>>>>>Killing Time<<<<<

AFC...

noreply@blogger.com (Dave W) — Wed, 11 Nov 2009 20:17:00 +0000

A knock at the door at 6pm. I can see through the glass in the front door that it's a bloke with a box full of flashing lights. I wouldn't normally open the door but there we are and there he is and he makes a good case for me buying one of the flashing lights - little toys with neons attached when I look closer - which would, effectively, result in a donation to Action For Children. He closes the deal, sort of, and I hand over a couple of quid, but tell him I don't want the flashing light, which would only end up in the bin. This confuses him. "Doesn't your little boy want one?" I tell him no. Just want him to take the money. He does and heads off down the street. As I shut the door I can hear a voice from the other side of our porch. It's our elderly neighbour, Mary, the woman that calls Finn 'Flynn' despite me pointing out her mistake all the time. "Have they gone? What did they want?" I am, in essence, having a conversation with a very thin wall but I open my door to talk to her. She is not there, she is standing in her porch. I shout, "it was a bloke from Action For Children. Selling flashing lights. He's gone now." Only he hasn't. On hearing me shouting he's come back and he's there, right there, stood outside Mary's front door. He knocks on her door. "I'm not opening the door. Not when it's dark. You could be anyone. Leave me alone. I and not opening the door," she says. He begrudgingly walks off. I check that Mary's ok. "It was just a man selling flashing lights," I remind her, hoping to put her mind at rest. We talk through the wall for a while and Flynn diffuses the situation by making comedy noises that are audible to Mary. "Night night," he laughs. "Night night".

2012...

noreply@blogger.com (Dave W) — Tue, 10 Nov 2009 13:24:00 +0000

Picked up Vue's in-house, comma-tastic publication prevue (I like the title, it's oh so very clever and I also like Vue, their nice comfy seats and adult-sized leg room and, in Hull, the whole "only digital multiplex in Europe" thing) when we were at A Christmas Carol 3D yesterday. A pull-out quote in prevue made me laugh about but also put me off the forthcoming (the word forthcoming is only used in reference to films, isn't it?) sensory-blitzing 2012. "The human stories," goes the quote, "seem destined to play second fiddle to the effects, after all, seeing the end of the world is what you've paid your money for!" I especially like that exclamation mark. Who needs stories about humans when you can blow shit up? That, my friends, is the future. Who will survive 2012? I don't think it matters! All that matters is the catastrophe!

The late Hunter...

noreply@blogger.com (Dave W) — Mon, 09 Nov 2009 21:52:00 +0000

I do like to take a book into the bathroom with me. Today, I reached out en route and found Hunter S Thompson's Kingdom of Fear finding its way into my hands. I randomly turned to a page - page 46 as it happens - and read this...

"Well, wanting to [write] and having to are two different things. Originally I hadn't thought about writing as a solution to my problems...It was writing. It was the rock in my sock. Easier than algebra. It was always work, but it was worthwhile work. I was fascinated early on by seeing my byline in print. It was a rush. Still is."

noreply@blogger.com (Dave W) — Sun, 08 Nov 2009 23:25:00 +0000

"Theatre isn't church. There's nothing innately good about it. Most theatre is still really bad," Mike Bartlett has told The Observer. "It has to appeal to people who do jobs and have lives. Theatre about theatre is the most awful, terminal nonsense."

Precisely. It would be nice if all playwrights thought the same. The full interview is here.

Customer service...

noreply@blogger.com (Dave W) — Sat, 07 Nov 2009 22:11:00 +0000

Today we decided to live in the fast lane a little and throw caution to the wind by spending money we can, as povery-stricken scribes, barely afford. Yet it's nice to have a little treat now and then, if only to remind yourself that life is not just about bills, bills and more bills (no, it's about bailiffs and CCJs too - Finance Ed.). So we ordered a nice little Indian takeaway. Nothing too extravagant, just a curry each and a couple of chapatis. But just, we thought, enough to take the pain away. Yet despite the simple order, they got it wrong. Not massively. But just enough to spoil the occasion. Once I realised what was missing I phoned them to ask for it to be sent. 45 minutes later it had still not arrived. "How long does it take?" I chuntered. "We're busy," started the reply. What kind of excuse is that? Don't they want to be busy? And are they only busy because they keep f*cking it up? We will purchase our food elsewhere in future, should we ever scrape the funds together again.

Fuming...

noreply@blogger.com (Dave W) — Fri, 06 Nov 2009 22:59:00 +0000

Popped a stonebaked garlic bread in the oven and, as the 12 minutes at 180° mark approached I opened the oven door for the required 'is it done yet?' sneaky peek. I was quickly faced with fumes that the oven seemingly enjoyed fanning in the direction of my face. I couldn't see a thing and my eyes were streaming under the misapprehension that several CS canisters had been hurled into the kitchen. The smoke alarms in the house then went crazy. It was quite some time before normal vision was resumed and the smoke went the way of the extractor fan. Weirdly, after all that, the garlic bread hadn't burned at all - indeed, it was poifectly cooked. Am assuming the fumes were garlic butter rolling off the bread and onto the oven bottom. Later, I set about attacking the oven with the failed-chef's weapon of choice - Mr Muscle. I know how to have fun.

Flash, bang, wallop...

noreply@blogger.com (Dave W) — Thu, 05 Nov 2009 22:48:00 +0000

In the true tradition of Guy Fawkes, we assembled round at M's sister H's house, ate pizza, hot dogs, olives and humous, waved sparklers around and watched a couple of grown men igniting the contents of a huge box of Standard fireworks. And very good it was too. Almost two-year-old Finn mainly enjoyed himself and the flashes and loud bangs, aside from the moments that he was asked if he liked what was going on, when he would furiously shake his head in the negative. Good fun, nice food and people, lots to watch and a great walk home, with Finn falling asleep in his pram to the sight and sound of hundreds, if not thousands, of explosions.

Meeting...

noreply@blogger.com (Dave W) — Wed, 04 Nov 2009 10:51:00 +0000

Happy Birthday M! Today, you are the same age as Jesus Christ. Was. When he. Well, you know. The end bit. Enjoy!

I had a meeting re some work, re working efficiently, because that's the game we're in, the working efficiently game. The meeting was delayed for 45 minutes because two other meetings had to take place. You couldn't make it up. Or you could, but you'd be making really boring shit up.

Square circle location...

noreply@blogger.com (Dave W) — Tue, 03 Nov 2009 21:09:00 +0000

Spent a few fleeting moments at a boxing club last night - a potential location for a short film that, should we ever get our fingers out and make it, will bring together the drama of boxing and the slightly feistier world of the Dewey Decimal Classification System. A sure fire, award-winning hit if ever there was one. We mucked around with gloves and bags and, out of earshot of everyone, I made disparaging comments about boxers. The club was great. The clientele - lots of scary, hairy, tattooed gents with muscles - was scary. I also realised what I have suspected for some time - I have a gymnasium allergy.

Alternative view...

noreply@blogger.com (Dave W) — Mon, 02 Nov 2009 15:44:00 +0000

I am writing this in someone else's house and I am looking out of their window at a view that is not my own. Actually, when I write at home there isn't a view at as I face a wall these days and natural light, what there is of it, is right down the other end of the room. So it's nice to work under natural light, rather than those Compact Fluorescent bulbs of shitness that the powers that be have us working beneath in the futuristic times that we live in, and actually have a view to look at. Their dininig room table is also at a nicer height than the table that I work at. If it wasn't for all the noise, why, I'd've found the perfect working environment. Pinged off some stuff to the theatre, spoke to someone about potential workshops, checked my various email accounts repeatedly. This is work. Or, perhaps, this is work?

I will be clearing my blog roll out at some point soon. Quite a few bloggers have fallen of late, no doubt due to that 140 character social media tool that Stephen Fry used to like but now doesn't because someone told him he was boring. Yes, blogging is so, well, last year. I shall keep it up. I like it. And it will last longer than newspapers, you mark my words. I will attempt to use the blog again as a warm-up exercise before the working day begins, a la Herring. Those Tories are big on blogging these days. I might rid the roll of everbody but Tories, although their writing style is a bit, well, S Fry. I jest, of course, because Tories are c**ts and I hate them. But I do have a strange, perverted fascination in their utterances which, generally, are complete lies presented as fact. Politics, eh? At least I popped myself on the electoral register today. The extreme left will get my vote if I can find them.

Watch this, literally...

noreply@blogger.com (Dave W) — Sun, 01 Nov 2009 20:06:00 +0000

Finn, as you'd expect of an almost two-year-old, takes things literally. So it was this morning when, as we were about to embark on a mammoth Play Dough modelling session, I momentarily placed my mug of tea on the floor. "Watch that mug," I said, with health and safety my major concern. Finn did indeed watch that mug - he knelt down beside it and stared at it for about two minutes. Disappointed that the mug didn't do anything in response to all this attention, he turned his back and picked up a lump of his brightly coloured modelling clay. The other day M asked Finn to stop playing with a toy dog and put his shoes on - he placed his shoes on top of the dog.

Glimmear twins...

noreply@blogger.com (Dave W) — Sat, 31 Oct 2009 18:55:00 +0000

I was sat watching Merlin tonight - part two of a two-part episode involving a dreadfully smelly troll - when Merlin's ears started to annoy me. I couldn't stop looking at them. Then I realised that I have seen them before - in fact, I once stood within 12ft of the biggest lugs in rock 'n' roll. For Merlin actor Colin Morgan is, without doubt, a young Keith Richards:

Tiger days...

noreply@blogger.com (Dave W) — Fri, 30 Oct 2009 08:00:00 +0000

Nothing else going on in Hull aside from grown men jumping up and down regarding the future of Hull City manager Phil Brown and chairman Paul Duffen. The latter has at least fallen on his sword and buggered off, the former is quite obviously having nervous breakdowns in public repeatedly. Following twitter feeds has never been such fun while those sports journalists - who rank alongside music journos for beer-swigging ineptness - are demonstrating their creativity and ability to speculate wildly amid a real absence of facts. The Tigers will survive, no matter what warnings their auditors may feel obliged to issue.

Cut your cloth accordingly...

noreply@blogger.com (Dave W) — Thu, 29 Oct 2009 16:48:00 +0000

Also at Hull's Ferens Art Gallery right now is an exhibition of mind-bending proportions - Shirley Craven's iconic 1960s fabric designs for Hull Traders (based not in Hull but over the Pennines). There around over 30 fabrics by Craven hanging on the wall, all of which make you want to start humming A Whiter Shade of Pale and/or purchase a wah wah pedal. I didn't know this before but, apparently, Craven revolutionised post-war fabrics with her weird and wonderful designs. Also tempting the gallery visitor is a lot of 1960s tomatom furniture and its accompanying literature, some of which contains George Best - as if it could be anyone else - draped over very curvy chairs.

Dung...

noreply@blogger.com (Dave W) — Wed, 28 Oct 2009 17:00:00 +0000

Went to Write To Speak last night - Hull's (and the region's!) monthly spoken word extravanganza organised by local legends Joe Hakim and Mike Watts. A good night, as they have all been to date, but a sense that I was watching someone really important in Kate Tempest, a scribe in the ancient tradition and, despite her sweet young girl looks, as punk and revolutionary as they come. The night was rounded off by Matt Panesh, who also goes by the moniker Monkey Poet, who gave us his Welcome To The Uk show. He was pleasantly filthy, although to compare him, "amongst others, to Lenny Bruce and Bill Hicks," is surely lazy reviewers at their worst. Anyway, towards the end he did a good little ditty about the art of Tracey Emin, Damien Hirst and the cow dung-happy work of Chris Ofili. Which, when Sam and myself headed to Hull's municipal arts gallery after seeing Up at the cinema today, made seeing Chris Ofili's Popcorn Shells all the more interesting. "It's about celebrity and musical heroes," I told Sam, as he tried to find the image of Michael Jackson tucked behind one of the big lumps of shit. "I still don't get the cow dung," he complained.

A career???

noreply@blogger.com (Dave W) — Tue, 27 Oct 2009 17:11:00 +0000

I was asked to speak at Hull Truck's Careers Day today. Which is either a sign of how far I've come since this blog began when I was attempting to work out myself how to make a career out of writing. Or everyone else was busy. There were other speakers too, who, and I'm sure the participants were pleased by this, have forged very good careers for themselves - actors, directors, technical folk, a very, very interesting man from Equity. After we spoke, by which time we'd all whittered on so much that the whole shebang was running late, I was involved in the delivery of a writing workshop which, amongst other exciting moments, involved me emptying a bag onto the floor in a dramatic fashion. I think they all enjoyed it!

Holy bacon, it's Sunday...

noreply@blogger.com (Dave W) — Sun, 25 Oct 2009 20:51:00 +0000

Walked to mother's. Doing a lot of walking at the moment as the car's off the road. It's not so bad and my carbon footprint is miniscule as a result. Pushed Finn along for the ride. The 30-minute walk seemed extremely worthwhile when we arrived at ma's placed - she got some bacon under the grill and I was quickly sat munching away on bacon butties. Finn, who's a vegetarian like his mummy, enjoyed his cheese and cucumber too. Had a chat then we walked back home. Nice.

When the weekend comes...

noreply@blogger.com (Dave W) — Sat, 24 Oct 2009 13:11:00 +0000

...I tend to just sit about and forget to do the things that I planned, throughout the week, to do on the weekend. I have, however, cooked us all omelettes and washed some pots. This is not the stuff that makes for a good blog entry but, as I look out of the window at the rain and ponder whether I would have purchased one of the available tickets for Hull City v Portsmouth had there been any disposable cash in the pot and get almost excited at the prospect of a pitcher of lager at the local after X Factor and before Match of the Day tonight, I do feel that might be as exciting as things get today. Pretty tired, after a day of watching other people work in the media yesterday.

5 Live Hull...

noreply@blogger.com (Dave W) — Fri, 23 Oct 2009 23:00:00 +0000

Spent most of today at BBC Radio 5Live events in Hull - Simon Mayo's show which, naturally, included Kermode and Mayo's Film Review then, after a brief interlude for coffee at BBC Radio Humberside's HQ and a meander to the fantastic Ye Olde White Harte for a couple of beers, Colin Murray's 5LiveSports show followed by Murray and Lovejoy's Sports Express. All most enjoyable and a really nice photo opp for Tim Lovejoy, who was desperate to smile and get his arm round an obscure playwright. The only downside of the day was an Annie Hall-style experience in the queue at Vue Cinema for the Mayo gig. A straggle-haired, overweight and slightly smelly film geek who, I deduced, is a reviewer for independent local radio, was proferring his reviews of every instance of moving pictures since the zoopraxiscope was patented in 1867 to everyone else in the queue. He spoke ridiculously loudly that it's a wonder you didn't hear him. He was, to use a choice word, a twat. But I suppose it was to be expected given the event. It was, as I suggest, very much like this:

On the QT...

noreply@blogger.com (Dave W) — Thu, 22 Oct 2009 23:50:00 +0000

A day that was all about Nick Griffin's appearance on Question Time. It's all been documented elsewhere. I'd like to think that the British people are intelligent enough to make up their own minds about Griffin and his disgusting, ignorant, narrow-minded party.

Question time...

noreply@blogger.com (Dave W) — Wed, 21 Oct 2009 05:51:00 +0000

Finally got round to watching the Question Time that was recorded in Hull last week, on the BBC's iPlayer (I can no longer remember how I lived without this fine technological advancement). It wasn't too lively a show (the calm before this week's Nick Griffin appearance I imagine) and the only aspect that really got me spitting was every time the dreadully slimy Nigel Farage of UKIP opened his mouth. What puzzled me was that, given that the venue was a 15 minute walk from our house, I didn't recognise a single person in the audience. You'd think one or two familiar faces would have squeezed in there. Possibly the legendary Les from the Lamp bringing up the thorny issue of asylum seekers. But no. Not one person, other than A Johnson on the panel, that I knew. Instead, the producers had managed to fill the Community Church with articulate people who, on the whole, were even sans the oft-mocked Hull accent. Had these people been shipped in from the East Riding's nicer villages? Or was the whole thing an actor-laden Apollo moon landingesque sham filmed in North Acton? I jest, of course. I was actually impressed with the way Hull's folk presented themselves - they done us proud - and the lack of Elizabeth Duke gold trinkets on display.

Booze problem...

noreply@blogger.com (Dave W) — Tue, 20 Oct 2009 10:49:00 +0000

Interesting par in a story about Hull being a "booze problem area" in today's Hull Daily Mail:

"Hull has been rated as one of the worst places in the country for alcohol-related hospital admissions caused by alcohol."

Caused by alcohol? Yes, that'd make sense. But the numbers don't stack up when you read on:

"Last year more than 700 people in the city were admitted due to drinking.

"Nationally there were more than 863,257 alcohol-related admissions to hospital in England in 2007/8." I'll let you do the math but that doesn't suggest that this "booze problem area" is the biggest offender.

Living room Lebanon...

noreply@blogger.com (Dave W) — Tue, 20 Oct 2009 10:40:00 +0000

We, the three of us, walked back into the living room. There had been several hours of 'playtime' and toys were strewn everywhere. "It's like Beirut in here," I laughed. M pointed out that it would have been unlikely, during the devastating Lebanese war, to have seen the streets littered with a push-along dog, a Thomas the Tank train and several Bob The Builder toys. I will never use a cliche again.

Comedy and column inches out of misery...

noreply@blogger.com (Dave W) — Mon, 19 Oct 2009 21:47:00 +0000

Wrote some comedy sketches. Myself and M had promised to write some for someone we know for performance by some young people. I was cold, tired, had the remnants of Swine Flu gnawing away at me, was bereft of ideas, couldn't think of any funny lines. Naturally, they turned out great.

I was in a pub the other day and, laid on a table, with nothing and nobody else in sight, was a newspaper. I realised, too late, when I'd taken it back to my table, that it was a copy of the Daily Mail. It was the edition, I'd find out much later in the day, containing Jan Moir's nasty assault on the memory of Stephen Gately. I picked up the paper and went and sat down with it. Ten minutes passed by and I'd read the back pages when a man tapped me on the shoulder. "Did you take that paper? The one from that table over there?" We looked. The table was still empty, with no obvious sign that anyone was or had been sitting there. I explained that I thought the paper in question had been abandoned. "It's my paper. Why did you take it?" I explained again and made some quip about the horror of the Daily Mail and the poor state of its page layout. "I'll have it back now." I'd already given it back to him before he'd said this. He was a rather odious man. A typical Daily Mail reader (I felt tainted having been near the paper for those ten minutes) - that paper was in his every movement and utterance. He shuffled off but didn't sit down and read but went over to another couple sitting across the way to tell them what had happened. "He," said the man, in fully earshot of me, "just took the paper. Can you believe it?" If I'd realised it was a copy of the Daily Mail I wouldn't actually have bothered touching it. And if only he'd known (although he reads the DM every day, so probably did know) what he'd relished fighting to have back in his possession - Jan Moir's nasty ramblings. Yuk.

Travelling on...

noreply@blogger.com (Dave W) — Sun, 18 Oct 2009 21:05:00 +0000

Went to the last night of Hull Fair (much of which heads to the north east coast now). Finn was brave the other night when we took him and actually went on a ride but this time around would only shake his head in the negative whenever we suggested that he repeat his impressive feat. We bought some horrible chips that made Bob Carver's greasy efforts seem like Michelin Star winners in comparison. We looked at the flashing lights and went "ooh" and "aah" because that's what you do when you take an almost two-year-old along for the non-ride. Me and Hull Fair go way back - mother used to run an off-license on the corner of the street that hosts the fair so I used to go every night. I miss the goldfish, the boxing booth and really wanting to get on the latest, most expensive rides. The vomit, well, I'm happy to live without that.