Our attempt to make a documentary on the zombie plague ran into problems on the second day itself, when, after filming my monologue, we went to the park to film actual zombies.
The first zombie we encountered was one that had been a policeman. He tapped on our camera and said, “Oi. You can’t shoot here. Do you have council permission?”
We had a narrow escape, and the camera suffered very minor damage when I stumbled over a bush. I was not bitten.
The next zombie we met had been a young mother, and perhaps retained some memory of her life, because we got five seconds of footage of her attempting to breastfeed her baby, which was still alive. When she saw us, she made no attempt to eat my brains, but instead punched me in the eye and called me a pervert.
After this, I went home and our financer gave me an ice pack to apply to my injury. “You’ve got to look where you’re walking, son,” she said. It really saddens me to see what has happened to her. She might be undead, but she’s still my mother.