A little something I put together over the weekend...
Sunday, 25 September 2011
Saturday, 24 September 2011
Memoirs of a money-grubbing, invisible terrorist.
Yes, that's me! Apparently.
Over the last few weeks I've been subject to all manner of name calling, by people who don't even know me. But they are in authority, so they must be right... right?
It all started when I read the Pink News article about Sally Kern, politician from Oklahoma, claiming that gays are more dangerous that terrorists, that "homosexuality is dangerous and is spreading ...and will destroy this nation". This right on the eve of the 10th anniversary of 9/11. Talk about tact. How this mad-eyed bint ever got into power is beyond my comprehension; I'm just guessing there are a fair few like-minded bigots out there who agree with her poisonous view, which is a truly frightening thought.
This was followed by a report about Linda Harvey, another bonkers bible-basher, who claimed that LGBT people do not, in fact, exist. Man, did I have an existential crisis over that one. But, to borrow a quote from Alvin McEwen's excellent blog 'Holy Bullies and Headless Monsters':
"Actually when you think of it, her ramblings are in accordance to the religious right mindset when it comes to the gay community. To them being gay is not a sexual orientation, but an act. A "filthy, wild, passionate, hot, sweaty" act involving lots of sex.
I wish."
You said it, Alvin.
Between these two outrageous attacks on my person, I get tarred a "money-grubber" through my being a Trade Unionist. This was actually from a comment posted from a report from an online paper (forget which one), about the planned November strikes mooted after the recent TUC conference. This particular person was not happy with us naughty Union lot, causing disruption just 'cos, you know, we ain't getting paid enough and want more cash, innit. (Don't know why I went all Cockney then...).
Never mind the fact that we're actually planning action to make the government back down on job cuts, pay freezes, reduction in pensions while making people work longer and contribute more to them; you know, basic, decent wage stuff. I didn't think that was a particularly bad thing, myself. But, hey, what would I know, non-existant terrorist that I am; I've been labelled a money-grubber, so I must be. Not like those nice bankers and rich people who always pay their taxes, turn down big bonuses and generally help to drive down the deficit that we find ourselves in.
[sarcastic rant over]
Yes, you can probably tell I was not a happy monkey with all this being levelled at me. Actually I do know it wasn't aimed at me personally (hope to hell it wasn't anyway - I'd have one hell of a complex) but it just amazes me how ill-informed and judgemental people can be, especially those in positions of authority. It really gets on my man-boobs.
Anyhoo, to go back to Sally Kern's mad drivel, I was a little tiddly when I read the article and consequently was drinking and seeing red at the same time. So I penned this little bit of fluff in response.
PLEASE NOTE!
It wasn't my intention to mock any form of religious belief by this; rather it was just a little something to make me feel better and (hopefully) be enjoyed by those who like a little irreverent fun.
If you don't like it, please add a new entry to my growing list of pejorative designations.
hasta la próxima vez.
Over the last few weeks I've been subject to all manner of name calling, by people who don't even know me. But they are in authority, so they must be right... right?
It all started when I read the Pink News article about Sally Kern, politician from Oklahoma, claiming that gays are more dangerous that terrorists, that "homosexuality is dangerous and is spreading ...and will destroy this nation". This right on the eve of the 10th anniversary of 9/11. Talk about tact. How this mad-eyed bint ever got into power is beyond my comprehension; I'm just guessing there are a fair few like-minded bigots out there who agree with her poisonous view, which is a truly frightening thought.
This was followed by a report about Linda Harvey, another bonkers bible-basher, who claimed that LGBT people do not, in fact, exist. Man, did I have an existential crisis over that one. But, to borrow a quote from Alvin McEwen's excellent blog 'Holy Bullies and Headless Monsters':
"Actually when you think of it, her ramblings are in accordance to the religious right mindset when it comes to the gay community. To them being gay is not a sexual orientation, but an act. A "filthy, wild, passionate, hot, sweaty" act involving lots of sex.
I wish."
You said it, Alvin.
Between these two outrageous attacks on my person, I get tarred a "money-grubber" through my being a Trade Unionist. This was actually from a comment posted from a report from an online paper (forget which one), about the planned November strikes mooted after the recent TUC conference. This particular person was not happy with us naughty Union lot, causing disruption just 'cos, you know, we ain't getting paid enough and want more cash, innit. (Don't know why I went all Cockney then...).
Never mind the fact that we're actually planning action to make the government back down on job cuts, pay freezes, reduction in pensions while making people work longer and contribute more to them; you know, basic, decent wage stuff. I didn't think that was a particularly bad thing, myself. But, hey, what would I know, non-existant terrorist that I am; I've been labelled a money-grubber, so I must be. Not like those nice bankers and rich people who always pay their taxes, turn down big bonuses and generally help to drive down the deficit that we find ourselves in.
[sarcastic rant over]
Yes, you can probably tell I was not a happy monkey with all this being levelled at me. Actually I do know it wasn't aimed at me personally (hope to hell it wasn't anyway - I'd have one hell of a complex) but it just amazes me how ill-informed and judgemental people can be, especially those in positions of authority. It really gets on my man-boobs.
Anyhoo, to go back to Sally Kern's mad drivel, I was a little tiddly when I read the article and consequently was drinking and seeing red at the same time. So I penned this little bit of fluff in response.
PLEASE NOTE!
It wasn't my intention to mock any form of religious belief by this; rather it was just a little something to make me feel better and (hopefully) be enjoyed by those who like a little irreverent fun.
If you don't like it, please add a new entry to my growing list of pejorative designations.
hasta la próxima vez.
Friday, 9 September 2011
Trifle, Waitresses and Wheelbarrows
Our little creative writing group, formed after the finish of the Creative Writing course earlier in the year, is proving - well, really quite creative.
Here are a couple of the stories I submitted to the group:
[WARNING! CONTAINS MATERIAL THAT SOME PEOPLE MAY FIND OFFENSIVE!!]
Trifle
The Waitress and the Wheelbarrow.
Enjoy.
Here are a couple of the stories I submitted to the group:
[WARNING! CONTAINS MATERIAL THAT SOME PEOPLE MAY FIND OFFENSIVE!!]
Trifle
The Waitress and the Wheelbarrow.
Enjoy.
Thursday, 8 September 2011
A Gay Old Time!
Last weekend saw Coopers Field in Cardiff explode into colour for the annual Wales LGBT Mardi Gras, billed as 'Cardiff's Biggest Free Party'! This year I was helping out on the PCS Wales stall, which proved to be a long but really enjoyable day. From what I could see, it was a lot busier this year than the last couple and the atmosphere there was just terrific.
What is great about the Mardi Gras is the mix of people - drag queens, leathermen, daddies, transvestites, butch dykes, lipstick lesbians and twinks in purple shorts all mingling with the straights who just want to be part of the day, all sharing the same space. It really is an inspiring sight just watching everyone being able to be themselves. Shame it can't be like this in the real world, eh!
The stall was a big success too, with a lot of attention from people who were after the freebies. This year we had two petitions on the go (in support of gay marriage and to save the Equality and Human Rights Commission from government cuts) for which you could get a free lollipop. We got a lot of signatures!
Luckily, the predicted rain held off until we were packing up to go. And when Mike kindly dropped me back at my lodgings I was still wired from the days events - took two or three glasses of Tesco Value Whiskey to get me back down. And then later (when Stu and I had planned to go to the newly opened Eagle Bar in Charles Street) I crashed big time. Needless to say we spent the night in!
Still, it had been worth it. And I'd happily do it all over again next year.
Here are pictures from the day. Big thanks to Jan and Mike for letting me be part of it!
What is great about the Mardi Gras is the mix of people - drag queens, leathermen, daddies, transvestites, butch dykes, lipstick lesbians and twinks in purple shorts all mingling with the straights who just want to be part of the day, all sharing the same space. It really is an inspiring sight just watching everyone being able to be themselves. Shame it can't be like this in the real world, eh!
The stall was a big success too, with a lot of attention from people who were after the freebies. This year we had two petitions on the go (in support of gay marriage and to save the Equality and Human Rights Commission from government cuts) for which you could get a free lollipop. We got a lot of signatures!
Luckily, the predicted rain held off until we were packing up to go. And when Mike kindly dropped me back at my lodgings I was still wired from the days events - took two or three glasses of Tesco Value Whiskey to get me back down. And then later (when Stu and I had planned to go to the newly opened Eagle Bar in Charles Street) I crashed big time. Needless to say we spent the night in!
Still, it had been worth it. And I'd happily do it all over again next year.
Here are pictures from the day. Big thanks to Jan and Mike for letting me be part of it!
Friday, 2 September 2011
Life Immobile
[That title makes it sound like I'm disabled or unable to move. It's actually neither. I just thought it would make an interesting header]
Back in July, I lost Rowdy. That's the name for the Peugeot 306 that my niece kindly gave to me before she started her travels back last year. I took Rowdy to the garage for the yearly MOT. They told me Rowdy was very sick. Would probably not survive. That is not without a large injection of cash - were talking about £500+ (and my garage always underestimates to a quite alarming degree). So, with much heartache, I had to put Rowdy down. Or at least cancel the tax/insurance and make sure I left him in a place that would safely be considered "off-road" for legal purposes. Currently outside Stu's flat in Rumney. And just when I want some lout to nick it, no bastard would. You just can't rely on the youth of today, eh?
But I made the most of old Rowdy - he got us safely down to my nephew's wedding party in Hampshire at the end of the month and back (his last big trip) no problem. And I do miss him. Little money trap that he was.
So what now? Well, I've embraced public transport. And I have to be honest, it's pretty good. Cardiff Bus offer a particularly good deal where you can get a weekly ticket for Fourteen of my hard earned Pounds and it gets me unlimited travel around Cardiff for seven days. AND to Newport (where I work) and back as well! How good is that!!
But what about trips to the family home in Abingdon I hear you ask? Well, I have to rely on Great Western Rail for that, which is pretty pricey. Not so bad if I travel after six o'clock. And to be honest, it's quite nice just to sit back and watch the countryside roll by instead of having to focus on an infinite piece of tarmac. I can enjoy a glass of wine and everything! How cool is that!! There's a lot to be said for this public transport lark, I must say.
Inevitably though I will succumb and get myself yet another vehicle at some point. I have been through four different cars since 2003. It's the MOT that kills them off. Why can't we just run cars until they fall apart on the road??
As a somewhat ironic footnote to this, I have to attend a 'Speed Awareness Course' in a week's time. I was caught doing 35 in a 30mph zone on Newport Road into Cardiff a couple of months back and now have the choice of attending the course or having three points on my licence. The irony is that I no longer have a car. Ha!
Back in July, I lost Rowdy. That's the name for the Peugeot 306 that my niece kindly gave to me before she started her travels back last year. I took Rowdy to the garage for the yearly MOT. They told me Rowdy was very sick. Would probably not survive. That is not without a large injection of cash - were talking about £500+ (and my garage always underestimates to a quite alarming degree). So, with much heartache, I had to put Rowdy down. Or at least cancel the tax/insurance and make sure I left him in a place that would safely be considered "off-road" for legal purposes. Currently outside Stu's flat in Rumney. And just when I want some lout to nick it, no bastard would. You just can't rely on the youth of today, eh?
But I made the most of old Rowdy - he got us safely down to my nephew's wedding party in Hampshire at the end of the month and back (his last big trip) no problem. And I do miss him. Little money trap that he was.
So what now? Well, I've embraced public transport. And I have to be honest, it's pretty good. Cardiff Bus offer a particularly good deal where you can get a weekly ticket for Fourteen of my hard earned Pounds and it gets me unlimited travel around Cardiff for seven days. AND to Newport (where I work) and back as well! How good is that!!
But what about trips to the family home in Abingdon I hear you ask? Well, I have to rely on Great Western Rail for that, which is pretty pricey. Not so bad if I travel after six o'clock. And to be honest, it's quite nice just to sit back and watch the countryside roll by instead of having to focus on an infinite piece of tarmac. I can enjoy a glass of wine and everything! How cool is that!! There's a lot to be said for this public transport lark, I must say.
Inevitably though I will succumb and get myself yet another vehicle at some point. I have been through four different cars since 2003. It's the MOT that kills them off. Why can't we just run cars until they fall apart on the road??
As a somewhat ironic footnote to this, I have to attend a 'Speed Awareness Course' in a week's time. I was caught doing 35 in a 30mph zone on Newport Road into Cardiff a couple of months back and now have the choice of attending the course or having three points on my licence. The irony is that I no longer have a car. Ha!
Friday, 26 August 2011
Lance Actually Updates Blog Shock!
It's been a while since I've updated this blog. Actually, scrap that - it's been bloody ages since I updated this blog. I'd like to say it's because I've been busy with work, life, gardening, cooking, travelling, etc. - really not the case. Just been bone bastard idle.
Anyway, this little missive is an attempt at getting back into it
Bye.
Ha! Only joking. No, but seriously, that's it for now. However, I have found out how to link some of my writing to the blog via the wonder of DropBox. Here are a couple of stories:
THE SHADOW - I submitted this for the creative writing course I was on earlier in the year;
THE SCENT - Started writing this back in 2009 after the death of my mother and decided to finish and included it as part of my planned 'Senses' quintet of stories.
Enjoy.
Anyway, this little missive is an attempt at getting back into it
Bye.
Ha! Only joking. No, but seriously, that's it for now. However, I have found out how to link some of my writing to the blog via the wonder of DropBox. Here are a couple of stories:
THE SHADOW - I submitted this for the creative writing course I was on earlier in the year;
THE SCENT - Started writing this back in 2009 after the death of my mother and decided to finish and included it as part of my planned 'Senses' quintet of stories.
Enjoy.
Friday, 8 July 2011
What The Hell Just Happened??
Okay, it's Friday, about 2.30 and I'm on my way to visit my father in Abingdon. Currently I'm sat in the bizarre oasis that is Leigh Delamere Service Station, home of weary travellers and extortionately priced coffee. Nothing so unusual in that, you might think.
Trouble is I seem to have pinged into a parallel universe.
It was fine until I left work. A short drive to Tesco was in order just to top up on diesel and then I'd be on my way. I pulled up to a pump and selected 'Pay At Pump' as usual. After my details had been entered I attempted to remove the fuel cap. It wouldn't come off. At all. All it did was slide round and round like some children's toy. Exasperated I took the ignition key and pushed it into the hole to see if it was locked. It wouldn't go in. I nervously eyed the ever growing train of cars building up behind me; this was not good.
Eventually I had to give up on it; nothing would move that cap out of the hole that held it fast. The stabs of angry motorists' eyes bore into me, so I quickly got into the car and put the key into the ignition. The key wouldn't go into there either.
Oh shit.
Major panic was flushing through my tightening muscles now - what the hell could I do? A horn sounded behind me. Oh fuck off, I thought, I'm too busy having a nervous breakdown. Eventually with a lot of wriggling (and cursing) I got the key enough into the hole to be able to turn it and the engine spluttered into life. Phew. To the relief of the drivers behind me I pulled away, my face a picture of embarrassment.
I gauged that I had enough fuel to get me to Abingdon so I headed to the M4. But this event had shaken me and I nervously crawled up the sliproad onto the motorway. The heavens opened, lorries flew past leaving trails of blinding mist in their wake while other motorists glee fully put their collective feet down to see who could cause the biggest pile-up first. I'm usually quite a calm driver. Today, in this strangely skewed reality, I was terrified.
I couldn't get to Leigh Delamere services quick enough. And yet sat here, typing this with a much needed coffee at my side, things still don't feel right. I see creatures all around me in the shape of human beings but I know they are all weird aliens. Some random woman just came up to me and asked how I could get on the Internet in a service station. Although I was polite to her, I could see the menace behind her eyes and sense the lengths of tendrils snaking round underneath her human form.
But I can't put it off any longer. I am going to have to quit this consumerist hell-hole and venture out into the curtain of rain. Better be quick too - my car key seems to be permanently buggered and I couldn't lock the door.
Next time I go by train. First class of course. Preferably with a carriage all to myself.
Trouble is I seem to have pinged into a parallel universe.
It was fine until I left work. A short drive to Tesco was in order just to top up on diesel and then I'd be on my way. I pulled up to a pump and selected 'Pay At Pump' as usual. After my details had been entered I attempted to remove the fuel cap. It wouldn't come off. At all. All it did was slide round and round like some children's toy. Exasperated I took the ignition key and pushed it into the hole to see if it was locked. It wouldn't go in. I nervously eyed the ever growing train of cars building up behind me; this was not good.
Eventually I had to give up on it; nothing would move that cap out of the hole that held it fast. The stabs of angry motorists' eyes bore into me, so I quickly got into the car and put the key into the ignition. The key wouldn't go into there either.
Oh shit.
Major panic was flushing through my tightening muscles now - what the hell could I do? A horn sounded behind me. Oh fuck off, I thought, I'm too busy having a nervous breakdown. Eventually with a lot of wriggling (and cursing) I got the key enough into the hole to be able to turn it and the engine spluttered into life. Phew. To the relief of the drivers behind me I pulled away, my face a picture of embarrassment.
I gauged that I had enough fuel to get me to Abingdon so I headed to the M4. But this event had shaken me and I nervously crawled up the sliproad onto the motorway. The heavens opened, lorries flew past leaving trails of blinding mist in their wake while other motorists glee fully put their collective feet down to see who could cause the biggest pile-up first. I'm usually quite a calm driver. Today, in this strangely skewed reality, I was terrified.
I couldn't get to Leigh Delamere services quick enough. And yet sat here, typing this with a much needed coffee at my side, things still don't feel right. I see creatures all around me in the shape of human beings but I know they are all weird aliens. Some random woman just came up to me and asked how I could get on the Internet in a service station. Although I was polite to her, I could see the menace behind her eyes and sense the lengths of tendrils snaking round underneath her human form.
But I can't put it off any longer. I am going to have to quit this consumerist hell-hole and venture out into the curtain of rain. Better be quick too - my car key seems to be permanently buggered and I couldn't lock the door.
Next time I go by train. First class of course. Preferably with a carriage all to myself.
Tuesday, 5 July 2011
Save The Laundry!
Poor Stu.
No sooner had I cooked him breakfast (of scrambled eggs in fried open cup mushrooms) then his phone goes and he is summoned into work to cover for a stylist who had phoned in sick. On a Sunday of all days - the only day we really get together. He was not happy but grudgingly agreed to go in. I said I'd drive him down to the salon; being yet another glorious day, I thought a cuppa in the Waterloo Gardens Teahouse next door to the salon would slip down a treat.
So, with an Orange and Lemon Rooibos tea and a slice of pistachio and rose cake, I settled back to read a bit more of Patrick Dillon's The Much Lamented Death of Madame Geneva. Then I noticed on the counter a flyer entitled 'SAVE THE OLD LAUNDRY'. Upon reading this I realised it referred to the large Victorian building on Marlborough Road in Penylan, with Blenheim Road running alongside it.
Ever since moving to this area in 2004 I had always been fascinated by this large, red-brick, industrial looking building (at that time being used as a carpet and flooring showroom) and quite unable to fathom what its original purpose was. It looked like it was once some kind of factory, but the ornate entrance was rather confusing. The large area surrounding it, contained within a brick-walled perimeter, also contained a number of outhouses.
Apparently it was built in 1898 as a laundry for the expanding suburbs of Roath and Penylan, whose residents needed somewhere to get their dirties cleaned. Being a product of the Victorian era explained the elaborate entrance. It was originally surrounded on three sides by fields; something that didn't last long once the building of the terraces and Marlborough Road school started in earnest. The laundry fell into disrepair in the 1920s and has been for many years a retail showroom.
And now it has been purchased for demolition and for retirement homes to be built on the site. Which is all well and good I suppose but it would be a real shame for yet another part of Cardiff history to vanish. The flyer I picked up was from the campaign to save the existing building and to use it for another purpose, such as an arts centre (which would be brilliant - right on my doorstep!). But I can't see that happening somehow.
So I set myself a mission for the morning - to take pictures of the Old Laundry before it disappeared forever. It was great light for photography and the sky was blue enough to contrast with the red brick of the building. It was also kinda sad too, knowing that this intriguing survivor of the Victorian era would soon be condemned to dust. But I guess that's the nature of cities - any available space will end up being built upon and this acre of land must be gold in property developers eyes. At least this won't end up as another Tesco, Starbucks or bloody Greggs.
Anyway, here are the pics I took on that Sunday morning while my poor partner worked his wonder on waiting wigs*.
And here are a couple of related links: Save The Old Laundry Facebook page and an excellent blog entry by Peter Finch on the Old Laundry, which proved a great source of information about the building.
*He doesn't actually do anything with wigs, but the alliteration in that sentence was too hard to resist!
No sooner had I cooked him breakfast (of scrambled eggs in fried open cup mushrooms) then his phone goes and he is summoned into work to cover for a stylist who had phoned in sick. On a Sunday of all days - the only day we really get together. He was not happy but grudgingly agreed to go in. I said I'd drive him down to the salon; being yet another glorious day, I thought a cuppa in the Waterloo Gardens Teahouse next door to the salon would slip down a treat.
So, with an Orange and Lemon Rooibos tea and a slice of pistachio and rose cake, I settled back to read a bit more of Patrick Dillon's The Much Lamented Death of Madame Geneva. Then I noticed on the counter a flyer entitled 'SAVE THE OLD LAUNDRY'. Upon reading this I realised it referred to the large Victorian building on Marlborough Road in Penylan, with Blenheim Road running alongside it.
Ever since moving to this area in 2004 I had always been fascinated by this large, red-brick, industrial looking building (at that time being used as a carpet and flooring showroom) and quite unable to fathom what its original purpose was. It looked like it was once some kind of factory, but the ornate entrance was rather confusing. The large area surrounding it, contained within a brick-walled perimeter, also contained a number of outhouses.
Apparently it was built in 1898 as a laundry for the expanding suburbs of Roath and Penylan, whose residents needed somewhere to get their dirties cleaned. Being a product of the Victorian era explained the elaborate entrance. It was originally surrounded on three sides by fields; something that didn't last long once the building of the terraces and Marlborough Road school started in earnest. The laundry fell into disrepair in the 1920s and has been for many years a retail showroom.
And now it has been purchased for demolition and for retirement homes to be built on the site. Which is all well and good I suppose but it would be a real shame for yet another part of Cardiff history to vanish. The flyer I picked up was from the campaign to save the existing building and to use it for another purpose, such as an arts centre (which would be brilliant - right on my doorstep!). But I can't see that happening somehow.
So I set myself a mission for the morning - to take pictures of the Old Laundry before it disappeared forever. It was great light for photography and the sky was blue enough to contrast with the red brick of the building. It was also kinda sad too, knowing that this intriguing survivor of the Victorian era would soon be condemned to dust. But I guess that's the nature of cities - any available space will end up being built upon and this acre of land must be gold in property developers eyes. At least this won't end up as another Tesco, Starbucks or bloody Greggs.
Anyway, here are the pics I took on that Sunday morning while my poor partner worked his wonder on waiting wigs*.
And here are a couple of related links: Save The Old Laundry Facebook page and an excellent blog entry by Peter Finch on the Old Laundry, which proved a great source of information about the building.
*He doesn't actually do anything with wigs, but the alliteration in that sentence was too hard to resist!
Saturday, 2 July 2011
Cutting Into The Morning
No matter how young I still feel in my head, my body keeps on reminding me how old I actually am. Or older perhaps. It just won't shut up about it.
Take this week for example. Having danced my feet down to stumps in Exit last Saturday and then up at stupid o'clock in the morning for the strike on Thursday, my body decided that I was in my mid-trillions and acted accordingly. My legs turned to wood (not good for the tap dancing) and my mind was about as sharp as jellied eel. I tried to do some trade mark examination at work yesterday, but it just wasn't happening - I was too busy dribbling into the pc keyboard and nearly short-circuiting it.
So instead I took half day and headed back to my lodgings in Roath, with the intention of editing the footage of the picket lines that I'd videod on the 30th. I had just purchased a Ministry of Sound compilation dance thingy and put that on to get the momentum going. And it worked, to be fair.
But the editing was taking its time - having worked out a structure to it, all I needed to do was slot the relevant clips into position and export it from iMovie. Simple, yes? Oh no, not the way I do it. Is that shot just a few frames too long? Is the speech legible, or should I add a filter to it? Ooh, I don't like that gap in the soundtrack between shots - what can I replace it with? Shouldn't I put a few more cutaways here? Oh no, it's looking murky; should I post it off and have it colour graded??
Hence I was editing way into the evening and past midnight; about 2 in the morning I was trying to do a chromakey title that just wouldn't work, much to my frustration. But it was pretty much all assembled by this time, so I reluctantly powered down the Mac and crawled into bed next to my gently snoring partner. If only my mind powered down as easily.
Trouble is, once I start doing something like this, I have a hard time putting the brakes on. I remember when I was studying the animation module at Newport College (now the University of Wales, Newport); I'd be up ALL night, my mind kept awake by endless cigarettes and cups of coffee, my hands blackened by charcoal that was scribbled onto each individual sheet of A4 and my lungs choking with the cheap hairspray that was used to fix the charcoal. I was in my late 20s at that time and even back then it took its toll the next day. I think if I even attempted that now this blog would have to be communicated through a medium.
But it's Saturday, I've just about recovered from the late night and I'm finally content (well, content-ish) with the cut of the video that I'm currently uploading to Facebook, YouTube, etc. The sound is pretty bad though and makes me seriously consider getting a proper HD video camera if I'm going to do more video work.
I should really get some writing done today (that creative impetus has gone by the by this week what with one thing and another) but the sun is out, the sky is blue and I feel the call of the wild. By that I mean a nice stroll round Roath Park.
I just hope I don't fall asleep on a park bench. A comatose, dribbling, 40-something male is never a nice sight.
Take this week for example. Having danced my feet down to stumps in Exit last Saturday and then up at stupid o'clock in the morning for the strike on Thursday, my body decided that I was in my mid-trillions and acted accordingly. My legs turned to wood (not good for the tap dancing) and my mind was about as sharp as jellied eel. I tried to do some trade mark examination at work yesterday, but it just wasn't happening - I was too busy dribbling into the pc keyboard and nearly short-circuiting it.
So instead I took half day and headed back to my lodgings in Roath, with the intention of editing the footage of the picket lines that I'd videod on the 30th. I had just purchased a Ministry of Sound compilation dance thingy and put that on to get the momentum going. And it worked, to be fair.
But the editing was taking its time - having worked out a structure to it, all I needed to do was slot the relevant clips into position and export it from iMovie. Simple, yes? Oh no, not the way I do it. Is that shot just a few frames too long? Is the speech legible, or should I add a filter to it? Ooh, I don't like that gap in the soundtrack between shots - what can I replace it with? Shouldn't I put a few more cutaways here? Oh no, it's looking murky; should I post it off and have it colour graded??
Hence I was editing way into the evening and past midnight; about 2 in the morning I was trying to do a chromakey title that just wouldn't work, much to my frustration. But it was pretty much all assembled by this time, so I reluctantly powered down the Mac and crawled into bed next to my gently snoring partner. If only my mind powered down as easily.
Trouble is, once I start doing something like this, I have a hard time putting the brakes on. I remember when I was studying the animation module at Newport College (now the University of Wales, Newport); I'd be up ALL night, my mind kept awake by endless cigarettes and cups of coffee, my hands blackened by charcoal that was scribbled onto each individual sheet of A4 and my lungs choking with the cheap hairspray that was used to fix the charcoal. I was in my late 20s at that time and even back then it took its toll the next day. I think if I even attempted that now this blog would have to be communicated through a medium.
But it's Saturday, I've just about recovered from the late night and I'm finally content (well, content-ish) with the cut of the video that I'm currently uploading to Facebook, YouTube, etc. The sound is pretty bad though and makes me seriously consider getting a proper HD video camera if I'm going to do more video work.
I should really get some writing done today (that creative impetus has gone by the by this week what with one thing and another) but the sun is out, the sky is blue and I feel the call of the wild. By that I mean a nice stroll round Roath Park.
I just hope I don't fall asleep on a park bench. A comatose, dribbling, 40-something male is never a nice sight.
Friday, 1 July 2011
The Caffeine-Fuelled Protest
This morning as I was about to depart at ridiculous o'clock, I kissed Stu goodbye as is customary. He eyed my outfit blearily.
"That doesn't make sense".
I looked down at myself. "What?"
"What you're wearing."
I guess I could see his point; I did have on camouflage trousers and a high-vis PCS jacket - a somewhat contradictory attire. Nevertheless, it was my choice, as I did feel as if preparing for battle today.
Today of course is June 30th, the day when the teaching unions NUT, ATL and UCU along with public sector union PCS are all out on strike against the government's draconian plans to cut pensions, pay, working conditions and jobs in... well, just about everywhere in the public sector. I was requested to capture this momentous day in the medium of video, focusing specifically on Newport.
Film and video being my thing of course, I gladly accepted and armed myself with my trusty Fujifilm FinePix S5800, a spare pack of batteries, two 2GB memory cards and my 5th Gen iPod Nano should I need a spare voice recorder and/or video camera. And a flask of very strong coffee.
A note about the coffee; it was my chief sustenance and stimulant throughout the morning as I barely ate anything (the exception being a tray of the greasiest chips ever from a Newport fish'n'chipperie... they just slid down before I even had time to chew them).
But it was a great morning and in my capacity of videographer I got to visit various different picket lines; the IPO/ONS, Nash College, DWP offices in the town centre, the Passport Office and University of Wales, Newport, City Campus. And I got a lot of footage - just as well I brought the spare memory card - and some great soundbites.
Then I hit a wall around 10.30 and seriously started flagging... time for more coffee. Luckily the City Campus of the University of Wales, Newport had a (sort of) canteen type place, where for £1 you were given a paper cup to fill up from a hot drinks dispenser. I wasn't arguing though - I needed the caffeine urgently.
A rally, organised by Newport Trades Council, began in John Frost Square at 12 and was reasonably well attended. But then this is Newport - a city that was once steeped in history, famous for the Chartist Rising of 1839, that now just seems dogged with depression and apathy. (And I lived there for 5 years - the most depressing and apathetic time of my life). The speakers however - from PCS, the teaching unions, local Labour councillors and the fabulous Pippa Bartolotti from the Green Party - made up vocally for the lack of enthusiasm from the locals.
I decided that an overhead shot from the window of Newport Library, overlooking the square, was needed. So I climbed the stairs to the top floor and got a nice dramatic shot of the scene below. Ooh look, there's a coffee machine up here too! Yet another £1 for a paper cupful but I was fading again by this time (plus the walk up the stairs had nearly finished me off). So I put the money in and chose 'freshly ground coffee'. Big mistake. I swear each individual bean was being roasted over a tea-light before being ground by mice in mittens, it took that long to produce. I was getting desperate and people around me were backing away, probably due to the sound of my grinding teeth and the sight of my bulging, reddening eyes - just like Arnold Schwarzennegar in Total Recall. Luckily, the cup was full of brown hot liquid before my head exploded Scanners style.
Coffee cravings notwithstanding, it was a great day and we all felt like we had achieved something. The Newport rally may have been small in comparison to those held in Bristol and Cardiff, but we did the best with what we had and I am proud to have been part of it.
The video footage I captured looks great (although the sound is lousy - note to self: get a proper dedicated video camera!) and I've got ideas on how best to edit it. May take a while but I do tend to fuss over these things. I meant to get straight down to editing when I got back to Cardiff. Instead I ended up face down in a microwaved chicken korma from Tesco. Guess I just can't hack early mornings anymore.
"That doesn't make sense".
I looked down at myself. "What?"
"What you're wearing."
I guess I could see his point; I did have on camouflage trousers and a high-vis PCS jacket - a somewhat contradictory attire. Nevertheless, it was my choice, as I did feel as if preparing for battle today.
Today of course is June 30th, the day when the teaching unions NUT, ATL and UCU along with public sector union PCS are all out on strike against the government's draconian plans to cut pensions, pay, working conditions and jobs in... well, just about everywhere in the public sector. I was requested to capture this momentous day in the medium of video, focusing specifically on Newport.
Film and video being my thing of course, I gladly accepted and armed myself with my trusty Fujifilm FinePix S5800, a spare pack of batteries, two 2GB memory cards and my 5th Gen iPod Nano should I need a spare voice recorder and/or video camera. And a flask of very strong coffee.
A note about the coffee; it was my chief sustenance and stimulant throughout the morning as I barely ate anything (the exception being a tray of the greasiest chips ever from a Newport fish'n'chipperie... they just slid down before I even had time to chew them).
But it was a great morning and in my capacity of videographer I got to visit various different picket lines; the IPO/ONS, Nash College, DWP offices in the town centre, the Passport Office and University of Wales, Newport, City Campus. And I got a lot of footage - just as well I brought the spare memory card - and some great soundbites.
Then I hit a wall around 10.30 and seriously started flagging... time for more coffee. Luckily the City Campus of the University of Wales, Newport had a (sort of) canteen type place, where for £1 you were given a paper cup to fill up from a hot drinks dispenser. I wasn't arguing though - I needed the caffeine urgently.
A rally, organised by Newport Trades Council, began in John Frost Square at 12 and was reasonably well attended. But then this is Newport - a city that was once steeped in history, famous for the Chartist Rising of 1839, that now just seems dogged with depression and apathy. (And I lived there for 5 years - the most depressing and apathetic time of my life). The speakers however - from PCS, the teaching unions, local Labour councillors and the fabulous Pippa Bartolotti from the Green Party - made up vocally for the lack of enthusiasm from the locals.
I decided that an overhead shot from the window of Newport Library, overlooking the square, was needed. So I climbed the stairs to the top floor and got a nice dramatic shot of the scene below. Ooh look, there's a coffee machine up here too! Yet another £1 for a paper cupful but I was fading again by this time (plus the walk up the stairs had nearly finished me off). So I put the money in and chose 'freshly ground coffee'. Big mistake. I swear each individual bean was being roasted over a tea-light before being ground by mice in mittens, it took that long to produce. I was getting desperate and people around me were backing away, probably due to the sound of my grinding teeth and the sight of my bulging, reddening eyes - just like Arnold Schwarzennegar in Total Recall. Luckily, the cup was full of brown hot liquid before my head exploded Scanners style.
Coffee cravings notwithstanding, it was a great day and we all felt like we had achieved something. The Newport rally may have been small in comparison to those held in Bristol and Cardiff, but we did the best with what we had and I am proud to have been part of it.
The video footage I captured looks great (although the sound is lousy - note to self: get a proper dedicated video camera!) and I've got ideas on how best to edit it. May take a while but I do tend to fuss over these things. I meant to get straight down to editing when I got back to Cardiff. Instead I ended up face down in a microwaved chicken korma from Tesco. Guess I just can't hack early mornings anymore.
Monday, 27 June 2011
Under Glass
I find that whatever creative endeavours I am involved in, a nice bit of Philip Glass in the background works wonders. I'm not sure why this is - I'm guessing the rhythmic repetition of this particular minimalist composer's music drives me on. Of course, it depends on what works of his I'm listening to; I'm not sure I could cope with his earlier experimental pieces, but the later, orchestral ones ("Low" and "Heroes" Symphonies, soundtracks to Koyaanisqatsi and Powaqqatsi, Itaipu, etc) are perfect for this purpose. The track "It Was Always You, Helen" from the Candyman soundtrack album is one of the most beautiful things I have heard.
I did get to see the great man in concert just once, at the Wales Millennium Centre in Cardiff, circa 2005, where they screened Koyaanisqatsi with a live performance of the score. (I was a bit far back, but could just make out his curly hair). Somewhat disappointingly, it wasn't performed by a full orchestra but rather on electronic instruments. It was still a fantastic experience though, to see that hypnotically beautiful piece of film-making on the big screen, with the added bonus of the live score.
I even created my own tribute to him in a short electronic piece called "Under Glass", way back in 2000. It's not brilliant, but I may stick it on DeviantArt at some point. Speaking of which, that's where I'll put my written work, once I get it set up properly.
And speaking of written work, I think I may have almost finished "The Scent" (see previous blog entry) - it's taken a long time to write (not surprising, being a very personal and emotionally affecting piece) but I am finally happy with it. Just a few cosmetic tinkerings perhaps and it'll be ready for publishing.
Just as well too; I've got Gloria banging on for attention, vampires at my window, a homeless guy trapped in a cemetery, various oddballs living in a highrise and a twisted threesome to contend with. I think my brain's going to explode. Luckily, Mr Glass has just arrived with the first movement of his "Low" symphony to calm and inspire me.
Suddenly all is well.
I did get to see the great man in concert just once, at the Wales Millennium Centre in Cardiff, circa 2005, where they screened Koyaanisqatsi with a live performance of the score. (I was a bit far back, but could just make out his curly hair). Somewhat disappointingly, it wasn't performed by a full orchestra but rather on electronic instruments. It was still a fantastic experience though, to see that hypnotically beautiful piece of film-making on the big screen, with the added bonus of the live score.
I even created my own tribute to him in a short electronic piece called "Under Glass", way back in 2000. It's not brilliant, but I may stick it on DeviantArt at some point. Speaking of which, that's where I'll put my written work, once I get it set up properly.
And speaking of written work, I think I may have almost finished "The Scent" (see previous blog entry) - it's taken a long time to write (not surprising, being a very personal and emotionally affecting piece) but I am finally happy with it. Just a few cosmetic tinkerings perhaps and it'll be ready for publishing.
Just as well too; I've got Gloria banging on for attention, vampires at my window, a homeless guy trapped in a cemetery, various oddballs living in a highrise and a twisted threesome to contend with. I think my brain's going to explode. Luckily, Mr Glass has just arrived with the first movement of his "Low" symphony to calm and inspire me.
Suddenly all is well.
Saturday, 25 June 2011
Playful Phantoms and a Feisty Female
Well, it happened to me again this morning. You know, it's Saturday, no need to get up, a nice lie in to look forward to. But would my mind let me rest? Oh no - as is becoming increasingly irritating, it had other ideas...
Making good headway on my planned quintet of supernatural short stories based on the five senses, I only needed a story built around the sense of touch. I toyed with the idea of having an older person who is paraplegic and is visited by playful phantoms who pleasure the character by touching them. Even though the character is biologically unable to sense anything from the waist down, these little demons can pleasure by supernatural means. (I deliberately refer to these supernatural entities as 'phantoms' based on the medical condition of 'phantom pain'; for example when an amputee feels a sensation in a limb that is no longer there). In this case, the phantoms are here only to gratify and not torture the individual. It seemed like a perverse enough idea. I decided to run with it.
And then, at 7.30 this morning, after Stu had got up to go to work, that's when Gloria popped into my head. This 70 year old paraplegic, nearly blind and unable to speak wasn't going to let me rest any longer until she nailed the role of being my protagonist. I could resist no longer. With a sigh, I dragged my 43 year old body out from under the comfortable duvet and into the living room where Stu was having his breakfast.
"What are you doing up?".
I fired up the MacBook. "I've got a 70 year old woman banging on about being pleasured by phantoms. She won't go away until I've committed her. To the computer that is."
"Oh right. Well, since you're up, how about giving me a lift to work?"
Gloria would have to wait that little bit longer.
I'm finding that since I've started writing in earnest, one of the most satisfying aspects is character development. I'll spend a fair bit of time rounding these characters out - their background, upbringing, circumstances and how all of these affect their personality. That in turn provides them with motivation which helps drive the narrative, make it more believable. And so it is with Gloria - and she is proving a fun character to develop.
I set her age at 70 which means that (this being a story set in contemporary London) she was born in 1941, a baby of the blitz - in fact, I like the idea of her being born during a bombing raid, popping out in an Anderson shelter, or one of the London Underground stations adapted for such use. She turns out to be a troublesome, fiercely independent, playful and highly precocious child, running amok during the Festival of Britain flashing her privates to boys and then fully embracing sexual freedom in the 60s and 70s. Later during the recession years of the late 80s and early 90s, she uses her fading beauty to allure an older Italian businessman (who leaves his wife and family for her) and therefore secure her future.
This story is intended to be the most uplifting and humorous of the five, the others being either dark, gruesome or just sad. I like the idea that even though this woman's body is failing, her mind is still as sharp as a razor. I intend to write it first-person narrative; this to me seems the best approach of getting her character and inner thoughts across. Also, there's the aspect of receiving sexual pleasure in advanced years, something not written about enough I think (our culture being so obsessed with youth!), especially from an elderly woman's point of view. This is her remaining pleasure in life, to welcome these little phantoms whose sole purpose is to tickle her fancy, so to speak.
So Gloria got her way and is now the star of this particular story. But I like her character a lot already and can see her worming her way into future fictional enterprises too. That's ok though, she'd be most welcome; I just wouldn't count on her behaving herself.
Anyway, back to writing. And then a bit of rest. I've agreed to go out on the gay scene in Cardiff tonight, something I've not done in a long time. I may not survive. On the other hand I may get lots of inspiration for future characters. We shall see.
Hasta la vez próxima.
Making good headway on my planned quintet of supernatural short stories based on the five senses, I only needed a story built around the sense of touch. I toyed with the idea of having an older person who is paraplegic and is visited by playful phantoms who pleasure the character by touching them. Even though the character is biologically unable to sense anything from the waist down, these little demons can pleasure by supernatural means. (I deliberately refer to these supernatural entities as 'phantoms' based on the medical condition of 'phantom pain'; for example when an amputee feels a sensation in a limb that is no longer there). In this case, the phantoms are here only to gratify and not torture the individual. It seemed like a perverse enough idea. I decided to run with it.
And then, at 7.30 this morning, after Stu had got up to go to work, that's when Gloria popped into my head. This 70 year old paraplegic, nearly blind and unable to speak wasn't going to let me rest any longer until she nailed the role of being my protagonist. I could resist no longer. With a sigh, I dragged my 43 year old body out from under the comfortable duvet and into the living room where Stu was having his breakfast.
"What are you doing up?".
I fired up the MacBook. "I've got a 70 year old woman banging on about being pleasured by phantoms. She won't go away until I've committed her. To the computer that is."
"Oh right. Well, since you're up, how about giving me a lift to work?"
Gloria would have to wait that little bit longer.
I'm finding that since I've started writing in earnest, one of the most satisfying aspects is character development. I'll spend a fair bit of time rounding these characters out - their background, upbringing, circumstances and how all of these affect their personality. That in turn provides them with motivation which helps drive the narrative, make it more believable. And so it is with Gloria - and she is proving a fun character to develop.
I set her age at 70 which means that (this being a story set in contemporary London) she was born in 1941, a baby of the blitz - in fact, I like the idea of her being born during a bombing raid, popping out in an Anderson shelter, or one of the London Underground stations adapted for such use. She turns out to be a troublesome, fiercely independent, playful and highly precocious child, running amok during the Festival of Britain flashing her privates to boys and then fully embracing sexual freedom in the 60s and 70s. Later during the recession years of the late 80s and early 90s, she uses her fading beauty to allure an older Italian businessman (who leaves his wife and family for her) and therefore secure her future.
This story is intended to be the most uplifting and humorous of the five, the others being either dark, gruesome or just sad. I like the idea that even though this woman's body is failing, her mind is still as sharp as a razor. I intend to write it first-person narrative; this to me seems the best approach of getting her character and inner thoughts across. Also, there's the aspect of receiving sexual pleasure in advanced years, something not written about enough I think (our culture being so obsessed with youth!), especially from an elderly woman's point of view. This is her remaining pleasure in life, to welcome these little phantoms whose sole purpose is to tickle her fancy, so to speak.
So Gloria got her way and is now the star of this particular story. But I like her character a lot already and can see her worming her way into future fictional enterprises too. That's ok though, she'd be most welcome; I just wouldn't count on her behaving herself.
Anyway, back to writing. And then a bit of rest. I've agreed to go out on the gay scene in Cardiff tonight, something I've not done in a long time. I may not survive. On the other hand I may get lots of inspiration for future characters. We shall see.
Hasta la vez próxima.
Wednesday, 22 June 2011
A Fish Out Of School
Whilst going through folders of old paperwork to compile the list of projects (mentioned in my last post) I came across some old stories written when I was at secondary school. I surprised myself at how good they were, but what also struck me was how the themes of insecurity and paranoia kept cropping up within the neatly inked pages of A4.
That got me thinking of my time at school (ooh! bad idea!) and about the kind of person I was back then. I can't say I had a really bad time at the place - I was only moderately bullied and made fun of, nothing I couldn't handle - but I never really embraced learning at that time. I used to dream the lessons away, my head so far in the clouds I'm surprised Air Traffic Control wasn't on permanent alert. Consequently I was one of those invisible students - not brilliant, not so awful that they had to be constantly monitored - just average. Even the other children didn't seem to notice me (here Mister Cellophane from Chicago springs to mind), apart from the few friends I had.
I think back at the time I wasted hanging around at lunchtimes, in the doorway to the main building (which was also the entrance to the boys toilets... oh man, how bad does that look), just doing nothing, waiting for the wretched bell to ring in another tedious lesson. If I could travel back in time I would march that young man by the ear to the library and make him read until his eyes bled. It's easy for me to think now that I should have made more of my time at school, but it just wasn't me back then.
Apart from English lessons, of course, which I loved. I finally left Fitzharrys Secondary in 2005, with two 'O' levels both in English - language and literature - and a handful of CSEs. And I was never happier to leave. The irony of it all is at that point I suddenly became interested in learning. So that's what I did, which resulted in a degree from the Open University, finally achieved in 2005, twenty years after leaving school. In-between and since that time I've attended numerous work-placed and evening classes - Spanish, Japanese, IT, desktop publishing, drawing, tap-dancing, therapeutic massage, creative writing - plus an abortive attempt to get a degree at Newport Art College (as it was then called) in Film and Animation. I find the older I get the more I want to learn; even that invisus dictata maths suddenly has an appeal - c'mon, I can't be the only one who finds algebraic equations arousing??
I was also thinking about how much I've changed as a person since those early years. I'm more confident now then I've ever been in my life, but still people label me 'quiet'. (Apart from when I'm writing blogs, then I can't shut the hell up about myself.) I suppose that's true, but compared to some people I'm practically mute. But that's ok - I'm comfortable with myself now, knowing that I've made up for lost time and still have a lot more that I want to achieve.
As for the stories I had written I'm proud of what I did back then and who knows? I may use them as future projects. The creative vein has been tapped and I'm simply haemorrhaging stories. Well, maybe a slight exaggeration. But If you don't see another entry on here then you know that I've shuffled off this mortal coil due to literary induced anaemia.
Anyway, that's enough of that. I've got a chilli on the stove and a DVD of Alex Proyas's wonderfully dark The Crow to watch with Stu later. Good times!
That got me thinking of my time at school (ooh! bad idea!) and about the kind of person I was back then. I can't say I had a really bad time at the place - I was only moderately bullied and made fun of, nothing I couldn't handle - but I never really embraced learning at that time. I used to dream the lessons away, my head so far in the clouds I'm surprised Air Traffic Control wasn't on permanent alert. Consequently I was one of those invisible students - not brilliant, not so awful that they had to be constantly monitored - just average. Even the other children didn't seem to notice me (here Mister Cellophane from Chicago springs to mind), apart from the few friends I had.
I think back at the time I wasted hanging around at lunchtimes, in the doorway to the main building (which was also the entrance to the boys toilets... oh man, how bad does that look), just doing nothing, waiting for the wretched bell to ring in another tedious lesson. If I could travel back in time I would march that young man by the ear to the library and make him read until his eyes bled. It's easy for me to think now that I should have made more of my time at school, but it just wasn't me back then.
Apart from English lessons, of course, which I loved. I finally left Fitzharrys Secondary in 2005, with two 'O' levels both in English - language and literature - and a handful of CSEs. And I was never happier to leave. The irony of it all is at that point I suddenly became interested in learning. So that's what I did, which resulted in a degree from the Open University, finally achieved in 2005, twenty years after leaving school. In-between and since that time I've attended numerous work-placed and evening classes - Spanish, Japanese, IT, desktop publishing, drawing, tap-dancing, therapeutic massage, creative writing - plus an abortive attempt to get a degree at Newport Art College (as it was then called) in Film and Animation. I find the older I get the more I want to learn; even that invisus dictata maths suddenly has an appeal - c'mon, I can't be the only one who finds algebraic equations arousing??
I was also thinking about how much I've changed as a person since those early years. I'm more confident now then I've ever been in my life, but still people label me 'quiet'. (Apart from when I'm writing blogs, then I can't shut the hell up about myself.) I suppose that's true, but compared to some people I'm practically mute. But that's ok - I'm comfortable with myself now, knowing that I've made up for lost time and still have a lot more that I want to achieve.
As for the stories I had written I'm proud of what I did back then and who knows? I may use them as future projects. The creative vein has been tapped and I'm simply haemorrhaging stories. Well, maybe a slight exaggeration. But If you don't see another entry on here then you know that I've shuffled off this mortal coil due to literary induced anaemia.
Anyway, that's enough of that. I've got a chilli on the stove and a DVD of Alex Proyas's wonderfully dark The Crow to watch with Stu later. Good times!
Monday, 20 June 2011
Persistence of Vision
On my Mac's hard drive, there is a folder entitled 'List of projects, real, imaginary and some that will never ever see the light of day'. It's exactly that - a long list of titles for film projects, sourced from old scrapbooks, diaries and random scribblings, all the ideas that I can remember having, no matter how bizarre, stupid, crazy, smutty or downright morally reprehensible they might be.
The reason?
Well, one day not so long back I felt the need to compile this list of potential projects to remind myself of the ideas I've had over the years and hopefully kick start a much needed period of creativity. Now that I have decided to dedicate myself to writing, some of these former ideas are proving useful (for example, a story in the works that I've provisionally titled The Boy Of My Dreams is based on a film idea I had in the mid '80s).
Please don't get the wrong impression - I was never a professional 'film-maker'! True, I used to tinker about making little animated doodlings and such on Super 8 stock, but I was no Derek Jarman. (Or Michael Winner, thank the lord). I was interested in film from a young age - or perhaps more specifically the cinematic experience. The sheer spectacle of the original Star Wars and Superman blew me away in the late seventies and I think I've seen Superman II more times than any other film at the cinema to date. The criminally under-rated Dragonslayer and technically stunning Poltergeist scared the hell out of me. And then, when puberty hit, I expanded my cinematic horizons to include gay themed dramas: Another Country, My Beautiful Laundrette, Caravaggio and RW Fassbinder's sweatily erotic and intellectually baffling Querelle were among the many titles I greedily consumed.
In the mid to late 80s I frequented the twin centres of filmic goodness, the Penultimate Picture Palace and Not The Moulin Rouge in Oxford, both showing crazily eclectic double bills in their shabby interiors; sheer bliss for a young cinephile. (By the way, the Penultimate still exists as the Ultimate Picture Palace, but sadly Not The Moulin Rouge was demolished in the early 90s to make flats - it was indeed a sad day. Here is a good site about the former cinema). On heavy rotation in these palaces of flickering wonderment were such classics as Midnight Cowboy, Annie Hall, The Seven Samurai, Harold and Maude, anything by Fellini, Pasolini and Visconti and of course, the queen of cult movies, The Rocky Horror Picture Show.
I was fascinated by the film medium, not only as a storytelling tool, but also the technical aspects of creating movies. Lighting, camera angles, sound, music (separate blog entry for this subject in the works) and especially editing all interested me. Then I finally got my hands on a Fuji Single-8 camera in the late 80s, which gave me the opportunity to create my own mini-masterpieces. While I loved the shooting of film, the editing process was the aspect that truly fascinated me; how raw footage could be put together in a way that could create an impression and yet cut in a different way could create something quite different. (This is me doing just that). And of course, the role that special effects played in creating illusions; needless to say mine were extremely low-tech smoke and mirrors stuff usually involving - well, literally smoke and mirrors.
But it was a pricey hobby and one that I couldn't sustain, especially after I left home. However, once I moved to Wales I succumbed to video as a cheap means of creating movies and I made some little visual experiments. They still exist on numerous Hi-8 tapes, which, now I have iMovie on the Mac, I intend to digitise and use in future filmic creations. Coming soon to a YouTube near you!
As far as the cinema goes, I still go as often as I can and supplement it with old, new and rare titles rented from LoveFilm.
And of course the list mentioned above will continue to inspire my written efforts. On the subject of which, I re-read the vampire story I hastily wrote in the early hours of Sunday morning today. It's totally obscene. I consider it my best ever work*.
*It's actually neither, but I feel it has potential, albeit with a fair bit of revision!
The reason?
Well, one day not so long back I felt the need to compile this list of potential projects to remind myself of the ideas I've had over the years and hopefully kick start a much needed period of creativity. Now that I have decided to dedicate myself to writing, some of these former ideas are proving useful (for example, a story in the works that I've provisionally titled The Boy Of My Dreams is based on a film idea I had in the mid '80s).
Please don't get the wrong impression - I was never a professional 'film-maker'! True, I used to tinker about making little animated doodlings and such on Super 8 stock, but I was no Derek Jarman. (Or Michael Winner, thank the lord). I was interested in film from a young age - or perhaps more specifically the cinematic experience. The sheer spectacle of the original Star Wars and Superman blew me away in the late seventies and I think I've seen Superman II more times than any other film at the cinema to date. The criminally under-rated Dragonslayer and technically stunning Poltergeist scared the hell out of me. And then, when puberty hit, I expanded my cinematic horizons to include gay themed dramas: Another Country, My Beautiful Laundrette, Caravaggio and RW Fassbinder's sweatily erotic and intellectually baffling Querelle were among the many titles I greedily consumed.
In the mid to late 80s I frequented the twin centres of filmic goodness, the Penultimate Picture Palace and Not The Moulin Rouge in Oxford, both showing crazily eclectic double bills in their shabby interiors; sheer bliss for a young cinephile. (By the way, the Penultimate still exists as the Ultimate Picture Palace, but sadly Not The Moulin Rouge was demolished in the early 90s to make flats - it was indeed a sad day. Here is a good site about the former cinema). On heavy rotation in these palaces of flickering wonderment were such classics as Midnight Cowboy, Annie Hall, The Seven Samurai, Harold and Maude, anything by Fellini, Pasolini and Visconti and of course, the queen of cult movies, The Rocky Horror Picture Show.
I was fascinated by the film medium, not only as a storytelling tool, but also the technical aspects of creating movies. Lighting, camera angles, sound, music (separate blog entry for this subject in the works) and especially editing all interested me. Then I finally got my hands on a Fuji Single-8 camera in the late 80s, which gave me the opportunity to create my own mini-masterpieces. While I loved the shooting of film, the editing process was the aspect that truly fascinated me; how raw footage could be put together in a way that could create an impression and yet cut in a different way could create something quite different. (This is me doing just that). And of course, the role that special effects played in creating illusions; needless to say mine were extremely low-tech smoke and mirrors stuff usually involving - well, literally smoke and mirrors.
But it was a pricey hobby and one that I couldn't sustain, especially after I left home. However, once I moved to Wales I succumbed to video as a cheap means of creating movies and I made some little visual experiments. They still exist on numerous Hi-8 tapes, which, now I have iMovie on the Mac, I intend to digitise and use in future filmic creations. Coming soon to a YouTube near you!
As far as the cinema goes, I still go as often as I can and supplement it with old, new and rare titles rented from LoveFilm.
And of course the list mentioned above will continue to inspire my written efforts. On the subject of which, I re-read the vampire story I hastily wrote in the early hours of Sunday morning today. It's totally obscene. I consider it my best ever work*.
*It's actually neither, but I feel it has potential, albeit with a fair bit of revision!
Sunday, 19 June 2011
Blood and Voices
It's 1am on Sunday morning. You're wide awake. You can't sleep. Your mind is just too active.
What do you do?
Write a vampire story of course!
Hey it worked for me. After writing the last entry, I had an incredibly creative splurge yesterday afternoon, spurred on by an online conversation with a Facebook friend (big respect to you Mr. L!). While working on 'The Scent' (which is beginning to take a more acceptable form), I got a idea to make a collection of five supernatural stories based on the five senses. I already had sight and smell covered ('Shadow' and 'The Scent') now I needed three others. Then it came to me (in the early hours) that a vampire tale would suit the sense of taste perfectly. And once this was in my mind I couldn't switch it off (and never was the title of this blog more justified). So I crept out of bed (so as not to wake Stu up), fired up the MacBook and committed the story to the hard drive.
Unusually for me, I wrote the story from start to finish in one go - normally I tend to start off with key events and expand out from there. But this one seemed flow naturally, and I found I had pretty much the whole thing written down in less than an hour. It was based on an idea I had many years ago where a young man is visited by his best friend who is now a vampire. This was well before the likes of the Twilight saga or even Interview With The Vampire; I think it was more likely inspired by Tobe Hooper's superior TV movie Salem's Lot which scared me shitless as a child. Those scenes with the children floating outside the window... oh my god!!
I guess what also attracted me at the time was the homoerotic imagery associated with this scenario; to a young gay boy the idea of one man necking another was pretty sexy (and back then I had to envision my own homoerotic images, none being available to me!). That too found it's way into the story, which I wrote first person narrative, from the perspective of the vampire. I haven't gone back to it yet (been pretty much comatose for much of the day) and may find it's a pile of shite that needs completely reworking (or binning). Or maybe 1am in the morning will prove to be my peak creative time. In which case my working life is buggered.
Stu blearily emerged from the bedroom for a slash at about 3am and eyed me suspiciously, feverishly typing in the darkness of his living room. I had to reassure him that was writing fiction, rather than perusing porn or chatting with guys on Gaydar. I'm not sure if he was convinced.
And then, just as I was about to retire, another idea came to me. A while back when I was visiting St Sepulchre's Cemetery in Oxford I had another idea for a short story, which I immediately had to commit to paper. Purchasing a cheap pad and a pen from a local store on Walton Street, I settled with a coffee in Manos Deli and scribbled some notes. I had no idea where to take it - all I had was a young homeless guy chasing his dog who had bounded into the overgrown cemetery (which actually happened as I was leaving the place - at least I assumed this young man was homeless). But it felt like the start of something.
Then it came to me last night that this could form the basis of a 'hearing' sense story, where the young guy ventures into the cemetery to retrieve his dog only to find it sitting on a fallen tombstone with disembodied voices issuing from it. I was beginning to creep myself out at this point and also it was getting on for four in the morning. So I finally crawled in next to Stu. But even then my mind wouldn't cease it's infernal synaptic exchange of ideas - it was too busy thinking of what to put in this blog entry.
By the way, St Sepulchres is a really lovely little cemetery. Here are some pics I took of it when I visited: http://www.flickr.com/photos/oxoboy/sets/72157626556592729/
What do you do?
Write a vampire story of course!
Hey it worked for me. After writing the last entry, I had an incredibly creative splurge yesterday afternoon, spurred on by an online conversation with a Facebook friend (big respect to you Mr. L!). While working on 'The Scent' (which is beginning to take a more acceptable form), I got a idea to make a collection of five supernatural stories based on the five senses. I already had sight and smell covered ('Shadow' and 'The Scent') now I needed three others. Then it came to me (in the early hours) that a vampire tale would suit the sense of taste perfectly. And once this was in my mind I couldn't switch it off (and never was the title of this blog more justified). So I crept out of bed (so as not to wake Stu up), fired up the MacBook and committed the story to the hard drive.
Unusually for me, I wrote the story from start to finish in one go - normally I tend to start off with key events and expand out from there. But this one seemed flow naturally, and I found I had pretty much the whole thing written down in less than an hour. It was based on an idea I had many years ago where a young man is visited by his best friend who is now a vampire. This was well before the likes of the Twilight saga or even Interview With The Vampire; I think it was more likely inspired by Tobe Hooper's superior TV movie Salem's Lot which scared me shitless as a child. Those scenes with the children floating outside the window... oh my god!!
I guess what also attracted me at the time was the homoerotic imagery associated with this scenario; to a young gay boy the idea of one man necking another was pretty sexy (and back then I had to envision my own homoerotic images, none being available to me!). That too found it's way into the story, which I wrote first person narrative, from the perspective of the vampire. I haven't gone back to it yet (been pretty much comatose for much of the day) and may find it's a pile of shite that needs completely reworking (or binning). Or maybe 1am in the morning will prove to be my peak creative time. In which case my working life is buggered.
Stu blearily emerged from the bedroom for a slash at about 3am and eyed me suspiciously, feverishly typing in the darkness of his living room. I had to reassure him that was writing fiction, rather than perusing porn or chatting with guys on Gaydar. I'm not sure if he was convinced.
And then, just as I was about to retire, another idea came to me. A while back when I was visiting St Sepulchre's Cemetery in Oxford I had another idea for a short story, which I immediately had to commit to paper. Purchasing a cheap pad and a pen from a local store on Walton Street, I settled with a coffee in Manos Deli and scribbled some notes. I had no idea where to take it - all I had was a young homeless guy chasing his dog who had bounded into the overgrown cemetery (which actually happened as I was leaving the place - at least I assumed this young man was homeless). But it felt like the start of something.
Then it came to me last night that this could form the basis of a 'hearing' sense story, where the young guy ventures into the cemetery to retrieve his dog only to find it sitting on a fallen tombstone with disembodied voices issuing from it. I was beginning to creep myself out at this point and also it was getting on for four in the morning. So I finally crawled in next to Stu. But even then my mind wouldn't cease it's infernal synaptic exchange of ideas - it was too busy thinking of what to put in this blog entry.
By the way, St Sepulchres is a really lovely little cemetery. Here are some pics I took of it when I visited: http://www.flickr.com/photos/oxoboy/sets/72157626556592729/
Saturday, 18 June 2011
All About Mother
Among the stories I'm juggling at the moment, the one I want to focus on is titled 'The Scent'. Again it's a short story with a supernatural element and based closely on an experience I had.
To explain...
My mother died in February 2009 after a long battle with cancer. Her health had been declining for the last few years and I remember while we were on holiday in Cornwall late 2008 how drained and frail she looked - it shocked me. Also that year, she suddenly started discussing funeral arrangements with us - something that we didn't want to hear, but was important to her. I guess she kind of knew then (subconsciously perhaps) that she didn't have much longer to live.
Then during January of 2009, she took a turn for the worse and was admitted into The Churchill hospital in Oxford. I rushed across from Cardiff to visit her and to help out Dad who needed support. The doctors at the Churchill couldn't really help her and, when persisted by us about her condition, all they could say was "she is very unwell". I suppose they didn't want to alarm us by bluntly stating "she is dying", but I knew that's what they meant.
Mercifully she didn't live much longer after being admitted - it was so distressing to see her deteriorate rapidly the few days she was there and last day I visited she could barely communicate. The news of her death hit us all hard, even though we were expecting it. At the same time it was a relief to know that she was no longer suffering. I take comfort in the last coherent thing she said to me: "Don't worry about me, I've had a good life". And she had.
Anyway...
'The Scent' is about Alice, a woman in her late 30s, who goes into her deceased mother's bedroom and senses a presence there, the unmistakeable scent of her mother. (It's something I experienced a few days after mum had died - there was a real sense of her there, her bodily aroma, as if she were in the very room with me.) Alice addresses the darkness of her mother's room, speaking about the how the family is coping and asking for forgiveness for the times she was, as she sees it, a 'bad daughter'. (I didn't do that, by the way.)
This story is more of a character driven piece than 'Shadow', but the supernatural element is there, in the form of the presence of the deceased mother (or is Alice just imagining this, using the situation to clear her guilty conscience? Ah ha...) I have used my own family as inspiration for Alice and her siblings, and the mother's character is practically based on my own. (Sorry mum, hope you don't mind me doing this.) By the way, Alice isn't supposed to be me, but a composite of myself with other personalities within the family.
It's also proving more difficult to write, not only emotionally but also at a technical level - I read through a rough draft of it yesterday and was appalled at how clunky it sounded. It is going to need a fair bit of work on it before I can even consider it halfway acceptable. But I believe it's worth spending the time on. And if it gets too much, I can always take a break and do some more work on yet another supernatural creation, the twisted love-triangle story I've provisionally titled 'The Boy Of My Dreams'. This one is necessarily much lighter and (hopefully) funnier.
On a final note, 'The Scent' isn't intended to be about the afterlife! I'm not a religious person (certainly not any organised form of religion), but I have a fascination with spirituality, the supernatural, the unseen... I like to think there's more going on around us than we can perceive with our five senses!
Right, I've put on 'Riceboy Sleeps' by Jónsi & Alex to get me into a sufficiently chilled mood - time to get down to some serious typing.
To explain...
My mother died in February 2009 after a long battle with cancer. Her health had been declining for the last few years and I remember while we were on holiday in Cornwall late 2008 how drained and frail she looked - it shocked me. Also that year, she suddenly started discussing funeral arrangements with us - something that we didn't want to hear, but was important to her. I guess she kind of knew then (subconsciously perhaps) that she didn't have much longer to live.
Then during January of 2009, she took a turn for the worse and was admitted into The Churchill hospital in Oxford. I rushed across from Cardiff to visit her and to help out Dad who needed support. The doctors at the Churchill couldn't really help her and, when persisted by us about her condition, all they could say was "she is very unwell". I suppose they didn't want to alarm us by bluntly stating "she is dying", but I knew that's what they meant.
Mercifully she didn't live much longer after being admitted - it was so distressing to see her deteriorate rapidly the few days she was there and last day I visited she could barely communicate. The news of her death hit us all hard, even though we were expecting it. At the same time it was a relief to know that she was no longer suffering. I take comfort in the last coherent thing she said to me: "Don't worry about me, I've had a good life". And she had.
Anyway...
'The Scent' is about Alice, a woman in her late 30s, who goes into her deceased mother's bedroom and senses a presence there, the unmistakeable scent of her mother. (It's something I experienced a few days after mum had died - there was a real sense of her there, her bodily aroma, as if she were in the very room with me.) Alice addresses the darkness of her mother's room, speaking about the how the family is coping and asking for forgiveness for the times she was, as she sees it, a 'bad daughter'. (I didn't do that, by the way.)
This story is more of a character driven piece than 'Shadow', but the supernatural element is there, in the form of the presence of the deceased mother (or is Alice just imagining this, using the situation to clear her guilty conscience? Ah ha...) I have used my own family as inspiration for Alice and her siblings, and the mother's character is practically based on my own. (Sorry mum, hope you don't mind me doing this.) By the way, Alice isn't supposed to be me, but a composite of myself with other personalities within the family.
It's also proving more difficult to write, not only emotionally but also at a technical level - I read through a rough draft of it yesterday and was appalled at how clunky it sounded. It is going to need a fair bit of work on it before I can even consider it halfway acceptable. But I believe it's worth spending the time on. And if it gets too much, I can always take a break and do some more work on yet another supernatural creation, the twisted love-triangle story I've provisionally titled 'The Boy Of My Dreams'. This one is necessarily much lighter and (hopefully) funnier.
On a final note, 'The Scent' isn't intended to be about the afterlife! I'm not a religious person (certainly not any organised form of religion), but I have a fascination with spirituality, the supernatural, the unseen... I like to think there's more going on around us than we can perceive with our five senses!
Right, I've put on 'Riceboy Sleeps' by Jónsi & Alex to get me into a sufficiently chilled mood - time to get down to some serious typing.
Friday, 17 June 2011
Prologue
My very first venture into the strange world of Blogging. Not really sure what to expect. But here goes.
I guess I really want to write about... well, writing. Having completed my first short story for a creative writing course held at work, my mind is now ablaze (not literally, although I do smell burning sometimes) with ideas - new ones, old ones, things that just pop into my head or that something that I've seen/overheard in public. I have written stories before but the last one I penned (or more accurately typed) was somewhat, how shall we say, 'racy'... yes, I think I'll leave it at that. It's likely not for most tastes, not unless you like the idea of two men getting friendly.
The story for the course is called 'Shadow', a short supernatural story about a teenage boy who discovers something very unsettling down a dark alley. The alley and the boy are based on reality, the former being in my home town of Abingdon and the latter being (loosely) based on myself. The actual supernatural element didn't happen to me, but I did venture down that dark alley in on a perverse whim of frightening myself.
I'm sure this blog will eventually encompass other stuff too, such as my photography, travels, various odd art projects. Like I say, I'll give it a go and see where it leads. By the way, the title of the blog I came up with on the spur of the moment ages ago. I think I'll keep it as most of the time the noise is in my head... it just never seems to find the way out.
Now, how do I get this published...
I guess I really want to write about... well, writing. Having completed my first short story for a creative writing course held at work, my mind is now ablaze (not literally, although I do smell burning sometimes) with ideas - new ones, old ones, things that just pop into my head or that something that I've seen/overheard in public. I have written stories before but the last one I penned (or more accurately typed) was somewhat, how shall we say, 'racy'... yes, I think I'll leave it at that. It's likely not for most tastes, not unless you like the idea of two men getting friendly.
The story for the course is called 'Shadow', a short supernatural story about a teenage boy who discovers something very unsettling down a dark alley. The alley and the boy are based on reality, the former being in my home town of Abingdon and the latter being (loosely) based on myself. The actual supernatural element didn't happen to me, but I did venture down that dark alley in on a perverse whim of frightening myself.
I'm sure this blog will eventually encompass other stuff too, such as my photography, travels, various odd art projects. Like I say, I'll give it a go and see where it leads. By the way, the title of the blog I came up with on the spur of the moment ages ago. I think I'll keep it as most of the time the noise is in my head... it just never seems to find the way out.
Now, how do I get this published...
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