Quick on The Draw...

One of the little tasks I've set myself while on holiday is to come up with some ideas and storyline for a graphic novel I'll be writing with one of my oldest friends.

He came up up with the initial concept but, as per usual, I've shot off at several angles and come up with what I think is some pretty nifty stuff. In order to do this I've taken a notepad and started doing storyboards but the only problem with this is that I'm sub-nursery standard at art.

But I've persevered and done quite a bit of work on this, even though my artistic failings have somewhat hampered my progress. Anyway while on holiday me and the Missus have made friends with a lovely family with two young kids from the Portsmouth area.

So I was sitting down sketching storyboards and writing dialogue and the little boy, seven, comes to sit by me and asks what I'm doing. I explain myself and he decides he wants to do some drawing too and rushes off and gets his notepad and starts to draw. And he's better than me.

Then to add insult to injury his sister, four, sidles up and asks the same question. So I explain and she also deicdes she wants to draw too. And she's about my level.

Humbled by children. But I tell myself I'm a writer and not an artist. Well, a not-very-successful writer. Up till now...

Up The Gary...

Me and the Missus are on holiday on the Geek island of Lemnos and are sat down eating dinner.

I say dinner but I really mean tea but because I am now an adopted cockney and have picked up the vernacular of their posher members dinner is now the evening meal and lunch is what in the north is dinner as in dinner ladies and dinner money.

But I digress. The Missus is eating and becoming quite vexed about Gary Glitter, a man she has a passing knowledge of after briefly kissing him while working at a gig venue in her native town of Aylesbury one Christmas.
‘He’s out soon and I reckon the British press are going to hunt him for all he’s worth. I think they’ll drive him to commit suicide…’
‘And you think that’s a bad thing?’
‘No. He’s a kiddy-fiddler and he deserves whatever he’s got coming, especially when he had the chance to serve his time and start a new life but decided to piss that opportunity away in Vietnam.’
‘I actually think you’ve missed out a few steps in the Glitter-to-top-himself process…’
‘How?’
‘Well for a start I think you’ve underestimated the sick nature of the British press… I reckon one of the tabloids will do a big exclusive interview where he claims he’s seen the error of his ways and all he wants is the chance to rebuild his life. They’ll run this then when he next fucks up as he inevitably will they’ll round on him then and use that interview as ammunition against him because they’ll pretend they were suckered in by him and wanted to give him an extra chance but now he’s betrayed them they’ll slaughter him good and proper. Hence the suicide…’
‘You think they’re really that depraved?’
‘Absolutely, but there’s more… As a reaction against the press all the Glitter fans will demand a re-release of one of his hits and they’ll buy it as a backlash against the sanctimonious press and ensure it’s No.1.’

The Missus looks at me like I’m an idiot.
‘I’ll bet you money…’
‘How much?
‘£50?’
‘Done…’

When it happens you read it here first…

If The Cap Fits…

Me and the Missus are on holiday on a fabulous and pretty much untouched-by-tourism-and-Brits island called Lemnos.

The Boy had the choice to join us but instead stayed at home, officially relegating us from cool parents to the ‘olds’ he’d now rather not be seen out in public with.

So myself and the Missus are sat at breakfast and she is contemplating whether to stay by the pool or head to the beach.
‘I’d quite like to go the beach today but there’s nobody near the pool and it would be really quite and we’d pretty much have the placed to ourselves. Get rid of the hat. But on the other hand the beach is supposed to be pretty uncrowded in the morning…’

To be perfectly honest I am still a bit sleepy and half-listening to her and half-thinking about a comic I have recently started writing with a friend of mine. So I give my default response designed to prevent me from making a decision and therefore getting into trouble for making the wrong one.
‘Whatever you fancy, honey. I’m not fussed either way…’

Later in the day we are walking into the nearby town and the Missus is talking about the possibilities for daytrips but now I am slightly more with it.
‘There’s an evening boat trip to see dolphins which sounds like it could be quite nice as we’re still sailing as the sun sets and there’s also a day boat trip around the island which stops off at secret beaches and coves and the like. Get rid of the hat. I don’t think we should do the trip to the other island, though, because…’
‘Hang on. What about the hat?’
‘What hat?’
‘My hat. You said something about my hat…’
‘I didn’t.’
‘Yes you bloody did. You said “Get rid of the hat”’.
‘I was hoping you wouldn’t notice…’
‘Are you trying to get me to do what you want by subliminal suggestion?’
‘Yes.’
‘Why don’t you just ask me?’
‘Because I know you love that hat, even though it’s skanky and it doesn’t suit the shape of your head, and if I ask you get rid of it you’ll just dig your heels in because you’re a stubborn git.’
‘I love my hat…’
‘See…’
‘But subliminal suggestion. That’s a ridiculous idea…’
‘Yes. It is... Get rid of the hat.’

Pussy News...

The Missus continues to go crazy over the impending arrival of the new family kitten she's already christened Spike (as our other cat is named Buffy).

But she has now gone even more bonkers because our one new cat has suddenly grown to two (to be named Willow). They arrive when we get back from holiday, by which time our new kitten might well have grown into about 20 new cats.

There's a scene in Trainspotting where an elderly heroin addict is found dead in his flat surrounded by his cats after contracting toxin plasmosis because he couldn't clean up the cat excrement from all his cats any more. They simply over-ran the place as he lost the will to live.

I am seeing my future...

West Side Story...

I took the Missus to see West Side Story at Sadlers Wells at the weekend.

And, even though I am not the greatest fan of musicals the world has ever known, it was pretty bloody fabulous. The Bernstein score and Sondheim lyrics make it such a complete and coherent story and from a writing point of view the way the narrative motors along yet still makes total emotional sense never fails to impress me.

The musical ensemble number at the end of the opening act where Tony and Maria sing Tonight and the Jets and the Sharks sing their song about the rumble never fails to knock me on my arse as it all builds to a whacking crescendo, and the leads playing Tony, Maria and Anita were superb. The staging was also pretty inventive too.

I used to be a real community arts leftie then moved onto writing and directing in Fringe theatre but visiting Sadlers Wells and quaffing wine is rapidly becoming one of my fave things. And it's nice to see a story about race hatred involving gangs and stabbings to take your mind off life in contemporary London. Oh, hang on...

Family Planning...

I have finished tidying up after cooking tea for me and the Boy. I have also trained like a lunatic today so I am sprawled out on the sofa in the kitchen watching some halfwit get himself a new arsehole ripped after bringing some ludicrous idea to the ever-smug moguls on Dragon's Den.

The Missus is also in the kitchen making herself something with no calories after returning from her exercise class when the Boy comes back into the kitchen and opens the fridge.
'Where's the Strawberry Cheesecake ice cream?'
I decide to fess up.
'I finished it.'
'You finished it? All of it?'
'I was hungry...'
'But that's my favourite.'
'Well I paid for the cunt!'

The Missus interjects with a polite 'Excuse me...'
I realise my mistake.
'Correction... We paid for the cunt...'

I turn to the Missus seeking approval but there is only a look of disdain on her face. Chicks, eh?

The Ultimate Fighter...

In my ongoing, currently injury-prone quest to become a better fighter I decided to have a further delve into the world of mixed martial arts and treated myself to a DVD, which bore the macho title The Ultimate Fighter.

It's basically the first series of a reality show where 16 mixed martial artists all train together and compete against each other to win one of two professional contracts with the UFC. Think of The Apprentice meets Big Brother with full contact fighting and blood and lots of posturing and you're more or less there.

The 16 martials artists are split into two teams, one headed by 'UFC legend' Randy Couture and the other headed by 'UFC legend' Chuck Liddel. The two fighters who eventually win the contracts, one middleweight and one light-heavyweight, then get the chance to also become a 'UFC legend'.

As you may gather the show is not short on hyperbole but it's remarkably watchable, even though the episodes tend to focus on the dynamics of the housemates as they try to big themselves up in front of their rivals rather than on giving tips on how to perfect a rear naked choke.

The episodes then arrive at the money shot of the two fighters battling it out in the octagan at the end of each episode until eventually only the winners remain.

Apparently it's quite a hit show in the US where it's now up to series seven. And, god forgive me, after watching the first series I may even buy another one.

Or I just may remember I have a brain and finish reading Peter Aykrod's excellent book on the Thames instead. It's a close call...

Crimewatch...

Barry George is a comedy genius. Think about it...

He served eight years for a crime he didn't commit and now tells everybody: 'It couldn't have been me because... I was busy stalking somebody else at the time.'

I would loved to have been in the police interview room when he came out with that little gem. Somebody must have pissed themselves laughing, surely?

How Corrupt Is Your Government?

The story so far…

In 2007 the Blair Government halted a Serious Fraud Office Inquiry into a £43bn BAE Systems arms deal with Saudi Arabia, citing ‘national security’ as the reason for the inquiry to be cancelled.

But in April this year the Campaign Against the Arms Trade (CAAT) and the Cornerhouse won a High Court ruling which cited that the Government’s decision to cancel the inquiry was unlawful.

The Government immediately demanded the right to appeal and this week got this ruling over-turned.

The upshot of this, of course, is that the truth about the corrupt business practices of BAE and its links with the bribe-happy Saudis will never be fully uncovered, but apparently if you’re a multi-billion pound industry with friends in high places you are above inconvenient things like the law that the rest of us have to adhere to…

But that’s not the end of the story…

Because the Government has now introduced the Constitutional Renewal Bill, part of which would ensure that parliament or the courts can no longer question decisions based on ‘national security’.

So not only will we know never know just how corrupt this deal was but any future such arms deals will now be protected from scrutiny because all those involved have to do is cite ‘national security’ and, hey presto, any sensitive or potentially embarrassing information is magically off limits.

The fact that the elite protects itself is nothing new but the fact its mechanisms of protection grow ever stronger and are becoming more blatant is quite shocking. If this happened in some tinpot African dictatorship liberal England would shake its head in disgust.

But it’s happening here and I find that deeply sad for our democracy and a little frightening too…