I had my first subbing session today - which consisted of picking a short article apart and then making a 200 word document into 50 words. The first piece was a bit of a mess - over complicated sentences, ridiculous repetition and redundant adjectives. Of course, I didn't pick up all this at first read. But, with a little push in the right direction from Angela, it soon became clear.
I could pick up the basic grammatical errors, but there were some spellings mistakes and more fundamental errors (specific to the context) that I didn't find. Having said that, we only had ten minutes to do the exercise and I'm not the fastest of readers. I got a lot out of the exercise, but I still think I'm going to struggle with the editing exam next week. It's the subjectiveness of the process, what's to say one word should be given precedence above another? Authors often don't even bother to acknowledge their editors comments and carry on regardless. I'd imagine it's a hard job, but the more you do it, the easier it becomes to pick up on mistakes without questioning yourself.
The other brief was for an advert for a glassblowing shop in Islington. We had to decide what to chop in order to minimise the word count - without affecting the continuity of the piece. This was very difficult. In the time that we had, we struggled to find the tone without compromising. But Angela hinted to us where the words could be cut, and we finished at 49 words.
I don't think I'd get on as an editor, I'm too indecisive. It would probably hurt my brain, debating what to change, what to keep and what the hell the author was thinking using all those bloody useless adjectives...
Tuesday, November 28, 2006
Sunday, November 26, 2006
Speak Easy
On Friday night I was transported back to the 20's in the style of a flapper, fully equipped with fur shawl and feathered tiara. The Speakeasy was in aid of Stranger's second birthday, and it was certainly celebrated in style. Buses were laid on for us from Falmouth and we arrived to a free cocktail and some funky tunes. Everyone had made a superb effort with their costumes, there were only a handful of people who didn't dress up to the tilt.
Aside from having to wait half an hour for drinks in the downstairs bar, the night kicked off to a roaring start. We played Roulette at long tables with low lights. I didn't really know what I was doing, but it was fun to make spontaneous, outlandish bets. Needless to say I lost everything, but another drink soon made me forget. Luke lost badly to some local punks at Poole, he looked the part though, suited and booted with his trilby and waist coat.
The bands played at full throttle, fulfilling the ambiance with good humour. The last band, Hard Kandy rocked the house. My only complaint being that they finished to soon, without an encore. There was a little more music from the Jelly Jazz DJ's, but as soon as the lights went up, we where being ushered out the doors.
Much to our dismay, we were missing a few items. My phone which was in Luke's jacket pocket had been mislaid. We hunted everywhere for it, and very nearly missed the bus. It put a dampener on the evening, I gave Luke a lot of undue aggravation, certain it was his fault. But it wasn't really any ones fault, and material possessions don't mean anything anyway. Or do they? The only thing I was worried about was losing all my numbers. Numbers of people I may not speak to very often, but need that contact, just in case. Must do the sensible thing and write them all down on paper or put them on my hard drive - if I get them back that is. If not, I'll have to start afresh, even though I can't afford to buy a new phone.
We're supposed to be picking up the jacket, (hopefully with phone still in pocket) from The Chain Locker in an hour. I spoke to the manager of the Green Room yesterday and he said he'd drop it into Falmouth today, as he was coming here anyway. What a nice man - I just hope he remembers or maybe it was a blag? It sounded a bit too good to be true.
I'm peeved that our misfortune interrupted our big night out, just as things were hotting up, but I really shouldn't think about it too much. I will try to look back at the glitz and the sophistication; where else could such a good ol' time be had by all, other than at an old fashioned speakeasy? Guys and Dolls rule, chavs and hippies drool!
Aside from having to wait half an hour for drinks in the downstairs bar, the night kicked off to a roaring start. We played Roulette at long tables with low lights. I didn't really know what I was doing, but it was fun to make spontaneous, outlandish bets. Needless to say I lost everything, but another drink soon made me forget. Luke lost badly to some local punks at Poole, he looked the part though, suited and booted with his trilby and waist coat.
The bands played at full throttle, fulfilling the ambiance with good humour. The last band, Hard Kandy rocked the house. My only complaint being that they finished to soon, without an encore. There was a little more music from the Jelly Jazz DJ's, but as soon as the lights went up, we where being ushered out the doors.
Much to our dismay, we were missing a few items. My phone which was in Luke's jacket pocket had been mislaid. We hunted everywhere for it, and very nearly missed the bus. It put a dampener on the evening, I gave Luke a lot of undue aggravation, certain it was his fault. But it wasn't really any ones fault, and material possessions don't mean anything anyway. Or do they? The only thing I was worried about was losing all my numbers. Numbers of people I may not speak to very often, but need that contact, just in case. Must do the sensible thing and write them all down on paper or put them on my hard drive - if I get them back that is. If not, I'll have to start afresh, even though I can't afford to buy a new phone.
We're supposed to be picking up the jacket, (hopefully with phone still in pocket) from The Chain Locker in an hour. I spoke to the manager of the Green Room yesterday and he said he'd drop it into Falmouth today, as he was coming here anyway. What a nice man - I just hope he remembers or maybe it was a blag? It sounded a bit too good to be true.
I'm peeved that our misfortune interrupted our big night out, just as things were hotting up, but I really shouldn't think about it too much. I will try to look back at the glitz and the sophistication; where else could such a good ol' time be had by all, other than at an old fashioned speakeasy? Guys and Dolls rule, chavs and hippies drool!
Wednesday, November 22, 2006
Finally Making the Grade
To my great delight, I'm finally getting the grades I want in Critical Practice. I have to admit I found the formula Derrek gave us at the beginning of the course quite challenging. But now that we've progressed to a basic story formula, I seem to have found my feet. I think I got too bogged down in research that I couldn't see the wood for the trees. I am more of a fiction-head, so I am beginning to thrive on the new story formatting.
It's amazing how everything seems to revolve around conflict and resolve. And three is the magic number. Three scenes, three acts, three conflicts. Four is too many, one or two aren't quite enough. It's the same in film, Blake Snyder (Hollywood Script Writer) also says that all films follow a three act rule and every scene includes a micro conflict and a micro resolve.
So I'm finally on a B+ and I'm ready to make the next grade. Here is my assignment from last week. Make up your own mind as to if it follows the conventions of a classic narrative. I think it's engaging, entertaining and has a degree of dramatic irony to boot. See what you think:
Death By Banana
ONCE UPON A TIME: in Bognor Regis.
There lived a: young girl called Maeve.
WHO: Desperately wanted her older sister’s teddy bear. He wasn’t just any teddy bear; Alfie was a three ft. mountain bear, with silky black fur and beady black eyes. Maeve’s father had won the bear for her older sister Dora at the fun fair. Alfie was the same height as Maeve and when she hugged him, she got lost in his arms.
BUT: Dora thought she loved Alfie more than Maeve. Dora was cruel and callous, if she saw Maeve so much as looking at Alfie, she would administer a Chinese burn or a pinch as punishment. Once she said, “If I catch you hugging Alfie again, I will pull all your hair out. Daddy won Alfie for me. Which obviously means he loves me more than you.” This hurt Maeve’s feelings, but she made sure to avoid Dora’s evil gaze.
So it happened: One day, Dora did a really terrible thing. It was something so terrible she couldn’t tell her mum or dad. So she had to find a way to pin the blame on Maeve. Dora said, “Maeve, I’ve decided you can have Alfie.” Maeve’s eyes widened, and she did an epileptic dance around the bedroom. Dora looked on, disapprovingly and said, “Hey – don’t get too excited, you can’t have him for nothing. Come here and listen to me. I need you to admit to doing something bad.”
Maeve moved closer to her sister and said, “But I can’t lie, especially if I don’t know what it is!” Dora replied, “Look, you want Alfie, don’t you? If you want him bad enough, you’ll do this. I promise it isn’t horrid.” Maeve furrowed her brow in distrust, and said, “OK, but you have to give Alfie to me right now.” Dora snatched Alfie and shouted, “No. No. No. You must go and speak to mum first.”
BUT meanwhile: Unbeknownst to the girls, their mother Alice had discovered the reason for Dora’s wicked plot. Goldy the goldfish was dead, floating gormlessly at the top of the tank. Next to the fish tank she noticed a displaced banana skin. “That stupid girl, I saw her eating a banana earlier, looming around the tank – teasing that poor fish. Better go and give her a talking to,” Alice said to herself. She put down her cup and walked out of the kitchen.
SO unbeknownst to: Alice, Maeve was still weighing up the stakes. She finally decided that she was willing to take the blame for her sister’s carelessness, the temptation of owning Alfie proved too strong to resist.
UNTIL the time came: Dora was ready to confess her secret. “I accidentally killed Goldy. It happened earlier, when mum was busy in the kitchen. I was eating a banana, and Goldy looked so hungry. So I dropped a piece of banana into the tank for him to eat. He looked like he was enjoying it, so I went off to play. But when I checked him a bit later, he was floating at the top of the water. I killed him Maeve, but you’ve got to say it was you,” whispered Dora.
Maeve’s mouth widened and she wished she could take her promise back. She gulped and said, “Dora, that’s terrible. But I’ll still do it for Alfie.” The girls shook hands; a wry smile crept across Dora’s mouth.
WHEN suddenly: Their mum stormed in, catching the girls mid handshake. She said, “What are you doing girls? Don’t tell me you’re swearing to keep what happened to Goldy a secret? Well – there’s no point, I already know it was Dora. I saw you eating that banana earlier.”
SO it turned out: Dora confessed her misdemeanour to Alice, and begrudgingly said sorry to Maeve.
AND forever after: The situation was resolved; Alice bought a new fish called Ruby, and they were only allowed to feed it fish food. She said, “Alfie is the root of all this trouble between you two, so you must share him, or else I’ll give him to someone who really deserves him.”
Funny eh?
And don't tell anyone, but... I was that naughty older sister! However, the fight over the teddy bear was another matter, a more serious matter that happened a few years later.
My sister and I were both bridesmaids at a wedding for some friends of my parents. As a present for being such adorable little angels, we received a teddy bear each, kitted out in the same dresses to match our own from the wedding. We were stoked. We treasured those teddy bears and when one got lost, things turned nasty. Really nasty.
I can vividly remember running about in a rough and tumble way, desperately trying to claim the remaining teddy. Now, my sister is two years younger than me, but she was a mean little kid, she really gave as good as she got. One minute I'd have the teddy and then run as fast as I could into the garden, Lilli hot on my tail. Then there was hair pulling and kicking and screaming. You may ask: 'but where were your parents whilst this battle was commencing?' Well, they knew we were fighting but chose not to get involved, they wanted us to solve our own differences. Obviously, they thought it was too petty a subject to get irate about.
But we had to stop at some point, and I think it could have turned into an epic year-long battle if it was left up to our stubbornness to dictate. But when my parents saw us flagging, I think they confiscated the object of our affection. We probably cried for an hour and then cut our loses. We had lots of fights when we were young, but I'm glad to say it doesn't happen so often now, well, not the hair pulling kinds of frays anyway.
It's amazing how everything seems to revolve around conflict and resolve. And three is the magic number. Three scenes, three acts, three conflicts. Four is too many, one or two aren't quite enough. It's the same in film, Blake Snyder (Hollywood Script Writer) also says that all films follow a three act rule and every scene includes a micro conflict and a micro resolve.
So I'm finally on a B+ and I'm ready to make the next grade. Here is my assignment from last week. Make up your own mind as to if it follows the conventions of a classic narrative. I think it's engaging, entertaining and has a degree of dramatic irony to boot. See what you think:
Death By Banana
ONCE UPON A TIME: in Bognor Regis.
There lived a: young girl called Maeve.
WHO: Desperately wanted her older sister’s teddy bear. He wasn’t just any teddy bear; Alfie was a three ft. mountain bear, with silky black fur and beady black eyes. Maeve’s father had won the bear for her older sister Dora at the fun fair. Alfie was the same height as Maeve and when she hugged him, she got lost in his arms.
BUT: Dora thought she loved Alfie more than Maeve. Dora was cruel and callous, if she saw Maeve so much as looking at Alfie, she would administer a Chinese burn or a pinch as punishment. Once she said, “If I catch you hugging Alfie again, I will pull all your hair out. Daddy won Alfie for me. Which obviously means he loves me more than you.” This hurt Maeve’s feelings, but she made sure to avoid Dora’s evil gaze.
So it happened: One day, Dora did a really terrible thing. It was something so terrible she couldn’t tell her mum or dad. So she had to find a way to pin the blame on Maeve. Dora said, “Maeve, I’ve decided you can have Alfie.” Maeve’s eyes widened, and she did an epileptic dance around the bedroom. Dora looked on, disapprovingly and said, “Hey – don’t get too excited, you can’t have him for nothing. Come here and listen to me. I need you to admit to doing something bad.”
Maeve moved closer to her sister and said, “But I can’t lie, especially if I don’t know what it is!” Dora replied, “Look, you want Alfie, don’t you? If you want him bad enough, you’ll do this. I promise it isn’t horrid.” Maeve furrowed her brow in distrust, and said, “OK, but you have to give Alfie to me right now.” Dora snatched Alfie and shouted, “No. No. No. You must go and speak to mum first.”
BUT meanwhile: Unbeknownst to the girls, their mother Alice had discovered the reason for Dora’s wicked plot. Goldy the goldfish was dead, floating gormlessly at the top of the tank. Next to the fish tank she noticed a displaced banana skin. “That stupid girl, I saw her eating a banana earlier, looming around the tank – teasing that poor fish. Better go and give her a talking to,” Alice said to herself. She put down her cup and walked out of the kitchen.
SO unbeknownst to: Alice, Maeve was still weighing up the stakes. She finally decided that she was willing to take the blame for her sister’s carelessness, the temptation of owning Alfie proved too strong to resist.
UNTIL the time came: Dora was ready to confess her secret. “I accidentally killed Goldy. It happened earlier, when mum was busy in the kitchen. I was eating a banana, and Goldy looked so hungry. So I dropped a piece of banana into the tank for him to eat. He looked like he was enjoying it, so I went off to play. But when I checked him a bit later, he was floating at the top of the water. I killed him Maeve, but you’ve got to say it was you,” whispered Dora.
Maeve’s mouth widened and she wished she could take her promise back. She gulped and said, “Dora, that’s terrible. But I’ll still do it for Alfie.” The girls shook hands; a wry smile crept across Dora’s mouth.
WHEN suddenly: Their mum stormed in, catching the girls mid handshake. She said, “What are you doing girls? Don’t tell me you’re swearing to keep what happened to Goldy a secret? Well – there’s no point, I already know it was Dora. I saw you eating that banana earlier.”
SO it turned out: Dora confessed her misdemeanour to Alice, and begrudgingly said sorry to Maeve.
AND forever after: The situation was resolved; Alice bought a new fish called Ruby, and they were only allowed to feed it fish food. She said, “Alfie is the root of all this trouble between you two, so you must share him, or else I’ll give him to someone who really deserves him.”
Funny eh?
And don't tell anyone, but... I was that naughty older sister! However, the fight over the teddy bear was another matter, a more serious matter that happened a few years later.
My sister and I were both bridesmaids at a wedding for some friends of my parents. As a present for being such adorable little angels, we received a teddy bear each, kitted out in the same dresses to match our own from the wedding. We were stoked. We treasured those teddy bears and when one got lost, things turned nasty. Really nasty.
I can vividly remember running about in a rough and tumble way, desperately trying to claim the remaining teddy. Now, my sister is two years younger than me, but she was a mean little kid, she really gave as good as she got. One minute I'd have the teddy and then run as fast as I could into the garden, Lilli hot on my tail. Then there was hair pulling and kicking and screaming. You may ask: 'but where were your parents whilst this battle was commencing?' Well, they knew we were fighting but chose not to get involved, they wanted us to solve our own differences. Obviously, they thought it was too petty a subject to get irate about.
But we had to stop at some point, and I think it could have turned into an epic year-long battle if it was left up to our stubbornness to dictate. But when my parents saw us flagging, I think they confiscated the object of our affection. We probably cried for an hour and then cut our loses. We had lots of fights when we were young, but I'm glad to say it doesn't happen so often now, well, not the hair pulling kinds of frays anyway.
Saturday, November 18, 2006
Attack of the Killer Headache
Managed to get up at nine today, but my head was lagging behind desperately. I dithered around for a bit, then got myself down to the Maritime museum for a workshop on writing for TV. It would have been brilliant if I wasn’t so fuzzy-headed. Lesley Stewart was eccentric and engaging, Dan Sefton slightly quieter but just as intriguing.
They had a lovely bit of banter, doing their best not to dampen any illusions we had about the TV script writing industry. I already knew about the pit falls, but there were some things they highlighted that make a lot more sense now. It was good to pick up some tips from two successful scriptwriters; they were entertaining and thorough in their responses.
Still feeling fuzzy, I wondered out into the sunshine and headed for the gym. Did a half-assed workout, didn’t swim – too many kids. Came home and made a prawn korma, sorted my tummy and made me feel (nearly) a million dollars again. Out again tonight, with old uni friend Tamsin. No doubt it will be very messy again. Tamsin’s an Essex girl, so I’ll be expected to try and keep up with her…
They had a lovely bit of banter, doing their best not to dampen any illusions we had about the TV script writing industry. I already knew about the pit falls, but there were some things they highlighted that make a lot more sense now. It was good to pick up some tips from two successful scriptwriters; they were entertaining and thorough in their responses.
Still feeling fuzzy, I wondered out into the sunshine and headed for the gym. Did a half-assed workout, didn’t swim – too many kids. Came home and made a prawn korma, sorted my tummy and made me feel (nearly) a million dollars again. Out again tonight, with old uni friend Tamsin. No doubt it will be very messy again. Tamsin’s an Essex girl, so I’ll be expected to try and keep up with her…
Friday, November 17, 2006
Madness and Mayhem on a Train from London
Yesterday was a day that I will treasure forever. It was a long, surreal, head-spin of a day. Up at 5.00 am, after a very disjointed night of sleep. Apprehensive about the impending interview, I kept waking up with my heart pounding, certain I was going to be late. I hobbled along to the train station in my brand new T-bar’s and waited briefly in the shelter.
The journey up was fairly uneventful; we got to Paddington in just over four hours. That’s crazy, considering it usually takes me that long just to get to Somerset. Paddington was hectic, crowded and daunting. I had about an hour to spare before my interview, so I had lunch and found a place to sit and write some notes. There were police everywhere, which made me feel a bit nervous. Then I watched as one policeman saw a suite case unattended and began to try the combination lock to search it.
Unbeknown to him, the man that owned to bag was a few metres in front, extracting cash from a hole-in-the-wall. When the man turned round, witnessing the policeman fiddling around with his bag, he said, “Hey, that’s my bag!” The policeman looked a bit surprised and replied, “You can’t leave luggage unattended around here.” He got back on his feet and wandered off again.
It’s a shame this sort of scrutiny is becoming a part of everyday life. Paddington is a great place to people watch, but I couldn’t really concentrate on anything other than my rising nerves. So, my time came and I took the stairs to the top café where I was meeting The Writer’s team of interviewers, I was desperately trying to remember what Neil looked like (I’ve only seen him once and that was at the front of a lecture hall.)
They greeted me with zealous smiles and offered me water. (Still or fizzy? I took still, but then thought they might be doing some kind of psychological test to see if I was adventurous or not!) The interview started quite badly, they asked me to criticise my responses to the briefs they set me and then asked me what I thought about their website and what was wrong with it. They played good cop - bad cop with me, firing questions left, right and centre. It was intimidating and I did feel out of my depth, but I kind of redeemed myself at the end by asking them some good questions and I sucked up a bit by thanking them for the opportunity to meet them.
I couldn’t wait to get to the bar and finally relax. Joe and Liam had already had their interviews, so we went to the Dickens Tavern (how ironic?) and waited for Jenny. We then rushed back to the station via the off-licence to stock up on wine and beer for the journey. Being Friday, the train was bursting with ratty commuters and students. Miraculously we managed to find a booth for all four of us, every seat was booked, but to our great relief, no one came to claim our seats.
We were hyper and oh so relieved to be heading home again. The drinking began and we got louder and (most probably) annoyed the hell out of every one in our coach. We played consequences, and offered our fellow commuters wine in compensation for our behaviour (funnily enough, no one took up the offer!) Liam played his station game, which consists of waving madly at people standing on the station. Once he had their attention, he would beacon them to get the attention of a person near-by. If it worked, the stranger would be made aware of Liam and then Liam would pretend he was a friend of theirs. Thus embarrassing everyone involved and providing a plethora of confusion. I laughed so hard I cried, the baffled strangers were probably quite annoyed by his behaviour, but getting someone to do something silly and then realise how silly they look was absolutely priceless. What a wicked boy that Liam is!
I did feel very sorry for a small, old Canadian man who sat directly opposite us, I knew he wasn’t happy because I saw him shout at the woman next to him when she was speaking too loudly on her mobile. So, Liam offered him some wine. He didn’t accept, but was fairly polite about it. Next we played picture consequences, and drank more wine. We got held up at Exeter, and in that time we made some new friends and most of the other passages seemed to disperse. By the time we set off again, the coach was near empty.
At this point we were playing the Rizla game, and people from around the carriage were following it with great interest. We picked up some extra players in the form of a comedy producer for channel 4, his friend and two older women. They were as pissed as us and so we played on. Steph bought another two bottles of wine and we finished the game, just as the train rolled into Truro.
By the time we reached Falmouth, we were royally sozzled. Ravenous, we walked to Asha and had a superb curry and more wine. Exhausted (and still in my precious new heels), we then stumbled to Toast. A pint of cider later – it’s definitely time to give up and go home. The London lads said they’d meet us in town, but as they didn’t show, and so there really was no other reason to elude sleep anymore.
What a spectacular day! A rollercoaster of a ride, surreal and definitely delirious. We met a whole bunch of interesting people, drank too much, partied hard and learned a valuable lesson from the interview. I don’t think I’ll be asked back for the apprenticeship, but I don’t really care. It was such a crazy day out, even if I was only actually in London for about three hours. It was a wake up call for me. I’m so far removed from the London scene; I’ve barely been out of Cornwall in the last couple of years. I need to gear myself up for a change in lifestyle. I’ve been toddling along at a snail’s pace, blissfully ignorant of the bigger picture.
I have a love/hate relationship with London. I love visits, but the thought of living there in the smog and chaos does absolutely nothing for me! But, I can’t ignore the fact that most of the media industry is based there, so I’m going to have to change my views and forget my prejudices. I’ve learned a lot about myself from yesterday, I need to prepare for my future and embrace the changes.
The journey up was fairly uneventful; we got to Paddington in just over four hours. That’s crazy, considering it usually takes me that long just to get to Somerset. Paddington was hectic, crowded and daunting. I had about an hour to spare before my interview, so I had lunch and found a place to sit and write some notes. There were police everywhere, which made me feel a bit nervous. Then I watched as one policeman saw a suite case unattended and began to try the combination lock to search it.
Unbeknown to him, the man that owned to bag was a few metres in front, extracting cash from a hole-in-the-wall. When the man turned round, witnessing the policeman fiddling around with his bag, he said, “Hey, that’s my bag!” The policeman looked a bit surprised and replied, “You can’t leave luggage unattended around here.” He got back on his feet and wandered off again.
It’s a shame this sort of scrutiny is becoming a part of everyday life. Paddington is a great place to people watch, but I couldn’t really concentrate on anything other than my rising nerves. So, my time came and I took the stairs to the top café where I was meeting The Writer’s team of interviewers, I was desperately trying to remember what Neil looked like (I’ve only seen him once and that was at the front of a lecture hall.)
They greeted me with zealous smiles and offered me water. (Still or fizzy? I took still, but then thought they might be doing some kind of psychological test to see if I was adventurous or not!) The interview started quite badly, they asked me to criticise my responses to the briefs they set me and then asked me what I thought about their website and what was wrong with it. They played good cop - bad cop with me, firing questions left, right and centre. It was intimidating and I did feel out of my depth, but I kind of redeemed myself at the end by asking them some good questions and I sucked up a bit by thanking them for the opportunity to meet them.
I couldn’t wait to get to the bar and finally relax. Joe and Liam had already had their interviews, so we went to the Dickens Tavern (how ironic?) and waited for Jenny. We then rushed back to the station via the off-licence to stock up on wine and beer for the journey. Being Friday, the train was bursting with ratty commuters and students. Miraculously we managed to find a booth for all four of us, every seat was booked, but to our great relief, no one came to claim our seats.
We were hyper and oh so relieved to be heading home again. The drinking began and we got louder and (most probably) annoyed the hell out of every one in our coach. We played consequences, and offered our fellow commuters wine in compensation for our behaviour (funnily enough, no one took up the offer!) Liam played his station game, which consists of waving madly at people standing on the station. Once he had their attention, he would beacon them to get the attention of a person near-by. If it worked, the stranger would be made aware of Liam and then Liam would pretend he was a friend of theirs. Thus embarrassing everyone involved and providing a plethora of confusion. I laughed so hard I cried, the baffled strangers were probably quite annoyed by his behaviour, but getting someone to do something silly and then realise how silly they look was absolutely priceless. What a wicked boy that Liam is!
I did feel very sorry for a small, old Canadian man who sat directly opposite us, I knew he wasn’t happy because I saw him shout at the woman next to him when she was speaking too loudly on her mobile. So, Liam offered him some wine. He didn’t accept, but was fairly polite about it. Next we played picture consequences, and drank more wine. We got held up at Exeter, and in that time we made some new friends and most of the other passages seemed to disperse. By the time we set off again, the coach was near empty.
At this point we were playing the Rizla game, and people from around the carriage were following it with great interest. We picked up some extra players in the form of a comedy producer for channel 4, his friend and two older women. They were as pissed as us and so we played on. Steph bought another two bottles of wine and we finished the game, just as the train rolled into Truro.
By the time we reached Falmouth, we were royally sozzled. Ravenous, we walked to Asha and had a superb curry and more wine. Exhausted (and still in my precious new heels), we then stumbled to Toast. A pint of cider later – it’s definitely time to give up and go home. The London lads said they’d meet us in town, but as they didn’t show, and so there really was no other reason to elude sleep anymore.
What a spectacular day! A rollercoaster of a ride, surreal and definitely delirious. We met a whole bunch of interesting people, drank too much, partied hard and learned a valuable lesson from the interview. I don’t think I’ll be asked back for the apprenticeship, but I don’t really care. It was such a crazy day out, even if I was only actually in London for about three hours. It was a wake up call for me. I’m so far removed from the London scene; I’ve barely been out of Cornwall in the last couple of years. I need to gear myself up for a change in lifestyle. I’ve been toddling along at a snail’s pace, blissfully ignorant of the bigger picture.
I have a love/hate relationship with London. I love visits, but the thought of living there in the smog and chaos does absolutely nothing for me! But, I can’t ignore the fact that most of the media industry is based there, so I’m going to have to change my views and forget my prejudices. I’ve learned a lot about myself from yesterday, I need to prepare for my future and embrace the changes.
Monday, November 13, 2006
Fun and Games at the Royal Standard
What a social animal I was this weekend. Three whole nights of drinking, three mornings of splitting headaches and regrets. But it's not all that bad.
Last night I was invited to The Three Mackerel staff party, (even though I haven't actually worked there since september) at Sue and Roger's other pub, The Royal Standard.
And very pleasant it was to. Free wine, spirits (and what ever you could wish for come the end of the night) and mountains of food. Roast potatoes, rice and a bizarre cabbage wrap for me and one other vegetarian.
There was singing and dancing and guitars. There was young boys spilling beer all over the beautiful floorboards. This Three Mac's party was actaully pretty tame compared to previous ones. The first one I went to was carnage. My friend Katie and I arrived late and played catch-up by drinking buckets full of rose wine. About an hour later, that all came back up the exact same colour, much to my shame and disappointment. Katie did the same an hour after me, and got taken home by her boyfriend. I, however, soldiered on until the wee-small hours. Couldn't drink another thing, but tried to look happy. Why is it when there's free booze involved - you always make a complete twat out of yourself? Or, maybe it's just me?!
So that was a coulpe of days ago, and I'm not drinking again until friday, after my interview in London. I've got to get the train from Falmouth at 6 something in the morning, interview at 1.30. I'm going up with three others, so I think we might have time for a few drinks before we get back on the train for another five hours. I'm dead nervous, haven't had an interview since college. Doesn't help that I've got nothing to wear either.
Not really going to have any time to prepare, because of the 'writing for radio' course I'm doing all this week. But I'm having too much fun with it to worry. Today, we are splicing our monologues together. I hope they fit well, or we may end up having to change things drastically.
Last night I was invited to The Three Mackerel staff party, (even though I haven't actually worked there since september) at Sue and Roger's other pub, The Royal Standard.
And very pleasant it was to. Free wine, spirits (and what ever you could wish for come the end of the night) and mountains of food. Roast potatoes, rice and a bizarre cabbage wrap for me and one other vegetarian.
There was singing and dancing and guitars. There was young boys spilling beer all over the beautiful floorboards. This Three Mac's party was actaully pretty tame compared to previous ones. The first one I went to was carnage. My friend Katie and I arrived late and played catch-up by drinking buckets full of rose wine. About an hour later, that all came back up the exact same colour, much to my shame and disappointment. Katie did the same an hour after me, and got taken home by her boyfriend. I, however, soldiered on until the wee-small hours. Couldn't drink another thing, but tried to look happy. Why is it when there's free booze involved - you always make a complete twat out of yourself? Or, maybe it's just me?!
So that was a coulpe of days ago, and I'm not drinking again until friday, after my interview in London. I've got to get the train from Falmouth at 6 something in the morning, interview at 1.30. I'm going up with three others, so I think we might have time for a few drinks before we get back on the train for another five hours. I'm dead nervous, haven't had an interview since college. Doesn't help that I've got nothing to wear either.
Not really going to have any time to prepare, because of the 'writing for radio' course I'm doing all this week. But I'm having too much fun with it to worry. Today, we are splicing our monologues together. I hope they fit well, or we may end up having to change things drastically.
Thursday, November 09, 2006
Carnival and Carnage
So, it came, it tantalized and then it left. Another carnival over, another one to add to the list (23). It was beautiful. No, I lie, it was pretty average. But the company, the hot mulled wine and the warmth of the mood where enough to keep me smiling all night. Saturday turned out to be a long day, with me and Luke sleeping in and then me feeling guilty for sleeping in. So I got on with some work.
I had to submit my The Writer’s Apprentice briefs first, don’t know quite how I’ll fair with it. I’ve never written a Haiku before, so writing one about my favourite brand was a bit of a struggle. This was the end result:
Green, red, yellow, blue
Henry’s smile light’s up the room
The Hoover with heart
What do you think, because I have no idea, if this is any good?
Anyway, so I finished my chores and then Luke and me walked into Bridgwater via the canal, which I have never done before. I got very excited at seeing the town from this perspective. We got to the centre of town, but we were under the hub-bub. It was quiet and still on the canal path, we hardly passed another person.
The most intriguing part of the passage was when the canal seemed to narrow between two tall buildings. There was a series of ancient oak beams stretching above our heads, holding the distance between the walls. Each and every one of them had a sentence or a few seemingly unrelated words carved into them. Not graffiti, proper good old-fashioned carvings. I should of written them down, to see if I could work it out, but of course, being a (useless) writer, I didn’t have one with me. I desperately want to go back there to collect those words; I may even query it with the local council to find out when they were put there and why. It all seemed mysterious, and I have the feeling there’s a good story behind it.
Bridgwater is steeped in history, it’s just a shame the residents of the town don’t appreciate it. But I do thank Luke for directing me to this part of the canal, that he knows so well from his childhood and yet it’s somewhere completely alien to me.
So after this adventure, we then venture back into North Petherton, via the main road. We’d been walking for about two hours at this point, and desperately needed some ‘medicinal’ refreshment. A quick pit stop revived us with some cider and this made our journey pass much more amicably. My mum owns a shop on the high street and we arrived before anyone else, so stood and drank more cider and watched as the street began to fill with carnival goers.
Mum arrived and we congregated upstairs with cheese and mulled wine. My sister and a stream of beloved friends began to arrive and many hugs were distributed. There was a good crowd, and everyone was getting into the hype. I joined a group of friends outside as soon as we heard the first carts approaching. They weren’t good. Bloody tableau's! Some were quite skilled in their craftsmanship, but where was the flashing lights, the dance music, the comedy drag-hags? I needn’t have worried; the cheesy ones came and went, most unforgettable. The most impressive act was a group of kids aged from four to eighteen. They were all in finest Moulin Rouge get-up and they had a choreographed routine that would have put most of the contestants of Strictly Come Dancing to shame.
I suppose they kept the best ones till last, but there wasn’t many outstanding floats this year. Ghost Ship had giant skeletons hanging from the carcass of a ship, everything was gleaming white, and the light bulbs were practically on fire. Not only were there moving parts left, right and centre, the whole ship was swaying from side to side. Good music too, music we could all dance to. (There were no street side incidents this year; everyone was on their best behaviour.) The end of the carnival did not signal the end of our fun though.
My tipsy friends sabotaged my mum’s collection of feathers, (the ones she uses for stuffing cushions), and took handfuls out on the street to throw over everyone. The policeman close by did not look too impressed, but didn’t intervene. We were covered, but as we embraced in a huge group hug, I think the spirit of Rio was living in us!
So we then halled ass to Iris and Xynth’s house, young, old, and the legless. Sat round a tremendous fire and watched fireworks sprout off in every direction. More cider was consumed and a rather delicious selection of soups offered to us. WE stayed till three and were the last to leave. Staggering home, we enjoyed the full moon and crisp air.
I had to submit my The Writer’s Apprentice briefs first, don’t know quite how I’ll fair with it. I’ve never written a Haiku before, so writing one about my favourite brand was a bit of a struggle. This was the end result:
Green, red, yellow, blue
Henry’s smile light’s up the room
The Hoover with heart
What do you think, because I have no idea, if this is any good?
Anyway, so I finished my chores and then Luke and me walked into Bridgwater via the canal, which I have never done before. I got very excited at seeing the town from this perspective. We got to the centre of town, but we were under the hub-bub. It was quiet and still on the canal path, we hardly passed another person.
The most intriguing part of the passage was when the canal seemed to narrow between two tall buildings. There was a series of ancient oak beams stretching above our heads, holding the distance between the walls. Each and every one of them had a sentence or a few seemingly unrelated words carved into them. Not graffiti, proper good old-fashioned carvings. I should of written them down, to see if I could work it out, but of course, being a (useless) writer, I didn’t have one with me. I desperately want to go back there to collect those words; I may even query it with the local council to find out when they were put there and why. It all seemed mysterious, and I have the feeling there’s a good story behind it.
Bridgwater is steeped in history, it’s just a shame the residents of the town don’t appreciate it. But I do thank Luke for directing me to this part of the canal, that he knows so well from his childhood and yet it’s somewhere completely alien to me.
So after this adventure, we then venture back into North Petherton, via the main road. We’d been walking for about two hours at this point, and desperately needed some ‘medicinal’ refreshment. A quick pit stop revived us with some cider and this made our journey pass much more amicably. My mum owns a shop on the high street and we arrived before anyone else, so stood and drank more cider and watched as the street began to fill with carnival goers.
Mum arrived and we congregated upstairs with cheese and mulled wine. My sister and a stream of beloved friends began to arrive and many hugs were distributed. There was a good crowd, and everyone was getting into the hype. I joined a group of friends outside as soon as we heard the first carts approaching. They weren’t good. Bloody tableau's! Some were quite skilled in their craftsmanship, but where was the flashing lights, the dance music, the comedy drag-hags? I needn’t have worried; the cheesy ones came and went, most unforgettable. The most impressive act was a group of kids aged from four to eighteen. They were all in finest Moulin Rouge get-up and they had a choreographed routine that would have put most of the contestants of Strictly Come Dancing to shame.
I suppose they kept the best ones till last, but there wasn’t many outstanding floats this year. Ghost Ship had giant skeletons hanging from the carcass of a ship, everything was gleaming white, and the light bulbs were practically on fire. Not only were there moving parts left, right and centre, the whole ship was swaying from side to side. Good music too, music we could all dance to. (There were no street side incidents this year; everyone was on their best behaviour.) The end of the carnival did not signal the end of our fun though.
My tipsy friends sabotaged my mum’s collection of feathers, (the ones she uses for stuffing cushions), and took handfuls out on the street to throw over everyone. The policeman close by did not look too impressed, but didn’t intervene. We were covered, but as we embraced in a huge group hug, I think the spirit of Rio was living in us!
So we then halled ass to Iris and Xynth’s house, young, old, and the legless. Sat round a tremendous fire and watched fireworks sprout off in every direction. More cider was consumed and a rather delicious selection of soups offered to us. WE stayed till three and were the last to leave. Staggering home, we enjoyed the full moon and crisp air.
Friday, November 03, 2006
Gunpowder, Cider and Plot
T'is nearly the eve of bonfire night, the air is cold, the ground is crisp and the cider is dry.
This time of year is nearly my favourite, next to summer.
Tomorrow is carnival time. The somerset carnival circuit has been parading their home-made carts for the adoring fans every year since Guy Fawkes messed up his stupendous plot. The quality of the entries varies for year to year, generally they get bigger and give off more warmth. Some have three or four carts strung together and thousands of light bulbs illuminate the streets. (Its enough heat to trick you into thinking you're sat on the beach in Lansagrotte.) Others are less spectacular, but usually make up for that in terms of charm. There is always a one-man band, usually sporting a dog in the back, or a small child with an elaborate costume.
All are judged, but there are a few clubs that win consistently, usually some kind of Disney theme is involved.
Music is another significant aspect of carnival. As people line the streets, the music pumped out from the floats blurs with the next, creating some very strange concoctions. The louder the better for us, my gang of die-hard carni goers. We consist of about a dozen of my friends, my sister's friends, my parents and all their friends. My mum owns a shop on the high street, so has to prepare for an on-slaught of crashers desperate for mulled wine and a view from the upstairs window. Only about ten people can comfortably fit around the window, so the rest of us watch on the street, come rain of fair. It's the best place to be, as we get drunker, the crowd around us seem to want to spoil our fun. We like to show our true appreciation of the floats by singing and dancing along. But some people can't handle us for some reason.
One year Laura (friend of mum and dad's) got rather merry and someone in front of her pushed her out of the way. Laura pushed back. This shoving contest continued for some time, until Laura had had enough and went inside for another glass of wine. Comedy- watching adults behave in such a way!
I have been every year of since I was born, t'is a tradition, a ritual not to be missed. Not only does it involve acting like a prat with your friends and family, it also involves community spirit and fireworks and there is always an after party.
This, I'm afraid, is where things get really messy. We usually congregate at one chosen destination and carry on drinking. Not such a good idea, considering we're usually still with the 'rents. Many a time I've had to escort my (nearly legless) 'rents home in the wee small hours. Not to far to walk, so we're lucky in some respects.
I wouldn't miss it for the world, I will see people I only see there once a year, so you can see why it is so important.
Bring it on, I will report back on Sunday, probably with a very sore head and not in the best condition for a Sunday roast with grandma!
Other highlights of the day included sitting very close to a middle aged woman who fell asleep on the train and could out-snore my dad! I could not stop laughing- Jenny is my witness...
Priceless, as she was very much oblivious to the noise she was making. (And the train took only two and three-quarter hours to get home, god bless Virgin trains!)
This time of year is nearly my favourite, next to summer.
Tomorrow is carnival time. The somerset carnival circuit has been parading their home-made carts for the adoring fans every year since Guy Fawkes messed up his stupendous plot. The quality of the entries varies for year to year, generally they get bigger and give off more warmth. Some have three or four carts strung together and thousands of light bulbs illuminate the streets. (Its enough heat to trick you into thinking you're sat on the beach in Lansagrotte.) Others are less spectacular, but usually make up for that in terms of charm. There is always a one-man band, usually sporting a dog in the back, or a small child with an elaborate costume.
All are judged, but there are a few clubs that win consistently, usually some kind of Disney theme is involved.
Music is another significant aspect of carnival. As people line the streets, the music pumped out from the floats blurs with the next, creating some very strange concoctions. The louder the better for us, my gang of die-hard carni goers. We consist of about a dozen of my friends, my sister's friends, my parents and all their friends. My mum owns a shop on the high street, so has to prepare for an on-slaught of crashers desperate for mulled wine and a view from the upstairs window. Only about ten people can comfortably fit around the window, so the rest of us watch on the street, come rain of fair. It's the best place to be, as we get drunker, the crowd around us seem to want to spoil our fun. We like to show our true appreciation of the floats by singing and dancing along. But some people can't handle us for some reason.
One year Laura (friend of mum and dad's) got rather merry and someone in front of her pushed her out of the way. Laura pushed back. This shoving contest continued for some time, until Laura had had enough and went inside for another glass of wine. Comedy- watching adults behave in such a way!
I have been every year of since I was born, t'is a tradition, a ritual not to be missed. Not only does it involve acting like a prat with your friends and family, it also involves community spirit and fireworks and there is always an after party.
This, I'm afraid, is where things get really messy. We usually congregate at one chosen destination and carry on drinking. Not such a good idea, considering we're usually still with the 'rents. Many a time I've had to escort my (nearly legless) 'rents home in the wee small hours. Not to far to walk, so we're lucky in some respects.
I wouldn't miss it for the world, I will see people I only see there once a year, so you can see why it is so important.
Bring it on, I will report back on Sunday, probably with a very sore head and not in the best condition for a Sunday roast with grandma!
Other highlights of the day included sitting very close to a middle aged woman who fell asleep on the train and could out-snore my dad! I could not stop laughing- Jenny is my witness...
Priceless, as she was very much oblivious to the noise she was making. (And the train took only two and three-quarter hours to get home, god bless Virgin trains!)
Wednesday, November 01, 2006
I'm Lost
Here I am, sat at a very basic computer on the third floor of my local internet cafe. I don't like it, I can hear the buzz of a thousand electrical impulses. Why am I here?
Because I've moved house and don't have the comfort of home connection for the time being. I feel lost, I don't like writing at any other computer than my own, it feels like betrayal. My phone went dead on Saturday, so I was well and truly cut off from the world for three whole days!
I eagerly await re-connection, to get back behind the screen of my iBook and browse at leisure. And not have to worry about paying £2 for half-a-messely hour!
Learned about podcasting today and how to record sound, it was very interesting and I can't wait to learn more, when we attempt to do radio play.
Because I've moved house and don't have the comfort of home connection for the time being. I feel lost, I don't like writing at any other computer than my own, it feels like betrayal. My phone went dead on Saturday, so I was well and truly cut off from the world for three whole days!
I eagerly await re-connection, to get back behind the screen of my iBook and browse at leisure. And not have to worry about paying £2 for half-a-messely hour!
Learned about podcasting today and how to record sound, it was very interesting and I can't wait to learn more, when we attempt to do radio play.
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