Not the idea.
Not the planning. No, not the extensive planning.
Not the script, nor the designs, nor the budget nor anything to do with the actual proposal itself.

A technicality.

Something that was made “explicitly clear” in the guidelines that none of us were remotely aware of concerning the nationality of one of our production team.

APPLICATION VOID

That’s it. That’s all.

Gutted? No. Kicked in the teeth? A little. Totally fucking heartbroken?

Yeah, that comes close.

Little One told me only a few moments ago. She carried on talking but I couldn’t really hear her. I sort of began to zone out and found I couldn’t seem to say anything. She said something about Strasbourg. I don’t know what that was.

After today’s many unpleasant surprises - the heartstoppingly empty bank balance, the endlessly soulless prostitution of my job, the drudgery of packing up my flat and the increasing emotional paralysis that for some unknown reason has been closing in for the past few weeks, I had maintained this one foolish thought that our idea, that the sheer volume of work we put into it - the late nights, the constant discussion, editing and thought and blood and sweat and tears would actually, maybe, just this once…

Ah, fuck it. What’s the point?