That's Right, It's Red...

My head's a bit dead today. I'm not sure if that's because I've done barely anything (surprise, surprise chuck) or if it's because I've had CBeebies on in the background for a considerable chunk of the afternoon. Why so? Because according to Miss BBC Writersroom Lady what came in to do a talk in yesterday's super-special, limited stock, once in a lifetime, Creative Writing seminar mentioned that said Writersroom's next "competition" (I use the term loosely because it always sounds so childish [then again, we are talking about CBeebies here]) involves them commissioning scripts for original pre-school material for said channel. Of course, I still don't have the foggiest idea what I'm doing, where I'm going, or how I'm breathing in this life, so getting straight to work on an entire hypothetical idea for a television programme for the simplest of humans amongst us is it bit sort of head-explodey... and I don't think graphic violence would bode well with a pre-school audience. They're best targetted with things more like "What's this shape I'm pointing to? That's right, it's a square", as opposed to "What colour is this water dribbling out of my ears? That's right, it's red... and boy, there sure is a lot of it".

All the primary functions of my mind are still there, but I've been reduced to a more basic version of me, resorting to simply sitting and doing naff all instead of trying to come up with multiple ideas every day to keep up with this 'ere thing. That's my excuse, anyway...

In other news, my recent rekindling of familiarity with the music of Fight Like Apes, alongside the newest series of The Apprentice (which I am still yet to begin, but that's what iPlayer's for) has driven me back to the idea of how much I'd love to see the "candidates" (or as I like to call them, "arseholes") walking out of the building post-dismissal no longer to the smooth "oooh-aaah-oooh-ee-oooh" kind of violin-y/piano-y/orchestra-y moody and serious "dun-dun duuun!" style music they employ, but instead have them crawl out of there looking all ragged, suit torn to shreds and crying in the rain as they limp towards the evil minicab of unemployment to the sound of this li'l extract from the annoyingly-long titled "I'm Beginning To Think You Prefer Beverly Hills 90210 To Me".

Nothing would give a sadist any more pleasure than all of the above happening whilst Old Man Sugar points at them mockingly and rhythmicallly chanting "you're so fired, you're so, so fired" repeatedly... except for maybe someone's head exploding on children's TV.

I Can't Simulate My Own Handwriting

Due to either sheer laziness at this present moment in time, or awesome time organisation and planning, I'll be bringing you two (ja, zwei!) different short pieces of free writing as inspired by a photograph und a quote from a seminar today that seven (ja, sieben) people showed up for. Hopefully, these two pieces can make up for the evident laziness of the past few days. The following you're about to witness is actually word-for-word, format-for-format, except for the fact that the originals were handwritten and I can't simulate my own handwriting on this 'ere textimabob-maker. Sorry, but that's just the way binary works, I guess. And I'm still not sure why I'm switching between occasional words auf Deutsch and normal speak.

Free Writing Piece Nummer Eins!

 (not sure how clear that is to ye, the first sign says "2 Types of People in Life", then "Givers", then "Takers")

There are two types of people in life, those who will see the dirtiness of this picture and those who won't. Unfortunately, my warped mind makes me one of the former. Hence why I picked it out.

Have a 10-minute scribble about this? I ALREADY DID! I have nothing more to say about this picture, although why I picked it out must say something about my unconscious mind, as Freud would put it. Although, I suppose I still need to work out which of the two I am: a giver or a taker. Not necessarily in a physical, sexual sense as implied by the clever use of road signs, but in a general "life" way of either scrounging off other or giving things without getting anything back in return like love or compliments or money or sanity.

Free Writing Piece Nummer Zwei!

"The world is a book, and those who do not travel read only one page."

I would've thought that the world was round though, due to the simple fact that it is. How many round books do you know of? Do you realise how difficult that would be? They wouldn't stay on their respective celestial shelves. As we experience it, the world is one big page on the ground, essentially a map, and having a 1:1 scale map of the world seems a bit pointless really.

Random Thought Generator

Technically, I have three hours left to put something here under my own rules. However, the rules of my willpower forbid me from writing anything when I have nothing remotely interesting (or at least partly planned out in my head first), the rules of frozen chicken only permit me sixteen more minutes to take it out the oven and the rules of the Gregorian calendar dictate that a new day begins at midnight. Therefore, I have a matter of minutes to come up with a topic and whitter on about it to a pseudo-humorous degree in as many words as possible (well, not really 'cos I'm stopping at 750).

This would be the point where I imagine someone has invented the random thought generator and made it commercially viable so I can get one for a princely sum and never have to work hard again. Unfortunately, as it turns out, the random thought generator was invented some 200,000 years ago by some fella named God and gave each one of his human-shaped creations a random thought generator (or "brain") upon entry into existence by default... sort of like Internet Explorer 8 getting bundled with Windows 7 or Wii Sports with a Wii. Unlike IE8 and Wii Sports, however, the human brain is essential to us mortal beings for our every waking and sleeping second upon this plane, which is why it takes the piss sometimes when its more essential functions are overshadows by humming Herb Alpert's "Spanish Flea" over and over until your face leaks, or by thoughts of meeting another human being you'd like to spend the rest of your life with in a mutual friendship extending to occasional acts of a sexual nature. But even then, the thought generator is still at maximum randomness as you remember watching Deal Or No Deal earlier in the day and before you can stop yourself, you're naked, stimulated and picturing Noel Edmonds for the next eight seconds (...it never happened).

Well, ding. Time's up. Or at least it would be a "ding" if I were in the same room as the oven... or if the oven dinged. Thanks very much for coming, I've been babbling, good night!

And Then I Did This

I notice I've been slacking lately, but it's only because this whole "blogging-every-day" biz is actually rather dull. Instead, I've been filling the time between coming back to this page to make words appear at it by doing a multitude of other things, and while I normally hate the idea of people's personal blogs going along the lines of "today I did this, and then I did this, and then I did this, and then I did this, and then... " read in the voice of a self-important five-year-old, and vowed that this 'ere humble space would not end up like that, right now I'm more in the mindset of "screw morals, I've got space to fill!"

So, just for you, here's what's caused me to slack in days of recent, but to make it less boring and hopefully less self-important, I'll do it in rhythmic list form:

I went home, stayed alone,
spent a morning on the throne,
almost deaf, my ear hiss
had to come and update this,
waited for train in freezing cold,
entertained a one-year-old,
stole some rice, it was nice,
ordered water without ice,
walked in rain with holey shoes,
had a wee bit too much booze,
took some pics, walked on bricks,
Adam & Joe on Radio 6,
stressed for lack of Internet,
people in car park I never met,
learned about investment banking,
eating,
drinking,
sleeping,
w...ell, that's about it.

According to word count, I'm stick slacking so I guess I still have a way to go before I'm cured of my hatred for this idea. Eight down, twenty-two left. Then I can write at my own pace, which is essentially "when I frickin' feel like it".

One-Fifth Of A Carrot

There are days where you just burst with energy. Then there are days when you can't bothered right up to the point where you can't even come up with a stupidly over the top way of interpreting the phrase "burst with energy". This day is one of the latter. This post is pointless, except for the fact that since it exists, it counts as one of my one-a-day, very much like one-fifth of a carrot.

Insert humorous last line to finish the post.

A Daily Piece Of Nothing Special

You know those times when you're out and busy for practically the entire day, come home exhausted and have the sudden realisation that you have an hour and a half left before your own self-set goal of producing a daily piece of nothing special. Yeah... that.

I currently come to you thanks to the inner workings of a iPod touch, so advance apologies for any made-up words being auto-corrected to something "normal" if a little obscure. However, thanks to said exhaustedness, the chance of any extra stupid words appearing are pretty slim for two reasons: 1) because tapping out words on this thing is as time-consuming as a 12 course dinner with a crowd of elderly anorexics and 2) because of said exhaustedness, which is itself a made up word.

I did spend the best part of a contemplative seven minutes trying to decide of what to articulate in this 'ere thing o' text, but the best I could come up with was the thing about being exhausted, so that's what it is and that's where it ends. And again apologies for spelling boo-boos.

I suppose I can always claim getting a B in English for bad use of the language.

Mange Tout

My ears have still not recovered from the night before and, therefore, still sound, and feel, like they've been penetrated by mini-walls of hiss. Needless to say, last night's much anticipated gig was, well, worth anticipating, although being monumentally creeped out by the stares of the Fight Like Apes keyboardist "Pockets" left me feeling somewhat uneasy to the point that I had to avert my gaze to the nondescript drummer at the very back of the stage. Altogether, the evening panned out rather enjoyably for all twenty-one people who seemed to have showed up to the gig, especially for the big guy behind me who, stereotypically, seems like the kind of person who spends his days on World of Warcraft for 23 hours of the day, all the while surrounded by empty pizza boxes and pint glasses full of warm urine. Said guy was so enthusiastic I ended up with several beer-showers, and even to this point my clothes still smell fresh from a visit to Carlsberg factory.

Forgive me for being reluctant to talk about the gig in all its finest details but my brain is still mangled from the infectious jingle of support act Man Get Out, local band trying to get the word out. Unfortunately (or fortunately as the case may be), running all three words together for the purposes of web addressery means that they fall under the name "mangetout", mistakenly looked at through my intellectually scattered eyes as Mange Tout. For the unFrenchified or those who don't understand Paris speak, mange tout is a vegetable consisting of peas trapped in a vacuum-packed green bed. The upside of this, of course, is that should any foodie or aspiring chef ever come to Google mange tout but accidentally leave out the space, they'll be redirected to the musical stylings of this Liverpudlian lot. Not the ideal way to get famous but if it works, it works.

I'm keeping this one short now, mostly because last night's gig was, in my view, such an amazing feat to behold I can't find the right words to describe it (which is just as well considering the amount of words I'd use to describe something as simple as a pencil sharpener), but also because I'm currently using the computer of my newest residential dwelling (my home away from home away from my first home, really) and am about to be interrupted by a hyperactive almost two-year-old, who gets so fascinated by things that grown-ups use (cupboard doors and salt shakers, for example), that if I leave this laptop remotely exposed and within his reach, the rest of this post might end up looking something like thisghwfkjufhgaduwejegjdhjn jhlvjlkjhhojjkjkkjkkolkklkpjhujyhgoiu;yutygf

Mentioning Things I've Already Mentioned

Staying indoors has its perks. For example, you don't have to communicate with people unless you feel like it, your best friends from the land of transmitted television can entertain you without engaging you in any direct conversation, and it's great if you're not looking your best. For me, it's the latter.

For months I'd been planning on doing something radical to the colour of the fibres sprouting from the top of my head. Unfortunately, this went horribly wrong and since I am unable to gauge the full extent of the damage without the ability to look at the back of my own head, I'm reluctant to leave the security of closed doors and walled environments.

It's just as well I'm away to a much anticipated gig tonight then. Only the second gig of my life I shall have you know (assuming if we discount the more "art music" shows as showcased by the University's Contemporary Arts Centre) so I be mighty looking forward to this. I am not, however, looking forward to being away from my workstation for the next four days. Knowing my luck, I'll be back here on Monday to find the Internet connection being uncooperative and forcing me to angry tears... again.

I'm having the horribly overwhelming feeling that I'm mentioning things I've already mentioned before, but when there's virtually nothing going on in this particular life, it's difficult to draw any inspiration from it. Furthermore, I have yet to switch on the people-box today so am currently unaware of any breaking news developments that might've happened at 4am this morning. Then again, that's about the time I went to sleep so naturally nothing much was happening then, else I would've stayed up. So, in the event that there's some current major world event developing as I type, then I would like to give my opinion that this event confuses, disorientates, surprises, pleases, and angers me at the present moment, and it will take me another 24 hours to digest this information.

There we go, that should do. I'll leave this one short considering the last one ended up going over my self-imposed 750-word limit by a whole thirteen words, which had to later be cut out. Without those odd words, I'm surprised if the previous post makes any sense.

Then again, do any of these things make sense?