Flying Out (Moving On)

Getting a job has its perks. Above and beyond the obvious financial incentives, I’m fortunate to have a little travel thrown into the mix; I am heading out to New York tomorrow for a week with three days in a workshop at the Times Square office. This is a fabulous event in itself and although I have a packed schedule while I’m out there it’s a wonderful opportunity to see my father, brother and friends that I didn’t think I’d get again for a very, very long time.

There’s something rather bizarre about travel. I can’t quite put my finger on it, but for example, when I flew out to New York at the end of last year after a break up and various issues that had arisen, I felt an overwhelming sense of relief. I completely admit it was an escape but sometimes that’s no bad thing. Life can’t help but move on with or without you so it’s best you get on with it (in whatever way you feel best suits you at the time). At that point in time it was over three thousand miles (and three months) which suited me best.

The interesting thing was that after the three months I spent enveloped in family drama’s, American culture and domestic duties around my brother and the family home, I was so ready to return to London I almost cried when I took off on my return flight.

Returning to the scene of that realisation, if only for a week, creates a very strange feeling inside me which I can’t quite articulate (there’s something!). The feeling is something I can only relate to the feeling of another month falling away into the past.

2010 has been a great year so far and I’ve experienced so much and so many wonderful people that I wouldn’t take it back for anything. The rather sad thing is that it’s rapidly moving on. April 2010 is now on its deathbed and we’ll never have an April 2010 ever again. OK we’ll have another April (2011 I believe), but it won’t be the same one. It’s like a relationship, or any other period of ones life, or the Russell T Davies era of Doctor Who… once it’s over it’s over, for better or worse.

Flying out tomorrow seems like a perfect end to the first four months of this year for me. It revisits how I got here, allows me to remember the journey and celebrates the fact that where I am now is a culmination of the events leading here. It also helps that my work is paying for it (and a swanky hotel on Times Square!).

No matter what happens in any given month, always remember that whether it’s good, bad, awful or amazing, it’s the result of months that have gone before. So if you have to listen to a familiar song, watch a favourite film, read a poignant book or fly out to New York on business, do so! It’ll make the rest of the journey so much more vibrant and exciting. Life starts here, on any given day.

Farewell April, we had fun, but it’s time to move on.

That Certain Something

I’ve had a few relationships in my time. I’m not saying I’ve had lots, I mean literally a few (that I’d count as serious). My most recent one broke up late last year and after several months as a singleton (a much needed respite I’ll have you know) I’m now dating someone again, although I must note that its early days, but I’m hopeful.

Over the years that I’ve been part of a couple with the people that have been my other halves, I’ve pondered and theorised (I’ve recently been told I think too much and I’m starting to see value in that observation), over what it is to be with someone. What are the factors one looks for in a partner? What is it about certain people that mean you go weak at the knees? Why do some people live happily ever after and others crash and burn their entire lives over?

Now I know this is a vast and unwieldy subject the focus of countless tomes and I couldn’t possibly hope to even scratch the surface in a crazy blog. I agree and instead of coming up with the formula to eternal happiness (sorry!) I’ll simply note some observations I’ve, well, observed.

It started when I saw my parents break up. This was an odd part of my life and since then I’ve looked back and viewed it as even odder. It seemed clear that both my parents were sheer forces of nature and that their combined energies caused a black hole (especially in the bank accounts after the divorce). Now, I have been told my numerous sources that they were both perfectly suited to each other and were incredibly happy until the bitter end when I was about seven.

From then on I think I’ve had a constant drive to figure out what went wrong with it all, but in the sense that I, myself, wouldn’t let that happen to me. Of course I’ve broken up with people and it’s been hurtful and difficult but I’ve not let that level of devastation my parents left behind filter into my personal relationships, maybe by the fact (and again I’ve been told) I’m a cagey beast but that’s another blog altogether.

I see there as being four distinct areas one looks for in a partner. Emotion; which seems obvious but personally I’m relatively non emotional unless I know someone incredibly intimately, and that’s a major factor in why I like them. Security; which may seem a little selfish but I think everyone has that idea that the person they are with provides a certain level of security whether that be financial, emotional or physical. Physical attraction; which is probably the most obvious of the lot, although there are exceptions and it’s entirely subjective. I myself have fancied people that aren’t Calvin Klein models. Lastly but far from leastly I think we look for ‘that certain something’; this is that unquantifiable, undefined and mysterious feeling you get when you ‘click’ with someone. Some people call it chemistry but I like to think there’s a healthy dose of psychology thrown in there too.

I’ve dated people who have ticked three out of the four boxes and unsurprisingly they didn’t last long. For someone to truly begin to fall for someone else I believe that all four need to be in place. I’m not saying this is the magic formula for ‘love’; love is something totally different for which this is merely the beginning.

‘That certain something’ is a strange entity which I have only recently come to terms with. As a self confessed control freak it’s difficult to allow myself to give in to such a mushy, grey area term, but for the sake of my own sanity, soul and love life I have had to. I think it’s at the early stages of dating someone that you start to feel that there’s more to what you have than great sex, wonderful banter and evenings out. After a while you begin to look into that persons eyes and see more than just your reflection.

I think with all relationships, embryonic or to the death, there’s a balance of the four areas which change and fluctuate over the course of your life. It’s understanding them and remembering how important they are to you. When one of those areas starts to recede, which they sometimes do, it’s time to call it a day.

Maybe if my parents had thought about it a little deeper things may have been very different or perhaps I’m just an over analytical weirdo and I’m talking a load of old tosh. Aren’t we strange creatures?

Pure and Simple

The planet is covered in seventy one percent of the stuff, humans are made up of anywhere between fifty five and seventy eight percent of it and we should be drinking two litres of this strange and mystical liquid each day.

I am of course talking about water.

There are so many things we have around us that are genuinely amazing, wonderful and unique. We have the capacity to fall in love, we see in colour, we feel heartache, we cry, we can have amazing sex, we invented tea, and we have wonderful access to water all around us.

In some countries, water is such a precious commodity wars rage over access to it. Water in these often war torn countries is usually contaminated and populations of millions of people rely on outside help simply to remain hydrated.

I find it interesting, and slightly guilty, to think that we in the majority of the western world, have so little going on in our lives that we need to go out and get hammered on a weekly (or occasionally daily) basis and wake up with major bouts of dehydration. We down masses of easily obtained water and think nothing of lounging in a decadent bath when things get a little stressful at work.

Of course, I’m as guilty as anyone of doing these things and I am in no way condemning it. I think I’m just emphasising that ignorance to the bigger picture isn’t something I think should continue. I am aware of just how wonderful life is for me, and how amazing the things that I am able to do are in comparison to a different world out there.

So when you next decide to take a shower, have a tea, drown your sorrows or submerge yourself in any way, just remember how lucky we are. Because we are.

Opposing Forces

I had a meeting the other day which really riled me up. It was a simple, run of the mill meeting which I had organised with a customer of the group I’m working in which had been given to me by one of the managers. He’d read my invitation email, replied positively and even agreed to the meeting so when I came face to face with him I was saddened to find that his entire energy was focussed at making the meeting as difficult as he could possibly make it. It didn’t help that it was the morning.

I’m usually good with dealing with difficult people, although I get slightly annoyed when they focus their anger or frustrations on me, I mean I’m here as a casual bystander doing what I’m told and trying to make everything go swimmingly. Some people just have an innate sense of social destruction which courses through every fibre of their being. For them a person with a smile should be crushed, a positive comment should be strangled and a bloke in a thin tie and a funky shirt should be made to feel like nothing; I didn’t though, I know I’m absolutely wonderful ;-)

I am very aware why people act like this; sometimes it’s a control reflex derived from a desire to feel at the epicentre of events. It’s like someone has very little control in the outside world and through the means of institutionalised structure, they can wield their malevolence and ego until they feel their impossible attitude has made a stamp on proceedings. Of course, these people also miss the obvious fact that they look like a complete and total cock to others.

Of course these idiots aren’t the only individuals who conduct themselves like this. Sometimes there is a genuinely different psychological mode of thinking which accompanies such behaviour. I’ve been working with a lovely lady as part of my work recently who explained to me a scale on which different types of thinking can be placed; the KAI scale. The KAI scale is the Kreton Adaptation-Innovation scale and it registers whether you are an ‘adaptive’ thinker, thereby driven by process, order, facts and figures, or an ‘innovative’ thinker driven by emotion, ideas, out of the box reasoning and interaction.

As with most scales identifying thought and behaviour, there is a bell curve which sits over it and the vast majority of people tend to fall in the centre. Some of course fall either side and find it terribly difficult to converse, empathise or communicate with the other side of the scale.

I could go into a lot more detail about clashes of methods of thinking and how behaviour can be theorised to the nth degree but then that could pull up a whole host of other dilemmas such as religious fundamentalism and political agendas, so instead I’ll surmise my thoughts by concluding that it’s obvious that people think radically differently. Not all people think the same, or even remotely in the same way but, in my innovative little mind (and in my rational opinion), that is no reason to be a total cock.

Short Films

There is a common misconception that short films are rushed, student driven, amateur productions with an unhealthy dose of ‘art’ and ‘angst’ splashed around and not enough substance laced throughout.

Now I’m not blind and I have seen a lot of short films not dissimilar to that description however I must point out that I’ve seen feature films which take ‘vacuous’ to a whole new level so I think it’s fair to say that there’s a balance of good and bad stuff out there in any style of visual media.

Any film can be placed on a scale of awful to brilliant and it’s not just short films that clog up the ‘awful’ end of that spectrum. There is a bell curve of quality which I think spans over short films as well as their Hollywood cousins (twice removed); there are some extremes either end of that curve but the majority sit comfortably in the middle.

I am an avid film maker and have created many short films myself. I have been told that there’s no money in short films and the only reason one would ever want to take on such projects is to make examples of bigger projects which can be promoted accordingly. Now I half agree with that although I must say that my reward for making such films hasn’t been as a financial income, it’s been as a professional network.

My opinion of short films used to be very much that of obscure, abstract (usually black and white) snippets of film makers frustrations fuelled by their inability to break into the mainstream, usually because they weren’t really that talented in the first place. Since starting out on my writing, directing and producing career I have reviewed my stance on all things short and filmy, and I must say I’m far more positive about it than I was.

Short films are a breeding ground for creative’s from all walks of professional and social life. They are a space for people to hone their skills and be creative risk takers, away from the constraints of budget (as there usually isn’t one) and authority.

For me, short film projects have facilitated some excellent friendships and even better professional connections. They have allowed me to expand as a writer, discover my strengths as a producer and work on my limitations as a director. I have learnt so much by rallying interest and enthusiasm in projects than I would have done simply sitting at home hoping that whatever I write will make it onto a screen one day.

My philosophy is and always will be to do things for yourself. If you’re a writer write, but more than that, get it up on its feet and bring it to life. If you’re an actor, perform wherever you can and promote yourself to the hilt and if you’re a technician, get the kit, play with it and work with us lunatic creative’s to make use of your talents…

Ricky Gervais once said he didn’t think there was ever a short film short enough. For me, I’d love to see more quality shorts peppering the TV schedule and actually allowing talent to flow more freely through the production industry. A short film is apparently anything up to sixty minutes in length, well that’s an hour on TV with or without ads… why not?

There’s so much more to the humble short film than you’d think, but if you’re still not sold on my argument then just consider this; isn’t it better to watch something wonderful for twenty minutes than something awful for two hours?

Emergency Underpants

Everyone has a pair. They are the staple to every wardrobe, closet and chest of drawers. They are the dirty little secret that nobody admits they own. They rarely see the light of day and should have been burnt many, many years ago. They are emergency underpants.

Yesterday morning I awoke in a good mood. I had stayed on top of my household chores and had done literally all of my washing accumulated throughout the week. The one drawback with such domestic efficiency is (and was) that everything I possessed was now wet and in need of drying off. Now as I’d hung it all up in the evening I assumed, probably over enthusiastically, that at least a third of my stuff would be at least reasonably dry. By reasonable, I mean damp around the waistline but generally suitable for use. Alas, upon waking up in a good mood, I was pushed to a near depression when I discovered my clothes (including almost all of my underwear) were still sopping wet. I mean titanic laundry service wet. I mean underwater with moisturising cream wet. Bugger.

Much of my day is shaped by my morning routine, and to have that challenged by fate really gets on my tits. Of course, as soon as one is faced with obstacles in the morning, one must actually think around the problem. For those that know me well, thinking before eight in the morning just doesn’t happen. In fact it’s a painful and tragically complicated process of wandering around in circles, talking under my breath and swearing at the occasional cushion.

Suddenly it dawned on me, I had my Emergency Underpants; In the back of a wardrobe, in a suitcase not touched since I returned from New York in December! Oh yes!

I pulled it out, found my pants and held them on high with a gesture of success. I slipped them on, felt simultaneously dirty and capable of facing the day (an odd combination of feelings I’ll admit) and strode forth with mighty pride and purpose.

So no matter how bleak the situation, how nihilistic the state of play, rest assured that there’s always a pair of ‘Emergency Underpants’ that you can take out, dust off and slip on to get through the day. They may not be pretty, they may not be comfortable, but they’ll do the job and sometimes that’s all you can ask for.

The Ex Factor

I have spoken before about ‘Dating Etiquette’ and the subtle issues that arise when someone tries to get to know someone else. It’s a wonderful thing, and I am happy to say that currently I’m dating someone myself. There is an odd phenomenon that I have picked up on though, and it might not be something everyone feels as strongly about, but I think it’s worth a mention. How long should you wait to bring up previous relationships?

I’m not stupid, and I’m not naïve, but there is a blissful ignorance when you start seeing someone that what you are doing with them is new and unique for both of you. Now I know that isn’t always strictly true, and whoever you’re with may have done the whole dating thing over and over again, long before you came on the scene (down boy…), and maybe even long after you’re no longer part of that equation. It’s still a bit of a grey area though, about how soon you bring up your ex’s.

I used to be a believer that one brings it up as soon as you can. This gets the whole issue out of the way and hopefully leaves the other person at ease about where you’re at in your head, however having experienced this myself I am still at odds with whether that’s such a good idea.

Bringing up the past isn’t something most of us relish, and it’s an odd thing to feel compelled to do when you’re with someone looking to the future, but it’s one of those strange human conditions we all experience and feel something towards in some capacity.

I must admit to feeling a little uncomfortable when my latest squeeze talks about what they did with a previous boyfriend, and on several occasions I’ve even found myself talking about mine in defence rather than to build on something constructively. Childish I know, but there’s something about the raw emotions of new relationships that bring out the child in me. I do have one you see, under the swathes of paperwork.

I think there are three ways this whole thing manifests itself. Firstly one meets someone when they are already with someone else. I’ve experienced this and can vouch for the fact this is a minefield of psychological warfare, however there’s something reassuring seeing the whole thing pan out in front of you; there is little space for your imagination to run riot. Secondly, one can meet someone who talks about their ex very rarely (or perhaps has never had a real ex!). This is something else I’ve experienced and although it sounds great on paper, it can be a little stressful if you’re the guy that’s providing a benchmark to your partner. Lastly, one dates someone who talks about their ex wistfully. Maybe it’s not that actual person they are hankering after, but rather the experiences and feelings they had at the time. This is also something I have (and am) experiencing and I must say it leaves far too much unseen to speculate over.

I am all up for having wonderful memories, and I have them too. I still love all the people from previous relationships; I’m just not in love with them anymore. I hope they are all happy and I will always be there for them if they ever need me. I think there might just be a quirk in me that doesn’t respond well to hearing that back from someone else. Maybe it’s something verbal that makes it all the more real, I don’t know.

I guess I’ll conclude by admitting that it’s a really useless exercise getting wound up by mere mentions of previous lovers, and that if your current squeeze is with you then that should say enough. Sometimes I have to remind myself about that but I’m glad I do; I’d hate to jeopardise anything in the present (and hopefully the future) because of something in the past.

Creative Politics

I’ve been watching the political campaign journey which is unfolding here in the UK and it’s been an eye opening experience (as well as a jolly jaunt into the realm of yellow, blue and pink ties). As I believe I have mentioned before, I’m not someone who tends to go head long into political discussion or debate, and would rather listen to points of view banded about by others. Part of me is probably undecided and wants to weigh up the arguments sensibly, and another part is probably slightly embarrassed that I haven’t spent much time disseminating politics throughout my life and slightly worried I’ll come off ignorant of the realities surrounding me. I’m working on it though.

I must admit to feeling a little detached from it all and the fact that so many people in my life at the moment mix in highly political circles (I learnt that about three people I know actually work in Parliament, including someone I’m dating so that’s a real impetus to get with it).

As someone who actively enjoys debate and discussion around endless topics, I have often wondered why I didn’t take more interest or even active involvement in political movements. I must also admit to feeling a little embarrassed that I have previously thought that my particular creative career plans didn’t actually line up well with what I’d perceived as a stuffy, hazy and distant island. I now know this to be a load of balls.

As a writer and producer I have as much political opinion as anyone else, the only difference is that I express my points of view through a highly digestible medium. I hope that people reading my blog, who watch my films or even talk to me (do people still do that?), can be inspired by any particular concept or idea that they take away with them and make them think.

Standing back and looking at the bigger picture, it’s feasible to see that a world packed full of politics, process and business is alright for some people, but even they like to zone out with a good film and a bar of chocolate now and then. The work creative and innovative people conduct is key to a well balanced society. It has the potential to be a much needed respite; a space for thought and self reflection, as well as a means to presenting ones own radical political points of view in a variety of different ways.

I reflected on my perspectives of political ideas, creative work and the grey area in between and have come to the conclusion that I have, all my life, been actively involved in society, politics and the world at large. Whether it be a play I directed about breast cancer, a show I performed in about the Third Reich or a screenplay I wrote about LGBT issues, creative outlets have always, and will always, be a vital and necessary component to the social machine.

Above and beyond the self indulgent aspects of the argument, it’s important to point that by effectively targeting particular audiences with particular themes relevant to them, one can roll out ones ideas far more strategically and allow people to take on board an idea which they would otherwise have simply skimmed over or turned the page on.

We, as writers, don’t stand up and make speeches in the moment, we sit down and create ideas, worlds and points of view which resonate far beyond the present and touch on far more than we give ourselves credit for.

Glutton for Punishment

Isn’t food marvellous! I don’t mean the substances we grind up and fill our faces with (although that’s amazing as well), but the whole concept of FOOD!

I am, and always will be, a gastrosexual, a word I have entirely made up to describe my life long passion for all things edible. I am ruled by my stomach, and just as an army marches on theirs, a writer thinks on his.

I have tested myself several times on a variety of different styles of eating throughout the day (now I don’t mean diets, they can all be cast to the moon for all I care, I mean whether I eat a hearty three meals a day or feast on smaller things over my time awake) and I have found several things which I thought were incredibly interesting.

Firstly, if I don’t eat when I’m hungry I get grumpy. I don’t mean a little irritable, I mean world shatteringly, baby cryingly, tantrum inducingly annoyed. I find a simply chocolate bar can alleviate this almost immediately and I’m wary of myself when I start to get a twang of hunger creeping in.

Secondly, I find my entire creative, intellectual and communicative abilities drain out of my ears when I need food. I am simply unable to think, converse, argue or discuss anything, no matter how trivial, until something (non sexual, and believe me when I’m hungry, sex is the furthest thing from my mind) passes my lips.

Lastly, but not leastly, I have found that my eating habits have been the basis for a majority of my relationships throughout my life. I’m talking familial, friendly and romantic relationships which I have made sure have had a good slice of them steeped in anything food based. Whether it be a connection between us over a favourite café that does exceedingly good cake, or a restaurant I remember having a particularly wonderful date in, I’ve picked up a definite food theme running though my life.

Now I know there are people who have the opposite perspective to me; they would rather take a pill than sit down and actually enjoy a plate of food, but I think there’s still that little part of them that enjoys at least something. Whether it be a chocolate bar or a particular salad dressing, food must fun through their lives, just to a lesser extent. I’ve even dated people who haven’t had that connection with food, and needless to say my connection with them was just as fleeting.

The whole process of such gastronomically induced joy is such a brilliant and innovative biological conceit, that I felt it necessary to blog about it. Just as well, before I get hungry.

A Post-it Note

I am often a patchy list-er. Yes, I’ll admit it. I have the potential to be a list-a-holic and have occasionally dipped my toe into the realm of organisational efficiency but more often than not I fall flat on my face and will make a half hearted scribble in an attempt to remind myself to do something I probably didn’t want to do in the first place.

I recently had a look at my notes on my iPhone (yes, I’ll admit I am a note taker) and found a series of rather funny lists all telling me, in a very serious and important tone, to remember to do what I needed to. I find it funny because, obviously, I never looked at it ever again.

Don’t get me wrong, I do make lists and I do stick to them occasionally, although it tends to be in an office environment or when I have a tight deadline and need to rally the urgency to finish a script or an article in time for something. In that instance I am a fairly good list-er.

I’d like to bring to our attention the ever wonderful and fairly unflappable ‘post-it note’. Now these little visions of beauty in pale yellow are, and always will be, my best friends. I don’t think I have a very linea mind and these little lovelies ensure I don’t need to when trying to list my life to oblivion. You can stick them anywhere, in whatever order you like AND you can write on them in any colour biro you like.

So when you’re feeling disorganised, sad and on the verge of an organisational breakdown, sit down, breathe deeply and consider sticking post-it notes all over a wall, a fridge or even yourself. You might even consider writing something on them!

Sleep Mode

As a casual insomniac (something I'm desperately trying to beat out of myself), I have often laid in bed staring up at the ceiling (or the stars depending on the whereabouts of the window), wondering about the mystery and splendour of the often maligned activity of sleep.

Having studied sleep during my youth (I did have one you see), I was always intrigued by the theories and speculation surrounding what is in fact a obligitory process of the human body. Without it we can acquire something called 'Sleep Deprivation Psychosis' which does pretty much what it says on the tin (the tin you wear as a hat to stop them stealing your thoughts), and too much has been suggested to shorten your lifespan.

If you think about it, how amazing are our bodies? We ingest an array of different food groups which our bodies casually convert into fuel which recharge our batteries and allow us to, well, live. In addition to that we need to sleep to actually shut our bodies down and let our subtle discreet bodily processes happen without us prancing about and getting in the way. In essence it seems our own bodies know what we're like and look after us like a parent tending a child. We are the product of our own limitations which has caused such amazing little quirks in our very existence.

What I think is the most remarkable is just how much our technology has aligned to our biology. It's one thing creating a computer but it's a totally different paradigm creating a computer which goes to sleep, uses energy efficiently, runs diagnostics on itself and has the ability to sort itself out, away from our meddling mitts, quite happily on its own while it sleeps soundly overnight (or during the day if, like me, you're an insomniac technology user).

I've often pondered how far technology has come to stand side by side with us, almost as kin, but one thing I think is the most remarkable is just how much more honest with itself our technology is. If it runs low on power, it shuts down. If it needs to update, it'll take the time to do so. If it feels it's necessary to fall apart, it will.

As an occasional insomniac I often wonder about (and feel genuinely envious of) such self control. I wonder how long it'll take us to take a lesson out of technologies book and listen to our inner workings? Or perhaps, like the humans we are, we'll try and create a computer with insomnia, self doubt and a foolish notion of just how important its life is, beyond it's own existence.

Or perhaps we'll just add an 'off' button to our own bodies. God knows we could do with it sometimes.

But, What's it for?

It’s a question I get a lot. It’s one of those questions you hear and immediately imagine it in a sexual context. It’s up there with the likes of ‘Where does it go?’, ‘How big is it?’ and ‘What do I do with it?’ Fortunately, this article isn’t scraping the gutter and dragging its heels along the course of carnal depravity. That I’m saving to do in person, over the weekend. Too much information? Perhaps.

What my rude little question is about is actually related to this; what I am typing and what you are reading right now, my humble blog.

Now blogging has been around for a while now. It was originally used as a tool for sharing information in organisations before being adopted by the big boys at the top of the technological ladder and rolled out to the likes of us. The applications of such a communicative device was (and is) mind bogglingly powerful and radically changed the face of online media, however when it comes to actually pinpointing a ‘use’ for a blog, many people are stumped.

I am personally using this space as a forum for my psychology, retrospection, ideas and opinions while cunningly sharpening my literary tools and sculpting my passion (and I hope a little aptitude) for the written word. I write scripts and so on but there’s nothing like a little editorial style writing to articulate the thoughts and dreams one has which may, in some small way, shape a scripted idea at some point, or vice versa.

Now, I think this is a noble and gallant effort to take control of my own talents and interests and promote them out to the world however nine times out of ten, when I tell people I am writing a blog, I see eyes glaze over and a look of confusion shimmer across their moist faces. I get two intricately linked questions fired at me in quick succession; ‘what’s it for?’ followed by ‘What’s it about?’ Now I have answered the former in the previous paragraph, but I’ll answer the latter here and now so I can simply refer people to this post in the future… I’m lazy you see.

My blog is about anything, everything and all the things in between. It’s a celebration of observation, idea, thought, voice, weather, tea and life itself. It’s a space outside my own mind to shelve and organise my thoughts (without having to build an extension in the attic) and it’s a window (in that attic) for my wonderful readers to catch a fleeting glimpse into my cavernous psyche (Please note, when I say cavernous I’m not being entirely egotistical; I do mean it is as large as it is empty and vacuous).

In extension to the creative reasons for forming my little slice of literary heaven, it’s also an example of my writing in a different style for anyone who gets paid to spot such things. Hint, hint.

What I find interesting about being asked those questions is just how much context individuals seem to need to view something as a rational exertion of time and energy. I try not to look like I am wasting my time entirely, but to see some people’s reactions I had might as well be painting badgers black and white in Lincolnshire. People have a desperate need to understand, however their understanding comes with a caveat of limitation; they will understand only what they believe they ‘should’ and ‘can’ understand.

I guess, along this line of thought, you could tie yourself in knots over the same issues surrounding art and the reasons, applications and rationale behind what that is, but for the sake of simplicity (which I am aware this blog isn’t the greatest example of), I’ll skim over that particular point.

I’m aware my remit is a little wide, but I’ve always had a lofty perspective on things and as this blog is an extension of my own personality (a scary thought), it should properly mirror me and all my idiosyncrasies, which I hope it does.

Logically, as someone who views limitations as obstacles existing only defined by ones physical inabilities, and the only physical aspect to my blog is the machine you are viewing it on (imagine that!), the only limitations of my blog are in front of you using up battery power so you can read it.

I say to those people who crave a context to my blog, please refer to my first paragraph, as the only context I would like for you to overlay onto my work (meaning I don't want you to overlay a context to my work other than the context I've provided) is a sexual one. If we were all defined so narrowly wouldn’t that make us incredibly dull people? Maybe they are… I don’t think I am though, and I hope my blog isn’t either.

Hungover Parliament

Politics. It’s a topic I rarely venture into. It’s not that I don’t have opinions about our country, the world and how it all fits together, but that it seems like a world so far removed from mine that it frustrates me to tackle topics which are in constant flux. I’m a very process driven soul you see. I enjoy seeing a point to my work. I love feeling that things are being done, achievements are being made and leaps forward are being taken, but I’ve never felt that from the political world. To me it’s become one step behind that of celebrity and scandal.

I suppose another key reason I don’t often paddle in the political pool is that I fear I’ll be seen as ignorant. My family were never particularly politically minded and didn’t ever reach for knowledge about the way they lived; life happened as it did and they dealt with it. I am very different to that but the way I tackle my annoyances, opinions, points of view and political ponderings is through my work, my films and my writing.

I need to change all that and I’ve begun on a crash course in political education (it helps that I’m seeing someone who works in parliament at the moment). I realise that one needs an even spread of the practical, the political and the creative to understand this world properly, so I intend on starting sooner rather than later, and who knows, I might change something one day!

I would like to mention though, my annoyance at voter apathy. It’s something that seems to be contagious in this day and age and although certain friends of mine are keenly on the political ball, many aren’t (including myself) however they don’t try to be. It annoys me that at the moment there’s a massive change in our government coming up and that will impact our country in a variety of ways, not all immediate, but all very prevalent and pertinent to the way we live, work and earn. It’s almost as though there’s a nationwide hangover and no one can be bothered to get off the sofa to put a cross in a box, I mean, what difference does it make anyway? Indeed.

On the other side of the argument though, I can understand the public’s point of view. With so much media bashing of politicians and so much corruption going on at our leadership level, it’s hardly a compelling case to get us flooding to the voting booths is it? Another point that compounds the argument is that politics is still steeped in so much traditional jargon that it’s been relegated to the top shelf of a very dusty cupboard to most of the youth who will one day be the country’s economic driving force. Very little genuine effort has been made to rally interest in our political system and even less in getting people to understand it.

I have no doubt that Gordon Brown, our current Prime Minister, is a waste of space. He’s done more harm than good and the whole concept of a ‘New Labour’ has long since been left in ruins like the burning embers of Rome. It’s no wonder he hasn’t made much of an attempt to rally interest in his activities, I mean would you?

I friend of mine, who is a fellow writer, feels very passionately about getting young people interested in politics and has taken it upon himself to create platforms to facilitate contemporary performance to that end. He’s met with Gordon Brown and Boris Johnson to discuss his ideas and it’s going really well. I’m very proud of him and wish him all the luck in the world. However I still think it’s a shame that this initiative isn’t coming from the top.

With all this talk of a hung parliament and the mess the country is (and has been in) economically it seems comical to ask people to be interested in such a massive problem, but I’d say it’s the perfect time to take responsibility for your surroundings and take part in your country’s system. Doctor Who hit the nail on the head in ‘The Beast Below’ with the concept of voting to ‘forget’ the last five years, hence seeing democracy in action. I don’t think that’s something we can afford to do any longer.

When we think of politics, voting, parliament or anything related to the running of state, it seems to have got to the point where we simply close our eyes and choose our favourite colour. One thing I know, mine isn’t Brown.

Remote Control of Life

It’s a strange phenomenon when one goes through ones day at sixty seconds per minute. I say it’s a strange phenomenon as I don’t think I’ve ever actually gone at that speed through a day. I know logically we are all moving at a rate identical to each other, but life is no place for logic. Neither is a blog.

A good friend of mine, who I’m currently living with incidentally, wrote on her Facebook status ‘where’s the pause button on the remote of life’. This little splurge of synaptic gunge got me thinking, as so many things often do (and lets face it, if a cup of tea can inspire an article about inspiration, imagine my thinking when looking at Facebook! It’s like looking into a box of psychological chocolates).

Having recently acquired a job (and it was acquired, my employment tends to occur at random, like a sneeze), I’ve noticed that my day speeds up and slows down at a rate of knots (or not as the case may be). My mornings can occasionally fly by like a stolen kiss in a club, while my afternoons can (sometimes) drag like the leg of a lame pigeon tied to a brick (What a fantastic image, a prize for the first person to draw that and send it to me!).

It really depends on what one wants from the time they experience and how they go about getting it. I’ve found that the old adage ‘time fly’s when you’re having fun’ can sometimes be spot on, however I’ve had moments of sheer ecstasy which have seemingly lasted forever. Conversely to that, I’ve also experienced boredom beyond anything I can express in words, which has flown by quite reassuringly.

I have always thought life to be like a broken TV set; you get so many channels and programmes, characters and plots, twists and turns, loves and losses, but all in a haphazard array of images tied together by moments of static and bluster. And there’s something beautiful and exciting about that.

Imagine if we had that remote my friend (and current landlady lest we forget) mentioned. You could pause, fast forward, play and stop your life when and where you wanted. Relive moments you loved and erased moments you hated. You could control your life in every detail and have so much more time for everything.

But take a moment humble reader, to think on this; I have a song on my iPod which I was obsessed with for an entire month. I listened to it over and over again, in various situations, commuting and travelling. I incorporated that into my every day life and it enhanced everything around me. I then became bored with it. Now I don’t listen to it at all. That feeling is lost. Those moments are gone forever.

In essence, I think if we had that power to control our situations, we’d become bored beyond belief. Instead why don’t we look beyond the static and bluster and enjoy the highs as well as the lows, whenever they happen.

Body Beautiful

I wrote a blog last month about the fashion in Canary Wharf. Not my most inspired of writings I know, but some valid points none the less. I’d like to continue my observation from that point and extrapolate my point to beautiful people.

I should mention I, in no way, consider myself to be a ‘beautiful person’. I think I’m fairly dishy, but in a very down to earth way. I know my assets but I’m also painfully aware of my limitations. However, I see people out here in ‘The Wharf’ who are simply beyond attractive. Jaw droppingly, head bangingly, stomach turningly stunning. They are suited, booted, perfumed, tanned, lacquered, pumped and seem ready for anything.

Now I’m not talking about models here, no, no, no. I know models and yes, they are stunning people, but there’s something different about those that have those looks but seem to use them to manipulate influence rather than finance. In my experience these wonderful, overtly godlike creations seem to be slightly damaged on the inside.

I know this doesn’t encompass everyone who is fortunate to be a stunner, but what really brought this home to me was the recent dalliances by ex flatmate (and good friend) has had with a guy she pulled at a house party in Kentish Town. He is a friend of a friend, the usual story; bit of booze, twilight creeping over a balcony at the end of winter, and bam, snogging faces off etc. Now he was a stunning man. I’m talking serious wet dream material, but when it came down to the nitty gritty, my poor friend couldn’t get him out of this strange cycle of textual messaging. He seemed (and still seems) completely uncomfortable with meeting people face to face, and there’s an air of lack of self esteem about him.

This bloke is inundated with compliments on an hourly basis by means of Facebook and the like, by women who are literally throwing themselves at him, but this seems to fade into insignificance when it comes to his confidence.

Perhaps, when one gets told they are amazing all the time, it gets boring and the reality of it fades away. Perhaps people who know they don’t have to make much effort to be ‘liked’ externally are at war on the inside to rationalise their very existence. One thing I’ve taken away from my friends adventures, and hope you might too, is that when you next look into those amazing, bright, perfectly sculpted eyes of that man or woman who glides past you on a busy street, take a moment to think about what’s going on behind them.

Dating Malarky

Talking to a few friends recently, catching up (hungrily) on each others lives (like nosey bitches), conversation quickly turned to the matter of our love lives. Now for a while now my love life has been… erratic… to say the least. A big breakup, an escape, a pause, a return and a desperate filling of the void (ahem)…

It’s been a fairly strange few months for me on that front and only recently have I actually started ‘seeing’ someone. I’m a tad superstitious so I’m not saying too much (and although I don’t think they read this, you never know)…

Now it sounds weird but after being with one person for so long, I’ve found that my entire catalogue of dating etiquette has been burnt on a massive bonfire and all I have a charred cinders of pages which weren’t actually that interesting in the first place. Super.

Over the last few weeks I’ve been agonising over whether I’m doing the right thing, whether this person is even interested in me (I mean does holding hands and kissing over the space of a couple of months count!? REALLY?), whether I should be making all the moves and even whether I really, genuinely like them. It’s a minefield of psychology and tension.

I look around me and see these couples doing what couples do and it just seems so easy. I have spoken to my friends and they agree that it’s a war zone of emotions just getting to that moment where you can be apart from someone and trust that the next text message from them isn’t going to be ‘let’s call it a day, you’re a bit boring’.

I have found that in these situations it’s best to busy you to the point of distraction and generally try not to give a toss. Easier said than done, but so was giving up caffeine, and I’ve done that too. In fact I gave up caffeine last year and I’m sipping on a decaf Americano right now so that’s promising!

To all you people out there that are in the same limbo as me, you aren’t alone. Whenever you feel that doubt creeping in, or that concern over whether you’re really doing it for the right reasons, remember at this stage you can jump ship, you’re not married. Yet.

Was that my phone? o_O

Give me a Moment

I am bitterly aware that I have not posted anything on my blog for a week or so now. I am guilt ridden and have been in pieces about my lack of time to dedicate to it but there’s a glimmer of hope on the horizon and I apologise for my tardiness.

Never the less, the time I’ve had away from my writing has helped me to really think about what I should write. I am a big advocate of having ‘something to say’ and not simply ‘saying something’ as so many people seem to do these days. Long gone are the days when an update from a friend was to tell you they were getting married or that their dog had died; now I get to hear what they eat for breakfast and whether they’ve been laid in the last few hours. I can’t really say much though, those who have read my (obsessive) Facebook updates will attest to.

I have lots of exciting ideas for this blog over the coming months, and still intend to pump out as much as you’ll listen to, but there’s some added surprises on the way as well.

My little hiatus has been key in my resetting my mental tuning fork and I’d advise anyone and everyone to do it, even if it’s just once a year. Drop the pens, pencils, laptops, balls and coffee cups and take a walk by the Thames instead. Sometimes it’s far too easy to be consumed by yourself, when to really help yourself you need to step away and separate the forest from the trees.

A Passing Easter Thought

This morning I awoke at my grandmother’s house in Sussex. I haven't seen her in a while and thought it was about time I showed my face; if anything to remind her I'm making good use of my life and not running about shooting up and being debauched and angry at the world (I'm not you know).

My grandmother grew up in the Second World War (that's the one that started September 1st 1939 don’t you know). It's been a long time since the war but my grandmother can still remember the subtle details of her lifestyle and the situations she had to deal with back then. She's an amazing older woman and is still totally on the ball, independent and fiercely cognitive. I only hope I've inherited some of her sheer force of will (and maybe some of the crockery).

I was standing idly looking out of the window into the newly blooming front garden yesterday (after a very fast rain shower which lit up the grass like green amethyst) after a particularly wonderful fried breakfast. My grandmother had done my washing (as grandmothers do) and was in the process of ironing my shirts for the week (I am allowed to be spoilt sometimes so shtum!). I was surrounded by the smell of bacon, ironing, tea and rain. Never have I been taken back in time so far as at that moment.

Perhaps it was the silence in the house and the background noise of some local news on the radio but the modern world seemed to fade away in place of this vibrant, evocative and older version of the world. It was here, but fifty years ago. I'd been listening to my grandmother talk of her time as a girl during the war, of rationing books and family apprehension during the forties and for a moment I had a fleeting sense of it all.

Of course I know it's probably only my romanticised, exaggerated perspective of what I imagine the time to have been, but it was a far cry from the dusty, dated and broken world that museums, galleries and books paint of the time.

It's usually at major holidays like Easter and Christmas, that I get a real sense of the sacrifice, struggle and effort that has gone into the freedom, fun and enjoyment of such a time. It isn't about religion, it isn't about prayer, it isn't about gifts and consumerism or overindulgence, it's about realising how lucky we are to be here in this day and age having everything we have and just how easy we have it. More importantly it's realising that it all came out of stark simplicity.

So if you ever find yourself tied up in your own drama's, tensing up and feeling the world is against you, wait until it rains, iron a shirt, fry some bacon and make a cup of tea. In essence take time for the little things that add up to what you have, after all that's how it all started.

One Small Step

Aren't feet strange? I don't mean feet themselves, after all they serve a very specific purpose and I am personally very glad of mine, I do like to keep a dignified upright composure you see. What I mean to say is that our perception of feet has always been rather different from our view on any other part of our anatomy. Would we have such differing views about our hands? Then again I'm fairly militant about my own hands (and those of my partners... no biting fingernails please... eugh) so that's probably not a great example.

There tend to be three camps on attitudes to our humble feet; the dislike, the over like and the neutral. Depending on who you talk to you'll be given a whole host of reasons to appreciate, be repulsed by or show indifference to ones own pieds.

People who avidly dislike feet tend to moan (usually retracting theatrically) about odour, cracked heels, toenails and verruca’s. For some, actual toes are a significant gripe, while for others have something against hair on a man’s feet.

Those who seem to resonate with our friends below, tend to find their shape, movement and use for fashion (in heels and shoes) alluring, surrounding them like a protective shrine in all manner of footwear. Some develop sexual fetishes towards them, like a focal point to the sexual chemistry between two people. And why not?

For some people, feet don't factor into anything at all. I know people who simply think of them as being weird things at the end of their legs for the sole purpose of standing up, aiding our evolution and only airing them when the weather takes a turn for the better. Nothing to like, nothing to particularly dislike.

I think there's something rather interesting about feet. I am probably one of the few people who think about such things (let alone actually discuss them), but as this is a blog covering anything and everything I think this needs a little air time. If anything to stop me writing anything about it again. That's not a promise, mind.

There is a common misconception about the condition of feet between men and women. I once discussed this with a beauty therapist who said, out right, that women have far worse feet than men as they prance about (mostly in heels) and have a casual disregard for the well-being of their lower appendages. She went on to say that men's feet were easier to tidy up because they tend to wear comfortable shoes and have an affinity for socks. She seemed to take a great pride in conducting pedicures on men as she felt they appreciated them far more and really took them seriously after seeing what a difference her work could make to them.

I have friends who are openly attracted to a pair of feet on a man. It may seem strange to someone who hasn't thought about it much (and I'm assuming that's a fair percentage), but if you think about it properly, it's not that far fetched or weird; in the western world feet are probably one of the last parts of a partners body you actually see. They are more often than not covered up until you reach the bedroom and even then there's no guarantee they will be seen, so something is rather mysterious about them. Also to touch someone’s feet is an incredibly intimate act if anything as it's not someone everyone would care to do.

Reflexology is the manipulation of various parts of the foot (on the sole I believe) to aid and relax various parts of the body. This has been suggested to be an excellent method of balancing ones inner being (or something) so bully for them! I've yet to have a go but I will one day. It just goes to show you just how intrinsic our feet are to our bodies as a whole entity.

I think my point (if I ever reach one) is that for a part of us that is so incredibly important and key to our survival, health and movement, we have a real disregard for our poor feet and subject them to all manner of torture and torment over the years. Regardless of our stance on such an amazing part of our own bodies isn't it time we kicked our shoes of, put 'em up and chilled out a little. Perhaps even spare a passing thought for them. After all they put up with us our whole lives, it's only fair.

April Fools

In any other month there are idiots, in April there are fools. This April, for reasons of rain, wind, anticipation of summer and changing of the wardrobe mayhem, seems to bring the effect they have on me to the fore. I’m not one to suffer fools gladly, and am often glad when fools suffer.

I realise people are fools for a multitude of reasons, just as I know I am not one for dealing with those reasons in a mature, straightforward manner. Still though, I am irked by these members of society who are neither willing nor able to function in or outside of their miniature kingdoms without the foolish insecurities that have propelled them to financial and professional heights unbecoming a fool.

It seems as time has progressed, general ignorance to the world surrounding us has diminished and been replaced with idiocy in the use of knowledge. Knowledge, for many decades now, has been considered a weapon in the wrong hands and who knew how many hands it would be in, in times that came?

I have recently acquired a job in Canary Wharf and, although realising I’ve had to slow my own creative pace in the initial stages, I’ve used this experience as an opportunity to conduct a little human research and gain some insight into the human condition since last I was in this glassy (yet translucent), rigid (yet ever changing) and vast (yet narrow) world of contradictions. It’s the same.

On my first day I felt such a wave of negative energy a tear almost came to my eye (and would have if the wind hadn’t almost blown my eyes out). My gaze was met by a sea of black, grey and navy blue on which were grafted faces of ice and stone suggesting the souls within were far from joyous. You can see mistakes, regrets, age and weathering like you wouldn’t believe, and money to hide the scars with trinkets, ‘stuff’ and glamour.

I am still positive in my outlook and have managed to smile to a few people I feel I could but can’t help thinking whether simply having a life away from work is enough? Maybe some lives are so intrinsically linked to their profession there is no divide. Maybe I’m as guilty as anyone being so forceful in my efforts to write, create and pontificate till the bitter end that I’m blind to the similarities in myself and my surroundings. Maybe I’m the fool. If I am, at least I’m a happy one :-)