John Nolan Work Blog

TV drama used to be live. It was filmed by multiple cameras directed on the hoof and transmitted live. The actors had an urgency, mistakes happened, lines were forgotten and adlibbed, cues missed and pauses filled. All TV was  once like this.

Saturday morning was the home of erratic multi-camera madness, long before it became fashionable to show how the show was made, cameras would wander into shot, presenters would address the wrong camera, microphones wouldn’t work. It was live.

There was a moment during Channel4’s reprise of TFI Friday on Channel4 that was incredibly familiar like an old friend coming and sitting in your living room. It was partly Chris Evans with his knowing laddish smirk, it was partly the whole homage to the show’s indomitable format brimming with late 1990’s brouhaha, but for me it was this – it was live once more.

The now overused handheld wandering camera directed by the presenter, turned it’s head this way and that, the audience were too close too noisy and loving being there a little too much, but the star of the piece wasn’t the impressive guest list and A list proxy presenters, the star turn was the turns.

Live music infront of a live audience. The music was electric. This is the kind of TV you simply don’t see or hear any more. It was live. The energy from the stage starred you straight in the eyes and dared you to blink, like a forgotten game in a bygone TV stunt. OK there is a lot that has changed – the whole digital bit means that the lighting and the sound are now turned up to 11, but the live bit, the actual here and now bit that is what made it exciting.

When anything could happen in the next five minutes, it usually does!

No edits. No remixes. No post-production grades. No commissioning editor ironing out the rough edges. There was no room to repair no time to catch your breath. The bands I knew I loved, the bands I didn’t know I went and bought their complete collections during the break.

Live music infront of a live audience which were allowed to shout, scream, dance and forget somehow they were all in the artificial environment of a TV studio. There were two other chat shows on later the same night, each with stellar casts and well formatted familiar presenters doing what they are brilliant at. But tonight all they could do was bow down in awe at the magnificence of what had gone on before. Both had been recorded the night  before, each had been polished and cut to time. Somehow they had lost something in the polish.

Elvis Costello was famously banned from Saturday Night Live after changing his set live on air to a track the network didn’t want him to play. He interrupted his band mid flow to play Radio Radio a song about the sanitisation of radio by playlists. His crime was not the theme of his new track but that he altered the timings of the second perfect Saturday Night Live and threw the network into a tailspin over overage. He did get to finally play SNL again recreating the incident with the Beastie Boy in 2014 for a 25 Year Celebration. https://youtu.be/0E6fvVaVgOQ?list=RD0E6fvVaVgOQ

A homage to a bygone time when TV was raw.

The TFI Friday Reunion wasn’t bound by these tethers of timing and made great play of it, relishing in running over time.

With an audience peaking at the 4 Million mark it will be very hard to ignore the energy of the experience. Maybe, just maybe we are going to get the rough diamonds of Live TV once again in primetime, not just in the newsroom or the kitchen, but post watershed where it matters.

We are constantly being told to look for drama, look for jeopardy.

TFI Friday was a creature of its time, Evans is now clean cut and less shambolic nearing national treasure, but his natural territory is here, swearing and sweating and not quite sure of what comes next. It seems a waste to hide him on BBC1 reading from an autocue at 7pm when he could be making duty lawyers nervous later on.

I was exhausted after watching TFI Friday’s reboot.

In the movie Limitless, Bradley Cooper pops a pill and his brain starts functioning at a higher order  - faster processing, better storage, more accurate indexing, pinpoint recall. Will his brain explode?

Sounds like the agenda of ibc. 

I first trawled around the temporary tech city that takes over the RAI exhibition centre in Amsterdam about 10 years ago, more out of bucket list curiosity. MIP done, Edinburgh done, Docfest done, sportel done, Discop done, ibc done, that sort of thing. I'm yet to do NAB or NATPE but I can guess what they're like.

These are TV industry junkets. Hordes of TV people descend on a destination city, temporarily inflate the price of hotel rooms, generate thousands of pounds of expense receipts meet people they could meet in their own offices and return home.

Each one ‎has a slight nuance or a focus. Sportel is easy to define. It's where sport meets TV. If you're a sports rights holder or governing body or a sports broadcaster or production company, this is you chance to drink rosé in the sun, in Monaco. With the possible exception of Docfest these events tend to be held in glamorous 'nice excuse to visit' locations, like Nice, Monaco, Edinburgh, Budapest.

ibc is in Amsterdam. Why on earth would anyone want to go there! But still the conference remains a big enough draw to convince over 80000 attendees that there’s enough to see and do in an anonymous conference block to drag them away from the playground of canals and coffee shops, for a few hours at least.

2014 ibc was a very different experience for me than the one I ran around 10 years back. I thought I knew what to expect. But I was surprised. Not only has it grown it has also changed. The flavour of the conference used to be a bit techie – it’s about boxes. It was a bit grey, a bit male, a bit sandals with socks. It was an outpost of post-production, outside broadcast, studio, transmission, and widget stuff. 

Now it seems different, more about the business of broadcast, more about the bigger picture. Perhaps it's the digitalisation of stuff that has prompted this and brought the mega tech companies to the fore. Maybe it's the multiplatform always-on world which this tech affords, which has enabled ibc to be less of a nerdie ghetto and more of celebration of the opportunity that kit creates. Itmust have something to do with the move to software solutions rather than black box ones. The move from physical stuff to ideas.

But wow its a big thing. That's where the Bradley Cooper thing comes in. Is my head going to explode?

If you tried to take in the whole of ibc yours might just do so. But then the main themes of this year's conference seem to be there to help you cope. They where all about the bigger picture - 4K (natch), big data, faster bit rates and storage, yadda yadda yadda.

But they were also strategic and forward looking - the conferences ( I was invited to speak at one) were not just about dataflow processes and the benefits of bandwidth aggregation, they were about the business of broadcast and ideas.

They were about how technology is facilitating change and how business models are adapting to keep up with the shifting sands.

There were big keynotes from Global players but not just the tech companies, this seemed a conference about the business of broadcast. BBC, Google, Channel4 UK, AMC - all there, all contemplating change.

There are no children called John anymore. Not a very representative sample but I have three kids and they don’t have any friends called John. It isn’t in the top 100 new names for boys - http://www.mumsnet.com/baby-names/most-popular-baby-names-england-wales

By this reckoning there are more Kaydens than Johns. There were always so many other people called John in my life none of us actually laid claim to the title. Of the three John’s I worked with one was known by his initials, another by an adulteration of his surname, adding a y on the end, whilst to avoid any confusion and remain totally democratic in denying all of us a claim to the name, I was christianed Nozzer.

I have a friend who is also called John who is known as Henry. Go figure a name so popular nobody could use it for fear of anonymity in a sea of Johns.

So does it matter what you call someone or something?

I only ask because I have recently been through the naming angst for a new company. I was given lots of different advise the best of which seemed to be, “Can you get the dot com?” and “Have you tried saying it when you answer a telephone, a 100 times?”

My first thought was calling it NingNangNong. I have passed the first test ningnangnong.com is mine. The second test proved slightly more problematic. When I mentioned it in passing, friends wondered whether it was a joke. Well no it wasn’t a joke it was a real suggestion. It is based on the Spike Milligan Poem, a poem that I love. There was a suggestion that it was possibly racist and might not work in China. I didn’t listen to these opinions.

I’ve been involved in this process twice before with differing levels of success. The first time was when the company I worked for got taken over and the new owners didn’t acquire the brand name. We had about 24 hours to come up with a new name.

We chose our postcode. North One. It is a name we grew into, such that we had to explain to people that we were based in Islington – like the postcode. The company became the name. There was another suggestion but nobody seemed to like it. It doesn’t matter, we wouldn’t have become a different company with the name RockRidge. It is probably a better name, doesn’t sound like a Taxi Company. We didn’t have the URL for North One either, they still don’t. They use some kind of bastard hybrid northonetv.com, this doesn’t seem to matter either.

There’s also the tricky thing of numbers – One or 1? Very important when you’ve got emails to think about.  Our parent company has a number in their name too, North One is always the word not the numeral. All3Media is never the word. In fact in a recent rebrand makeover, the media has been dropped and it is referred to as just all3, the number somehow more important to the brand.

The North One logo was a fantastically undemocratic affair – the popular myth was that it came free with the printing. Again it didn’t seem to matter. The logo was bold and recognisable.

Broadcast Magazine did comment that it was reminiscent of the Granada logo with an upwards pointing arrow – “From the North”. That might be reading too much into it. It certainly wasn’t influenced by our new ex-Granada owners.

Does any of this matter? You could post rationalise the North One logo, it is a cross between a motorway sign and a TV screen, but it was never meant to be either.

It was blue, which I liked.

The next time I had to think about this was when I launched a division for North One as a sub-brand. There were two options on the table N.ONE (pronounced EN DOT ONE) and 9HF – the remainder of the postcode. In a democratic vote N.ONE won. There was a good back story to the name, we had responsibility for the digital bit of North One’s business so we had a narrative about it all being about the DOT. I personally like leaving it out when I was asked to sign in when visiting another company. Name John Nolan, Company NONE. Still makes me laugh.

Oh and the N1 was the code name for the Soviet Moon Rocket to rival the SaturnV. I like Space stuff.

We didn’t have a URL problem either as we were really under the umbrella of the main North One brand.

We needed a logo. This is where the fun started. I chaired a company wide meeting to discuss two things, the first being a restructure where some staff were going to have to leave, this was fine and seem to be accepted, the second was me presenting some initial work on a new N.ONE logo and identity. All hell broke loose in the room. The design we settled on was a compromise to placate me I’m sure.

It was blue though, which I liked.

We got a lot wrong with N.ONE, but we got a lot right. The name worked and people used it. It worked internally as well as people identified with the digital bit. It was different to all the other North One entities, it was awkward. There were those who wanted to change it and make it more like the North One Logo. I saw their irritation as a sign of our success. This was probably what we saw as N.ONE’s role, to be different and awkward, we were encouraged to challenge the accepted ways of working and to do things differently.

Did the logo matter? – Not at all.

And so to a new company name. It is not NingNangNong.

I own the URL, the dot com the dot co uk. I’ve tried the phone thing and the friend thing. It seems to work.

It is Apollo20.

Another Moon Mission.

Another Blue Logo.

Another numeral.

But no dot this time.

But it does have another back story about going to the darkside of the moon. According to conspiracy theories Apollo20 was a joint mission of the USA and the former Soviet Union, which found lots of Alien technology hidden on the darkside. This poses a challenge with SEO which I am going to have to work out.

Does the name matter? Probably not, and the logo?

Expectation management is to be expected.

"What would a delay in the race look like?", means that the race start is going to be delayed.

There's a storm brewing.

We are glued to online weather prediction simulators and the waxing of an ocean going climate guru in the states.

They both highlight a massive depression in the Atlantic. An area of low pressure that brings rain, wind and a race delay with it.

You can row in any weather and these are all weather ocean going rowing boats, . But they are not going anywhere in these conditions. Those in the know, and I can only learn from them, tell of the risk of not clearing the island due to the easterly wind and of the boats being blown back towards Africa. One oar stroke forward two boat lengths back.

We are making plans for helicopter landing and refuelling. We are planning relays for cameras on ribs, so that we can keep the media cards flowing back to the edit suite. The director is planning his trip across the pond in the boat. Personal admin dominates.

All of this is on hold.

There are journalists here, camera crews, snappers and stringers.

There are family members ready to say goodbye through watery eyes on the harbourside.

There are transatlantic rowers past and future joining those of the present. It's an elite club of those who can say they have done and those who are about to. If you are not in La Gomera you are not part of the Ocean Rowing world, for these few days at least it is the global centre of the sport with a few more days added.

La Gomera, an island where time stands still is unseasonably busy.

The race start is delayed for two days.

La Gomera is nearly as far west as you can go in Europe before you get to America. There is a rock or two more which are part of the Canaries between here and the New World but we are not on those, we are on La Gomera.  Look for it on the map. You're not looking south enough.

In the UK it is cold and wet as winter sets in. it is the same time zone as London but in La Gomera it is time to buy more sun cream and more mosquito repellent. It's also humid. Scorchio!

Our days are all about the weather. Small islands are all about the weather. It is hard wired into their psyche. It is raining, it is sunny, it is windy, and sometimes it is all three. These places exist because of the trade routes, because of the weather, because of our understanding of the climate.

Christopher Columbus set off from La Gomera in 1492, to sail the ocean blue. He knew about the weather, “He sailed through sunshine wind and rain.”

We are watching the weather, we want to know what the weather will be on Monday 2nd December.

It looks fine here on the island, but it looks bad out at sea. A big depression awaits anyone leaving here hoping to head west. A depression big enough to blow anybody back to Africa.

That would be bad.

There are 15 boats at different stages of preparedness in the harbour. Their owners are grateful that this little island is as near to the other side of the Atlantic as you can get. They are prepping the boats for an Atlantic crossing. Some are ready and out on the water testing and getting their pre race hours in before the guns go boom and they set off into the deep blue yonder.

Some are waiting for their boats to clear customs.

Some of the boats have crews of four, some three, some are a pair and others are flying solo. They are all rowing their way across the pond.

Rowing.

Getting here to La Gomera is the first stage of their long arduous task. Fifteen have made it here to the start line. There were over 20 who had hoped to arrive. Money, fitness and possibly self-doubt have prevented some from making the start line.

We are here to make a documentary of the plucky endeavours of those who made it.

The director is also going to make the crossing. His boat "Miss Tick" arrived last night. He got to meet his Captain too and they got on well. This is good.

There are many plans you can make when you attempt to film an event of this scale but the one thing you can’t write for these programmes is the script. We have three main bits of filming, a big set piece at the start, multiple cameras, helicopter and on boards on every boat; we have a big set piece at the end as they stagger onto terra firma in 40 odd days time in the Caribbean and then there's the filming of the bit in-between.

This is the bit the director has no control of, the bit where he is at the mercy of the fleet. The support vehicle (a yacht) will only go where it is needed. Where there is trouble. Where the story is. That is why he is making the crossing. A big tick in the 50 things to do box.

All of the boats are fully teched up. Some have all singing and dancing live feeds but all have cameras. They are in charge of their story.

The teams are very receptive to the idea of filming and keen to help. But their thoughts right now are with the weather and the water and their boats.

These boats will be their homes for the next few months, a rabbit hutch at each end with a living room out in the open dominated by rowing seats. This is the business bit of the boat, the engine room.

The boats seem powered by ration packs and water makers, as these are the means of creating calories, and calories mean oar strokes. Each oar stroke is a step forward to the Americas. 40 days, 40 nights of rowing non stop, in shift patterns, 3 hours on, 4 hours on, 2 hours on. 40 days for the fastest, weather permitting. Could be 90 for the back of the fleet.

Filming is our job at the moment not theirs. The boats have to be scrutineered and safety checked. They have to be filled with GPS trackers, Satellite phones, back up trackers. They have to be branded with logos from Sponsors and charitable causes.

There are “Ergs” everywhere, rowing machines which seem to taunt the competitors that although they are on dry land still and have access to luxuries like fresh water, food and shelter, they can still row.

It is all about the oar strokes.

The families of the rowers arrive on the island to spend the last days on dry land together. But as the departure of the boats looms near, the tension shifts. Night training starts and the teams get their mandatory hours on the water logged by the safety team. The bars are less busy each night. Soon the night sky will not provide any respite from rowing; soon it will be nothing more than a click on the calendar westwards, another shift, another watch. No hotel beds, no toilets, no showers.

There is only so much preparation you can film pre race, but the people provide a story for you. The story of this race is the story of these faces.

Some of the expressions say that they are ready to go now, some are hoping for a delay in the start, some just want the decision to be made for them.

It is raining. The day ahead has a pretty tight schedule. We are filming the Clio Estate Test drive.

We are all set to leave the hotel at 8am and fight the Granada rush hour. It is cold and wet.

We head off up into the hills a little anxious that cloud cover is too low and our ideal hilltop location we tried so hard to find is now hidden in the clouds.

Its cold, but is starting to clear. We can still see the city but the mountains are shrouded.

The plan is to spend the morning here filming the statics, then disappear into town to film follow shots and drivebys in the city streets and then head out into the country roads we found yesterday.

We take delivery of a bright red Renault Clio to compare with the Renault Clio Estate.

The director has a reveal shot planned where the Clio will clear the frame to reveal the new New Estate.

Filming begins.

The rain has stopped and blue skies are breaking through.

It is bitterly cold. The horizontal rain keeps hitting the lense. The director keeps catching my eye in the hope that I can help.

Miraculously blue sky breaks out around us with magnificent bright sunlight. The static filming suddenly becomes easier in the relative warmth.

We then rig the tracking vehicle and head down into the town to film tacking and drivebys amongst the historic and colonial grandeur of Granada.

Granada is a criss cross of one way snickleways and roundabout routes. This takes longer than we hope.

Then it starts snowing!

We head back into the hills, tracking as we travel. We get plenty of urban city driving.

The open roads of the hills are a delight with the constant changing cloud cover. The contrast of over cast and dazzling sun will make for a dramatic backdrop.

The forest roads are quiet and we put into practice our well rehearsed safety procedures for open road driving. A fore vehicle ahead to ensure clear roads around blind corners, all vehicles in radio contact. Paul the driver of the Renault Estate is great, instinctively he gets into position with the tracking car to film the diagonal three quarter angles.

The drivebys on these open roads are stunning with trees in foreground and background.

But then the snow really starts, and with the change in weather we loose the light.

With interiors and final on boards left we rig quickly but we are fighting a loosing battle with the weather.

We head back to town all cameras in record, but we know we need a plan B.

The solution is obvious. At first light the next day, the car is quickly re-rigged. It takes one hour to complete the shoot.

It is cold in the shadows in Granada, but the heat hits you when you step out into the sun.

The snow-topped Sierra Nevada Mountains dominate the city, and when the icy air falls onto the plain, even though there are bright blue skies you puff dragons' breathe when you speak.

The city is a mix of the traditional and the modern. The Moorish Alhambra citadel and majestic glory of a colonial past with wide boulevards and tight crisscrossed streets squeezed into the old town surrounded by motorways, flyovers and towering shopping centres which scream 21st century.

We split into two teams on our first day here. The first team will collect the new Renault Clio Estate from the airport and recce locations around town for the shoot the next day. The second team set off out of town to find the recommended locations for the Renault Clio RS Sport shoot two days hence.

There is an array of red Renault Estates waiting at Granada airport. Ready to take to the road and be tested.

This is a handsome car. The research material boasted of the Sporting Brake, they were not joking it looks as though its leaning forward and about to pounce.

We need to get it locked away and try and find somewhere to do it justice.

We test the mini cameras on the drive back to the secure car park. Bedecked in angle poise cameras it attracts attention as we drive through Granada.

Once locked away ready for a dawn start in the morning we head off to the Alhambra.

We pretty soon realise that this isn't going to work. A stunning location but there is no shot. We head for the town. We very quickly find the grand avenues and crowded alleyways ideal for showing city life.

We need a great location for the static shots. These are the technical shots, which allow us to demonstrate the cars design inside and out. We need somewhere visually stunning to act a backdrop for the car.

It is proving difficult there are no squares to be found in the city where you can get a car to or open spaces with that suitable large background.

Team two are hitting the jackpot with the locations for the Clio RS. The country roads are winding and twisting ideal for showing the sporty roadhandling of the RS. They've also nailed the location for the statics. A turquoise lake framed by craggy mountains.

They then head for the racing circuit 40km away through winding mountain roads. The circuit is great, there are high point views and changes of elavation. Ideal for filming.

Great S bends and testing tight corners. They are exciting about putting the  RS Cup to test.

Back in Granada with the help of some local knowledge we finally find the ideal location for the statics of the Estate. A hill top carpark with views of the city on one side and the snow topped Sierra Nevada on the other.

A great day's recce.

We wake up in Beikili's hall room. We don't hear the lorries, as their airbreaks release.

Exhausted.

We are making the final drive today. To Ayding Lake. The lowest point in China, third lowest on the planet and location of the China's highest recorded temperature. 50.2C. Not that hot but recorded shade temperatures are measured in the shade.

50.2C in the shade.

Beikili"s family are treating us to a continuous stream of cold soft drinks. Some of them are frozen in the bottle and quickly turn to a slushy ice.

They are the best thing we have ever tasted.

Drinking ice cold fizzy pop with Superman and a World Superbike Champion in a desert truckstop after surviving a sand storm is surreal thing, but no more strange than any other event over the last four days,

Henry and Hodge are just part of the crew.

Marcus the director disappears straight after breakfast with PaulM, Mac, Aldo, PaulC - they head for the dunes to film interviews.

The breakfast of fried eggs and rice with chilli will last us until our lunch at Ayding lake.

The hose for the lorry drivers proves too much of a temptation. The simple pleasures of soaking your clothes and slicking back your wet hair have never been more welcome.

It washes the sand away.

A soaked shamagh is now de rigueur among the crew.

We number off - last man and turn into the desert once more.

The sky is different today, dark and full of the sand that blasted us last night. Above us only sand! There is talk of maybe another storm today.

We coral the convoy. This restricts the filming. The two bright red Nissans, the star car, driven by Henry or Hodge and the camera car driven by Paul M are now tightly contained in the convoy. No longer free to film.

There are fifty shades of desert here. Today it is grey. Intimidating desolate.

You would not be surprised if you came across the Mars rover 'Curiosity’, collecting information and samples and sending them back to earth.

There is no direct sun above but the air temperature is like an oven. The barometers tell us we have descended way below sea level - over 100 metres below.

We have not really slept for three nights but for the snatched rest under the stars, we have not washed for four days but for biowash body foam.

We are tired and dirty but wow, in the middle of nowhere by a dried lake bound dried by a salt crust - we are all having the time of our lives. The sense of adventure as we reach our destination is palatable.

We have a roster of filming and photos to bag. We have reached the furnace of China.

We pop the hood of Paul Marsh's Nissan.

We are going to demonstrate the properties of the oil. The air temperature around the engine is 81C.

We pour different oils to show how they can or more importantly can't retain viscosity at these temperatures.

We use sand paper on fruit to show how the abrasive effects of sand can be nullified by oil.

We sign caps, we take team photos.

We film the cars.

We lunch on army rations and watermelon and water always water and we are gone.

Tufts of vegetation start to appear and before long full grown fields of shrub land stretch out to the horizon. The ever present dune mountains are gone.

We turn onto a fully metaled road. We are not in the desert anymore.

We have arrived in Turpan. It is huge, it seems bigger than Hami. The boulevards wider. It is lush green with flowers lining the route.

We are ushered to dinner before we find the hotel. This is a wise move. There's a sense of celebration about the meal, Henry is recognised in the restaurant as a diner gets up and shouts Superman, Superman!

We drink the restaurant dry of cold soft drinks!

Then the final bits of work.

We must decamp from the convoy and get ready for departure. Bags, boxes and peli-cases need packing and restacking.

All of this before we wash. I need two showers the first was not enough to remove the sand and dust completely.

It is midnight already - we roll at 7 to film the flaming mountains. The main party leaves at 9 bound for Urumqi.

My room rings loud at 130am. There's a problem.

The road to Urumqi is closed to all non local traffic. This changes everything.

We have three Urumqi registered vehicles in the convoy. Enough to get all of the baggage to the airport but not enough for the team.

It rules out the Nissans making the journey.

It also stops the Flaming Mountain shoot. We couldn't get there, pack and get the kit to Urumqi in time to make the flight. 

We agree Mac and Paul will film these mountain sequences once we've gone.

It was the right call. The road to Urumqi is a motorway slicing through what was once desert. It is a building site either side. 10 miles of wind farms as far as the eye can see. High Speed rail links with bridges and tunnels.

And traffic.

The journey is longer than we'd planned. Checkpoints and traffic jams slow us down.

We arrive 4 hours before the flight to Beijing is scheduled to depart. We need every minute to clear check in and security. There's confusion over payment of excess baggage. There's consternation of what can or cannot go into the hold. Some kit is removed from hold baggage at the insistence of security only to be denied permission as carry on luggage. Tracy and Jane our Navotour guides are invaluable. Mr Xi plays his part pointing out to anybody who decides that they can edge in front of us that before they will get a chance to check in there are 43 boxes and bags ahead of them.

Coffee in the airport is £10 a cup. A rucksack to carry re assigned baggage is £200.

The airline won't accept credit cards for excess baggage.

We are not in the desert anymore. The worries aren't about shelter and water.

They are more man made.

They are more bureaucratic.

The sunrise is other worldly. The black sand is lit by a big red sun.

We pack quickly and breakfast on camp fire fried eggs with chilli and Russian bread with tea.

We split the convoy. Half the team leave with a medic each.

The advanced team are heading for a gorge carved into the desert by a salt water stream. We've got a solar still to distil the mineral rich water for the team to drink.

This stream is cruel. Travellers upon finding it, find hope only to find it crushed when they first taste the non-drinkable water. It’s a trek down the gorge to the water and a hot and difficult one.

I'm in the first convoy.

The second convoy are going driving in the dunes. It’s training for tomorrow.

The Nissan are by far the best prepared vehicles in the convoy. Paul Marsh has excelled again. They've got the best tyres, the best suspension. The cars finding it the most challenging are the local ones.

Henry and Hodge are loving the driving. Our local drivers keep getting bogged in the sand. Despite setting off 2 hours before team 2, they arrive 30 minutes after us.

The dune filming was amazing. It is what Henry and Hodge signed up for.

The makeshift desert kitchen makes pancakes rich with onions which we fill with beef and chilli.

Never has watermelon been so welcome. The hard pears are reservoirs of pear juice. We make camp between the vehicles. Shade is essential.

We film the water solar still. Aldo fills his face.

We burn a kettle and a wok in woodburning flames, Paul Marsh uses Shell Oil to clean them. We cook an egg in the cockpit of the Nissan. It is 61C. The egg is cracked into a bag, moments later we have cooked egg.

It is so hot the stop frame mini-camera on the bonnet stops working - it fries in the midday sun.

We head for Dikoner an oasis village and home to Beikeli, our chief guide.

One of the support vehicles gets a flat tyre. Changing a tyre on soft sand is a challenge.

The outside air is really like stepping into an oven. Mac says it’s like being at altitude. Sufficating.

We drink and drink. We are exhausted out of breath.

We are breathing through our noses, breathing through your mouth would lose you too much fluid.

Then out of nowhere telegraph poles appear in the sand, an abandoned building project in the desert. China is building.

We keep on trekking the dunes above us and arrive in Dikoner.

Beikeli is a great host. Ice cold drinks! I've been drinking hot water for 4 days. Water heated by the sun. We devour plastic bottles of frozen fruit drinks and sodas.

There's a hose pipe to douse us.

The hose is for trucks to fill up with water to insure they stop and buy cold drinks.

Dikoner is surreal. It’s a truck stop with fruit farms. Water is the thing that makes the difference.

We cook dinner outside Beikeli’s house, we are going to bed down in the dunes, above us only sand.

Marcus takes Hodge and Henry up into the dunes. Mr Wang leads the way. This is off road driving for real.

The sands shift. They climb to a ridge for sunset. It’s a 200 metre drop the other side. A cliff face carved by the wind.

They all return with adrenalin pumping. Breathlessness brought about by the climb and the heat – it’s over 40C still.

We are still guzzling the cold drinks.

We eat hand-made noodles with spicy lamb. There is cold low alcohol beer. Spirits couldn't be higher. Beikili's children are charming and keep coming to say 'hello' - we dance whilst reciting HOW - ARE - YOU - TO - DAY

We have a choice, we bed down in Beikili's hall next to the trucks stopping for free water, with air brakes releasing all night or we head for the dunes and our favourite hotel. It is an easy choice. We saddle up. The Nissans and the support cars take us to the dunes. We sleep in circle mats and mattresses set out in a fan our kit bags forming perimeter stones and fluorescent glosticks 'cylumes' marking the outer perimeter.

It’s too hot for most people to sleep. I lay on top of my bag. I drift off.

"Right everybody listen" it wakes everybody instantly.

Bolt upright.

Mac is in full flow. We are in a sand storm. The sleeping bags that some have climbed into balloon. Our head lights spring on darting lights through the sandy smog.

It doesn't sting. The sand is too fine.

"Everybody, goggles on, shemaghs on! Make sure you have access to water."

We all quickly pack our mats and mattresses.

The Nissans are now our life line. The lights show just how bad the situation is. The fog lights blare through the dust and barely make any impact. - they do light the sand storm though.

This is serious.

Aldo is in charge of the evacuation

"If we lose anyone we will not be able to find you!"

We pair up and form two columns, Mac in the first Nissan at the front of the convoy. Aldo behind the car. 12 of us in marching pairs, and Paul M last man in the second Nissan.

Mac radios Tracy to get the local drivers to light up their headlights and give us a target to head for.

We are marching slowly in a blizzard of dust. Our kit bags are packed on the Nissans bar one which is being hand carried. We all have our grab bags. Goggles in grab backs. A detail you could easily overlook. Pack them in your large kit bag and never find them, carry them all week in you grab pack regretting the space they take and now lose the power of sight.

The local drivers come to our rescue.

A drama that could have been a crisis has been averted. It was truly dangerous. The convoy is full complement - we all pile into our designated vehicles. We number off and we are good to go down the hill to Beikeli's house.

It is 4am by the time we have debriefed. Two hours sleep until breakfast and our final day in the desert. We have the furnace of China ahead of us.

Marcus has broken a camera filming in the sand storm, but he captured it all.

6am rise. I started the night on top of my sleeping bag and climbed in during the night. It was cold - wow it was cold.

The day starts with a carefully rehearsed routine. Biowash fully clothed with a hitech antibacterial foam. The trinkets we need during night are put away, head torch back into day sack, the precision packing of roll mat and mattress. Fully packed, fully cleaned, bags on board the car.  Back pack refreshed with water before breakfast.

Breakfast is fried eggs with rice and russian bread. Tea and coffee.

We are going to teach Henry and Hodge some medical triage. Aldo, Mac and Paul are dressed as though they have survived or rather are still surviving a RTA.

Aldo has lost a leg with a fully  loaded bloody prosthetic. Mac is unconscious. Paul is need of immediate help.

Henry and Hodge have a med pack. Now they are going to have to use it.

We now find a new type of desert. Yadan land forms, huge sandstorm pillars dominate the view. Cut by the wind we find faces, and buildings and animals in the shapes.

Every shot is a movie set. We are on Mars, we are on the moon, we are in Colorado making westerns.

The cars look great cutting through the sand with huge dust plumes shooting up behind.

Every gully every turn provides a drama, navigating transitions between soft sand and rocky pebble beach. The cars get stuck.

It is an off road racers dream and we have not hit the dunes yet.

We lunch in a river bed, the heat is unbearable. We eat instant rations quickly, with watermelon.

We need to get to camp at the base of the dunes for sunset.

Today is the driving day. Its hot outside. We play with methods of keeping cool, window open, window closed, wetting our hats, our scarves, our necks, our trousers. Its hot inside too.

No airconditioning.

There is a touch of "last chance to see" and "last chance to drive" about this route. For about 50km we weave around the construction of a new road.

The desert route will not exist soon. Soon it will be a motorway. Weeks away not months.

We overtake lorry after lorry. Bowser after bowser. Brick factories, cement factories.

China is building and building fast.

We make a call to get to the dunes early.

We head onto one of the new roads and through more construction works.

Then as before we take a quick turn and suddenly we are on a desert plain - flat and desolate as far as the eye can see.

We arrive at the edge of the dunes. The world's biggest sand dune desert, the world's biggest shifting sands.

They are 100 metres high and rise up into the sky like mountains.

We make camp at the foot of the dunes. Taking care not to make footprints in the sand. We need it barren for tomorrow's filming.

Dinner is immense.

Lots to eat and great comraderie. These things are important for the on screen bond.

We check into the same chain of hotels as last night. A billion stars.

The greatest view of the night sky ever -  filled to the brim with constellations.

The top sand is black the undersand is golden. Every track we make leaves golden stamps in the dark ground.

The sun sets behind the cars. We are blessed.

Another great night's sleep ready for routine to start again.

Hami to desert Camp.

630 am. I packed last night. I put everything I didn't want to take into the desert into a bag and onto a truck, superfluous stuff like clothes for the journey home.

Everybody is there at 7am, bags are loaded onto trucks already packed with expedition and safety equipment. The hotel puts breakfast on early for us. We have free run at the Hami melons, fried eggs, rice congee, steamed buns and noodles. Coffee and tea and fruit juice.

We take photos and film last minute interviews and we are off - hit the road.

We head through modern Hami with its wide streets in convoy, we take a sharp turn right and we travel 100 years into the past.

Meat hanging from trees in old Hami. Fruit sat on tables in the sun. It all disappears soon as the boulevards become roads and road and the becomes a single track.

Old Hami is not going to be around long.

We continue down the track and turn right again. This time off the road. We won't hit tarmac again for a few hundred km.

We go 20 maybe 50 metres and one car gets beached in the soft scrappy duney sands. We free it, another gets beached.

This is the greatest training we could have hoped for. We are by a main road and cars get stuck 20 times. Henry and Hodge (I checked they were happy with the double act name) get out of the car shovel in hands, they use the planks, they learn about low revs.

Then it goes wrong. Paul C in the last car has been told the coolant pipe on the support car has sheered and the radiator has over heated.

We need to stop and make a bush mechanic repair. We need to fix it with what we've got.

But its not a broken coolant pipe. Its worse. The fan has disintegrated, destroying the radiator. If we botch a fix we could blow the engine.

We need to ditch the car. We plan to take the driver to safety and get help sent to the car. He won't leave his car in the desert.

We make camp. We tow the car back to the Hami Road, three vehicles in convey so that two can travel back together. We are four hours behind schedule.

We lunch in the shade on watermelon and flatbread.

It was the right thing to do. The driver of the broken car is safe, a recovery vehicle has custody of him and his charge. He is Hami bound.

We start to re-plan the shoot. We are schedules to stop at Wu Shi Li a small village and and slightly larger town Wu Pu. We need to reach the site for desert camp before sundown. Marcus, Mac and me go through the options, safety first we cannot arrive in the dark.

We agree to drive through the village and town, but we will not stop for lunch as planned. Watermelon and flatbread was it.

The scenery changes into a vast flat plain, stretching off into a horizon bordered by mirage, the mountains in the distance are floating on refracted light.  

We drink water from our back packs, water from our sip cups. 

We reach the escarpment on the edge of a universe. The scenery changes again. From rocky pebble dark grey to sand stone. The escarpment drops us into a rocky sand coloured wonderland. 

We pick up dried dates at Wu Chi Li and water and firewood at Wu Pu Then we drive and drive and drive back into the desert proper.

Drinking water. 

We make camp. 

As sun goes down we check into a billion star hotel,

- some of them shooting. 

Henry and Hodge are stoked.

We have all had an amazing, jaw dropping day. 

We lay out our beds in the open air. A ground mat, an expedition mattress and a desert sleeping bag. All the beds are laid out like a dorm facing the sunrise. 

Henry and Hodge film with Marcus Nick and Tim. End of the first day reactions we all catch our breath.  There's a camp fire burning. 

Dinner is an amazing feast, green beans with garlic, lamb urghu style and lamb kebabs barbecued over the camp fire coals. Tea and water. More water. 

I have maybe drank 5 litres today. 

We try out the mini helicopter with a minicamera attached. It will work but not tonight. The mimicam is too heavy. 

We settle for shots of sunset. 

We are alone in the desert.

Hami is not the desert, it’s a city. China is made of cities like this. Cities by the roadside.

29C and dry. It is 2 o'clock in the morning. We arrive at Urumqi airport 4 hours late.

All 42 pieces present and correct. We all agree not to go to the transit hotel. Our flight leaves in 6 hours, check in is in 4. We are going to 'crash' at the airport.

One shop is still open. Water and fruit drinks. We set up camp in the corner near where we need to be at 6 o'clock. At 530 the airport is switch on - hundreds of uniformed staff stream in. We're ready and poised. Mr Xi our guide is ready to get us all aboard the last hop to Hami.

This place is chaos already. There are hundreds of tourists everywhere. At the flick of a switch. Hundreds of tourists are vying to beat us to check in. We are helpless against their wheelie bags. We are an oil tanker of 10 trollies, some of us wheeling two.

Beijing airport was serene. A vast expanse of calm held under a steel wave. The roof stretching out to house more shops more restaurants more space.

Customs at Beijing was calm efficient and organised, security check in was unflustered polite and whilst our collection of batteries caused a little twitch of an eyebrow it wasn't ever exciting. 

Urumqi airport was exciting. Architectually stricking terminal 3 for departures seemed brand new. In the style of Fosters Beijing.

There was a sense of urgency. The shock on the face of the girls at check in when we'd finally bullied our way to the front is slightly concerning. Our bullying has only been standing firm against another group pushing to the front ahead of us.

The early morning rush is on and it is a flood. We have finally been carried to the front, and we start the ritual counting of the bags - 42 pieces re-tagged and shipped to a special area for check in. The girl in charge of "Southern China" is swept along with the challenge and starts taking camera pictures of the task she is about to attempt. By the time we have stopped our discussion about excess baggage we are one hour to go to take off.

But we have boarding cards and baggage tags. And we have an ally. Mr Xi is darting everywhere translating his way through a tidal wave of concern.

Every official seems to say why weren't you here earlier. His stalwart reply is we were here before you even opened.

Security clearance is not good. It is a deep search of 42 pieces nearly every piece is opened and rummaged. Everything gets through, all medical, all electrics. Everything except batteries.

These have to be hand carried. We don't argue, our explanation that this is the third aircraft on the trek. We hand carry. Paul C looses a knife, the smallest one, which is randomly selected for confiscation.

Only passenger security left to clear. Our check in girl, walkie-talkie in hand has been carried along by our momentum. It is now a personal mission for her to get us on board. We have boarding cards, we have baggage tags.

We leave the bags scattered and piled in an elevator in security.

We are hearded at a canter through priority security presenting boarding cards and hand baggage for further scrutiny.

It is now 815 the flight was scheduled to leave quarter of an hour ago.

The scrutiny of our hand bags is intense. Jon (minicams) carries a lot of kit. He has passed through most airports in the world. Everything is unpacked and checked repassed through xray. We loose antispetic hand cleaners.

We are bundled onto waiting bus and driven to the end of the airport.

Our Southern China Airliner awaits. We take the last eight seats. We have boarding cards and baggage tags.

It is impossible for our bags to have made the same journey to the hinterlands of the airfield in time.

I am resigned to picking up a selection of our kit on a daily basis in Hami. The plane though does not take off yet. An apology is made over the tannoy for the delay as our bags and peli-cases are loaded.

We start a sweep as to how many pieces we think will make it.

Aldo is adamant it will be 42. I can't quite muster his veil of confidence.

Hami airport another new build. Too big for today's needs, too small no doubt for the demands of tomorrow.

The baggage conveyor lights up and we line our kit up in number order.

42.

Mac is here.

Tracy and Jen too, with Mr Wang and Baikeli are there too.

These four will guide us through the desert.

Hami isn't like you expect China to be. It is Uyghur. This is western China.

Baikeli is Uyghur.

Its over 36 hours since we left London. Its 32C.

We are here and so are our bags.

37000 ft its -58C, the map looks like I'm in Siberia again. I'm thirsty. As I wake up, we're over the Sayan Mountains, its 2 hours 21 to Beijing.

Irkutsk is written largely in the centre of my screen. Telling me we're flying at 994 kmph. South of Irkutsk is Ulan Batar. To the west is Urumqi.

These three places have dominated my month. I am heading to Urumqi now but it will take another flight before I get there. I must continue east before turning round and heading back west to Urumqi - the most land locked city on earth.

This city has over 2 million people. I have never heard of it before. How little I know. It is the final destination of our trek, but that is two weeks away.

First I must transit through Beijing, tantalisingly hop past Urumqi onto Hami.

Hami, another name that I had never heard of before, and this time the location of our expedition. It will take three flights and two days to get there first.

That though is a breeze compared with getting the vehicles there. Paul, our mechanic who built the Nissans, is back for another tour.  He's now emigrated to Perth, Australia, and flew to Irkutsk to prep the bright, red Nissans a month ago where he met up with Mac, the ever optimistic expedition leader.

The cars had been locked up for four months, thawing in a garage in the Siberian spring.

Ahead of them a drive south through Ulan Batar, Mongolia and into China - to Hami.

Three weeks of border controls, check points, import and export. Getting warmer all the time, and critically heading down. South and downhill.

We're not just heading to the most landlocked city on earth we're also heading to one of the lowest.

The drive from Hami to Urumqi through the Turpan depression traverses parts of the Gobi and Taklamaken deserts.

But all of that is ahead of us.

Mac and Paul got to Hami two days ago. Now they need to prepare for our arrival.

It was 40C in Hami and a reported 48C in Turpan.

We will have travelled over 100C from Siberia in over six months.

The team are back for another tour too. Nick is back for more camera action, but with a new soundie, Tim. Tim has tales of Rick Mears, jungles and deserts. Jon is sat next to me ready for more minicams and data management. Aldo and Paul for more medical and logistic support, and to keep us safe.

We have 41 pieces of luggage onboard this plane. We have brought the jaws of life, a phrase that I never tire of saying. Huge cutting tools that I hope never come out of their bag. We have brought two medical kits which are evenly dispersed throughout the 41 pieces.

We have camera kit and spare camera kit. We have data kit and spare data kit. Kit that doesn't like heat and dust which we are taking to a hot dusty place.

The next challenge is Beijing airport. I'm looking forward to it.  We've got 7 hours to clear 41 bags and the seven of us through immigration and customs.

Marcus the director is another welcome new boy. Excited, organised and getting his hands in on the boring stuff of customs clearance.

He's keen to go over scripts and maps and plans and itineraries.

He and I bought coolant in London yesterday. Mac and Paul bought fridges for the two vehicles yesterday. These are to fill with coolant. Computers and storage drives do funny things at 40C. We've got to keep them cool.

The next week will be about keeping cool, keeping clean and keeping hydrated.

Marcus and I keep saying hygiene and hydration, hygiene and hydration, hygiene and hydration. We're going to the desert, where it’s hot, dry and dirty.

The actor Henry and the driver Neil are two days behind us. They were excited and ready for an adventure when I spoke to them before leaving London. I warned them both again about what we were all getting into and they laughed. Hydration and hygiene.

We've got the team back together; we've got the vehicles in place.