The play has come to an end in it’s Glasgow run, but if you have the means – check it out in Edinburgh from March 23-27.

Battery Farm carries an Orwellian tone throughout; a sterile, hostile landscape wherein all geriatrics are being fattened for cull. A very simple, yet brilliant concept which played eloquently within Oran Mor’s humble setting. The cast very much on form, and demonstrating possibly one of the best orgasm scenes this theatre goer has seen thus far.

Highly enjoyable, and what further made my day was the cheeky little site specific reference during the curtain call, beautifully concluding; ‘We hope you enjoyed the pies.’ Five stars.

TTFN,

x

So, I’ve moved to Glasgow’s West End. I have to say, I feel a little more at home here. In close convenience to Oran Mor, where theatre is often accompanied by pies & ales. Tchai Ovna, where I can embrace my inner tea junkie & the Subway, where I can zip from A-B in eight minute intervals – I’m a little more at ease in my surroundings. No more will I slip & slide in the shite adorned streets of Dennistoun. Don’t get me wrong: it’s not the worst place to live. But the transport out there is totally unreliable, all cafes, shops & everywhere else for that matter close at 10pm AND; I wasn’t kidding about the shite. All over the floorings of Dennistonian Streets. People of the East End! What are you feeding your dogs!? Also you owe me four pairs of unsalvagable shoes which were just too immersed in poo…

So! Away from there and over here. Here being the West End. Well, technically here being there, considering my train arrived 3 minutes ago & I’m currently underneath Buchanan Street.

A new start it would seem. Here’s to you! The Best (West).

TTFN,

x

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

Unproductive for many reasons. The most important being that you’ll dig yourself into a trench of inactvity. As a writer, one must learn to ‘shelf’ his work. This is true of many art forms; taking a step backwards, inevitably causes you to dwell on that which you have written whether good or bad.

A number of months ago, I was in conversation with a producer from BBC Radio Scotland, who was very interested in seeing a play of mine transformed into a Radio Drama. As of yet, I still haven’t forwarded the script simply because I haven’t been happy with it. The script in question was a play entitled ‘Æ’, and was written over two years ago.

It’s odd how much you develop as a writer over such a short period as two years. You tend to hone your work. This said, perhaps it is good to read over past work and compare it with that which you are currently producing. It gives you a nice perspective of your progress. Just one word of advice. Read your past work as an ‘outsider’. Alienate yourself from the idea that you are there to edit. Unless of course, you really have to edit.

Having just read through an old script of mine to send to Oran Mor in Glasgow, for their ‘Play, Pie & a Pint’ features – I’ve had to discipline myself NOT to make any changes. It wasn’t easy.

As writers, our scripts; they are our babies. We toil and worry and care for them for so long – but eventually we have to let go. Let them stand alone.

TTFN,

x

I liken it much to my experience in the shower. Experiences, rather. And before you get any ideas; experiences of creativity. Cheeky.

Yes; oddly, I seem to find solace in the shower and the same goes for the subway train. I think the disconnecting from everything else plays a big part in the creative bursts. In both areas; just in different ways.

The shower delivers a relaxing, wet, techology free environment where one can find themselves singing, jiving, conversing with oneself & generally mulling ideas. When I say ‘one’; I speak for myself. Perhaps I’m the only one? Perhaps not.

Where the subway is concerned; there’s a place wherein you aren’t permitted; no, able to converse. Of course it is possible to chatter etc, but for me personally – it seems to be a place void of obligation to speak. In total contrast to the shower, it’s not devoid of technology. It’s not wet (generally). It’s certainly not relaxing. Rather, it’s loud, smells a bit and doesn’t provide the best setting for a conversation. But, for me at least, something interesting happens. When on the subway, I begin to observe more. I see characters that I wouldn’t see if I weren’t placed in a non-verbal, aurally polluted environment. I am, admittedly an observer. I like to watch people. I’m generally interested in people. I just can’t stand them sometimes.

So yes. I’m sure you can tell, I’m divulging a thought that was sparked on the subway train. I’m up. Moving towards the exit of the underground station and struggling to type on my iTelephone. In fact, I just spent at least six minutes trying to correctly type ‘struggling’. And again.

I’m off to view a flat. I’m looking for something rather lovely; and despite the fact that I found the ideal place not two weeks ago, due to a bit of a bastardy situation where late references were concerned, I’m hunting again.

What makes matters worse, is that because we were so sure of getting the lovely place; we’ve signed to vacate our current place.

Twenty three days, and counting until I’m on the street. Fun fun fun.

TTFN,

x

Well, I’ve finally pulled my index from my rectum and made a little headway with my writing.

After work this evening, I switched off my telephone, locked myself in my office and scribbled up some ideas. I’ve mostly reworked Conversations with Steve, a piece I’ve been working on since November. I’m a little more loosened where it’s concerned, and already my stream of ideas has thawed and begun to flow once again.

Also I’ve entitled a new work Three Ladies in a Row… , a short One-Act with an all female cast. Most definitely the way forward in terms of getting work on stage; seeing as there’s a severe lack of all-female contemporary dramas.

Ah, it’s good to get the creative juices flowing again.

To bed I shall go, with a pot of verbana & Proulx’s The Shipping News. It’s proving a little difficult to endure.

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