I've started my work at the Binger FilmLab workshopping The 24 Hour Window. We're an eclectic group representing most of the continents (imagine my chagrin that Antarctica have once again failed to make their presence felt) each with our own feature script we'll be workshopping until July. The schedule that has been arranged for us is challenging and inspiring. Already we've bonded and learned a lot about ourselves even though it's barely begun. We're not quite sure what will happen next but we've been assured our lives will never be the same.
And when I'm not Bingering my way through the days, I'm off exploring the city. I've decided it's crucial that I DJ while I'm here so with the aid of my new DJing software (that I purchased the day before I left and was quite thankful when I finally tested it last week that it did indeed work) I have set out to find the best little out of the way club that I can set on fire with electro hits.
I've also tried to pose as a local the best way I can - by singing while riding my bike. I discovered though that they do have a preference for middle of the road, adult contemporary classic rather than, say, Ca Plane Pour Moi and that one should only sing whilst in motion. Not at traffic lights or in traffic jams. I'm a quick learner!
This weekend I had the pleasure of housesitting for one of my fellow participants, mainly to look after the infamous Rebbe Naches - her aging Dachshund. He's 12 years old, with a brain tumour and a headful of grey dreadlocks making him look like a wonderful cross between a Womble (from Wimbledon), a Mystic (from the Dark Crystal) and Fiona Horne (from Def FX).
For the first couple of days he just kind of stared at me but once I upped his medication he became a ball of laughs and I've woken up on more than one occasion to find him spooning me. He has the unfortunate tendency to wake up barking so I can only assume there's some sort of Julia Roberts in Sleeping With The Enemy past going on there. I wanted to take him for a canal boat ride but like Madonna he's old. Old as time. And considering his age plus long body plus said brain tumour make it impossible for him to go down stairs, I thought traipsing across half the city might be rubbing it in his face a bit. Like asking Margot Kidder to model for a shampoo commercial after she hacked off all her hair with a razor blade.
Those of you who know me won't be surprised to learn my love of housesitting. You don't make any new discoveries by going through your own drawers now, do you? And while I love the place I normally stay at, I do occasionally open my curtains to discover strange men standing on my balcony. It's at those moments I thank my lucky stars I'm not Miranda Otto or they might have caught me dancing around in my underwear to Dragon's April Sun In Cuba with a half-consumed bottle of tequila in my hand.
So it's nice to have a change of pace and this canal-side apartment with its chaise lounge, roof terrace, chandelier (just the one - no need to coarsely splash your wealth around) and wall-sized artworks suits me well. It also has the delicious perk of belonging to the director of Drop Dead Fred. He was bemused at my excitement on learning that he had directed that film but once he realised I was Australian it all made sense to him. Apparently we Australians took Drop Dead Fred into our hearts like nobody's business. I wonder what that says about us.
And to anyone who thought I phoned this blog entry in a bit and didn't give you enough to think about, here's another photo of the Wombles.
