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....

Who Said That?

I was taken back to my childhood the other day, whilst listening to the radio. There was a record playing with the line: "Hey baby, let your hair hang down..." and this brought back a memory of me being totally bewildered by this apparent contradiction. Being too young at the time to be familiar with the common parlance of beatnik romance, I couldn't understand how a baby could let its hair down when it was apparent to anyone that babies have insufficient hair on their heads for any such abandoned activity. I remember being tremendously puzzled by many other such matters like this – I was a naive and withdrawn child you see, with very few social skills at all. Growing up in poverty in the backstreets of Naples, I simply didn't get exposed to the normal fashionable vernacular of modern 'cool' culture, such as it was.

Another phrase that used to confound me was: "Enjoy yourself – it's later than you think". How, I used to wonder, could it ever be later than I thought it was? To me, time was something indisputable, something rational, and something that could easily be discerned simply by looking at the clock. Surely, time could never be something arbitrary or something that could ever be mistaken? But now of course, now that I am old and decrepit, I am only too aware of what such an adage can mean. These days it nearly always is much, much 'later than I think'. I am constantly running against the clock anyway, but my predicament is normally worse than that – I have procrastinated and hesitated for most of my life in the absurd belief that I still have plenty of time to achieve what I want in life.

But then, whilst my feet are still running but going nowhere, and while the rush of life flashes past me on the moving screens by my side, I glance at the watch and realize to my horror that it really is, almost too late. So it usually is later than we think, and we should therefore never, ever be complacent about anything and we should always, always seize every opportunity we can and make the most of what we are offered. I can also remember being puzzled as a child by something my grandmother often used to say to me: "If at first you don't succeed, then try, try, and try again." I could never understand why there had to be three occurrences of the word 'try' in that maxim. Surely, I would think, it would be enough to say: "If at first you don't succeed, then try again." Little did I heed the true meaning of my grandmother's warning – that success often doesn't materialize on the second attempt either. As I said, I was very naive as a child.

Mind you, I don't think it was restricted to my childhood, this confusion of mine. As a teenager, I was frequently frustrated by the line: "I can see clearly now the rain has gone, I can see all obstacles in my way..." You see, in my limited imagination I reasoned that if there are 'obstacles in the way', how could it be claimed that anyone can 'see clearly'? Obviously I had no sense of irony in those days. Or perhaps I was just plain stupid?

Anyway, seeing clearly now, I can also see all the obstacles in my way of getting to Paris tomorrow. Before I can leave I have a list of things to do that is as long as the Channel Tunnel itself (even though I'm flying). So, I'd better get off this blog and get on with my chores. It is, after all, later than I think.....

It's All Over

Okay, okay – so I was wrong, and the world isn't about to end after all. Sorry about that. I don't often get these things wrong, but everyone is entitled to a few mistakes once in a while. I'm pleased that the flying ban is over anyway, because I'm booked to fly to Paris next weekend and I thought I'd have to cancel my trip. Now it looks like I'll be able to go after all. So hurrah for that!

I could do with a little break – after the "matters of the heart" that I spoke of a short while ago, I feel all washed up and rinsed out, so a short sojourn in Gay Paree is just what the doctor ordered. "Affairs of the heart?" you ask. Who would have thought that an old man like me could get into such a fluster about such a trivial thing as romance? But into a fluster I got, good and proper I can tell you. But now, I've sorted out my poor stupid head and heart, and the anguish has all been erased (I'm sure you'll all be pleased to learn that). The problem with "matters of the heart" is that they don't respond at all to rational thought, do they? It doesn't matter how often we tell ourselves that in fact, we're better off without such-and-such person in our lives and that in fact, jealousy is such a pitiable emotion that no reasonably well-adjusted person should allow it to compromise his self-esteem, yet still we suffer. And my goodness, I've suffered in recent days.

This morning however, I gave myself a good talking to. I have deleted a certain person's number from my mobile phone (because the alcohol-sensitive keypad hasn't yet been invented - you know what I mean), and I have decided to look on the bright side. I have been examining the qualities of said "certain person", and weighing them against the negative points (and believe me, there are many). What it boils down to is that yes, I am very definitely better off on my own. Abso-flipping-lutely! There's no doubt about it. But I have to admit - it ain't 'alf lonely, Mum!

And now, let us turn to something more cheerful. I was thinking the other day how strange it is that if we cook pizza at home, it's likely that we'll share a twelve-incher with our partner (that's if we have a partner that is – oh, don't get me started on that again), but if we go out to eat in a pizza restaurant, we get given a whole twelve-incher all to ourselves! Now why is that? Are we more greedy when we go out to eat, or is it just that restaurants can't be bothered to cut a pizza in half? I was wondering how it is in restaurants in Italy. Well, not so much wondering really, because I know the answer – I was in Italy earlier this year on my skiing holiday and I ordered a pizza one day for my lunch. Out it came, all twelve inches of it, and down it went (along with a refreshing glass of beer). Accordingly, I approached the slopes in a much more leaden fashion that afternoon, that's for sure.

Another thing that puzzles me is this: Why has my electric fly-killer broken, just as the fly season is upon us? Has it done this in protest at being left unused for several months? It seems rather a coincidence to me. You may remember that for a long time I refused to kill the flies that seasonally invade my apartment, but then I had an epiphany after my trip to Venice last summer, and decided that killing flies is a necessary evil. So then I bought myself this electric fly-killing gizmo-thingy which I reasoned was at least a humane way of disposing of these pests. But now that it's broken (grrr), and now that I've become so accustomed to the killing, I simply beat them to death with a newspaper. Hurrah!

Goodbye Cruel World

There's nothing to report today. Well, there is this: The world, as we know it, is about to end. Actually, that's a bit of an unnecessary claim – it's not just the world as we know it, it's the world in total. It's all about the LHC in Switzerland – the machine. It's the machine that is causing these earthquakes and volcanoes ,you see. And the volcano in Iceland is bringing about more chaos than you can imagine. We shall very soon run out of food (this country has been unable to sustain itself for years), and then there will be rioting in the streets. Rioting in the hills, and on the beaches.

After that, we will all go completely stir crazy because we will suddenly realize that we're absolutely trapped on an island (and it will be crazier than 'Lost', believe me) and that's the point when we all start to eat each other. Meanwhile, the poor Kenyan farmers – unable to export their beans to the UK – will start burning their land, thereby causing a total breakdown of African political relationships and the entire continent will explode into civil war.

And then, at about this time, the financial markets will totally collapse because nobody will be able to fly into London to do their special deals, and there'll be no money for us to withdraw from the cashpoints. Even if there were food to buy, we couldn't afford it. Next, the European nations will remember that we are - after all, - an island, and from this will spring their age-old hatred of us and they will inexplicably declare war on Britain, en masse. Stormtroopers will storm (as is their wont) through the Chunnel, and the Queen will be imprisoned and replaced by Carla Bruni, coincidentally reconciled with her errant husband Nicolas, soon to be declared Emperor of Europe. But it won't last of course. The Chinese government – still able to fly – will send over its generals to crush the New Empire and turn the citizens of Europe into vassals of the Mongol tyranny.

Then Iran, jealous of the Chinese dominance, and fearful of the crushing of Islam, will launch a nuclear attack on everyone else in the world and so, we all (some of us still shackled in our new slavery) are doomed.

This isn't fiction, this is fact. You read it here first.

Doing Something Dreadful, or Away With The Fairies?

Life's a funny thing – I've recently been trying to think really, really positive things about my life because anyone who has read 'The Secret' will tell you that thinking negatively only brings negative things into your life. Hmm, well, I don't think that this old Universe fella has been listening to me at all because I have had one hell of a load of shit in recent days. Amongst other tortuous events, this also concerns matters of the heart (strangely enough). Now, I know what you're going to say – how does an old codger like me end up with luuurve problems at my age? You might well ask – it's ridiculously undignified I know, but sometimes even we wrinklies get the odd flutter of emotion that causes us to abandon all caution, and so we continue to hope that something that shouldn't really be on offer to us, might still be.

I had an extraordinary time the other night. I took this drug mephedrone – the one that's in all the news because it's about to get banned because it kills everybody who takes it. Sometimes known as 'Meow Meow' or some such ridiculous name, I only took it because it wouldn't be breaking the law to do so, and therefore I can. I wanted to see what all the fuss was about. Well, let me tell you that I can now see what all the fuss is about – it's very pleasant. Very pleasant indeed. I had the impression that it was something like what I would call a 'light' drug – a bit like 'mild' cigarettes were meant to be when the whole tar & nicotine issue raised its ugly head in the 1970s.

You won't need me to inform you that it has been in the news recently following the awful death of two teenage boys in Lincolnshire who had taken it. The media hounds are of course out in force, baying for blood, and the Government is responding in its usual knee-jerk reactionary way – more so because there is election fever about, I suspect. Anyway, I decided to give it a go because I felt sure that there must be many, many thousands of happy customers who – unlike the tragic boys – had lived to tell the tale.

At first, I felt nothing except a slight burning sensation in my nose. Then, as I lay back on the sofa and put my feet up on the coffee table, relaxing into a comfortable recumbent position, it occurred to me how much I loved my strange little friend Tom. “You OK?” he asked. “I am absolutely fine,” I replied, smiling widely. “I really love you.” “It’s working then,” he replied sardonically. A few minutes later, we were both sitting round in a euphoric haze, smiling benignly but with an incomprehensible, overwhelming desire to dance. It was nearly impossible to keep still. However, even under this sort of debauched influence, I can still retain a shred of dignity from somewhere, and so I resisted the urge to dance, thankfully (because, in the words of Robbie Williams, "I dance like me dad").

I suppose that I ought to tell you that it was a horrible experience, and that you must never do it yourself, but I can't do that. I am not advocating that you should take drug use lightly. There are many devastating implications of illicit drug use – I have had friends whose lives have been completely ruined by such excesses. And as for myself, I wouldn't want you to think that I can only have a good night because I’ve taken something to make me feel as though I am enjoying myself. It would be better to think that 'm having a good night because I'm genuinely enjoying myself.

That notwithstanding, I had a lovely time - but it is inevitable that this 'drug' (for it is not yet known as such) will be banned soon. The sad fact is though, that it is only a matter of time before another 'legal' substance pops up on the market, and the same problems will be created all over again. And despite that it is still legal, and I could therefore take it again (for the time being), I won't do it. I had an amazingly pleasant experience and hey, there was a bonus - I didn't die! But the thing is, I cannot deny that I was still out of control while I was under the influence, and being out of control can never, ever, be a good thing.

Now, to get back to my miserable life.....