I can barely talk when I wake up.  I’ve been sleeping on a pull out mattress all week – is my proximity to the floor and dust causing this..?  Oh my God, we have a meeting.  A guy called Mr Jimmy who runs a film studio in Morocco – I know I’m breaking up the story here, but how awesome a name is Mr Jimmy?! (It’s so awesome that Crad renamed a character in ‘Money’ Mr Jimmy when we came home)  We get down to the Palais and meet Mr Jimmy – he’s a real low temperature Moroccan dude, calm as a korma – Crad and myself really warm to him.  His studio and facilities look fantastic and he takes  care explaining how things could work while shooting out there with him. The Tunnel’s getting more options opened daily.

We take a walk back across to where the stalls are.  It’s 12pm and Cannes film market is officially over, the bustling market place has turned into a ghost town.  Only shells of stalls remain – who’s going to clear up all this junk?  How did the Americans get this junk over here in the first place? It must have cost a fortune…  Jesus, this has all cost a fortune… It’s cost us a fortune… But, it has been worth it.  We’ve got a two inch thick stack of business cards from people who we simply would never have met.  If just one of them bears fruit it’s paid for the trip 200 fold, if two or more bear fruit… well you get the picture.  Cannes is an amazing place and is worth every penny. Time to go check if the ash clouds got us again and we can actually get home tomorrow. Here’s to travelling by Eurostar next year.

I wake up feeling worse than the day before; this place is taking its toll. My throat feels like it’s had an air conditioning unit installed.  Crad and I pop over to the market and the lady I bought my fruit from yesterday immediately hands me a giant peach and banana, I start to feel better until I think ‘is 2 Euros too much for 2 pieces of fruit?’  My relationship with money is distorting.

This is almost the last day so the mission is to literally cover every nook and cranny we’ve not already explored.  We make a list of the top companies we’ve not yet had contact with and begin hunting them down.  Within two hours we’ve actually covered them, leaving only ‘Wildbunch’ who’ve legged it home and a new company, who seem to have spent a lot on advertising, the Paris based Sales agent ‘Elle Driver’ (Can you remember where you’ve heard that name before?  Answer at the end of Thursday – don’t look.).  We have however covered pretty much everyone else and are feeling pretty smug.

We head back to the ‘Marche du Film’ and do some final rounds on the stalls and pop into a few of the middle-eastern film commissions who we’ve set up meetings with.  We also manage to meet the head of the Israeli film commission (another lead from the Welsh Film Agency) who we’re hoping will connect with ‘The Tunnel’ when the new draft is written.  He’s very helpful and points us in the direction of some Israeli producers who could help facilitate the project.  I’ve always believed that ‘The Tunnel’ is a thrilling and moving story – it takes that belief to stick with a project for four years, but over the last few weeks I’ve really begun to understand how it can come together.  I’m a naturally can-do person and I think that blind faith and naivety lured me, Crad and Helen into the project.  However, as the years have rolled on, we all realised that ‘The Tunnel’ was going to be a challenge to orchestrate. Recently though, fuelled with practical knowledge and the right contacts I’m becoming very confident that we can get this project green lit.  The latest draft was so moving it almost made me cry.  It’s a testament to Helen’s indomitable spirit that she’s stayed driven for so long.  She instils that fire in me and Crad and we get out there and sell it.  Cannes has been a great place to do that.

It’s 6pm.  After a tiring day we both realise that we’ve not even participated in one of Cannes must- do’s – strolling into parties uninvited.  We spot a hundred or so French people drinking and making merry and confidently stroll into the melee unchallenged – bosh.  We’re both still feeling a little self conscious…  No one would be rude enough to ask who invited us surely..?   Thinking about it, whose party is this anyway..? Glass three of the free champagne washes past and all unease disappears – the evening begins to take on a lovely sparkle.  Trays of appetizers float past and are descended on by tens of French people jostling like Gannets.  Crad and me watch them for a while; how uncultured, literally scaring the waitresses half to death – wealthy people literally muscling past one another, hands whipping past the waitresses frightened eyes. Disgusting… Come to think of it though… I am a bit hungry… and food’s so expensive here… The next tray comes out and we barge in to the fray.  “When in France!”

NB. Elle Driver is Daryl Hannah’s character in Kill Bill.

I wake up feeling awful.  I’m not rich enough to afford a hangover so I must be coming down with something – throat feels so dry.  We totter along to the croisette in the beautiful sunlight and I grab a pan au chocolat and the first fresh fruit I’ve had in 4 days. I start to feel better and we head in to ‘Le Marche du Film’ to do some business.

The thing about Cannes, I’m always amazed at the sheer diversity of companies here, people you’d have to butter your way through dozens of assistants to get to, and they’re just there right in front of you. Walking through the endless stalls of potential financiers is like meandering through a zoo full of endangered species while holding the keys to each cage.  We occasionally stop and feed one with bits of publicity material before moving on to the next.

The main formal meeting today is with The Royal Jordanian Film commission.  We’ve got a feisty political thriller set in Palestine by Helen Griffin, the writer of our feature ‘Little White Lies’.  The script’s been in development for 4 years and we’re finally nearing the end of the process – we’ve been looking into the practicalities of shooting it and ran into the co producer of ‘The Hurt locker’ on the way.  He guided us towards George, the head of the Jordanian Film Commission, and was kind enough to give us a personal introduction.  George is really friendly, the commission is very well established and Crad and I walk out of the meeting feeling very good about its potential.

Later on we bump into the heads of the Welsh Film Agency in ‘The Majestic’. We all wince slightly as the waiter delivers a bottle of water that costs 18 Euros…  After a good chat and catch up on things Pauline introduces us to a financier who’s literally just leaving – he likes our pitch.  We would have never found him without her and are massively grateful. Only in Cannes.

Later that evening there’s a party for EAVE participants, a producers course which I attended last year.  We manage to get in and have a glass of wine on the beach.  We’d kind of done ‘The Grand Hotel’ last night so head of to ‘The Martinez’. ‘The Martinez’ is a whole different level of affluence.  These are the people who can afford to stay on the Riviera and continue paying 20 quid a beer when the film bunch are long gone.  It’s a mix of supermodels and freaks; all exquisitely attired with whatever the most expensive thing in the shops was last week.  One guy particularly grabs my attention – he’s about 28, wearing a navy velour blazer emblazoned with a gold crest, white t-shirt, Mr T Gold Chain, Jeans, no socks (obviously – this is Cannes), fat ankles and shiny black patent shoes.  If you can imagine all that on one human being for a second and then stick a robust beard and the most frightening eyes you’ve ever seen on its face you’ll understand why I almost walked over and took a photo.  It was only the intermittent thought of his bodyguards keel-hauling me under his yacht that broke the moment.

Arrive in Cannes at 2pm and it’s a little hot for the North Face jacket I’m wearing – Jesus it’s hot.  Crad and I find our apartment, get freshened up and head in to the madness to our first meeting.

The area around the Palais is a heaving mass of heat and humans.  We get our passes which, if anyone’s heading out there, is as simple as showing a business card, having a website and handing over 350 Euros.  It’s a lot of cash, but the pass gives you unlimited access to the film market and all screenings.  In the first 4 hours of being there we meet around 25 companies and assess our next day’s itinerary.

Before coming we got some publicity materials made up of our films which are basically what you can see on the website – artwork, logline, team. These are going down really well with everyone we give them to – film’s a visual medium and it’s good to think that way.

Mark Lo, the Rose swilling man from earlier, calls us over to his company’s yacht for a brief meet up.  Timing’s bad for us both and we barely mange a man hug and congratulations on his recent marriage before having to shoot off to meet Dr Gonzo.

Our Lawyer (Let’s call him Dr Gonzo for fun) has invited us to a film finance party – things are looking up.  Party’s good, free drink, good people.  I find a friend of the artist Banksy who I’ve met before that’s making a 4M feature and here closing finance. Dr Gonzo introduces us to a couple of film Bonds people who’re nice and end up talking to us all for a good while.

We leave and quickly grab a MacDonald’s before heading to the Scottish Screen Party – if only I could remember the Execs name who could let us in…  After a little song and dance and some confident posturing we make it in to the expansive party on the beach.  We bump into Angus Finney, an author of one of my favourite books ‘The Egos have Landed’ then spot an exec who’s been developing our hiphop movie Cyrano at the UKFC with us.  Andy Serkis keeps floating past… Me and Crad raise eyebrows, he’s bigger than we thought – isn’t CGI amazing?

Dr Gonzo signals it’s time to leave and takes us to ‘The Grand’ hotel, where a pint of beer costs 17 Euro.  This place literally sucks money from you quicker than Vegas…  Guess who’s here.  Prepare to be impressed… Michael Barrymore!  I text my girlfriend as she makes me promise to say ‘Awight!!!’  I deliberate for some time…I really want to, just so I can tell the story one day, but just can’t do it.  Another friend texts back something a little darker -  Must remember I’m here to make friends not cause scenes… Must remember I’m here to make friends not cause scenes… Must remember…….We briefly hook up with Luke Evans, the star of our movie ‘Money’, who looking super-slick coming from the premier of Stephen Frears’ new movie ‘Tamara Drewe’ which he’s got a major role in. Later that night, and as drunk as a non millionaire can afford to be (which is basically sober), I try snails for the first time – I love them.  Crad, Dr Gonzo and me have a heated debate in a very quiet restaurant and have to sadly bid Dr Gonzo farewell.  He’s been here for days and he’s needed back in the office.  Our carer is gone… we’re on our own.

Up at 3:50am and feeling a little worse for wear after spending 72 hours in Krakow on a Stag do. The saving grace of the entire experience was the ash cloud letting me come home and get 6 hours rest before Cannes.

What is given with one hand is taken away with another… As the airport taxi waits impatiently outside my house Crad calls to let me know the ash cloud’s shafted us. I pay the taxi driver £5 to leave without a fight and after 2 hours of false hope and distress head back up to bed. 11:00am – I’m up again and searching for signs that the eruptions have stopped.

It’s 1pm. As I sit at my desk I’m missing a lunch meeting on a yacht with a good industry friend Marc Lo. He calls to say that his chilled Rose compliments the view from his yacht very well. By missing Monday we’re missing three meetings and tomorrow morning there’s a big one… I’m considering not going to Cannes and Crad’s feeling the same way – so much expense – The Air-Edel party’s tonight on a yacht and we’ve got invites – horrible! I’m off to get some duck soup and have a think.

One bowl of duck soup later I feel awesome – Crad and I agree Cannes is definitely on – just got to try and find a way to get there. Every film maker in the UK is in the same position and all trains, alternate route flights and even senior citizen mini breaks are booked. We do get two offers on Facebook of people willing to drive us, but it works out at around £800.00 one way. 2 hours later we find a flight – We’re on our way.