f*cking production nightmare

So I have been preparing myself, my assistants and my skaters for a rocking and very conceptual metaphysical artskate experience, by phoning at all hours of the day and preparing the team for the following days' session. However, the weather has thus far conspired to thwart our plans. I never used to care about the weather report, I thought it was the futile fanaticism of middle aged men, the plaything of trainspotters. Even when I was production manager for £20,000 brazilian photo shoots for Umbro, I was not ravaged by anguish at the weather forecast- it inevitably wasnt my call- my cash- it was up to the creative director, the photographer, the bank manager to get upset about running over budget because of extra days spent in the hotel, in brazil, wherever, because of the weather. But now its my baby, my project- my budget (admittedly miniscule) and my time (all too precious these days) that is at stake, and I spent all of today completely fucking wound up because at 5am I made the call to everyone to abandon the shoot again today, whilst on the balcony admiring the heavy cloudy squall in my underpants, whilst the rest of the family slept lightly... only to find less than an hour later that sun was blazing, burning throught the clouds, to reveal what turned out to be the hottest, brightest day of the year so far. It shouldnt matter- Ive got time, it'll happen eventually, Thomas hasnt event secured his new gallery space definitely, I can knock the stuff out fairly rapidly (such is the nature of watercolour).... ut it still infuriates to see sun blzing today while I idly iron the washing, while yesterday- whilst all fired up for the session- drizzle beat at the windows.

I remain philosophical. I have another job on the go to keep me occupied, who's commissioner would be glad that I didnt make the call to shoot today for he needs posters for his new contemporary californian menu, at syzygy restaurant, like yesterday. As such I could spend today establishing the fact that the concept in my head of hand painting space invaders in gouache would not actually work as my imagination had predicted it might. Thus much of today was spent researching what exactly my mind had expected to happen when intergalactic met william blake, and how exactly that was supposed to fulfill the brief of an edgy experimental menu.

I am confident now that ive cracked it, and experiments with photocopiers, scanners and 80's pink and electric blue should resolve my anachronistic references...

2 for 1 breakfasts and donut spectacular here we come!