Damon Collins

Here's an excerpt from the brand, spanking new issue of shots: Damon Collins, creative director of Mother; Jo Forel and Iskra Tsaneva, creative team; and Emmalou Johnson, agency producer for Boots Tis The Season

Day 1

7.30am Well, we made it. We survived the pre-prod. David made it here all the way from his retreat in Hawaii (an old nudist colony he recently purchased) thanks to some expert, transatlantic wrangling by his executive producers Ellen Jacobsen-Park in LA and Nicola Doring in London. The sun is shining and the sets are looking great.

7.37am David has said he's refusing to shoot. The location we're using for the first two days is a grand but decrepit mansion where Spanish nobility was murdered under Franco. David declares he's not going to film unless we have the building blessed. Fortunately, Ellen has brought her nanny from LA, who conveniently turns out to be a psychic. She asks the ghosts of the family if we can film there. They say yes. David leaves his trailer.

8.00am Chris Doyle, the legendary director of photography, is checking the lighting. Not sure which is more disconcerting; the dark sunglasses he's wearing as he works, or the beer in his hand. As he cracks open another can from his own personal cooler box we notice it's non-alcoholic. What a relief. Sort of.

9.00am We turn over. David Lethem, the first AD, looks round at us in panic as he hears David directing the girl who's stuffing the turkey: "Yeah, yeah, go on. Stick it up your mother!" As we're discussing the "fisting" action, production designer Marco Puig, swiftly puts us right: "Actually, that's not fisting. The technical term is punch-fucking."

1.00pm The model, despite being a vegetarian, is bearing up well after 63 takes. The same can't be said for the turkey.

1.30pm Lunch is called. We're not feeling that hungry.

1.00am It's been a long day. And it's nowhere near over. Everything is looking incredible and the cast and crew are all totally psyched about working with such a renowned genius. Despite the shoot coinciding with both London and New York fashion weeks, they chose to work with David instead of doing the shows. Realising we're shooting eight days' worth of material in four, David locks Nicola into his trailer: "Nickles, why am I not getting overtime for this?"

3.00am We wrap. David is driven off into the night. Nickles and Ellen are hissing into the phone to his driver. We can just make out the words: "We don't care where he fucking wants you to take him, lock him in the fucking car if you have to, just get him fucking home!"