I picked up the knife. I held it for a second or two, my eyes on the shiny blade. I looked at him, then...

...continued from yesterday.

Memory is a strange fish. Like those creatures that live at great depths, who learn to adapt in order to survive such extreme environments.

Before writing this piece I’d buried what I’m about to tell you deep down in the oceans of my mind. Once I began to trawl about for what happened all those years ago, memories flooded back. I surfaced - that is the ‘me’ back then surfaced - a different person to the man I am now. Younger, naive- my determination to make it in the film industry my Achilles heel.

Yesterday, I told you a dark tale of one particular director’s actions. The man shall remain nameless. He’s dangerous.

This is about the same man- the same film.

The shoot was a nightmare, fraught with his stress and tantrums. He tried to control me. He would call me late at night saying he hoped I wasn’t drinking too much at home cos I needed a clear head for the next day.

On set he behaved like a bully, constantly throwing hissy fits at crew members. I avoided the set, and ran the shoot from the office. It seemed to get worse around his low blood sugar episodes, even though he’d not been diagnosed with any medical condition.

He was a con man. Infamous for not paying people what he owed them. As producer of a film with such a tight budget, I had to put my hand in my own pocket time and again, to pay out cast and crew expenses. And even though I was never given a bean of the £40k deferred fee due to me, I ended up forking out 2 grand in expenses from my own personal funds.

When I asked for the money the director threw a couple of rubber cheques my way. And it wasn’t until I witnessed a bloke getting a payback from him through threatening him I realised this was the only way.

I’m not proud of what I did.

I went round his house and demanded my money. He was bigger than me by at least half a foot and carried a great deal more weight. I was no fighter back then. All I knew was I had to get heavy.

A friend of mine, a writer, who ran a gang in Glasgow when he was 14, had told me the madder your actions the more effective the outcome.

The director let me in and we went through to the kitchen. I told the guy his cheques had bounced and I needed my money. He said he was skint. I remembered my Glaswegian friend’s words and looked to my right hand side. On the table was a kitchen knife. I picked it up. I held it for a second or two, my eyes on the shiny blade. I looked at him, then buried it in the chopping board. I repeated the words –“I want my money back.” Then left.

The walk home took no more than 10 minutes. As I got near my house I saw a police car outside. I ignored it. When I put my keys in the lock two coppers got out. They asked if I was Dickie Shift. I said I was.

I invited them in...for a chat.

Long story short, the director didn’t press charges.

I got my money. He paid the full balance straight away.

We made the film.

But it goes to show what people will do to get into the film industry.

Harvey Weinstein preyed on women. This director preyed on young gay men who were still in the closet. As I’ll tell you tomorrow.

To be continued...