LONDON, England –The Supremes singer Mary Wilson opened her storage chest to unveil some dresses the group wore during their amazing career. Cute, you might think.

CNN correspondent Alphonso Van Marsh interviews Mary Wilson, member of girl group The Supremes, in London.

But as I learned – when we got an exclusive first peek at the exhibition at London’s Victoria & Albert Museum last weekend – there’s more to this story than meets the eye.

“The Supremes from the Mary Wilson Collection” exhibit is more than just dresses on display. What’s interesting about this museum exhibition is the context in which these performance costumes are placed.

The Supremes remain one of the most successful vocal groups in American history. And they were at their most popular at the height of the American civil rights period: a time when African Americans were struggling to be treated as equal in the country that enslaved their ancestors.

Between the dresses, there are equally visual stunning details about the crossover appeal of The Supremes. About the respect these young women commanded. About the aspirations they represented. About why these young women were a tremendous source of pride for many African Americans then, and today.

So it was with a bit of awe that I met and interviewed one of the original Supremes. I’ll even admit to taking a picture with Wilson — quite a tacky move for a journalist. But I didn’t care.

CHENGDU, China — What do you do when you have two vehicles, a spare seat and hurt people beg you to take them in the other direction to hospital?

You apologize over and over again, explain you have to cover the story and hope that help turns up. Then you convince yourself it was the right thing to do because telling the bigger story of the suffering of thousands is far more important and worthy. Yeah right.

Maybe that’s why I haven’t slept for 55 hours, because of guilt. I have no idea what happened to those wounded … God, I hope they’re okay …

TOKYO, Japan — The scene is reminiscent of a public memorial to fallen star or royal family member, stolen before the public could let go: Mourners lining up to sign the condolence book (10,000 names signed so far) and dozens of flowers and stuffed animals surrounding the pictures of their beloved, lost one. A woman, arriving at the elaborate shrine, breaks down into giant sobs, collapsing into the arms of her husband.

Thousands have flocked to the elaborate shrine.

This has been the continuous sight outside the panda exhibit at Ueno Zoo in Tokyo, Japan, after its 22-year-old panda, Ling Ling, died. The only giant panda that belonged to Japan, the zoo suddenly finds itself without a panda for the first time since 1972. And it’s why China’s President Hu Jintao’s announcement that his country would be gifting Japan two pandas is such a powerful gesture to this panda-obsessed nation.

To people outside Japan, the gift may simply seem like a slick political move. Send over a couple of fuzzy bears and presto, a nice picture for the evening news. But Japanese people prize anything that’s kawaii, which means cute, in Japanese. Stroll through Tokyo and you’ll see uber-cute cartoons on every corner, every advertisement, and on the clothes and key chains of most residents. Heck, even the police department has a fuzzy bear as its mascot, printed on the signs of all of its police stations. This nation takes cuteness seriously.

The panda, and the elderly Ling Ling in particular, epitomize kawaii. Throw in the fact that pandas are endangered and that’s enough to whip some Japanese people into a frenzy. Japanese government officials, noting the giant outpouring of grief over Ling Ling’s death, even publicly suggested a panda gift from China might ease their broken hearts.

It wouldn’t be the first time pandas have strengthened political ties between Japan and China. In 1992, Ling Ling arrived in Japan in exchange for a Japan-born panda to commemorate the 20th anniversary of the normalization of bilateral ties with China. But in the decades following the panda exchange, ties became strained and at the turn of the century, icy, over past war crimes and allegations that each was trying to re-write its history books. These nations have dueled over Tibet, food safety issues, gas exploration in the East China Sea. Japan, once the superpower of the East, greeted mainland Chinese tourists with a sense of haughty disdain.

But times have changed the world’s economic and political landscape. With Japan’s Prime Minister Fukuda and China’s President Hu, that once icy past is thawing to a new spring, say foreign ministry officials from both countries. The leaders inked a deal promising to work together and forge a healthier future for both countries.

And what more powerful way to cement this new phase of their friendship than with a pair of fuzzy, endangered, kawaii pandas. Just in the nick of time to heal a nation’s broken heart.

Watch video of mourners at the zoo

AMSTETTEN, Austria — “We want to show the world that not all Amstetteners are bad people,” Christian Dunkl says as he lights a candle in the pouring rain. About 200 people came to a candlelight vigil in the evening to show solidarity with the victims of what Austrians officials say is one of the worst crimes in their country’s history.

Amstetten, a small town in Western Austria remains in shock after police discovered a local man, 73-year old Josef Fritzl was holding his own daughter as a sex slave in a dungeon underneath his house for 24 years. Elizabeth is now 42 years old and she claims her father raped and beat her on many occasions during her ordeal. Fathering seven children with her, one of which died shortly after birth and whose body Fritzl has admitted he burned in a furnace in the house.Gertrude Baumgarten can’t conceal her outrage. “I only have a small pension,” she tells me as we are sitting in her kitchen, “but I would spend my money to see him hang on a rope.” Gertrude worked in the same company as Fritzl in Amstetten, but she says she almost never talked to him and never wanted to be in his presence. “He had such an arrogant posture,” she says, “I just never wanted to be close to him.”

But Gertrude was close to Fritzl’s wife Rosemarie, who authorities say, never knew her husband was hiding their daughter in the cellar and sexually abusing her. “Rosemarie was always a sweet person,” she says, “she did not know what was going on, she said her daughter had run away from home.”

Fritzl took three of the six surviving children away from their mother, his daughter, and told his wife, Elizabeth, the alleged runaway had left them at the doorstep because she could not take care of them. Gertrude Baumgarten recalls the first time Rosemarie told her about finding a child. “She said Elizabeth had probably had the baby with a cult member and couldn’t take care of if, and then she said: “What can we do, we have to take care of the child.”

Verena Huber, a 14-year-old high school student, went to school with one of the children raised by Josef and Rosemarie Fritzl. Verena says 12-year-old Alexander seemed to have no clue about what was going on. “He always told us his mother was dead,” she says, but describes Alexander as a happy and “normal” child.

Most people in Amstetten say that although Josef Fritzl was reclusive, there was never a reason to believe something was amiss. Karl Dallinger is in the Amstetten fire brigade. He says two of the children, Monika and Alexander, participated in the brigade’s “youth days,” where young people learn the basics of fighting fires and First-aid. “They were both always willing to learn,” he says now, adding, “they were good kids, they seemed to be happy kids.” And he adds their grandmother often came to fire brigade events with her grandchildren even helping to cook spaghetti there.

By almost all accounts, the Fritzl family was a normal part of the Amstetten community. That, it seems, is what most shocks people in this western Austrian town.

LONDON, England – For our profile story on a 176-pound British “size 16″ teenager slated to compete in the Miss England pageant, we needed to see how a real-life beauty pageant works… so we checked out the Miss Bath competition at the Bath Race Course and Conference center in Bath, south-west England.

Samantha Del Greco, Miss Bath '07 and judge (center), award the tiara to 2008 winner Katya Floyd-Sanchez.

Putting aside the irony that segments of the Miss Bath beauty pageant were held between horse races, my cameraman and I entered a world where perhaps, only the bravest of girls should dare compete.

The climate of nervousness is not necessarily induced by their fellow competitors — we witnessed no ganging up on contestants, as in the movie “Carrie”, or catfights backstage. The harshest judges weren’t the judges. The only thing to fear was the audience itself.

I loved the idea that there was a diversity of contestants on stage: different heights, hair colors (not all of them natural), ethnicities, body shapes and degrees to what they dared-to-bare. But what was disconcerting were some of the petty comments about the ladies we heard from those who came to watch the competition unfold.

It takes a lot of chutzpah for these teens and twentysomethings to get up in front of a crowd, strutting in heels, evening gowns, sports/swimwear and bizarre outfits for the “Eco-Fashion Round” — clothes inspired by the contestants’ concern for the environment (plastic garbage bag dress, anyone?).

So it is not cool to overhear some of the spectators — who needed to hit the Stairmaster themselves — whisper the word ‘heifer’ as the heavier contestants worked the pageant catwalk.

Not classy.

Then again, perhaps one contestant should have expected to be mocked when the pageant host asked her: “If you could be a Disney character, what would you be? And why?”

The contestant answered — and remember, this is a beauty pageant: “Miss Piggy. Because she is an international superstar and a household name.”

That contestant didn’t win.

Watch my video report

BAGHDAD, Iraq — I knew something was strange as soon as I woke up. An eerie yellow haze at the window instead of the morning sun. I climbed up to the roof and looked out over Baghdad toward the blue Bunyah mosque. It had disappeared behind a thick curtain of microscopic dust.

Dust clouds the air over Baghdad.

I had never experienced a sandstorm. I instinctively tried to stop breathing until I could get indoors.

We were about to leave to shoot a report on an Iraqi paralympic competition. “They can’t go ahead with it!” I thought.

When we called, however, they said it was still on. So we piled into our car and set off for the running track.

On a good day, the streets of Baghdad are dusty, blanketed with dirt, crumbling concrete and assorted trash. This dust , swirling in the high winds, is lighter but more penetrating. It fills your lungs insidiously.

But, as we drove through Baghdad, I saw, at the most, two or three people with masks. Most were walking purposefully through the haze.

As we passed the Green Zone, where the United States Embassy and Iraqi government offices are located, I saw a man in running shorts and t-shirt jogging on the street.

At the running track the athletes were arriving, some missing legs, or arms. Many are victims of the war. In the distance, a loud explosion roared. The athletes and their friends muttered but quickly returned to more important things. Bombs, sandstorms - it’s a nuisance but nothing that will stop them from competing.

Paralympic athletes train on, despite the dust.

But the storm, the worst in years, did shut down Baghdad Airport. The helicopters that roar every few minutes through the skies of the capital were grounded.

Back in our bureau everything - computers, cameras, monitors, desks, pens, coffee cups, my eyeglasses -was covered within minutes with a fine yellow talcum. There was no getting away from it.

In 2003, just after the start of the invasion of Iraq , a giant sandstorm blanketed southern Iraq. Some Iraqis began calling it “Allah’s Shroud,” God’s protection from the “invaders.”

To me, it’s just as exotic. A sandstorm in Baghdad. Like Ali Baba’s 40 Thieves, I said the magic words “open sesame!” and waited for the skies to clear.

CAIRO, Egypt – A friend is behind bars. Wednesday evening Egyptian security personnel arrested George Ishaq, a leading figure in the Egyptian democracy movement, at his home in Cairo. No formal charges have been filed, so it’s not clear at this point why and for how long he will be detained.

I met George four years ago while covering a demonstration by Kifaya—which in the Egyptian dialect of Arabic means Enough—outside the Journalists Syndicate in downtown Cairo. Kifaya is a small but vocal group bringing together activists from across the political spectrum, from old school Marxists to Islamists, joined by a common desire to see an end—thus their slogan—to the regime of President Hosni Mubarak, in power since October 1981.

 I saw George again and again at similar events, where protesters were often outnumbered ten to one by riot police and plain-clothed policemen clutching rubber truncheons.

At first glance George doesn’t look like a political firebrand determined to bring down the regime. George is a bespectacled former school teacher in his sixties with a shock of white hair and an unwavering, mischievous smile. He possesses that unique Egyptian ability to combine biting humour aimed at the high and mighty with razor sharp political analysis, his observations on contemporary Egypt always on the mark, often funny but deeply saddening at the same time.

In an interview when his movement was at its height, George told me “The door [to democracy] is open and nobody can close it again. We will go through this door and we will struggle until the end, to be a democratic country. We will insist on it.”

But his determination to bring about change has been met by an even more uncompromising determination by the Mubarak regime to hold on to power.

George’s arrest is just the latest in a campaign by the Egyptian government leading up to the municipal elections held on Tuesday. More than a thousand members of the banned Muslim Brotherhood were rounded up, plus, according to Kifaya, around 50 of its members.

The vote was met with indifference by most of the population, disillusioned by decades of rigged, sham elections. The same day, Egyptians were shocked (and some thrilled) by photos circulating on the internet of angry striking workers in the industrial town of Mahalla Al-Kubra destroying a billboard featuring a picture of President Mubarak.

A Coptic Christian, George identifies himself first and foremost as an Egyptian patriot, a man profoundly committed to a tolerant Egypt which, alas, is slowly disappearing, a country fiercely proud of its profoundly rich culture stretching back thousands and thousands of years, the Arab world’s cultural and political centre of gravity, where literature and music and theatre and art flourished.

Today Egypt is impoverished, economically and politically, its cultural life a mere shadow of what existed fifty or sixty years ago.

But the spirit of Egypt—and an unflagging optimism that Egypt will rise again—is kept alive by people like George. Even if he is behind bars.

HARARE, Zimbabwe – The calm and tightly controlled streets of the capital city here, Harare, are hard to fathom. Why aren’t we seeing protests in the streets, panic at the banks and brawls in the food lines? When I asked one young Zimbabwean about it he explained, ‘It’s like a person, on the outside we look healthy, but inside we’re rotting,” he said.

A Zimbabwean woman harvests pumpkins. Food shortages in the countryside have left many people starving.

On a rare, undercover journey into the Zimbabwean countryside, we tried to find ‘the rot’ and we didn’t have to look long. We passed several police checkpoints, dodging police all the way along our route before we joined a journey made by millions here each day, an all-consuming hunt for work and food.

Some of the farm labourers we meet have come from a neighboring province. “We hitched a ride, closed in like dogs on trucks,” one female farm worker says before adding they have no choice but to roam and scavenge for a job for as little as $3 a month. They say the farm they had been working on wasn’t even paying them enough to buy their own food.

One U.S. dollar is now worth 40 million Zimbabwean dollars. But here on the land, they rate the country’s hyper inflation not by some ridiculous number, but by hunger.

We can’t say how we managed to talk to these people, but their stories lay bare Mugabe’s rural ruin. We passed mile after mile of Africa’s richest soil, most of it uncultivated. As one man bitterly remarked, “We grow grass here in Zimbabwe now.”

In contrast, one farm we passed had immaculate, perfectly tended citrus groves and much more. It was the Zanu-PF farm, where Mugabe’s party plants and harvests food of its own, to distribute as it pleases.

But on many ordinary black-owned farms, the government isn’t even tilling the fields for farmers like it used to. We also spoke to a white farm owner. Farmers here said they were grateful all had been quiet so far, but they were still apprehensive about what would happen next.

“As long as they’ve left us with something, it’s worth our fighting for, “ he says, adding that the government had already taken three-quarters of his farm. “No one expects anything fancy, just a bit of stability, we want to know what’s happening tomorrow,” he adds, unwilling to give his name and asking us to withhold the location of his farm.

In 2000, Mugabe’s regime ordered the expropriation of thousands of white-owned farms, sometimes by force. About sixty white-owned farms have suffered through “invasions” in the last week. Most of the properties are now back in the owners’ hands, but farms remain a key political battleground for Mugabe. He claims to be defending Zimbabwean land and preventing the opposition from giving black land back to whites.

There is fear in every rural corner here; fear that is now reinforced by Mugabe’s militias. In the farming hub of Bindura, once a guaranteed Mugabe stronghold, we spotted Zanu-PF loyalists making their presence felt in the town.

The opposition Movement for Democratic Change, or MDC, claims this district turned its back on the regime during the elections, electing an MDC politician.

Diplomatic sources inside and outside Zimbabwe tell CNN that more than 200 party militia have been dispatched to places like Bindura. Their mission is clear, sources say: they have been tasked with intimidating those who voted against President Mugabe.

What surprised me though was that even in this toxic environment, we found people expressing the kind of defiance that could finally replace their all-consuming fear.

“You know the people of Zimbabwe are so stupid” said one mango vendor we spoke to. He was referring to Mugabe and his party. He wants the “old man” to retire. After all, he adds, the opposition has guaranteed the president won’t be tried or exiled.

But, from another vendor, a shrewd if depressing observation: “We are dying, slowly, slowly in Zimbabwe, but I think it’s now faster than before.”

We relied on courageous Zimbabweans to guide us on our rare journey through the country’s rural heartland. Hope there has lost out to hunger. So far, democracy has failed utterly to transform their despair.

Watch my report from inside Zimbabwe.

CAIRO, Egypt – There’s a typically subversive joke making the rounds in Cairo and it goes like this:

A man is sitting in his car in the usual Cairo traffic jam, when someone comes up and knocks on the car window.

Egyptian riot police beat a protester with batons, during anti government protests in the city of Mahalla.

“President Mubarak has been kidnapped and his kidnappers say unless a billion dollar ransom is paid they’ll douse him with petrol and set him alight. So we’re collecting donations.”

“Ok,” replies the man in the car. “On average, what are people paying?”

“Five to ten litres,” replies the other.

That the popularity of the Mubarak regime is at an all time low is taken for granted in the streets of Cairo. Hosni Mubarak has been in power since October 1981 following the assassination of his predecessor, Anwar Sadat.

Dramatically rising food prices (which have almost doubled since the start of the year), an ever more yawning gap between a tiny, fantastically wealthy elite and the vast majority of Egyptians (nearly forty percent of whom must try to get by on around two dollars a day), corruption, political stagnation and labour unrest all combine to make a very volatile situation that threatens to shake the monolithic Egyptian state.

“I don’t know what Mubarak is thinking,” a friend, whom I won’t identify for his own safety, told me when I was in Cairo two weeks ago. “Doesn’t he realise how bad things have become?”

Here’s another joke I heard: President Mubarak, who was an avid squash player in his younger years, is sitting with a group of his advisors.

“My friends,” he says, “I’m getting old and I don’t think I have much time left on this earth, so I need to know one thing: in heaven, do they play squash?”

“Mr President, we’ll look into it and get back to you as soon as possible,” replies his senior advisor.

The next day, the advisors return to the president.

“We have good news and we have bad news. Which do you want to hear first?” asks the senior advisor.

“The good news, please,” responds President Mubarak.

“The good news, Mr President, is that they do indeed have squash in heaven.”

“And the bad news?” asks a visibly relieved Mubarak.

“The bad news, Mr President, is that you have a game tomorrow.”

But after 27 years in power, many Egyptians suspect Mubarak is surrounded by advisors who don’t like to share the bad news, that Mubarak is completely out of touch with the harsh reality that is Egypt today.

Tuesday Egyptians are supposed to go to the polls to vote in municipal elections. I say ‘supposed’ because most probably will not. The Muslim Brotherhood, the largest and best organised opposition group in Egypt announced Monday that they would boycott the elections due to the unprecedented level of harassment the security forces have meted out to them.

In the past few weeks around a thousand of their members have been jailed. The Brotherhood is technically illegal in Egypt because the constitution bans any political party based on religion. The Brotherhood has been tolerated over the years as a fact of life, and in late 2005 made stunning gains in parliamentary elections. Those elections alarmed not only the Mubarak regime, but also the United States, which had been pushing Mubarak to democratize.

Needless to say, after the Brotherhood’s gains, after the Hamas electoral victory in January 2006, the US is no longer a great fan of democracy in the Arab world, though American officials do on occasion pay lukewarm lip service to the idea.

Adding to the tensions surrounding the municipal elections is labour unrest, focused around the factory town of Mahalla Al-Kubra in the Nile Delta. Sunday workers, who have been agitating for a pay rise, fought with police. At least two protesters were killed. Clashes broke out again Monday evening, and pictures were broadcast of a crowd tearing down and kicking one of the ubiquitous billboards of Mubarak.

People in Egypt are increasingly drawing parallels between the situation today and that that existed in the lead up to the 1952 coup d’état that brought down the Egyptian monarchy. That monarchy, like the Mubarak regime, was plagued by corruption and was out of touch with ordinary Egyptians. Furthermore, it was facing an increasingly assertive Muslim Brotherhood, and widespread labour unrest: the same combination confronting President Mubarak.

But the Egyptian state—with its omnipresent and often oppressive security forces—is not easily shaken. Through violence, intimidation, and the occasional use of the carrot, Mubarak may be able to weather this political storm.

The potential for things to get out of hand, however, is still there. And Egypt, the most populous Arab country, is still for many the standard bearer for the Arab world. There’s a saying that where Egypt goes, the rest of the Arabs follow. And anyone familiar with the Arab world knows that the travails of contemporary Egypt—official corruption, dictatorship, political oppression, economic stagnation and growing public discontent—are ailments common to many countries in the region. If Egypt shakes, the rest of the region will feel the shivers.

BRUSSELS, Belgium – My mentor once told me that there is no such thing as a perfect shoot and, having spent more than a decade in the sports news business, I’d have to agree with him.

Wednesday’s shoot with Michael Schumacher in Brussels was a perfect example. The story that a drinks company — Bacardi Limited — was launching a drink-driving campaign was interesting enough, but what really enticed us to the Belgian capital was the lure of an interview with Formula One’s record-breaking seven-time world champion.
Although retired from professional racing, Schumacher remains one of the biggest names in world sport. But, even for top broadcasters like CNN, such interview opportunities are rare.

Therefore I travelled on the early-morning Eurostar from London with a long list of questions, ranging from Schumacher’s thoughts on retirement, his recent success with motorcycling, the current F1 championship, F1 safety, the future of the sport and his legacy. Oh, and of course his thoughts on the road safety campaign! Failure to ask a question about the launch would be like turning up to a dinner party without a bottle of wine.

The dilemma was that the PR company had only given us 10 minutes, and this clearly wasn’t going to be long enough. Believe it or not, we haggled for an extra two minutes, but Schumacher’s PR staff — and there were plenty of them — were going to be watching the second hand of their watches extremely closely.

The trick now was to cover as many topics as possible, asking follow-ups where appropriate, but without jeopardizing our shopping list of topics. There’s nothing worse than being wrapped up with 6 questions still to go, equally it’s infuriating to rush through and finish with minutes to spare.

After a bit of practice, you develop a sixth sense for the timing of these things, but are always on the lookout for a gesticulating hand in the eye-line … the dreaded signal to stop asking questions.

Usually, one can ignore the first of these with a hand signal of your own, indicating your acknowledgement. To pass through the second will set the pulses racing on the sidelines however, and the third risks a full-scale confrontation. Often, the time elapsed during this entire process will be no more that 45 seconds, but it’s enough to risk the wrath of a PR entourage.

I was always told to save “the naughty question” until the end, and it was this strategy that caused real panic. As I asked whether FIA president Max Mosley, who had reportedly been caught in a sex orgy (of all things) should step down, Schumacher’s PA hissed to my producer, “If you don’t wrap him, I will!”

Michael diplomatically side-stepped the last question and we all remained friends; and although it was frustrating not to have had more time, I realised that I was fortunate to have gotten any time in the first place.

So now we had to cut our piece and with six hours to kill in Brussels, we were ushered off to a “private room” where we could begin our edit. It also just so happened to be the dressing room for Bacardi’s rather attractive hostesses.

Actually, what was I saying about there never being a perfect shoot …!BRUSSELS, Belgium — My mentor once told me that there is no such thing as a perfect shoot and, having spent more than a decade in the sports news business, I’d have to agree with him.

Wednesday’s shoot with Michael Schumacher in Brussels was a perfect example. The story that a drinks company — Bacardi Limited — was launching a drink-driving campaign was interesting enough, but what really enticed us to the Belgian capital was the lure of an interview with Formula One’s record-breaking seven-time world champion.

Although retired from professional racing, Schumacher remains one of the biggest names in world sport. But, even for top broadcasters like CNN, such interview opportunities are rare.

Therefore I travelled on the early-morning Eurostar from London with a long list of questions, ranging from Schumacher’s thoughts on retirement, his recent success with motorcycling, the current F1 championship, F1 safety, the future of the sport and his legacy. Oh, and of course his thoughts on the road safety campaign! Failure to ask a question about the launch would be like turning up to a dinner party without a bottle of wine.

The dilemma was that the PR company had only given us 10 minutes, and this clearly wasn’t going to be long enough. Believe it or not, we haggled for an extra two minutes, but Schumacher’s PR staff — and there were plenty of them — were going to be watching the second hand of their watches extremely closely.

The trick now was to cover as many topics as possible, asking follow-ups where appropriate, but without jeopardizing our shopping list of topics. There’s nothing worse than being wrapped up with 6 questions still to go, equally it’s infuriating to rush through and finish with minutes to spare.

After a bit of practice, you develop a sixth sense for the timing of these things, but are always on the lookout for a gesticulating hand in the eye-line … the dreaded signal to stop asking questions.

Usually, one can ignore the first of these with a hand signal of your own, indicating your acknowledgement. To pass through the second will set the pulses racing on the sidelines however, and the third risks a full-scale confrontation. Often, the time elapsed during this entire process will be no more that 45 seconds, but it’s enough to risk the wrath of a PR entourage.

I was always told to save “the naughty question” until the end, and it was this strategy that caused real panic. As I asked whether FIA president Max Mosley, who had reportedly been caught in a sex orgy (of all things) should step down, Schumacher’s PA hissed to my producer, “If you don’t wrap him, I will!”

Michael diplomatically side-stepped the last question and we all remained friends; and although it was frustrating not to have had more time, I realised that I was fortunate to have gotten any time in the first place.

So now we had to cut our piece and with six hours to kill in Brussels, we were ushered off to a “private room” where we could begin our edit. It also just so happened to be the dressing room for Bacardi’s rather attractive hostesses.

Actually, what was I saying about there never being a perfect shoot …!