Working off that unsightly vat

And the transition to responsible grown-up continues. Today we opened a company bank account.

Not that we need one just yet, but now we can register for VAT. Which means that we can claim back 20% from every ounce of film-related spend. And all with the minimum of aggravation thanks to one of those lovely on-line forms.

That said, we may have really prised open the can of worms now. We need to do our books quarterly and send the returns in on time or we will suffer what the literature describes only as a 'hefty' fine. And a little book-cooking could result in a holiday at her Majesty’s pleasure. Let it be known that I have already nominated Jake for the position of 'company accountant', m’Lud.

But, if we’re being completely honest, are there any screenwriters out there that haven’t quietly contemplated a minor felony as a way of getting six months set aside to write a first draft?

Oh – that’s just me then?

In other news, the bloody production breakdown still lumbers on, no matter how much lead we pump into its torso. It just gets so damn fiddly towards the end, as we’re forced to track every prop through the story, or deal with machetes re-appearing in the wrong rooms and revolvers with seven-shot chambers. Having to physically leave the flat to gaze over vistas of natural beauty after every other scene to guard against Excel-mediated insanity isn’t helping either. We are at scene 66 out of 76. A solid day tomorrow should see us out the other side, with or without our marbles.

And in a slightly unexpected development, my former employers are allowing the condemned parties to walk away with our company laptops at the final whistle. Although they are planning on digitally scrubbing the buggers first, all the way back to the naked silicon (so clean that I’ll have to buy another copy of XP just to get a tune out of it). Still, it’s £400 that I won’t need to spend on a new beast, and I’m not complaining.

Or should that read £333 + VAT? Trim.