Akshun akshun akshun, that's been the last couple of weeks for Timbo. Trying to be a (virtually)one man show making a documentary is a little bit taxing to say the least. What with being Director, Producer, Writer, Internet Researcher (one of 2), Secretary, Lackey, Editor and god knows what else it's all proving a little bit had, but we persist (oh, add to this having read about 20+ books on the subject in the last month). However, lucky for me I'm not totally running a one man show here, as I have got beaucoup help from several key people.
These people are:
Adam Lokman - the other 50% of our documentary team on the ground. He is fast becoming another long-sufferer of Timbo, having to drive us to and from Ipoh (about 2 and half hours each way) and then getting horrendously lost in the one way systems and I haven't bought a map yet. Not only that he has to listen to the non-stop interminable jibber jabber of my overheating brain, then on top of all that he has to lug around all the lights and camera equipment (we can't afford assistants, as we have both blown a couple of thousand quid on this already) and then to top it all off he has to shoot beautiful pictures, whilst listening to audio (again, no budget for sound man) whilst I sit there and do the interviews. Then he has to drive back home again. Poor Adam, but he loves it really
Law Siak Hong - the man who runs the museum and knows all of our interviewees, thus puts us in contact with most. He is a fine chap, and has put in a shed load of work for us, and he hasn't told me to F right off (when by rights he should have done a couple of times) when I blunder in with my size 13s and start asking questions that are shrowded in thick mists of Malaysian sensitivities. On this occasion it very much pays to be me (ie: white and about as tactful as a hammer in a kindergarten) because I can basically get away with asking the most blunt questions that asians would never even dream of asking.
Me Dad - Poor bloke has got roped into all this by the merits of being very good at war history research. By rights it should really be him making this film right, as he's the guy who's always read and watched stuff about the second world war, I barely even passed History GCSE. But there we go. Now he's been co-erced into going back and forth to London to sit and dig through god knows how many documents and not being able to find very much - mainly because there isn't much to find. But he has pulled up a couple of gems.
Yes indeed, without these 3 blokes, and of course continual help and support from Miss Chia, then I'd still be swinging in me hammock scratching me nuts, instead of driving all over the country and causing trouble. We've shot a couple of interviews now, and are well on the way to having a 3 or 4 minute pilot ready in a week or so. It's going to be brilliant. I still haven't told you what it's about though, have I? Can't remember. Well I'm not going to tell you yet, so sit tight and get ready to be intrigued and amazed. Well, hopefully.
As for young Bertie the kitten, well, I wish I could have kept him, but the problem was one of the smelly matter. Yes, we cured his worms, and fixed his mite infested ear, then gave him plenty of baths and fed him plenty so he was looking good and healthy. But the problem was that he just wouldn't stop with the diahorreah. He waled round the flat going drip, drip, drip, leaving a trail of rancid stinking poo splats, which then of course muggins had to clean up every ten minutes(the virtue of having a soft heart right).
The last straw was when he lay curled up on my lap, having a lovely little cooch whilst I read my book in my hammock, then amidst the purring he fell asleep and then sschchcooooolllch.... Hmmm, thought I, My leg feels, bizarrely warm, and, oh, bizarrely moist too. Yum, then ultra pleasent sensation of having liquid feaces drippling through your shorts. Mmmm mmm mmmmmmmmm.
So, I took him back to the vet (an Indian chap called Dr Ben, who is bloody lovely, gave me all the kitten care treatment for free cos I took in a stray, how nice is that, hat off to the man innit, lovely) and got him to give him something to fix the crap cannon. But the realisation that I can't keep him, what with the flat just being to small and me being scared that he'll accidentally make a flying swan dive off the 6th floor balcony, made me ask if he knows anybody who takes in cats. He did, a lovely Chinese lady called Agness, who took him off me and is sorting him out, then when he stops with the bum fountain then she's going to get him adopted.
So it's not all bad in the land of Bertie, but I was reet sad when I had to leave him there, poor chap thought I was his mum (on a side note, did I tell you he sucked my nipple? All a bit weird that was, there was me sitting on the floor, T-shirt off, little bit chilly, then Boink, a cat on my teet. Vanessas mum asked me if I was gay, but I can't quite figure out her logic on that, but there we go, I suppose he was a boy cat, so if it was a girl kitten sucking my nipple would that be more normal? I don't know).
Indeed
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