Snakes in the grass
This is what I wrote on the train after 'S' day (Snake Day) in between bouts of sobbing - it seems a bit lame now (the sobbing I mean) but I wasn't happy:
Too self-conscious to film a video diary but I have to get some stuff down while it's still fresh. Don't feel too good - nothing to eat since 7.30am (diet again) and it's now about 5.30pm, which can't be good. Waiting very impatiently for the trolley to turn up (it doesn't arrive until Hereford, a good hour into the journey). I'm going to get at the very least a sandwich and if I really want one, a drink. Maybe.
Today was something. Not sure what - but certainly something. To my mind, taking me to see snakes is just the height of TV bad taste. And I don't feel very good about that at all. I made my feelings perfectly clear. I'm not glad that I did it. I don't feel a sense of achievement, I just feel like they shouldn't have done it.
Oh, and now there's a man sitting in my line of vision and he has a snake tattoo over his face (honestly!) and more piercings than you can imagine. He is just the perfect travelling companion when I feel like this - not. You can't see any skin.
Today made me think a lot of bad things about the whole tv thing. I thought this was going to be fun - and it's not. The snake guy (Rhys Jones) himself was cool and in a weird way I felt a bit sorry for him because I'm sure that I was really rude and horrible. I didn't even like to think about touching him, knowing where his hands have been. He seemed really nice and I am sure he is an expert in his field but you can leave me out of that field thanks.
Iolo was great - very impressed with him. I thought he was going to be a bit of a plonker and at the very least an anorak. But he's quite empathetic and clearly sussed straightaway that I am the kinda gal who is a sucker for a big butch kinda guy. Standing behind Iolo, with the snake not far off, did really remind me of being little and having my dad there, like a big solid wall, between me and the rest of the world.
I'd quite like to still have that wall. One of the things about losing my dad and also now being divorced is I had to realise that the only way I'm going to have that kind of wall is to create it myself. I guess that's part of the reason I'm living in the wilds of North Wales. I don't really engage with the world much anymore.
Anyway, if it hadn't been for Bethan (researcher) and Iolo I would have legged it. I've got something in mind to give Bethan at the end of the filming and although Steve the producer tells me that Iolo doesn't rate reading as an acceptable activity, he actually told me he likes Ian Rankin. I just love the Rebus books and recently, after quite a gap, read what I guess will be the last of the series (as Rebus retires in it). One of the reasons I love books is that you can pass them around so I am going to take it along on Monday and hope he realises, without me having to be too cheesy about it, that it is a thank you for looking after me.
I don't actually know just yet how I am going to make sense of today. It's like another bad thing in the catalogue of bad things that have happened to me over the last few years.
I need some food and I need to get home and maybe tomorrow I can sort out my head.
Idea for a TV series - let's film the building of a new fast road down Wales (Denbigh to Cardiff preferably) that will destroy any wildlife in its path.
Serious idea - 'Civilising Iolo' - take him to the theatre (Shakespeare or something really hideous - Beckett or Ibsen - ooh I know 'Waiting for Godot' - he'd be asleep in five minutes!), shoe shopping, a spa day, cocktails somewhere classy (hmm, like the idea of him in black tie - and I am sure that would go down very well with the ladies of Wales!) Talking of that it seems like everywhere we go people recognise him. Haven't people got anything better to do?
Fed up.
PS. Alternative title for the series: 'It's not in my nature...and now it never will be.' Thanks ´óÏó´«Ã½.
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