The Stones had it nailed. If you try, you get what you need. Trying is key. If you don’t try, you won’t get anywhere. It’s silly to lay dormant; to not grasp at every opportunity given to you. We have one go at this big stage show – better to break the barriers, take the risks and have no regrets.

As a writer, I find myself over-thinking, hesitating and holding back. That said, my hesitancy and tendency to over-analyse often leads to my ‘inaction’. This is a perfect follow up to my previous blog post, wherein I’d spoken about shelving old work. I suppose it’s a similar anecdote – in that you must have confidence, drive and passion in all aspects of both your personal and professional life.

Recently I took a chance and made a pitch to my superiors in work. I took a risk. I outlined a marketing plan, a plan that I can implement from my years of experience freelancing. I suppose it was part of my ‘Resolutions’, in that I’d take more risks, grab more opportunities and do more for myself.

Whether or not these opportunities deliver themselves to us entirely; we can rest assured that we tried.

Perseverance  will lead to great things.

Arms, fingers, legs & toes crossed.

TTFN,

x

I’ve just spotted my search engine terms ie. every search engine term that’s ever shown up my blog for key words etc.

They are as follows (most are laughable):

The very last one being most interesting. I recall a previous blog post where I refer to myself as being a ‘huge cock’. Either that, or looking like a ‘huge cock’. I certainly didn’t refer to it in any gratifying or untoward way.

Shame on you for thinking so.

Jollies.

TTFN,

x

A product of my illness, was a strange, feverish temperature. Ranging from very hot to very cold. It’s calmed a bit now, but I’ve still (in the words of the almighty Withnail) got quite the bastard behind the eyes.

During my feverish state – I slept; albeit sporadically. In short forty minute bursts, I found myself entering dreams of places and people both past and present. Bizarre. And they were lucid. Total control. My first lucid experience to my memory. And it was both joyous and frightening. I found myself giggling mostly. Talking to my friends, family, my ex-girlfriend. Everything had a tint. A haze. All was well. My Grandfather who is suffering from Alzheimer’s at the moment, was tip-top; speaking very fluently about his days in the circus and as a renowned ‘Horsieman’ in Ireland. Any animosity between my ex-girlfriend and I was forgotten, and we reminisced with ease. I even had a moment where for some mad reason – where I and both my good friend Kieran and his friend Ryan (who, I’m acquainted with, but haven’t spent more than perhaps 24 hours in total with the man) shared what can only be described as a wrestling match with a ‘floozie’. Nothing untoward mind you; this was a PG dream.

Yes, so following our little romp with said floozie, Ryan and I had a lengthy discussion about the philosophies of How I Met Your Mother, before meeting Barney Stinson and suiting up. Whilst mine, Barney’s and Ryan’s suits were respectably dapper – Kieran’s was, for the much part, Orange.

At this point, I awoke at 7:45am and had to inform work that I’d be unable to leave the house for both weakness, tiredness and continuing barfing. I had only one dream after that, and whilst it did not seem lucid – I did witness George Harrison jumping onto the roof of my car, whilst chasing what appeared to be a mouse.

And no, before you ask; I did not leave the gas on. Nor did I smoke any narcotics.

Oddly odd.

TTFN,

x

No shit, Sherlock. Ten years, are ten years. Of course a lot is going to happen. The question is, once you fizz through all of the meaningless shite which passes for ‘news’ and ‘occurrence’ in contemporary society – what exactly are you left with?

Well, historic events for one. What galls me, is that for some mind-buggering reason – such atrocities as (unfortunately, the following is NOT what you would expect to follow the word atrocity) Jade Goody’s death, the rise and fall of Katie Price and Peter Andre, the revival of Take That, the cancellation of Top of the Pops and even as far as Who shot Phil Mitchell?; just sadly, don’t cut it for this writer of sorts.

Granted, for some – these may seem monumental. But come on people. I hate to preach to the converted, because more than likely (and let’s be honest) if you’re scrolling through the blogosphere, at least two things are guaranteed. One being, you’re not pandering through some glossy mag, and the second being that you’re not currently glued to the soaps. Lots has happened, and lots will continue to happen. The noughties brought about a lot of conflict and many freak environmental disasters. The world as we know it, is ever increasingly changing and we’re blind to it. Blind to it because of the trash, filth and utter bollocks which passes for newsworthy in this age.

I ask you brothers and sisters, to stand up and convert all idiocy into awareness. All depravity, into desire to at least want to notice the changes in both our social and environmental world. Drop the glossys, switch off Corrie and fucking take note. Things are happening. You’re missing it.

Now, maybe I’m being ridiculous. Maybe it’s Warren Zevon playing in my ears, or maybe it’s the beer talking – but didn’t we seem to just tune out in the noughties?

It’s time to tune  back in again.

It’s been a very rough year, for a lot of us. I can only hope that by awakening ourselves, we’ll be better suited to dealing with the year to come.

My love to you all, and wishes of best – in what I hope will be a year where we start to take notice.

TTFN&AHNY,

x

Much of an antithesis to mosts’ resolutions, I’m pretty certain that I need to elevate the amount of alcohol which I’m indulging in. Then there’s rape. The raping of the social scene in Glasgow that is. I need to get my ass out of my house and start to partake in certain life-worthy experiences. I’m not talking about mass groupings and parties of idiocy. Merely, some form of social exchange in order to vent and build upon noteworthy experiences.

It would also do me good to manage my money a little better. I know, I know. That ones an old bore, isn’t it?

Regardless – I’ve decided that if I’m to encounter said noteworthy experiences, I’m only going to do so through way of fancy, frolics and possibly travel.

When you’re putting your glasses down after the New Year, throwing away your smokes, throwing two fingers to the breeze and saying ‘never again’; think of me. Tippling on some fine wine, talking ears offa’ peoples and being a tight, (financially) miserable old bastard.

Jealous?

No, I didn’t think so.

TTFN&AHNY.

x

A lot has happened for both good and bad, best and worse and you know something? I’m pretty damn fucking good.

I believe I’ve a new found thirst for life and want to do something about said phenomenon. After a long period of numbness and bleak depravation of a healthy lifestyle – I’ve found myself bloom. No more am I relying on the ever wonderful sushi bar for food, no longer am I drumming away at my notepad with nothing to say and no longer am I loosing sleep over… well, nothing.

No. These past weeks, I’ve begun to take care of myself. I’ve begun to live a little again. I’m writing. Fuck yes, I am writing and you know something? Without wanting to blow my own trumpet – it’s not shite.

No, not at all. It’s actually pretty fucking good. Right this moment, I’m writing a scene for the advanced Practical Aesthetics class in Glasgow. Working with screen/playwrights Ann Marie Di Mambro and Chris Dolan; I’m developing a scene based on a short improvisation witnessed in a workshop just a couple of weeks ago.

Both screen/playwrights have deep roots in both television and theatre – but the ever lovely Di Mambro is the course director on the Masters course that I am eagerly waiting on beginning, assuming I get the very competitive scholarship. So far, it’s been an odd, but very nice experience working so closely with someone who will in fact determine not only the next year of my life – but quite possibly the outline of my future career. I’m smart enough to know that the writing industry and television/film industry in general is best infiltrated by mass networking and practice. Practice in the practical sense of practicing your talent and demonstrating such as that. So, my career has begun. I have networked and am still very much in the process of doing so.

I tend to get very overwhelmed when I’m placed in such social situations. Those being, situations involving persons whom I hold in very high regard both professionally and domestically. Thus, it’s hardly a surprise that I possibly ridiculed myself due to jitters and nerves when I formally met Ann Marie and Chris whilst they were having a cigarette outside the studio. After introducing myself, I got very nervous and very silly. In the alleyway, outside the studio – I proceeded from ‘Hello there, How are you?’ to ‘Would you like a cup of tea? We have earl grey, lapsang souchong, ceylon or green – fancy a cup?’.

These aren’t the words of a sane man. Not in a dank, murky alleyway; miles from the nearest kettle at least. Rather, more so the words of a lumbering fool. ie. Me.

So, after a very puzzled glance from Chris and a more understanding, tolerant smile from Ann Marie – we went upstairs and had some tea. And beyond that initial bought of ridiculous blurts on my behalf – it was very nice. I felt like I was a proper writer. I am a proper writer. It’s fun being a writer. We write things. Like this: ‘Hello’.

Moving on – I was very pleased to have been invited to a Christmas shindig at Ann Marie’s Westend Home, where upon arrival, I found myself plonked down onto a very lovely, comfortable sofa with two BBC executives to my right and Ann Marie to my left. Oh, and not to mention her Westie, Scully laying up on my knee (Good judge of character).

A very spontaneous and bizarre evening – but it was one that I’ll very much (without getting too sentimental) hold dear in my mind for years to come.

Something clicked that night. Something told me that all of the stress, anxiety, pain, boredom and sheer fucking monotony of the past four months had FINALLY amounted to something. Right before my eyes, I could see progress.

And I’m open. Ready for spontaneity. Ready for a challenge. Ready to write my little heart out.

The year two thousand and ten is quickly approaching. In these last few days of nine, I think I’ll put to rest a lot of old skeletons and emerge a fresh, spirited and ready individual in the new year.

I’m in Ireland at the moment. Home. Spending Christmas with the family, whom I have to admit – I’ve missed quite some. I very almost didn’t make it home due to silly weather and temperatures and things.

It was quite a harrowing experience indeed, taking off adjacent to a Boeing 747 which has ditched on the airport’s grassy verge due to an icy runway. Way to inspire confidence, eh?

But alas, I am here. I’ve drank my fair share of champers, sloe gin and beaujolais. I’m enjoying good food, good company, a good book, as always good television and a spot of catching up with some old friends, family and such.

So far, it’s been lovely. I only hope that you’ve had as enjoyable a holiday as I have thus far.

Be sure to remember that which is important in life – family, friends and fun. Smile, skip and have a very full, enriched Christmas break.

TTFN,

(Until 2010?)

x

I’ve just experienced a week of ache, pain and close to complete loss of faith in the human race. Never before have I been subjected to such abuse, hatred and unrest. No joke; I’ve been berated with a man with a prosthetic limb, to the extent that he took it off and shook it at me… I’ve had people call me ‘cunt’, ‘bastard’ and ‘wanker’. I’ve experience the wrath of old ladies – sweet and docile looking old ladies, who have seen it necessary to brandish their sticks and umbrellas at me, and tell me to ‘fuck off, back home’. Ridiculous. You’d swear they thought I was a banker.

Not only was the job an emotional kick in the teeth every five minutes, but also the hours were long, wet, cold and unsavoury. With my existing back problems, my condition only worsened during the week and the inevitable happened – it amplified. Every night I was going home bent double, literally lying in my hallway for around an hour recuperating… My pain, was followed by lack of sleep, amplified stress and a pair of very chapped lips…

Now, I know, I know – I seem like a tit. A silly beggar who moaned and groaned about not being able to get a job, yadda, yadda, yadda…

But, having popped into a lovely little Coffee/Tea place called ‘Brewhaha’, I (in quite an off-the-bat manner) asked if they’d any jobs going… Turned out they did. And seeing as I didn’t have my CV there and then… I told them I’d pop in the following morning. So I did… And they very quickly offered me a job. For a little less money than the previous job, I have a routine, pleasant clientele, an apron, warmth and stability. And my health.

Yes, I’m silly in ways. But it feels right. So, I’m doing it. That simple.

I’ve been working on ideas surrounding the creation of ‘Philip & Paul’ the Show. Watch this space… Could be posting to a blog near you, very very soon.

Hope ya’ll are well. I miss properly blogging!

Bring on stability, eh?

TTFN,

x

I’ll be working with Gift, a fundraising body for a number of widely renowned charities. I’ll be fundraising for UNICEF, Concern, and many others; out on the street in the cold, wind, rain or shine. I’m going to be a ‘street vulture’. :-)

I cannot wait. I’ll be meeting many new people and interacting with ‘new characters’ and earning some great money. My working hours are between 10am and 6pm, and I’ll have two days off per week – meaning that I’ve both my evenings and weekends free for writing time! Huge win!

During my time of unemployment in Glasgow, I’ve kept myself busy writing and watching movies/television in my flat. With regards to my writing, I’ve found a spot where I seem to get most of my inspiration. Of course, I’ve been sitting in every nook and crevice that I could inhabit whilst pottering about during these last six weeks. Yes, my favourite place for writing and ideas is actually, my shower. I’ve written or rather improvised so much comedy and so many small scenes whilst in the shower – which is funny because not only am I working on my scenes and writing – but I’m getting excellent memory training as of course, no writing tools are present…

I’ve been thoroughly enjoying my acting classes. They’ve really given me an extra push towards wanting to create something. I’ve been pondering ideas on a project which I’d like to invite the whole class to take part in. I’m working around a few ideas, and toying with some scenarios which would suit my colleagues in the hope that they’d all be willing to take part if this project ever gets onto it’s feet. But watch this space where that is concerned.

Anywho. I’m off to watch some 24, followed by the illustrious Woody Allen and I’ve a bottle of wine waiting for me!

Pleasantness to all,

TTFN

x

Along with such distractions – a ten year old brother lurking with lego, loud things and playstations; just tips the balance. Also, there’s the ‘glass’ patrol in the shape of my father. Did you leave this glass here? Did you leave this glass there? To which my silent nod in response, is sub-loaded with fury at which I want to scream ‘Yes! Because I am still sitting here and would like to pour myself another drink in the not so distant future!’. Also, that the scatter of beakers is much to do with my avoiding the unpleasant rooms in which the ‘obstacles’ reside.

Along with that – my parents fill cupboards with junk food and things that one wouldn’t eat normally – but because they are there, it’s convenient. Handy, if you will. And I do. Indulge, that is. Hobnobs, peanuts, Jaffa Cakes, Crisps – and all of the other horrible things, which I’m prone to BUT would never buy myself.

I mean, in all fairness – it isn’t all bad. I’m painting a very bleak and spoilt picture here; but in all truth, my house is lovely and my parents are lovely, and my brothers are lovely AND I’m very lucky to be living rent free in a house where my meals are provided and my washing is done for me. But it’s not the place for a writer.

A writer; WELL, ‘I’ as a writer, need(s) routine and a steady and concentrated diet of Non-Shite foodstuffs, a quiet and darkened writing area and a place to escape to. Here; Sadly I’m not getting any of this.

Which is the reason behind my move, even despite not having procured funding for the MA. Don’t worry about the MA, I’ll try again next year.

My plan is now, to get a job, earn some money and hone my writing in the meantime. And what better way to do that, than in my own space with a fellow writer in a house full of Apple Macs. The House of Mac, will thus forth be known as The House of Scripture.

I’ve also had a bought of reality; in thinking that as a graduate and experienced theatre practitioner – I’d have no problem getting a job in an area close to home. Thing is; there are no jobs. Theatre jobs. Production jobs. Not even a job as a runner. WTF?

Today, I’m writing some content. AND writing up a ‘civilian’ CV, so I can start applying for REAL jobs.

TTFN,

x

Along with such distractions – a ten year old brother lurking with lego, loud things and playstations; just tips the balance. Also, there’s the ‘glass’ patrol in the shape of my father. Did you leave this glass here? Did you leave this glass there? To which my silent nod in response, is sub-loaded with fury at which I want to scream ‘Yes! Because I am still sitting here and would like to pour myself another drink in the not so distant future!’. Also, that the scatter of beakers is much to do with my avoiding the unpleasant rooms in which the ‘obstacles’ reside.

Along with that – my parents fill cupboards with junk food and things that one wouldn’t eat normally – but because they are there, it’s convenient. Handy, if you will. And I do. Indulge, that is. Hobnobs, peanuts, Jaffa Cakes, Crisps – and all of the other horrible things, which I’m prone to BUT would never buy myself.

I mean, in all fairness – it isn’t all bad. I’m painting a very bleak and spoilt picture here; but in all truth, my house is lovely and my parents are lovely, and my brothers are lovely AND I’m very lucky to be living rent free in a house where my meals are provided and my washing is done for me. But it’s not the place for a writer.

A writer; WELL, ‘I’ as a writer, need(s) routine and a steady and concentrated diet of Non-Shite foodstuffs, a quiet and darkened writing area and a place to escape to. Here; Sadly I’m not getting any of this.

Which is the reason behind my move, even despite not having procured funding for the MA. Don’t worry about the MA, I’ll try again next year.

My plan is now, to get a job, earn some money and hone my writing in the meantime. And what better way to do that, than in my own space with a fellow writer in a house full of Apple Macs. The House of Mac, will thus forth be known as The House of Scripture.

I’ve also had a bought of reality; in thinking that as a graduate and experienced theatre practitioner – I’d have no problem getting a job in an area close to home. Thing is; there are no jobs. Theatre jobs. Production jobs. Not even a job as a runner. WTF?

Today, I’m writing some content. AND writing up a ‘civilian’ CV, so I can start applying for REAL jobs.

TTFN,

x