Though some modern day people (including me) think that As It Occurs To Me is a witless cavalcade of sperm and poo jokes, I think ultimately the 25th Century researchers at the British Library will see it as something deeper and more artistic. Because though it has the veneer of scatological stupidity and a celebration of the poetry of the gutter, what it's actually all about is a man trapped in a Hell of his own making, tortured by his own ambition and failure. He is up to his neck in sewage that acts as quicksand and every attempt he makes to escape his fate sends him sinking deeper into the mire. I feel sorry for the people (including me) who can't see past the rudeness to the deeper meaning beneath, but you'd have to have super evolved 25th Century brains to really get it.
I certainly felt like I was in a Hell of my own making today. A more amusing Hell than the traditional Hell, but a Hell nonetheless. After spending the morning trying to get my BBC script nearer to completion I moved on to AIOTM
and the first job was to film myself naked covered in flour paste apologising to Diana Dors. Jesus Christ. No one can say that I am not committed to my art. Nor that I am not a fucking idiot.
You can see it if you like. But be warned that once you have seen it you cannot unsee it. DO NOT CLICK THIS LINK. Well I warned you.
I actually found it quite a funny thing to do and my girlfriend who did the filming seemed to respect me and my resolve rather than pity me. So luckily she is as twisted as me. She thought it was good that I was still prepared to do something like this as an adult, to not leave behind my inner child, though not sure how many children would bathe in floury water and certainly not for the reasons that I was doing it. I have done stuff like this (well not exactly like this) enough times for this to be like water off a duck's back, or floury fake jizz off a fat man's back. But you know what I was saying about comedy and mental illness being millimetres apart? I think I was doing this for sane reasons, but it's very hard to tell sometimes.
Afterwards I tried to get on with writing, but was finding it tough. Maybe some tiny part of my remaining dignity was revolting against the revolting rest of me. But I am pushing myself hard whilst simultaneously being pulled in different directions. I was a bit freaked out by it all today, but it's really just down to having too much going on at once. I have a terrific job and am very lucky, but I think anyone would feel a bit punch-drunk after working 9am to midnight most days without a day off, however much they loved their job. Especially if they had been forced to take a flour bath in the middle of that.
And after some venting on Twitter and a bit of a break I returned to my office and worked for a good solid five hours and had the makings of the script for tomorrow. Just because I do it fast doesn't make it easy. It's the other way round if anything. But I felt good after getting so much done (given that three scripts this series have been written entirely on the Monday) and it reminded me of this old Warming Up entry which I almost considered doing in the script, but ridiculously I feel bound to the ethos of the show that it must be stuff that has occurred to me- in either sense- this actual week. I suppose it would be too easy to fill up the hour with old blogs or bits of stand up, so I am glad that I am rigorous, even if no one would really notice except me.
So today I was a bit battered - in both senses of the word- but came out of it OK and I guess all in all I do like the fact that sitting in a bath of flour is my job. It's both a triumph and a disaster all in one, which if you were as clever as the 25th Century morcocks then you'd realise makes me better than Shakespeare.
You'll see.
Well you won't. But your great-great-great-great-great-great grandkids are going to love it.
