Theatre Thoughts: Part I...

Tonight is the final performance of Consider This, the play I've been project managing for the past nine months.

The play is inspired by the work of The Forgiveness Project (TFP), a wonderful charity started by Marina Cantacuzino that collects stories from both victims and perpetrators of crime who talk about how they've moved on from their pasts by forgiving other people, forgiving themselves or being forgiven by others.

The play is essentially the story of a stranger on the run from his past who runs into a fabulous storyteller. Their meeting reveals bits about them both coming to terms with their pasts and intercut into this dialogue are read-out stories from TFP, filmed interviews, original music and songs. It's a real multi-media event.

And, a few bits that need tightening up aside, it works as an engaging and entertaining piece of theatre, too. I'm genuinely proud to have helped make this happen.

The play is my first involvement with a theatre company for a decade and working exclusively on the production, fundraising and press side has been hard work; it's been a bit frustrating sometimes, too, but that's mainly because I'm learning to work with people I'm not used to working with and they're suddenly having to learn to work with somebody they barely know. It's probably been a bit frustrating for them at times, too.

But overall I've found it a hugely positive and empowering experience. The theatre company are good people who do good work and they've welcomed me in, which has been quite touching. It's also reassured me that I can do this again and as much as I can do all the production and logistical and fundraising and budget stuff, I do also want to do the creative stuff again. And not just the writing but the directing, too.

So watch this space... that whole side of my life is up and running again. Only, what's different this time? Well... this time I won't let anyone else dictate the terms of my failure but me.

And the goal will be artistically credible work married to commercial success. And it will happen.

Hair Today...

My attempts to grow my hair long and have actually hair rather than a No.1 buzz cut are foundering.

For a start I have no idea what to do with long hair as it's been a decade and a half of not having any. Quite simply I don't know how to style it, what style looks good or what to use to keep that style going. It's like I missed the memo or wasn't listening in that bit of the male grooming class.

I was so desperate not to be beaten by the long hair issue and head for the nearest barber that earlier in the week I even started looking up hair styles for men with glasses on Google. And it's clear I am no Emo (they have big fringes, apparently) and I'm probably not Johnny Depp so I'm a bit knackered really.

I'm actually turning into a bit of a girl over this issue and I may just think 'Sod it. A skinhead is who I am!' But without the racism, right-wing politics and penchant for violence. Obviously.

On the plus side I did make a work colleague laugh yesterday by suggesting the glamour model and keen equestrian Jordan mutilates horses in her spare time.

So that was good.

Quote Of The Week...

'Kindness is in our power, even when fondness is not.'
Samuel Johnson

Great Sights Of Our Time: Part 1...

I was up and about early on Saturday morning to walk into Guildford to drop some publicity off for the play I'm producing.

I was walking over a railway bridge and over the bridge came a bloke who weighed at least 20 stone riding a mobility scooter while smoking a fag.

I still don't know where to start on deconstructing that particular picture.

Bob Marley...

The missus is a huge reggae fan so one of the things to do on our week-off hit-list was to catch up with Kevin MacDonald's film profile of Bob Marley.

This was a pretty in-depth affair and followed Marley's life in chronological order, from his childhood in Nine Mile in Jamaica to his rise as international superstar. Talking heads included son Ziggy, wife Rita, Bunny Wailer, record producer Lee 'Scratch’ Perry,  Island Records supremo Chris Blackwell and girlfriend Cindy Breakspeare.

It's a hugely informative and very entertaining documentary, featuring plenty of footage of Marley on stage and off it, and it captures an eventful life fully lived then cut tragically short by cancer.

The fact he had nearly a dozen kids by several different women while still married to Rita has also made me change my favourite Bob Marley joke. This once went:
Q. How does Bob Marley like his doughnuts?
A. With jammin'.

But it now goes:
Q. How does Bob Marley like his doughnuts?
A. While fucking lots of different women.

Fortunately the film is better than my gags. And it's also made me go through the Marley musical back catalogue, which remains a thing of beauty.

Kapow!

Today I enjoyed a day out with the Boy at Kapow! Comic Convention.

I was a major comics geek through my pre-teens to mid-teens and then again in my late twenties to mid-thirties. And this was a love that was passed on to and encouraged in the Boy. Consequently some of our regular bonding sessions (insert rude but slightly sick incest gag in here) involved trips to London to tour the comic shops.

So the fact the two of us were going here after a few years away from this sort of shenanigans was part deja vu and part I-may-be-getting-back-into-this-again. I've always fancied a go at comic writing and I certainly know enough about the medium to give it a good go.

We had a fab day and the Boy guided me around, which was quite cool.

I also saw two very good panel discussions/QandA affairs. The first was with some of the head honchos from Marvel who talked about their own experiences of getting into the comics industry. The main advice was: make your own opportunities because talent and persistence equals success.

The second was with Warren Ellis, one of my favourite writers of the past two decades. He sounded quite disillusioned with the whole comics industry, citing the fact it seems pretty much in thrall to the movie industry. One story he told about this concerned a mini series I bought about Nick Fury.

The series essentially pitted old spy and Cold War warhouse Fury against the new bright young things running Shield who viewed him as something of an anachronism, a relic of a past era when wars were fought with guns and not hi-tech spyware and surgical strikes. Then a banana republic in South-East Asia erupts and Fury is needed. The series was very good and had a lot to say about global politics and was refreshingly politically incorrect in its world view. It was a very good comic book that was well written and beautifully drawn.

But Warren Ellis said this series essentially got one established and very good comics editor the sack because it affected a deal about a Nick Fury movie linked to George Clooney. A case of the movie tail now wagging the comics dog if ever there was one.

Two artists I saw who also really impressed me doing sketches for fans were Craig Wilson and Becky Cloonan. Both were really nice with people and made time for everyone who came to their tables. I'll certainly buy their work and give it a chance in the future on the back of seeing them in action.

A very good day with the Boy. And I even bought a few more things to read. Which is good if I'm going to write one this year...

Misterman...

I went to the National Theatre with the Missus to see Misterman this week. And it was stunning.

It's a one-man play written by Irish writer Enda Walsh and it stars Cillian Murphy of 28 Days Later fame as fierce evangelist Thomas Magill and various other characters. The play follows Magill over the course of several days as he goes about the business of saving the souls of folk in his home town of Innishfree.

What starts off as funny and quaint gradually descends into horror and tragedy as Magill realises everybody is way past redemption and his grip on the fine lines between fantasy and reality becomes rapidly blurred; think an extended episode of Father Ted written by a Samuel Beckett possessed by the Marquis de Sade and Stephen King and you're sort of there.

The writing felt like it could have been a bit tighter in places but overall the script was pretty brilliant and Walsh more than made up for this by directing and staging the show in one of the most inventive ways I've seen in a long time.

The star of the show, however, was Murphy. I am under no illusion that the Missus would have me dumped and divorced faster than shit goes through a goose if he ever turned up in our bedroom, so I realised in another world I could be watching a potential love rival. But even I was won over. To quote one of my friends who saw the show: 'So that's what real acting is!'

As a writer it's good to see productions that raise the bar. It makes you want to up your own game. And this was one such production.

Epiphany: Part II...

So... A talk to two or three trusted friends, a meeting in a pub with a director friend, a quick three-year business plan scribbled on the back of sheet of script notes and a potential new Fringe theatre company for London is all there. I've even worked out how I can fund it.

All I need to do now is take the chance and make it happen. When you have the will and the belief it's as easy as that...

Epiphany: Part I...

I am not the religious type. I did try it when I was about 13 or 14 but it wasn't really for me.

Then when I got older and started reading up on religion and getting interested in sociology and history my views on religion somewhat hardened as the body count from religious wars started to stack up. And although some religious tolerance has remained, that hardening of view about religion being largely about control and oppression remains my default position.

But I have recently had something of an epiphany. And there were no churches involved. Or any religion of any kind. There was an issue of faith, though...

I'm been back involved with a theatre company for about six months now and I'm project managing their latest - and most ambitious - show. They're a good bunch of people who do credible work and the fact they've invited a relative stranger in and given him such a responsible role either shows they have faith in me and my background. Or they were desperate. Fortunately, I think it was the former rather than the latter.

And much as I'm enjoying doing the work and working with the company on what promises to be a very worthwhile project, it did open my eyes to the fact that I can still do all of this. I had rather stupidly let one bad experience a decade ago stop me creating and devising and directing... and more importantly working with like-minded people.

And the more I thought through this the more I realised I could do this all again for my own work employing actors I now and working with writers I liked. That was the moment of epiphany.

I'm obviously committed to this and another project for the time being. But there is a seed of an idea there... and given enough time it may just start to grow again.

Happy Birthday...

I am 43 on Saturday and the Missus is asking what I want on my birthday.
'I'd like a new Mac.'
'OK.'
'I'd like to have a lazy morning in bed, too...'
'OK.'
'I'd also like to go and and play pool in the afternoon because I've got a match on Sunday...'
'OK.'
'Then I'd really like to have a nice curry with cheesecake for afters at home, then curl up on the sofa with you and watch a bad movie...'
'OK.'
'And if you could be nice to me for a sustained period of time that would also be good.'

There is a pause.
'You always have to push your luck, don't you?'

Guess that's a no to that request, then.

Wax On, Wax Off...

I have hair for the first time in about 16 years.

My normal routine is to go to the barber's whenever it gets about an inch long and get it shaved back to a No.1. But I haven't done this for a while and now it's quite long. For me.

The only problem is I don't know what to do with it or how to style it. I simply don't have the know-how. To rectify this, however, I bought some hair wax and decided to give it a go one morning. It didn't go well.

The Missus entered the bedroom to catch me with white, gloopy stuff all over my hands and my hair going off in several directions at once. I got a pitying look, the sort of look reserved for a child whose mother has just caught him using his new paints on the wall because he didn't know the wallpaper wasn't a canvas. Then I got a sigh as she gestured for me to hand the hair wax over while she set about rectifying the mess I'd made.

The Missus may have married an idiot...

Money, Money, Money...

In a previous life I was a theatre writer, producer and director for a wide range of fringe, youth and large-scale community arts groups.

That particular chapter ended when one theatre company I was involved in disintegrated amid acrimony and some sadness. But I'm now back involved with a Guildford-based theatre company and I'm project-managing their latest production.

We started applying for grants at the end of last year and I've been heavily involved in this process and so far we've won a £10k award from the Arts Council and about £7k from three other funding bodies.

It's nice to realise I still know what I'm doing... but it's also sad to think of the decade I stopped doing it. On the plus side I was building a contented family life with the Missus and the Boy so it was very fruitful in other ways.

It's good to be back amid the thick of a production, though. If I enjoy the experience I may well stick around and do another one...

Grapple...

I'm working on rewrites for Melt but now also up and running with a new play about Catch Wrestling.

It's called Grapple and is going to be about how the birth of MMA is linked to a wrestling gym called The Snake Pit in Lancashire. It's also a bromance. Of sorts.

It's also loosely based on fact. Sort of...

Here's the opening scene.

****************************************************************

SCENE 1: INTERIOR. EZRA’S ROOM. RETIREMENT HOME.
Ezra sits in his arm chair. He is sixtysomething and solid. He wears thick glasses. His clothes suggest a wardrobe that hasn’t been updated since the early 1990s but out of necessity rather than choice. A walking frame is by the side of the chair. He uses this whenever he gets up and has to move around the room. His accent is also a strange hybrid of Lancashire and American. Ezra sits and stares at Chuck. Chuck is in his late twenties and he is lean. His clothes are fashionable and expensive. He wears jeans, a jacket and a t-shirt. He is nervous. He is American.

EZRA
Cuppa before we start?

CHUCK
A cuppa?

EZRA
Tea. Cuppa tea.

CHUCK
I don’t drink tea. Do you have coffee?

EZRA
Yes…

CHUCK
Well I’ll…

EZRA
…but it tastes like something a horse pisses out. And that would be a sick horse, too, a sick horse with a very severe bladder infection.

CHUCK
A very severe bladder infection?

EZRA
They buy the coffee in bulk to save money. But it’s cheap stuff… really cheap stuff… so it saves money but no sod drinks it. And because no sod drinks it they never have to restock it. So it saves them even more money. The buggers who run this place have probably bought… What’s an expensive car?

CHUCK
A Porsche…

EZRA
Yes. One of them… they’ve probably bought Porsches on the money they save from never having to restock coffee here.

CHUCK
Tea will be just fine.

EZRA
Smart move. (Shouting) Rose! You about?

ROSE
(Off-stage) Use the buzzer, Ezra. It’s what it’s there for.

EZRA
(Shouting) The buzzer’s over the other side of the room. I might collapse trying to reach it!

Enter Rose. She is an orderly. She is 40 and wears a nylon uniform that is part cleaner and part care professional.

EZRA
Love of my life…

ROSE
You bloody well wish…

EZRA
If I was 20 years younger…

Rose
You’d still be far too old. And I’m not getting passionate with a man whose hip may collapse at any moment.

EZRA
Lightning can’t strike twice.

ROSE
Knowing my bloody luck, it can. What do you want?

EZRA
Two cups of your finest tea, my love.

ROSE
(Turning to Chuck) We do coffee, too…

CHUCK
Tea’s just fine. Thank-you…

ROSE
We have posh coffee. We’ve got one them café-ti-ere things.

EZRA
I’ve been here 10 years and you’ve not once offered me posh coffee.

ROSE
It’s for guests only.

EZRA
Aren’t I a guest?

ROSE
You’re a resident.

EZRA
Well that means I’m a just guest who’s just decided to stay longer…

ROSE
You’re a resident.

EZRA
More like a bloody prisoner at times…

ROSE
And as to the best of my knowledge you’ve never had a guest so you wouldn’t know the protocol.

EZRA
They should shove their protocol up their bloody ar…

ROSE
Oh shut up you silly old bugger. (To Chuck) Do you want biscuits?

Chuck looks at Ezra. Ezra makes a face to suggest the biscuits will probably be worse than the coffee.

CHUCK
Posh coffee will be just fine, thank-you.

ROSE
Lovely…

Rose exits.

CHUCK
She seems nice…

EZRA
Best bloody thing in here. Only reason I stay…

CHUCK
Really?

EZRA
Among other things…

CHUCK
I don’t mean to be rude… but does anybody here know who you are?

EZRA
That’s who I used to be, son. This is who I am now.

CHUCK
But somebody must have some sort of idea?

EZRA
No bugger’s interested, son. If I was a young lass getting her bits out on telly then I’d have a fighting chance of getting somewhere. But nobody cares about who I used to be.

CHUCK
Who you still are…

EZRA
Your letter was very sweet, son, and it’s lovely to meet you, and I’m flattered that you’ve traveled so far to see me, even though I told you to spend the air fare on your young lass… but I’m afraid those days are long gone…

CHUCK
What if they’re not?

EZRA
Look at me. And I mean look at me properly… I’ve got arthritis in both knees, I need a walking frame to move from here to the piss house, and even when I get there there’s no guarantee the journey’ll have been worth the effort. I’m not sure how I can help you…

CHUCK
You’re still OK upstairs, though?

EZRA
The noddle pot? Still works fine, Buck…

CHUCK
Chuck.

EZRA
It works fine most of the time…

CHUCK
Well at least listen to what I have to say.

EZRA
I’ll certainly do that, son. I owe you that much seeing as how you’ve traveled so far.

Enter Rose with a tea tray with two cups on it.

ROSE
Sadly there’s no tea and no posh coffee so I’ve made you both normal coffee.

Ezra sighs. Chucks takes his. Rose looks at him expectantly seeking approval. Chuck and takes a drink. He looks like he’s about to gag but holds it together and swallows the coffee as Rose looks on.

CHUCK
(Hiding his gag reflex) Thanks…

Rose smiles and exits.

EZRA
Is your noddle pot working, son? Did you not listen to what I said about the coffee?

CHUCK
I was being polite.

EZRA
By poisoning yourself?

CHUCK
I didn’t want to offend Rose.

EZRA
You berk…

CHUCK
Berk?

EZRA
It’s rhyming slang. From London. It means Berkshire hunt… which rhymes with cu… Never mind. Go on… tell me what you want with a battered old man called Ezra…

Blackout. As Ezra utters his name and the lights black out there is shouting coming from off-stage saying the name ‘Ezra’. This builds to a chorus of people shouting the name to set the next scene. Cut to…

A Load Of Old Balls: Part II...

The trip to Yarmouth to play at the National Inter-county Eightball Pool Championships was pretty poor.

As a team we didn't really perform very well until the last match and I didn't have too much in the way of clear-cut chances in my games. Throw in a bit of bad luck and it wasn't great individually either.

The great thing about going to an elite competition, though, is it allows you to see how you compare against the best of your peers. As a team we just came up a bit short and individually I also just came up a bit short. I wasn't the only one, though.

But I had a good season last year and played some decent stuff along the way to help get us to Yarmouth, and I've also started this season pretty well this year and I'm putting the hours in on the practice table again.

Every year I think it will be my last season as a lot of my pool-playing peers have now retired. But I'm really enjoying playing again and my form's starting to return so there may be life in the old dog yet.

It's 15 years and counting doing this. I could make it 16 at this rate...

A Load Of Balls: Part I...

It's March so it's time to head to the National Inter-county Eightball Pool Championships at Great Yarmouth.

I've been going to pool events here for more than 20 years, whether it be county, interleague or three-man team competitions, and the novelty of staying in a cold caravan park with over-priced beer where the only respite is to head into Great Yarmouth to sample the 'delights' of its seafront nightlife wore off many years ago.

The golden rule used to be 'What happens in Yarmouth stays in Yarmouth'. Not that anything did ever happen for me. It's never been what I was or what I wanted. So I tended to just get drunk. But even that's changed these days. Far too old to do that now. I can't bear the hangovers any more...

So me and the Missus are curled up on the sofa the night before I go and we're discussing what delights the weekend will bring and the Missus offers her wisdom:
'Just don't bring any sexually transmitted diseases back.'
'I won't. But if I do pull I'll pretend it's you while I'm fucking them.'
'It's fine,' counters the Missus. 'I often pretend you're other people when I'm fucking you.'

I married well...

Other Woman News...

The Other Woman is in the middle of grading for her black belt at hapkido.

The way the grading works is that you do a physical test (techniques, forms, sparring, board breaking)... then if you pass that you have to sit a written after three months of continual assessment and do some more techniques... then if you pass that you've got another three months of continual assessment ahead. It's a grueling but very rewarding process.

I went through it from 2010-2011 so I've spent some time with the Other Woman as her practice punch bag and rag doll to be tossed around. And yesterday she gave me a present she'd made (along with her mum and her aunty) to say thanks.

So now I have my very own knitted ninja (pictured). How cool is that? I didn't think I could love my Other Woman any more than I do but she's found a way to make that happen.

She may very well be a genius.

Quote Of The Day...

'Television is a medium because anything well done is rare.'
Fred Allen

Although I must confess I did enjoy Sherlock. That was very well done.

Melt: The Readthrough...

My first play reading in 10 years has been and gone.

The dialogue rattled along and worked, the gags worked – and in some cases should have been filthier – and the new structure hung together pretty well and was an improvement on the first three drafts.

There were obviously some problems that I noticed, even if nobody else did: the central character still needs to be more at the heart of the play and his fall from grace needs to be more accelerated and from a much greater height; there are some parts where the plot mechanics need to be clearer; some gags repeat too often; and some of it is overwritten and needs another edit. The very talented cast also gave me a few ideas with what they did on-stage and during rehearsals.

But overall my first reading in 10 years was a pretty successful affair and has really galvanised me going into the rewrites.

I was also really touched that a lot of the people I love were there to support me: the Missus, the Other Woman, the Other Woman Who Loves Other Women, several of my pool-playing pals, my martial arts teacher and her wife, etc.

And they all laughed at the show's best two gags. One involved a game about a porn film title, 'Glad-he-ate-her', and the other involved a joke about dwarves and statistics. You had to be there.

And, if you were, thank-you. If the quality of a life can be judged on the quality of the people around you then I'm doing pretty well.

Valentine’s Day Is Over...

It's Valentine's Day at From Beer To Paternity Towers and me and the Missus are sat watching The Biggest Loser on ITV1.

For those who have not had the pleasure of viewing this particular show, it's essentially a diet competition for fat folk with one person eliminated each week and the eventual winner getting £25k.

The competitive element of each episode ends with a weigh-off to find out who's lost the most weight, and is intercut with back-stories about the contestants. Each show then ends with the folk about to eliminated pleading their case to stay in the show. This involves lots of large people crying (or blubbers blubbing) amid various plugs for The Biggest Loser Club, which is a Weight Watchers type of affair allied to the programme. And presumably ITV.

Anyway, me and the Missus essentially watch this show so we can support those taking part. That's a lie. Actually it's so we can sneer at fat people whose emotions and vulnerable senses of self-worth are laid bare for the telly-viewing public.

On last night's show the remaining contestants all had a makeover then got the chance to see loved ones for a short period of time. There were many tears. It was either moving TV or a pile of exploitative rubbish edited to make it look much more emotional that it actually was.
'It's only being seven weeks since they last saw their relatives,' said the Missus. 'It's not like they've been in Guantanamo!'
'That would make a much better show,' I offer.
'Yes. I'd certainly watch it,' agrees the Missus.

Later on the biggest chap in the show makes his entrance after his makeover. He's lost a shitload of weight but he still checks in at about 25 stone.
'If you ever get that big I'm leaving you,' says the Missus as she marvels at the biggest loser on The Biggest Loser.
'Well you've got that big and I've stayed with you,' I say without thinking.

Pain follows rapidly. Comments like that are, apparently, an SRO (Spare Room Offence).

England Expects...

My pool protege secured a place at the trials for the England Junior Team at the end of last season by finishing as one of the highest-ranked junior players in the South-East of England. And a few weeks ago he attended the trials – and got through and won a place on the England Junior Team.

I was made up for him, not only because he's worked hard at his game and really made the effort to move up to the next level, but because at 15 he's not even 50 per cent of the junior player he will become – and he's already in the England Junior Team.

I've also enjoyed working with him and practising with him once a month because the things we've worked on are things I do automatically but going through them again has made me analyse how I go about things and it's made me make improvements in things like concentration and being methodical. After all, I can hardly instil solid basics into somebody else if I'm struggling to do them myself.

It's also made me think about what I could do as far as being involved with the county pool scene could offer when my playing days come to an end. And at the moment that could be when the 2012 season finishes as there are other things I want to do and commit time to. But I've said that before...

Who knows? If I can help one junior player with potential become an international then maybe I can help a few more? It's food for thought.

Quote Of The Day...

'A society grows great when old men plant trees whose shade they know they shall never sit in.'
Greek Proverb.

The Ballad Of Ted Hankey…

British Darts Organisation anti-hero Ted ‘The Count’ Hankey, who models his stage persona on Count Dracula and wears a cape during his stage walk-on, recently left the BDO to join a rival darts organisation after losing in the semi-finals of the BDO World Championship to an unseeded qualifier from Holland. His twitter feed several weeks before the event read as follows: "@tedhankey ‘16 pints down pub. wanks out the question’.” Perfect material for a would-be poet...

Pounding the treble bed,
Though not often enough,
Then missing the doubles
Cos this new kid’s too good.

He’s young and he’s Dutch
And he’s throwing on song,
And hitting ton eighties
Like they’re out of fashion, gone.

So I’m wiping my brow
As the sweat’s pouring down,
Then he hits another double
And I respond with a frown.

Once upon a time
It’d be a snarl or a scowl,
And I’d look like thunder
A beast crying a howl.

But I’m calmer these days,
The pantomime villain part gone
And I only wear the cape
Because the habit is strong.

But lobbing bats to the fans,
I don’t do that no more
Since they started lobbing them back
Or leaving them on the floor.

In another few legs
I know I’m well beat:
A world title gone,
A semi-final defeat.

The crowd they applaud
As I say goodbye a last time
And I head back to my room
A big decision in mind:

To throw my arrows elsewhere
I’m going to join the select,
With better opponents to play,
Bigger paychecks to collect.

My mum and the wife,
Who follow me and support,
Know just what I’m doing
The decision I will report.

But before that time comes
I’ll head down to the pub
And sit on my own
And reflect on the rub

Of the oche gods who look down
As I sink pint number one
About the decisions I’ve made
Based on scoring a ton.

Then on pint number five
I realise I’ll be missing me tea
So I text the wife and the mum
Tell them to eat without me.

After pint number ten
I may be a bit pissed
And walking back to the hotel
Is now well off the list.

On pint number fifteen
I get amorous thoughts
But one final pint in
I know it’ll all come to nought.

So I settle for the choice
Of a little tug on the meat.
I won’t wake the missus
As I quietly beat.

But hiding under my cape
The climax just won’t arrive.
It’s like during the match
My big finish denied.

Homeward Bound...

I had the unenviable task of returning to Yorkshire for a family funeral yesterday.

I've yet to go to a good funeral but there were smiles among the grief at this one. At times it was funny and tender and moving. My older brother and his girlfriend were also utterly astonishing during what was obviously an awful day for them.

On the way to their house, however, I chanced upon one of my cousins who told me a funny story about his dad... then dropped the bombshell that our family name was actually fabricated and taken from a dead sailor as our grandfather was illegitimate and wouldn't use (or wasn't allowed to use) his real family name.

Not that it really matters. All family names are made up at some point and if mine ws good enough for my grandfather and my father then it's good enough for me.

And I quite like the idea that I'm descended from bastard stock.

Rejection...

The Boy sent his first comic script off to 2000AD several months ago. I read it and it was pretty good and the two things he's written subsequently are even better. He'll make a funny and inventive writer if he keeps working and makes the breaks happen.

But, sadly, his first script got rejected last week so he now has his first official rejection letter. I felt for him because I've been there so many times (three in the last week if I was actually counting) but I was also delighted to see him take it on the chin and decide to be stoical about it and just keep going.

Perseverance is an important quality at anything. It was a moment of bonding.

Go get 'em, buddy...

Thoughts For The New Year...

Here are some thoughts from the beginning of 2012...

i) Snow Patrol are quite good: I initially eschewed them when several friends were raving about them but I have now given them a go and like them. I plan to be more open-minded about other people's musical opinions in 2012. Unless they're idiots...

ii) The only good Tory is a dead one: This was my first real political opinion, which I formed about the age of 11, and the view has somewhat softened in the past decades as the greedy, in-the-pockets-of-multinationals Blair Government proved they could be as bad the Thatcher and Major lot. I also met a few Tories that I liked and, even though I could never agree with their politics, I did respect they were at least coming from a point of political conviction based on making the country a better one for everyone. Sadly the new lot of posh Tory idiots like Cameron and Osborne may yet have me reaching for a rifle. They really are morally bankrupt in the way they kow-tow to big business and financially rape those in the most need. Why people like them ever got into politic is totally beyond me. Posh scumbags, the lot of 'em.

iii) Work smarter and work harder: 2011 was a pretty good year but with new projects on the horizon in 2012 I'm going to need to be even more organised and focused than normal. That means I'm going to need clarity and decisiveness and the best way I know how to achieve this is through meditation so I'm going to make a real effort to attend at least one ki meditation class every week in 2012. It will help keep me balanced and it's something I am going to need.

iv) Ignore cunts: self-explanatory.

New Year, New Ideas...

It's been an OK year on the writing front with a shortlisted entry in a sitcom writing competition, far-off rumblings and talk of TV work, and a new stage play at about third draft.

In reality I haven't written enough, though, and 2012 at least already promises new ideas with my wrestling play under way, a new idea for a sitcom and my first attempt to write a comic all in the offing.

There may well be the usual amount of rejection in store but there may also be some new hope. The new theatre company I'm production managing a show for holds much promise and they've also reminded me of one very important thing: I never used to rely on other people to stage work as I used to do that myself and, after exercising those muscles again late in the year, I still can.

It was a moment of epiphany and I'm already putting together a new project with this in mind. My new theatre friends may have reawakened a monster. But it will nice to see him back...

Fat: Part IV...

It is the Friday before Xmas and me and the Missus are having a lazy morning in bed when the phone goes.

I answer and it's Little Brother, although as he was topping the 18 stone mark at one point this year the word 'Little' doesn't really apply these days. So we are chatting about our respective diets and he's telling me how him and two friends have a £1000 bet to see who can lose the most weight and I tell him how me and the Missus are doing.
'I've lost about a stone and a half so far,' says Little Brother.
'I've done more than a stone and so has the Missus,' I reply.
'My target weight is 15 stone,' says Little Brother.
'Yeah. The Missus is nearly there at the moment,' I reply.

I feel a sharp dig in the ribs and am all too familiar with the icy stare that will greet me when I turn around. It was a joke but, apparently, girls don't have a sense of humour about weight issues.

Then I realise me and Little Brother are chatting about exercise and diets and losing weight like something from Loose Women. We'll be talking interior design next. God help us...

Play Reading...

I have my first play reading in more than 10 years. There's a proper story, different characters and even jokes. Some of them are quite rude and a few of them are even funny.

It's on at Guildford's Electric Theatre on 28 February 2012, starting at 7.45pm. Everybody is welcome. If I like you I'll buy you beer.

Recycled Jokes No.2...

I told you Kim Jong was Il(l)...

Fat: Part III...

I am ill and it is shit. I have spent the last five days sweating in bed. And not in a good way. I was alone.

On the plus side my eating pattern has not been regular if at all so I may have crept ahead in the diet challenge.

This is war. I will win at fucking any cost.

Pedantic...

The Missus has many fine qualities but patience and empathy are not two things she's blessed with. Fortunately, she more than makes up for the absence of these things with a pedantic streak that is a mile wide and twice as long.

This streak, however, has come back to bite her on the arse (not literally) in recent years because the Boy has also inherited it and when the two of them discuss anything she'll invariably say something slightly inaccurate and he'll jump on it like a hungry wolfpack devouring an injured deer.

Last weekend we visited my Guide Son and his parents and stayed over or the weekend. My Guide Son is essentially my God Son but his parents are card-carrying atheists so using the name of a deity they don't believe in seems redundant, hence Guide Son.

He's an utterly wonderful four-year-old and he now has a little sister, and with me and the Missus staying over at his parent's flat there was a bit of bed juggling so we ended up in their bedroom.

At 4.30am the Guide son climbs into bed with us and once he realised it was us rather than his parents he decided to stick around and curl up and go to sleep. This involved telling us about his nightmare and regaling us with tales from school then giving us a rendition of the Muppet Show theme tune. This went:
'It's time to play the music,
It's time to light the lights,
It's time to get things started,
On the Puppet Show tonight...'

At this point the pedant in the Missus woke up and corrected a four-year-old at 5am in the morning.
'It's "the Muppet Show tonight..."' she advised.

We're exhausted, it's 5am and we need sleep and she still can't turn the pedantry tap off.

A few days later, however, I was telling the Guide Son's father, who is also Young Brother of the Missus, this story and he laughed.
'I used to make the exact same mistake when singing the song,' he said. 'And she used to correct me, too.'
'At 5am?' I asked.
'Probably...'

I have not the words...

Charity Begins...

The Missus has cooked tea and we are preparing to sit down and watch Have I Got New For You.

I come into the living room after tidying up.
'Where's Have I Got News For You?'
'Not on.'
'Why not?'
'It's fucking Children In cunting Need.'

I share her ire.

Excited!

I have a rehearsed reading of my new play and it's my first public readthrough in more than 10 years.

The play is called Melt and the readthrough is at the Electric Theatre in Guildford on 28 February 2012 so I am now gutting and rewriting the play ready for its public debut.

And I've also started work on a new play about a catch wrestler and I'm also project managing a production in June...

It's all quite exciting.

Back In The Old Routine...

In a previous life I was a youth theatre worker and director, a community theatre writer and director, and a Fringe theatre writer and director.

And I did quite a lot of work with various companies and various groups. Some of it was very good and some of it was not so good, but it was a major part of my life for 15 years until an acrimonious split from one company made me ask why I was doing this... and I decided the effort wasn't worth the hassle any more.

Some six years after this split I started writing again and as from last week I'm back involved with a new theatre project in my new home town of Guildford. I met the company director a few months ago and we talked... and last week we had our first official meeting and it wasn't as scary as I thought it was going to be. In fact if anything I found it difficult to keep my mouth shut as old reflexes kicked in and ideas about turning words on a page into a moving, breathing thing on an empty stage kicked in.

The play we're working on is a new piece called Consider This and, if I had to nutshell it, it's a theatrical exploration of the power of forgiveness inspired by stories taken from The Forgiveness Project, a company which collects stories about victims of violence and their loved ones and suggests a better way to deal with hate and ideas of revenge.

That may sound a bit serious and dry and arty but the work of The Forgiveness Project is stunning in its scope and the piece our merry band of drama, music folk and film folk are working on will be lively and fun as well as thought-provoking.

I'll be haranguing friends into coming to see this play when it's on in June 2012. You have been warned...

Fat: Part II...

I have lost 12lbs in four weeks and I am comfortably back under 14 stone, which is about my fighting weight. If I fought.

This should be a reason to celebrate but currently it's torture as the office I share with several colleagues is never short of cakes or biscuits or sweets. And today I have a major craving for chocolate.

In fact I have such a craving for chocolate that I could quite easily walk down the road to M&S, pull out my credit card, buy an entire shelf of the stuff, return to the office and systematically trough my way through it. Then repeat until sick.

This is what it must be like to be a girl: craving nice things but under constant pressure to not eat in case it ruins all your previous efforts to be healthy and stay slim. I will never mock the Other Woman and her constant need for confectionery again. I'll just pick on her because she’s short and sassy instead.

In conclusion, diets are rubbish and I am probably having mood swings. You have been warned.

And I may want to cry for no apparent reason, too.

How Media Works...

My journalistic career as it is sometimes laughingly called has had many low points but I'm pleased to say that at least it will never plumb the barrel-scrapingly awful depths of an email I got earlier today.

Apart from the fact that what it suggests is an awful idea, it should also give non-media folk an idea of how the desperate quest for celebrity works and what depths some folk will sink to in order to keep their talent-free zone faces in the limelight.

The email reads as follows:

'Never underestimate the power of sisterhood' says Lauren and Nicola Goodger from hit ITV reality TV series - The Only Way is Essex.

TOWIE's most famous sisters, Lauren and Nicola Goodger are to recreate the looks of some of the worlds most iconic sisters in an exclusive media shoot.

Successful sisters go back generations; think Joan and Jackie Collins in the 80s, Kylie and Dani Minogue in the 90s and what would the noughties be without Kate and Pippa Middleton?

Regardless of the decade, the support and solidarity of sisterhood is what has helped make these women successful, which is why ‘The Only Way Is Essex’s’ sisters Lauren and Nicola Goodger are looking to recreate the looks of some the worlds most iconic sisters in an exclusive photo shoot.

'Team Goodger' are rapidly proving a force to be reckoned with here in the UK and this iconic photo shoot is set to put these two sisters on the map as the sisters who will be 'doing it for themselves' in next decade.

We're looking for one media outlet who would like to commission this exclusive photo shoot and interview.

I fear for humanity. It's fin de siecle time and these are the vinegar strokes.

Recycled Jokes No.1...

A former Libyan dictator was assassinated yesterday. He refused to take the advice of one of his guards, who shouted 'Gaddafi. Duck.'

Rejection!

I sent a radio comedy script out to an independent production company a while ago.

Sending it out was a bit of long shot but the script was smart and funny and I thought it had a fighting chance.

I got the rejection letter yesterday. It was quite complimentary about the script and its comedy but closed with the line: 'we don't feel it’s sophisticated enough for Radio 4.'

I sort of agreed and I also thought tht line would make a great t-shirt as it sums me up: 'not sophisticated enough for Radio 4'.

Then I thought I could add: 'with it's small audience of arty, tree-hugging, middle-class know-it-alls'.

Then I realised that is probably me as well.

In conclusion I actually can't write for myself...

Fat: Part I...

Myself and the Missus are on diets. I have put on a stone in the space of a year and now weigh 14 stone 6 lbs. I wouldn't mind but it's not like I'm not exercising. It's a sad reality... but I'm now podgy for the first time in my life.

I obviously can't comment on how much weight the Missus has put on or what her exercise regime has consisted of (as that would be a spare room offence) but her weight gain is apparently my fault. For making her too happy.
'I was at my thinnest before we met and I was unhappy,' she laments. 'It's your fault. I'm too contented to care now...'

My suggestion of having an affair so she can find out and be unhappy again apparently was not helpful.

So we're now both dieting. I've never dieted before but apparently it involves eating more fruit and vegetables and less cake and chocolate and drinking less booze. It sounds a bit shit to be quite frank but I'm going to give it a go.

Otherwise I'll be a rotund, middle-aged fatty and nobody wants that look. Apart from Eric Pickles...

Happy Anniversary: Part II...

Apparently a bottle opener attached to a piece of olive wood shaped like a knob is not considered an appropriate 10th wedding anniversary gift.

Happy Anniversary: Part I...

Me and the Missus are on holiday in Crete.

Today we celebrated 10 years of marriage by having a lazy day walking along the beach and getting upgraded to a very flash new hotel room courtesy of my wife's desire for the better things in life and a shrewd ability to negotiate.

Walking along the beach we shared some romantic anniversary-type thoughts.
'You never had that much grey hair when we married,' said the Missus.
"You were a size 12 when we first married,' I reply.

Apparently that does not constitute romantic banter.

Some time later I am getting the blame for the sea splashing her as we walk along the beach paddling. So I decide to defend myself.
'I cannot control the waves. I do not even pretend to able to control the waves. I am not King Canute,' I protest.
'Some of the letters in that king's name are close enough...' says the Missus.

We married well. Still happy...

The Write Stuff!

It's been a busy few weeks on the writing front at From Beer To Paternity Towers with stage plays going off to two theatres, a radio comedy going off to a major production company and a TV show being sent out to two other TV production companies.

The optimism such periods of creativity promotes is a wonderful thing. It's the first day of the football season where your team can still win everything... before hope disintegrates after a string of bad results; it's the anticipation of a first date when there may be romance and mind-blowing sex ahead... before you get dumped for a younger and prettier model.

I'm no longer overly optimistic about sending scripts out. I put the work in and ensure that whatever I'm sending out is better than the last thing I sent out but after that there are so many other factors that decide what gets picked up and what doesn't.

But, like anything else that really matters, it's important to keep doing it and to keep trying because the alternative is just to give up. And that sounds a bit rubbish.

Besides... I can't really do anything else.

Rolling News: Part II...

One of my oldest friends is now back in the UK after living in New Zealand for many years.

We're both Goolies and we both did A Levels together and our lives have intertwined at various stages over theatrical interests and martial arts interests without us actually knowing at the time... and only discovering these bizarre crossover points when we periodically caught up to discuss things.

Apart from us most recently discovering a newish shared passion for cartography, one of the things we're both a bit obsessed about is grappling and groundfighting so once we're sorted with a venue we'll be doing some rolling and some skill swapping.

I'm looking forward to this immensely. I think he is too. I can't think of a better way to reconnect with someone than to do this and in anticipation I've been going over all my old BJJ, submission wrestling, catch-as-catch-can wrestling and judo books and reading up on armbars, kimuras, Americanas and triangle chokes.

I'm even going to suggest we jokingly give ourselves a name:
Goole Wrestling Club: London Branch

It has a certain ring to it...

Rolling News: Part I...

Besides Hapkido, one of my martial arts passions is grappling and groundfighting and I'm a big fan of a website called Grapplearts.com.

This site is run by a guy called Stephan Kesting, who's a Brazilian Jiu-jitsu black belt and a certified instructor in Combat Submission Wrestling under Erik Paulson. The site is part-shopfront for Kesting's various DVDs (and I have his three iPod apps and they are excellent in case you're wondering) but it also has a load of free stuff that you can sign up for, including an email newsletter that features articles and videos on all manner of grappling-based stuff.

Kesting also interviews various luminaries from the world of grappling for a free podcast and his most recent interview features a high-level American BJJ competitor named Ryan Hall, who's a IBJJF/CBJJ Mundial world and European champion and claimed a medal at the ultra-prestigious Abu Dhabi Submission Wrestling World Championship.

The interview is very good and features quite a lot of information that is way over my head but Hall said two things that really struck me.

The first was when he was discussing a particular technique and he very carefully emphasised that this was his understanding of the technique at the moment.

I thought this was important because it showed that even as a high-level competitor he wasn't done understanding the technique yet and that he knew his understanding of it may yet change in years to come. In other words the technique was not a done deal but a steadily evolving organic entity that grows as his understanding of it grows.

The second thing that struck me about this was when he explained that if a more successful or feted grappler should explain the technique in a different way then anyone interested should disregard what he said and listen to them instead.

A willingness to keep on learning and humility. I bet he's a fantastic teacher.

Sign up to Grapplearts.com if you want to hear the full interview.

Love In The Time Of Cholera...

Gabriel Garcia Marquez’s magical realist masterpiece remains one of my favourite books. The story of a teenage love affair in Columbia that is reignited several decades later, it remains one of a handful of books that I go back to every several years and reread and get something new from every time.

When I was a single man I could usually gauge how long any new romance would last by asking if any new partner had read the book and what they thought of it. It wasn't that I was being some sort of intellectual elitist as several former lovers hadn't read the book and they were utterly lovely people, but when you discover you have the same shared literary passion as somebody new in your life then an immediate bond is formed.

When I first got together with the Missus we were discussing favourite books and when I asked her about the Marquez novel her immediate response was 'I've read it and I love it.'

One of the bits in the book we talked about way back then is towards the end of the story when the reunited lovers are travelling on a boat. They are both well into old age and they both have to deal with the practicalities of old age, such as inserting suppositories into one another and masking the smell of their urinary accidents. It sounds disgusting but it beautifully suggests that love is not just the province of the young and that there is also tenderness in caring for your lover in a very intimate way.

Some 15 years after me and the Missus got together, I fear we are now turning into the two ageing lovers from Love In The Time Of Cholera. With her chronically injured shoulder and my occasional martial arts ninja-ries we do seem to be spending lots of time nursing each other at the moment.

I fear suppositories are probably just around the corner, which would be ironic as she often says I'm a pain in the arse. You can probably make your own, better gags...

Black Belt Grading: Black Belt Presentation...

I was officially given my black belt a few weeks ago in a presentation involving the head of our academy and my teacher.

It was a fab day made even better when the Missus turned up with the Boy who came along to support me on a surprise visit from university. But I also felt slightly subdued and overwhelmed by it all.

For me learning a martial art and reaching black belt has been a journey about overcoming my own inadequacies. I'm also not a naturally gifted athlete so it's very much been a journey of perspiration rather than inspiration. I'm quite competitive, too, so it's been pretty tough seeing other people leave you in their slipstream as they pass you by and excell where you struggle.

In the days afterwards it felt like I was mourning the end of something. It felt like something had gone.

In reality, of course, learning a martial art is a continouous journey where the more you learn the less you realise you actually know and getting any new belt is only a signpost on that journey, although getting a black belt is obviously quite a significant one.

In poker it's often said that the really seasoned players have no comprehension of the actual value of the chips they're playing with. The idea of their monetary value is not important. Their chip stack is just a way of seeing where they are in the game. It's still being in the game that is the important thing.

It's an analogy I hope to now adopt with martial arts. The belt is just a symbol of where I am. The only thing that matters is ensuring I'm still in the game and sometimes playing well.

If I've learnt anything through all of this it's probably something along those lines.

Ticket Touts...

My delight at securing tickets to see PJ Harvey at the Royal Albert Hall is only matched by the horror of my credit card feeling like it’s been raped after booking through a major ticket agency.

I am astonished they can charge that much in additional fees.

The robbing bastards should advertise with a mask and a flintlock pistol.

Rioting Jokes...

My favourite two jokes about the riots:

Rioting in Guildford. Three caffe lattes and a three bean salad damaged.

Extensive rioting in Hull. The city centre and several buildings and major landmarks have been destroyed. Officials fear it may cost as much as £7 to repair the damage.

Lemmy: The Movie...

Myself and the Missus watched Lemmy: The Movie on BBC4 at the weekend.

For those who missed it check out the BBC iPlayer as it's a hugely entertaining two-hour profile of the Motorhead and former Hawkwind frontman.

Chief Foo Fighter Dave Grohl and a host of other rock and metal stars joined in to pay tribute to the godfather of heavy metal, who was either sat down with a Jack Daniels in his hand talking about his colourful career or meandering about doing 'normal' Lemmy things like talking about his collection of Nazi memorabilia or driving a tank.

It's a brilliant film and Lemmy is thoroughly engaging and actually quite sweet. He also has the best line:
'You can't have everything... Where would you put it?'

Genius.

Guilfest...

Myself and the Missus plus our Friends From The North and their We-Get-Him-If-They-Die Kid headed off to Guildford's annual music festival Guilfest at the weekend.

The Missus is currently sporting a chronically injured shoulder and my broken toe remains a bit broken so the two of us hobbled around the various stages and various food and beer stands and still had a ball.

Last year I took the We-Get-Him-If-They-Die Kid to his first thrash grunge metal gig at Guilfest when we saw the excellent Japanese Voyeurs. This year he decided he wanted to see Chipmunk and Ziggy Marley, prompting the joke:
Q. How does Ziggy Marley like his donuts?
A. With jammin' but not as much jammin' as his father.

Highlights of the day, though, were fab pies from Pie Society (see what they did there?) and a set by Hugh Cornwell playing both Stranglers favourites and his own solo stuff.

We also saw a band called Joana And The Wolf, fronted by London-based Lithuanian Joana Glaza (above), who was a bit Kate Bush, Patti Smith, Bjork and PJ Harvey all rolled into one. Her band, The Wolf, were also very tight and the set veered between haunting etherealness and kicking guitar-heavy tunes. Well worth a look on YouTube and they also have three singles on iTunes.

We also saw Erasure, who were so-so, and Public Image Limited, who were pretty fab. John Lydon apparently helped install a septic tank in Guildford when he was 15.

James Blunt was also headlining on one of the other stages. I headed home a little early as my injury was playing up and I went to the loo before doing so. I was toying with the idea of having a shit but decided on a piss instead. It was there I heard James Blunt.

Much as I like Blunt when I've seen him interviewed on chat shows I find his music awful and it was almost like my bowel was offering judgement: he's isnt really shit, just a bit piss-poor.