e (57 page)
Authors: Matt Beaumont
THIS IS A TEST MESSAGE. PLEASE DELETE. E-MAIL WILL NOW CLOSE DOWN AGAIN.
 | IT Help Desk – 1/12/00, 6:48am |
| to: | All Departments |
| cc: | |
| re: | e-mail |
E-mail is working again. Thank you for bearing with us.
Peter Renquist
Acting Head of IT
| [email protected] 1/12/00, 7:11am (11:11am local) |
| to: | [email protected] |
| cc: | |
| re: | DATELINE MAURITIUS, DAY 3 |
Greetings from the war zone. This is our first shooting day and it’s looking grim. For a start I’m sitting in my room staring at the worst rain I’ve ever seen. It wasn’t like this in the brochure. I’ll bring you up to date from yesterday.
Casting – they don’t do tits in Mauritius. Didn’t find anyone.
Leaves us with only four birds so Vin and me were up half the night on a rewrite.
Mel, Nathan and Vin disappeared again to look for the perfect powdery sand. Didn’t find diddly so we decided to shoot the whole lot on the beach in front of the hotel. It looks pretty fucking soft and white to me so don’t know why we didn’t do that in the first place. Nathan keeps muttering “should have gone to Zanzibar, should have gone to Zanzibar.” The hotel management weren’t chuffed about a sweaty film crew driving their wrinkly punters from the sunbeds, but Mel’s very persuasive when needs be.
Horne’s had a crucial role in all these key decisions. He’s been using his mighty powers of ESP to transmit his thoughts to us from his £1,800-a-night suite and make sure us useless tossers don’t screw up. That’s right, he still hasn’t left his room. Suits me and Vin fine so we’re keeping quiet. Desperate Dan’s bothered, though. He’s having a ’mare with the client and wants his chum Simon to help him out.
Fat Frank Sinton the client – you’ll like this. This guy looks like Jabba the Hutt’s bastard son but he must look in the mirror and see Ben Affleck because I’ve lost count of the amount of waitresses he’s hit on. Anyway, first thing this morning who should be on the beach but Ivana Trump – yes, the perfumier, skier, author, UN Ambassador for Glamour and the original Spice Girl. She’s here taking a well-earned rest from shopping or something. Why didn’t we ever spot how much Mel looks like her? Separated at birth or what? Bloody uncanny that of all the beaches in all the world they have to be on the same one at the same time. To make it even spookier they’re both wearing purple sarongs and black bikinis. Ivana’s flat out on a sunbed and Fat Frank obviously thinks she’s Mel basking in the rays. He bounces up to her and because he’s a fat lech, whacks a freezing can of Pepsi slap in the middle of her cleavage – and, I must say, a rather fine cleavage it is too. She jumps up and hollers for hotel security. Desperate Dan, who’d spent the morning drooling from afar at Ivana (had a crush on her since he discovered Martina Navratilova was a dyke) wades in and takes her side – can’t help himself. Fat Frank stalks off to his room threatening to fire the agency while Ivana is thanking Dan for his chivalry. Torn? Ripped in bloody two, poor guy. He doesn’t know whether to follow the client and save the business or follow his dick into the arms of the Trump-tress. It provided fine entertainment while we waited for Nathan to fanny around with his camera.
In the end we got one shot set up before the rain. Looks like it might be stopping now so I’d better get back out there. We’re shooting two birds duelling on jet skis. Speed, scary stunts, gorgeous birds with great big tits – it’s art, mate. Did you sort things out with Lol? Normally I wouldn’t worry for you, but don’t balls this one up. She is sex on legs – and the legs are pretty good too.
| Peter Renquist – 1/12/00, 7:34am |
| to: | Rachel Stevenson |
| cc: | |
| re: | e-mail |
We have finally got to the bottom of it. The consultants were in all day and stayed through the night dismantling the server and reinstalling the software. They couldn’t find any faults. Then we thought that because David Crutton was the only one with a problem we should check Notes on his PC. This we did at 5:00 this morning. When we looked at his set up it appeared that he has been misusing his address book. It’s complicated, but when he sends he sometimes presses the wrong command key combination and automatically copies Finland. Yesterday he must have got it really wrong and copied all MS employees. We did some tests that tried to replicate his error and our theory proved correct.
He really needs to have a lesson or two in the basic skills. The question is, do you want to tell him or should I? Call me when you get in.
| [email protected] 1/12/00, 7:51am |
| to: | [email protected] |
| cc: | |
| re: | what the fuck is going on? |
I was woken at 5:30 this morning by an hysterical Frank Sinton. He managed to blub that not only is the shoot proceeding like
Apocalypse Now
on a bad day, not only has he seen nothing of the creative director we sent out there to ensure a great film, not only is the director treating him like something on the sole of his Prada flip-flops,
but on top of all that he claims you publicly accused him of sexually assaulting Ivana bloody Trump.
This is just too surreal.
Would you care to explain or shall we just say nothing and watch another piece of business slip out the door?
| David Crutton – 1/12/00, 8:06am |
| to: | Zoë Clarke |
| cc: | |
| re: | have you seen the time? |
Where are you? I’m going to a meeting now. By the time I return you will have written out 100 times in your best cursive hand: “The next time I arrive later than eight o’clock, Mr. Crutton will have my arse for a throw cushion.”
| Rachel Stevenson – 1/12/00, 8:46am |
| to: | David Crutton |
| cc: | |
| re: | e-mail |
David, IT finally got to the root of the problem. I think it is best if Peter Renquist and I come to talk it through with you. Please do not use e-mail until we’ve spoken. I’ve booked 9:30 with Zoë. We’ll see you then.
| [email protected] 1/12/00, 9:03am |
| to: | [email protected] |
| cc: | |
| re: | Pinki Fallon |
