The thing that's making me nervous at the moment is the idea that an actor, perhaps Colin Farrell, is wandering around our apartment, endorsing a major multinational company. Perhaps he's sitting on our toilet, while a tow-headed boy asks him why his skin is so soft. Or his headache is miraculously clearing up. Or maybe he's demonstrating how he can run, jump, and play tennis - no matter what time of the month it is, and no matter how much blue tinted water he pours over napkins.
It's taking them all day to do two shots - maybe seven seconds of screen time. In this, our apartment will be virtually unrecognisable. It'll be our furniture - but re-covered. Our table, sitting on a rug that we don't own. Our wall, with a painting we don't own hanging on it, our bathroom with a shower curtain that we neither have nor need. And when I return home, everything is supposed to be sorted out and fine. We'll see. Oh yes, we'll see.