The Cure That Won't Kill You

Now that the self-inflicted car crash of Valentine's Day is well and truly over for another year, I can put away my toys and get on with the rest of my life.

For some beautiful reason, some of you loonies out there are interested in me and my flummery and I have been contacted by some to say as much (excellent!).

To the girl who keeps sending me pictures of her arse, thank you, inspiration is nine/tenths of frustration, or something like that.

And to that dastardly couple who were having a shag on the bench at Penally beach on that night, all I can say is, you lucky bastards, where's mine?

Seriously what do you do in a situation like that? There was I walking up the steps off said beach and in plain view is two people really going at it, I honestly didn't know what to look at first.

And is it healthy for it to be bent at quite such an angle?

Getting on with it means finishing various writing/ information projects and moving forward, growing as they say, these writing projects will in turn give me much joy and a lot of money.

It also means making more movies in the capacity of director/ producer/ impressario, which means another step forward on the road to happytown.

I am currently rewriting yet another of my feature film scripts (I've written nine and a half feature film scripts, twenty short film scripts, sitcom pilots, soap opera scripts, sketches etc etc) and I have found the exciting kernel that hangs the whole thing (of this current rewrite) together.

This is akin to Sherlock Holmes sussing out where the contraband is in 'the Pearl of Death' and then being horrified by the Hoxton Creeper at the end (still one of my favourite of the Basil Rathbone S.H movies).

It is in turn frustrating rewarding and exciting. Writing is frustrating rewarding and exciting, it is a self-made fruity truth that serves the greater good of humanity. Well, my humanity anyway.

In the words of Les Dawson, 'I only do this for the luxuries in life, like bread, and shoes'.