An early shot. Written when I was working for my brother (Nibs) as his pub blogger and trying my darndest to subvert the medium whilst still staying within the brief. Always savoured the mental image of the Live Aid crowd fighting for that rickety table by the toilets.
And this week it’s foxes. Something furry going on.
The denigration of our upstanding hirsute brethren.
In Leeds, no one can hear you scream.
Harnessing Dad’s old ruse.
A disappointing setback. We shot the remaining footage for the book launch pitch film last week. This was to be edited into my existing film and uploaded to the Kickstarter site so everything was ready to go for the 17th. But my computer had other ideas. Probably because I’ve been cramming it to bursting with film, photos and all manner of power hungry data, the graphics card packed up, rendering it totally unusable. So the last 48 hours have been spent frantically trying to get an appointment with an Apple ‘Genius’, and carting a 27″ iMac across central London until someone would see me. They did yesterday. The card issue is a known one, specific to the exact year, make & model that I have. So it’s a free fix, but I’ve lost a lot of time and I’m on the verge.
Because of all this, I’m putting back the Kickstarter launch date by a week. It will now go live on Friday 24th July for 30 days, and if you’re wondering where you need to go to pledge or even just follow the campaign, all details will appear next week on the site, on the Facebook/Twitter pages and, if I have your details, via email. My apologies for the slight delay, but in this case it’s genuinely out of my hands.
As far as the party is concerned, it will happen as planned at 3 Dorchester Drive, Dorchester Court, Herne Hill, London SE24 from 7.30pm this coming Friday 17th July. If you can make it, please drop by. We’ll film the whole thing and, as long as I’m not sectioned into the Maudsley, it should be a lot of fun. This will be more of a general awareness night as opposed to a book launch per se, but you’ll get to see close up what we’ve been doing since January. All washed down with a few pinots. Nice x
An amalgam of some of the audio sessions we filmed in 2015. They were enormous fun to do, usually culminating in the consumption of copious amounts of Pinot and an absurd photo op with a potato. There is no adequate explanation for this. At the time, the excellent Rupert Ingham was doing the narration and I was directing it all from the sidelines. Although things are a little different now, I sincerely hope we can work together again in the future.
Last night, Rupert, Donald and I were up into the small hours recording the audio version of what you are reading here. Not this exact one, obvs, but time will come when whatever piffle I have flying about inside my head right now will also be read out by a voice that isn’t my own, and Donald’s technical know-how will make it sound like it is. This bizarre parallax should be second nature to any writer familiar with producing material for radio or television, but I’m pretty weirded out by it, to be honest. Because the overwhelming temptation is to take the piss.
Not that I would, mind. But just knowing I have the power to make Rupert say something completely inappropriate whenever I so fancy is curiously erotic. For example, I could start him off on a paragraph of unnecessarily verbose waffle, as is my wont, and then stick the word ‘turtle’ in there for no apparent reason. And he’d have to say it! See? ‘Cos it’s all about the integrity of the piece and you can’t dick about with that. Even if the piece has no integrity whatsoever, like this one. There’s also endless fun to be had with the layering system: There’s me (bottom), writing this as Idle Eye (middle), being read out by Rupert (top) and, if truth be told, you’ve got no idea which one you can trust, have you? If any. They’re all messing with your head, right? And which one do you point the finger at when you’ve had enough?
Well, seeing as we’ve built an understanding over the years, perhaps I can be of some assistance. If you’re listening now, step away for a moment and think on this: That smooth-as-silk, candy-coated baritone clearly isn’t mine, is it? We established that earlier. He is essentially a charlatan, inhabiting the skin inside which I exist for fiscal remuneration or sexual favours. The very fact that he has told you this just proves my point. And if he baulks, I would caution you to be suspicious. Because it is highly likely I told him to do so, despite whatever childish nonsense he may come up with to prove otherwise.
If you are reading this, however, you can relax somewhat. Safe in the knowledge that you are the cognoscenti (with one less layer of remove to circumnavigate), you can go about your day in confidence. Because you’ve sided with the good guy: The writer. For it’s all very well for them clever bastards to appear out of nowhere and take the credit for all the graft we’ve put in, but this time I’m fighting back. If I was spewing out this crap in times past, I would challenge him to a duel: Pistols at dawn, you know the drill. But we are living through an era in which all manner of dross is king, and I must cave if I am to survive. Just remember who told you first.