'Perhaps it's just the Nyquil'
Tuesday 27th October 2009. Vancouver. Day off.
Still feeling woefully out of it and have spent the whole day tucked up. By a slightly odd coincidence I woke up to an email from Bryan Adams, Vancouver's finest son. I worked with him for aeons but haven't heard from him for about a year. He was asking if I could light a swimming pool in London for a fashion shoot at the weekend, so I guess that'd be a 'no'. I let him know I was in his hometown though and sent regards.
Frances is in the room next door (in fact about five of us are in consecutive rooms on the 22nd floor, like cell block number nine) and offered to bring me back some chicken soup when she headed out for a late lunch. By 6pm I had regained consciousness to some extent and thought I might experiment with getting up. Just as I was leaving my room, Frances called and it turns out that a couple of them were still at lunch (!) so I decided to go crazy and join them. They were at quite a smart Italian restaurant that served up exactly the kind of chicken soup which would make a man feel better. We stayed maybe an hour then went to leave. On standing up I spotted that right at the next table was Bruce Allen, Bryan Adams' manager. He's the only person I know in Vancouver, so it was rather odd to run into him, especially after hearing from Bryan this morning. I'm sure this means something terribly profound. Or perhaps it's just the Nyquil. We said our hellos and I headed back to bed.