Monday, August 28, 2006

Fortunately, the cat was only rented.

Imagine you'd written a sitcom script around, I dunno, a year ago. Then imagine that this script had got passed around a few production companies, got you some meetings, that all went along the lines of 'we liked it, it made us laugh, it doesn't make any sense, what else have you got?'.

So this imaginary script has turned out to be one of those 'foot in the door' things: just enough interesting bits to make producers want to chat to you about what else you're writing at the moment, but not quite immediate enough to make anyone want to stake their house on it.

Then last month, you get a phone call about the script. Someone in a production company not only likes the script, they actively want to develop it. You have a nice chat with Production Company Person, you agree to tweak a couple of scenes and write a three page outline setting up what would happen in the rest of the series.

Then, two days later, you hear from a Development Executive from a Large Broadcasting Corporation. Not only do they like the script, they actively want to develop it.

Now in these circumstances, Interested Party One is not necessarily informed of the existence of Interested Party Two. No contracts have been signed yet, no money has changed hands, it's all very informal and friendly, and the fact that two different componies are a) interested, and b) unaware of each others' existence is a handy card to hold back for play later in the game.

This sort of game-playing metaphor is a kind you will use increasingly in the weeks to come. You may even start to visualise yourself as a cunning behind the scenes manipulator like that bloke with the white cat, or that woman with the dimpled chin from that Sydney Sheldon thing. For example:

INTERESTED PARTY TWO: Hmm, we may need some kind of outline of how you see a whole series going before we go any further.

ME: Hmm, how about, I don't know, a three page document setting up what would happen in the rest of the series? And I could tweak a couple of scenes while I'm at it.

INTERESTED PARTY TWO: Gosh, are you sure you don't mind?

ME: (whispers) It's no bother at all. (beat, then shouts) BWAH HA HA HA!

INTERESTED PARTY TWO: Are you all right?

ME: Ooh bugger, I said the quiet bit loud, and the loud bit quiet.

So anyway, you do bits of work on the script, because both parties have pretty much the same take on the script, and they're both experienced producers and actually rather nice to work with, and their ideas are good, and you do the work and you wait to see what happens next.

What happens next is an email from Interested Party One saying that she's leaving her Production Company to go and work with Large Broadcasting Company, where, it turns out, she will be working directly with... Interested Party Two.

Oh bollocks.

There are three potential outcomes to this story.

OUTCOME ONE: a meeting ensues at which Interested Party One talks about their transplanted projects with Interested Party Two. One of these projects sounds oddly familiar. An enormous fight ensues, I find beheaded action figures in my garden, and my agent is summoned to a dark room to have his little finger cut off by Ronnie Corbett.

OUTCOME TWO: The same start to the meeting, but both producers are delighted and astonished by my sheer political savvy and the script is pushed to the top of the pile, while the film rights to the actual meetings are sold for a kajillion dollars. Freeze frame on all three of us throwing back our heads and laughing.

OUTCOME THREE: I send a shamefully meek email confessing my misdeeds. Interested Party One says 'Hahahahah you twat' and is happy to hand over the project to Interested Party Two, who isn't bothered because this happens all the time apparently. A week later the script goes to the Head of Comedy, who doesn't think it's very funny and rejects it.

Anyway, it doesn't matter, because all this is strictly hypothetical.

Still, cuh, life eh?

UPDATE FOR CLARITY: what actually happened was Outcome Three, of course. D'oh!

Sunday, August 27, 2006


Hello hello to The Mighty Evans and Caitlin (who is of course equally mighty), with whom I shared noodles and a viewing of excellent superhero spoof 'Mystery Men' last night. Both TME and EMC are off to China next week, and judging by the brochure that just turned up from their travel company promising to show them the best places for 'steamed dumpings', they are due to have a fine old time.

The train journey up was very odd, the highlight being a elderly man who seemed to have based his schtick on Jimmy Saville (long white hair, equally white tracksuit, jewelry) only, and this is the clever bit, being just that little bit creepier. Parents were dragging their children away from him at one point. Best quote: 'I've been on planes! I've seen things you wouldn't believe!.'

Then a family sat opposite me with their dog, which was very small, and wearing some kind of stripey t-shirt over dungarees affair. I was sorely tempted to take a photo for posterity, but the mum (florid, emotional) might have mistaken my need to catalogue her crime for some kind of endorsement of her behaviour, and then I would have had to shout 'NO MADAM, YOU HAVE HUMILIATED AN INNOCENT CHILD OF NATURE AND SOME DAY I MEAN TO SEE YOU HANG!'.

The dog itself seemed quite sweet-tempered though. I accidently (but gently) brushed its tail with my foot as I moved my rucksack closer to me to keep it away from the madness, and it merely looked round and sighed a little, as though to say really, what is one more insult against so many?

Then a girl got on and listened to some kind of thumpy-tisk dance music very loudly on her walkman, then her friend rang on a mobile (the ring-tone was, I think, something by Mariah Carey') and she said 'yeah babes' over and over again. As I was sitting in the first class carriage I joined my fellow passengers (the not-mad ones) in frowning as hard as I could to summon the ticket man, who would surely dispatch her to her appropriate station asap. Only when he came along, it turned out she had purchased a cheap ticket upgrade what with it being the weekend, and I sighed and tutted at a system that would allow the breaking-down of classes in such an uncalled-for and Bolshevic fashion, then realised that was exactly what I'd done.

Don't stop commenting on the previous ad-blog post by the way, I want to put all the comments up as another post at some point.

Thursday, August 24, 2006

Think on't (now including PASTY UPDATE)

Okay, I had an ulterior motive with the 'how much is your blog worth' thing and it wasn't to depress anyone who's found out their blog is 'worth' nuppence (but still, apologies for that).

As Patch is coming round to tell people on the Dickensian serialisation of her dissertation, big business is looking to move in on blogs. Blogger itself is owned by Google, and it's unlikely they're going to allow all those servers to hum away in their basements for no return. They're probably going to want to put adverts on blogs, and one way of doing that is to bribe bloggers with the promise of profits from click-through ads, and they'll be parading celeb-bloggers who make enough from click-throughs to retire from their day jobs and just post pictures of their cats for the rest of their contented lives. The vast majority of people however, will probably make enough money from click throughs to buy... half an Unspecified Brand Of Chocolate. At best.

Because there's limit to how many blogs you can realistically read in a day (say ten, although obviously people without proper jobs can read many more than that, hello), the vast majority of blogs are going to exist in little micro-communities, where everyone has a fair chance of knowing everyone else. And businesses love that. So there'll be lots of 'we saw your blogs and thought it was great's and they'll ask if they can put an advert on it, and that'll be lovely, but the only person who'll be doing well out of it will be them, frankly. Unless you have a think about how much your blog means to you, and whether you want an advert on it at all, and if you do, how much you're going to charge them for the privilege.

If you turn down the click-through option that will, I suspect, be coming our way very soon, there would seem to be two options: jumping ship to your own domain, which is fiddly, but less so than it used to be*, or paying an annual fee to keep your blog ad-free, which is annoying, but I suppose we've had a good ride thus far. Or the BBC or some other public service group set up a nice big field for us all to go and play in, which I suppose is always a possibility.

This isn't to say I have a massive problem with people having ads on their blogs - I don't necessarily, and when they are links to some kind of 'gateway service' (Amazon, say) it makes practical sense. But don't let them buy your soul with honeyed words, because one of the charms of blogging is spending hours and hours in the company of people who aren't actively trying to sell you anything. And it would be a shame for all that to disappear.

Anyway, I'm away from keyboard for a few days, but thought it would be interesting to see what people's thoughts were, so do please comment, even if it means your first ever delurking.

*My attorney and web specialist adds "of course even if you jump ship to your own domain, you still have to pay for that domain, and for the hosting service, so either way you're forking out cash that you aren't forking out now in the 'golden age' of blogging."

UPDATE: lots of excellent stuff in the comments below - particularly about the difference between an advert and an editorial. I have to admit that's one reason I'm very wary of having ads on the blog - I like to bang on about totally random stuff and wouldn't want anyone to think I'm doing it for cash rather than sheer enthusiasm. And yes, I think when A-Day comes, I may well shift over to my own domain.

Fantastically, the same day I made this post, I got this email:

I found your site and was wondering if you'd be interested in a link exchange with us? Our site's here: and the links page is

I couldn't find it in my heart to say no. I didn't even ask them for a free pasty, which was perhaps an opportunity missed.

Off to London in a sec - thought I'd keep this post at the top for the time being, as it's really interesting seeing what people are writing (and who's writing - hello delurkers!).

Wednesday, August 23, 2006

Muse at the Eden Project

Saw them last night - tiny Matt Bellamy jumping about in his tight black jeans was truly a sight to behold, covering the stage like a good 'un. He's only got little legs though, so where he sourced his pantaloons I cannot say, although I suspect Dorothy Perkins, and there's no shame in that.

Super-Massive Black Hole sounds amazing live, like the rejected Britney hit it surely started out to be.

The Eden Project looks magical at night - I haven't been since they'd only just finished it, so walking down into the valley of huge glowing domes really does add to the experience. And because I'm apparently middle-aged now, I particularly appreciated that the walk down to the arena was lined with herb gardens and hints on how to put together a ferny, nonflowery garden that looks a bit prehistoric and monstery (not their exact words) which is exactly what I want to do. When I have my own garden. I already have a small colony of tree ferns at my parents', just sitting there, quietly waiting.*

I also want a ten foot freestanding concrete bookshelf on which I can arrange potted plants alphabetically. Still don't know why, really.

Originally uploaded by jamesandthebluecat.

* "like Jack Nicholson', one for Eddie Izzard fans there. This post has wibbled all over the place, I do apologize.

Monday, August 21, 2006

Bussmann's holiday

If anyone's up in Edinburgh this year (I'm not, the whole concept revolts me***), they have to go and see Bussmann's Holiday, which has got fantastic reviews (update: some in this very comments thread - thanks Swiv). Jane herself talks about the show here.

The other reason people have to go and see it is because when I was but a fledgling new-born comedy writer, begging people to find space to squeeze sketches onto Smack The Pony (the 'not quite kissing on the doorstep/that's it that's the whole bag of tricks' one was in the recent 'Best British 50 Comedy Sketches of All Time' show, but I don't want to go on about it*), Jane and her then writing partner David Quantick were kind enough to take me out for a pint after one rehearsal/workshop thing and talk to me about the world of comedy, people I should probably try and have meetings with, and people I probably shouldn't try and have meetings with.

Of course I woke up in the same pub an hour later with a thick feeling in my head, a very dry mouth and a wallet down, but they left my library card, and for that I will always regard them with a certain fondness. I took it as a mark of respect, a salute, if you will, from two wordsmiths to another of their tribe, and repaid the favour a week later by burning down their moped.

DQ by the way, popularized the phrase 'not got past the aardvark stage**' as a description for comedy writers who still think random lists of items from either the London Zoo spotters' guide or the Argos catalogue count as an actual script, and for that he will always have the thanks of a grateful nation.

* Apparently it was though.

** Also described as 'monkey whimsy'.

*** sorry Marsha - I'm guilty of using 'Edinburgh' as shorthand for the 'Edinburgh Fringe Festival', which means I've become exactly the sort of ghastly person I'd be worried about bumping into if I were to go up there oh no this sentence doesn't make sense.

I know loads of people who are either going up there this year, or even putting on a show. Those people are all lovely and talented and gorgeous. But the idea of spending a week dodging one million shit stand-ups or Cheltenham Ladies' College doing their production of 'Reservoir Dogs' fills me with the nasty shudders. Of course it might be a wonderful experience, I wouldn't know, I'm never going.

Anyway, if you are going, make sure you see Jane Bussmann's show. Was my point.

UPDATE: Actually, now I've realised how many people I know (even if only from comments on this blog) are going, I kind of wish I was going too. I AM SO FICKLE. I hope everyone who's going has a great time. Apart from Cheltenham Ladies' College. I HATE THEM SO MUCH.

Sunday, August 20, 2006


When you have a blog as distinguished and brilliant as mine, with a list of celebrity contacts as long as a big long stick, you get used to weird emails.

My favourite so far was a journalist from an unnamed paper (I mean I'm not naming it, not that it doesn't have a name, that doesn't make sense, people would get confused in the newsagents), who wanted an interview about the blog and kindly took an extra line to tell me how much they had enjoyed my BBC sitcom 'The Green Room'. More mistakes than words there (I liked the 'my' though).

Anyway, I had this email:

Hello James,

My name is Eric Roach and I am an editor at in Austin, Texas. Pluck has just launched a project which involves a news wire service and syndication network for blogs called BlogBurst. The site is live and we're recruiting bloggers on an invite-only basis to join the system. At its core, BlogBurst is a news service bringing quality blogs onto highly-trafficked, high-brand mainstream publisher sites like the Washington Post, San Francisco Chronicle, Houston Chronicle and San Antonio-Express News.

I believe your blog is great, and would like to invite you to join our network. Below is an invitation, and I would be happy to answer any questions/address any concerns you may have.
Let me know what you think.

Eric Roach

Which is lovely, obviously, but confused me. Who actually benefits from this? Do I want more readers from the Washington Post? Not specifically, no offence to the people of Washington (although actually a large percentage of the white ones would currently appear to be a shower of absolute bastards). Do I want more readers at all? Not particularly. I don't have any adverts on my blog and don't plan to, so there's no financial benefit. I don't have a stat counter on my blog, as it doesn't really affect me how many people read this, although I will admit to checking the number of profile views every now and then, just for fun.

In the end I ran it past my attorney and web-specialist, who said: "OK, basically they want to sell your content to the newspapers.  You get nothing but the pleasure of seeing your blog content on the San Francisco Chronicle’s website.  Meanwhile, BlogBurst gets paid money by the SF Chronicle for providing it with stuff people want to read, i.e. your blog.  And the SF Chronicle makes money by putting ads around it.  Ooh, it’s like TOTAL EXPLOITATION. Tell them to fuck off."

Thanks attorney. Sorry Eric.

UPDATE: on an unrelated topic...

My blog is worth $45,727.74.
How much is your blog worth?

AND ALSO: See your website as a graph. Don't know what it means, but it's pretty. More info here.

Thursday, August 17, 2006

His Kampf

Just been chatting to a friend I used to work with in the bookshop in Canterbury. She, by a strange coincidence, was also from Falmouth, and has now moved back down here, where she now manages a local bookshop. Anyway she asked if I could help her out with a few days a week, but unfortunately I would be even less reliable than I ever used to be, as I'm constantly having to vanish up to London to... well, buy comics really.

I did, for just a few seconds, consider helping out unpaid for a few hours a week just for the pleasure of hanging around a bookshop again. Then I remembered: customers. Ew. Still, I've helped her out with a list of proper decent graphic novels and SF stuff which would turn round a rather moribund section, and more importantly, Actually Sell.

But the whole conversation did remind me of an excellent conversation I had once with one of a group of workmen who were redecorating the Canterbury bookshop after hours. I was tootling about reshelving, doing returns and so forth, only to become aware of a Workman, gazing shyly at me in a working class sort of way* from the other side of the True Crime section.

ME: Hmm?

WORKMAN: Mate- while I've got you, I was particularly looking for ‘Mein Kampf’.

ME: Errr... okay.

WORKMAN: Don’t get me wrong, I don’t agree with the ideology.

ME: Oh. Well. Good.

WORKMAN: No, what interests me is the forcefulness of his phrasing. The rhythms of his diction. How one man was able to sway a nation, if you like.

ME: Right.

WORKMAN: I’ve got nothing against the Jews. My last wife was a Jew.

ME: Mmmm.


WORKMAN: Mind you, I fucking hated her.


ME: (weakly) I’ll go and see what they’ve got.

I run away.

* Mind you, as a skilled tradesman he'd be earning probably twice as much as me at this point. And still does, I suspect.

Monday, August 14, 2006

Actual Proper Satire

It's like watching someone with a PhD in Extreme Withering Sarcasm. Watch right to the end as well, it all goes a bit quiet...

UPDATE: Youtube are offline for a bit - should hopefully be back later...

Sunday, August 13, 2006


If I have to see one more fucking article about Keith Fucking Richards, I will come up to London and there will be Stern Words.

Yes well done, he's:

1. Reached the age of one million years old
2. Has taken a metric shitload of drugs and is,
3. Still alive.

The same could be said of my gran, and she's skint, which is much more impressive.

This is like when I was working in a factory, listening to Radio 4 for the rare twenty minutes a day when the Sodding Archers* wasn't on, and the Queen Mother was going into hospital for a hip operation. Anyway, whatever idiot news presenter happened to be standing outside the hospital that day was lucky enough to have QM driven past him in a enormous gold taxi, at which point he brought SHAME ON AN ENTIRE NATION by calling out 'Good luck, Ma'am!'. You could actually hear his massive erection, never before have I believed in the magic of radio, but that day there it was.

I think it was one of the Dimblebys.


* Ah, now, it may look here as though I'm dissing the Tamster, but I had a chat with her about the fact that I can't stand the Archers, although I did listen to the episode in which Debbie (Tamsin) departed, which left me with a bit of a lump in my throat, because I thought to myself 'She's leaving, because she's COMING TO WORK FOR MEEEEEE!'.

She laughed, thankfully.

Also, bloody also (no more coffee for me tonight, but the underlying feelings are true and noble, and cannot be denied), whilst I was working in that factory for two years, I listened to Radio 4 on my radio walkman every hour of every single day (apart from when the Soddding Archers came on, when I put a tape on instead).

And over those two years, I heard precisely ONE RADIO PLAY that wasn't shit. ONE PLAY. It was about the Molly Maguires and how the Pinkerton Detective Agency tried to crush striking miners in the US in the Nineteen Umpties, and it was brilliant. Every single other radio play, over a period of, I repeat, TWO YEARS, was absolutely rubbish. I'm sorry, but there it is.

However, this was the period when the John Major government was imploding, and the Radio 4 political coverage was brilliant, like the greatest soap opera ever. Conniving Tory bastards all denying leadership ambitions whilst installing extra phone lines, giving coded press releases and the like, magic stuff.


I don't normally write that much about bloggging itself, partly because I can't even fucking spell it, clearly, but also because any theory I come up with goes out of date by the time I click on 'publish post'.

Other people have written some good stuff however.

Patch has come up with a zombie analogy. Zombies, people. That's why I'm currently* kissing her, and not you. Think on't.

Tim at Cultural Snow has also written a good thing, although just as good was his pointing out that the greatest, and newest internet theorist on the block is Dave Lee Travis

And not on blogging, but on the whole airplane thing, Kung Fu Monkey Kicks Ass.

In other news, a rat called Henry tries to jump onto a bed. The tension is frankly, unbearable. It's better than anything I've seen on telly this week. Including journalists lining up by the fence at Heathrow, talking about how air traffic has stalled noticeably, then having to shout as a huge jet comes in to land in the background.

* I say currently, but geography would dictate otherwise. Stupid geography I HAVE ALWAYS HATED YOU.

Thursday, August 10, 2006

The homing pigeons weren't cutting it.

Okay, I need some help from the more technically-inclined of you out there.

I'm thinking of getting a Blackberryish thing, so I don't have to lug my laptop all the way to London when all I really want to do is check my emails. I have a pay as you go mobile, so ideally I'd like something you don't have to pay a monthly contract for (especially as I may only use it a couple of times a month), although I appreciate this might not be possible. Anyone got a email-readable thingy that they think is any good? Or rubbish? I don't particularly want to use it as a mobile phone as a) you look like a plum, and b) muggings.

PP is urging me to wait for the iPhone, but as that won't come out for another six months at least and will then almost instantly explode, I'm not convinced.

Also, in consumer news, not sure I'm going to be able to get a proper rucksack-travel-bag thing from the 200-year old leather shop (quote: 'I'm not sure he can really be bothered to do that sort of thing'), although it may have cost about a million pounds anyway - still might have a laptop bag made up though, as the leather is beautiful. So I'm going to wade through all those links people put up a while ago (and put them up in a new post at some point).

But yes, emaily things. Argh. Help.

UPDATE: thanks for the help, have made opening bids on a very nice manbag. And completely unrelated, but there's an acetastic mashup comp over at go home productions. Summery and lovely.

UPDATE 2: bidding went from £18 to £62. Too rich for my blood.

Wednesday, August 09, 2006


Originally uploaded by jamesandthebluecat.
Could there be any sight sadder* than a man with a bagful of roleplaying accoutrements (dice, freshly generated character sheets, little lead figures), pacing up and down a road, waiting for a lift to Truro that would never materialise?

I even walked up the hill to get reception for my mobile. No answer from anyone, so I turned and trudged slowly home again, multi-faceted little bits of plastic rattling in their container, probably mocking me by rolling twenties.


(Obviously only the D20's could roll twenties. The D6's were probably rolling sixes, and the D8's eights and so on, but still).

* On any level.

Tuesday, August 08, 2006


Had a slightly odd dream about this rough patch of ground I quite often pass on the way to my parents'. In the dream it was as though I was watching a segment on the local news, and it was warning it had become a hiding place for stashes of drugs, which was worrying as technically it was part of a school playground. At which point a group of schoolchildren walked past, and one of them looked at me directly, which freaked me out a bit, so I woke up and he was still there. Colourless, with curly hair and wearing glasses, standing in my room just beyond arms length.

I always wondered what noise I would make if I saw a ghost, and now I know it to be a sort of loud 'uuuuuurgh (beat) WEAAAAARGH! '

Leaping off the bed, I waved my hands right through the figure, and about a second later he faded from view.

May possibly have woken my flatmate up. Actually I can hear snores now, so I think I got away with it. I'm not counting that as a proper ghost, as it was too much of a cliche (white and see though? Oh come on). I'd quite like characters from my dreams to stay in my dreams though please.

My heart was pounding like a poundy thing, but I was alarmed more than scared, if that made sense. I'm just writing this down now, or I'll forget it.

That might be the weirdest thing that's ever happened to me, although thinking about it, I did eat cheese.

Monday, August 07, 2006

Best political insult ever

Retired Moscow ambassador Sir Rodric Braithwaite referring to Tony Blair as a "frayed and waxy zombie" (context here)

It's just such an odd thing to say. Apart from anything else, can you be 'frayed' and 'waxy' at the same time? Madame Tussauds gets mentioned later, so I can sort of see where he's coming from*, but he didn't say 'dummy', he said 'zombie'. Quite specifically.

I quite like the mix of pop culture and rather grand Shakespearean language though. Indeed from now on, I will only insult people in the style of Sir Rodric.


Thou goatish and beslubbering Moria Goblin.

Yes I'm talking to you, you mewling fucking Cylon.

Sirrah, you are a fen-sucking, foot-licking, hedge-born son of a Dalek.

You stupid Ent.

Also this morning, I saw an elderly woman being mugged for her sausage-wurst-thing (the Euro-market's in town) by no fewer** than three seagulls, who hauled her shrieking and flailing into the main road, clearly in an attempt to top their stolen-snack provisions with tasty Old Lady Flesh. I walked straight ahead and didn't look back, and if you knew seagulls like I know seagulls, you'd know that was exactly the right thing to do.

You onion-eyed womprats.

*Hmm, I suppose 'frayed' is clothes and 'waxy' is skin. It's such a cracking description! It makes you think.
** Not 'less', never that.

Saturday, August 05, 2006


Originally uploaded by jamesandthebluecat.
I've been involved in some casting lately, which means a producer person has been sending me dozens and dozens of headshots of people with lists of arcane skills and accents below. You find yourself staring at a minor character from Eastenders (not that I watch Eastenders, ew) thinking - He can fence? And in a Bolivian accent? Get him in, that'll liven up the lunchbreak.

I have very quickly slipped into the standard method for selecting the best 'talent'* which works by simply rejecting people for the following reasons:

1 - Too good-looking
2 - Possibly being taller than me
3 - Active shoplifter.
4 - Mentalist
5 - Hmm, he looks too much like that kid who used to pick on me at school, the one who was two years younger than me, therapy down the drain - rejected.
6 - Alpha Course
7 - Isn't he going out with [Hollywood star]? Bastard
8 - Met him, he just talks about his bowels the whole time.
9 - Met that one three times and he never remembers my name - rejected
10 - His hair looks like mine did when it was good - rejected

Then you realise there's no-one left, so you have to start again, this time on the basis of who would actually be best for the part.


* 'Talent' means 'actors'. In my first GW workshop, which took place down in the basement all the people were sipping coffee in the office when the production assistant called out 'could the talent come downstairs please'. All the actors stood up. And me. Then I had to sit down again. But I think the actors were all very impressed by my self-confidence and knew not to mess with me, oh no. I have mentioned this before. But I'm still embarrassed about it.

Friday, August 04, 2006

Zoe Bolton from Penryn

From a comment left on this post:

Off topic sorry. does anyone know a Zoe Bolton from Penryn? I need to contact her to say she shouldnt rip people off, return the £420 or send the TV! You will not get away with this!
Thanks, *******

I'm sure it's just a misunderstanding (no-one from Cornwall would ever do anything bad or wrong), but there are no Penryn Boltons in the phone book, so I thought if I put the comment up here, it might show up if ZB ever does a self-google. Or alternatively someone down here might know her, and could give her a gentle nudge towards returning either the cash or the tv. If that's what happened. Allegedly.

Consider the flying monkeys released.

Also, if you're a Zoe Bolton, but don't live in Penryn and have never been involved in televisual transactions with ******, why not comment here, and we can tick you off the list?

Thursday, August 03, 2006


Originally uploaded by jamesandthebluecat.

I hand over my selection of fruit. Greengrocer looks at it doubtfully.

GG: Is that a greengage?
ME: It's a lime. Is that a kind of greengage?
GG: It doesn't look like a lime.
ME: I got it from the lime section
GG: Are you sure it's a lime?

Pause. We both look at the small green fruit for some time. It is both dimpled and citrussy. It is clearly a lime.

ME: Yes.
GG: Well all right then.

GG picks up a grapefruit.

GG: And this is a big... kind of... orange?
ME: It is a ruby star grapefruit.
GG: Oh.

He moves onto the next item.

ME: (helpfully) That's a banana.
GG: (defensive) All right mate, I know what a banana looks like!

The rest of the transaction is conducted in silence.

Wednesday, August 02, 2006

More Ant Man, footie songs and stuff and that.

Superherohype has an interview with Edgar Wright about the forthcoming Ant Man project. And Joe Cornish is involved - ace! (Adam and Joe's Best of DVD is now £5.99, just so you know, and contains the quite quite lovely footie song) But back to Ant Man - the 'Elmore Leonard' take on Ant Man sounds pretty appropriate to the subject (what with that particular AM being an ex-burglar)*, and there's an interesting article somewhere in the crossover of crime and superhero comics (Brian Michael Bendis seems to make the transition back and forth pretty seamlessly).

Although I should point out the graphic novel they're talking about is "Scott Pilgrim's Precious Little Life" not "Previous Little Life". Smug smug smoog.

So, anyway, relationships and that. Let's just take it that I'm currently hyperlinked, relationship-wise, and keep it as a sort of background thing, without me mining every last detail for hilarious moments. There's a real danger of starting to use every aspect of your life (and other people's lives) for material, and it's nice to keep some things separate.

Unless we fall out really badly of course, then it'll be WAR OF THE BLOGS!!!!!

And she has way more ammunition than I do, so I would lose.

And never mind all that stuff - NEW OK GO!

*The other Ant Man was of course Hank Pym, who went on to become about sixty feet tall - hence 'Gi'-ant Man, a joke I had to have explained to me, I am a dur-brain.

Tuesday, August 01, 2006

Things that happened last week:

As well as accidentally nearly being cast in a Specsavers advert, I:

Did some stuff for a corporate video, which turned out to be surprisingly quite good fun.
Had to make a verbal pitch for a film like in 'The Player'.
Was chased around London by powercuts.
Heard what a man trapped in a lift in a powercut actually sounds like (not that bothered, it turns out).
Saw Superman Returns, and thought it was cracking, apart from the end which dragged a bit.
Kissed PEANUT's Aunty.*

Now I know which bit everyone wants to hear more about, so here goes:

What happened was, I had to go into this office building for a meeting, only because of the powercuts, they couldn't put me though on the phone, so I had to hang about in the foyer, where loads of very attractive people were hanging round, including at least three women who looked as though they'd been drawn by one of those people who do faux-Seventies greetings card designs, you know, all weird angles and flicky hair. And eventually a woman with a clipboard came over and said 'are you here for the casting?' (only to be honest she had a bit of a doubtful tone), and I nearly said yes for a laugh, then remembered I'm a bit busy at the mo, so said 'no thank you, I am a writer' and sat down. And a bit later I had to get up again and ask what the casting was for (I wanted to see what demographic I fitted into) and she said 'Specsavers' and I said 'oh'.

And when I turned round, one of the model women was sitting in my chair and was carefully avoiding eye contact (she looked the type franky, technically very attractive but clearly had the soul of quite a nasty kind of beetle). So I had to stand up for a while, but I didn't mind, as a male model came in a bit later and this bit conversation ACTUALLY HAPPENED:

CLIPBOARD LADY: Could you sign this form please?

Male Model stares at the form for quite a while. Finally:

MALE MODEL: What, all of it?

Another quite long pause.

MALE MODEL: (doubtfully) Well I can do my name....

Clipboard lady sighs heavily.

Anyway, it was a good week, but gosh my whiteboard is full! I have a lot of processing and filtering to do, oh yes.

Also, 'hurrah!'