Annoying Distractions: No. 23 Unpublished Writers

Two of the poor things today. And I want to be encouraging and polite but each time I write a witty reply, it's taking time from other work. And I don't have the hours in the day to be consistently pleasant.

Snow

I’m tired. Really, desperately, longingly, menacingly tired. I’ve managed to copy out one drawing from my notebook. I fell asleep twice while doing it. My mind can’t hold thoughts together for long, so I’ll copy some of my jotted thoughts out too.

***

There’s no snow in Manchester. Just rain and mild temperatures. The spirit of Christmas has yet to make itself known to me. I sit in an office devoid of novelty lights or tinsel. The wall chart in front of my desk tells me all about the disappearing rainforest. I find it hard to sympathise. Does the rainforest have a chart about my disappearing hopes and opportunities? It should.

***

The city is full of building and rebuilding. In these days of remote control, why do cranes need operators who climb up to the very top to control them? I look up in the dark morning sky. They have even sold advertising space on the cranes. From this distance, it seems to be for a sanitary towel. Interesting choice.

***

Beautiful new office blocks, full of beautiful people. Bright people. Good jobs. Why can't I be one of them? I walk pass the CityCafe. I see beautiful people eating breakfast. My boots are leaking.

***

Informed that for this year's office Christmas meal, we will be going Brazilian. I've told them that I'm not shaving down there for anybody. And I don't care if it is Christmas.

***

Lunchtime. More rain. I tire of onion. Waterstones has some beautiful new editions of the hardback Everyman classics. Tempted. Badly tempted. But I resist. I need to solve the problem of my damp feet.

***

Tried to make small talk in Clarks as I waited with the sales assistant for my new boots to arrive. I make a good quip. She says nothing. No response. I feel a fool for trying. She’s a strange shade of orange, like some new line of leather they’re trying out.

***

My new boots pinch. I bought brown boots. It’s a rebellious act in the sense that I refuse to buy black boots ‘for the office’. If they don’t match my trousers, so be it. I like boots and I like brown boots.

***

Why do new boots require waterproofing? Why do they want to sell me the spray in the store? I already have two cans of the bloody stuff. Why can't they just waterproof them as part of the manufacturing process?

***

Overheard on a train home: one woman speaks to her two friends about a wedding she attended. The subject turns to the photographs of the wedding reception.

‘They were black and white. Very nice. I love black and white but they had this picture of them drinking from a champagne glass. They were both in black and white but the glass was coloured in. Pink. Real classy.’

I smiled a wry smile. I thought it a classy smile.

***

I continue to doodle. I have more ideas for jokes than I have time to draw or write.

***

On Piccadilly Station, a man dressed as an elf hands me a plastic bag with some free eBay wrapping paper inside. It reminds me that no matter how bad my job, I don’t need to dress like an elf.

***

I fail to understand the eight hour working day that doesn’t include lunch. Too many people work through without a lunch break. I’m tempted but eight hours in front of a monitor isn’t healthy. With an hour's break, it means I’m up at six, on the train for seven, in the office at eight, home at six. Feels like twelve hours. Not eight. I don’t understand.

***

It’s just above freezing when I’m travelling home. I see five girls waiting for a train. They’re dressed in ballet tutus and little else. I admire their dedication to the cause. I just wonder what the cause might be. I wonder what will happen should they meet the elf. Love at first sight, I should imagine. That or more free wrapping paper.

***

I’ve filled my old leaking boots with superglue. They need to last until I break in my new pair. The more I play with superglue, the more I’m fascinated by the stuff. I read the other day of somebody spreading superglue on a public toilet seat. Some man was stuck to the seat for over an hour. Terrible practical joke. You really can’t beat the one involving cling film.

***

Is there any point going to sleep early? It’s a trade-off between making the most of my own time and feeling exhausted in the morning. I go. Reluctant. So very reluctant.

I'm On My Way...

As this post goes live, you find me moblogging. That’s mobile blogging to you, though I might equally be said to be 'mob logging'. I’m currently on a train travelling into the distant north, Manchester bound, imagination stifled by this suit, and scowling at anybody who dares look my way. Have another doodle, blog friends, have another doodle. This tired old TV great is getting old. My comedy pimple is beginning to fade. How many more journeys will it continue to disguise my real identity from these commuters? They’re a miserable lot. Nobody speaks. Occasionally one of them will silently vent gas.

I never understand people who choose to vent in the confines of a crowded train with poor ventilation. It must be cowardly way to get back at the world without actually going on any kind of spree. I suppose it's possible they might go on a farting spree but it's probably not going to last very long. Or, alternatively, it will last a very long time but with many periods of inactivity.

Other than the mysterious devotee to flatus, the rest sit here playing with their toys. The iPhone users are a breed apart. As Elberry might say: everyone a potential killer. They certainly look down on the Blackberry users, though it’s clear that this second group have the better jobs. I have a Samsung. I don’t fit into either camp. My old phone is a Sony. It doesn’t even have a touch screen. People are right to treat me like the pariah I am. I'm listening to Nick Cave. It's loud. He’s singing about ’15 Feet of Pure White Snow’. It's the song I always associate with these trips into the north.



I think I’ll follow it with some Stagger Lee.

Soon I’ll be at Manchester Piccadilly, scooting off down the side of the GMPTE building. There are guards there that stop people photographing the building, which makes no sense to me. One of these days, I’ll try to snap a picture of the place just to see if I can get arrested. I didn’t think it possible to be stopped from taking pictures in a public place.

My mind is drifting. There’s a woman in the seat next to me writing questions for some seminar she’s attending. The questions are for Edward de Bono, he of lateral thinking fame. Question 1: ‘Do you think your ideas are as current today as they were in the past’. She’s clearly thinking laterally. I’m sure he’s going to hold up his hands and tell his acolytes that his ideas are outmoded and that it’s about time he retired.

Oh, now I’m just being sullen. Manchester makes me sullen but this mobile blogging isn’t a good thing. I'll try to post more later on. Of if I can't post, I'll Twitter. Does anybody read my Twitter? If a bear twits in the woods, does anybody care? Why does an eight hour working day really mean eleven hours? I miss Judy. And I also maintain that the mighty red is the king of all onions. I dare you to disagree.

Oh God! Not Another One...

I don’t know how to feel about the day. I got up, did some odd jobs around the house, arrived in my den to find email awaiting me. I’ve trained Thunderbird to spot SPAM and abusive emails but the odd one still gets through. ‘I hate you’ read the first message I opened.

‘Sort of puts you in a good mood,’ I said aloud to the signed picture of Ricky Gervais that adorns the office wall. Ricky didn’t say anything. A rare positive for a day when all the omens are bad.

The rest of my afternoon was spent doodling and trying to write. I'm not a good frame of mind. I’m about to descend into a two day funk on account of a business trip up to Manchester. It is a city of many charms, fine art galleries, and some excellent restaurants. However, two days of proof reading the scripts for some of my future projects is not how I would choose to use my time. Yet it pays the bills, keeps me out of the house, and otherwise occupies me in these days of credit crunch paranoia. Yesterday was something quite special, which puts the misery of what’s to come into some perspective. It was so good to see Stephen Fry (you ask why is he always described as 'a national treasure' -- it's written into his contract) sitting on the R&J sofa. I had those cushions specially designed so that men of his height and buttock girth would feel comfortable when ad-libbing their way through their many anecdotes. I think the result was worth the effort and I encourage you all to tune in to ‘Watch’ tonight at 8pm (or ‘Watch+1’ at 9). Makes you wish there was a ‘Watch+n’ so you could stay with Stephen through the night.

With life being so hectic, I forgot to mention that I filmed The Eggnog Challenge show, which ITV are putting out this Christmas. As executive producer on the show, I had more creative input than I’ve ever had. I think the results will speak for themselves. A few of you have emailed to ask why I kissed Biggins on last night’s show. All will be revealed at the end of December.

Have A Doodle

And when I've woken up, I'll write you something...