BIG BROTHER'S WEE BOTHER

Now I know how they feel on BB. After having my Loach piece evicted off the front page of Netribution (soon to be rebranded Kentribution) then having it reinstated, these days a girl needs to think twice about slagging off anyone or anything because even though I'm entitled to have a pop at the great and the good, it ain't worth the grief, let alone the sarky comments and catty insults. If I want abuse, I could always don a Celtic strip and parade up Broomloan Road during the Orange Walk.

Speaking of abuse, the pubs of Glasgow and Edinburgh may be smoke-free but lately they're filled with fuming film producers. Their problem? Two key players at Scottish Screen have went west. The heads of 'Talent and Creativity' (aye, right) and Development are offsky, one to take up a Film Council non-job in the States, the other to Ireland, leaving the agency - and any funding decisions - in limboland. Like an empty ATM on a Friday night, Scottish Screen is now in danger of a kicking because producers here are strange beasts, slow to rouse but capable of untold damage.

Their other problem? CEO Ken Hay's blueprint for the future, a plan that means more money for telly, a slush fund for Skillset but no dough for film, unless producers bring cast-iron deals to the table. Which makes me wonder, because if you already have the finance, a sales company and a distributor in place, then why trouble yourself with form-filling for an agency where no-one can make a decision? Going by track record, Scottish Screen takes at least six months to appoint staff, who usually need another six months to find out what their job is. Besides, with £2 million quid of Ken's paltry annual budget already spoken for, producers will be lucky to get a pat on the head and their train fare home.

They say if you want sympathy, look up the dictionary between shit and syphilis, But really, my heart goes to out to Ken Hay. Like Albert Speer poring over his doomed utopian models, Ken's looking lonelier by the day. Not only has he pissed off the regional film offices but he's been deaf to the noise of producers alert to the fact their gravy train will be derailed when Scottish Screen gets scrapped in 2008. In his zeal for demoting film and for appeasing his government masters what Ken seems to have forgotten is that the Lottery pot, snatched from the Scottish Arts Council in the late 90s, was ringfenced for film, not as a top-up for telly, not for pointless training schemes that turn wannabe directors into teamakers or for mobile phone virals and certainly not farting about on computers.

If Ken Hay's achieved anything, it's hammering round pegs into square holes. By batting for bureaucracy rather than backing the film business, he may think he's a shoe-in as top dog at Creative Scotland, but in a year or so when homegrown film output has dwindled to zero, questions may well be asked. After all, why spend over a million quid on audience development and marketing if our screens are blank and when the annual pot of development funding for the entire nation is a mere £150,000 - the same as it was in 1989. Like Tony Blair, doesn't Ken care about his lasting legacy - as the man who single-handedly dismantled film in Scotland? Producers, I suspect, won't take this lying down for much longer. Already miffed at not being consulted and having nothing better to do (because they sure ain't making movies) they're bound to kick up hell.

In the words of the song, I predict a riot. Or a small stushie at least. Who'll be next up for eviction, I wonder?