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I also gather that we are booked to fly Club. That may well be fine for the oily rags of the film crew. But First is essential for client, director and senior agency personnel. After all, Mauritius is eleven hours away.

I understand we are to convene at Heathrow at 9:00am. Can you have a car pick me up at 6:30am, no later. I would not want to hold everything up now, would I?!

If you are in the neighbourhood of the Groucho
ce soir
, do join me and we will have a little pre-shoot
těte à těte.

Si

	debbie_wright@littlewoods/manchester.co.uk 1/6/00, 5:22pm
to:	[email protected]
cc:
re:	pack your bags

I can’t fucking believe you. If you think you’re gonna get me in another dodgy situation like we had with the Sedgewick twins at Sandra’s 18th, you can fuck right off. Tell Liam that we may be best
mates but we don’t share
everything.
And tell him to bring a mate – flat stomach/fat wallet. A return to London will clean me out – you’re buying the drinks. Gotta go. If I’m supposed to be larging it with you this weekend I need to do my bikini line. See you tomorrow . . . Debs

	Susi Judge-Davis – 1/6/00, 5:28pm
to:	Simon Horne
cc:
re:	job done

Cab’s arrived, sweetie. Coke scripts will be on your desk first thing. Want me to call Celine and tell her you’re “working late”? Sx

	Pinki Fallon – 1/6/00, 5:49pm
to:	Susi Judge-Davis
cc:
re:	food

We’re on a late one with Mako, so can you order some pizzas for about 8:00 before you disappear? Six large Meat Feasts with extra ham and pepperoni for Liam and the studio boys. Anything without meat and cheese for me. Ta mucho . . . 

	Susi Judge-Davis – 1/6/00, 5:55pm
to:	Pinki Fallon
cc:
re:	food

I work for Simon and Simon alone. I will not order your pizzas. That would be Zoë’s job, though she departed long ago.

	Rachel Stevenson – 1/6/00, 6:00pm
to:	David Crutton
cc:
re:	Chandra

A severance letter has been drafted for Chandra and is with Lorraine for your signature. The deed will be done tomorrow. As far as e-mail is concerned, from what I can gather the problem is inherent in the software. Chandra has already arranged for a Lotus Notes expert to take a look.

	Melinda Sheridan – 1/6/00, 7:31 pm
to:	Daniel Westbrooke Vince Douglas Brett Topowlski
cc:
re:	PPM

Well, boys (apologies, Daniel,
gentlemen
), wasn’t that the pre-prod’ from Shitsville? Daniel, I sincerely hope you’ll make a better job of shepherding your client once we hit those beaches. Nathan Zapruder did not leave the building a happy director. I suggest that when cameras are rolling we follow the firework code and stand well back.

But if you feel your stress levels bubbling up already, Danny Boy, fret not. Help is at hand. Our creative beacon, Simon Horne, has decided that we cannot possibly cope without him and will be joining our merry band. You will be further gladdened to hear that even before departure, he has had a marked influence. He has demanded we change the hotel booking to le Touessrok. Vincent and Brett, you will have hours of fun soiling sheets that have been rumpled by the regal arse of the Duchess of York.

And, Daniel, you will cherish the expression on your client’s face as you hand him the invoice for (ooh, bit of mental arithmetic: thirty two crew, six cast, half-a-dozen assorted hangers on, plus Simon’s mini-bar bill) an extra £55,000. Roll on next week. I can’t wait. Can you?

	Daniel Westbrooke – 1/6/00, 7:44pm
to:	Melinda Sheridan
cc:
re:	LOVE

This is quite appalling. Does Simon not appreciate the fact that I have risen to Head of Client Services precisely because I am perfectly capable of nursemaiding a jittery client and a boisterous creative team? You can be assured that I will be taking up the matter with him forthwith.

	Brett Topowlski – 1/6/00, 7:49pm
to:	Liam O’Keefe
cc:
re:	pear shaped

Fucking disaster. Mel just told us Horne’s coming on the fucking shoot. He can’t, can he? I mean he’s got the biggest fucking pitch of his life in just over a week. Crutton wouldn’t let him. Would he?

It’s not even as if he likes the script. It only got presented because we’d run out of time and he’d already bombed everything else. This was supposed to be Vin and me on a beach. Alone. With just twelve perfectly spherical examples of the plastic surgeon’s art for company (all right, a film crew would be there, but you know what I mean). Why’s it all going so wrong? And why are you banged up in the studio
working
when we need you to help us drown in a vat of Absolut? Call yourself a mate?