Rio De Janeiro

I slept the whole way. I couldn’t move my arm when I woke up and just gazed at it, half-asleep, experiencing it not responding to my brain’s commands. The queue to get out of customs was over an hour long but as we came through, there were Junno and Shanti, our local crew, all smiles and excitement, and though it was pouring and grey outside, the cool minibus they’d rented, the jovial driver and the chatter about schedules and money changing lent a sweet air of optimism to the morning.

The internet in my room worked first time too, no having to call Duncan and get him to come and rescue me this time. Our production meeting wasn’t for a few hours so I planned reworking my Interview questions list, my ‘to do’ list, my ‘fixers and locations’ list and my ‘usa collaborators’ list, and maybe check a few emails. I woke up at 5pm.

I don’t remember too much of the meeting. I was happy about the music and interview plans, and I had a clear budget by budget list to convert to UK pounds, but then my eyes began to droop again and retreated to my nice safe bubble upstairs, and drifted off listening to a CD of Dave and Carol’s improvised gig in Paris recently. Boy can those guys play.