The wind's howling outside – sounds like it's going to blow the front door down. We went to the sea today, to a cove with cliffs on one side, high dunes on the other, and a church with its tower sunk partly into the hillside. The wind was blowing waves high up the beach, snarling white breakers topped by bubbly froth from pollution. A man was throwing his walking stick into the sea for his dog to fetch. Each time he threw I held my breath in case it went too far for the dog to recover. It was a keen dog – it would have followed that stick to its doom, but doom was always a few feet further than it needed to go.
I'm trying to plan the last few pages of the screenplay and they're not coming. Underlying structural problems that I've been trying to ignore are strangling it. I hope I don't need to do a complete rewrite. I'm desperate to get just this first draft done.
Edit: More connectivity problems last night. Off to visit Fowey today.