I have returned from Devon without my laptop telephone connection, my cellphone charger, and a reasonable proportion of my brain. Let us decide to stop this mad life, with deadlines that can only be achieved by working until the early hours night after night, with no possibilities for a private life.
A sane man might say that this is madness. But what, I ask, is the alternative?
Business requires deadlines, which Art refuses to honour. For those who pick up the tab the distance between the two is measured in long, late nights. And pickled brains.
If the art is not to be compromised, then the business structures must change.
The televisual world is adding to these deadlines, with demands for a "Bible" explaining all things Vicar. I shall remove my brain from its vat, and deliver it tomorrow.
"When a musician believes that music is a commodity, music dies in them."
