And I call myself a writer?

By heck, ladies and gentlemen. You'd think that I, a self-proclaimed writer, would keep this thing up to date on occasion.

But yeah, writing. I'm thinking that's the way forward for me, it seems to keep me occupied and I enjoy it. Something I enjoy? That people say I'm good at? What are the odds?

My main current project is the sit-com, but I'm not sure if I want to keep that up. Its a good idea, but its hard graft trying to write the script and do all the other things when my "writing partner" has seemingly welched on the idea (safe, JACK, mentioning no-one, JACK). Plus, its a touch exploitative. Its based too heavily on people I know directly, even with a supporting cast, its looking more and more like a sketch show, which isn't how I envisioned it.

I might do some more sporty shit, or I might have a sniff around the freelance stuff, see what I can pick up for a bit of scratch in between doing fuck all and doing less than that.

Also, I'm currently transfixed by a delightful young lady named Emma. Not an unwelcome distraction, not by any means. My mind focuses on the writing for a brief fleeting moment and then hops onto something else entirely, usually along the lines of "I wonder if Emma likes..." This is especially true in the shop. "I wonder if Emma reads Top Gear", "I wonder if Emma likes eggs" and other such questions which no-one but Emma can answer, but are too pointless to ask.

At the minute, I'm having a bit of a hemorrhage of inspiration as far as writings go. Blogging is fine, because I forget that, but trying to submit articles to things I have no authority on makes me feel an impostor of sorts, so I tend to avoid those particular articles more than perhaps I should. Expanding horizons and all that.

Also, I've just twigged that adding tags would probably aid the traffic for this post, but fuck knows what to label it as. I've got a touch of minor adjustments to do to the layout of the page as well, now I think about the functions and features of blogger.com.


I got back Sunday night after spending a wonderful, if a little quiet, weekend at Emma's student digs. I had an immense amount of fun, and although Karl was bouncing about, and The Other Emma and her boyfriend Richard were floating about, it felt like there was just the two of us there. Lying in bed until the small hrs of the afternoon, talking nonsense and watching Come Dine With Me were easily the highlights of the weekend, silly as it may sound. I wasn't impressed that I had to come home again, and I felt rotten for meeting Tanzy and then pretty much just breezing past her as I went home. Just poor timing more than anything, I think.

When I roll down there next time, I've promised to cook, and it shall be YUM and there shall be piles of washing up to do. As any good student house should have.

It was shit this morning when I realised that there was no Emma lying next to me to wake up with a smile, and there was also work on a cold and horrific morning.

WORK! That's a bloody joke as well. Too cold in the morning, so the ladders are freezing, and then by about 9 or so, the air heats up to a temperature approximating the surface of the Sun. Its either too cold, or its far too hot. Its unreal madness. However, its money in the pocket, and I'm not sure what sort of basis I'm working on at the minute. I'll need to speak to the gaffer about that. Also, another company have contacted me to say they will be in contact soon (the name rhymes quite closely with P&Q and is a diy shop. You work it out) and have yet to do so. I may need to give them a call again. It can wait until tomorrow. If I get the job though, I'll be out of my current abode at the earliest possible moment.

Speaking of which, I think its fair to say, its getting a bit crowded in here at the minute. I'll be eternally grateful to H & V for granting me this stay, yet again, the accommodating people, and I'm fairly certain they think I don't appreciate. I do, I genuinely do, but at the first chance, there will be a Garry-shaped hole in the door with a note explaining where I've gone and when I'll be back to pick up my kettle. Cant not have tea, you see. I'm fairly certain I've more than out-stayed my welcome, which is a shame.

Never mind, shouldn't be for too long. Maybe I shouldn't be pinning my hopes on not-quite-P&Q and should begin the great job hunt all over again. Woo, and indeed, hoo. Forgive my underwhelming enthusiasm, please.

Right, enough of this silliness, I'm off to do some real writing. Sit-com or article though?

On the face of it, I've been rather lazy with this of late.

I should really do more writing. Especially now I claim to be a writer. Its atrocious. And my sentences are WAY too short for proper writing. Fuck you, buddy, its my style.

Lets have a run down of the last month and a half.

1) I am no longer going to Africa. This causes quite a problem for me, as I'm still living in temporary housing.

2) I'm back up ladders on the windows. Again, a minor problem because its only temp. Still, coffers in the pocket for a short while.

3) For the first time in a long, long time, I'm truly happy. All my loved ones appear to be happy also, or are heading in the right direction. WHat more could I need?

RIGHT! Enough of this "sensible lark. Lets get a bit of inspired nonsense going.

Lately, I've done nothing. Mainly because I had the option to, and I ragged that option. Now I've got a job again(albeit temporary)I have a proper reason to get up in the mornings. Even though mornings are, and forever will be, shit. Add to this, a delightful young lady who has appeared in my life of late and who seems to like me, despite having seen me drunk more than once.
Sadly, she has gone off to Uni, but its not far away, so I can handle this. I'm big enough and ugly enough to pull through.

Also, I've discovered a bit of a passion for writing. I'm the first to admit I'm no good, but other people appear to like it, which suits me down to the ground, so I'll carry on, get myself out there and get published. Published on real paper, none of this internet blog bullshit. Might have to pester the guardian to get my arse in the sleaze papers.

Also, there is talk of starting up a protection racket. Few shops here and there. Nowt fancy yet. Make a few friends, get the word about.

You ain't heard nuffin' though, right?