Earlier this year, I met a man who was interested in talking to me about a possible joint venture. He was forthright and ambitious, and we swapped contact details as you do.

A few weeks back, we talked, and it transpired he’s had quite an amazing and appalling life. He’d been through a hell of an ordeal abroad that had hit the news, and had political ramifications. And he wanted to capitalise on that experience, use it to catapult him into being a motivational speaker talking about what he’d been through, and have an accompanying book and so forth.

I was interested, but pretty soon alarm bells started to sound. He told me he’d been in America talking to someone who reckoned they could get him a book deal, and filmed a half hour video about his ordeal to get across to people in the book and film worlds what he’d been through. But he also said that he wanted to work with me. And that didn’t add up: if he’s got this American thing on the go already, what could I add to the party?

The ethics of the situation troubled me — I didn’t want to be working on something for him in Britain while he’d meanwhile got people working on his behalf in America. It seemed like he was prepared to work on projects with different partners, all developed from his personal history, and go with whatever worked, which wasn’t a situation I liked the sound of: who exactly had the rights to what, and how would they benefit from it? And that made me reassess the whole situation. It struck me that here I was dealing with an opportunist, and I didn’t want to be.

A few days after that scenario, I met up with a couple of women from a small but credible theatre company about the possibility of working together. We talked about one way to do so, and I made them aware that there were other ways forward too, which excited all of us. I set about developing four ideas for them in the next 48 hours — one of which was based on my experience with the chap I mentioned above, since the whole notion of turning your trauma into a career interested me, and his approach to it was fascinating.

As it turns out, the theatre people moved the goalposts about what they wanted, and didn’t go with any of the ideas I submitted. Hey ho. But I’m still fascinated by the guy I’d met, and at this point I’ve got a two page story outline and five pages of dialogue inspired by him. And I like what I’ve written, as does a filmmaker I’ve shown it to, and I’d love to do something with it.

At which point I remember that there’s a Channel 4 scheme running, looking for original 30 half hour dramas. It’s a project I’ve applied for unsuccessfully in the past, and ignored for a few years. This time round though, I reckon I’ve got something topical, with a dark satirical edge, that I’d love to develop. The requirement of the organisers is that the script can be shot in four days, and the piece would use only three actors…yeah, I’m going to give it a go. Plenty of time between now and the early June deadline to polish up a proposal.

All of which serves as a reminder that — like the title of this piece suggests — nothing is wasted. I could have dismissed the meeting with the tormented guy as a run-in with just another joker, albeit one who’d been through hell. Instead, I used it to inform an idea for a play. And now that’s been knocked back by the people who were potentially interested, I’ll remix it and submit it as a tv idea. If that doesn’t work, I can see it existing as a radio play or low budget feature even. No sense letting a good idea go to waste, and in this particular case I know the concept is worth sticking with until it finds its opportunity for expression.