A New Life!

Oh dear - if any of you are still out there, dear listeners, then I'm so sorry that I haven't written for so long. You've probably all deserted me anyway because you must have thought I had died, or that possibly I was in prison. Why wouldn't you?

Well strangely, you would not be too far from the truth there - I am working in a high security psychiatric hospital (the highest security) and my working day is spent incarcerated inside the prison-like conditions. It really is extraordinary - everywhere I move around the hospital I have to unlock and then re-lock a door or gate every few yards. Of course, I carry a great big bunch of keys hanging from my belt (as do all staff) which if nothing else, identifies me as staff, and not a patient. Because as I am sure you will understand, the only difference between me and a madman is that I'm not mad.

But it isn't the 'working-for-a-living' malarkey that has prevented me from updating you on here. Well actually I suppose it is, because working does take up so much of the day - but there have been many, many other distractions to keep me away from here. Too many, in fact, to tell you about them now - I just wanted to pop in to say hello and to say that if you can bear with me, I'll give you a full update in a day or so. And no, I haven't been away creating revolutions in middle-eastern and north African countries; I haven't been performing for Comic Relief; nor have I been caught up in the dreadful events in Japan; nor spending time finishing off the Olympic Stadium; nor attending the Liberal Democrat Spring Conference; nor anything like that.

No, some time ago I gave up smoking. Just like that. I didn't opt for any patches, or gum, or hypnotism, or counselling, or (god forbid) the drugs that my GP offered me - I just quit. And it's been so remarkably easy - not because quitting is an easy thing to do, but because it happened when my mind was in exactly the right place for the job. At any other time I couldn't have done it (which is why I didn't), but on that specific morning when I realized that my pack was empty, and that I really couldn't be bothered to go out to the shops to buy any more, my mindset was completely lined up to the act of quitting.

But why should giving up smoking have kept me busy, you ask? Well, as a reward for my efforts I have bought myself a piano. We all deserve a treat when we have done something special for ourselves, and my treat has been my piano. I have never played the piano in my life before of course, and I had thought that I never would. However, I am beginning to learn to play and it is that which is taking up all my free time at the moment. That and going to the gym (another bonus of being smoke-free). So watch this space, dear reader - very soon I shall be restored to the Adonis-like figure I once was, but this time there will be an added tool in my skillset. This time, I will be banging out my tunes like the most famous pianists of all time.

More on this, and other matters, next time.

Back to the Salt Mines

After a lengthy sabbatical, I will soon be returning to the Salt Mines. Not the same salt mines where I was slaving away at last year, but a different set. Much as I hate the idea, it has become necessary in order to stave off an impending state of penury. It is unfortunate, but not an insurmountable horror and I am sure I will survive the ordeal. I don't mind working for a living - goodness knows, I am far from an idle person and you must know, gentle reader, that I am not a person who would ever shirk from my responsibilities and duties - but it's just the turning up every day that I find so distasteful. It lacks so much imagination - but the people I usually work for think that it's the standard thing to do. Don't get me wrong - I don't resent these people, and I will always turn up at the office with good cheer and steadfastness, but I do resent the assumption that turning up to the office every day is the normal way of things.

So, this is my last week of freedom, but there are still many chores to get through before the week is out. I had intended to spend my last few days in virtuous pursuits - I was planning to go to the gym every day, give myself a daily Italian lesson, clean the flat, work on my novel, and all manner of sensible things that I'm not going to have time for once I am chained to my toil by the evil Gangmaster at the salt mines. However, the week has so far passed in dissipation, catching up with people whom I won't see for ages once I have retired from polite society (which I must do, when work starts again). I was rather drunk last night and so this morning has been a very slow start. Therefore, this entry is very hurriedly written and so I apologise if it fails to entertain, educate or inform.

Tonight I have the AGM for the Nottingham Writers' Studio (of which I am Chairman), and so have all the paperwork for that to prepare. I hope that the event will pass without issue, but I always fear that there could be a revolt from the members about some of the changes I am proposing - we'll see. I don't want a 'Boardroom coup' of any type as it could be embarrassing. I put in a huge amount of (unpaid) work for the Studio, but who knows whether any of it is what the members really want? I am their servant, after all.

I see that I was wrong about Natalie Portman's performance in 'Black Swan'. I had said earlier that I thought that (in the film) she acted her way through the whole gamut of human emotions from A to B. Now she wins an Oscar for her performance. Oh dear - I did get it wrong, didn't I? Then again, perhaps I didn't, and perhaps I'm just the little boy who has spotted that the Emperor is wearing no clothes - after all, the hype around the film was so great that it might be presumed that the Hollywood Machine is no more immune from believing its own whipped up excitement than we are. How gullible we sometimes can be. For example, look at the latest scramble to paint that nice Mr Gadaffi of Libya as an evil tyrant. The journalists would have us believe that he has billions of dollars salted away somewhere - yet we all know that he is a poor, simple man who lives in a tent and probably washes his own underwear. I see that Britney Spears has revealed that he paid her $1 million to sing at his daughter's birthday party. Well, I bet he had to scrimp and save for days to afford that - any father would do the same, surely? Leave the man alone - he doesn't even have a job, apparently. I bet he'd join me in the salt mines, if he could.

And now, I'm going to sneeze, in the Hungarian tradition.