Well, it’s all about movement. Forward motion. That’s what I’m telling myself. I’ve just finished a whole ton of work, and now I’ve got just under an hour (or possibly over- the timing is somewhat flexible) before I’m going to be interviewing Saul Metzstein, the director of GUY X, and the star Jason Biggs. It’s my first job for DVD Review in a while- something I’m extremely glad of- and things are going okay elsewhere. Next Wednesday… well, next Wednesday is the Critics Circle Awards, where I get to do the “Award Ceremony” thing and hang out at the Dorchester. Everything has to be done once, and this is my chance for doing this- anyhow, I found out this week that I’m going to be on the same table as actress Sophie Okonedo, and master illusionist (or however he likes to describe himself) Derren Brown- who George and I actually saw live in 2004. This is, frankly, going to be weird beyond belief, but we’re both in need of a serious night off so we’re going to do our best to enjoy it.

Also got this e-mail- which I have to share. This is one of the reasons why I’m so glad I’m still in touch with my friend Tris, as he has the ability to illuminate areas of the pop culture sphere that I really didn’t want to know existed- in this case, the “video concept album” that accompanies the solo project of one Mr Barry Gibb- the near legendary (and terrifying) Now Voyager. Tris, being a Bee Gees nutcase (he takes the piss out of them, he knows they’re ridiculous- but he loves them to bits anyway, which I absolutely respect) was always playing tracks from Bee Gees solo albums at me as a surreal form of torture, and the Now Voyager solo album is, to quote the script of Kiss Kiss Bang Bang, “every shade of wrong”. And now, some enterprising DVD label have decided to issue the accompanying “video album” to truly show that the apocalypse is only just around the corner.

I now hand you over to Trissy B, who has some things to tell you about….

All it is is a glorified pop video. You can certainly tell it’s experimental.

Proof of the fact that sometimes, nice things can happen arrived today, and not before time. The “bad thing” I referred to last entry was the fact that my wedding ring had spontaneously vanished from my finger, and I didn’t know where the hell it was- something which, on top of the epic money troubles we’ve got at the moment, was dangerously close to the last straw. I was not, shall we say, able to cope with it in the slightest. Anyway, this morning, just after a lengthy bath, George came upstairs with the ring in her hand- it had slipped off my finger while I was asleep on Saturday night, and was at the edge of the bed. As if that wasn’t enough, we then heard from the council that they have chopped the amount that we owe them in half- meaning that we can actually afford to pay them, and may even have a little bit left afterwards.

After a dark, traumatic weekend, this is exactly what we needed.

Bad things keep on happening- to the extent that I don’t actually want to talk about it anymore. I just want to put my head down, struggle through, and hopefully come out the other side in one piece. At the least, for the first time in a while, I actually managed to sleep well. Lots of stuff to do this week.

Outside it’s grey, but there’s an expectation in the air, a sense of potential. I just have to try and cope with whatever the world throws at me.

Not easy.

Okay, so the £4,500 hole in my finances may be following me around like a particularly dark cloud (especially considering the fact that the whole Housing Benefit nonsense is probably going to cost us even more money in the next few weeks…) but I’m trying my best not to be down. I’ll also try to update this journal with some shorter (but more frequent) updates.

I have, at least, got lots to do. Thanks to reviewing the DVD Extras, I watched the movie version of Bewitched yesterday, and I don’t think I’ve ever seen anything quite so spectacularly misconceived in my life. Lots of talented people come together, try to make it work, and the end result is just massively, wantonly wrong in every conceivable shade. (Also had to watch Deuce Bigalow European Gigalo, which was also wrong, but for very different reasons, so much so that I didn’t actually make it all the way through.)

The flat is currently ridiculously cold. Freezing in the winter, boiling in the summer. I can’t wait to get out of London and at least be getting a bit more room for the ridiculous amount of money we’re paying at the moment.

Right, breakfast- accompanied by DVD extras. Yum…

Funny how events never turn out quite the way you expect. It’s almost as if, in the moment just after the custard pie hits, you suddenly think back, and realise- “Oh yes- how on earth did I manage to not see that massive custard pie that was flying towards my face?”

One of the reasons I’ve been out of touch, is that things aren’t going too well. If everything had gone according to plan, I’d currently be doing pretty well financially, not have to worry about anything but working on the novel for a couple of months, and everything would be pretty peachy. Instead, the company that I spent most of the last few months working for has just gone into receivership without actually paying me any of what they owed me- which is £4,500. So, no. I’m not happy. It’s very easy in a situation like this to just get randomly, incoherently angry, to want someone to at least lash out against, but it’s not happening. I don’t know what’s happening with Hotdog- the magazine that I actually started out my writing career on- but I don’t know if I’m going to be writing for them again. It’s just rather sad- for the first time, I genuinely felt like I was actually getting somewhere, that i was finally getting to grips with what it meant to be a freelance writer- and then this happens.

Still- almost as soon as I got the news, I then found out that one of the publishers I read for wants me to look at one of their manuscripts- and it’s a doozy. It’ll get me some nice money, and I’ll get to go in tomorrow, have a chat, and have a meal. It’s a small thing, but it made me smile.

Things change. And they always get better. It just seems difficult to believe sometimes.

Just found this, and had to add it. I can’t do the usual funky stuff for links, so click here:

http://wrongquestions.blogspot.com/2005/07/his-dark-materials-by-philip-pullman.html

Made me laugh. And yes, it is a ferociously overrated series.

Late, but it had to arrive sometime.

(And there are going to be spoilers. So look away now!)

I have a very tricky relationship with the new version of Doctor Who. My wife will testify to the fact that I was kind of a nightmare while the show was airing (all thirteen weeks of it), and while I’ve settled down a bit, it’s still difficult. There’s still episodes of the first series that I really can’t bring myself to watch again. (Slitheen? No thanks…) At heart, I think it’s Russel T. Davies’ vision of the show I have problems with- the fact that he’s gutted a large amount of the peripheral strangeness that was Doctor Who, that he’s a writer who can do great dialogue but doesn’t seem able to write without doing a very forced, purple prose style that immediately makes characters sound like teenage poetry students. The fact that he’s made Who embarresingly self-aware, but- biggest of all my bugbears, and the one that frequently threatens to make me go “Hulk”- that the internal logic of the stories aren’t as important as the gags or the “emotional” storyline. There’s so many episodes of New Who that fall to pieces if you even breath on them, let alone subject them to serious scrutiny (Father’s Day… grumble…) and it’s the one thing that truly frustrates me, because the story is vital. It’s not the thing you have bubbling in the background- it should be functioning with the Characterisation.

Oh, hell, I could go on for ages. Anyway, the long and the short of it is that I wasn’t expecting to enjoy the Christmas Special. I foresaw another Slitheen-style story, and the fact that they actually sidelined the Doctor for over half the episode seemed nothing short of insane- but, in the end, I have to admit to being quite impressed. I almost don’t want to watch it again, though- because I know that gigantic holes in the story, the weakly ripped off ideas (the ‘satellite’ shot from Independence Day, the Death Star weapon, the alien race who are essentially Klingons with funky helmets) will leap out at me. And it’s not like there weren’t some pig-awful bits of dialogue, with the awakened Tenth Doctor coming across like an overenthusiastic Seconday School Drama Teacher at times and the disposable Black officer thinking that berating a psychotic alien about not following the Geneva Convention was a good idea… but the whole thing was a lot edgier than I expected, giving a 24-style sheen to UNIT, and giving some of the characters who died a genuine bit of life, rather than the disposable caricatures in World War Three. The ending particularly, with Penelope Wilton proving exactly how good an actress she is when given the chance to go outside sitcom mode, was genuinely surprising, and the kind of risky stuff that I always wanted an updated Who to be doing. Of course, a couple of minutes later we’ve got a slap-up Christmas Dinner and a less than subtle “Oh, aren’t we being arch?” reference to Cassanova, but a lot of it worked very well, with cinematic direction and a soundtrack that, for once, didn’t make me want to find Murray Gold and introduce him to the business end of a blowtorch (although the fact that it was recorrded with a proper orchestra definitely helped, sparing us the shitty mid-sequenced fake orchestral sounds from last season. Don’t worry. They’ll be back…)

So, it was fun, and it kept me entertained. It’s good set-piece stuff, but like all set-piece driven stuff, there’s not that much meat between the setpieces, and I can’t help feeling that the whole “Wow! Look at the spectacle we can do!” school of Who is only going to last so long before they start running out of ideas. I’ll be approaching the upcoming new series with a careful level of cynicism. We can only wait and see…

Good. It is actually working. (see previous entry).

I’ve gotten rather badly out of the blogging habit, and as a result there’s a gigantic collection of stuff that I feel I should be telling you about, but I can’t think of it. I was listening back to the tape diary I made when I was travelling across America- and all the bizarre, stupid little details that made the trip (like the size of supermarket shelves, or the bizarre things written on the front page of American tabloids) are preserved for posterity. (Not prosperity, as I just wrote- sometimes, I have a very Freudian mind).

I’m currently at work subbing- and all there is to do is wait for schedule changes to come in. So, I’m left, sitting at a keyboard in an over-air-conditioned office, trying to keep myself sane. Wanting to be writing some wonderful piece of reportage journalism, but probably writing the blog equivalent of “Uhhhhhhhhhhh…..”

Too Cynical. More soon.

One entry I wrote has already vanished. So, here we go with another one:

2006. What the hecky-thump is going on?

2005 felt like the kind of year where you just put your head down and race for the exit. A ‘getting used to being married’ year. A ‘let’s get over the stresses and strains of 2004’ year. Which is all very well, but it doesn’t get you terribly far in the end.

So, 2006 is going to have to be a transforming year. A year ripe with possibilities. A year when, to be honest, I finally get my first novel com plete, and more besides.

Sleepy. Sleepy. Sleepy. Two hours sleep last night, for a wide variety of reasons. Now I’m in an office with the kind of Air Conditioning that keeps you warm without making you comfortable, and makes you want to close your eyes and drift off up the stairs to Bedfordshire. Or something. At least, everything relating to Christmas is done, and I’ll be heading down to Hampshire quite soon.

There’s stuff happening- and I can’t talk about it. I guess this is where a blog that you know is being read by people you know falls down, as you don’t get the useful “this is under lock and key” feeling that you get with a diary. It doesn’t help that I’m seriously sleep deprived- but I do have a problem, and I need to sort it out. However uncomfortable or difficult it may make life, I need to sort it out.

One thing about this problem (which I can’t talk about) is that it’s made me realise exactly how fantastic my Dad is. I called him to talk about it last night, and then he called me this morning just to check how I was, and to talk things through. It’s easy to take things on trust, but when you realise how much someone cares for you, and the fact that you care for them right back, it’s rather a surprise sometimes.

Trouble is, this is probably making you think I’ve either (a) got a terminal illness or (b) about to be killed by a loan shark. Or any other options that you can think of.

Thankfully, neither of these are the case. It’s nothing that can’t be solved with the ancient Samurai art of conversation…