Fortunately, I didn't have a speaking part at all. I just had to portray rage at a hundred feet, which apparently I'm quite good at, despite thinking that I have a calm and placid demeanour. I also came across as French enough, which confused me, although it's not the first time that's happened in Singapore. Nor the last: this evening I was mistaken again for a Frenchman, although this time by a Dutch woman. Globalisation has such strange effects.
After my fifteen seconds of fame were recorded, I had very little to do. Such is the way of filmshoots: like war, they're boredom punctuated by terror, or at least by the sight of a very fat man walking towards a camera on a dolly. I spent a couple of hours talking to the other people who were there for the shoot, then remembered I'd had no breakfast and went home.
There was nothing I wanted to eat at home, but luckily I had bought a packet of barbecue flavour tortilla chips. Unluckily, I ate the packet of barbecue flavour tortilla chips, which turned out to be utterly disgusting, and after that I had to go back to bed to recover. This is not the glamourous life of the filmstar that I was expecting.
However, all that time spent doing nothing this morning landed me with an invitation to a housewarming in Pasir Ris, at the other end of the island, which was a nice way to finish the day off: we got to meet the aforementioned Dutch woman, and a dog, and eat pizza. Plus I got into a debate about what cycle components you should make with a titanium rod once it's been removed from your leg, which is a useful thing to make up your mind about.
Tomorrow it's BMX racing time, so now I'm off to bed, as you need plenty of rest before riding a small child's bicycle down a wooden ramp.
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