I face the day quite excited. I'm doing something different. You see, the other day I had a new idea. Well, when I say new, it was more of a new take on an old idea. But that's what most new ideas seem to be these days, so I'm still pretty happy with a new take. It's better than same old shit, at least.
So as I was thinking about this new idea and trying to sqeeze it in with all of my other ideas it occurred to me that I didn't really have a repository for all the ideas that I have shifting about. Aside from my brain. Which, if you know me, is so crammed full of useless trivia and detailed memories of unimportant events that it's easy to lose my place. Especially with ideas.
So today is my big idea day. I'm going to be getting everything onto paper and into a folder and any time the writing starts going slow I'll whip out one of the ideas to work on instead. In fact, I don't even need paper or folders as apparently you can get all of this done on computers these days. Ain't technology something?!
So today I will be doing rough outlines of:
1 movie
2 stage plays
1 screenplay
5 novels (not including current project)
2 tv shows (1 travelogue, 1 sitcom)
1 cook book
And as usual, new ideas beget other new ideas. So there's fun to be had. A welcome break from prose.
PS - Yes, this is a task I should have done a long time ago. I am one of the billions of people in the human race who tends to put things off for too long. Deal with it.
PPS - Buy Steven Fry's The Ode Less Travelled.
19 January 2006
18 January 2006
16 January 2006
Be careful what you wish for
It rained today. And yet it didn't impress me.
A probe bringing back comet dust, that impressed me. A lot, in fact.
Worked a lot today. Some was great (the writing stuff). Some was rubbish (the work stuff).
I have "a lunch" tomorrow.
I got an email from the pretty single girl I was writing about a couple of posts ago. The one that asked for my email. You know the one? Yeah, that one. Haven't written her back yet. Will do.
A probe bringing back comet dust, that impressed me. A lot, in fact.
Worked a lot today. Some was great (the writing stuff). Some was rubbish (the work stuff).
I have "a lunch" tomorrow.
I got an email from the pretty single girl I was writing about a couple of posts ago. The one that asked for my email. You know the one? Yeah, that one. Haven't written her back yet. Will do.
15 January 2006
New toys
So, I passed my test. After 29 years of life as a pedestrian, I can now drive a car.
Aside from a brief time in my pre-teen years where cool cars were essential and copies of Road & Track magazine were littered throughout my room, often with the Matchbox or Hot Wheels twin (or, as I got more sophisticated and expensive in my tastes, Burago) of the featured super car on the cover on the floor somewhere guarenteed to find the foot of an unsuspecting adult, I've never really been into cars.
So now I'm thinking about what car to buy. A friend has a Renault Clio for sale, pretty good nick. Sadly it doesn't come with Nicole from the adverts. Though to be fair, he said he wouldn't be selling it to me if it did. It's pretty expensive. But I'm not sure I want a car named a Clio. Is that a bad reason not to buy a car? The good reason not to buy a car is that I can't afford it, but that's beside the point. I have a license, and sort of feel a car should have come with it as well. I think that's the American in me.
Maybe a Golf, or a Polo. I like Volkswagens. They're expensive though. And kind of clichéd. It just needs to be able to make the London-Fife run without any hassle. Is that too much to ask? Maybe some nice speakers as well - you know, to take advantage of iTrip. And, well, fast enough to overtake grannies on the motorway. And not an ugly colour. Or, if it is an ugly colour, an outrageously ugly colour. Don't want to do things by half. Electric pink with purple go-faster stripes. Might as well get a car called a Clio with that sort of paintjob.
It's all kind of moot at the moment. New toys to be had but no money to buy them with.
Aside from a brief time in my pre-teen years where cool cars were essential and copies of Road & Track magazine were littered throughout my room, often with the Matchbox or Hot Wheels twin (or, as I got more sophisticated and expensive in my tastes, Burago) of the featured super car on the cover on the floor somewhere guarenteed to find the foot of an unsuspecting adult, I've never really been into cars.
So now I'm thinking about what car to buy. A friend has a Renault Clio for sale, pretty good nick. Sadly it doesn't come with Nicole from the adverts. Though to be fair, he said he wouldn't be selling it to me if it did. It's pretty expensive. But I'm not sure I want a car named a Clio. Is that a bad reason not to buy a car? The good reason not to buy a car is that I can't afford it, but that's beside the point. I have a license, and sort of feel a car should have come with it as well. I think that's the American in me.
Maybe a Golf, or a Polo. I like Volkswagens. They're expensive though. And kind of clichéd. It just needs to be able to make the London-Fife run without any hassle. Is that too much to ask? Maybe some nice speakers as well - you know, to take advantage of iTrip. And, well, fast enough to overtake grannies on the motorway. And not an ugly colour. Or, if it is an ugly colour, an outrageously ugly colour. Don't want to do things by half. Electric pink with purple go-faster stripes. Might as well get a car called a Clio with that sort of paintjob.
It's all kind of moot at the moment. New toys to be had but no money to buy them with.
Shades of grey
The weather is dull. Apparently, this is the grey-est January since records began. It doesn't surprise me. I'm convinced that the day I took those pics in St Andrews was the last day of proper sunshine in 2006. It's not even raining. Most would count that as a blessing, but I want something meteorlogical to happen. Anything really. Sun, rain, hail, snow (if only to watch the terror in the eyes of the newscasters and weathermen/women as the snowpocalypse arrives). Even sleet would be enough of a shift to bring a smile to my face. But it seems that January lethargy extends to the weather and I am regretting my decision not to go to Key West.
It's been a good weekend. Thursday night, heady in the rush of driving triumph, I went up to ultra-trendy Camden to see my mate perform at a club called Underworld. Rubbish clubname aside, it was a brilliant gig. She signed autographs afterwards. That was weird to watch. I drank too much Guinness.
Friday's excitement was a rare venture into the wilds of Fulham. We discovered an awesome Italian restaurant that kept it simple and gave us great food at reasonable (especially for the area) prices. The wine was yummy too. After filling ourselves to the point where we had to reassess our commitment to beer as our drink for the rest of the evening, we trekked towards the Salisbury Tavern on Dawes Road. I've had the odd drink here over the last ten years and it's a decent boozer. Bumped into an old mate from St Andrews who was celebrating her 11th anniversary with her now husband. Weird. Most of the clientelle were at the apex of Sloane-dom, with glass-cutting posh accents and enough Prada and Gucci to make a St Andrews Yah blush. In fact, the scene at the bar was spookily like St Andrews. So much so that I had to drink beer and whisky to distract myself. It kind of worked. As did the mission of the night, which was to get the birthday boy drunk. Fun night. And the cab home was only a tenner. Bonus.
Yesterday I met a really lovely, nice, pretty, single girl. There was all sorts of rugby and a lunch and the team I support lost and there was curry for dinner and loads of other stuff from yesterday. But the important thing was meeting someone nice. Not that I think there's a future in it (but there may be), but it was just cool to meet someone new in London who is single. This isn't coming out right. She asked for my email address though. Which is nice.
Today someone came to look at the house. She really liked it but wouldn't be looking to buy until May. Her brother or brother-in-law (couldn't remember which) is Seamus Heaney, Nobel Laureate. She was nice. But I don't want to sell the house to anyone, even someone who's sibling(-in-law?) is one of the world's greatest living poets.
I'm listening to The Doves; The Last Broadcast. Good album.
I'll write for the rest of the day. Then I'll watch a DVD. Hopefully something to make me laugh and set somewhere there's sun. Just to remind me what it looks like.
It's been a good weekend. Thursday night, heady in the rush of driving triumph, I went up to ultra-trendy Camden to see my mate perform at a club called Underworld. Rubbish clubname aside, it was a brilliant gig. She signed autographs afterwards. That was weird to watch. I drank too much Guinness.
Friday's excitement was a rare venture into the wilds of Fulham. We discovered an awesome Italian restaurant that kept it simple and gave us great food at reasonable (especially for the area) prices. The wine was yummy too. After filling ourselves to the point where we had to reassess our commitment to beer as our drink for the rest of the evening, we trekked towards the Salisbury Tavern on Dawes Road. I've had the odd drink here over the last ten years and it's a decent boozer. Bumped into an old mate from St Andrews who was celebrating her 11th anniversary with her now husband. Weird. Most of the clientelle were at the apex of Sloane-dom, with glass-cutting posh accents and enough Prada and Gucci to make a St Andrews Yah blush. In fact, the scene at the bar was spookily like St Andrews. So much so that I had to drink beer and whisky to distract myself. It kind of worked. As did the mission of the night, which was to get the birthday boy drunk. Fun night. And the cab home was only a tenner. Bonus.
Yesterday I met a really lovely, nice, pretty, single girl. There was all sorts of rugby and a lunch and the team I support lost and there was curry for dinner and loads of other stuff from yesterday. But the important thing was meeting someone nice. Not that I think there's a future in it (but there may be), but it was just cool to meet someone new in London who is single. This isn't coming out right. She asked for my email address though. Which is nice.
Today someone came to look at the house. She really liked it but wouldn't be looking to buy until May. Her brother or brother-in-law (couldn't remember which) is Seamus Heaney, Nobel Laureate. She was nice. But I don't want to sell the house to anyone, even someone who's sibling(-in-law?) is one of the world's greatest living poets.
I'm listening to The Doves; The Last Broadcast. Good album.
I'll write for the rest of the day. Then I'll watch a DVD. Hopefully something to make me laugh and set somewhere there's sun. Just to remind me what it looks like.
12 January 2006
10 January 2006
A view of the Belfry
I thought I'd let you in on what the Belfry looks like. It's a bit messy at the moment, and so I thought showing it would - well, I don't know really. Perhaps inspire me to tidy it. Which was a mission for this evening, though as with most missions that include tidying, I'm finding other things to do. And during the tidying, I will find other things to do. Bits and pieces that stop me in my tracks and require a moment or two to reminisce.
This is the wall of my bedroom in the Belfry. There aren't any other pictures of the bedroom as that's a bit more public than I'm willing to be. But this pennant is now 20 years old and has some considerable sentimental value so it gets a picture.
My office. This is where I write. It's in the guest room at the top of the spiral staircase. The poster in the top right was a student movie I was in way back in '01. It's pretty messy in that picture. It's not much better now, to be honest. In fact, it's worse. Hence my need to tidy.
The Belfry guestroom/office. I took this from the top of the spiral staircase. I've hit my head so many times on that supporting beam it beggars belief. I think I knocked myself out once, but it could have just been a terrible hangover.
The guestroom again, taken from my desk, from a different angle and with my Red Sox hat slightly blurred in the forground. Thrilling eh? I best start tidying.
This is the wall of my bedroom in the Belfry. There aren't any other pictures of the bedroom as that's a bit more public than I'm willing to be. But this pennant is now 20 years old and has some considerable sentimental value so it gets a picture.
My office. This is where I write. It's in the guest room at the top of the spiral staircase. The poster in the top right was a student movie I was in way back in '01. It's pretty messy in that picture. It's not much better now, to be honest. In fact, it's worse. Hence my need to tidy.
The Belfry guestroom/office. I took this from the top of the spiral staircase. I've hit my head so many times on that supporting beam it beggars belief. I think I knocked myself out once, but it could have just been a terrible hangover.
The guestroom again, taken from my desk, from a different angle and with my Red Sox hat slightly blurred in the forground. Thrilling eh? I best start tidying.
09 January 2006
St Andrews Light
The winter light in Scotland benefits from the local stone. It seems to magnify it. It's fascinated me for a long time and I can't quite describe how or why, but I took some pics recently and hope they give a clue.
2 things that make me feel old.
This new year a couple of things cropped up to remind me that, age wise, I'm getting older. And it was nothing to do with me. It was other people. See, apparently they get older too. Allegedly at the same rate though I'm sure that it's all relative.
That's Gillon. Fine young lad of 21. I've known him since he was a baby. People that I've known since they were babies aren't permitted to grow up, much less be into their early twenties. Bloody shambles.
Now for the next pic:
Next up is this beautiful baby. You may recognise him from the previous baby photo. His name's Oliver Gilmour, and his mum is Tina. She used to kick me into the fireplace when I was 5. Tina's been like a big sister to me my entire life. And she has been a hardcore drinking buddy for about half my life. And now she's a mum. And as she's Scottish but living in the States, she's petrified her son is going to wind up calling her "mom" instead of "mum". And all that's beside the point because it just makes me feel older than 29 that every one of my old friends and some of my siblings and just about the whole world are married and having kids and mortgages and I don't even have a girlfriend.
So there. That's me. Old and petulant because one old friend has grown into a nice person and another has had a beautiful baby. :-P
That's Gillon. Fine young lad of 21. I've known him since he was a baby. People that I've known since they were babies aren't permitted to grow up, much less be into their early twenties. Bloody shambles.Now for the next pic:
Next up is this beautiful baby. You may recognise him from the previous baby photo. His name's Oliver Gilmour, and his mum is Tina. She used to kick me into the fireplace when I was 5. Tina's been like a big sister to me my entire life. And she has been a hardcore drinking buddy for about half my life. And now she's a mum. And as she's Scottish but living in the States, she's petrified her son is going to wind up calling her "mom" instead of "mum". And all that's beside the point because it just makes me feel older than 29 that every one of my old friends and some of my siblings and just about the whole world are married and having kids and mortgages and I don't even have a girlfriend.So there. That's me. Old and petulant because one old friend has grown into a nice person and another has had a beautiful baby. :-P
Some more New Years pics
Just a few more shots that I took during and after the revelry.
The ever-luminous Sophie DeLaCour.
Still-kilted Ali consumes restorative caffeine while the wonderful Karen Smart, complete with groovy pink pj's, undoes some of the damage.
My nephews with the new-to-the-world Oliver Gilmour Blaise. I was impressed at how well the boys got on with the baby.
Another snow pic. I like the old rail bridge in the background. To get to the house from the village you have drive under it.
The ever-luminous Sophie DeLaCour.
Still-kilted Ali consumes restorative caffeine while the wonderful Karen Smart, complete with groovy pink pj's, undoes some of the damage.
My nephews with the new-to-the-world Oliver Gilmour Blaise. I was impressed at how well the boys got on with the baby.
Another snow pic. I like the old rail bridge in the background. To get to the house from the village you have drive under it.
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