Funny place, Cornwall. A lot of middle class arty-types have moved there, along with city-dwelling second homes buyers, and all these people have seen the value of the properties go through the roof. They are all very nice, even the young people who are out on the streets at midnight move out of your way on the pavement, smile, and say hello.
A lot of these people have time on their hands, and they are skilled at getting grants, sponsorship, arts subsidies and so on - which are all pretty free-flowing in Cornwall as it's an EU priority 1 area and gets masses of EU funding (most of the original locals are poor, can't afford to buy a house and are forced to live out of sight in abandoned tin mines dressed in rags). So what do these arty types do? Make films. Five features in the past year and literally hundreds of shorts. Me and Michael were discussing this with the hotel night porter over drinks in the bar at three in the morning - he was a film studies graduate from the local university. We came to the conclusion that when people had more than they needed in terms of money, sunshine and scenery they turned to the contemporary arts - things like digital video. But, at the same time, they feel guilty about their good fortune, so they make depressing films. So, as we drank some more, we concluded that people need to experience the full range of emotions from happiness to despair - and, if your life is one of perpetual bliss, despair is something that you can make up and inflict on others in a film.
For about four of these sensitive souls Bad Lad was too much and gave them an attack of the vapours. For the rest I think we managed to be a suitably bad influence....