NEW FRONTIERS

You may have noticed that I changed the look of my website. I am assuming, of course, that you have looked. If you have, you will notice that it is more in keeping the rather folksy look of this blog.

The old one was nice- shiny and clever and very professional-looking. But it was very difficult to update. I had to call the web designer and ask him to make changes. This way I can do it myself. You have been warned.

Speaking of new formats, my new year’s resolution for 2013 (in addition to losing 25 lbs, drinking less wine and not fretting so much) is to push my business as hard and far as I can. There are opportunities out there in film, music production and multi-media.

Given that I do audio for all of that- particularly the multimedia aspect- I am sure I will be successful at it. Besides, as my wife and I agreed last night, I am way too talented to not succeed. Just ask me.

So onward and upward. There is lots of music to record, lots of projects to record and produce and film.

Fallen

I wish I typed faster. If I did, I’d blog way more often. My wife, Janine, is a lightning fast typist (90 words a minute or so) so it’s no wonder she gets so much done. She is up with the dawn, downstairs with coffee every morning blazing away on her computer with her sexy, geeky glasses on.

I take 6 months to write a blog. But my excuse this time is that it’s been pretty busy around here.  The studio is doing very well and I am teaching in Halifax at least a couple of days a week. So between us, Janine and I are working 7 days a week. We try to squeeze in a mutual day off here and there. Sometimes we are successful, sometimes not.

I am in the process of mixing a CD I am producing for Ann Fearon- which will be lovely when we are done. I have also been working on a project for folk singer-songwriter Vince Morash. After working on one of Ann’s songs yesterday, I put up “Fallen”, a tune of Vince’s we just finished recording last Thursday.

Now I know I am a bit of a sentimental fellow, but a lot of these songs, both from Vince and Ann really get to me. “Fallen” is about a fellow Vince once encountered pan handling on a street in Vancouver’s Lower East Side- about as bad an area as we have in this country.

As I worked on the song, I was reminded about a time, in a past life, when I was playing in a community concert band in that same part of the same city- East Hastings Street. It was a Christmas concert, and we were performing for the ‘fallen’ in a shelter. They had to endure at least one selection from the band before being ushered into the dining hall for their free (and likely only) Christmas dinner.

As the doors opened and they ambled inside, I was surprised how many of them were young and middle-aged. The waft of cigarette smoke preceded them, along with their almost palpable resignation and hopelessness.

As I looked at them from my perch in the back row, with my $3500 trombone in hand, I wondered how they had ended up there. Many surely had drug/booze issues. Others were likely crazies off their meds and on the streets.  But so many of them seemed pretty lucid- almost, dare I say, normal. People who hit a bad patch and ended up fallen. A divorce, death of a loved one, bad business decision, laid off by their employer…so many possible ways to end up on the skids.

It occurred to me that so many of us are a couple of missed pay cheques away from taking this kind of a tumble. In these times, in spite of all our government programs to make the world a better place, things seem to be getting crueler every day. I wonder how many of those fallen were ultimately taken down by the very systems put in place to “protect” them: government, banks, insurance companies. How many have been foreclosed upon, lost property, found they were not insured or were driven to bankruptcy through a series of bad luck or bad decisions?

Vince’s song strikes a chord (yuk yuk yuk) with me because my recent circumstances made it abundantly clear how easily any of us could be blindsided. In the last 5 years I have been divorced, relocated (twice) had a business investment go sour, re-married and re-started everything in a new province. And I am still trying to sell my Toronto condo (No reasonable offer will be refused…) But a couple of months ago, without going into unnecessary details, a bank with whom I’d had a 26-year relationship decided to make my life very, very difficult. Six months from now, it might not have been so difficult. The timing, to put it bluntly, sucked. Oh, and it wasn’t about defaulting, because I have never missed a payment or bounced a check in my life. It was a decision made by a faceless functionary who knew nothing about me- just numbers on a screen. He said, “This isn’t working for us. But we value your business.”

No, I am not making that part up.

Let this be a warning to you- particularly small business owners:  even if you don’t default, even if you pay your bills on time you could end up on some bank’s/insurance company’s/government department’s shit list. Then wait for the fun to start.

It was a very expensive and unpleasant to sort it all out. I didn’t really sleep well for about two months. I still don’t. The good news: I think I pulled a rabbit out of my ass this time but, in so doing, I used up all my rabbits. Still, it made me realize how close I was to being pushed into the ranks of the ‘fallen’. You manage, you juggle, you get through. Usually. I look at the less-fortunate in a different way now. I wonder how many were actually managing until they got blown out of the water by something, someone or some institution they trusted.

It’s worth a thought…and a listen to the song that got me thinkin’.

http://soundcloud.com/david-findlay/fallen/s-nzGWB 

"Show me the Money, Jerry"

I have been thinking a lot lately about online social networking.

The old advice used to be, “Network, network, network!” I suppose that is a very sound notion. But lately, I have been torn between the perception of social media and the noise of constantly being marketed to. Or at. And I sometimes wonder who is still listening.

Here’s a story for you…(cue Beverly Hillbillies Theme about a man named Jed..) When I retired from teaching in the mid 90’s I had to move my pension money into what they call a LIRA (which I think is a Locked-In Retirement Account…or something only brilliant financial people understand. Sort of like derivatives, only better) This was a pretty hot time in the online world. Lots of folks were in a constant state of arousal over this new thing “the Internet” and hi-tech companies were popping up everywhere and venture capitalists were falling over themselves to give these companies money. The THING to invest in was hi-tech. You were and IDIOT to NOT invest in this. An idiot, I tell you. Every advisor, between ejaculations, would breathlessly tell you how these stocks were growing 20, 30, 40% OR MORE!! I never liked shaking hands with these people.

Now it occurred to me, a boring little musician, that these companies didn’t really do anything. They didn’t make anything nor did they seem to do much. (“nooooo…it’s virtual! It’s the information superhighway…we’re in the information age…no more manufacturing! Let China do that old-fashioned crap…we process information now! Didn’t you know that, you Luddite?) Yes many companies had potential to, uh, do something but I wasn’t really sure what. Having been brought up by a Scot who lived by the maxim that if you can’t explain what you do in 10 words or less, you probably aren’t doing anything. I was suspicious. But I thought maybe I just didn’t get it.

So, to be clever, I put my retirement money into a LIRA, which was invested in hi-tech companies. These companies had averaged 40% returns in the previous 2 years. All winners.

You know how this ends, don’t you? It was the late 90’s and I had visions of huge gains and retiring well with the power of absurdly fabulous compound interest. When the ass fell out of the high-tech market once The Emperor was indeed found to be naked, my LIRA stood for  “Lose It Right Away”. Nasty.

Which brings me to social media.

I have been re-building my business since moving here last May. I have a terrific group of new music clients. And I still have a number of clients in Toronto for whom I compose music for their TV or corporate productions. I am trying to expand that client base and, like all modern fellas, am using social media to pimp my wares. I have a significant presence and post regularly on Facebook, Twitter and Linkedin- one of which you have used to find this brilliant blog. Even the blog is tied to my website that links back to everything else. I am SO modern and with-it.

But I was thinking that, in all the noise I make whoring myself, how much actual money have I made because someone found me so irresistible online that they HAD to work with me- either give me a gig, a film to score, audio to do or an album to record.

The answer is simple: $0

My clients have all been gained the old fashioned way: personal introductions, referrals from existing clients and/or warm hand-offs. They are all on my social media now, but were clients before they were on my Facebook/Linkedin/Twitter. Bob Ardern, whose CD I just finished producing found me on the Music Nova Scotia website and found that I lived 2 blocks away. So, I suppose you could say he found me online. But it was not through the “usual” channels.

I like the notion that I can expand my network of potential clients by having 10,000 in my Linkedin network. But without a personal connection, or living 2 blocks away, I wonder how much real business value it has. I know it’s good advertising and you have to be visible. And people need to see you through your website. Who trusts a business without a website? But I am of the mind that much of it may be like the colour flyers you get in the mail: noise you take little notice of in the constant din of being advertised at.

Perhaps I am wrong and maybe one the film producers on my Twitter or Linkedin here will be directed to this blog and say, “Call that guy Findlay right now and have him score that show!”  You might even think this whole blog entry is but a clever attempt at marketing myself. You might.

Maybe. Wouldn’t that be nice if my clever marketing idea bore fruit? We will see.

Why on EARTH Did I Make a Movie?

Danielle Dubois, Stephen Spielberg, Melantha Blackthorne

I must have been on drugs.

It was at a time when I was curious about the process of producing a film. And I had a little extra money. But my good friend Kevin Woodhouse had a script for a Martial Arts flick. Entitled, “The Order of One”, it would be very much grind house- style (unfortunately a few years before Tarantino made that cool again), low budget…just lots of action with very little plot and some breasts for good measure (breasts…measure…get it? Never mind) It’s about a sacred sword that gives whoever holds it great, unbeatable, super-natural power. Everyone wants it- various criminal factions and a nasty crime lord. Stephen Harper would have wanted it too if only he’d known. I think he was unavailable for the days we were shooting. I am pretty sure. But basically, the film was aimed at 19 year olds who are completely baked in their basements (ok, their mothers’ basements) wanting a laugh between pizza deliveries on a Friday night. Oh, and to see people getting the crap kicked out of them in all sorts of exciting ways. And breasts. Did I mention breasts?

We had a good critical mass of people to work on it. Jason Cavalier, an actor and Montreal-based martial artist and stunt man was keen to direct the action and play the lead role of Sonny, an escaped convict. I was studying Martial Arts in Oakville, Ontario, and had the honour of working with the amazing Grand Master Hung Chul Kim- a 9^th degree Tae Kwon Do Black Belt (I think you can only be awarded 10^th degree posthumously…) and Master Harrison Chan, a stunningly superb martial artist (and 5^th degree Master) who had just finished a 6-week training camp in Korea. He was very buff- and dazzling in his skill. Truly, it’s hard to miss when you do fight sequences with people of this caliber. They were quite happy to be the “bad guys”, and speak in Korean to each other. No martial-arts film would be complete without subtitles. Jason was quite delighted to have these experts to choreograph. Everyone (myself included) had at least a black belt in some kind of Martial Art. I, of course did the suitably-retro soundtrack, which I hope to have out soon. I also did a guest appearance as a drug-addled, perverted, strip-club owner. Frankly, it wasn’t much of a leap for me- although I am always worried about becoming type-cast.

It was tongue in cheek, 70’s retro silly. I bought 2 old clunker cars, goofy fancy-coloured clothing and several thousand dollars worth of fake gunshot hits. When you have no real money to make a movie, you can’t afford to take yourself seriously. Lots of fights, car chases, falling off buildings (nice to have a professional stuntman as your lead actor/action director), fake blood and a cast who were really great sports about it all. Wonderful people, all. Everyone understood what we were making and that it was, in essence, an homage to Sonny Chiba and his tacky 1970’s exploitation flicks- right down to the metal strips in Jason’s armbands. And for good measure, Jason (who edited it along with his scream-queen partner, the bodacious Melantha Blackthorne) added cartoon bubbles over the more memorable executions, such as “skull destruction fist”, or “eyeball destruction”. Kind of like when Batman hit a bad guy and “POW” would come up on the screen. No, “Gone With the Wind” it ain’t. But it’s a lot more fun. And to top it off, part of the fun of doing it was that the production itself something of a family affair- Kevin's wife, Danielle Dubois (pictured above) was a gun-totin' Siren as well as an occasional sound-person, full time makeup, effects and wardrobe person (blame those outfits on her) and craft girl among a zillion other jobs. I have nothing but good things to say about her muffins. Melantha, who filmed most of it,  is Jason's real-life partner. Very incestuous. OK, not really. But sort of.

I travelled extensively to try and sell the thing. I discovered that there are plenty of folks who will take your movie into their stable of films, give you nothing for it and promise you that you won’t make a dime from it.  It’s amazing how many people will actually  still “sell” their film to outfits like this.  And to be fair, the usual distributors of even low-end fare really didn’t know what to make of something like “Order of One”. The ubiquitous presence of Youtube was still a ways off and its populist, folksy mindset had yet to take hold.  Indeed, it was hard to imagine the crazy shit that some people really like to watch-  as we now know thanks to the aforementioned Youtube. Indeed, I thought our crazy shit was no crazier- and a lot more entertaining – than most. We even had a coveted midnight showing at the 2006 Fantasia Film Festival and a number of excellent reviews.  But sadly, our little film fell into the cracks.

Alas, as in every story there is a hero. Julian Grant, a good friend and film maker with more artistic integrity than just about anyone else I have known, called me up and said he had found someone who might put out “Order of One”.  His name was (and still is) Warren Croyle, of Chemical Burn Entertainment, and specializes in selling these kinds of flicks. WARNING OF PIMPAGE!!!! BUY IT HERE: (http://www.chemicalburn.org/comedies_and_docs.html)

So this fall, “Order of One: Kung-Fu Killing Spree” hit the streets. (Yes…marketing required an adjustment to the title) The reviews were generally excellent- particularly by those who “get” this type of film:

I honestly can’t recommend this flick enough. I know I have a reputation for intentionally watching/ loving bad films, but that’s not the case at all with ORDER OF ONE. I legitimately loved the shit out of it. It’s the perfect amount of batshit crazy and over-the-top action.

(That’s from http://dailygrindhouse.com/reviews/order-of-one-2006/)

If you are expecting a multi-million dollar extravaganza, you will be disappointed. One reviewer (and seriously, only one) was scathing in his critique:

This film is nothing more than idiotic, mindless, silly, brain dead exploitation. The direction is shoddy, the script is pathetic, and the production value is non-existent.

We’ll try and be more inclusive and culturally sensitive next time. At least he did say this:

If I have to say something positive about the movie I think I would commend the fair amount of people in the film who obviously had some sort of martial arts experience, as they seemed to know what they were doing

“..some sort of martial arts experience…” You are too kind.  And you, dear reviewer, obviously have an exceptionally small penis.

Anyway, judge for yourself if you wish. (About the film, not that guy’s penis…) This is, indeed, a shameless plug for “Order of One- Kung Fu Killing Spree” and do keep in mind that I still have a kid in college, OK?

12 Times the Charm

This is the 12^th version of my studio.

As I put this place together, I realized that I have connected and disconnected this mess 12 times in 12 different locations including 4 Canadian provinces.

It was longer getting this one going because a) I was too poor to renovate the outbuilding; , b) I had it sort of going in my basement- enough to score a TV show anyway- which I managed to do,  and C) It was summer and we had just moved and I had a lot of wallpaper to hang.

I realized a few things in doing this. The first is that this is the best studio space I have had. And I don’t pay rent because I own the building. That is good. After the financial sodomizing I took in Toronto, it’s sure nice to reduce your overhead- even if you have to spend a few thousand bucks to do it.

The other thing that I realized is that I am now officially fed up plugging all this shit in. I no longer gleefully squeeze behind boxes of equipment and plug in 3 Pro Tools interfaces while lying on my back. 5 minutes of sitting like a pretzel sent jolts of agony through my hips. I needed serious drink to alleviate the pain induced by crawling, slithering, reaching, bending, twisting, lifting and separating.  This was no joy; it was Nazi Yoga. And I, for one, am done with it.

That said, it really is a lovely and flexible space. Indeed, my neighbour and contractor, the lovely and talented Alan Burns, was meticulous in his construction. This part of Nova Scotia has a number of excellent craftsmen- many of whom come from a long tradition of boat builders. They make everything to standards that  can withstand the gales of the Atlantic. And as a bonus, my Kawai grand piano- which has followed me since I was 14 (it’s a good thing it can’t talk because it has seen more of me in the last 38 years that I care to think about) It looks very pretty in there and is a good addition. Digital is nice, but a real instrument like that is a huge asset. 

Now I begin the process of whoring and pimping myself, my facility and my services. I am currently in the middle of my first recording project (with guitarist Bob Ardern) and I am sure I will get a chance to find out which cables I plugged in wrong. Out of the 10 million, there has to be one bad one. One. Two, tops. It’s a good thing Bob is patient.

As well I have named the place “Otitis Media”. It sounds very shi-shi but you medical types will know it’s the official name for an ear infection…you know the one that keeps your kids up all night screaming? Yeah. Well maybe I can do that for you too. At a very reasonable price.

I Got a Move-On

It’s been a while since my last entry. But it’s because I have been very busy moving yet again.

My studio space in Toronto on Charles Street was being turned into condos. Yes, just what Toronto needs: more condos. I actually had fairly cheap space at $17/sq.ft. When I looked around town I realized I was going to get nothing anywhere near that. And, of course, there is the set-up cost. I always figure that would cost at least $10,000- depending on where it is and I’d again be wondering when the building was going to be razed for condos- or when the landlord was going to raise the rent. I am a little sick of being at someone else’s mercy. Besides, I had always had my studio in or near my house and had kept my overhead to a minimum. That is until I moved to Toronto, the land of financial sodomy.

Not that Toronto is a bad place, it’s just that it’s incredibly expensive to live and work there. And if sodomy is your thing, good on you! But I do suspect that the financial kind is nowhere near as fun as the other variety. Not that I would know. Really. But in Toronto no one seems to think twice about raising rents, or condo fees or issuing fabulous new charges, surcharges, levies and, of course, taxes. Everyone just pays them! Oh, maybe they grumble a bit. But ultimately, they pop a Prozac (or a Paxil, Zoloft or Welbutrin) and pay what is asked. Because we are so fucking blessed to live here, I tell you…. (insert anti-depressant-induced beatific smile here……)

On top of it all, the recession has kicked a big hole in business. And it really hasn’t returned to its former state. That which has come back has been more sporadic and closer to the bone. Everyone wants everything cheaper. It’s tough to manage huge increases in costs when business is less than certain and with margins that are barely above cost, if at all. It has become, for many of us, a race to the bottom.

My condo, bless its heart, raised maintenance fees 51% over the 3 years I lived there. They are now so high I don’t think I can sell the place at all. Ever. Who knew you could lose all your money on a fully renovated, beautiful piece of real estate 2 blocks from the St. Lawrence Market! I keep hearing about the “hot” real estate market. You know, the one our politicians keep saying they need to tax more to keep it from overheating?  No, me neither. Five months on the market, lots of traffic and not 1 offer. Not even a skunk offer. Nothing. Of course the standard comment was: “Awesome condo! Too bad the fees are so high…” (Just for those of you who are wondering…they went up to nearly $1,200/month as of August 1, 2011. That is the just the maintenance fees- nearly $1/sq.ft) Even Torontonians, whose rectums are accustomed the repeated collective poundings issued by David Miller, Rob Ford, Dalton McGuinty (and a host of others) find that too much to take.

So I rented it out and it will be, as our politicians like to lie to us, ‘revenue neutral’. But it really will be. Or close anyway.

In May, we loaded up the truck and moved to Beverleeee….(insert banjo music) Actually, we moved to Nova Scotia.  (Insert MORE banjo music….) It is beautiful, cheap (for housing) has a great and vibrant music scene, an active film production scene and some of the nicest people you will ever meet. And it’s only a 2- hour plane ride from the Center of the Universe. Here I will teach a little, play a little, record a little and compose a lot. I am delighted at how approachable production and musical people are here.

It’s been a long time settling, but the new studio is almost ready to be pimped. I am very excited.  In the meantime, I managed to do some voice over work and score a show here in my new house- a few blocks from the harbour- with my gear temporarily stacked up and half-connected in the basement. But all this will move this weekend into the new digs: a fabulous double garage that I have converted. 

 (the last few days of the "basement" collection!)

Stay tuned and I will thrill you with more tales. As Stephen King says, “There are always more tales…”

Almost Famous, Part deux

Sorry to leave you hanging after the last episode. I am sure you were just dying to know what else went on....OK, maybe not so much. But I am back now.

Shortly after the Scottish part of the journey I headed to London. In 1983, the UK was not in a particularly good economic state. Come to think of it, I am trying to remember a time when it wasn't in a bad way...

Upon arriving in London, I went immediately to Abbey Road. This was not the first time I had been there.

I made an attempt a couple of years earlier- 1981, during my graduation trip to Europe. That attempt  was foiled  by a security guard who was wearing a uniform that said "EMI Security" across the lapel. Very impressive. I asked to see the studio, being a young engineer from Canada and all that.

"Nooo. Sorrry. All we get 'ere is people cryin' for 'Beeet-les, blouuudy Beet-les.'  Cawn't let you in. Not without an appointment. Sorry. Good offternoon." I tried my various charm methods.  And, damnit, I  was well-versed in charm; I had just crossed the English channel in the company of a delightful Swedish lady named Ingela. Or Angela. At that point names we not terribly important. I think that's whather name was. Ingela. Very blonde. And Swedish. I just lost my train of thought.

I'm back. Yes you'd think that after being up all night, traveling from France and honing my bullshit skills I'd be at the top of my game. But no. I met my match in a craggy Cockney fellow from EMI Security. It was clear that any more attempts at chatting him him would result in a physical removal: Mine.

Fast forward two years. I walk into Abbey Road as many famous people do. As if I belonged. The smell of the place (mostly old wood), the vibe... thinking John, Paul, George and Ringo had walked these steps many times and.

"Excuse me!...Excuse me! Do you have business here?"

I was so busted.

Undeterred, the next day I went to RAK to see Big Country again. I may have been a a tad skittish given my near brush with Death at Abbey Road just as I was nearing a state of bliss. With crossed fingers I told the girl at reception I was here to see Big Country. No problem. So in I went. It was like old home week. Each of them referred to me in turn as "The c**t from Canada". I was introduced to Steve Lillywhite- whose work I had admired not only with Big Country, but also with Peter Gabriel and Joan Armatrading...A very talented fellow. I was expecting some distinguished gentleman in his 40's, but he turned out to not be much older than I was (he was in fact 4 years older than I, and likely still is).

After much camaraderie and hanging out I announced that I was looking for work in London and where did he think I should go. I was expecting hilarity all around- but no. Lillywhite gave me his number and told me to call him because there maybe something available at the Townhouse. Excellent!

By now I was thinking I was on the road to becoming well-connected.The next day I called as instructed. I was living in a rather gloomy hotel in Earl's Court (yes, those of you who know London are thinking "Ewwwwww"...but it probably was not as bad back then) that had a phone box. The hotel had, unfortunately been missed by the Nazis during the Blitz. Pity. But there was a rather cute girl from Newcastle working there. I toyed with the idea of asking her out, but her accent was so thick I woudn't been sure if she'd said yes or not. It would have been quite the date:

"What would like for dinner?"
 "Foodgy poodgy meself a-poodly piddly"
" Ummm...I'll have what she's having"

I digressed again. Dammit. I hate when I do that.

So I set out to make the big call- to Steve Lillywhite, NOT the hotel girl from Newcastle. We're done with that. British phone boxes of the era required you to push coins in when you heard 'the pips' (no relation to Gladys Knight, sadly). While the pips were pipping the phone call was interrupted until the machine finished counting the money. I only had 10p and 5p coins- which didn't last long. You got maybe 15 seconds of talk time before the thing started pipping and wanted more.

So my job inquiry/interview with Steve Lillywhite went like this:

"Hi Steve it's Dave Findlay. How are you?
"Hi Dave I'm very well, thank you...I.."  PIP PIP PIP PIP PIP PIP...ka-chunk...
silence
"Hello?"
"Yes, Steve I'm calling from a phone box in my hotel. Sorry..."
"No worries, You can call the" PIP PIP PIP PIP PIP PIP PIP...ka-chunk...
silence
"Hello?"
"Hello?"
"Yes, sorry....should I go to the Townhouse?"
"Yes, do that and make sure you ask for.." PIP PIP PIP PIP PIP PIP PIP...ka-chunk..

I didn't get the job.

I did get some larger coins though. And armed with about 20 quid in coins I called AIR Studios. I told them I was an engineer from Canada (I may have slipped in the Big Country thing and perhaps suggested Steve Lillywhite was a close personal friend of mine. I might have.) and wanted to see the studios. I was told to come in the next morning at 10. Bonus!

At the time they were in Oxford Circus, right above the tube station where about 50 lines of the London Underground intersected.

I was invited in as scheduled and treated very well, I must say. I was told to wait in the reception area- which I did gladly. I noticed that on that particular day, on the "board" they had:  in Studio 1, Madness; Studio 2 ("MPL COMMUNICATIONS" which I knew was McCartney Productions Limited); Studio 3, Dire Straits; Studio 4, The Pretenders. Not a bad lineup. I was told I'd see everything except Studio 2 ("McCartney's in there and he's funny about these things...")

As I waited, desperately pretending to look nonchalant, I heard a deep voice with an upper-class English accent. I looked up and saw a tall man with long gray-white hair chatting with the studio manager. It was George Martin. Himself. In the flesh. Had this been a Six Feet Under episode you'd have seen me run up to him and say "Please let me work for you I'll clean ashtrays I'll do your copying I'll extract parts for you I'll tune your piano I'll wash your car just let me work here for you please please PLEEEASE".

But I didn't. He looked at me. I looked at him. We both smiled politely and I managed to say, "Good morning".  To which he replied, "Yes, good morning!" That was that.

Well not quite. While I was there there was a stream of very young men looking rather awkward coming and going. I asked the studio manager and was told that they were looking to hire an assistant. feeling this was my chance to make my 'elevator speech', I did. And very well too, I might add.

However I was told that I was over-qualified, and a little old- I was 24. Still too young for prostate trouble. But they were looking for kids to live at home and be bottom dwellers to work their way up. Which I was willing to do. Ask the girl from Newcastle. or Ingela...er Angela.  Oh god was I willing! The pay was 25 Pounds a week (even in those days that was nothing) but I was going to call my dad and say "Daaaaaad! I need some supporting!!!!". However, the kicker was that, even though I had a work visa for the UK,,"we have 15% unemployment in this country...and we probably shouldn't hire a Canadian But DO let us know how you make out."

She could ask Ingela. Or Angela. Whatever her name is. She's probably back in Sweden feeding her yak, remembering me fondly.