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...