Yesterday as we ate our Sunday carvery at The Badger Inn, the people around us seemed to be speaking another language. It happened as the group made their way to their tables, it happened in the line at the ladies loo, and as people gathered in the garden. This has happened on occasion as I wander around Cornwall, but not all at once and on the same day, so it was interesting.
Then friend Rosie said that a German lady just told her that they are going to be filming here tomorrow. Whaat? Filming? Who is going to be filming? It took a quick second for me to realize what this must be. It must mean darling Rosamunde Pilcher! After all, we were at The Badger Inn which has known Rosamunde for decades; she was born into what is called Riverview House (you will recognize that through her book, "Going Home") directly across the garden from the little Lelant rail station; her ashes have been buried in St Uny Church of England where she worshiped, and the Tombstone states that she is "A Lelant Girl". Our German friends across the water absolutely love Rosamunde and have filmed just about every Pilcher book in existence multiple times. And they were coming tomorrow!
After a little while, though, this piece of news began to fade because there were too many other things to think about. Today is a Red Letter Day for me/us, because the SconeLady's husband is coming! Terrific and very distracting news. He has flown throughout the night, landed at Heathrow in time to pass inspection, find the Heathrow Express to Paddington Station, found his train, climbed aboard, collapsed into his seat, and is now a mere hour from St Ives. Eeeeek!
Doing my little preparatory errands around the town, I ran into a large crowd of good-looking young people holding microphones and props and film gear, saying things like, "Could all of you please move down the block a bit? Just so we don't accidentally get you in the film, you see."
I thought it might be fun to accidentally get into one of Rosamunde's films, but I moved down the block a bit, all the same.
The director finally said, "Ready? And...ACTION!" wherein a smashingly beautiful young woman began to ride a strange looking black bicycle cart that held all the tools of the Chimney Sweep trade. Most of them were brooms. But why would a film about Rosamunde's books have anything to do with sweeping chimneys? I couldn't get it. I still can't. But...
"CUT!" yelled the director. "Ah, could you please step back down the block, Ma'am?" I looked around to see who he was talking to. But oops - it was me. "Oh! sorry," I said. But he was standing near me so I struck while the iron was hot and asked, "Is this a movie about a Rosamunde Pilcher book?"
His eyes lit up, friendly like, and he said, "Yep. That's who this is all about!" Then he went back to his work.
This was all so satisfactory that I decided to follow the action, and we filmed in three locations We filmed on Fore Street in front of the Post Office, then a little further on in front of what used to be where Judith stayed in the book "Going Home", and then we filmed at Smeaton's Pier, in front of the Italian man's coffee shop.
It was so beautiful outside through all of this that I felt they really had hit this nail square on its head. Tomorrow and tomorrow and tomorrow is meant to be rainy, and that would have been a disaster for lights, cameras, and action.
It was around noon by this time, and I wondered how they would feed all this huge clot of people. As if reading my mind, the director said,"What about lunch?" to his assistant. "It's after 12:00." I would have thought this had been all planned out ages ago. But the AD had it all in hand.
"Don't you worry about it, sir, I've organized lunch. Pizza."
Later on I saw various members of the company sitting around the cafes and eating, but the director did not have a piece of pizza. Oh, no. For him, it was a Cornish Pasty. This director knew how to recognize a good thing when he saw one.
I walked past him, and waved. And then he waved. If I could have, I would have told him all about the Rather Stunning Son, who is about the director's own age and is in film editing, and can also yell, "CUT!" right along with the best of them.
But I didn't tell him it. I walked on by, picking up speed now because of my Red Letter Day. He is now passing Truro. Eeeeeeeeeek!
See you along the way!
the SconeLady
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