I'm sick of love, but I'm in the thick of it.

2005-11-03T19:36:00.000+01:00

What ho.

If anyone's interested, tonight is the series two finale of "reality" sitcom 'The Thick of It', on BBC 4 at 10.30. It's been said before, but this is the closest thing to 'Yes Minister' since 'Yes Minister' (or 'Yes Prime Minister', if you'd rather). A creative spawn of Armando Iannucci ('2004: The Stupid Version', I thank you), it's pretty much one of the most intense (not to mention improvised) half-hour comedies you're likely to see. If you haven't caught it so far, it's centred around the Whitehall office of Minister for Social Affairs Hugh Abbot MP (played by the brilliant Chris Langham...see: 'People Like Us'). I love it. It's an incredibly sharp, ridiculously paced satire (one hopes, but I'm not that sure...Paul?) of spin and ineffectual faffing around. Why it's in a dark corner of BBC 4, I have no idea, especially when 'Broken News' ("original BBC 2 comedy at it's best"...anyone??) gets pride of place and is practically suffocated by it's own trailers. And not just that, it only gets a three episode run. Okay, so it crams more into its half hour than pretty much anything I've seen, and its jerky hand-cam style may make even the most loose-linen-trousered Channel 4 bosses green-gilled, but come on. Three episodes is rubbish, but kudos to the team for working so well with what they were given. Anyway, make sure you watch it - and if you like it, I believe the whole series (yes, the WHOLE series) is being given a "marathon" run this Saturday night (BBC 4).

You're welcome.

(Update: 'The Thick of It' set for a ten episode third series next year, including an hour-long special. Blinding.)

And now for a quick recap...

2005-11-01T05:18:00.000+01:00

Here's the gist (by which I mean the entirety) of my blogging career so far, copied directly from the Wreck:

I've seen the future, brother. It is murder.
Jan. 22nd, 2005 @ 04:40 pm
Current Mood: predatory Current Music: Joni Mitchell

It occurred to me today, while hurriedly finishing my screenplay, why I leave things to the last minute to complete. It's to make it so I can occasionally have a flurry of activity surrounding my life. Of course, as it always involves coursework, I tend to be the only person aware of it. But better for me to be aware of it than someone I've never even met.

It's Saturday here in Winchester, and it's a quarter to five in the evening. It's raining. And it's dark. I need to read some books for Amanda Boulter's module, which starts on February 7th, including the much hyped 'Life of Pi'. I plan to re-read 'Mr Pye' instead, and claim confusion and idiocy. I don't even know if she's even going to bother to return from her sabbatical to actually teach us, so I don't think I'm going to bother much with her. If she does indeed return for the 7th, then I will merely adopt a very cold and callous attitude towards her and appear to resent her for no particular reason.

I might go to Caffe Nero in a minute. I work there, you see, and I can get free coffee and a warm place to inhabit that doesn't also contain my flat"mates". It's a good 15 minutes away from me here, but the walk gives me a chance to catch up on my music listening pile, and when I get there I can start reading 'The White Hotel' again (because I never actually finished it...), or maybe mark my own screenplay.

I found out at the staff meal (a semi-regular occasion when we all go out for a meal and drinks using the tips that we save up...we had £200 this time) that the pretty and sweet shift supervisor i have a wee bit of a thing for definately IS seeing someone. Darn. But it's not over yet. Oh no, sir. No it's not.

Shalom.
xxx

I'm gonna abseil down my Ivory Tower and buy myself a Jaguar.
Jan. 28th, 2005 @ 03:14 pm
Current Mood: rushed Current Music: Johnny Cash

Well, what can I tell you? This: It's fastly approaching half past three in the afternoon of the twenty-eighth of january in the year of our lord two thousand and fiiive. I'm sat in the appropriately named Martial Rose Library, situated in the very left-of-centre of the prestigious King Alfred's Campus, belonging to none other than the glorious University College here in Winchester, England's profoundly ancient capitol.

Things are steadily going wrong in the world of me, but I'm still feeling chipper, which is a blessing. It matters to me not that I have run out of money. It matters to me not that I have nine days left in which to complete my final two assignments. It matters to me not that I am forced to live in a rancid nest of pigs with a group of ugly nine-sided whores. And it matters to me not that there is no conceivable way out of my forced celibacy until I am at least twenty-five years of age. That's the maths folks, and you can't argue with that. Things, frankly, are as good as ever, and I'm as happy as a very happy Blackadder style metaphor, which has just won a free holiday to happy land with a large group of young swedish models, all of whom are infected with STH (Sexually Transmitted Happiness).

Thankfully, I finally completed my screenplay ready for handing in monday-just-gone. In the end I was really rather proud of it. It documents a few days in the life of a young Russian boy who, feeling marginalised from his small farming community, retreats for long periods of time into the dark forest of Lupovo where he encounters a large, disfigured grey wolf. Well, obviously, all hell and hilarity breaks loose in what is sure to be the winter blockbuster of 2007.

Now I'm working on a 3,000 word creative piece, which for me is taking the form of the first two chapters of a novel (along with a creative portfolio of drafts, ideas and the like, and a 1,500 word critical rationale) and a 3,000 word essay for research methodologies. I have chosen the subject of the narrative structure and style of faerie tales and folk tales, and how they have endured in modern literature. Lots to do, no time in which to do it. Between now and handing-in I have 4 shifts at Caffe Nero and my blasted graduation in Exeter - and somehow I'm supposed to be having a tutorial with Dandy Andy Melrose amidst all this. *Boh*.

Anyway, the sky is drawing in, and soon they will turn Winchester off, so I'd better get home before I die of non-existence.

Shalom.
xxx

God only knows what I'd be without you.
Jul. 26th, 2005 @ 09:02 pm
Current Mood: determined Current Music: Antony and the Johnsons; E.L.O.

Well, it wouldn't be a lie to say that I haven't written here in a good long while, but it certainly would be a lie a to say that I have the kind of radiant facial features that remind people of a younger Sue Lawly. Regrettably.

Anyway, I'm now living in a grotty seventies terrace, next door to an emotional dementor who lives with his mother, who we have never seen. I'm still working at Caffe Nero, which robs me of energy and leaves me for dead in the "gutter" of my bed. Throughwhile, I'm struggling to finish my dissertation. I now have less than three weeks. I smell an extension.

Recent events include; visiting Alex in Prague (who is now back in Blighty, as I'm sure you're all aware), which was great, in an exhausting kind of way. A good time was had by all, and highlights included: negotiating with confused policemen, getting drunk and dancing to eighties classics alongside 14 year olds at the Hvezda Club (where two men physically fought for the affections of Alex), and drinking fine beer and eating even finer venison at a medieval themed restaurant. Going to the Isle of Wight Festival with Paul E and Max, basking at the alters of R.E.M., Roxy Music and Caravan. Highlights here included being interviewed for Virgin radio, wathcing some amazing bands doing some amazing things, and witnessing Max's frightening hallucinatory journey while "high" on Mexican mushrooms. Going to Wimbledon with my sister and her friend, Ash. Here I saw Andy Roddick and Kim Clijsters play a couple of great matches, as well as the prodigy Andy Murray, who kindly shook my hand. What a gentleman. What an ugly, ugly gentleman. I also queued at midnight at the release of the new Harry Potter book, dressed as the dead-pan wolf-man, Remus Lupin. It's a great book, anyone who hasn't read it yet certainly should (obviously having read the other five first). I won't give away what happens, because that would be crap, but I was distraught. Most recently it was my birthday, and myself and a few friends went out last Saturday to celebrate, most of which I can't recall.

Anyway, that's pretty much it. My life is as full and interesting as it ever has been, but I'm sure you can see that and are currently reeling in green eyed jealousy.

I've run out things to say. Hope you're all well.

Shalom.
xxx

The men who did not drown watched as the Beautiful went down...

2005-11-01T05:01:00.000+01:00

'Sup.

Well, I'm upping sticks and getting off the Wreck, meagre and lonesome as it was, and moving in here. It's much nicer, isn't it? Somewhere I can really see myself growing as a person. My mission, as always, will be to fascinate and to entertain - not only myself, but all of you pathetic guttersnipes as well.

Feast on me.

Welcome to my Tunnels.

tunnels

I'm sick of love, but I'm in the thick of it.

And now for a quick recap...

The men who did not drown watched as the Beautiful went down...