Thursday, 24 March 2011


I'm like a hollow tree,
Just structure strapped to emptiness.
Gnarled by time and grief and lust,
Engraved with fleeting notes of love.

Once I was a vibrant thing,
All life and dreams and wonderings.
But now the world has raked my core,
And left a shell and nothing more.

Through days I stand and listen,
For the coming of the dark.
And long for smiles and tenderness,
The beat of someone's heart.

So close I was time and again,
To catching something pure.
Love remains a mystery,
A mystery and nothing more.

Tuesday, 1 March 2011


I'm basically tidying up and re-editing all six episodes of Dysfunctional at the moment but also sending out questionnaires and loosely plotting episodes for my next sitcom venture 'Namesakes'. It centres around 6 characters that all have a famous namesake; George Bush, Ann Robinson, Michael Jackson etc who get together once a week at a help group for people finding life hard dealing with having a famous name.

If you know any who has a famous namesake, and wouldn't mind answering a few questions then get in touch. You can comment here, facebook, twitter etc or email me. Any and all information gratefully received. Got quite a mixed bag so far. Insightful, interesting and funny. More weird than I had expected too.

Er. That's it. I fear that too much blogging will set an unobtainable precedent. Bye x

Saturday, 26 February 2011


I told you this blog was going to be in fits and starts, didn't I?

Well, another three weeks has passed since my last entry and, despite my brain insisting that nothing much has happened, lots has. I finished writing series one of my sitcom 'Dysfunctional' - previously titled 'SuperNova' but, due to a sitcom of that name currently existing (some BBC 2005 production about an astrophysicist played by Rob Brydon working in the outback, who knew?), I have now changed it. Any suggestions on better names appreciated.

Episode 4 was a bit of a nightmare to complete (although still too long) as it has many storylines and one-off characters, and tying it all up was (and still is a bit) difficult over thirty pages. It works now but needs refinement. On the other hand, episode 5 was plotted and written in 11 hours (straight through with tea and cake breaks only) and could be the best episode I've written. It currently features X-Factor runner-up or whatever Rhydian (but interchangeable with Chico, Sneddon whoever).

If anyone is interested in ready an episode or two and feeding back then hit me up. Be great to share and hear what you think.

I also got episode one licked into shape and sent off to the BBC. Finalists for the BBC sitcom comp will be informed in late May so I'm just filling in time before the big time calls. Yeah, okay. I'm positive though and filled with a sense of purpose for the first time in a long time. Have a few other sitcom idea kicking around in my brain so I'm going to crack on with those in March and April.

Well, this turned out longer that I thought it would. Splendid. Right, good. Bye.

Saturday, 5 February 2011

Something and Nothing

Haven't blogged anything for over a fortnight.
I have felt guilty about that.
Tonight I feel a little empty.
That is all for now.

Sunday, 16 January 2011

A Poem and A Boo in D

As part of the ongoing excellence that is The Gingerbread Poets' Society, here is a poem written using lots of words beginning with D. You can read it or listen to a somewhat jumpy recording of me reading it below.

Despot's Depot

Digging digits devour dirt like hungry teeth in flesh,
Down to despot's depot where the deadly dangers rest,
Through dust and root and mud and sand and darkness dealing hands,
They drive defiling daggers through the dry and dying land.

Dreadful calls of muffled dread all mixed with soil and earth,
Defiant throats devour dirt, erupt with acrid births,
All mice and men and swine and herd and fish and snake and bird,
Descend like stones to depths below, demented and absurd.

Delicious death invades the nose and drums upon the eyes,
Derelict subconscious drones buzz around like flies,
Drink the cold and mist and fright for all the world is dead of sight,
As time decays, devours, consumes in gloom and woe and night.

Derisive hands and blackened teeth, reveal and feel and claw,
Detritus of the mind unwinds and searches for a door,
Shadows bend and wrap and cloak and loom and howl and choke,
For draggletails and dustmen both are set upon the smoke.

Decaying dump of dung and dregs, of forms that once were driven,
Ambition, will and decollated dreams bleed delirium,
Now dank and dark and dire and hate and loss and fear and fate,
Redemption drips on honeyed lips, diaphanous souls in wait.


Saturday, 15 January 2011

Week of Woe

2011 has, so far, been a mixed bag. My basic reality has been somewhat exhausting, frustrating and reminiscent of 2010. My aspirations, on the other hand, are zinging and running around my head like a troupe of dancing pixies. These two forces have left me dangling somewhere in the middle. I'm waiting for one to end and the other to kick into gear. Currently, it's annoying.

I'm working two more five day weeks at the office. Not because I want to, but because I think Dave my have a breakdown if I don't help him out. It shall all end on 29th Jan and I shall return to my part time employment, lie-ins and solitary writing / reading marathons. But for now I hate living this way. I hate returning from work, struggling to cook something and then collapsing into bed. I actually felt relief when Friday evening arrived. I've never been the type of person that lives for the weekend but I actually couldn't wait for it to arrive. I died a little inside each day.

Enough of this, good things are a-coming. There's so many creative projects that need working on that I'm wishing away the next two weeks so that I can sink my teeth in; book, sitcom, poetry. There are also some social activities coming up that have me smiling too.

Poem based around and using words beginning with D shall be posted sometime tomorrow. I'll Boo it too, yeah. Wicked. Gonna go running now.

Tuesday, 11 January 2011

2011. A year with a difference.

Okay, so taking a quick look down this page will reveal that today is the first day of blogging since the summer of 2007. A lot has happened since then. Sadly, not much of it is particularly interesting.

Notable events (for good and/or bad) include; going to Antarctica, publishing Spritz (and getting an audiobook deal), losing many loved ones, meeting some very new ones, the ongoing illness debacle, the discovery of antiques and finding some very excellent writing chums.

2011 is a year for change; mostly of attitude but also of lifestyle. I've cut down the amount of paid work that I'm doing, in exchanged for soul enriching work. I will probably get thinner, but I shall have a full heart.

At the end this month I'm sending a sitcom off to a BBC competition. I was writing it last autumn with a plan to send it around the production companies in early 2011. It's about a touring function band in the style / feel of Peep Show / Spaced / Black Books etc. If anyone's interested in reading some then let me know.

In February I'm heading back into my second novel 'theLost and theForgotten' which has been languishing on my hard-drive for almost a year. Time to kick it into shape and get it out to agents and publishers. Again, interested readers let me know. Here's a link to an extract

I've also joined forces with an awesome bunch of interesting, funny and smart people to write poetry and eat some lovely cake. The Gingerbread Poets Society has already spawned a few creative works. I shall bow out for now with a small poem.

The Icicle Pirates
Beneath sails of sleet, on planks of ice,
The Icicle Pirates prepare to fight.
On seas of crystal, under carrion skies,
The Icicle Pirates turn their eyes—
To craquelure fingers on swords of floe,
And muskets dripping with falling snow.
They watch and wait for sunlight to die,
Reflecting no more off each diamond eye.

Under darkness they glisten and harden and wait,
The Icicle Pirates gird their power and hate.
The violence to come is shrouded in fear,
The Icicle Pirates sharpen their ears—
To cries rising up and feet that pound down,
Like daggers of lightning they pierce the ground.
Screeching and scrapping the Pirates let fly,
Shards of existence, glisten, fall and die.