Sunday, 21 June 2015

Last Day

Well this is it.

The final day!

Fourteen days, some of which where actually spent writing!

What has it been like? I ask myself… mainly because you’ve lost interest in this whole shambles, but it has been like…. being stuck in a cage, with a drunk but apathetic bear: there is potential for danger but much more chance of sleep.

I have asked myself lots of really introspective questions such as ‘why am I writing a play?’, ‘What the hell am I doing with my life?’ and ‘How long can I go without washing my hair?’

Have I answered any of them?

Yes… potentially I could go forever without washing my hair as long as I never go outside, also the moment I do wash my hair I wash out everything that is stopping me looking
insane, and then spend thousands of pounds on chemical conditioning remedies that replace the natural serums I have removed. But at least I am clean, sort of.

So all in all it has been a very useful exercise.

What’s that little question I hear vaguely in the distance?

“Have you finished your play?”

 Er…. No.

Friday, 19 June 2015

DAY WHATEVER

I’ve lost count, I’m somewhere, not sure where, it’s a day.

Look, I don’t have to answer to you! OK?! OK?!

Don’t look at me like that! My epic fourteen(ish) day challenge thingy to finish my play hit a teeny tiny little hurdle that knocked me off course for half a week.

That’s all, nothing major, it’s all cool, I don’t mind, I don’t give one jot that I was POISONED!

POISON!

‘By who?’ I hear you ask (should it be ‘whom’? When does one ‘whom’? How does one know whom to ‘whom’?)

By what? Should be your question!

For ‘twas not a hoomun what did it for me, but a thing. At least I think ‘tis was a thing (Tiswas!?), for I have not left this house, this cave of mine in which I dwell to carve these words upon this mighty—

Ok, I am sick of that prose, I don’t know why I go all pseudo Shakespeare every time I get poisoned… it must be a reaction.

I ate something, or drank something, at some point in the last week (perhaps the last two) that contained something, or was contaminated by something that my food intolerances will not allow me to consume.

I KNOW NOT WHAT!

I was all happy, happy… well, I was my usual self; a sort of slowly boiling over rage toward the world, when my brain starts to get a little foggy.

I begin to have unwarranted ‘senior moments’ (I’m barely a smidgen more than twenty six!) … I start to run a bath then promptly forget about it, put bread (sans gluten) under the grill and forget about it, put my freshly made coffee in the cupboard, then take the jar of granules to my desk and stare at it for half an hour thinking ‘now I know something ain’t right’.

This is, of course, the first symptom of my downfall, if this was the last symptom, then I may be able to use my wits and genius to work out what is happening, to stop it in its tracks, to prevent sinking further into the pit of despair.

But then, the sun gets brighter. Brighter and brighter, getting all up in my business. I have to close the curtains, shut out this devastating light, put on sunglasses and crawl into the darkest corner of the house, and then forget why I’m there.

And then, my favourite bit, oh yes. The darkest bit of all. The bit that sits there waiting. It waits for me to first lose my genius, my wit, my mind.

It waits for the point when I can no longer remember how complicated things such as ‘words’ work and I dimly ask for ‘hot potato’ instead of ‘a hot water bottle’, like some slack-jawed, monkey-brained, fool of a twit.

But still it waits, it waits for me to become physically frail; pale, drawn, dark circles around my eyes, swollen glands and swollen stomach, a heavy fatigue enveloping my body like a wet, doggy-smelly, blanket.

At this point, I am now capable of nothing more that shuffling around the house; a dim-witted, slothful, peddler of idiocy.

When I am thusly incapacitated, slow of action and mind; I am struck by the last and heaviest symptom of my POISON!

Wiffling and burbling, like the Jabberwock through the tulgy wood, it creeps upon me. I am too slow to move out of its way, too stupid to know which way ‘it’s way’ is any way and alas it is already too late. I am caught in its damp and squishy pincers without even knowing my enemy is upon me.

I think the dark thoughts it whispers in my ear are my own.

For two days I have been caught in its grasp.

All this because of frikken food intolerance! THE BASTARD!

There was something, hidden somewhere! What was it?!
Was it maltodextrose? Ambrose Nectrose? Whogivesafecktrose?!

Now I am even more terrified of food than I was before! Checking everything! Everything!

“OI! What’s in this chicken!?”

“… chicken.”

“AND WHAT ELSE? POISONER! POISONER!”

“… just chicken.”

“Ok, Mum… I believe you…”

I’ll let it slide this time, POISONER! But don’t think I’m not watching you!

Monday, 15 June 2015

DAY EIGHT

Well I was so knackered after actually doing some work on DAY SIX that I had to spend all of DAY SEVEN on the couch half asleep.

I could have watched ‘Orange is the New Black’ – which is what every other bugger in the world seems to have done.
 
BUT I WILL NOT BE DICTATED TO!

I will binge watch that particular series when I am damn-well, good and ready to binge watch that particular series! DAMN YOU!

Isn’t that the whole point? Isn’t it?

ON DEMAND!? It is for when I demand it!

Not for one great gluttonous soup of pyjamas and crisps on the first bloody weekend it comes out!

Speeding through the whole thing in a desperate attempt to ingest a cultural phenomenon before it slides out of popular interest; so that you have something in your sad empty life to talk about come Monday morning.

Not even Monday morning!

By Monday morning everyone is talking about something else (I have no idea what, because I am not everyone) because they will all be on the twittersphere watching what everyone else is talking about and joining in quickly before everyone goes away and talks about something else!

But its ok because if you get lost and don’t know what everyone is talking about, you can look at the little list of what’s ‘Trending’, then join in that ‘conversation’ and become ‘trendy’, TRENDY!? Then simply start shouting whatever nonsense comes into your head, shouting and shouting into a void of a million voices that no one hears!

A great echo chamber of jibber jabber with everyone hoping that their little shout or picture or video leaps out of the pinball machine (I’ve changed metaphors now, do keep up) with an electric cheer and shoots off into the outerworld of blogs and buzzfeeds morphing into a ‘meme’ or a ‘viral’ alongside a million other virals and memes in a world of grumpy cats and rainbow cats and cats in shark suits riding robot vacuum cleaners.

What have we become!?

What have I become? 

...a bit bored, tbh.

Saturday, 13 June 2015

DAY SIX

This is only a real day, a real part of this EPIC journey to finish a draft of my play, because it’s a bit rainy and I’m bored.

So I wrote Act III.

I know! It was rather unexpected, but that’s what happens when you run out of chocolate cake and someone else is doing the cleaning.

So now I feel all smug and satisfied!

Act III is very exciting!

‘Keith’ uses a naughty word! So it must be getting out of control!

At this speedy rate I’ll have finished the rest of the play in twenty minutes so I must dash!

Friday, 12 June 2015

DAY FIVE

Am I at the halfway point?

I can’t decide.

If I was all like really dedicated to playwriting I would be doing the full fourteen days of exile I promised myself… throwing myself against the computer each day like a proverbial miller against a proverbial grindstone getting proverbially smashed in the face.

But it’s quite nice to have a bit of a weekend and that… so I might have a little break from my very dedicated and hard work, as I have done SUCH A LOT this week, and maybe go out the sun… have a barbeque, learn to drive the motorbike I brought a few weeks – months ago and has now become a sort of garden feature.

‘How much have you written?’
‘How much have you got left?’

Why do people keep asking these things?

What is ‘much’? Hmmm? Hmmm? What is ‘much’? MUCH! MUCH! MUCH!

I done much. I got much left.

Thousands of words, all of which will be cut and re-written later.

This amounts to thousands of hours.

This is it! This is my life now! Writing and rewriting and writing and rewriting the same play over and over and over and over…

An eternity of muchness.

So stop bloody askin’!

Thursday, 11 June 2015

DAY FOUR

Me, falling through time. Obvs.
HOW HAS THIS HAPPENED!?

How the FRIPPLE FRAPPLE has it got to day freaking bleeping FOUR!

This is YOUR fault!

Constantly demanding my attention like… like an incontinent dog!

This is FOUR DAYS WASTED!

Four days of my quest to complete my play! GONE!

I’ve done NOTHING, nothing to further my cause!

My pages lie just as scattered, just as useless and incoherent and I am no closer to finishing, four days closer to the end of my exile. Four days closer to my own bitter death, sunken and alone, a failure, a WORM!

CURSE YOU!

CURSE YOU ALL!

Bugger.

Wednesday, 10 June 2015

DAY THREE

So far today I have:

- wondered around the house aimlessly, ignoring the piles of laundry and dirty dishes because ‘I’m writing’!

- started cataloguing the food in the house before getting bored.

- looked out the window. A LOT.

- had about eighteen cups of coffee and had a nap.

- gone through my diary making a note of times I could use for writing.
 
- chased a cat.

- made a ‘to do’ list.

- made a backdated ‘done’ list of all the things I have already done then ticked everything off.

- listened to a painfully awful radio 4 ‘comedy’ play and thought ‘I could do better than that’

- stared at my painfully blank computer screen.

All in all, the playwriting is going rather well.

Tuesday, 9 June 2015

DAY TWO

What happened to ‘Day one’? I hear you ask.

Well spotted!

Anyway – today is Tuesday June 9th 2015 (as you can prolly tell from the automatic date at the top of this blog but never mind that) and it is DAY TWO of my self imposed exile from THE WORLD.

The reason for this exile is so that I can FINALLY finish the play that I have been writing for what feels like most of my life, if not many lives before this one.

The length of time spent writing has not improved the quality of the script so far – most of the pages are taped together scrawled notes saying things like ‘How would I react here?’ and ‘a hopeless vacuum’ or ‘what does dog taste like?’… so at the moment it would prolly pass as a bit of performance art but nothing worth watching.

‘HOW IS IT GOING!?’

Alright! No need to shout! Blimey.

Well so far I have written this blog and read the complete scripts of ‘Father Ted’, oh and the complete book of sketches by Victoria Wood, and I’ve had a bit of cake. Actually I have had a hell of a lot of cake.

But to be fair, right, just as I am getting into writing, as in thinking about getting into writing… possibly... the next door neighbours decide that now is the perfect time to grab a chainsaw and hack down four, thirty foot trees.

HOW AM I SUPPOSED TO CREATE ART WITH THAT INFERNAL RACKET!

Plus my mug of coffee runs dry very quickly and I have to think about writing a message to the milkman plus my books really do need alphabetising then I will have to cook something for lunch and have a long think about what to make for tea and I really ought to have a bath this side of the summer solstice…

All in all there is far too much to be doing and I can’t possibly be putting pen to paper to finish my opus while all this nonsense is going on.

But ok… I’ll make some sort of imaginary deal with you and see if I can’t at least have a fair whack at filling out a bit of act two… How will they four survivors react to the presence of THE STRANGER!

Just after I finish this bit of cake and watch that tree come down.

Thursday, 4 June 2015

STICK MAN

I am sleepy.

No! Not the Frikken dwarf! What the frick frack is wrong with you?

I’m tired, sleepy tired all in my face and in my feet mostly but there are bits of sleepy all over me, all fogging up my brain and that.

My life ain’t exactly an all inclusive weekend trip to Boscastle yer know.

And yes, I will admit that there was a teeny tiny element of staying up late to binge watch Netflix involved in this state of current sleepiness, but most, and I mean MOST of this sleepiness is due to… der der deeer! 
 
THE STICK MAN!!

This ain’t no superhero, no biro doodle nor no crazed delusionary!

This is a man that plagues my open windowed nights! Stalks my dewy dreams! (Dewy?) Creeps through my moonlit dozes!

Clickle… clack… clickle… clack…… clickle… clack…

This staccato click clacking of his walking sticks tapping along the empty, unlit streets of New Town is driving me into a state of fatigue-drenched RAGE!

Who is this semi-debilitated man of two, YES TWO, sticks?

And am I supposed to show compassion to his feeble frame due to its reliance on a supporting structure?

HOW!?

How can I display any compassion at three in the morning when I am awoken in a fuzzy haze of confusion by CLICKLECLICKLECLICKLE

I SEETHE WITH FEEBLE FURY!

But last night, last night the stick man expanded his repertoire…. Oh yes!

His gentle amble with his stickle stackle, his playful clickle clackle with his stickity stick at 5pm, then 9pm, then 12am, then 3am, then 6am …. ad infinitum. Is no longer enough! Nowhere near enough, to sate his desire to vex his slumbering foe!

OH NO!

No, last night was a special night. Last night was the night he decided to start shouting.

Shouting random abuse. Shouting random abuse consistently, at no one, in between his clickity clacks... Lovely.

‘BOLLOCKS’… Clickity… ‘WANKERS’… clickity… ‘YELLOW PAGES’ (I never said it was coherent)… Clickity.

Oh what tremendous joys await my next night’s slumber?

Bastard.

Tuesday, 2 June 2015

Slippage

Right, well, I’ve gotten to that time of life now where everything is slipping,

Don’t look at me like that! Slipping, commitment wise. Why you always have to jump to the most physical of conclusions I’ll never know!

See I’ve tried my hand at many a thingy over the years (as the actress said to the bishop –woop woop) knitting lasted almost a quarter! (that’s three months to those of us who aren’t accountants) I was an archaeologist for a long, dirt filled summer (slipping into winter without a by your leave!) I worked in recruitment and had to talk to people every hour on the hour, relentlessly. That was awful.

I was even Welsh at one point, but I think we’ll gloss over that with a suspiciously dark marker pen, one of those ones where a single hard sniff gets you whistling with pixies.

But this little blog. This little bloggity blog, that I nurtured like those frighteningly fly infested miniature cucumbers I lost interest in, has been something I held onto with the best of intentions.

Dreaming of how one day this little bloggity blog would scoop me up in a wave of internet sensation based hysteria and place me, like a little starlight statue, alongside the greats of the comedy world.

But that seems like a lot of effort, doesn’t it?

So I have abandoned you, again and again, while I wandered off to do something more interesting and fulfilling, like playing Assassins Creed (oh the sounds of the screaming as I throw my latest kill off the rooftop into the crowd below fills me with a little fuzz of joy in the pit of my belly) or less interesting and hardly fulfilling at all, such as going to university.

Right now, however, I am working on a play. A real theatre-type-with-actors-type-play that I am writing all by myself (with as much help as I can get) and I hope this serves as some explanation as to why I am here.

My procrastination has taken me full circle so that the procrastination I took up to take me away from this blog has now become so important to me that I am back here to procrastinate in order to avoid that which I took up to avoid this. Obvs.

So as long as I am avoiding doing something worthwhile, I will write blog posts. Probably.

HUZZAH!