Party...

So, last year I was involved in a short film. I wrote it then, on the shoot, I made lots of cups of tea for everyone and hung about like a right melon with nothing to do. It's not great but neither is it the worst short film that's ever been made. I wanted to call it just Party but democratic decision making being what it is I lost out on a majority vote that favoured It's My Party (too Helen Shapiro for my liking). I was expecting Party to do the rounds at various short film festivals but our producer never appeared to get round to organising that beyond Bite The Mango. So, before it heads into obscurity, here's your chance to take a peek:

Winning, wandering, writing...

A Google Alert popped up in the inbox to let me know that someone had posted a blog post about me. Only they hadn't. The blog subject was my namesake over at Hull City, who'd cracked in a goal today in a 2-0 play off win over Watford to move the Tigers well-within reach of a Wembley appearance. Well done DW. A winning day for the city - as well as the aforementioned, Hull FC and Hull KR both advanced in the Challenge Cup. With the taste of victory in the air and the sun shining we wandered around town aimlessly, pausing for drinks outside a dockside tavern.

Somewhat miraculously, I've written two short film scripts this weekend. A distraction, if nothing else, from writing what I should have been writing, which was adding the finishing touches to an outline for a new play. Despite the lack of words on paper/hard drive the new play is bubbling away and is jostling for position in my addled brain, preparing to burst out of there.

Reading: Yukio Mishima - Confessions of a Mask. Listening: Mystery Jets - Twenty One; The Courteeners - St Jude; Does It Offend You, Yeah? - You Have No Idea What You're Getting Yourself Into; Tokyo Police Club - A Lesson In Crime.

Grim up north...

Shall we not mention my Hull FC prediction? Well, go on then. Woefully off the mark. Given that we came nowhere close to the Robins on the pitch maybe it'd be better to campaig for Rovers to suffer a points deduction now Paul Cooke's been charged with "making an alleged illegal approach to another club prior to the expiry of his contact, without permission of his registered club."
Bit of a meeting re short films today, all the way up the road from the Grand at Leeds' strong-beer stronghold North. And talking of short film, you better go and see this.

Bread, rain and blood...

Big Brother 8: It's all about bread and arguments about bread. And/or toast. And try as I might, and even after all these weeks, I still can't understand a single word that those two twins utter in unison. Nor, for that matter, anything that comes out of Brian's mouth. Kara-Louise's hair freaks me out (did she used to be in Flock of Seagulls?). OAP boybander Ziggy's surely in his mid-40s, if the truth be told. Liam is a walking, talking north-east stereotype - everything in Liam's world is "canny" or, on the odd occasion it isn't, he divn't give a hoot, like. Carole is under the impression that she is running a care home, albeit one in which she regularly breaks down in tears in front of those she cares for and, oddly for someone who used to be a peace protestor, loves a fucking big scrap about absolutely nothing (or, as is usually the case, bread). Jonty is everyone's slightly disturbed and estranged Uncle. Tracey, well, she's a vacuous pile of nothingness - or, as these people are prone to say, she's simply being real - who has a limited vocabulary that consists of "phat" and "sorted". How on earth do you pick a winner out of this lot? Quite simply, you don't. Here's a twist - just let them out, give them a load of bread each and lock the house up, giving it all up as a bad job until next year. There, I've blogged about it. It was inevitable - my life is so shallow.

Rain stopped play today. We were going to Hull's Grassroot's festival but, in the end, couldn't be arsed to amble across town in the wet weather. But not before we'd filled a huge rucksack with sandwiches. So we had a picnic for our evening meal at the dining table. Nice bit of father-son bonding today - as the rain fell down outside we sat and watched Korean gore-thriller Into The Mirror. Son appeared a bit disappointed that the body count was nowhere close to his fave slice of Asian extreme Battle Royale but did come away something of a Sung-ho Kim fan, I feel.