.
ME: Right, well... okay, I can see how that could work...
PRODUCER: An amazing film.
PRODUCER: We'll need to sort out development money. Let's talk again soon.
I let myself out. The door closes, and the Producer stares into space for exactly seven and a half minutes. Then presses the buzzer for his assistant.
PRODUCER: Was there someone in my office just now?
ASSISTANT: Yes. A writer.
PRODUCER: Good lord. I could have sworn there was someone in my office.
ASSISTANT: There was. A writer.
Producer stares suspiciously at an empty glass of water
PRODUCER: But no-one was here, you say?
ASSISTANT: A writer was. James Henry?
PRODUCER: Yes! I'm supposed to meet him!
ASSISTANT: That's right.
PRODUCER: Well where is he?
ASSISTANT: He just left.
PRODUCER: My God. How very unprofessional.
He unfurls a long scroll-like list and adds my name to the top, putting a red 'X' next to it, and underlining it three times. Then very slowly, he passes out on his desk.