The Tempeance Society and The Theatre

Well, where to begin? You will notice that I've been a bit absent in recent days. It's been such a mad dramatic time this past week - all sorts of upheavals and turmoil (much more than usual). The 'positive thinking' that I eschewed so enthusiastically in my last posting didn't quite hold up, not entirely anyway. And yes - before you say anything - I know, I know, positive thinking should engender more positive thinking and if I have allowed any negative thoughts to cloud my demeanour, then it's my fault. Of course it is, it's always my fault, but sometimes things take a turn in such a way that it becomes difficult to defend oneself against the Black Dog.

True, there have been some fun times in the last week. My lovely daughters were both in the country at the same time and we had some jolly canters around the fleshpots of Nottingham I can tell you, and some warm and loving contact too. I'm not complaining about that, because that was the high point of the week, yes indeed. Of course, we ate too much and we drank too much (more of that later), but we also enjoyed some of the best summer sunshine that we've had this year and I was able to do plenty of cruising around with the hood down on the car. The visit of the daughters was all too short, unfortunately, and before too long I was left alone again as they soared off into the skies, ready for their next adventures.

And alone I am - and it's never been more painful than it is now. However, for once I have recognized what it is that is contributing to this fact. It's alcohol. Yes, alcohol (I have discovered) isolates me from a real understanding of life and this in turn causes me to be isolated from real life itself. On Sunday, I lost touch with all reality to a point where I failed to maintain good relations with anyone around me, and consequently caused myself some clear problems with a number of people. This was not good, oh no.

So, I have given it up. Yes, I have stopped drinking alcohol completely. I'm on Day Two at the moment, and it's very tough, I can tell you. Having a cup of tea while I was preparing dinner wasn't nearly as much fun as sipping on the usual large glass of Rioja, but at least the dinner was prepared correctly. And reading in bed last night with a glass of water instead of the usual three fingers of Bushmills wasn't so gorgeously relaxing, but at least I could focus on the words in the book. So, hurrah for temperance! I can't imagine what life without alcohol is going to be like (and to be honest, it frightens me), but I'm expecting (hoping) that it's going to be a life of improved Quality. And Quality of Life is what we all seek, n'est-ce pas?

And now, for some good news! Our Stageplay Festival is fast approaching! Rehearsals are going well and in just a little over two short weeks, the Festival will be upon us! More details can be had by clicking here, and if that excites you, then tickets for all of the shows can be purchased here. Come on, Nottingham has never seen anything like this before - so give it a go!

Ooh, I suddenly feel that the positive thinking is returning..... hurrah!

No Stopping!

So in summary then, it's all about positive thinking. Everything that any of us has ever seen or done has always, always been about positive thinking - or at least it should have been. Gandhi said: "A man is but the product of his thoughts. What he thinks, he becomes." This is a tremendously simple maxim, and yet it is perhaps the one fundamental truth about us that we often ignore. This is an adage that has been passed down to us by all great thinkers throughout the ages, and yet still many of us simply don't get it. How many of us have heard the well-known axiom "Mind over matter", indeed how many of us have even uttered these words ourselves, yet we continue to allow what we presume to be external circumstances to bring us down?

Well, now it is time to take this simple truism and to put it into practice. Nothing that ever happens to us has come about without us having thought it. If you consider where you are right now, you will realize that you are standing in a spot that is situated at the very end of a long and winding road. To arrive at that spot you have made countless, countless decisions along the way - some quite grand, some quite small, and some infinitesimal - but you are only standing where you stand as a direct result of all those decisions. And what's more, you will only move from that spot by making yet another decision (and move you must, because the road is a freeway with big fat 'No Stopping' signs all along the side). Whatever you think now - however important or however trivial that thought may be - will change your life forever.

So, now that we understand this, doesn't it make sense to make the next thought a positive one? Of course it does. Only by thinking positive can we be sure to make the correct choice at the next turn in the road that lies ahead. It may be a cliché, but when Confucius said: "A journey of a thousand miles begins with a single step", he wasn't joking.

Forget about the enormity of the task; forget about the obstacles that appear to stand in your way - and remember that there is no outside force that can affect your life unless you give that force its own power with your thoughts. The greatest power is within you. "We are what we think. With our thoughts, we make our world." (Buddha)

So, out you all go - quick, get to it! There is no magic 'secret' to any of this. It's plain common sense. Accentuate the positive, eliminate the negative, hang on to the affirmative, and don't (no, please don't) mess with Mr In-Between!

"Imagine what you want, and what you will get in return is unimaginable."
(Dolores McKliskey-Beauchamp 1907-2003)

Night Of Torment

I think it's been quite interesting, this hung parliament business. I'm not going to go into all the politics of the situation - I've done all that (we've all done all that) in the last twenty-four hours, and there are many points of view to consider; some valid and some just plain hysterical. Even some have been just plain bigoted, of course.

But last night's antics (Tuesday 11th May), whilst being hugely fascinating, had me wondering about the poor old Queen. Just imagine, she had her evening ruined by all the comings and goings of those two selfish boys Brown & Cameron. Picture if you will, a typical Tuesday evening at Buck House - we don't know exactly what goes on there, but it could be something like this:

Scene One: Interior of Her Majesty's bedroom. Her Majesty, dressed in full leathers and a spiked dog collar, is just finishing tying Philip, naked and spread-eagled, to the bed. The doorbell rings.

HM: Who the blazes is that at this time of night?
Butler (outside the door): Your Majesty - I'm afraid Gordon Brown is downstairs. He says it's very urgent.
HM: (wearily) Oh, that old fool? What the fuck does he want? (sighs). Okay, tell him I'll be down in a bit.

HM quickly shimmies out of her leathers and dons a posh frock, hastily clipping on a diamond brooch worth more than the gross assets of Manchester United FC. She rushes out of the room, not forgetting to place a ball-gag in Philip's mouth first.

Scene Two: State room at Buck House. HM shakes Gordon Brown's hand.

GB: Your Majesty, it is with regret that I have come to tender my resignation as your Prime Minister. I know how disappointed you must be to -
HM: (interrupting) Yes, yes, whatever. Nice knowing you Gordy. Now, good night. And close the door on your way out please.

Scene Three: Interior of Buck House. HM races back up the stairs, enters the bedroom and breathless, throws off the frock and re-dons the leathers and dog-collar.

HM: (to a struggling Philip) Now, bitch. I've just had to deal with that old toadie Brown. This has put me in a mean, mean mood. And you, my little prince-dog, are going to suffer for that.

HM picks up evil-looking whip and approaches the bed. The doorbell rings again.

HM: WTF? Who the hell can it be this time?
Butler (outside the door): Your Majesty - I'm afraid David Cameron is downstairs. He says it's very urgent.
HM: (wearily) Oh, that stuck-up little fart? (sighs). Okay, tell him I'll be down in a bit.

HM quickly shimmies out of leathers again and dons a different posh frock, hastily hanging a pearl necklace worth more than the gross assets of Lord Sugar around her neck. She rushes out of the room, not forgetting to apply some vicious-looking clamps to Philip's nipples first.

Scene Four: State room at Buck House. HM shakes David Cameron's hand.

DC: Your Majesty, I have come to seek your permission to form a new government.
HM: Well you can't, so there! You're like a commuter train - you don't have enough seats. Ha ha!
DC: (somewhat ruffled) Well, apart from the fact that you've probably never even been on a commuter train Ma'am, I can tell you that I have that nice Mr Clegg's full support for this.
HM: What? Do you think you two can actually handle it? Really? Oh well, whatever. I always suspected that you two were a pair of bum-boys anyway. Get on with it then, but don't go thinking you can bring him along for the weekly audience with me. One face (that's yours) that resembles a slapped arse is enough, so I don't need two of them, thank you very much. Good night.

Scene Five: Interior of Buck House. HM races back up the stairs, enters the bedroom and breathless, throws off the frock and re-dons the leathers and dog-collar.

HM: (to an even more struggling Philip) Now, slut. I've just had to deal with that chinless wonder Cameron. This has put me in an even meaner mood. And for you, my little Greek slave-boi, that is some very bad news indeed....

********

I mean, it's just not fair, is it? Can't that poor woman have a night of simple fun when she wants it? Those selfish politicians are just plain thoughtless, that's what they are.

Robin Hood, Robin Hood...

Well, I had an excellent time yesterday. The event I spoke of in my last posting, and which I attended yesterday afternoon, was exceptionally good. Lisa Holdsworth is both a gifted writer and a wonderful human being (not always an accepted combination in a writer, believe me). Lisa has written extensively for some of the most popular British television shows - her credits include Fat Friends, New Tricks, Emmerdale and Waterloo Road, but today's event was focussed on her contribution to the BBC series Robin Hood because Nottinghamshire is celebrating what it has called 'Robin Hood Month' to coincide with the release of Ridley Scott's latest blockbuster film about our own local legendary folk hero.

Yesterday's 'Audience With Lisa Holdsworth' was organized and presented by scriptwriter Stuart William Hosker and turned out to be a slick and professional event of great interest for all of us who attended. Stuart's consummate questioning tapped just the right vein of Lisa's experience, and her many anecdotes from the world of TV were both edifying and humorous. She's a lovely, warm and funny individual - self effacing, modest (and goodness, she shouldn't be - not with her achievements), generous with her advice, and totally totally professional. It was a delight to meet her and to listen to her talk about the fascinating script-to-screen process and the many-a-slip that features between cup and lip therein...

It must be great fun writing for television, but I'm not sure that I'd want to do it (even if I had the opportunity). Sure, the money is great - but it's a bit like writing for film where the writer usually becomes invisible. In film, all the publicity and interest is centred on the director and the leading actors; in TV it's really more about the cast and the characters than anything (even the director gets ignored in TV). And yes, I suppose it really shouldn't matter that the writer gets no recognition from the public, because a writer's only motivation should be that he/she wants to write, and nothing more than that. But it's also nice to be noticed, and if you're a novelist or a playwright, your name features much more strongly than in these other media, and you get the recognition that I suspect we all narcissistically crave. On the other hand of course, most jobbing writers would say this: Which is more important - massaging the ego, or paying the mortgage?

I can't really speak for Lisa in respect of her own motivation, but my guess would be that for her, writing is just a job - but it just so happens that it's a job she loves, and a job she does well. Good for her, I say.

And talking of jobs, I have to report to you that I'm still required at the salt mines each day, so I'd better make a start on the ironing before tomorrow's alarm clock comes calling all too soon. At the thought of that, all the motivation that I gained from yesterday's event has quite suddenly evaporated. Oh, sod the ironing - let's have another Bloody Mary!

Check This Out!

This is just a quick update, but on Saturday I am going to this event:

IN CONVERSATION WITH ... LISA HOLDSWORTH

Arnold Library (Nottingham) Saturday 8 May, 2pm

Lisa Holdsworth (successful television writer for hit BBC shows such as Waterloo Road, New Tricks, Fat Friends and ITV's Emmerdale) offers an insight into television writing and how to take the process from script-to-screen. She will also be talking about her experiences in writing episodes for BBC's flagship programme Robin Hood. To celebrate Nottinghamshire's Robin Hood month, and the cinema release of Ridley Scott's Robin Hood film, Lisa will be discussing how the BBC's creative team adapted the local folklore legend for the screen, and the creative decisions that were made along the way. She will also discuss her own writing background, the television writing industry both present and future, before inviting questions from the audience.

This is a free event, and a great opportunity to gain insight into writing for television, in particular writing for prime time family-viewing shows.

For more information and to book yourself a place, call: 0115 920 2247

Why don't you come along too? See you there!

Enjoy Your Trip?

Ooh la la, Monsieur. Yes, I have been for a jolly jape to Paris – always a good tonic when the spirits are low (as mine have been in recent weeks). It couldn't have been better timed too – for as well as the deadened mood that I had previously been enduring, last week was one hell of a crazy merry-go-round of events, that's for sure. As part of Broadway's ScreenLit festival, there were all sorts of screenings, talks, panels and readings to attend, and that's before you start on the various parties and drinks receptions that inevitably clamour for one's attention as well. So, all week I seemed to be dashing from pillar to post meeting some fascinating people from film, theatre and television (one of whom was the fabulous Dave Spikey of 'Phoenix Nights' fame – an absolute gem of a bloke). But it was all quite exhausting.

On the night before I left for my trip, it was the grand closing party where (and I've said this before, I know) the glitterati surged into the Broadway like the massing herds of wildebeest gathering at the watering hole. Unfortunately, I was scheduled to get up at 4:00 a.m. the following morning to get to the airport, so I couldn't stay too late, but it was a great party nonetheless. Imagine my surprise then, when after a few hours of snatched sleep I ventured out into the deserted street at 5:00 a.m. to get my bus for the airport, only to discover a straggle of late revellers just making their way home from the aforesaid Broadway bash! That must have been one hell of a paarteh!

And so to Paris. Never before have I felt in such need of a total break from the fleshpots of Hockley, not least because my recent 'matters of the heart' had somehow drained my emotions of all joie de vivre. As my plane took off, I felt the oppressive load of the previous few weeks simply dissolve from my shoulders and so I (metaphorically) kicked off my shoes, sprawled back into my (metaphoric) seat of insouciance, and relaxed. What a lovely time I had too – cosseted and cared for by my daughter Sophie and her boyfriend, I felt like someone in convalescence. We visited a fascinating exhibition on 'Crime & Punishment' which included a real guillotine – I'd never seen one close up before – and the original of David's painting 'The Death of Marat' (copies of which hung on almost every student's bedroom wall – including mine - in the 1970s), and some intriguing instruments of torture that quite frankly would be more at home in a fetish club in Birmingham (not that I've ever visited one, of course).

We had a delightful lunch with Sophie's charming in-laws; played pétanque in the park whilst drinking copious amounts of the obligatory pastis; watched the French equivalent of the FA Cup Final on TV (Paris St Germain won, appropriately enough). We flâned our way through the Marais district to observe the men kissing in the streets (so that's why they call it 'Gay Paree'); and we ate fried duck in the May Day gala on the banks of the River Seine. There was no sightseeing, no tourism, no photographs (well, I did have one of me taken in front of Serge Gainsborough's house), just a lovely, lovely, relaxing time.

"I want to take a stroll
down the Champs-Élysées,
Do some window shopping
in the Rue de la Paix.
That's for me:
Bonjour, Paris!"

And so, back to the salt mines tomorrow....