Harmony Week: the Aftermath

Officially, it's over. But for some of us, it's still ongoing.

"Hey, I saw you on TV the other day!"

"Thanks. Could I have a wholemeal loaf, please?"

Pre-production was a challenge. Why did the doctor absolutely have to be an African Muslim? Don't know, although we found one in the end. Well, she was Muslim, she was from South Africa, she was happy to play doctor for the cameras, and she had a great collection of headscarves.

All in all, we were a great cast, and we all had enormous fun, particularly in Northbridge, since we could dress up for that and just giggle ourselves stupid. Apparently, the director wanted Sex In The City. We felt more like Golden Girls. By half-past eleven, we all just wanted to go home to our families and sleep. The crew scoffed down the olives and the minestrone.

Funnily, on paper, our multi-ethnic cast appeared homogenously European. We should have made a game of it - match the name to the face: Bergmann, Boltman, Drysdale, and me. Who was which?

"Hey, your ad was on at 4am, man."

"good."

Post-production was an utter nightmare. Sometimes it seemed like we would never finish the damned thing to the satisfaction of the assorted sub-committees involved. Other days, it felt like every technical thing that could glitch did.

"Whoever heard of a woman construction worker?"

"She's supposed to be an engineer, or a safety officer. Something. There's a fire behind her, for goodness' sake."

"Oh, right."

Did the ad achieve whatever it was meant to? No idea. Harmony Week was duly advertised. Some of us got television experience and credit, and some of us got freebies, and some of us learned never ever to do this again.

And I still haven't been reimbursed my cab fare home from Northbridge, damnit.