I was in Heaton Park yesterday, filming my documentary piece "Where Everybody Knows Your Name". Naturally it rained, and me and the camera man, Daniel Frost, ended up taking shelter until it subsided. Only... it didn't. The rain drops kept on a pouring, and we were reduced to filming under the sheltered roof (not what we wanted, but if we hadn't had filmed then and there it wouldn't have been completed).
Hopefully it went well. It was just me, talking to camera, about past experiences I've had with my Dad, specifically his alcoholism. Trust me, it's harder than it looks. There's something un-nerving about looking into that thing, and baring your soul. Fingers crossed it'll edit together well, and that most of what we shot is 'usable'.
Continuity wise, it'll be a bugger, as numerous members of the public went in and out of shot behind me. As we shot near a stream, and as it was Sunday morning, the locals were out, feeding the ducks - throwing them bread and seeds and god knows what. And I'm stood there watching them, thinking one thing: "WHY?!"
I don't get it. Ducks can, and do, find their own food. They don't need humans to feed them in order to survive. As for the people who *do* feed them, it's hardly charity, is it? It doesn't rank up there with saving the starving in Africa, or bringing about world peace. They're just ducks, plain and simple. Here's my advice if you're thinking of feeding them: Don't. Go out, get a life, and come back and see me then!
Right, where was I? Ah, editing - my favourite!