Production company producers get on my nerves.
You are destined to become a top producer if your parents called you
Tamara, they sent you to the University of East Anglia to study Fine Art
and you now live in Notting ‘where else, darling?’ Hill.
Despite the fact you’re pushing 30, you insist on clubbing and snorting
‘charlie’. In between, you manage to cram in something you call work.
Work consists of you arriving at the office at 11.00 and spending the
next two hours in the toilet stopping the nose-bleed. At 1.00 you’re
ready for lunch at the Groucho with your favourite director. You spend
the next three hours whining about ‘those wankers at such-and-such an
agency’. After the moan, you’re ready for home.
Every now and again you have to work ‘really, really hard’ - this is
called ‘a shoot’. This type of work involves standing around a set in
your day-glo puffa jacket, flicking your hair, agreeing with the
director and every now and again looking down your nose at the people
from the agency. Work can get even harder when you have to talk to the
‘horrid little client in the polyester suit’.
After a ‘really, really hard’ day you go home and write a whining piece
to Campaign about how those horrid agency people didn’t turn up to your
Take a look at yourself and ask why we should turn up after you’ve been
so snooty to us. After you’ve done that, ask yourself why tortilla chips
and salsa cost pounds 35 per head.
I look forward to going through that ransom demand you call a quote next
time, Tamara. Love you. Ciao.
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