This is what I did last night, and why you should never, ever trust producers.
The Plan: To attend short birthday party in the Phoenix Bar at 7pm, go on to a pub called the Yorkshire Grey to meet writer friends at 8pm.
Earlier: A producer calls at 4pm and says can An Actor (well-known person) make a short film of one of my stories? I say Yes. He says Can I find a copy of it and get it to him (producer) urgently.
I find book, go to photocopy shop and scan the pages, seal them in envelope, call producer and say I have it. He says Can you bring it to me, I’m in Soho. I say I will be in the Phoenix at 7pm, how’s that? He says Great, I’ll come and get it.
8pm: No sign of producer. I call him, he says Sorry, meeting took longer than I thought, I’ll be there shortly. Meanwhile birthday boy is getting drunk.
9pm. Still no sign of producer. I call again and clearly hear sounds of a bar in background. He says I’m watching the football with Mr X (a recently fired producer). I’ll be there when the football finishes at 9:30pm – wait for me.
10pm. Still no sign of producer. I call and he says I’m about to leave. Birthday boy now fighting drunk.
11pm. I call again. Producer says I’m in Quo Vadis club, come over. Furious, I leave the Phoenix and head over there with the envelope.
11:30pm I locate producer, coked off his head. I ask Why didn’t you come to Phoenix? He says Let’s face it, I was never going to come there, it’s a dump.
Almost on the verge of hitting him, I hand him the envelope. He says Great I’ll be right back.
12:00pm Producer texts me and says he’s gone home. I look around and find the envelope under his barstool, on the floor.