That title made you look, didn’t it? No, no, dear reader. I am not going regale you with tales of my younger days as pornographer. Those stories are between me and my lawyer. But despite the headline being salacious, I have a story that fits it quite nicely.
In the thrusting, pumping world of newspaper delivery, one has to keep an eye on your customers. It is a sales technique based solely on trust, in that you give (and I really mean do “give”) them them the product and they pay some weeks later. It’s a bit like ordering a sofa from DFS and paying them when you felt like it.
However, some folks don’t like paying their bills. No, siree. They just disappear and ignore the fact that they owe you a some of money for product that’s been delivered. It’s worse than musicians whinging about illegal music downloading, it is a theft that actually happens!
Well being a studious and anal cunt, I keep lists of people who have defaulted – and believe me there have been many – and I am very careful to monitor addresses and names and numbers etc. Yesterday, a lady came in and wanted a newspaper delivery started. However, being a strictly “hands off” businessman these days, it wasn’t until I was doing the paperwork and maintaining our daily database of deliveries that I noticed the name.
This person had stuffed me for £50+ in 2008 – had basically ignored all the bills I sent her and then disappeared. But she hadn’t, she has just moved to another property in the village and two years later wanders in hoping that we might have forgotten. She got a letter this morning explaining exactly why I won’t start delivering to her (pay us the cash, buster!).
But it transpires that this person is a “semi-regular” customer and is well-known to my staff. So all the time this person has been coming into the shop, despite knowing that she owes us money. I cannot believe the brass neck of these people.
To bring this story back to its natural conclusion, this lady is a well-known porn star and has appeared in the usual rags as well as Playboy. But while she finds it no problem sharing her gynaecalogical details with the world and his wife, she cannot find it in her being to pay her debts.
Well that’s another story for the book.
(PS – If anyone wants her name, address, telephone number – it will cost you £50 – enough to clear her debt!)
(PPS – I was joking about the PS – I might be bad, but I am not evil.)
(PPPS – I think that title is going to sent the Googlebots into meltdown – I can imagine lots of traffic from men with their trousers around their ankles and one hand off the keyboard!)
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I finally got around to writing the final bits of my script for “Melvin”. You could call it polishing a turd: I know I do. That’s it. It’s done. 100 pages of sparkling, fizzy shit. It didn’t quite turn out how I expected. It went darker than I wanted. I wanted light and fluffy and it went dark, too dark perhaps?
On reflection, I think I’ve just wasted my time. Ahhh well, nuffink new there, is there?
I know, I know – two entries in one day, but this one warrants it as it relates to a phonecall I took this afternoon. For reasons too complicated to go into, we decided to put our property on sale with a residential agent rather than a commercial agent to see if we could stir up some interest in a sale. The assessment of the property was good, but the valuer suggestion we drop our price so that it fell below the Stamp Duty bracket and would give us better leverage.
Well, we had an offer a while back but for whatever reasons it fell through. No big deal, there are plenty of fish in the sea, but the little turd I’m dealing with at the estate agents said to me at the end of the call back then that we should drop our price significantly to generate more interest. I politely said I wasn’t interested and terminated the call in a hurry.
Today, the little turd called again and began his gambit like this:
Mr X: Hi, it’s Mr X from the agency. How are you today?
Me: I’m fine thanks. Yourself?
Mr X: You’re not bored?
Me: No? Why would I be?
Mr X: I am, anyway…
So already the little shit had already put me in a slightly wary mood. There’s something I don’t trust about the guy and my instincts are usually right. So he says:
Mr X: What if I say I’ve got an offer of (insert stupidly low figure here)?
Me: I’d want £10k more than that
Mr X: So you’d be willing to accept (stupidy low figure + 10K)?
Me: No. I want more money than that.
You see, I’ve dealt with enough estate agents in the past to know that you set your price and if anyone is interested you negotiated downwards to a figure acceptable to both parties – not start at your absolutely minimum base figure because the only point from there is further down.
The little shit starts bending my ear about this that and the other and I tell him to stop talking, and to start doing his job and to bring people to my door who actually have the money, rather than the jokers who came along before who didn’t have their finance in place and took six fucking long weeks to realise that they are broke. But the turd keeps on jabbering about lowering my price and whatever bollocks justification he has.
Eventually, I tell him to stop talking to me in such a fashion otherwise I’ll take my business elsewhere. I mean this is the first time I’ve ever been brow-beaten by a fucking shitty little estate agent. The conversation ends along the lines of:
Mr X: Do you want my professional opinion?
Me: Not now…now let’s stop this conversation here while I can still be civil and polite to you and let’s leave it there.
Then I hung up on him. But the turd really tried my patience and I remember why I used to get chosen to field all the crank calls in one of my old jobs, because it seems I am very good at talking to complete fucking tools without swearing at them.
The jumped up little cunt…
Script-writing is a very different discipline to writing a book. When I’ve written fiction in the past, I tend to take a “hammer it out approach” – mainly because I like to have my prose have an immediacy and urgentcy about it. I also get very bored quickly and going back and revising and revising and revising is incredibly dull – books that are written this way are also terrible dull. I think it is because my writing is based in the oral tradition of story-telling rather than the literary world. I could just be a lazy arse and talking bollocks. But the same can be said of my music – I tend to nail things in one take, very rarely relying on edits, in order to preserve the live energy of the performance – so it is really an extension of that. (Plus I get bored real easy)
But with script-writing it is more about creating something that flows, has an internal logic and the dialogue has to crackle. There’s no literary conceits of setting up a scene or filling the page with frippery – it is all done by the eye and ear, rather than the mind and imagination. So I would say it is more like making a sculpture or a collage, you chip away at the idea until you have something workable and then you refine, adding and subtracting as you go. I quite like it because it feels like it the whole tone of the movie could change by adding or deleting a scene – it is a precarious pursuit and I like it.
But back to Melvin, I am only a day or so away from completing it. I need to add one more scene, I think. Then it is all about reading it through and nixing what I don’t like. I know what I’ve written isn’t particular good or original but a week’s work isn’t bad on an idea that came to me on in the bath.
I’ve decided that the film could be subtitled: “A New Zealand Vampire in New York”. Yes, I’ve written a vampire film that bends the rules somewhat and created a world where vampires are too concerned working the 9 to 5 and making money rather than biting necks – and Melvin finds himself the odd one out. The name “Melvin” is a knock on the film “Martin” by George Romero – a horror film oft-forgotten probably because it isn’t a straight vampire movie (the protagonist may or may not be a real vampire or he could be just a kid who has a sexual fetish for drinking blood) but it left an impression and I wanted to honour it in a way.
But yeah, I’ve gone and written a vampire movie…
(And a big hello to the reader from New Hampshire who has been visiting this site two, three, four times in a day. Not sure what I’ve done to warrant such studious attention, but if I were you I’d visit just once a day to avoid disappointment as I don’t always update on a daily basis)
I admire people who can pull off musical comedy greatly – mainly because it combines two difficult disciplines into one and creates a third art. It’s can be hard to make people laugh and it can be hard to write memorable songs – so combining the two forms sometimes seems like pulling a rabbit from an invisible hat (think about it).
Hurt Feelings
So I’ve been on a bit of a Flight of the Conchords bender the last weeks after buying the boxset online. I’d missed the series on TV and caught a couple of the later episodes so I was keen to see all of it. I’m glad I did because I think this is where the seed of my “Melvin” script germinated from. Watching all that comedy and music must have watered my grey matter or somefink.
Inner City Pressure
Of course parodies are great – especially if they are well done and I love the Pet Shop Boys parody (I’ve actually got a lot of time for the Pet Shops too – I know my tastes are broad). But maybe I’ve got a man-crush on Bret and Jemaine, I don’t know.
Sugar Lumps
I mean, if you aren’t humming “Sugar Lumps” by the end of this post, then you are either a member of the living dead or have had your humour gland removed. Again, it is too clever by half commenting on the sexualisation of women in pop music as well as questioning why men can’t be viewed in the same frame of reference – obviously because it is too comedic.
Carol Brown
But at the heart of the duo is a really good ear for a tune – even though this is a comedy song, it has such a delightful melody, it is a shame that it isn’t a “real” song if you know what I mean. Also, the episode was directed by the great Michel Gondry – responsible for mind-bending videos by Bjork, Radiohead and The Chemical Brothers – and it shows here.
Of course, the title of this post coincides to a conversation I had with my dear mother yesterday about ways of improving the business. She said: “Maybe you could all move out and I’ll stay here and put up an ‘Under New Management’ sign?” To say my feelings were a little hurt are an understatement especially as I have very little to do with the customers (I prefer child-care duties, heavy lifting and book-keeping/money wrangling) and I have fought hard to rebuild the place and keep it going. Oh well, you can’t choose your family, I guess!
Yesterday’s title was stolen from this song by Roy Harper – the opening line just seemed very apt: “It was one of those days in England, that I thought would never end…” but I took it in a bad way, not a good way as in “I wish this day would end” but the car journey just went on and on and on…
One of those Days in England – Roy Harper
The idea was simple – take the kids to see Great Grandmother back in the old country. A simple feat involved a two-hour drive back to the capital. On the way down we were delayed on the A11 close to Thetford by a forest fire at the side of the road, which caused us about a 20 minute delay – in the heat.
Then closer to London, by the junction of the Eastern Avenue to M11, a Land Rover caught fire on the opposite carriageway. This didn’t cause us delays on the way there, but added another 15 minute delay on the way back – three hours later! Yes, it took nearly three hours of the police to “not” clear the burnt out car from the carriageway – meanwhile the poor owners were left on the verge sifting through their smoke damaged belongings which were strewn around them.
Then on the A11 outside Thetford on the way back, there were some bollards being put down at a slip-road and The Missus mistakenly thought that they were closing the sliproad and drove on. But instead, we had driven onto a massive tailback on the A11. Without further ado, The Missus broke the law by doing a U-turn on the A11 and riding the WRONG WAY down the closed section and nipping back off on the sliproad.
I plotted a diversion through Bury St Edmunds and Diss in order to avoid the hellhole that is the A11, which added further time onto our journey. All in all, we were on the road for a whopping five-and-a-half hours.
The kids were absolute troupers who did not complain once, but were very tired and emotional (and thirsty) by the end of our ordeal-by-road.
I took delivery of the new Microsoft Xbox 360 Slim yesterday. I wouldn’t normally upgrade my gear for the sake of it, but I was having so much trouble with my old Xbox connecting wirelessly to the Xbox Live service that I was hoping that this new iteration would solve my problems. It turns out I was right and it is good to get everything working properly again. Safe to say, my old Xbox is on eBay at the moment.
Do I like the new design? It’s OK, I guess. It’s very shiny, which is good. It’s also very small and I am used to the Microsoft design ethos of everything being chunky and workmanlike – whereas this new design has a more aesthetic approach to its stylings. It’s also a lot quiter and doesn’t sound like a jet engine taking off whenever you fire up a game.
Having the kids, I don’t play many games mainly because of the adult content in them. When you are a childless, you tend to blot out all the bad language and inappropriateness of computer games and TV programmes because you have no need to filter: afterall you are an adult, right? But now that Verity is speaking and is like a sponge, I’m very careful about what they see and hear: even with videogames. So my gaming has taken a second step and happens after bedtime – unless it is racing game. Verity likes to watch me racing the cars – she likes cars a lot.
But now I am surprised how much swearing and blood is in modern computer games – and I am also surprised I never really took notice before. What annoys me is that there could be a switch in these games that bleeps out the swear words and removes the blood. In Germany (so I’ve heard), it is illegal to show blood in computer games and so all blood is re-coloured as green. You also can show Nazi insignia either, so it makes WWII-based games a little problematic over there.
It is heartening when Verity asks me to “play the hedgehog game” and I get to fire up the Sega classic “Sonic the Hedgehog” for her to watch. It also reminds how computer games used to be: for all the family, inclusive and relatively harmless. Why does everything have to be so “adult” now. Even the rating of my ice hockey game is rated at 15 – so anyone under fifteen years cannot play ice hockey on the Xbox because there’s a rating for “violence”. Slamming people into the walls of the arena is regarded as too warping for little Johnny and so you shan’t enjoy the joys of whopping the virtual puck into the back of the net.
That evidence of the incredible disparity between computer game content and their actual rating. I remember once standing in Woolworths (remember them) and a teenager was being served in front of me. He was buying a copy of the latest “The Sims” game (or update or whatever) and he was asked for his age and then told he couldn’t buy the game because he wasn’t old enough. Now this kid must have been fourteen or pushing fifteen and as far as I know there’s no objectionable content in “The Sims” games – so I felt really sorry for the kid. We never had anything like that back in the days of the ZX Spectrum.
But again, video games do not make children violent. It’s parents who let their kids play video games for 14 hours a day that turn them into unempathetic automatons. If you let any child obsess about any hobby like that, you are going to end up with a troubled child. Moderation is the key!
Meanwhile, I’ve finished the first draft of “Melvin” – the story has a beginning, a middle of sorts and an end – but I need to work on it a bit. There’s something needed in the middle of the story – not padding – something extra, an extra dimension. The beginning and endings are good – but the middle, ah, the middle, the middle, the middle. I know what it needs, but I just need to do it.