How Not to Write a Script for the BBC

I have been trying to write a script for the BBC. Not that they actually asked me to. They generally asked the world to. So, seeing as I am in and of the world I thought ‘I can do that.’

I appear to be somewhat wrong. It’s going to be 36 pages long. I’ve written 30 pages. Page 31 is tricky. I thought of jumping straight to page 36 but a leap of six pages seems dangerous to body and possibly sanity.

It’s called writer’s block I think. I’m attempting to cure it by some serious research. This is what I’m doing:

Checking my emails to see if anyone has emailed me pages 31-36.

Reading my google iPage to see if Wikihow offers pages 31-36 or my horoscope predicts that I will soon write the aforementioned pages.

Looking at the Radio Times page to see if there’s anything good on the TV that I could be watching that might tell me about pages 31-36.

Checking my emails to see if anyone has emailed me pages 31-36.

Seeing the random ways people have found my blog. This turns out quite interesting. Most people, as usual, want to know how to tell if a man fancies them. Others have wondered about shoes, g-spots (I wonder about those too), sausages (I’m sure I never mentioned them), tents, grey, and how to stop someone fancying you. I actually know the answer to that – fancy them.

Checking my emails to see if anyone has emailed me pages 31-36.

Looking on Facebook to see if anyone knows what’s on pages 31-36.

Writing a blog post about why I haven’t written pages 31-36.

Googling ‘pages 31-36’. I’ve found:
Dancewear,
Preventative Cardiology (I assume that’s like not fancying anyone ever),
Stimulus-driven Attentional Capture (I guess that’s trying to make someone fancy you by prodding them with electricity),
Cornelius C. Platter’s diary (anyone with a name like that should have their diaries eaten alive),
Resonant Tunneling and Coulomb Oscillations (probably what to do once someone does actually fancy you)
and
The Final Report on the Durability of Precast Segmental Bridges (more than likely a straightforward guide to keeping a man fancying you).

But essentially what I’ve discovered is that everyone else has managed to get way past page 31. It’s just me.

I’m thinking now that if instead of having writer’s block I had some other condition like writer’s bloke then I wouldn’t be spending Saturday evening not writing pages 31-36 but could be having an interesting conversation, sex, or bickering.

So please, would someone email me either pages 31-36 or a writer’s bloke.

Oh, the script is called ‘The Tomatoes of Forgetfulness’. This probably explains the problem.

Every Girl’s Dream

Good news. I’ve finally, after many years and days of searching, found someone who wants to be with me. Someone, even better, of the male gender.

This is what happened:

The Physicist had broken the very most important part of her (or rather ex-Beloved’s but please mention none of this to him) car. The cigarette lighter. No, she doesn’t smoke. It’s where her iPod adapter plugs in. She cannot drive now. It’s fairly tragic.

I was in the aforementioned vehicle trying to save the situation by suggesting the use of matches when I heard a voice.

‘Ceci’ it said.

Blue eyes, curly blond hair, Wellington boots. He was even holding out a flower to me. The boy next door. Every girl’s dream. He is a man of few words but what does say holds great significance in an almost philosophical way. I was, frankly, spellbound. Our conversation went thus:

Every girl’s dream: Ceci!
Me: Ben! (for I knew his name)
Every girl’s dream: Flower (he handed me the flower)
Me: Thank you (polite as ever despite my racing heart)
Every girl’s dream: House (he pointed in the direction of my door, I got the message)
Me: Ok (easy to the last)

He held out his hand. I held out my hand. We walked slowly to the house. The sun was setting, the birds were singing, it was hailing slightly.

Every girl’s dream: Door (obviously an expert on architecture)
Me: Yes
We enter the house.
Every girl’s dream: Cat (obviously an expert on animals)
Me: Yes
Every girl’s dream: Girl (obviously an expert on girls)
Me: Yes (obviously an expert on conversation).

We spent many happy moments together mostly admiring the frogs on his Wellington boots and discussing the merits of the local JCB (whom, because he’s an expert on diggers, he called ‘Bob’).

He even cried when it was time for him to go home.

How Not to Use Words

I thought I should write a blogpost. Because my listeners might be missing me. But I don’t know what to say.

We are all truly bored of my dire love life (especially me). My listeners have probably all heard about my new website (www.leafbooks.co.uk if you haven’t). The physicist is still in Oxford so is supplying no inspiration. The Lawyer is studying and thus not amusing. The Beloved is not here for me to comment upon (let alone do anything else upon). The fact that I have modelled naked for our latest book cover is too embarrassing to mention.

So I read Matt’s blog http://hedgedefender.blogspot.com/ for some inspiration. He’s an inspiring sort of chap. It turns out that he’s run out of words. Us writers have no end of problems really. He has no words, I have nothing to say but I have lots of words.

Here are some of them:

Dishcloth
Mango
Aplomb (I just lent that one to Matt)
Gorge
Archipelago
Gusset
Nave
Brassica
Mud
Splice
Gasket
Obverse
Taupe
Redirect
Plenary
Individualism
Cat

I hope you enjoyed them.

Oh and another one –
Coherence.