manfromthezoo.

How I Beat A Dialler (or, How I Learnt To Stop Worrying And Love The Machine)

2012-01-26T16:21:00.001Z

We just moved Zoo Towers to a permanent residence.

We love it here. It feels like home in that inscrutable way that makes all difference when seeking happiness, and fulfilment, and all that stuff.

We were edging ever closer to settling when our phone line got connected, and we felt 'back on the grid' again. I'd been taking a little longer to climb back on said grid, owing to a borked back and knees, injured from essentially moving boxes and furniture every day for a fortnight. Yes, I'm a sickly Victorian street urchin.

Being home more gave rise to discovering an annoying issue with our new (?) number. Every day, without fail, an automated dialler was calling. Twice in the morning, and twice in the afternoon. Before I continue, I will state that I normally avoid mentioning brand names unless I'm very happy or very pissed off, and in this case I can confirm the latter.

It was from Black Horse / Lloyd's. It was one of those soulless automations, dryly engineered to connect the ~~victim~~ customer to an agent – despite the fact that the public are always advised to hang-up on receipt of automated calls on the basis that most of the time, it's a scam.

The jumped-up calculator wanted to speak to someone I've never heard of, who has never lived in this property. For the purposes of identity concealment, I'll call this lady 'Esme Flaps'. The first few times, I hung up – hoping it would trip any 'failure logic' this ghastly system had and get a good old-fashioned meat-sack involved. Nope.

It carried on ad infinitum, until I relented. I answered and begun ploughing through option hell in the fast decaying hope of getting through to a flesh-sentient who would make it all go away. Not a chance, Microchips. The system wouldn't accept I didn't know Esme Flaps or her whereabouts – indeed, the uber-mind was graciously willing to wait (SLEEP_60) until Esme Flaps could come to the phone. 'You'll be waiting a long time, sugar tits', I thought to myself – SEEING AS I DON'T KNOW ESME FLAPS AND SHE DOESN'T LIVE HERE.

Of course, if I was Esme Flaps and had just forgotten who I was, I could speak to someone right away – but only if I knew 'my' security details, of course.

The next day, the infernal cycle unbroken, the calls started again. This time, I contemplated calling Black Horse to try and get all this bother stopped. But that lofty construct that keeps men doing bad DIY, and trying to drink real ale against their secret preference for sherry kicked in. PRIDE. Why should I pay call fees to correct two unrelated parties mistakes?

I contacted my telco, who could block numbers for a fee. OK. But no-one else bothers me in an endless deluge of robot-call-twattery, so this seemed like a waste of money. Back to the drawing board. Then, it occurred to me.

Have you seen 'The Human Centipede'?

It gave me an idea.

Like an assassin, I waited for the inevitable trundling of the mark to come into the crosshairs. I was well settled, resting my painful back and knees when my cheap DECT phone p-p-p-PEEPED to life. Wincing, I got up and answered to that (now) familiar voice. I can even imagine what the machine thinks it looks like – oiled side parting, thick-rimmed eighties specs. It would overheat and expire if it looked in the mirror, that clean-shaven chin in reality a surging PCB, pock-marked with soldering.

This time around, I noticed there was an option to provide an alternative contact number for my close, obviously co-habiting friend Esme Flaps. As I implied before, if you've never heard of the person being hunted like a fox running from toffs, then you are of course a LIAR™. I accepted then, for a fleeting moment, that I was a LIAR™. I can live with the label momentarily.

You see, it had occurred to me before to connect the two ends of the septic tank drainage pipe together. What if the faithful android where to drink its own Kool-Aid? I keyed in, as an alternative number, the number of the very call centre the calls where coming from. I imagined for a moment a break in the time-space continuum – would it fracture this time-line, or create an infinite loop? Would it create xy number of call-centre realities, to the power of infinity? Would it give their call routing servers an afternoon Sudoku puzzle? What happens if you Google for 'Google'? I don't know, but then this gave way to a simpler analogy.

I think I managed to get the machine to eat its own arse-biscuits. The ultimate Dialler-Centipede, then, but...finished. Joined at both ends.

I now wonder how this'll go down. The dialler will 'call the call centre' from which it, itself, has come from. What, pray, will it do with its precious 'options'? It'll be giving its 'options' to another computer process spawned of itself, also trying to give its own set of 'options'. Options on options? Oh noes!

I imagine a Harry Hill style fight.

Which of its own dulcet, un-tormented voices will win? An existential crisis, then, that seems to have stopped the harassment here at Zoo-Towers, at least for now.

If a representative from Black Horse or Lloyd's should read this, I would urge you to re-work your calling strategy. All I wanted to do was stop having to get up with a bad back and knees, four times a day – I should not have pay for the pleasure. The simple option to talk to a human being would have sufficed. As a non-customer wishing to get in touch for something like this without it costing me (you don't even allow email : By email

We’re sorry, but for security reasons we can’t answer any questions about your account by email. Please phone or write to us instead.), I fancy my chances of scaling Kangchenjunga with my back in its present state to be more realistic.

It's too bad I've had to use a fudge like this to jam a spanner in the works – and there's no guarantee that 'crossing the streams' like this will work permanently. But it's a trick worth knowing about to get some piece and quiet from unwanted phone calls.

And now, hopefully, I can rest my back and knees without having to get up and answer the phone. Again.

BSSC Round Three

2012-01-07T23:01:00.000Z

Golly Gosh.

It's the only superlative I can think of.

For, pop-pickers, I've been fortunate and lucky enough to get both 'The God Particle', and 'Jump, LOL' through the third round qualifiers of the British Short Screenplay Competition.

I'm really rather pleased, and also hoping you'll excuse the brevity of this post - since today, we moved Zoo Towers. As you might imagine, there are tired eyes, muscles, and fingers here at HQ.

Without wonderful friends and family to help we'd not have been able to have forged a new haven for future scribblings - and for that, I am grateful.

How to set yourself up to write - for free, or on the cheap

2012-01-04T20:38:00.000Z

Final Draft, and Movie Magic are the industry standard screenwriting software solutions. Whether you like that or not, it's true and you just have to cough up for one or t'other if you get a shot at something professionally.

That said, and until that moment arrives, you can write for the princely sum of £0.00 or £ not a lot. I remember overhearing a high street retail chain salesman totally bullshit a young student and her vulnerable parents once - it was clear she was off to Uni and they just wanted the 'best' computer they could afford for her. It was a well-meant sentiment but born of a certain naivety nonetheless. The serpent told the parents of the 'power' she would need for working with words, and I chuckled quietly - but not before letting them know what an outright fib that was when his slimy back was turned.

The truth is, you can work on so-called 'old' hardware, and use free open-source software from the operating system upwards to build your dedicated little word-machine. The resources needed for processing words are minimal - even rendering out an entire screenplay won't get computers built in the last 7 years too sweaty. They might not be the fastest, but they'll get the job done.

Get hold of an old, disused machine

This could be a laptop, or desktop. Whatever you prefer. It's worth checking reputable sellers on eBay, or local computer shops that often have perfectly good hardware in stock unsold - for the ghastly crime of being a bit older. Check with family and friends - you'd be surprised what lurks in old studies, cupboards, and lofts. Very often the basis your writing rig is waiting right there, all doe-eyed and wanting you to take it home. Check with local businesses - although many have wipe and destroy policies for understandable reasons, some are happy to sell on hardware once it has been securely erased.

It's not impossible, at the time of writing, to allow yourself about £100 - £150 and get a computer perfectly adequate for your scribblings.

Build the machine - from scratch

Hopefully the previous owner of your computer has been smart enough to securely erase the hard drive. Sadly this is not always the case, but that's another subject.

Install Ubuntu, or for older machines, Xubuntu. These Linux operating systems are fast, secure, and stable - leveraging more performance from old hardware. They're ideal for writers since you can concentrate on your output without worrying about viruses, malware, and slowdowns. There's also a huge community out there willing to help you for nothing. There's no room to go into how to install Ubuntu or Xubuntu on your machine here, but you'll find the process very easy (almost self explanatory). If you do get stuck, there's so many guides and so much free support out there but for a quick Google, it's not even worth worrying about.

Get your writing toolkit together

Once you've got your Linux computer up and running, it's time to start looking at what you can use on a daily basis to start writing. Here's the 'big three' that I use:

Celtx

The Rolls-Royce of free screenwriting solutions. It also offers end-to-end media production tools, with an associated subscription service if that floats your boat, but there's no obligation to use this. Celtx will take care of your formatting, and works in a similar way to other flow-based screenwriting applications.

You can create multiple versions of your screenplays, and produce the final product as PDFs that, to be honest, look just as professional as those created with paid-for solutions.

Celtx also supports radio and stage play formats.

Google Docs

Yep. Google Docs. Accessed right there in your web browser, you've got the benefit of always having it open in another tab. Get Google Chrome, and you can take advantage of the (currently beta) 'Offline' function. It's fast, always backed-up, and travels wherever you go in the world.

The collaboration and sharing features are unparalleled in my opinion. I use it for outlines and treatments - it's also just as easy to stoke up when you get a flash of inspiration. It also supports versions, which can be very useful for spinning off derivatives of treatments.

Google Docs will let you export in a numerous formats.

Libre Office / Open Office

The premiere free office suite. I use this infrequently, but it's there when I want the features of a more advanced word processor. In those situations I call on Writer, said word processor of the suite.

The big bonus is that it's already included with most modern Linux distributions!

Trelby

I know nothing about this piece of screenwriting software for Linux. However, it's recently been resurrected from obscurity and earmarked for development. OMG! Ubuntu! have more information about this.

About Final Draft or Movie Magic

Ultimately, make enough of a go at it, and you're going to need one of these if you start to liase with contacts that use them.

That's just the way things work in the industry. Since neither are available for Linux (which seems a lost opportunity), a Mac or Windows installation will be needed. That doesn't mean dumping your little writing box, though. With Virtualbox or VMWare, you can run a virtualised Windows machine and seamlessly run one of the above titles from there. It's also worth looking a WINE, the Windows emulation layer for Linux, however I can't vouch for how well Final Draft or Movie Magic will work with it.

In the meantime, I hope I've given you an inkling of how you can use old kit and free software to get started. Although you'll need a professional solution in the end, doing this can help you build a day-to-day workhorse for now.

Good luck building your writing rig! Do chat back or ask questions in the comments.

Scriptwriting in the UK: Red Planet Prize: Frequently Asked Questions

2012-01-03T21:13:00.000Z

Scriptwriting in the UK: Red Planet Prize: Frequently Asked Questions

Should developing screenwriters be on LinkedIn?

2011-12-27T16:41:00.000Z

I'd been asking myself that question rather a lot over the last few months.

After a lot of uncomfortable wrestling with that same 'freshly shaved' feeling you get from departing any social network, I decided 'no'. For me, it just didn't fit as something a screenwriting professional would use. And we're all shooting for professionalism, right?

Before I carry on, I should point out that for other lines of work I'm sure it's great - but for writers specifically aligned around film and TV, I came to the conclusion that it's a square peg for a round hole, and here's why.

As best I know, agents and producers don't go combing social networks in a desperate search for material or talent. Why would they, with hundreds of un-repped writers and unsolicited scripts coming their way every year? They just don't do this, and if you think they do and you're special and lucky then you're naive. I don't mean that in a derogatory or patronising way, but instead to politely say 'wise up'. They simply don't have to by virtue of the nature of the business. Hence, I was always inherently dubious of anyone approaching me or pushing their creative 'shopfront' / experience this way.

LinkedIn always seemed arranged and structured in such a way that was great for episodic periods of employment in offices / companies. But not any good for writers that, by nature of what they do, work for themselves on projects for set periods of time. Hence, I always saw messy profiles - with some people even setting up the names of films and radio plays they'd worked on as 'employers'. Gah, that's the CV equivalent of socks tossed about a messy bedroom, that is.

Yet I've still not mentioned the biggest single reason I left - and it's very similar to the chief reason I left Facebook. Bullshit. I've seen all sorts on there, from people selling themselves as the 'CEO' of a production company that doesn't legally exist (Companies House is your friend), to listing deliberately ambiguous status updates engineered to make you think they're on the cusp of Landing A Big Project ™.

The plain truth is that social networking can not and will not replace the function of good representation and simple ol' hard work. Surely your best chances are, as ever, writing great screenplays and focusing on getting an agent. Enter reputable competitions. Network. Develop relationships, and more importantly - friendships - with other serious writers. They're often in the same boat, and it's more productive to share that experience with them. Pump the time wasted faffing about back into the whole reason you're writing in the first place.

I'm not knocking anyone that chooses to use LinkedIn for networking - I chose the best way for me, that's all, and that was closing my account.

Hey, maybe I'm wrong about all this. What do you think?

Amateur writers should be CERN but not heard

2011-12-13T13:48:00.000Z

We noticed yesterday at Zoo-Towers that 'CERN', 'Higgs' - even 'gigavolt' were trending on Twitter, as a result of the the Higgs Boson announcements.

It was lovely to see this, in place of the usual sewage-pipe of banal chatter and saccharine celebrity fawning. It also struck me as fortuitously cool for another, more selfish and non-existential reason actually, since my short screenplay 'The God Particle' is about this very subject (the Higgs, not the sewage- oh, wait, you get it).

Said short is currently in Kaos Film's British Short Screenplay Competition. It's survived round two (the current stage) which feels all the nicer for the current media hoopla surrounding the activities at CERN (not forgetting the years of work carried out by the Tevatron teams at Fermilab - indeed, this is where 'The God Particle' is set).

Fingers crossed for the third round, eh?

See, The Thing is...

2011-12-05T19:02:00.000Z

WARNING : SPOILERS

I saw 'The Thing' yesterday. The prequel, that is. Man alive, I can't tell you how many times I've seen Carpenter's original.

I'm also not going to gush about how it's one the finest horrors ever committed to celluloid - oh, look, I just did.

After an aborted Saturday attempt to see the picture - which resulted in me walking out owing to some of Chichester's finest chavs, I finally got my chance last night. I walked into a fittingly icy and quiet Fareham to have another go.

I went alone, and for a moment my heart sank, since a giggler had installed herself between two smug, superior nerds. She sniggered frantically as they faux-abused her, using the opportunity to loudly insinuate and advertise that they were Experts On This Sort Of Film And John Carpenter ® to others in the theatre.

Sigh.

Thank sweet goodness all of them STFU, albeit perilously close to the opening frames. Anyhow, how about the film we've waited years for? Postulated and speculated over, given up and gotten hope over, for such an eon?

It was...huh. I dunno. That's really how I feel about it.

I'm going to cast aside, for this purpose, any repetition of a thousand fanboi forum postings regarding 'inorganic material', and 'fillings'. Although sure, they are logic bumps that can't just be driven over, there are other more holistic observations that have left me at this impasse.

I couldn't help but feel that the Norwegians were a sandbox concept; an opportunity to spin a 'Best Of' hits collection (it is Christmas, after all). In re-playing and aping key moments from Carpenter's picture, it felt in that respect like a remake dressed as a prequel was being fed to me bit-by-bit, so I wouldn't notice. But...I did. And what an amorphous opportunity the Norwegians were; those 'crazy Swedes' that had long entered horror pop-culture, subjected to 30 years of 'what the hell happened' speculation. And to find out that the answer to that poser was 'pretty much the same that happened to the Americans, with different squishy bits' was a little bit of a letdown.

Much has been said about the film's obvious CGI. In all honesty, and putting away the fervour of Rob Bottin die-hards (I count myself among them), it was great in places, and lacking in others. It is, however, disappointing to read rumours that the effects were shot predominantly as practical, animatronic, real puppets - only to be replaced for the most part by CG during the re-shoots. Very troubling indeed, and I'm left wondering what treasures are in the can that we'll never get to see, since Matthijs van Heijningen Jr has already ruled out another cut.


Practical elements we should have seen more of

It's important to balance that with the likely truth, though - CG was always going to have something to do with augmenting the physical effects. Too bad it sounds like the scales tipped too far toward the computers and away from ADI's efforts.

What the film got right though, was unsettling me. But even this has its caveats. While they managed to capture the desperate, animal, and alien ferocity of The Thing, I feel they over-egged the pudding in that respect - and lost a little cold cunning along the way. I could see the levers being pulled, the paranoia element overplayed in sequences of 'concerned' looks at other characters accompanied with strained orchestral strings. Don't tell me to suspect someone; imply it! Something that the Carpenter picture had going for it, was that you absolutely could not tell who The Thing was - it was a true invader, a true chameleon. Here, it's not so difficult to pick out the creature, due to laboured stares and 'he's behind you' machinations.

I felt the picture missed a chance to add to the mystery. What I mean by that is being honest that I don't want to know what The Thing is doing here, how it got into that saucer, or what its favourite aftershave is. What I did want - and I sincerely hope this is what Alien sorta-prequel Prometheus is going to give us - is an expansion. Make those questions even more perplexing, add to the mystique by deepening the 'What the hell happened?' factor. To get inside that flying saucer after all these years of waiting, and - despite it being bizarre inside - feel a bit like it was just a nice place for a Blair-monster style showdown, is a bit of a damp squib.

Yet, with all gripes intact, I still don't feel I can rant and rave about how terrible it is - because it isn't a bad film. It just isn't, and I think it's a bit churlish to say it is. It's certainly fair to say it's misjudged - however, as we all know, screenwriters and film-makers don't always get to see their vision up there on screen. It's a business committee - one that, in my opinion, got close to having a set of brass balls, but panicked at the last minute. They fell back on safer conventions.

The resultant product could have been a warm place to hide. Instead, it leaves us out in the cold, but not without hope of coming back inside again.

Shooting Stars to come out of orbit

2011-11-24T14:41:00.001Z

It was something of an '....oh' moment here at Zoo-Towers when I heard that Shooting Stars was getting axed by the BBC.

I was thrilled when it came back to our screens - it was something I thought we'd never see again, a unique figment of the nineties that sailed high on the crest of Vic and Bob's late-decade insanity. What a wonderful time it was for BBC Comedy, too - we had Bang Bang, The Smell Of Reeves And Mortimer, The Fast Show, and The League Of Gentlemen to name but a few.

So it was something of a perplexing sucker-punch to the bollocks to try and understand the logic behind its cancellation. I don't for a moment claim to understand the machinations of telly programming, but it seems such a bizarre and churlish decision.

I was sure to follow up on Pett Production's suggestion on Twitter that fans officially complain to the Beeb. In my complaint, I indicated that I felt the BBC were 'throwing the baby out with the bath water'. By including Shooting Stars in a general cull of panel-comedy shows, they were losing a diamond in their comedy line-up. A show that has been consistently anarchic and funny for years on end - not to mention one of the last threads in the tapestry of surrealist comedy on TV.

Today I received a response. It's what I expected, to be honest - in essence, a copy n' paste prepared-for-the-masses comeback, reiterating their decision.

Thanks for contacting us regarding 'Shooting Stars.'

We understand you're unhappy the series has been decommissioned.

'Shooting Stars' has been a great addition to the BBC Two schedule, however, we regularly have to make difficult decisions with regard to which shows to commission and unfortunately sometimes they will prove to be unpopular with sections of the audience. In future there will be less space on BBC Two for comedy/entertainment panel shows so sadly 'Shooting Stars' won't be returning. We'd like to thank Vic and Bob for everything they've brought to the channel over the years.

Thanks once again for contacting us.

Kind Regards

BBC Complaints

It does rather imply that Shooting Stars has marginal appeal ('with sections of the audience') - something I'd wholly contest. Turning the telly on and finding it there (especially at Christmas) is like an old friend knocking at door.

As I've mentioned - I'm not an TV executive, and wouldn't presume to understand the way viewing markets work. Nonetheless, my instinct tells me the BBC have made a mistake by canceling Shooting Stars.

Iranu.

Make A Wish

2011-11-18T10:14:00.001Z

'Charidee', as enunciated by a thousand well-meaning but dim DJs up and down the land, is a subjective concept, isn't it?

I certainly had my perspective changed in ways I wasn't expecting when I took on an assignment, through Solid Jelly, for the UK arm of Make A Wish Foundation. If you've been living in an opium den for the last three decades and have never heard of them, they grant wishes to critically ill children.

When the red zoo-phone on my desk rung, it was Rob Forsyth - Head Chef at Solid Jelly. He wanted me to initially write two conceptual communication type-thingy screenplays for MAW, and I thought I had a grasp on what they did. Pretty much what I'd seen on the telly, to be honest, and so you can imagine the resultant smack-in-the-kisser when I discovered the realities of what they do. After ultimately spending the day with them, my brain-pipes were groaning under the pressure of the real-world gusto required from these folk to actually make this stuff happen for children.

Indulge me, for a moment, and permit me to ooze a little more. I was expecting an office that was maybe populated by that certain type of folks we all imagine in these settings (come on, you're doing it now). Sustained on a IV drip of tea, I pictured an environment scented with the faintest hint of a cabbage miasma. I was wrong - and shocked to find in them exactly what I wasn't ready for. Modern. Smart as a whip. Friendly. Critically passionate about what they do.

I was pleased that they liked what I'd written enough to let me loose behind a camera. They'll be using the short.

My thanks to MAW UK for allowing me to blog about working with them, even if it is a fleeting mention as spin into another of my frothy, foaming spells of activity. And stuff.

These are my own words, not necessarily those of Make A Wish Foundation or Solid Jelly.

Red, like yo mamma's panties

2011-11-16T23:35:00.001Z

Red Planet Pictures have, thank chuff, announced that there will be a Red Planet Prize 2011.

Not that I understand it was ever in question, of course - but we should all be grateful for any opportunities like this when they arise. After all, the best way to get your writing noticed is...well, not to put too fine a point on it, to write. And be good.

To that end, you can enter the Red Planet Prize with a 60 minute TV pilot or 60 minute TV single play. The format is that your initial entry is your first ten pages - then, if you're successful, the whole shooting match is requested. Here's a tip - don't be a 'window shopping' writer - if you're genuinely interested, use this opportunity as a means to finish something.

Not only would it be embarrassing (and paint rookie on your forehead) but it will really eat at you later if you submitted those first ten pages, and then the rest of the screenplay is asked for. If you haven't got it ready, you will look and feel a bit silly. So, commit to it - it's win-win even if the rest of your work is not requested - hey, you finished something. That seems rudimentary but in the haze of blogs and Twitter, it's not something everything aspiring writer achieves, sadly.

I certainly need a kick up the arse from time-to-time, and the Red Planet deadline is very motivational - there's nothing like a ticking time bomb (see what I did there?) and, guess what - writing comes with pressure, so get used to it. Use it, develop from the experience of putting yourself through it.

I'll not copy n' paste this bounty, you read for yourselves about it hither:

http://www.redplanetpictures.co.uk/prize.php

Get stuck in.

A Spartan Toolset

2011-11-08T20:25:00.000Z

Two things in life make me punchy. 'Angels', by Robbie Williams, and superfluous dross in screenplays.

We all sometimes catch ourselves doing it, and not necessarily out of any sense of wordy onanism - one just gets carried away and assumes everyone cares about their characters because...well, because they should, innit?

Um...no. I for one don't give a shit what colour shoes your lead has - unless they're central to moving the story forward.

A couple of weeks ago, I was fortunate enough to meet Alien producer Ivor Powell. Something of a film-making hero of mine, his baptism in the film industry was a fiery one, beginning in his capacity as Stanley Kubrick's assistant. He went on to produce The Duellists, and Blade Runner after Alien but I'll leave you to read about him yourself. He presented a screening, alongside Ian Nathan from Empire magazine (who has authored the incredible Alien Vault tome - but I digress).

Ivor spoke briefly about the spartan writing style of David Giler and Walter Hill. The point was that in the seventies, that sparse, no bullshit method was fashionable in screenwriting but it certainly benefitted Alien massively (or course not forgetting the awesome O'Bannon and Shusett without whom it wouldn't have existed in the first bleedin' place).

My own take is that it's hard to write in between the two extremes - being artfully barren where it fits, and a tiny bit indulgent, poncey and theatrical where needed (without boring a busy reader). It's difficult to finish without being Mr Threadbare or a walking, foppish velvet curtain. I guess the people that master the bit in between are the folks getting the jobs. It's certainly where I'm aiming.

PS - Ivor had some wonderful stories regarding the struggle to make Alien, and his early experiences with Kubrick.

If you're even a casual fan of Alien, Ian's new book will press your buttons and needs to be handled, for it truly is a vault of goodness.

Ding, ding. Round Two.

2011-11-07T14:01:00.000Z

I pretty much spend Friday wearing out the F5 on this very keyboard.

Then, late on Friday afternoon, shortly before my index finger turned into an upsetting and stodgy flesh-paste, Kaos announced the second-round qualifiers for the British Short Screenplay Competition.

I'm sexy-pleased to say the 'The God Particle' and 'Jump, LOL' have both made it through the latest wave of scrutiny. This is wicked - thanks, Kaos!

http://www.kaosfilms.co.uk/bssc/

Dial 101 for Indifference

2011-10-03T18:51:00.010+01:00

I'm not really taking a lot of pleasure in this writing this post.

Not being a fan of populist Police-bashing, I find this unpleasant to say. Regretfully, my anger has left me little recourse - since I can't seem to get the attention of the Police as a decent human being, these days.

Last night Em and I were returning from the cancelled Lee Evans gig at The O2. After some significant traffic delays, we finally broke free and were cruising down the A3, minding our business.

Out of nowhere, a vicious, predatory, vile specimen came haring from the darkness right up behind us.

He began to flash his lights, and so the dance commenced.

We didn't move out of 'his' way, so he upped the ante by driving well under a foot away from our bumper. Just to emphasise how close that is, we could only see the dim aura of his headlights (still being strobe-flashed). He began a new wave in his threat campaign, and swayed from side-to-side, often encroaching on the (populated) next lane. We decided at this point, enough was enough - by all means we'd be happy for him to kill himself, but not anyone else just trying to get home. So, we moved over.

As he hacked into the distance, the engine in his under-powered little sewing machine of a vehicle screaming for mercy, I took his number plate and description, and promptly called the Police on 101. Being on the A3, I made it through to Surrey Police.

I found it odd to begin with - on calling Hampshire Police, I'm always asked for my name, address - even my ethnicity.

On this occasion, I was greeted with little more than a 'Hello, Surrey Police'.

I made clear my intention to report a lethal driver. I was told, in short order, that I 'couldn't report this over the phone'. Silly me. I was advised that I would need to report this strictly in-line with the following criteria;

1) In person, at a Police station
2) Must be reported in under 24 hours
3) Must have two witnesses

I wish I was making this up. It didn't dawn on me until the brief conversation ended, how utterly, arse-puckeringly ridiculous the whole transaction had been. There was no way, as insanely busy people, that we could make it to a Police station and satisfy the above 'requirement'. It was made all the more insulting that, just two miles further down the road, we spotted a 4X4 patrol car doing the square root of nothing.

Alas, an absolutely deranged driver was allowed to go unchecked, free to pursue his heinous disregard for human life. I do hope that paper-shuffling and bureaucracy is worth the eventual catastrophe this comically dire situation promotes.

Are the Police able to bend the very laws of the physical universe? If so, then I await confirmation that they have indeed traversed the barrier of time itself. You know - travelled back to last night, and apprehended this unhinged nutter before he hurts - or indeed kills someone.

If you can't respond in real time, there seems little point in bothering. The burden of proof would probably mean this cretin would just get away with it, anyway.

This is a little glimpse into bureaucratic Britain that should make us ashamed of our national obsession with forms, and unnecessarily prolonged process. It seems increasingly that law protects the perpetrators of crime, on a de facto basis, from their indiscretions.

Last night, I tried to get the attention of the Surrey Police via their Twitter account. Sadly these days, it's often the way to get attention from institutions / organisations that should be implicit through 'regular' methods. As of the time of this post, I've not had a response - and yes, they've logged in and posted today.

UPDATE 10/10/11 - After failing to incite as much as a flutter of interest from the Police, I have filed a complaint with the IPCC.

Liquid Justice

2011-09-27T11:16:00.007+01:00

I hate people that let their dogs foul paths.

Sorry, I'm not going to mince my words about it. As a kid I fell into a massive shit one too many times, left in place by an arse-idle mutt wrangler clearly not responsible enough to care for an animal. All too quick to endorse the animal's sexual attraction to my leg/back/who-knows-what-else as 'just saying hello', yet nowhere near as fast to dispose of its fecal matter.

Yesterday, then, as I was out walking, I recognise the opening dance of an impending dump. The untrained canine stands, forming a furry 'A' frame with its back legs. The owner pauses without making the cursory effort to move the dog to a grassy bank, at least. In an instant I identify a path-abuser.

She waits. I slow down, not really wanting to pass by and catch the thick, oppressive vapour of a fresh poo. Then, to her shock, it happens.

The matter is formless and without structure; what we would refer to under other circumstances as diarrhea. Fortunately, it's over quickly, and it's always taken more than that to put me off my lunch. The picture on her face is wonderful; she's annoyed, but knows she shouldn't have let the animal relieve itself there, and now everyone is looking.

As she leans forward, the content of an expensive-looking leather handbag peeks over the edge, free from such constraint as a zip - which in this case has clearly not been used. She arches ever closer to admonish the beast for daring to have a digestive system, not realising the probably-as-expensive-as-the-bag content is now proud of the very top...

...and it tips out.

Approximately 25% of whatever was in the bag finally liberates itself, on a direct-landing course with the pool of unmentionable matter that is now oozing down the inclined street. I spot a bottle of perfume now sullied with something not quite as nice-smelling. The embarrassment intensifies, yet she still tries to suppress her obvious disenchantment with a genteel 'Oh, oh no'.

There was a dog-walking area with dog-egg bins situated a mere 20ft from her chosen ad-hoc toilet area. I suspect she knew and didn't care; for to 'stick one over' on the reasonable expectations of fellow human beings is, in this day and age, the de-facto standard.

In this case, she was shat on by her own Bernard*.

* It sort of sounds like Petard, doesn't it? No? Oh.

The Halloween Kid

2011-09-26T11:28:00.002+01:00

It's getting autumnal outside. And that means Halloween is on the way.

I'm the last person on this ball to tell anyone what to do with their beer tokens. But if you're interested in helping to bring Axelle Carolyn's creepy short, 'The Halloween Kid', to gaudy life, then take a look-see.

The British Short Screenplay Competition

2011-09-25T20:54:00.009+01:00

I was thrilled on Friday, to discover after a nail-biting wait that I'd been successful in the first round qualifiers for Kaos Film's BSSC (British Short Screenplay Competition).

The excitement got a multiplier slapped on it when I realised both of my entries had made it - an air punch moment here at Zoo towers.

'Jump, LOL' and 'The God Particle' seem to have the thumbs up from discerning friends - now, I guess the wait is on to see if either survive the reality of competition as each round tightens the spectrum of 'survivors'.

The prize is pretty staggering - in short, production and exposure in arenas that are an embarrassment of riches.

Wish me luck.

Jurassic Park

2011-09-25T17:32:00.007+01:00

I saw Jurassic Park today on the big-screen, some 18 years after its...unleashing on the world all those years ago in a hoopla of marketing and hype, the likes of which I was more than excited to be whisked into as a 12 year old.

When I found out Universal were re-releasing it for a two-week stint (I guess to push the upcoming Blu-ray release), I felt it would be nice to return to the very same cinema I saw it in as giddy kid all those aeons ago. Yes, I'm a sentimental twot sometimes.

As I sat down in the theatre alone, I suspected for a while that the world had changed more than I thought. Aside from a lone couple, no-one else joined us and for a moment I considered that we may be alone on the nostalgia trip we were about to indulge ourselves in. Alas, the situation surprisingly changed, and the audience began to swell in numbers. Of course it fell far from the heaving numbers of the pre-booked, frenzied crowds that bust that place at the seams in '93. Young People ™ starting coming in, and a neon bloom of smartphone miasma started to light the relative darkness.

This got me realising just what an alien place 2011 is to 1993. Casting to one side that fact that 75% of the talking, gabbering teenagers weren't even conceived when I was sat there last, it occurred as they updated their social networking status that these kids would have been equally as impenetrable.

Back then, I would have gone home to no internet connection, and played on / programmed my Commodore 64. I was, back then, taking a stab at my own, home-spun Jurassic Park 'game', hewn together in the crudest BASIC I could muster. I didn't yet at that time have my Commodore Amiga 1200 - the object of my desire, and a machine that my eternally loving parents would work themselves to the bone for that Christmas. That summer, I would spin records in my bedroom, generally eschewing what was in the charts not out of any distaste, but from a genuine and naive wonderlust at Mum and Dad's record collection. Pretty soon their friends, I think amused at a 12 year old buying vinyl, would be bringing round dusty old albums of their own to live a retirement in the ears of a burgeoning young person. It was a path that would lead to me not spending any of my holiday money, so I could instead blow it on my first CD's when we got home.

That long summer cemented the impact that film would have on me; many may scoff at such a commercial eye-opener; but I'm an honest camper. I'm not the type of person that would pretend to have been blown away by Un Chien Andalou at 12 years old (hell, I still haven't seen it). As I collected everything, and I mean everything I could about the film from newspapers, magazines, cinema lobbies, I realised even then that film is in the gut.

If it makes you feel alive, then...well, that's everything, isn't it?

News Of The Wo- oh, look, Cheryl eating a Mars Bar

2011-07-08T11:26:00.004+01:00

Well, well, well, then.

With the News of The Screws currently making its way down the U-bend of publishing history, there's a been a collective sigh of relief in the Twitterverse.

I'm still not yet convinced that Twitter was the biggest part of the chainsaw that felled that particular Oak, as has been touted by some (although it was definitely there pouring petrol in the bugger). There were obviously other, more sinister corporate plans afoot - like a horrific, Lovecraftian entity gnawing at the flesh of a damaged tentacle, ready to lose it so the malign whole can survive. Were we ants, hoarding an invading insect in the hive, stinging away to hasten a demise that was already decided on? What better way to endure and deceive, than let the angry townspeople return to their hamlets, proudly spiking a severed trophy of glistening flesh in the courtyard and sleeping soundly, dreaming of their victory? It's not over. Far from it.

The NOTW beast fed (as many others still do) on the diseased plankton of 'celebrity' obsession - and let me tell you, it never had to look far for food in Britain. A lot of people are guilty of cranking the handle on the box, winding it up to such a level that the very laws that govern us were beneath the intrinsic societal hard-on for 'fame' and 'sensation'.

That said, I can't help but feel the Twitter reaction was a positive, large-scale contributory air-strike - a just blow taken to 'stick one' on a pantheon of media industry wrongs. Good work team, but those of us donning boxing gloves always did see through the bullshit - in other words, there's still a market for drivel out there, still hordes of morons ready to buy whatever pap gets turned out in what can, and will replace NOTW.

So, if it's all been a gaudy third act in a theatre of perceived 'people power', where does that leave the rest of the magazine shelf tat that deals in the same 'celeb' and 'sensation' currency? Is it going to be hard for them to reconcile their raison d'être with recent events? It is balls.

And you know why? I fear 'people', en-masse, will sadly forget this moment - failing to regard it in the light and importance it richly deserves. They've a habit to feed, after all, and accountability for standards is such moral hard work. In twenty years, when the kamikaze nose-bomb of NOTW appears on TV as a footnote in a 'what happened in 2011' sort of program, they'll nod. Smile.

'Yeah, I remember that'.

Top Ten Screenplay Gripes

2011-02-28T20:57:00.038Z

You mutter it through gritted teeth. 'What a piece of shit'.

You've read another feed of bollocks in a screenplay, or seen the finished product - a hackneyed situation here, a bollock-twistingly boring 'turn' there. Yet, to paraphrase a classic, 'still they come'. This time, you can't blame interference of third parties or the ubiquitous tampering fingers of accountants. In this setup, sheer laziness has made its way onto the page, and you can scarcely believe the writer hasn't smelt the feculence.

In this post, I'm going to detail the top ten 'oh, do f*ck off' moments I encounter when reading a screenplay or watching films. I wish there was some lofty advice I could dispense regarding them, however;

a) I'm in no position to advise, and

b) there's really no other tip for dodging these pitfalls than don't f*cking write them.

Without any further ado, I present my top ten arse-puckeringly dire and exhausted moments in amateur (and not so amateur) screenplays...

1 'Enhance' on photograph to advance plot.

You know the score. A photo's been taken by a shitty CCTV camera. Our perp / Person Of Interest © is there in the background in a pixellated cloud - little more than a digital curry fart. But don't worry! An archetypical computer whizz / ironically self-aware nerd / ironically unaware nerd will highlight the impossibly obscured, lo-res haze and hit a comically un-technical 'ENHANCE' button. Voila, the lack of photographic data doesn't matter anymore, our arsehole is revealed in PERFECT CLARITY, including something he/she is holding that is VITAL TO PROGRESSING THE PLOT.

**There's one time (the first time?) this has been done well, and executed beautifully - 'Blade Runner', with the 'Esper' machine. You know why it's good, and still works even in this day and age of Photoshop? Because Deckard has to work the thing hard to get anything useful out of it, and it genuinely deepens the investigation.

2. The Culture Clash.

Euch, pass the sick bucket, we already know what's going to happen. Seen most prevalently in dance movies these days, our 'scamp(s)' from the wrong-side-of-the-tracks mix it up with the 'monies' and GUESS WHAT? The snoots learn to relax and 'kick it' whilst simultaneously learning the errors of their prejudgements and materialism, and the urchins learn to cap the peaks of their aggressive survival instict / break down their tough exterior and realise we're all just the same. Who have thought we all just needed a cuddle? Oh, nob off.

3. Mobile losing signal when previously FINE

Does this even happen anymore? I mean, unless you're picking your arse up the top of Ben Nevis, I find it hard not to get a signal anymore. It will always happen at an inopportune moment. This is often just prior to a kill, actually, and typically we will see the mobile fall to the ground cracked and or / covered in blood. If the writer really wants to 'chill' us, the call may have connected all too late and someone blurts 'Hello? Hello? Oh my GOD' from said phone, able to hear the terrible slaughter for themselves. Which they sit there listening to, rather than getting the cocking Police, or something.

4. Imperfect Suburbia

Alright, I get it. The suburbs hide a dark and deviant underworld. Our neighbours probably hump their sofas in gimp masks. Or their fridges. Anything but each other. David Lynch cornered f*cked and skewed surburbia in such a way that you cannot replicate - so why not try it differently?

5. British Gangsters

This is less a record stuck on repeat, more a old relative that tells you the same story like it's new every time you meet. You imagine clubbing them unconcious with a decaying slipper - just to have something else to do. Yet still, there are more and more desperately unoriginal 'faaackin Laaandaan' scripts coming to the fore, some inexplicably getting made and adding what I perceive to be absolutely nothing to the broader realm of entertainment. There's always a chair in a dark room with a bright light on it, men in cashmere coats that drive a 'posh motor' in a faux-display of cod-tastefullness, someone with a 'shooter' (gasp) and cock-er-ney runabouts that perpetuate a woefully undiverse pantheon of criminal-types that happen to be from London. Really? Aren't we bored yet?

6. Superheroes not using 'powers' where any human would

This is ostensibly done as a device to 'build character' but I see through it - it's to up the pouty / sultry smoulderer quotient. An example of this might be school bullies attacking our man, but he doesn't retaliate because he wants to be 'taken under his own merit' or to impress a girl or something, and 'not be defined by his powers / gift'. Oh please, this has been played threadbare. If I could manifest fire from my hands, I'd burn the bully's pants off and let everyone laugh at his willy. You want to sell your character's humanity to us? Then do it. Make him human, don't expect me to perceive his humanity from inherently inhuman behaviour. Oh, yeah, sometimes this shit is supplemented with a 'you really see me as a person' type vomit-inducer. Piss off.

7. Dilations of time

I'm not even going to mention 'The Matrix' here. Whoops, I didn't think about that. But COME ON. Twelve years later and people are still trying to peddle some heightened-sense-of-reality moment by ssssllllllooooowwwiiiing thiiiiiingggggsss doooowwwn. Yawn, where's my trilby? There have to be more creative ways of demonstrating your character's 'reaction' to hyper-fast stimuli, and to ape this method is getting very, very long in the tooth. Apply some creativity, dare I say write your way through the scene rather than trying to simulate a three day drugs binge in my mind's eye. This, as far as my own memory goes, was first done in 'The Witches Of Eastwick' during the tennis scene, anyway.

8. Firewalls / Inaccurate use of computing terminology

'I can't get through the firewall'. Oh, it's that easy, is it? Shove your over-used worms, viruses, and encryption up your arse. I see so many wildly misplaced picked-from-a-f*cking-Dummies-book IT 'words' casually used that make no sense whatsoever, having no effect other than to lift me right out of the screenplay / film. Typically, these are accompanied with a ridiculous GUI representation e.g. a progress bar with 'TIME REMAINING UNTIL FIREWALL HACKED' or some other hilariously clueless construct meant to sell me 'tech stuff'. Why not up the ante of your story by getting it realistic, and creatively writing your way around a 'tech' problem in your picture? You'll learn something, it'll improve your story problem-solving skills, and probably make the whole piece more compelling.

9. It's easy to move and change jobs

Typically you see this one in rom-coms. People are able to move their entire bloody lives at the drop of a hat. Also, did you know you can fit your whole existence into just a few neat cardboard boxes? Additionally, it's just as easy to change top-tier, high-paying jobs. Quite often in this script, our leading man or lady will also appear to have no money worries whatsoever in spite of their likely position in life. We'll also be made to feel like even bigger losers by the uneccessarily graphic detailing of the shit they have e.g. car they drive - which will typically be a fashionable motor du jour that they inexplicably seem to have paid for already. Your character is unlikeable to anyone with a brain. Sort it out.

10. Dark for the sake of it

I dunno. A few films recently succeed and / or benefit from being put through the cinematic washing machine with a pair of dark jeans. Everything comes out stained, but oddly the better for it. But it doesn't work for everything, and can get pretty wearing or monotonous. So, before cranking out your treatment of 'Bruce Forsyth: The Generation Maim', think about tone and stick to it. Do we want Brucie beating hookers in his changing room then going before the studio audience? Maybe not. Bleakness has its place, but part of writing a good screenplay is finding a subjective tone, and nailing it. I read some stuff and think 'Oh, leave it out' when I know the darkness has been painted on with a f*cking roller, rather than a fine model brush.

Captain Cristoff

2011-02-14T13:58:00.004Z

On Saturday, it became necessary to detain Stoo for the day, in order that his surprise 30th birthday party could be prepared.

We all felt the best way to keep him away from the house - if not Gosport entirely - was to shoot the 'Captain Costas' concept. This ultimately became 'Captain Cristoff', and the idea mutated into some sort of bizarre, expressionist video sea-side postcard. Or something. Don't ask now, I'm too tired.

Captain Cristoff - watch more funny videos

Hang on, should I be able to jump this high?

2011-01-14T12:30:00.006Z

I dreamt of my home town again.

It was in the context of a skewed and f***ed sub-set of the world I think I have a handle on; that odd dream-state that never reveals itself as such until some moment among the sensory tapestry triggers a sudden lucidity that makes everything seem out of place - and the whole rouse is up.

'I know what you're doing, brain. But do carry on, anyway'.

Then the fear comes; I know this place, but it's...wrong. The laws of reality as I know them are out of phase in a way that seems so obvious, yet is almost impossible to articulate. Stuff doesn't make sense, as if resonating on a frequency I'm not supposed to perceive, let alone understand. Then I reject the dream and wake calmly - as if my consciousness has decided this metaphysical horror can just....well, nob itself up the arse, really.

This is an odd state to arise over such a place. I don't love my home town; I love my home. My parents, where I grew up. I've never really felt any connection with the town itself, quite the opposite but I certainly don't have a basis for letting it occupy much (or any) of my waking thought processes, let alone become a (rare) recurring setting for dreams.

I wished for a bit that I could find some way to fold this horror into a screenplay; but then decided 'so what?' After all, who gives a shit? Why should anyone care? And therein lies a mistake I think is all too easy to make. You can tap into personal fears, and that's good. Done well, it can be a suckerpunch to the existential ballbags. But if this doesn't come over in such a way that is considered, delivered and measured, then you will come over as a pretentious and ridiculous, chin-stroking arsehole unaware of his/her own naffness with a picture that's not really about anything.

And that would be a bit rubbish, really.

Picture by Stoo Hopwood

For auld lang syne, my dear

2010-12-28T10:18:00.005Z

It's nearly upon us again, isn't it? That evening, that countdown - that moment.

As I sit here in my pyjamas on the morning of the 28th December, I've been awake precisely thirty minutes, and the dread has set back in. For I know that in just four days or so, it's New Year's Eve.

For most, this is accompanied with a sense of excitement - a final seasonal blowout. An orgiastic, climactic excess of the season's liberal context; the Über party on the calendar of the bon vivant. For others, it's a celebration best observed lightly; with a passing nod as we make it around the sun another time. For the remainder; and I count myself in with this strangely content few; it's a solemn affair.

Yes, there you have it - I hate New Year's Eve. To say so in a company of peers is to most often illicit offence. For the folk in categories one or two, it's a slap in the face of FUN, for to comprehend your distaste for it requires disconnection from the milieu they are plugged into.

New Year's Eve, for us ruminators, is a quiet time of reflection. The solemnity of another year's passing invokes in me a sense of introspection, a contemplative time where I cast my mind far into the past and future. Where have I been? Where am I going? It's that time, more so than a birthday, when another ring forms in the trunk of life. I feel the world ageing before me as I age with it, and this is time to consider what it all means.

I can remember the first time I felt this way. It was 1989, and my parents had hosted the only New Year's Eve party I can remember at home. As the final embers of the eighties began to lose their orange glow, I felt a sense of sadness for their passing. At eight years old, I felt oddly removed from the tall people around me reciting (chanting?) that ancient Scottish folk song. As they linked arms it felt like preparation to jump into some hitherto uknown precipice, at the behest of some hopeful pact. What a strange child!

As the church of yore would frown upon paganistic celebrations, I developed the kernel of a distaste for New Year's Eve right there that would - despite my sincerest efforts to crush with the power of mirth - continue to grow and take a shape I would eventually come to understand. For the longest time, before I could admit to myself that New Year's Eve just isn't for me, I supposed the feelings were caused by the enforced jolity of the occasion. The utter lack of comprehension on faces when one dared to admit that no plans had been made; nor were they going to be! I eventually came to realise that it was alright to be honest and content with your plain old self - perhaps that's a welcome vagary of Getting Older ®

In a year that has shaken many supposed fixed variables in the scheme of life, in a world that has changed in so many ways for so many, it's more important to move forward with sincerity than ever before.

And so, 'End Of Line' on manfromthezoo's New Year's message. Beat that, Queeny. Bet you wish you hadn't focused on sport now.

Moss De Luca in 'Oh, Snap!'

2010-12-07T21:21:00.003Z

A new 'un got made here in ZooTowers at the weekend. It'd been a while, a situation that will never do - and so, we got stuck back into the glistening nuzzle of the DV camera.

Forget 'America's Next Top Model'. Forget 'Britain's Next Top Model'. Canadian fashion supremo Moss De Luca provides us all with style and diet tips for the winter. But will a surprise arrival make it all count for nothing? Watch on to find out.

Moss De Luca in 'Oh, Snap!' - watch more funny videos

The Morgana Show

2010-12-01T19:13:00.003Z

Did you see The Morgana Show on C4, 30/11/10?

I did. I watched it. Recorded it. Had a iCal warning all set-up, lest I forget it was on.

'Alright, stalker?'

Yes, I'm fine thanks. But ever since I first saw that advert, replete with an almost Lynchian 'other place' sensibility, I knew I'd be hooked on this. And I was right.

This is funny stuff, and more importantly, stuff after my own heart. For the almost twee origin story of the show - the talented Morgana Robinson being found working in a Japanese restaurant in Soho by comedy überagent John Noel - is particularly appealing to a pathetic and doe-eyed hopeful like me. It would seem I'm not the only one arsing around with a camcorder, and it's beautiful to know someone got noticed like this.

I'm sure Morgana's stint as her ubiquitous alter-ego 'Gilbert' on C4's TNT show didn't hurt either, mind.

But talent 'outed', here, and there's plenty of that on offer here with her, Terry Mynott, et al. It's a refreshing shot in the arm to see kooky character comedy back on the telly - and props to C4 for taking the plunge with it.

#ohfortheloveoftwitterandhumanitystop

2010-10-25T12:48:00.002+01:00

I regretfully felt no option but to remove some folks I follow on Twitter over the weekend.

Did I stop caring for their opinions?

No. Not at all.

Did I stop wanting to hear their pithy takes on life and the (sometimes awful) things they have to live through?

No. Absolutely not.

I did it because of one irritation that has bloomed, for me, into a showstopper. Before I elaborate on it, let me give a little background. If you've had a chance to read that, you'll probably have some idea how I feel about X-Factor and 'reality' TV in general. Since then, I've begun to consider the effect it has on emergent artists and the future of UK music at large. Something sinister is happening and in a domain where many gifted people struggle to be heard, the last
vestiges of hope for them are being stamped on as there is increasingly more interest in hysterical 'rises to fame'. It's the same old 'you are what you eat' syndrome - in this case, we're eating the Soylent Green husk of Heat magazine's raison d'etre. A generation is growing up to reach for audition queues, and not for mastery of their craft.

And so, it was with that, that my heart sank to find my Twitter timeline polluted again with #xfactor tags. I don't mean them any personal sleight; but I choose not to waste my time watching the sewage feed. Hence, I rather don't like to be bombarded with a live 'commentary' that means nothing to anyone who either;

a) doesn't care for 'reality' TV or the opportunities for real television and writers it has destroyed by lowering standards, or
b) simply doesn't have the time or inclination to invest in such an epic slog of viewing hours

I'd tolerated it for a long time, but when I realised that the process was repeated ad nauseum for any serialised 'reality' program, the inevitable could no longer be postponed. I'd be delighted when the slew of reality shows are over, to re-add anyone I've had to prune for hashtag Tourette's, but sadly the media culture nutures more of the same drivel TV - and so, at any one time, there is a constant feed of inscrutable, meaningless bytes from people I know to be intelligent, and interesting otherwise.

On a side note, I'm amazed there's even time to take in anything going on during these 'shows' - commentators must constantly be tapping away on their phones. To my perception, there's something a bit odd about seeking approval for your opinions so vociferously that you aren't even watching the bloody program properly to begin with!

I'm sure this will, in turn, cost me some of the funny and interesting interactions I've enjoyed with so many up until now. I really hope it doesn't, and that folk will understand I come from an earlier time and age on Twitter in which it was considered bad form to flood timelines with garbage.

It's a pity that some perps are otherwise essential follows for me. But for their fleeting addictions to the white noise stream of concensus, I need to take a 'pass', thanks all the same.