Son of the Return to the Curse of the Revenge has Risen from the Grave: The Final Chapter: A New Beginning. Pt. II

The time has come, the Walrus said, to talk of many things but mainly films, TV and writing stuff. And my circumlocutious aquatic friend is right. Or maybe it’s a quote. Or a dream. I’m still on a lot of medication. Him’s still right though.

It’s been a very long time: where to begin? Possibly the beginning. Then again, starting at the end might be more fun. Or confusing. Be warned there will be excessive use of the perpendicular pronoun.

I have been somewhat unwell for the last couple of years – this was annoying. I am better than I was but nowhere near as good as I’d like to be – this is also annoying. The biggest irritation is the continuing effects of the paralysis down my right hand side. The other biggest irritation (apart from having forgotten how superlatives work) is that the nerves in my spine have failed to re-grow properly: this was their sole task and they have failed miserably. Very naughty of them. This, unsurprisingly, is also rather annoying. So, I’m swallowing a lot of tablets, rather tired and incredibly bored...

Which is why I’ve come back to this blog-thing: I also need the practice with the hand. I’ve not a clue what I’m going to put here: I suspect I’ll mainly just talk narcissistically about myself – isn’t that what the internet exists for? If you’ve come here for screenwriting advice, I’d say you’re out of luck, here’s my only piece of advice – stop reading this and go write stuff.

So, to the more recent past: over the last few months or so, I’ve started jotting down thoughts, plot points, snatches of dialogue, character-snippets – the usual writery-stuff – started compiling those notes - sorting, sifting, arranging, re-arranging, crossing out, uncrossing... it’s a start.

There’s rather a lot of things I want to write: maybe they’ll be terrible, maybe clichéd, maybe terribly clichéd; may probably never get made or bought or even read; I might just tuck them away in a drawer somewhere to moulder. But I won’t know until I’ve scratched them down. There’s so many things I want to say: I think it’s time to get on and say them.

I’ve already made a small start by putting in a sample script to 4Talent’s Screenwriting Course. I’m under no illusions that there’ll be an acceptance. However, there is nothing to lose. What’s the worst they can say? No?

Well... actually, the worst they can do is inform me they’ve referred my case to the ultra-secretive League Against Bad Writing for imminent elimination so as to cleanse the ink-pool. But they probably wouldn’t warn me in advance. I’d just be found with a sharpened quill pierced through my jugular. We shall see.

So, here I am, back from the dead, nearly literally, I just wish it was slightly less...

And slightly more...

...the right night to rise from the Grave!

Ain't It Dead Yet?

Every Breath You Take....

With the news that sinister corporation (and Blogger owner) Google doing deeply sinister corporate things while the the Leveson Inquiry into Media Ethics (or lack thereof) continues in its quest to unveil other sinister corporations doing other deeply sinister corporate things I thought it might be apposite to draw attention to a short piece that superior media theorist and documentary essayist Adam Curtis produced for Charlie Brooker's Screenwipe 2011.



Quis custodiet ipsos custodes?

(Pretentious, moi? ;)

Er, Happy New Year.... and WTF?!?!?

I was going to make the first post of the year glib, ironic, shallow and, you know, whatever. I was going to wish everyone a belated happy new year....and I still do.... happy belated new year.....

But things changed a bit.....

I had thought things were looking up: the ribs I cracked turned out to be broken but had healed; a generally annoying long-term recurring illness had subsided a touch and was starting to consider generally buggering off a bit which was good and then..... well, if I believed in curses, I’d start to think I’d taken a pump-action for a fun-day to a hall of mirrors, having first waltzed through a colonnade of ladders and kicked a cornucopia of black cats. But I don’t. And I haven’t.

On 5th April I watched episode one of Candy Cabs (that’s how I remember the date) this was not a good idea. And I’m sure it could be evidence at the Hague as cruel and unusual punishment. I’m certain what happened next had precisely nothing to do with bad television but given how terribly bad that television was it’s fun to make the link. And isn’t it good to have a reason for the unreasonable no matter how completely ludicrous, erroneous and unreasonable it might be?

So, programme ends. Watch news. Watch Newsnight. Start to realise my whole right-hand side has stopped working: face slumped, speech problems, arm numb and barely mobile... Alarm bells start to ring – I think we’ve all seen the advert. I was in A&E within the hour and admitted that night. Cue tests: lots of tests. The most painful part of which came after I got home – lumber punctures are uncomfortable but the headache I had for the following two weeks was like someone drilling straight into my brain through my eyes. Then pouring in liquid nitrogen. I’ve broken my ribs, my knees and sliced a thumb to the bone.... they had nothing on this. And the Doctor (likely qualified in ‘30’s Germany) said there would be no pain. Would hate to see his definition of pain. But, hey, no pain no gain; do I get a tin cup or something?

In hospital I was introduced to another new experience I could have done without: a visit from the Norovirus Fairy, courtesy of another patient’s visitor (who ‘thought it would be OK to visit while he had the symptoms’ but didn’t see the point of all those hygiene things that hospitals have taken quite a shine to – feel free to roll eyes and tut). B.P. went to 60 over 25 (which apparently is bad), required 6 litres of fluids, lost nearly a stone in 5 days, hallucinated a lot and knocked the drip out twice.... which was actually quite amusing and sort of, er, bloody.

I was released just before Easter and enjoyed two weeks of blinding headaches and lots of codeine. But at least it was sunny so I retreated into the garden with a CD player and dark glasses. I probably looked like Lermontov.



The return home was a problematic, weird experience crowned by the first couple of hours with the TV at which point I realised I couldn’t understand why anybody would ever want to watch TV or films as it’s just a bunch of inconsequential buffoons prancing like pointless puppets making empty burbling noises of no worth. Worse, I couldn’t work out why anybody in their right mind would dedicate any time to writing for such inanity. Thankfully, this seems to be wearing off.

So, where does this leave things: I’m still part paralyzed with no real idea when or if it will wear off. The list of things I can’t do seems much longer than those I can: can’t drive; can barely hold a pen or sign my name; can’t feel the laptop keys properly (so I’m using two fingers on my left-hand); have trouble holding fork, knife, toothbrush, etc. It’s a bit annoying.

Still, could be worse: I might have watched the rest of Candy Cabs.

And I doubt anyone’s reading this; so probably just pissing in the wind; I notice most Bloggers seem to have given up in the last 6-12 months.... guess everyone’s burbling away on Witter.... ‘cos, like, you know, what meathead's shagging what tart, is like, you know, so like, yeah, whatever, innit. LOL. OMG. LMAO.

Always end on a song..... one which has the chorus ‘life is unfair, kill yourself or get over it’ would be quite nice... what a coincidence...

Last Album listened to: Nine Inch Nails: Still
Last TV watched: Doctor Who: The Almost People

No Snow, No Show

Just one simple question....

Where - WHERE! - is my snow?

Everybody else got some why didn't I?

That's a bit of a lie - there was a half inch mid-week.

Then it rained.

And it evaporated (alright, technically melted).

I have a green lawn.

I don't want a green lawn. I'd rather like a pretty white one. You know, like what I've seen on the tele and all.

I still have flowers on the rose bushes - admittedly they got caught by the frost a while back and I'm too lazy to excise them but... they still bear the impression of being flowers, just sort of freeze-dried versions.

There's a lot of water about.

It sits on the road all frozen and treacherous (i.e. plotting to overthrow Her Madge, Gawd bless Her Royal Majestic Highnessness). The temperature outside shames my refridgerator. And the cold has got into all the joints I've generally broken, dislocated or otherwise misplaced over the years.

Guess what I'm saying here is: I've got all the bad bits of Winter without the one redeeming feature. Pretty white stuff coating everything. Pristine by day, glowing by night and muffling the world's infernal din for the duration.

Of course, I know why I don't get snow in quite the same way or at the same time as others: to the East, the Cotswolds; to the North, the Malverns; to the South, more Cotswolds; to the West, the Forest of Dean and Welsh Mountains. By the time the clouds pass over these they can be a bit spent.

Don't get me wrong, it's not that I want the eight foot drifts and 'Traffic Chaos'. But three or four inches that sticks around long enough so as to say 'Winter has come and you do actually live in the same country as everybody else', well, that might be nice.

But before anyone thinks 'how dare you complain about having it easy', just remember when all that snow melts the water has to go somewhere... an' roun' 'ere we call tha' floodin'.

Boring Update

I had intended the next post to be about Red Planet but instead, a couple of weeks back, I went ass over tip in the bathroom (not the most forgivingly cushioned part of a house) and cracked a couple of ribs. Haven’t bothered taking them to the doctor because, firstly, it feels exactly the same as the last time I did it (so it’s a safe assumption it’s the exact same thing) and, secondly, there’s precisely nothing that can be done anyway: just have to sit it out for a couple of months. Anyway, leaning forward over a laptop is not the most excessively comfortable thing right now.

Apologies for being so boring. However, in recompense, here’s a clip of two cracking Welshmen performing a right good version of a Manics’ song...

Further boring updates as and when.