Monday, 30 April 2007

How to shoot yourself in the foot

Apparently - his wife informed me this afternoon - Craig is no longer taking my calls. Now if you knew Craig like I did you'd know that this was entirely in character and another example of his childish tantrums. I thought I'd extend the olive branch and hoped to pick his brains about Fifi (they shared a flat together in the 80s) but it seems the door of our relationship has been finally closed for good. I doubt very much I'm going to be the one who's crawling through the corridors of the corporation on my hands and knees fucking begging for work so I hope he knows what he's doing.

Let me explain: when we first met in the mid-90s, Craig was a talented programme maker specialising in human interest sob docs, but thanks to the ebb and flow of television trends his unique brand of leftie journalism no longer had the same air of invincibility. A few years ago I gave one of his ideas to a younger, edgier director I knew would do a better job and he's never forgiven me for my betrayal (whatever that means). I did it for the best interests of the film, which, incidentally, did go on to win a BAFTA, RTS and Prix Italia.

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