6th Noovember, 2009 - Ouch

As a small post-script to yesterday's entry, you will recall that I mentioned that, one of the irritating things about Christmas, is that kids leave small sharp plastic objects in places designed to cause maximum pain to adults when they step on them.

I hadn't actually stood on anything when I made that comment. It was designed as a witty observation, of a type designed to make the reader nod sagely in a moment of recognition. It was, in a way, a little symbol about the wastefulness of Christmas - where toys which you hoped would be treasured, actually become a discarded nuisance only minutes after the parcel has been opened. A metaphor I suppose for the consumer society. It was not really meant entiirely literally.

However, I suspect that it will please you yo know that, about 4 minutes after I posted the last entry, I stood on a small woooden rhino. Those horns are sharp.

5th November, 2009 - It's Chriiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiistmaaaaaaaaaaaaas!

In spite of the date in the heading, iit is Christmas day in the real world, and not Guy Fawkes Day (which it is in the odd world of my blog). It is good to be celebrating two holidays simultaneously. Later today I shall be setting fire to an effigy of Santa while singing a rousing chorus of "God Rest Ye Merry Arsonists". It will be no end of fun.

We have just completed the annual orgy of unwrapping, and the children are now happily engaged in breaking many of the new shiny plastic objects which are scattered throughout the house, generally in places designed to cause maximum pain to adults who tread carelessly. There is nothing like a toy dumper truck to make your instep sing with agony.

Highlight of the morning, so far, was my son appearing in the kitchen with an entire Chocolate Orange in his mout. He looked like a small and tasty stuffed pig. I am considering making him the centrepiece of the diinner table for our Christmas feast.

4th November, 2009 - Rage Against The Machine For Number 1

I thought I would lend the (not inconsiderable weight) of my blog to the Facebook Campaign which is trying to secure a Christmas Number 1 for Rage Against the Machine - the aim being to topple the dominance of the X Factor winner.

I have seen quite a lot of tosh about this in the press: suggesting that the campaign is a blow for democracy in the fight against Simon Cowell's empire; and that it is a fight against synthetic pop acts. This, of course, is a lot of old tripe. But you know that already. The fact that you read this blog marks you out as person of superior intelligence and taste. And I also like what you've done with your hair today - it really suits you.

No. The reason for downloading the RATM track is obvious: it is a bit of a laugh. If they get the Number 1 spot it will be amusing to see the X Factor judges hide their irritation. It will be amusing to hear some old rock track blasting over the radio. It will make us all smile in twenty years time when we are listening to some run down of the Top 50 Christmas Number 1s.

So - download it! You can get it on i-Tunes for 29p.

3rd November, 2009 - Remember? Remember? The 5th Of November?

In case you have not been following the blog recently (and who could blame you) I will remind you that I have been on a desperate catch up mission to bring the blog dates into line with real life dates. Currentl, here in cyberspace, I am getting ready for Guy Fawkes night. I shall be letting off Catherine Wheels all over Facebook very soon indeed.

But I am catching up. Slowly. Steadily. There were those who said it couldn't be done; there were those who said I was a fool even to try; there were those who said they didn't really care much and would rather be eating cheese instead of reading this drivel.

But I have ignored them all, and now I have crashed into November, which is only one calendar month behind the real world month of December. Suddenly it seems doable. I can almost taste the champagne, and feel the podium beneath my feet.

Cheer me on fellas. I'm doing this for you guys; for Scotland. Hell - I'm doing it for world peace.

Just say no kids.

2nd November, 2009 - Always The Cliches - But Nevertheless

I went to see Marillion at the Renfrew Ferry last night with my pal The Advisor. Marillion are a band from my youth, and there was a point in my life where I largely lived for them. I could tell you every lyric. I knew the background of all the musicians. I pored over the artwork on their albums.

Over the years they changed their singer, and I suppose that I grew up. There became less room in my life to lie on my bedroom floor, glorying in the band’s angst-ridden tales of fist love and lost love. And it was with some trepidation that I returned to see them last night. And in some ways, the trepidation was not misjudged. In 1987, the band were distant and slightly God-like. They were only to be glimpsed in the pages of rock magazines, and from the middle of huge concert halls. But last night, they had become human. In a crowded but small venue, they were close enough to talk to. They had middle-aged paunches and dyed hair, and they looked a bit like you and me.

They clearly have a good and loyal fan-base (made up almost exclusively of 40something men who work in IT and do not take regular exercise it would appear) and the whole gig had a rather pleasant family-feel with audience and band sharing in-jokes and rather enjoying each other’s company. However, I missed the days when I was able to elevate them to a position where they seemed more than normal, more than musicians. I miss the days when I felt that they were almost unbearably important.

Mostly this was not their fault. It is my fault for getting older. But – and maybe I am wrong about this too – it seemed to me to be more of a cottage industry than a rock gig. But then, they have got older too. They have families to support and mortgages to pay I daresay. Rock and roll is no longer the preserve of the young and the footloose.

1st November, 2009 - S.A.D.

There is no doubt about it: the unrelenting rain and darkness is affecting my mood. People suggest that this sort of thing is S.A.D. Syndrome. This, to my mind, is another statement of the bleeding obvious. Of course we are liable to feel a bit down when it has rained consecutively for 542 days and our neighbour has started shepherding pairs of animals into that oddly boat-shaped shed he has constructed at the bottom of the garden. And naturally, we will feel a bit blue when we haven’t seen the sun since April 2008.

The Scandinavians deal with this sort of thing by retreating into a world of “cosiness” – fireside chats, and warming drinks and the conviviality of good friends. And I tend to agree with them. I do not need a S.A.D. lamp. I need a snowball fight with the kids, and a few pints with my mates at the local, before putting scarf and gloves on and then watching my breath dissolve into the frosty universe.

31sr October, 2009 - What A Bunch Of Bankers

I was off seeing the Bank Manager today about business matters. It is clear that banking has changed. A couple of years ago, it seems to me that the Bankers strode about like young Gods. Well – they were as much like young Gods as fat middle aged men with paunches can be, but you know what I mean. There was a confidence, even in my little corner of Lanarkshire, that the world was shiny, bright and the streets of Whifflet were paved were gold.

It didn’t turn out that way of course. When I visit the bank these days, the (much-reduced) staff look a bit harried, and they use words like “risk” and “security” and “no, we are not lending you the money you charlatan – begone with your requests for capital.”

30th October, 2009 - Survival Of The Fittest

I am currently fumbling around for an idea for a new show to write for Edinburgh next year. It is a bit of an odd feeling. I have about half a dozen ideas in my head just now, none of which has completely taken over yet. It is a bit like natural selection I think. They have to fight for space in my head, and eventually the idea that is fittest will triumph, surviving to evolve into a fully fledged play. The other ideas will not have been strong enough to survive the dangerous environment between my ears, and they will be filed away like fossils.

29th October, 2009 - Bessie

Shirley’s gran has died. I guess she passed away in the way that most of us would pick for our loved ones if we had a choice – after a long, happy and healthy life. But it is still sad. She was an enormous character, and one of Scotland’s leading psychics. In truth, I was always a bit afraid to visit her, in case she could see my innermost thoughts (which as most of you know are almost entirely focussed on bikini models and biscuits – if you ever want to lead me astray, send a good looking brunette with a caramel wafer).

So, my thoughts are with Bessy and her family today. If she was correct about the spirit world, she will currently be living it up with her family and a variety of old acquaintances. If she isn’t correct, and I am, then she is having a nice long sleep, after a happy life with a terrific family.


amil

28th October, 2009 - Marry Me!

A few weeks ago, I pointed out that I didn’t know how my mum and dad had got engaged. I have now found out. This is courtesy of my sister's encyclopaedic knowledge of family history. While I have been cramming my head with important stuff (like when to re-raise out of position when you're holding a pair of sixes) she has been idling her time away paying attention to family history.  No good will come of it.

Apparently, after mum and dad had been courting for a few years, my mum said to my dad, “Don’t you think it’s about time we got engaged.” My dad – ever the romantic – mulled this over for a while, and eventually agreed that she had a point.

27th October, 2009 - My Friend's Electric

I am just back from seeing Gary Numan at the ABC in Glasgow with my mate The Laughing Boy. It was excellent. I have never seen him before (Numan, not Laughing Boy – it would be odd if he was mate and I had never seen him before. Actually, now that I think of it, I have seen Gary Numan before as well, but only on the telly and on album covers, so that doesn’t really count, but I digress).

I have never really got into Gary Numan’s stuff, not because I don’t like it, but it’s never really crossed my radar. But I liked his music when I was a kid, and I’ve heard on a number of ooccasions that he does a great live show. So, I thought I’d tag along with The Laughing Boy who is a big fan (of Numan, not me – I haven’t really got any fans as far as I know, unless there are some very odd groupies who get excited at the thought of a man drafting a Minute of Extension of Lease).

I digress again. It was a great gig – a mix of early material, and his more modern industrial stuff. Not a lot of laughs mind you. You never really expect the pale white demon to break into a rousing cover of “Snooker Loopy” by Chas and Dave.

26th October, 2009 - Help. I am Trapped In A Lift With All These Ladies

I am into double figures with my series of 42 Home Improvements. Those of you who are avid, and slightly deranged regular followers of this blog already know that I am trying to complete 42 small improvements to my life, thus turning this blog into a powerful engine for self-improvement, rather than a way to kill time.

The tenth in the series was tidying up the garden for the winter. I actually rather like gardening when I get down to doing it. Oddly, I often don’t like the thought of gardening. Somehow, the effort of putting on gardening togs, and going out to the wet and muddy world beyond the back door doesn’t seem enormously appealing from the safety of the kitchen, with a warm coffee in your hands. However, when you actually get into the garden, it’s usually ok. I mean, it’s not ok in a “Being Trapped In A Lift With 10 Bikini Models” sort of way. But it’s kind of therapeutic.

I had a dream about being trapped in a lift with 10 bikini models once. Frustratingly, it has not been a recurring dream.

25th October, 2009 - Disappointments 4

The fourth in this series of my disappointments is the crapppy review I got for my own play this year. I have to say that this was balanced with a brilliant review, and to be honest I’d rather pick up reviews at the extremes than get 3 stars all the way. However, I cannot tell a lie – it sucks big time to get criticised.

When you think about it, in your adult life – or certainly in mine – it is fairly rare to get criticised. Maybe in a job appraisal, if you have one of these newfangled management structures. In my line of work, where I am my own boss, the closest you get to it is if you get a complaint from a client I guess.

But you don’t generally get criticised for your hobbies. I mean, if you took a yoga class, you wouldn’t like it if someone from the Guardian came in and gave you two stars in Monday’s paper and said “Her costume was reasonably pleasing, but I’m afraid she’s about as flexible as a brick, and frankly less agreeable to the eye.” You would be particularly unhappy if you learned that the critic had never ever done yoga, but had spent many hours watching yoga videos whilst sitting on their fat arse eating fish suppers.

24th October, 2009 - An Early Christmas Present!

I am just back from my health check at the doctors. I go for a medical check up every two years or so. I figure that I get my car MOTd regularly, so I really should do the same for myself.

Frankly, it is a bit of a depressing experience (except for the prostate examination which is strangely thrilling). The worst bit is that it compares your results for the various tests you had a couple of years ago. What this means is that you cannot hide from the statistics, that essentially tell you that you are getting older, fatter and less fit. The graph is on a downward curve, and with every passing year, the line of best fit approaches the number zero on the Y axis. I do not much like the thought of getting to that point.

On the positive side they discovered that I have another hernia! I didn't even know about this one, so it feels like a bit like Fate has slipped me a surprise early Christmas present. "There you go son - I know you weren't expecting anything - but there's a wee hernia for you - I know how much you enjoyed the last one."

Thanks fate. that's brilliant. It really is.

23rd October, 2009 - Omelettes

The third of my disappointments is my absolute inability to make omelettes. This is an odd thing to be disappointed about. It is not really up there with "Failing to ensure world peace" or "Not Curing Cancer". But it really rankles.

I am no Jamie Oliver (I don't dribble as much as he does) but I am not too bad in the kitchen. I have spent a bit of time living alone in my adult life (I blame the chronic foot odour), and I have always been able to rustle up a decent dinner. I can even bake. Scones and pancakes hold no fears for me. I do a mean chocolate mousse. But the humble omelette... well... it is a mystery to me.

My mate the couch Potato always makes me an omelette for the meal that he loosely terms “breakfast” during our visits to Crieff each year. It is called “breakfast” because it is the first meal of the day, but it is usually taken at around 4pm, just as the sting of the Saturday hangover is beginning to wear off.

CP makes it look easy: light, fluffy, nicely seasoned. My omelettes are pale yellow blobs of undercooked mush. No matter how many times I try it, they are disastrous. In the world of the omelette the Couch Potato is king.

22nd October, 2009 - 42 Home Improvements #9

I have completed another of my 42 Home Improvements. Thus, I am now nine forty seconds of the way to creating a New Utopia here at Bayley Mansions.

Tonight, I put a bit of string on an old number plate and hung it on the bathroom wall. I appreciate that to many of you, this will not seem like much of an improvement. In fact, I have a feeling that when my wife next visits the little girl’s room she may share the same view. I may well be “for it”. And in this context, “it” is not a nice cup of tea, and a piece of battenburg cake.

But – see – it is a sentimental number plate, and it will make me smile during my quiet moments of contemplation. So, it is an improvement for me.

21st October, 2009 - Disappointments 2

The second of my disappointments goes right back to school. Our team lost in the final of the Scottish Schools’ Volleyball tournament. It is my only really significant sporting achievement to reach that final. In all honesty, I was kind of lucky to make it into that team at all. We had a number of guys who were playing at county level and I think even in the Scotland squad. I was strictly school team material – easily the worst regular in the team; easily the least gifted athletically.

But I loved volleyball. For maybe 5 years of my life it was a ritual. Training two or three times a week. A game or a tournament every week. Trips in the school minibus to other schools. Me, seriously uncool, amongst the cool boys, the athletes. That is how I secretly felt. It was my foot in the other camp – my own camp being the world of wargames and the debating club and the school magazine committee.

I remember the feeling of defeat as I type this. Those of you who know me, know that I have a disastrously competitive streak. I detest losing. Not in the way that I think most people do. It feels like personal failure to me. Defeat feels like a failure to be able to bend the world to my will. I see that this is not a logical feeling, of course. I see that it is futile to expect light to bend around you, and to feel the forces of the universe flowing through your fingers. But it still makes me mad that I can’t.

As I get older, I think I am a bit better at hiding these feelings. But any time I lose, it still feels like the dressing room after that game in 1984.

20th October, 2009 - Disappointments 1

Dungeons and dragons has been cancelled at short notice this evening, because two of our regular players are ill. This is tremendously disappointing news, since our regular game is the highlight of my fortnight. Obviously, it is good to see my children and observe their first words and steps, but it is all a very pale second pace to battling orcs and goblins in the Mystical Mines Beneath the Huruk’ba Mountains.

As I have a free evening, and as I still have numerous blog entries to catch up on, I thought I would reflect on other disappointments in my life, which rival the cancellation of the Dungeons and Dragons Game. I thought I might list a few of my past disappointments.

My first disappointment, or regret I suppose, is that I don’t have the musical talent to play in a proper band. When I was in my late teens/early twenties, I played in a wee rock band with my mates, but in spite of great endeavour, I think we all recognised that we were unlikely to secure a deal with EMI. For some reason, the major labels did not send droves of A&R men to see our gigs (which generally took place in the pub just down the road from my house). I think that the main reason was that we were not very good. 

Also, we were not particulary good-looking. And we didn't write very good songs. Or wear fashionable clothes. And one of us had a tight curly perm reminiscent of Julie Walters in the early 80s. And I didn't always play in exactly the same key as the others.

Other than that, we were the Next Big Thing.

19th October, 2009 - My Trousers Are Wet

All of my sensible trousers in the wash, and I have had to wear a big pair of baggy, trendy things that I bought a couple of years ago during one of my many mid-life crises. They are one of those pairs that have flairs that are designed to graze the ground. Clearly, they were dreamed up by someone in California, or some such place where when wet weather comes along, it is regarded as a novelty, and people run romantically through the streets in the light Summer drizzle, laughing before they run into a surf shack and towel each other's bronzed bodies down while singing Jack Johnston tunes.

Here in the West of Scotland however, it is not like that. Rain is not a novelty. Rain is part of the landscape. And I can testify that my trendy trousers are not sensible wear for a rainy November day in Glasgow. Rather than looking trendy, my trousers have actually absorbed mud by osmosis.Now they are more mud than trouser. I look as if I am wearing two soggy hollow tree trunks. They weigh about the same as that too.

From now on, I shall exclusively wear plus fours.

18th October, 2009 - Witches Abroad

My daughter thinks that my mother was a witch. This is because we have a model witch which we hang at our back door. I am sentimentally attached to it, because my mum gave it to me not long before she died, and it is exactly the sort of whimsical object that delighted both her and me. If I had my way, the whole house would be filled with all manner of such objects and the garden would be full of gnomes. Regrettably, what I view as quaint and whimsical is viewed by my Significant Other as "another piece of old tat" which "you are not keeping in my house".

Back to the witch. The Roundfaced Girl, having been told that this is Grandma Meg’s witch, is now of the belief that Grandma Meg is actually a witch. As far as I know this is not true. However, I now look twice at the model witch. Sometimes I even talk to her. It I mean. Sometimes I even talk to it.

17th October, 2009 - Photogenic

My son is annoyingly photogenic. He has just returned from the playgroup’s photo session, clutching a little bundle of proofs that make him look like the cover boy of “Mother and Perfectly Cherubic Two Year Old Magazine”. He is beaming up from the page, looking the picture of health and happiness. And yet, whenever I have control over him, his face is generally covered in jam, and he has a piece of bacon sticking to his hair.

Me on the other hand? I do not take a good photo. I am six feet tall, wear the same clothes from the same chain stores as everyone else, and I rarely have bacon in my hair, and yet, when I am captured on celluloid, I look like the less-good-looking of the two Modo brothers (Quasi, I think, would have been embarrassed to take me to bell ringing classes).

I am in a bad mood.

16th October, 2009 - Embrace Change (But Don't Slip the Tongue)

We have been going through a small period of minor upheaval at work after a period of reasonable stability. We have had one member of staff leave, and several other of the ladies in the office are due to take maternity leave. If they all the babies have webbed feet like the man from the stationary company, then questons will be asked, although I expect that we may be able to demand a discount on Post Its.

All of thiss has all led us into a period of trying to re-shuffle things to manage all the changes and absences.I don’t think that anyone particularly likes change at work (unless the change is a big promotion, less responsibility, and your own executive retreat in the Cayman Islands). But I take the view that it is inevitable, and if you don’t roll your sleeves up and try to get through the choppy waters, then the storm is likely to claim you.

Stability in the workplace is much undervalued. I suspect that Man Utd would not have been as successful if they had chopped and changed their manager. Now, my firm is clearly not Man Utd (we don't have a big enough squad for a start, and to be honest, we are lacking pace on the left wing), but, if we can get through this next spell, we have a shot at having a fair run in the League Cup.

15th October, 2009 - The Wizard of Boz

I recently went to a Halloween party as the Lion from the Wizard of Oz. I was supposed to be going as the Tin Man, but the outfit acquired for me by my Significant Other left something to be desired. The roblem was that I think that it had been made for the 7-11 age group. The sheer trousers, I have to say, rode up to an almost pornographic extent, leaving little to the imagination (and I use the word “little” advisedly in this context).

Unfortunately the sight of me in my crotch hugging silver lame was not really the look that was likely to win me a lot of friends at a Halloween party where a number of chikdren were to be in attendance. So, I was hurriedly re-cast as the Lion.

14th October, 2009 - Nature vs Nurture

I was talking to my mate the advocate about the “nature versus nurture” debate the other night. We both have young kids, and our conversation frequently gets around to parenting, remedies for sleep-deprivation and the price of baby wipes. If you run into us in the pub, we are best avoided.

However, it is all interesting stuff for us. I think we both regard our kids as an interesting experiment, a bit like growing bulbs was back in primary school. The Advocate frightened me a bit though by saying that he’s been reading stuff that suggests that upbringing is far more important that genetics in determining the future happiness and success of your kids.

This is hugely worrying for me. Until now I have been staunchly on the side of genetic determination (ie your kids are likely to reach their potential in spite of environmental factors). The news from the Advocate means I will now need to consider reading to them, and praising their efforts with the stickle bricks.

13th October, 2009 - Pizza Face

I have a zit on the back of my neck.

I am 42 years old. I should no longer be burdened with acne. Particularly, I should not be burdened with the hugely irritating kind of plook that you know is going to be a “biggy”, but is not quite ripe enough to burst. So you have to squirm for a couple of days with your shirt collar chafing it, and aggravating it into a one tenth scale model of Mount Vesuvias, before it erupts in an oozing column of pus at some important meeting, where everyone else are real, proper grown ups, whereas I will be revealed to be a hormone-addled teenager who somehow saved up enough money for a suit from Ralf Slaters.

I should have left all this behind me when I left my teenage years. I served my time. I was a spotty adolescent. In fact, I was probably the spottiest adolescent in my year at school, earning the hilarious nickname “pizza face” for a period of at least 18 months. At a time when I should have been turning young girls’ heads, my only serious relationship was with the pharmacist on the minor ailments counter at Boots, who clearly saw my repeat-prescription of Clearasil as a meal ticket for life.

Righto. I am off to give this thing a squeeze.

12th October, 2009 - Granny!

I am very lucky to have my in-laws. My Significant Other and I live near to her parents, and they provide all of the child-care we could ever want. I am eternally grateful to them - it’s the best arrangement for our kids that we could possibly want.

I am particularly fond of my father-in-law’s sense of humour which is now creeping into my children’s psyche. For example, recently when reading a book about a gorilla who goes to bed with a zookeeper (Children’s books are weird!), both of the round-faced people started giggling uncontrollably as they pointed to the gorilla and said through hysterical laughter: “Granny!!! Granny!!!”

11th October, 2009 - I Was Nearly Posh

I nearly went to private school. The reason for this was that I was struggling a bit academically just towards the end of primary and beginning of secondary. I had missed a ton of classes on account of my tonsils. My tonsils had been bullying me, and I was afraid to go to school, because they were waiting for me outside Mr Todd’s house, ready to steal my packed lunch.

No. Wait. That’s not right. I had tonsillitis a lot. That was it.

Anyhow, my folks admitted to me some years later that my name was down to sit an exam to see if I’d get a bursary, but I couldn’t make it along because of – you guessed it – the tonsils. I sometimes wonder how life would have turned out if I’d gone down that path. Everything would have been different. I’d have had completely different friends. I wouldn’t have got into dram (at least by the route that I did which was through a former pupils club from my school). My girlfriends would have been different.

Our lives are peculiar sequences of chance. There are billions upon billions of possible “me’s” out there in the set of all possible universes. What an odd thought.

10th October, 2009 - We Don't Pander To Kids Here

It is a mistake to take the kids to anywhere that resembles an adult cafe. If you take the kids to places that are for kids, like soft play areas and the like, the laws of supply and demand have brought the prices down to a sensible level. The owners realise that a hot chocolate for kids only needs to be small, and at any event, as a parent, you grudge paying more than a quid for anything that is going to be largely dribbled down your child’s t shirt, rather than being consumed.

Adult-orientated facilities do not appreciate this. When you go to such a coffee shop, as I did today, and ask for two kids’ hot chocolates, they just stare at you blankly. Then you relent and ask for two regular hot chocolates, which inevitably arrive – enormous, steaming, and served at the temperature of the surface of the sun.

And they cost £2.50 each. Do I look like I wanted to take out a second mortgage to pay for a light mid-morning treat for my weans? It is the soft play area from now on.

9th October, 2009 - Haw Sexy!

I will tell you today of one of my most embarrassing experiences. I was walking from my office to the town, when I saw my sister in front of me. She was maybe fifty yards in front, and striding purposefully towards the town centre. So, I thought I would give her a little surprise. So, I sneaked up behind her, until I was only a few paces behind, and then, in my best impression of a building contractor bellowed “HAW SEXY!!!” at her.

She turned, somewhat startled.

But not as startled as I was.

Because it wasn’t actually my sister. Just a lady that looked remarkably like her.

I tried an apology: “Oh – I thought you were my sister...”

She gave me a look that managed to express fear, disgust and puzzlement simultaneously.

“Oh – not that I think my sister’s sexy. Well – I suppose she is, but I don;t think so, seeing as I’m her brother. It’d just be weird if I found her sexually attractive.”

I then crossed the road, put my head down and strode off down the road at some pace.

8th October, 2009 - Decorate My Lapels You Rotters

I have not won any medals since I was 17. This seems to me to be hugely disappointing. Before I was 19 I won medals all the time. I have medals from the cub scout swimming gala. I have a medal from the gymnastic club for being able to do a forward roll unassisted. I have a medal from the school, for being good at remembering stuff about Thomas Hardy.

But, since the onset of adulthood, my haul has dwindled. Now, the only prizes I seem to pick up are from the Reader’s Digest. This is all a bit disappointing. I think I’m much better at some stuff now than I ever was at gymnastics. For example, I can draft a mean deduction of title clause in a Contract of Excambion. I suspect that I am one of the best lawyers in my street at that. But do they give out medals for it the way they used to for gymnastics? No – they don’t. And the world is the worse for it.

I want to be able to go to work with my lapels dripping with decorations.

7th October, 2009 - Ooo Arr Ooo Arr Ay

My mention of the children’s song “Old MacDonald” in yesterday’s entry reminds me that the Union of Farm Workers and Agricultural Contractors is the E.I.E.I.O..

6th October, 2009 - Culture!

I took the children to the Hunterian Art Gallery today. The visit was not a riproaring success. I suspect that they found the exhibition “The Collectors’ Room – An Exclusive Viewing of Drawings From Private Collectors” a little bit beyond them. They did enjoy sitting on the big bench in the middle of the room though. And also singing “Old MacDonald” in a very very loud voice to a number of art lovers. The art lovers smiled at me through clenched teeth, but I know they were thinking “Take your children hence, for this is my sanctuary, and you have spoiled it.”

We left and had muffins and hot chocolate. That was more successful.

5th October, 2009 - 42 Home Improvements #9

I have completed the ninth of my 42 Home Improvements. All of you regular readers will know that, in an effort to make the process of blogging constructive, and not just another device for procrastination, I am turning the blog into a powerful tool for self-improvement. I am using it rto report on 42 small improvements to my life. Thus, if I fail, I will be forever the object of your derision.

This improvement was to buy some new phones. Our old phones have been mistreated somewhat by the Small Bald People. The little plastic buttons, the buzzing noise and the dulcet tones of the lady who does the speaking clock in New South Wales seem to be an unbearable temptation to them.

Modern phones do not seem to me to have a particularly high build quality. When I was young, phones were made out of Bakelite which had the strength of tempered steel. When I was a kid youn could easily crack open a sibling’s skull with a phone. Nowadays, a single blow to the temple will leave the handset in ruins, and your sister happily smiling.

So, we have new phones for now. But they will not last.

4th October, 2009 - Klutz!

In a spate of my trademark clumsiness, I have just spilled a whole glass of red wine all over the kitchen. This is the sort of thing that hugely annoys me when the children do it, and yet, when it comes to The Klutz Factor, there is no doubt that Simon, Louis, Danii and that stick insect one would give me four yeses without hesitation. I would be sent off to Clumsy Bootcamp, where, no doubt, I would set off the fire alarm by accident.

I didn’t just spill it on our tile floor either. That would be far too easily cleaned. No. I managed to send the glass four yards through the air at precisely the correct angle to splatter our newly painted kitchen wall.

What a fanny I am.

3rd October, 2009 - The Moment!

We spend so much time worrying about the future and the past. I spend my whole life it seems, planning for the future or thinking about things that went on in the past.

Today, for example, I spent three hours in work because I’m concerned I might not be in the office this week. I spent a lot of time thinking wistfully about my band (which split up about 20 years ago). I sent out e-mails about shows that might or might not happen in 6 months time. I thought about the day I proposed to my Significant Other. And so on and so forth.

My mind seems to restlessly move between yesterday and tomorrow, resting so rarely on “now”. I clearly have too much time on my hands. I need a hobby.

2nd October, 2009 - The Non Hitcher

I kind of regret that I have never had the guts to go hitchhiking. It seems to me to be just about the epitome of adventure and freedom. The absolute thrill of travel without the need for your own vehicle, or even for a ticket for the bus.

Of course, the trade off – as Hollywood reminds us – is that you stand a significant chance of being picked up by someone in faded dungarees with a banjo in the passenger seat, who will offer you a nice warm bed in his shack deep in the forest, where we are unlikely to be disturbed. For this reason I have avoided sticking my thumb out thus far.

1st October, 2009 - Ghost

GHOST: Apparently, I am dead. Which is odd, because I don’t believe in ghosts. Didn’t believe in them I mean. I can hardly deny the evidence of my own experience can I? I haunt therefore I am I suppose. What I can’t work out – is why I’m here. I mean aren’t ghosts to have some purpose? Patrick Swayzee had to make that clay pot didn’t he? Before he got to leave? The thing is, I donn’t really think I have any unfinished business. I mean, there was a nice piece of Red Leicester in the fridge and a can of Foster’s... It’d have been nice to finish them off. But it doesn’t seem reason enough to haunt the new inhabitants of the flat.

30th September, 2009 - A Right Good Drink

I still enjoy a good drink. Here I use the term “good drink” in its traditional West of Scotland sense, of getting intoxicated, as opposed to the Scottish Government’s definition which seems to be to have a light shandy once a year provided you do it strapped to a bed in a room where there are no sharp objects.

I am aware that, in enjoying (occasionally these days) the feeling of getting a bit tipsy, I am probably a victim of my environment, after all, we in Scotland undoubtedly have an appalling record in relation to our drinking habits. There is no doubt that, from a public health perspective, that we need to get the figures down. But from my own selfish perspective, there is something hugely convivial about a few too many pints with a good pal.

Pubs are nice places. People chat. People are generally in a good mood. There is laughter and life and friendship. It’s be rude not to have one more pint before I catch the bus.

29th September, 2009 - Wee Willie Winky

Wee Willie Winky

Runs through the toon

Upstairs and downstairs

In his night goon

Rappin at the windows

Cryin through the locks

Pursued by Strathclyde constabulary

Who want him in the dock.

28th September, 2009 - Ba Ba Black Sheep

Ba ba black sheep

Have you any wool?

We only have synthetics now

You crazy luddite fool.

27th September, 2009

The best set we ever had I think was for “Shirley Valentine”, the brilliant play by Willy Russell. In the first act, we had a working kitchen, which was used during the course of the show to actually cook some egg and chips.

The only problem with this was that the set was so realistic, and the smell of the egg and chips so inviting that it actually upstaged the action of the play.

“Are they actually cooking the chips.”

“Oooh yes. I can smell them.”

“So can I.”

“Look – there’s steam coming of the chip pan.”

“Oooh. I feel a bit hungry.”

“I could fair go some egg and chips.”

It never happens in Hamlet.

26th September, 2009 - 10 Theatrical anecdotes #9

The most peculiar things that I can remember happening in one of our shows was when one of our actors totally dried. She forgot her lines completely. It was in our production of Liz Lochhead’s “Perfect Days” which is set in a posh flat in Glasgow.

I saw that she had lost it. She was on-stage with one other actor who was fairly inexperienced, and I could see the panic flitting over his eyes. When this sort of thing happens most actors will go into a kind of self-preservation mode where they ramble away about anything until they stumble onto what they were supposed to be saying. It is a fairly tried and tested technique and it usually works without the audience noticing that anything is awry.

What most actors do not normally do, is to say “I’m away to make a cup of tea” and then walk through the bedroom door leaving their inexperienced co-star alone on the stage.

A hairy moment.

25th September, 2009 - Beer - The Robber of Foresight

I am waiting for my mate The Advocate to phone me. He is playing chess just down the road from me, and when he finishes, we are going to eat curry and drink beer. It will be nice. I will eat too much. I will drink more than the amount that the Scottish Government recommend in their hectoring adverts. Afterwards I will feel full and a bit drunk. In the morning I will not feel very well. Which will be a bit bad. But it will be worth it. And anyway, I am not thinking about that now. I am thinking about the beer.

24th September, 2009 - Watch This Space!

I have just finished reading “The 39 Steps” and a right rollicking boys own read it is too (if a little too crammed full of the “I’m-trapped- in-this-cellar-however-will-I escape-oh-look-there’s-some-high-explosive- and-a-lighter type). It has left me with a thirst for adventure. I am planning a new project. Watch this space. As soon as I have caught up on these blog entries, I will need your help folks.

23rd September, 2009 - 10 Theatrical Anecdotes #8

Once we did a show called “Sparky’s Wizards School”. Some might say that it was a blatant attempt to cash in on the Harry Potter Zeitgeist. Some might say that it was a cheap piece of commercialism. Some might say that it was an attempt to fleece the parents of impressionable young children.

Well, they can say it all they like. It packed them in, and the kids left the theatre happy after an hour of knockabout fun.

Well. Most of them did.

The show resulted in the only time that we have ever been asked for a refund. And it all arose out of a misunderstanding. You see, to publicise the show, we sent various members of the cast and crew out onto the streets of Edinburgh in costume. On this particular day, our steadfast set-builder, a bespectacled man in his middle years, took to the High Street in an outsized chicken outfit. One of the few families with young children who didn’t run screaming from him looked at the flyer and asked him, “Is this a magic show then?”

Our trusty man from Lanarkshire replied: “Aye – it’s totally magic.”

(For foreign readers and those who live more than ten miles from Tannochside, I should explain that in the Lanarkshire vernacular, “magic” is a term used to denote excellence. It does not necessarily imply the presence of David Copperfield).

At any event the family bought a ticket, but left after about twenty minutes and then volubly demanded their money back on the basis that they had been sold a pup. “Where were the tricks?” they demanded of the front of house team.

We refused them, and happily the story ended up in the diary section of The Herald. Where it gave us more publicity and sold us more tickets.

22nd September, 2009 - A Man Called Horse

I did not have the most relaxing start to the day. For once I woke up before the kids. There were a few minutes of peaceful bliss. A few minutes, where it was like the old days. The days when, after you awoke, you had the luxury of a decision. A decision about whether to slip back off to sleep, or maybe read for an hour, or maybe slip out of bed, make a coffee and return to the cool sheets before getting up to face the day.

But that is not a decision that I have available to me any more. By 7.30 am, both children were in the bedroom. One of them had turned on the radio, de-tuned it, and turned the volume right up, so that we had an accompaniment of deafening white noise. One child was complaining bitterly about having lost her “blue and white princess dress” (she does not have a blue and white princess dress, but she dreams about it from time to time, and then complains bitterly when it cannot be found). The other child was sitting astride me, pretending to be a small, but remarkably heavy jocky.

I chose to get up.

21st September, 2009 - 10 Theatrical Anecdotes #7

One of the oddest experiences I ever had in a theatre, was when one of the actors in one of our kids shows came down with laryngitis. This is the sort of thing that you dread when you put on shows. We’ve had a couple of occasions in the past ten years of running shows when actors have fallen ill or injured themselves. Don’t get me wrong, I don’t really care about the actors (or as my mate The Crew calls them “Talking Props”), but the thought of having to return box office takings turns me white with fear.

On this occasion, rather than cancel the show, my Significant Other had to step into the role. This involved her dressing up in a bright blue clown wig, and yellow dungarees decorated with tropical fruit. It spoiled our physical relationship for some months.

20th September, 2009 - 10 Theatrical Anecdotes #6

I think my most tense moment as a director came during a run in Edinburgh of my own show “Sex Lies and an Eighties Tribute Band”. I came in to see the cast just before the house opened one night. I am not generally one for pep talks, but I think it’s good to show face. However, on this occasion I came in to discover an enormous argument going on between two of the principals.

Not an ordinary argument. A proper toe to toe, nose to nose argument. The type of argument that often presages traded punches and police intervention. Swear words and serious threats were being traded.

The other actors in the play were looking on a bit fretfully. I suspect the thought of having to take to the stage with two players set on homicide was not an entirely enticing prospect. One of them tried to intervene. It was my mate, The Advisor, who tried to take on the role of peacemaker. Unfortunately, he was at the time wearing a skin tight red leotard, which (for reasons that escape me now) was essential to a cheap laugh in the opening scene.

There is a reason that the UN peacekeeping force in Palestine does not wear red lycra cat suits. It does not create the proper degree of dignity.

19th September, 2009 - 10 Theatrical Anecdotes #5

Q: What do you not want to find under the stage?

A: A three day old bottle of piss from a weak bladdered actor.

You know who you are.

18th September, 2009 - 10 Theatrical Anecdotes #4

Our least professional moment probably came during our run of “Flash McNash and the Hamsters From Mars.” This was a children’s show, which involved a small Scottish child travelling to Mars and defeating some evil hamsters. The script may have been influences by non-prescription drugs.

Our moment of shame came when, with about two minutes before curtain up, one of the actors noticed that none of the stage crew were there. A quick phone call revealed that this was because they were still in the flat about a mile away. Most of the were in their beds, and our senior technician was “having a nice hot shower”.

Even some nice ad libs about the crew being “unavoidably held up in the asteroid belt” and quite a large distribution of free sweeties could not keep the restive three year olds completely at bay.

17th September, 2009 - 10 Theatrical Anecdotes #3

Here is my third theatrical anecdote, in a series of ten, which is a thinly disguised effort to get this blog dragged into the month of October at least.

Here is a thing not to do in a listed building shortly before a production of the Scottish Play. Do not – I repeat – do not allow the Second Witch and Fleance to put all of the remaining smoke pellets for the “Caldron Bubble” bit, into said cauldron and then set fire to them in an unventilated corridor with a smoke alarm.

If you do, then you may expect the theatre, the adjoining bar, and the restaurant upstairs to be evacuated whilst some rather irritated firemen lecture you about health and safety.

16th September, 2009 - 10 Theatrical Anecdotes #2

Here’s my second theatrical anecdote. The best ad lib I heard on stage at one of our shows was to a very drunk audience member: “This is the sad bit now love. You’d better settle down.” I do believe there was a faint ripple of applause from the other audience members.

15th September, 2009 - 10 Theatrical Anecdotes #1

We are approaching the 10 year anniversary of our little theatre company, and I thought I might take this opportunity to write about 1o anecdotes from various shows that we’ve performed. The astute amongst you, may pick up on the fact that this is an incredibly easy way to get 10 blog entries, in the great catch up drive. Well. You are cynical beyond measure.

Before we did the Scottish Play, I dismissed the stories about the play being cursed as so much old codswallop – a kind of fun dressing room tradition. However, as I was getting ready to stage the show, I began to get an uneasy feeling. Part of this can undoubtedly be put down to the very dark mood of the play – dark plays are often not enormous fun to rehearse – they get under your skin. But it was more than that. As I travelled round the suppliers, the sense of unease increased. Everyone I came across – costumiers; lighting technicians; stage managers – they all seemed to have a story about something going wrong in a previous production.

Our production was staged in modern battledress, and we’d hired some replica guns from a local armourer. The guy who ran it was formerly in the SAS – he was fit as a flea, and his face was scarred and weary. He had the look of a man who had seen it all. And when I told him about what play the guns were for, he said this: “There’s something bad about that play man. I don’t know what it is, but there’s something bad about it.” Then, as he handed me the guns, he said “Be careful with these.”

14th September, 2009 - Act Local, Drink Local

It was good to be out with friends the other day after the football. I was saying to them, that the only thing I really miss about moving away from my old home town of Hamilton, is the fact that I don’t really have a local pub any more. The time was when I could walk into The Montrose almost any night of the week, and pretty much guarantee that I would find a few pals there. Now that I am away from the old town, that is no longer there.

Of course, this is a bit of an illusion. The reality is that, even if I lived in Hamilton now, I wouldn’t have that, because all my mates have moved away. Generally they have got married and they have found homes that are handier for work, or have better amenities, or are more affordable and so on and so forth. But only a couple of my closest pals still stay in the old town now.

What I am missing really is a time in my life, rather than a place I think. And I wouldn’t go back. Except once every couple of months with my mates, after the football.

13th September, 2009 - I Am Become Fat, An Eater Of Dips

I have eaten a bit too much humous tonight. I have not checked the packaging closely, but I suspect that the label “Reduced Fat” does not permit you to eat two whole tubs of the stuff along with a whole packet of water biscuits, a bunch of grapes, and three caramel Quality Streets.

I caught my Significant Other looking at me with a look of thinly disguised disgust; a look that said “I did not want to spend the rest of my life with a man who appears to have a goatee made from reduced fat humous”. I fear that she will leave me because of my weak will and bulging waistline. And then I will really go to seed, because there will be no-one there to make me feel guilty about stuff. That is what women are for – to make you feel guilty about eating too much humous.

I have to go now. I feel a bit sick.

12th September, 2009 - I Know How To Please A Lady

I have yet to try Viagra, in spite of the repeated e-mails in my in box, tempting me to a land where I can “Please My Lady” and “Make Her Scream Again.” So far, I have resisted these bold claims reasoning that I already know how to Please My Lady – a bag of chips and a hot water bottle do the trick nicely thank you. I can also Make Her Scream, simply by leaving the butter out overnight.

11th September, 2009 - Do You Wanna Be in my Gang? Eh... not really

Did you catch that mockumentary about the execution of Gary Glitter? Fairly compelling I thought in spite of my initial protestations about it being a ridiculous concept.

I am against the death penalty. I think you’ll probably find that most lawyers are. I’ve done a few criminal trials earlier in my career. It was all very low level stuff, but the thing that struck me was the level of doubt in my own mind about people’s guilt. At ay trial there seems to be some level of confusion about what the truth is. People remember different things. They have different emphases. And good though the jury system is, it seems to me that it would be a very odd human institution if there were no mistakes made ever.

The reality is that people are wrongly convicted from time to time. That is just the truth. It shouldn’t happen, but it does. And it appears to me that, if you admit that fundamental fact, itis wrong to impose a sentence that cannot be undone.

But you may say – what about the really certain cases – the cast iron “caught on CCTV and witnessed by a crowd of a hundred people cases?” Well, I say, it is still wrong. Because it is impossible to properly see into someone’s mind. I suspect that many homicides are carried out by perfectly rational, sane, and pre-meditated individuals. But, I suspect that just a few that look that way at first glance were not. And if there is a sliver of a chance that you kill someone who was mentally ill rather than just plain bad, then we should not take the risk.

10th September, 2009 - A Small Sherry Johston!

Sadly, I am not a member of a gentleman’s club. The idea is becoming more appealing these days. I think that I have reached the stage in life when I would get immense pleasure from membership.


It would be good, on the way home from work, to take a stroll to a rather grand building somewhere near to the office. There, I’d be greeted by the doorman – Charles we’ll call him – and he would smile at me; “How are you this evening sir?” He might even doff his cap. Yes. Let’s say he doffs his cap.

And once inside I’d order a little supper – a roast beef sandwhich sir? That’s perfect Johnston. (Johnston is the chef. I’ve decided.) And then I’d take my usual seat, under the reading lamp and I’d bring out the Time or The FT and I’d sip a glass of port. And the only noise would be the gentle hum of conversation, and perhaps the odd chink of glasses.

And Eastenders and Corrie and River City would be nowhere to be heard. In fact, no-one in here would know what a Soap Opera was.

9th September, 2009 - How Did They Do It?

I have just realised that I don’t know how my parents got engaged. You would have thought that after 42 and a bit years on the planet that I would know that. I will need to ask my old man next time I see him. Of course, if it involves any stories about sex then I don’t want to know about it. I hope that involves a picnic or something wholesome. Maybe a day at the Sunday School outing in Troon, over a double wafer? That would do.

8th September, 2009 - Procrastination. Wo oh procrastination's what you need.

I am desperate to catch up with this bloody blog! The Fringe put paid to regular blogging this year for a good couple of months, because of the ridiculously intensive rehearsal/writing schedule. The problem now is that the blog has become an excuse for putting off other stuff. (I’ll get round to that once the blog is caught up). So – instead of the blog being a power for good – it has become a powerful procrastination engine. Even my series of 42 Home Improvements is not enough to salvage the endless waste of time in front of the screen.

I am resolved to be more active. I am resolved to live up to my potential. Once, of course, I’ve caught up on the blog.

7th September, 2009 - Ideas About Directing #14

Idea 14 – Make Sure that Decisions Are Made


It appears to me that it is usually obvious when an actor is hedging their bets. By this, I mean that it is quite easy to deliver lines in a dramatic way, in just the right accent, but to have failed to make a decision about what it means. For example, in MacBeth’s “Tomorrow and Tomorrow and tomorrow” speech, is he saying the lines as a kind of eulogy for the Mrs, or is it a tired and jaded speech where he is railing against the pointlessness of life. There are probably shades of both in the lines, and both readings are possible, but the point I think is important is, that every time there is a dilemma like this in the play, you have to make sure that decisions are made. If they are not, then I think the words often come out unconvincingly.

So – don’t leave things hazy. Make sure things are concrete in the actors’ minds. Things will feel more solid as a result.

6th September, 2009 - Ideas About Directing #13

Idea 13 – Do Not Neglect Business


Bums on seats luvvie. Bums on seats.

It is no good at all to stage the best play in the world if you don’t have anyone to watch it. If an actor falls in a forest and there is no-one there to hear her, does she actually make any noise? The answer to this is yes obviously since all actors make an inordinate amount of noise all the time (usually about biscuits and dressing room facilities in my experience). But, the thing is nobody will care.

It is your job – like it or not – to get the tickets sold. To get the play talked about. To speak to the press. To e-mail your buddies. To be the guy that everybody hates getting an e-mail from.

And you are not alone, for this job is everyone in the company’s job too. If the circus comes to town and the Big Top is half empty then some ageing acrobat is going to be leaving the show before you hit the road. And it’s such a good show too – and the acrobats are daring and wonderful. Really. You should get a ticket. Wait a minute, I’ve got a leaflet here somewhere.

5th Septemebr, 2009 - Ideas About Directing #12

Idea 12 – Variety is the Spice of Life


The audience is doing something unnatural. It is expected to sit in the dark for over an hour, in circumstances where all the normal stimuli of conversation and interaction are removed. It is often warm, and it is usually in the early evening.

They will fall asleep unless you keep them engaged.

And there are tricks to keeping engagement. And one of the tricks is to change things. Even subtle changes in lighting seem to jolt the audience awake, or a change in pace. But keep looking for movement in the play and the lights and the volume. It is these dynamics that create interest, and keep the audience awake.

4th September, 2009 - Ideas About Directing #11

Idea 11 – Create Moments of Magic


It seems to me that theatre can do one thing better than other media, and that is to create little moments of magic. If you get it right in the theatre, you have the opportunity to make people’s hair stand on end, or to make them jump in horror, or to make them see things in a new way. But you need to work hard to create these moments, and for my money, a play ain’t a good play unless you try to find these moments.

If you don’t do this, then you might as well be making a film or (worse) taping a radio production. All the sparkling dialogue and clever relationships are fine and dandy, but there should be a trick or two in the magic trunk to create something wonderful.

You won’t always manage it of course, but you should try.

3rd September, 2009 - 42 Home Improvements #8

I know that you have all been on tenterhooks awaiting the eighth Home Improvement in my quest to reach 42 (ine for every year of my life). Well – you shall not be disappointed, for tonight I hung a picture in the bathroom.

This was a bit of a lazy Home Improvement, given that the picture hook was already in situ (the previous picture having fallen off and smashed). So, in a way, you could argue that this Home Improvement really only involved in me fetching a picture from the next room and hanging it on a hook. That would certainly be one way of looking at it.

But the picture looks nice. And the home has been improved. So it counts. Especially cos I am making the rules of the quest.

2nd September, 2009 - 42 Home Improvements #7

Those of you in the know, have been eagerly following this series of entries, as I try to improve my household in 42 ways (one for every year of my life). Number 7 was completed this evening when I re-hung a mirror. This is not the same mirror that I hung earlier in this series. It was a different mirror.

It had fallen off the wall, and fortunately had not broken (therefore if I now experience 7 years bad luck it is entirely down to God, and not the supernatural forces of the mirror demons). I am strangely superstitious about matters such as this, which is odd, given my pretty rigidly rationalist views of the universe. But something about mirrors breaking, and the number 13, and saying the name of The Scottish Play in theatres fills me with an irritating dread. For me these things are doubly irritating, because I know the fear to be completely stupid. And yet... and yet...

1st September, 2009 - Ideas about Directing #10

Idea 10 – Pace is (Almost) Everything


If there is one Big Thing to look out for, then it is the pace of the dialogue. There is a huge temptation for the actors and the director to over-analyse everything to the point where delivery of dialogue because you’ve reached a point where you feel that every line, and every pause is invested in some kind of important meaning. If you’ve spent time finding these meanings buried in the dialogue, then you want to make sure that the audience recognises your cleverness, and as a result the play slows and stutters.

It is..

..it’s far more...

..well – important...

.. to keep things moving at times...

Yeah... to keep things moving...

... because... well.. that’s what keeps the audience...umm...

Interested?

Yeah. Interested!

31st August, 2009 - Ideas About Directing #9

Idea 9 – Look At Things From Different Angles


For years I directed while sitting at a table positioned right in the middle of where the front row of the audience would be. This was wrong, because his is where only one member of the audience sits. And you have to remember that (if the show sells well) people will be sitting in much more extreme positions in the auditorium, where masking problems and sight lines are much more awkward.

So, that is why I pace around in rehearsals. I look at how the thing looks from different points of view. It reminds you that variety of positioning on the stage is important, because if one actor is behind another, a small shift in where she stands, will bring her into the view of different people.

This rule is really important in unconventional spaces where the audience are sitting in odd places, like side on to the stage.

30th August, 2009 - Ideas About Directing #8

Idea 8 – The Pub Is Important

There is no doubt in my mind is that the best shows are almost always ones where the cast develop some sort of team spirit. The sum total is greater than the integers that you are adding up.

There is no sure fire way of creating this rather elusive thing, but you can provide conditions where it is more likely to happen. I use the word pub here as a metaphor for all the stuff that isn’t really about rehearing per se – like a cup of coffee before you start; like a habit of bringing biscuits to rehearsals; like talking things over in the kitchen. This stuff isn’t rehearsals, but it is about teamwork, and if you don’t work out how to do that for each and every team that you work with, then you are in the wrong job. (And the word “job” here is also a metaphor – this time for “unpaid hobby that you do in smelly old church halls while normal people are watching the football.”)

29th August, 2009 - Ideas About Directing #7

Rule 7 – Measure the Stage


There is no excuse for rehearsing in a space that is different from the space of the theatre you are about to work in. If you get this wrong, then you will wind up having to make emergency corrections to the blocking at the dress rehearsal, and you will have to make compromises that you don’t think through properly. This is avoidable, by careful use of a tape measure and a piece of chalk. Buy these and put them in the posey man bag that, as a director, you will have undoubtedly purchased along with your trendy hat, and a jacket that is marginally too young for you.

28th August, 2009

Idea 6 – Runs Are Good


Running big sections of the play is A Good Thing. There is something about letting sections of the action unfold that is infinitely useful. It gives you a feel for the pace and shape of the play. It lets you see how sections link and work together. If you get too involved in stopping and starting the play, you can easily lose sight of the bigger picture, which is the creation of a story, with its own rhythm.

The idea here is to remember that big things are just as important as little things when obeying Rule 3 (Don’t Let Anything Go), and to look at the big things you need to observe big chunks of action. So – for example – your heroine may be doing a beautiful job of the comedy in scene 1 and the pathos in scene 2 when you look at these in isolation, but you may not have got the segue right to carry one into the other. And if that jars, then things are no good.

27th August, 2009 - Ideas About Directing #5

Idea 5 – Pay As Much Attention to the Second Half of the Play as You do to the First

This is something I consistently got wrong for ages. Because of Rule 3 (correct everything you don’t like), I had a tendency to break down the opening scenes of a play to a huge extent, and then realise with about two weeks of rehearsals that I was going to have to skim through the remainder. Invariably, the end of the show suffered.

This was a big mistake. After all, the end of the play is the most important. It is what the audience goes out of the auditoriul talking about. You either leave them feeling as if they’ve had a good night or you don’t. So the end deserves your full attention.

I suppose that if you’re disciplined you could follow a rigid timetable, but that doesn’t really work for me. You invariably find that there are areas of the play that need much more time than you thought (usually anything involving sword fights or kissing in my experience) and therefore, you can’t be too rigid in the timetable. What I tend to do is to alternate rehearsals between Act 1 and Act 2 where I can. This is probably a bit annoying for the actors, who generally feel happier building chronologically through the play, but on the other hand it does give you a feeling of progress and comfort that all bases are being covered.

However you do it, look closely at the end of the play.

26th August, 2009 - Ideas About Directing #4

Idea 4 – There is a Time to Let Go


Be aware that, as the time approaches for the show to go up, there is a tim to stop picking fault. There is a trade off here. Some stuff that is not in your view quite right, may slip through, but the pay off for this is that the show needs to run. There are lots of reasons for this, but the main one is that the actors need to feel the shape of the show, and to develop confidence that they can get through the whole thing without stopping. If you don’t do this, then potential disaster awaits.

Of course, this rule doesn’t stop you taking some notes and then finessing some stuff that needs attention, but don’t get too picky as the opening night approaches, or confidence will be wrecked. And you run the risk of being tied up with fly ropes and left for dead outside the stage door.

25th august, 2009 - Some Ideas About Directing #3

Idea 3 – Do Not Let Anything Go If It Bugs You

There is a temptation (particularly if you are a believer in Rule 2) to take hands off to an extreme, and to sacrifice occasional intervention, for the sake of letting the rehearsal flow. I think this is a mistake.

When you are directing shows, if you have any sort of role at all, then it is to stand outside the action and spot what is and isn’t working. And, if you are to add something, then it is your job to sort out what is not working. And by that, I mean everything that is not working.

Everything.

Let me repeat that. Sort out everything you can. Without exception.

If there is an awkward delivery of a single word (and you are satisfied that it wasn’t a one-off slip) then sort it. If an actor slouches and it’s not right, then tell them. If lines are dragging then work on it until the pace is right. There is no excuse for not sorting stuff. It is your job. You might think that you are annoying the actors, but you are not. They do not want to look like diddies when the limelight starts to burn. If they look like diddies, make sure that it isn’t your fault.

There is an exception to this rule. See Rule 4.

24th August, 2009 - Some Ideas About Directing #2

Idea 2 – Leave As Much As You Possibly Can To The Actors

Generally speaking the actors know a lot more than you do about what will work on a stage. They – after all – are the ones who will be putting their thespian derrieres on the line when the curtain comes up. When the rotten tomatoes start flying, it is they who be covered in red goo, whilst you are revving the Mercedes Sprinter in the car park.

There is a ton of stuff that you do not know as a director. You do not always recognise that a beautiful line on the page, is clumsy to say. You do not always recognise that the bottle of wine takes thirty seconds to open. And – if all the planets are aligned – you have very little to do with the subtle magic that is created in the very best shows, where two or three or more of the cast have created a special spark.

So – hands off whenever you can. Let them find what they need to find.

23rd August 2009 - Some Ideas About Directing Shows #1

Idea Number 1 – Don’t Cast Against Type


This is one of my main rules. If you have someone who is 21 and they are playing someone who is meant to be 40, it doesn’t matter how brilliant your interpretation of the text is, or how brilliant a lighting plot you have, the play is not going to work.This is not the actor's fault wither; it is yours.

The problem is that the audience cannot get over the hurdle of suspension of disbelief. The best you can possibly hope for are comments of the “That was fantastic – and didn’t that young boy do well.” The subtext of this is, of course, “I couldn’t stop thinking about how young that bloke was.”

It’s a mistake I’ve made regularly myself – often because in the world of amateur theatricals there are constraints on the pool of actors that you have. But it is better to cast your net wider. I think that you are better having a cast of actors who look right in the roles than you are having top flight A1 actors who just aren’t quite right. Somehow, you can make the “world” of the play a real one; a world that – with a following wind – you can hopefully lose the audience in for a little while.

There are exceptions to this rule permitted for school and college shows.

22nd August, 2009 - Singstar!

I had my first game of Singstar on the Playstation the other night. It was at my mate The Advisor’s House after the football, and obviously after a fair number of beers. (I am from the West of Scotland after all - singing and saying affectionate stuff to your mates is only permitted after 14 units).

And it was brilliant!

The beauty of Singstar (and Rock Band and Guitar Hero for that matter) is that they are not really computer games at all. Oh yes – they nominally have a scoring system, and they have high scores and so on, but they are not really about competition any more than a game of charades is a competition. These are party games. They are a return to Victorian traditions of an after dinner game.

These are modern versions of Ludo and Concentration and Snakes and Ladders. They are about fun and conviviality. And listening to my pal Parcelforce Pete, doing a very passable Errol Brown imitation to “I Believe in Miracles”. Who knew a white man from Lanarkshire could be so convincing whilst crooning “You sexy thing....”

21st August, 2009 - Mon the Accies!

I had a cracking day at the football on Saturday. It was the local derby between Hamilton and Motherwell, and a few mates and myself generally go along to these games and have a few pints afterwards. It was a particularly good match, ending in a 2-2 draw. It is a long time since I have been at the football and experienced the flip-flop of emotion as a game see-saws between success and failure. For a few glorious minutes it looked as if we were going to emmerge triumphant. This would have secured three valuable points, but - far more importantly  would have ensured that we on the red and white side of the terraces wouod have had bragging rights for the night. Sadly it was not to be, foollowing a wholly undeserved equaliser with three minutes to go.

It was also cold, and I tend to think that football is best watched from under a woolly hat with a polystyrene cup full of peppered Bovril. There is something simple about it. Something right about the cold air in your lungs. It makes the warmth of the pub afterwards feel right, and somehow the chat seems warmer too.

20th August, 2009 - The Curious Incident of the Dog in the Night-Time

I have just finished reading “The Curious Incident of the Dog in the Night-Time” by Mark Haddon, and it is utterly brilliant. I read it in two days, and I can’t remember the last time that I did that. (obviously, I don't mean that I can't remember the last time I read "The Curious Incident of the Dog in the Night-Time" in 2 days, bacuase I have never read it before. I mean any book. Stop being so literal minded.)  It is a mesmerising story told from the point of view of a narrator with autism. We are catapulted into a world seen through the eyes of someone who has an utterly different way of processing information.

The book is sad and funny and rather wise. It questions the way we perceive the world and points out that much of our experience is illusion. I also like the bit where the narrator reminds us that our crazy thirst for travel is illogical, pointing out that there are so many things in one suburban house that are strange and wonderful, that it would take a lifetime to think about them all. How does de-icer work? Why do glasses reach a resonant frequency if you run a wet finger around the rim.

There are strange and beautiful journeys to be had if you don’t ever step over the front doorstep.

19th August, 2009 - 42 Home Improvements #6

As you probably know if you read this blog from time to time, I am making 42 small improvements to my home (one for every year of my life) in a vain effort to rescue my chaotic life from a slow slide to homelessness, squalor and a visit from Kim and Aggie.

I managed number 6 on the list today by re-positioning the kitchen clock, so that it is centrally positioned above the door frame. I am a bit manic when it comes to symmetry of picture hanging. This seems a bit odd coming from a man who can wear one pair of jeans from December to mid-April, and who regards the “non-iron” shirt as a statement of the perfectly bleeding obvious.

The time piece is now happily central, and order in my little corner of the world is restored for now. Outside, the world may be slowly reaching boiling point, and the end of the world may well be nigh, but here, with the coffee pot filled and my clock ticking in just the right place, there is at least the illusion of order.

18th August, 2009 - 42 Home Improvements #5

Regular readers (and let’s face it, if you’re not, you should be) will know that I am engaged in a project to make one small improvement in my house for every year of my life. I am thus using this blog as a powerful tool for self-improvement, rather than just an excuse for endless procrastination. (One day, I will show you my list of “Things To Do When I Have Caught Up On The Blog Entries.”

Today, I have reached number 5 on the list by purchasing three lamps. This involved a trip to the industrial estate with the wife and weans on a Thursday. Rock and roll huh? The thing is, I still internally regard myself as non-conformist, but I have to say that, if Sherlock Holmes were on the case, I suspect that his powers of deduction would tell him otherwise.

“Consider the facts Watson. Alan B has a nine to five job. He has a mortgage, two children and a house in suburbia. He has Sky television. He buys his clothes from chain stores in shopping malls that are convenient for parking and motorway access. He listens to Radio 2.

Oh yes, Watson, he would have you believe that he is a rebel. However, the evidence tells us otherwise. He is living a lie. He is no James Dean. He is Harold Bishop or I shall dine on my deer stalker before the week is out.”

17th August, 2009 - Separation Anxiety

The Roundfaced Girl does not seem to be suffering much from separation anxiety at the moment. When I leave for work in the morning I always make a point of saying goodbye to the kids. The Roundfaced Boy, usually uses this as an opportunity to give me one of his patented slobbery kisses full on the mouth. I have not been kissed like that since some drunken teenage parties in the mid 80s. He usually says something like “Aaa ooo oooiii ooo wuuu”. This translates as “Are you going to work.” Consonants are not featuring highly in his list of skills as of yet.


The Rounfaced Girl is, however, somewhat less fulsome in her dismay at my leavetaking. She expresses her love for me by sitting in front of the television with her thumb in her mouth. “That’s me off to work,” I say.

“Byeeee,” I add, a little forlornly. She continues to suck her thumb.

“I’ll see you later.... That’s me away... I’m closing the door now...”

16th August, 2009 - Defiance

The Roundfaced Boy is going through a defiant period at the moment.

His principal hobby seems to be hitting one object off another object. He seems to have a knack for it. This morning his antics involved a spoon and a table, but other favourite combos are: “cup and television”; “light sabre and window”; and “head and laminate flooring”. When he get chastised for this behaviour, he looks at me and then does it again.

“Clunk”


“I said – don’t do that again.”


“Clunk.”


“I mean it. I will be very disappointed in you.”


“Clunk.”


“There – see – that’s me disappointed now.”


“Clunk.”


“I won’t tell you again.”


“Clunk.”


“Don’t do that!!!!!!”

And so on, until I shout at him in a way that makes me feel guilty and make him bury his face in a cushion.

15th August, 2009 - Murder!

I wonder what it would actually be like to have killed someone. Don’t worry. I am not going to put this question to the test. You can sleep safe in your bed. At least for tonight. Who knows, perhaps tomorrow my homicidal urges will get the better of me.

The reason that I ask the question, is that I saw an old guy walking down the road tonight. He was hailing a bus. He was wearing his old military skip cap and a few medals. I suppose that there’s a fair old chance that he was just an old eccentric (which of us doesn't want to wander around with a few medals in our old age), but equally there’s a good chance that he was actually in the military, and sixty years ago, he was somewhere in a European field, firing a gun at someone.

We live in great times, those of us in the UK who were born after the last war. Things have been largely peaceful. But even now there are still old guys, running for a bus in Tollcross, that have seen things that would make you weep. I imagine flagging down a bus must seem rather dreary to him, given the bloody adventures of his youth. Then again, perhaps he is glad of the peace and quiet.

14th August, 2009 - 9 to 5 - The New Rock and Roll

I kinda like my job. I am quite well-suited I fear for the life of the 9 to 5 lawyer. I like to think that I am a rebel, and would do well in a life on the open road – in the circus maybe. But actually, I think I am suited to the suited life.

It is odd, but I class myself as fairly lucky. My other great love is the theatre, and I sometimes have a little pipe dream about leaving the law and going full time into shows. However I was talking to one of my mates about this the other day. He jacked in his day job and re-trained. He’s now a highly successful theatre technician. And the odd thing is that he’s hankering after a bit of stability – he’s fed up touring around and working unsociable hours. In fact – he worked for about 18 months there on a big hit show, and the funny thing is that he got bored of it. If you think about it, theatre is largely about doing exactly the same thing for a couple of hours night after night after night. That’s Ok in the amateur world where I work – it’s a good hobby and a break from the day job – but I imagine it must get pretty dreary.

If I compare that to my day job, where you never know who’s going to walk in the door, and where you deal every day with life in all its multi-coloured splendour, I actually count myself pretty lucky.

13th August, 2009 - Cilla - You Got It Wrong

I have never been on a blind date. It seems unlikely that I ever will, and that is something I am fairly pleased about. It seems to me to be a completely terrifying prospect. Frankly, all of my own first dates have usually involved people that I know very well and extremely large quantities of alcohol. In fact, they were not so much dates as drinking sessions that morphed imperceptibly into a snog. (How did you and mummy meet daddy? Well – I think it was in the toilet at a New Year party,, but it’s all a bit hazy son. We were playing twister for a bit too.)

That seems to me to be the correct way to meet your future partner – stoke up on booze and then, in some very dark party, where you are fairly certain that your acne is somewhat disguised by the lighting, move in for the kill.

12th August, 2009 - Party!!!!!

I am planning a “do” to celebrate the tenth anniversary of my wee theatre company. This February it will be ten years since the Significant Other and I hatched our plot to become the third best theatre company in East Kilbride. In a little moment of romance and adventure upstairs in Starbucks on The Royal Mile we did a little budget, and said “Let’s Do This”. And we have been having a whole lot of fun ever since. We have also been in quite a lot of debt.

Anyhow, we thought we might mark the occasion. But it is difficult to know what to do. We’ve worked with lots of actors over the years, but it is difficult to know how many might want to come along. Equally, on ecan never be sure what acors will want to do (other than talk to other actors and tell anecdotes about hilarious incidents involving their trousers). Do we book a hall and a band, or do we buy a couple of sausage rolls and sit round the kitchen table.

It is a puzzler. All suggestions gratefully welcomed.

11th August, 2009 - 42 Home Improvements #4

I have completed the fourth of my 42 Home Improvements. (Regular readers already know that I am trying to make one small improvement in the house for every year of my life).

Tonight’s little tactical manoeuvre in the war against entropy was to hang a mirror. I know that this sounds impressive. I know that you are now looking at me in a new light: a light that highlights my rugged and masculine qualities. He – you are thinking – might make a decent model for the new Gillette campaign (the one for the new nine bladed razor).

It is less impressive when I tell you that the mirror has been sitting on top of my Significant Other’s dressing table for three and a half years. See – in one paragraph I have gone from hero and possible lifemate material, to a despicable and slovenly ne’er-do-well.

I hung it damn you.

10th August, 2009 - Shifting Gear

I am planning next year’s shows for the theatre company just now. It’s not an altogether unpleasant task. Organising things in the Arts seems largely to consist of having three hour meetings over several cups of coffee followed by a leisurely exchange of e-mails. These might, or might not, constitute a contract – but who needs one of those anyway – we’re all nice guys anyway aren’t we? Plus we all recognise that the chance of ever making any real money in the theatre is vanishingly small, so there seems little point in committing any sort of agreement to writing. It is better to make contacts, and spend long and happy hours in the slightly seedy bars where theatre people hang out.

This lackadaisical approach is in rather stark contrast to the day job, where most of my day is spent frantically dealing with huge piles of paper – reading them, filing them, responding to them. I need to mentally shift gear as I move from one world to the other: from handshakes and contacts; to copperplate and contracts I guess.

9th August, 2009 - OCD with the Ts

I have completed the third of my 42 Home Improvements. (Regular readers will now by now that I am trying to complete one home improvement for every year of my life).

Tonight I tidied a wardrobe! I appreciate that sometimes this blog gets almost a bit too exciting, and that tonight is one of those nights. But my aim always is to provide you with titillating insights into how much more thrilling my life is than yours. Whilst you were watching River City, I was debating over the correct system for classifying piles of T shirts. As a result, whilst you have spent your evening wondering where Scarlett has got to, I now have a wardrobe that looks a bit like Patrick Bergen has been an uninvited house guest.

For those of you who were wondering about the T shirt classification system, I opted for three piles: one for sportswear; one for casual; and one for classics. I think you will find that it is a simple and effective system, which means no pile is overburdened, and you can easily pick the perfect t shirt to suit your mood.

Of course, there are certain anomalies. For example, does the oxymoronic “long sleeved t shirt” really belong in the T shirt pile at all. Having said that, it is not really a jumper, and it scarcely deserves a pile of its own. Similarly, some classic t shirts have now become sufficiently faded that they are now suitable only for visits to the gym. Are they now to be re-classified to the sports pile? This hardly seems fair to the bespoke Adidas T shirts. It is a bit like a player from Cambuslang United being found in the Man U dressing room.

So, the evening has not been without intellectual challenge.

8th August, 2009 - Smoking! My New Expense Free Hobby

I am finally off the Lemsip following my cold. As such I am now £2.79 per day better off. I reckon that, now that I am in sound health, I can afford to take up smoking seriously, and without serious damage to my wallet. If I start now – today – then I will not notice the upturn in diposable income and therefore my transition to fully fledged smoking status will be financially painless.

I will therefore be better off than those smokers who form the habit whilst in perfect health, who suffer the financial pain of starting. For me, the transition will be smooth and fiscally neutral. Look out for me soon in high class tobacconists. Mine’s a Havana!

7th July, 2009 - Net Work If You Can Get It

I had the slightly disconcerting experience last night of meeting someone that I only had hitherto known through Facebook. He is a friend of several friends of mine, and we often find ourselves posting what I regard as highly witty and pertinent comments on other peoples statuses. Through this, our names have often appeared alongside one another, and I have felt that I have come to know him. After all, as a man, I rarely say more than 3 sentences to any one of my mates in any form of written communication (“How’s you? All well here. Beer soon?”), so my cyber friendship is probably just about as deep as it gets for a West of Scotland Man.

Anyway, we were both at a play that one of our mutual pals was in, and we were introduced. It was slightly awkward at first. I felt that we should both have had a keyboard so we could converse properly, but it soon became a little more natural. Social networking in the real world. It is very odd.

At one point I got close to a LOL.

6th July, 2009 - Rattle Those Ivories Nonconformist Boy

I was at a really romantic wedding last night, and was having a wee chat with my mate The Piano Teacher. He is one of those highly admirable anti-establishment types who actually lives what he speaks. He jacked in a sound job with the Inland Revenue some years ago to live his dream of playing music, and he has become highly successful. He teaches, he plays, he sings gorgeous duets at breathtakingly romantic weddings, and he might even have a gig with a decent rock band any time soon.

He is, of course, the object of my unspoken admiration and envy.

He has steadfastly refused to take on a mortgage for years because he (quite accurately) points out that none of us “home owners” are anything of the sort. We are, of course, borrowers, up to our eyes in debt and mortgage repayments. We are all – save lottery winners and senior bank officials excepted renting from the bank for our whole working lives. The secret is to live and love well.

And to earn enough to pay the mortgage of course.

5th July, 2009 - 42 Home Improvements #2

I am rattling through the Home Improvements and have notched up Number 2 by hanging some pictures! Isn’t my life exciting? Don’t you wish your husband was hot like me? Don’t you wish he could handle a spirit level like me?

Well? Dontcha?

No. I expect not.

They look nice though – my 4 little abstract patterns that now hang above the bed in what to the naked eye looks almost (but frustratingly not quite) perfect symmetry. I feel a bit like a hunter gatherer, now that I have attended to some manual labour. I am off now to eat some raw meat and watch The X Factor.

4th July, 2009 - 42 Home Improvements #1

Welcome to the first, in what will be an occasional, sporadic and no doubt highly dull series of blog entries. 42 Home Improvements!

Torpor has set in following our really successful run of the new play “21 Girlfriends” and I find myself languishing too much in front of the telly. You know that you are watching too much of the box when you and your family have invented your own catch phrases that you all say every time on eof the Strictly judges come on:

Len: He’s such a gentleman

Alicia: Away hame you

And so on and so forth. Well. Whilst I have been grounded on the sofa, the house and garden has been gradually falling into a state of decay. Entropy has taken hold. Things have collapsed, broken and fallen into disuse.

So – in an effort to correct this, witness 42 HOME IMPROVEMENTS (one for each year of my life – a rather modest target). And to kick things off, I cut the grass today., No mean achievement, given that I had to flush out a tribe of pygmies and a whole camp of Oxbridge anthropologists in the process.

1 down: 41 to go.

3rd July, 2009 - Goodbye Little iPod

I nearly lost my iPod. This will not come as a great surprise to anyone who knows me. I have for some years been a legendary key-loser. I am in the Guinness Book of Records for the shortest period between putting my keys down and losing them (4.23 picoseconds for those of you with a statistical bent).

However, even in the Big Book of Alan B's Stupid Loss of Things (which is a very big book indeed, even if it is difficult to remember where I left it) the near loss of the iPod was fairly remarkable. See - I put it in a little compartment thing in the car. You know - one of these cunning places that German designers find to store loose change and parking vouchers. Beautifully designed, so that with a single press the compartment glides open to reveal a hitherto undiscovered space: a little box of secrets. A box just enough to fit an iPod in.

And - it seems - a box just small enough for the iPod to block the opening mechanism, thus ensuring that - once snug inside - the iPod remains forever locked in a little secret tomb. I had to prize the whole fascia off from around the gear box with a screwdriver. It made a nasty grating noise followed by a loud crack that suggested irreperable damage. But I have the iPod back.

2nd August, 2009 - Fight! Fight! Fight!

This is how bad I am at fighting: the only time that I was ever involved in a physical fight, was when I was in my late twenties when, full of the drink, I attempted to intervene in a tussle between a pal of mine and a large thug with a fence post.

My intervention might be viewed as successful in some ways. But only if your measure of success is such that victory goes to the person who fails to land a blow and is repeatedly bashed around the bottom with a large piece of wood whilst yelling like a girl.

If you are ever involved in a fight, you should probably not involve me. But if you do, know this: I am prepared to lay down my buttocks for a friend.

1st August, 2009 - Punctuation

Right: the thing about puntion - and I am very firm about this - is that you can overuse it, so that it becomes irritating; intrusive; obstructive even (don't you think?) so beware!

31st July, 2009 - Nigel Slater: Kill The Pig

Can you imagine being marooned on a desert island with Nigel Slater?


Hello. I’m Nigel Slater – I’m your companion.


Oh. Good.


Look – I’ve found these coconuts and beetle larvae. And I think they’re in season. I know it’s a bit – well – gristly. But it’s so important to work with nature.


Is it?


Yeah. I’ve got an allotment you know. So I know about this stuff.


Really? Did you get those designer glasses from an aborigine then?


Don’t be silly. These are Armani. Hey – there might even be a TV series in this experience. “Nigel’s Robinson Crusoe Cuisine”. Hey. Yeah. I’m liking it. Lots of fish lightly baked in an oven of sand with fresh garden herbs. This is going to be fun.


Really? Do you think so?


What are you doing with that sharpened stick? Hey. Watch the jacket...

30th July, 2009 - Anthem For the Sartorially Challenged

I was at a great wee production of the David Mamet play "Glengarry Glenross" on Thursday. If you haven't seen the film, then I recommend it.

It has got me thinking about suits. The show is full of salesmen in their suits and ties. And the suits themselves and the way they are worn - some sharp, some down at heel, some careless - said almost as much about the characters as the dialogue at times.

Obviously I wear suits to work. And I am aware that I am not very good at it. I try. I honestly do. I look for shirts and ties that I think go together. I hang my jacket up. I get them dry cleaned sometimes. But somehow, I don't ever seem to get it right. Somehow, the only look I manage to pull off is: shabby and slightly harrassed middle-manager chic.

And I know that if Trinny and Suzannah ever come to see me, they woould purse their lips and tut a lot.Andthen they would shriek like the witches that they undoubtedly are: He looks like he picked them up in a bin.

29th July, 209 - Don't Waken The Beast

Here is one of my stupid superstitions.

I never make lists that include the number 13.

Rationally, I know that this is completely foolish. I know, in the left hand side of my brain, that it makes no difference whether you include a completely arbitrary numeral in a list. I know that, in point of fact, excluding the numeral is silly, because it makes the number of items inaccurate. And I know that is pointless.

But. You see. The right hand side of my brain knows that the left hand side of my brain is wrong about this on. The RHS has a secret knowledge. It knows that if I include the number 13 in the list, then it is likely to open a portal to one of hell’s darker corners. And minor demons will escape. And they will play havoc with my list. And will lead to failure, and disgrace, and possibly a major plague in Central Africa. And with those consequences, I am afraid it is just not worth the risk.

28th July, 2009 - Keep Taking The Tablets. Forever.

I am trying to fend off the cold just now by taking vitamin C tablets. I know, of course, that this is pointless. I know that all they give you is a placebo effect, and given I know that the only effect they have is a placebo one, I also know that the placebo effect will be negated by that knowledge. So – therefore – it is pointless to take the tablets.

Except, now that I have started to take them, I am afraid to stop. Because stopping them might actually have an adverse effect on my cold. So – if I stop taking them the symptoms might become worse.

Now, I know that these feelings are irrational, but given that the only effect is a placebo one, presumably there might also be an anti-placebo effect. And although I realise that, if I recognise that the effect is anti-placebo, I should therefore be immune, I do not entirely trust that.

So. I am still taking the tablets. Every morning. And I still have the cold. If anything it is slightly worse today.

27th July, 2009 - Girl Power

I see the Spice Girls are planning another re-union.

Oh good.

26th July, 2009 - Nigel Slater Devil's Spawn

Dear God.

Forgive Me.

I have been shouting at the telly again, and I fear I must do penance. But before You come down too hard on me, and smite me a bit, I should explain, that I was shouting at Simpering English Sleazeball Nigel Slater.

It’s like this Lord. When I come home from work and settle in front of the telly with my SMFO (Sad Meal For One) from Tescos, I want heartwarming banter from cheeky Ainsley or I want big Gordon swearing at some Minor Celebrities. I do not want to come home from work to be lectured by Nigel about the correct way to score a pumpkin. “Oooh aren’t these pumpkins from my allotment simply shouting Autumn goodness?” smarms Nigel. Whn, in fact, I know that media savvy Nigel would never have dirtied his lily-white fingers and risked dirtying the Apple Mac if there hadnb’t been a contract in it from Auntie.

Lord - You are infinitely wise, and must recognise that Nigel is one of the more cunning of the Devil’s henchmen.

25th July, 2009 - The Last Meal Before I Die

I have been buying The List magazine again in an effort to find things to do with the kids other than sitting them in front of C Beebies.I was looking at it tonight, and there’s a bit in it where they ask celebrities what was the best meal they ever had.

That is an easy one for me. If I ever become a celbrity, I will be able to answer that one swiftly. The best meal I have ever had was in a Spanish restaurant in the Red Light District in Amsterdam. It was a run down place with trestle tables, but it was jammed with locals – business men, hookers, staff from local bars – all crammed shoulder to shoulder because they knew that the food here was special.

Red Wine; Squid in Ink; Steak in a brandy sauce and sautéed potatoes.

24th July, 2009 - My Old Boy's Farcical iPod

I have been trying to phone my old man more regularly following his op. As I have mentioned recently in this blog, we do not ever talk about our feelings and emotions, but instead talk about work, music and technology.


At the moment we are talking extensively about i-Tunes. My Old Man has bought an i-Pod and is now busily downloading his entire CD collection. Unfortunately this means that he has been listening to some of his more dubious CDs and is threatening to download some copies for me. I live in perpetual fear of my dad’s pirated CD’s largely because he later asks mme what I think of them. In turn this means that I at least need to cast a cursory ear over Parky Picks Some Middle of the Road Pish to Send You Quietly Mad and Ivan Ribroff Sings Porgy and Bess in a Curious Russian Accent.

I am glad I currently have a cold and am unable to visit.

23rd July, 2009 - Running Man

I was chatting to one of my pals at a party recently. She has just completed the Amsterdam marathon ( and in a new personal best to boot). Even talking to her about it for 10 minutes or so left me panting for breath. But it did get me thinking of my one and only half marathon – the Great Scottish Run, which I reckon I must have done about 15 years ago now.


I remember surprisingly little about it now. Apart from the pain. And milling in the big crowd at the start, amongst people who were clearly much more seasoned runners than I was. People comparing their carb intake for the day; people wearing vests from other big runs; people who had PBs to beat. I felt rather amateurish (as no doubt I was) amongst these veterans.

22nd July, 2009 - Ask Yourself Punk: "Do You Feel Lucky?"

The best motto that I ever saw in a Fortune Cookie was opened my pal The Tennis Coach. It was:

“Keep your lucky number 2 close to you at all times.”

21st July, 2009 - Barber! Weave Your Subtle Magyk

I used to quite enjoy going to the hairdressers. If you go to Yours Faithfully in Hamilton, for a cut and blow dry there is a fair chance that you would get a pleasing scalp massage from Deirdre the trainee, a nice cup of coffee and a wee chat about the pluses and minuses of a self-catering apartment in Malaga with Liz, the girl who gets to cut the blokes’ hair.

These days though, it is less of a pleasure. Because, you see, getting your hair cut is one of the only times as a man that you have to st in front of a mirror and ponder your own face for half an hour. Women, of course, do this at least four times a day anyway, so the shock is less for them. But, as a bloke, you only do this about four times a year, so, the haircut is the point where you examine the reality of your own sagging and tired features.

Not even the cunning cut of Liz’s crimping shears will restore my lost youth. Not even a dapper point to my sideburns will return me to my prime. All that lies ahead is an ever smaller pile of ever whiter hair around the barber’s chair.