Southeast, image this scene:
Morning, summer, James is sitting at his desk next to the open french windows with his overstuffed diary open at today's page. His phone rings.
India-Jane (James's agent)
"Darling, how are you. (It's not a question). Only twenty scripts came in this morning, but there's one I think really super and made for you. "
James:
"Oh, yes?' (He shrugs and shifts his weight from side to side in his customary fashion)
India-Jane:
"Totes, Darling. Prime time Sunday night, Nicola Walker vehicle, you play a depressed, murdering paedophile! It has your name all over it!'
James:
"Er, well, ok, I'll have a look at it. What else is there?"
I-J:
"Oh, just some silly new Netflix eight-parter they want you to front and an Apple Mac ad."
James shrugs again and tips head:
"Ok, love, pop it over and I'll have a, you know, look at it".
Not. 