Today's highlight was an outing to get some Mexican food. A table for six and lots of burritos flying around. Splendid. This weekend there's been further progress on the boxes front and various odds and sods stored haphazardly in the garage. Yes, a garage. Don't get the wrong idea - the garage is almost as big as, if not bigger than, the property we're now living in. We're using the garage as a sort of glorified dustbin while our other glorified dustbin, the car, remains parked on the wrong side of the up-and-over door.
Did some work on one of two new plays. Had to - there's a meeting looming and still not much of a plot. Or there wasn't. Now there is. Sort of. I also headed off and bought a new domain name relating to this play with a bit of a plot's title. Which, given it's a working title and a script is still an abstract notion, may well prove to be a fiver wasted. This purchase was prompted by the stumbled across knowledge that On A Shout's .co.uk and .com versions were parked back in December. Just a coincidence, I'm sure. But I like my working title, which is four words long. And the .co.uk of it now belongs to me. My vanity knows no bounds.
I am watching Mark Lawson Talks To... on the frankly superb and lifestyle-changing BBC iPlayer. I've been aware of Lawson's many ticks for quite some time but this show's two static cameras approach (no shot-reverse shot noddy shenanigans here, it's all very commendably anti-fake magic of TV) to recording the interview seems to exacerbate Lawson's twitchiness and blinking. And what is it with his left hand? Why does he keep curling up his fingers and staring at his finger ends? Wouldn't it be better if he went and bought himself some nail clippers and shed whatever it is that's bothering him/me/possibly you?
Reading: Norma Farnes - Spike: An Intimate Memoir
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