I had a few celebratory glasses of wine last night to celebrate some good fortune on the poker tables and though I didn't drink more than a bottle of wine I was a bit hungover today. I think it maybe because I drank the wine quickly at the end of the night, on a reasonably empty stomach, but in any case this morning I felt tired and a little bit lousy. Not too debilitating and in 2007 this would have been a good day, but for the first time this year I felt I lost a bit of working time due to booze. And given it's nearly the end of May, that is not a bad record (and it probably only put me 150 calories over my 2000, which is the main thing - definite improvements since I started writing everything down again).
I still managed to get out the house before Diagnosis Murder could suck me in (I am Sky+ing it anyway) and did a tiny amount of work, as well as a full gym session, which sweated out the nastiness. Typically for me, though I have a lot of things that need to be done - the Edinburgh show, the Edinburgh programme (only a week left for
donations people) and a Guardian guide on how to write comedy (slightly ironic given the proportion of time I was failing to do so) - I spent my remaining work time working on the first chapter of a book, which is not only no urgent, but has not been commissioned and which no one is paying me for. But it's the thing that is interesting me most at the moment (it's a novel about death, based on the baby heaven idea from OFIF) and I suppose it is better to be distracted by something that actually involves writing rather than by the internet or some computer game. Also I think it's pretty good, which is probably why I can't help returning to it and I am glad that I have tricked myself into making my procrastinational activity actually quite a positive thing for once. It would be funny if I ended up writing a book in the time that I was trying to avoid working. I am just aiming to get a chapter done, and then will write a synopsis which we can send off to publishers and see if anyone bites.
And all the time "The Headmaster's Son" is ticking along in the back of my mind (and now thanks to a fine rejig by Rob Sedgebeer, this site will now be a constant reminder of what I am meant to be doing), and I think I am likely to have way too much material for it - though it's going to be the most structurally difficult show since Hercules, needing to tell a story, rather than being a bunch of routines about a loosely connected subject. Still over two months to go, so I suspect I will still be struggling to get going with it for some time yet.
We're also trying to put together a cast for a reading of
Absolutely Scrabulous for the BBC bigwigs. Although it's very positive that they are interested, I am not getting too excited about it, because, of course, we had to so the same with
You Can Choose Your Friends and that was quite a weird and unsettling experience, which didn't lead to commission (well not by the BBC anyway). Maybe they will be more keen not to let this one get away from them. It's a much better script (at this stage at least). It means though that we are starting the fun step of trying to cast the roles, that were until now just imaginary people. We're just checking suggestions around for the moment, but it does mean it takes a big step towards reality and I am looking forward to seeing the characters step off the page.
It's great having all this stuff going on, but yet ironically beyond Edinburgh I have no definite plans for the rest of the year (or my working life). If everything comes off then I will be very busy, but there is the chance that nothing will come off and I will start to struggle to pay the mortgage. I have had the feeling for about two or three years now that everything was about to take off, and though there have been some very positive steps in the right direction there is still no job security. Whilst I know I am very lucky to be in a position where my scripts are being considered for TV and occasionally even getting on, I do need to get something off the ground properly. I am sure that eventually something will stick - if you throw enough shit at the wall... (that should be the title for my next ITV comedy drama).
So my working life is embued with latent potential and yet still I am sat revving my motorcycle on the starting line, waiting for that white tape thing to fly up and signify the start of the race - this is a metaphor based on half-memories of watching motorcycle racing on World of Sport about thirty years ago, and it's odd that it's popped into my mind now and I am not exactly clear on how those races began or what the tape I am thinking of actually was. But it's an oddly apt piece of imagery. I recall that those motorcycles were almost flipping over with the anticipation of the race beginning. Imagine how frustrating it would have been to be in that state of readiness, but never to get a Go!
Hopefully I will read back this entry from my space yacht moored off Mars in about five years time and say to my wives (the woman from the M an S advert and the woman from the Caffe Ritazza pictures), "Oh look, there's me talking about the first chapter of the book that, went on to be a million best seller and was turned into a movie, starring me and Brad Pitt and Judge Reinhold and made a trillion pounds at the box office. I mean, obviously you know all these things already, my sweethearts, but it does one no harm to reiterate. do you remember when I had so little in my life I had time to write a daily blog for 200 nerds to read. I am glad I am rich now and don't have to bother with those idiots any more. I always hated them. Ha ha ha. I am evil!"
But luckily for me writing Warming Up has brought home to me that in five years time, as I was five years ago, I will probably be sitting in my pants, slightly hungover, watching Diagnosis Murder and looking at my mural of "women who I would like to marry who have appeared in adverts" and telling my "wives" what I think stiff-necked Barry Van Dyke will do to solve the case, whilst keeping myself warm by throwing another script rejection letter on the fire (if only they actually sent rejection letters - all that they do is go really, really quiet in the hope that you forget you ever met them). And then writing about it in the 400oth consecutive Warming Up, pretending that I don't despise the people who read it.
Or maybe it'll be somewhere between those two scenarios.
Or better.
Or worse.
Stay tuned to find out, my fine friends, every one of whom I like and respect.
