More Money, More…

I definitely haven’t been distracted by the weather…

Work’s had some involvement too!

As I sit here, in the beer garden of my favourite pub, drinking water to curb the hangover from last night (regrets!), it occurred to me that I should be doing something about my little corner of the internet. After a little ‘spring cleaning,’ I had a scroll through some ideas I’ve had over the week to write about. With how busy I’ve been, it’s fair to say that money has been on my mind (to quote Sam Smith) and I decided to have a few out-loud thoughts to you all.

It’s probably fair to say that I’m not the best with money. Ex-housemates, friends and family of mine will know this well for which I can only say: it will get better!

Continue reading “More Money, More…”

Over the Top

Well, that’s that.

I’ve submitted the application. No more fiddling with sentences, or twisting descriptions or editing margins or inserting the kind of inflammatory shit which will either get me onto the Master’s Course, or get me locked up.

I hope it’s the former.

I really hope it’s the former.

Not just because I’m too pretty for prison [if your feet are getting wet, it’s the dripping sarcasm, rather than assumptions about your sexual preferences], but a myriad reasons; I need to move the hell out of my family home – it’s beautiful here but I’m long past needing my own space and my own life,  I need to afford my car insurance (steep as it is) on my own, I want to buy nice things and go nice places and be able to say “yes” to opportunities rather than “nngh, no, no I can’t, unless you lose that zero.

I’ve played that part too much in my life, constantly watching the proverbial coppers while others throw paper in the air and whisk off to far-off lands doing far-off things in far-off places and god-damn-it I want to do everything I haven’t done before without worrying. I think that’s the dream, the millennial dream; this generation who are weighed down by soaring house-prices and inflation and all those economic things which mean our lives will be so much more bound by our careers than our parent’s generations. It used to be you worked to live, but now it seems impossible not to live to work. In fairness, I used to see my father off to work in the City – joining the ranks of dead-eyed suits as they drag themselves to the train station each morning and sleepwalk away from it each evening. I have the utmost respect for those men and women and the people they provide for, but that is not life. That’s not living. That’s making ends meet and maybe some will say, ‘sort your life out, get real, that’s real life,’ but is it so wrong of me to seek to live free? My working hours are inconsistent, the days are inevitably long and can start from unholy hours of the morning but at least if I decide to, I can take time off and disappear into the ether with friends or family or whatever. My time off is mine.

Anyway. Where was I?

Work to live, not the other way around.

That’s what I hope to achieve with this Master’s. According to, your average screenwriter earns a median of $60,000 (about £45,116 if, like me, you deal in real money) sourced from the U.S Bureau of Labour Statistics. As someone who’s never earned more than a soft £14,000 in a year (around abouts) that kind of figure blows me away. Think of all the things I could do, all the mistakes to make with that money.

There’s a grand future out there, I’ve just got to grab it with both hands.

A Pinch of Salt

It’s worth noting that I’m not the most public guy. I like my privacy, although often find myself bragging that my life is an open book. You wouldn’t find me on a soapbox or walking around with a sandwich board claiming the ‘End is Nigh!’

Like (I flatter) most writers, I’m smart enough to know that not everyone will share my opinion on things I write about and I share that same fragile ego of other creatives – the constant paranoia which feels much like wandering the playground at school, worrying about whether ‘Jane’ likes me or whether ‘Joe’ is going to pick on me. Putting myself out here in blog form takes a fair bit of talking myself up to do it, but now that I’ve started forcing myself to write posts and keep this website ticking, the act of laying my thoughts on the page has felt really cathartic.

I can’t promise it will be cogent all the time, or even that I’ll make sense as, quite often, my train of thought will run off the tracks, through a small farmhouse and into a nearby lake. But bear with me, there will inevitably be some nuggets of good ideas buried somewhere in the mess of overly-lyrical bullshit that I spew onto these posts.

Before signing off, I should take this moment to reassure the few people who might be keeping track – I will be uploading some segments of new projects shortly! Hopefully. They could probably all bear some editing, but the raw versions will probably be what goes up. Be kind to my naked offspring, the retarded love-children of my ambition and misguided creativity, they may grow up to be big and strong and take over Hollywood (hah!).

Kwaheri, rafiki.


In the Kitchen

Those who know me know that I love to experiment in the kitchen. [Experiment herein meaning fudge my way through recipes I find online until something relatively tasty comes out the other end. Naturally, I’m not trying to promote (or benefit from) other people’s work, but I recently opened an old family cookbook and it started falling apart in my hands so I need to store these recipes somewhere. Might as well be for posterity!

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