100% Nice....

I was on a bus to Bondi tonight and it drove past a Chocolate shop with a sign outside the front that read '100% NICE'. Not the catchiest of phrases but it gave me a shudder down my spine as it was a kindly and apt reminder of my personality once more. After the last few weeks, I do actually have to learn how to get angry more and not let people just walk all over me. Not sure if it's pride or failure to recognise when someone is taking liberties with me. I try to be generous, giving and empathic constantly and when certain people take advantage of it, I still remain shocked that they won't give anything back. I don't want my naivety to become the undoing of me. Answers to how I can be more of a complete bastard on a postcard please!

Making That Next Step...

Over the last few months I have been a little frustrated with the fact that even though I have made the huge plunge transferring my life to another part of the world to essentially sort my life out, I have in fact, made myself quite directionless for the time being. I find myself with no drive to continue pursuing the career I have built up these past few years and yet have a huge degree of caution considering the somewhat possible professional suicide nature of giving it all up to pursue a totally different career. Depending on who I talk to, advice is varied and full of opinion as one would expect. Full of the familiar phrases you hear when mulling over these big life decisions. It's not really a case of me taking control of my own life to solve this. It's about whether or not I want to spend the time fixing something I may not want to be fixed in the first place.

Luck. Life Choices. Destiny and Gut Instinct are phrases we use to justify what life hands us. It never really explains why that son of a bitch has got that promotion you wanted or why your lovely friend who has cancer has also lost her job. (By the way, I don't actually know these people they exist purely for my moral conundrum).

I am negotiating with my internal compass at the moment. Wondering if decisions regarding my career would be as hard as it is now, had I made a different choice all those years ago. I will of course never know. Only dreams and doubt offer any form of resolution there and I refuse to harp back to a better time or regret the choices I've made. Well, maybe a one or two. I'm just questioning why my choices have meant going against the grain a little too often, ascending that steep hill when I could have gone up the footpath just over there. Is something greater telling me I'm not meant to be doing what I'm doing? I feel it's time to challenge this before it's too late or otherwise I may resign myself to accepting my circumstances.

"Well, what can I say to that Richard?" I hear you cry. Well, nothing. I just wanted to get that out in the open. Clear my head space as always before those thoughts bounce round my cranium any further. I agree what most are probably thinking - the grass is greener, we make the best choices to suit the situation we're in, all our lives are a random path and so on.

I have realised my old life back in London was chockablock. I was ultra, mega, stupendously busy. Even my hobbies were time consuming.

I went to work.
I went to screenings after work
I rehearsed for 10 months of the year.
I did a show twice a year.
I did the marketing for the shows.
I did tap classes.
I did singing classes.
I 'tried' to write.
I wrote a blog.
I tried to date.
I socialised.
I saw my friends.
I hosted dinner parties & events.
I went to the gym.
And so on...

I did many other things and it's taken my sister to suggest perhaps my body and mind have decided to shut down for a bit and have a rest since arriving here in Australia. It makes sense why I feel so 'spent'. So I find myself only handling a few tasks and wondering why I don't have the drive or imagination to push myself again. I'm no longer content repeating my life in the same way and its forced me into a limbo period. Much like my friend Charlie, I constantly want to push myself further and never take the time to take stock and reflect on what I've achieved most of the time but here I am looking at my life at last. Apologies if most of what I am writing is drivel.

How many of really have control over our 'life choices'? Deepak Chopra's tells us to send our dreams out there and they will come back to you, Paul McKenna tells us to hypnotise ourselves into positive thinking, others just say work hard and you will be rewarded. Whatever we use to justify and focus our minds to the job in hand, the cynic inside of me wonders whether in fact it's a choice between the lesser of two evils or perhaps not having worthwhile obvious choice laid out before us. I am reading a biography of Stephen Sondheim at the moment. I wanted to discover how the greatest musical theatre composer of our time came to be where he is now by battling against the odds and facing permanent rejection, but in fact it's quite the opposite. Sondheim was, dare I say it, in a privileged situation to be able to achieve. I'm not saying it wasn't easy for him but many factors of his upbringing and the people he either knew or was introduced to, sure helped to forge the person he is now today. For example, being partially raised by the Hammersteins as young boy and Sondheim was also Manhattan upper class thanks to his parents social status. Yes, I thought 'Lucky bugger' too. Although, he had a mother who declared his birth was the worse thing that happened to her life, so it's not all 'coming up roses' as Sondheim would write.

Luck I've decided, is dependent on someone giving you the dice to throw in the first place.

Perhaps I'm not meant to be living this particular life. Perhaps it's time I should listen to my gut instincts despite the world furrowing it's responsible brow at me. Give myself a little faith I usually reserve for others. Go get that dream and really do have no regrets.

"They're Villians, Clare..."

Pardon me but I think a small trickle of wee just came out watching this.

Fresh New Look...

Well, I've been playing round with the new templates in Blogger and given my blog a new look.

Yes, I'm still learning Photoshop so the new title treatment is a tad ropey still. I'm working on it and I may tinker with it a bit longer.

More importantly, you can now subscribe to my blog and add my RSS feed. You can do this in most mail applications, I know you can definitely do this with Mail on the Mac. So add me and you'll never be hungry for information about me again.

I imagine you'll all do this being such ardent fans and dedicated followers of mine.

I Thank You.

A few things I have observed about Australian culture...

• The restaurants are full of amazing cuisine. However the supermarkets fail miserably at doing the same.

• The height of Winter is currently 22 degrees.

• Racism, homophobia and sexism is still fashionable amongst many hetrosexual men.

• There are more chicken schnitzels per square metre in Sydney than in the entire country of Germany.

• Thongs are worn on your feet and not up yer bum.

• It is easier to purchase a child from Somalia than rental accommodation in Australia.

• Women's fashion is basically a cross between what fashion was two seasons ago and one of those parasols you get decorating your cocktail.

• Men's fashion is still under debate - even in the state of New South Wales.

• Melbourne and the internet are the only places to buy clothes.

• Post Offices don't open on a Saturday.

• Cockroaches are more disgusting and than any of the potential venomous creatures that live in Australia.

• Most Aborigines don't play digeridoos, they play with drugs, alcohol and fight against a government who has let them down severely.

• Class A drugs are as common as smoking.

• It is totally acceptable for straight men to manscape and talk openly about it.

• Oxford St in Sydney is long and disappointing.

• People expect you go home on time and have a life.

• You can buy Marmite here.

• Only tourists go to Bondi Beach.

• Australians actually watch Neighbours despite those in the UK who protest vehemently against this.

• I am continually surprised at the number of Australians who have never been to New Zealand.

So where the bloody hell am I?....

So it's been a while since I talked about myself. Ironic for a blog.

My random observations are probably not going to assure the casual reader that I'm fine and doing well. I fear my writing might meander once more into more profound thoughts and people will start turning off in their droves like when when Harry Secombe used to start singing on his religious programme Highway.

The allure of 'starting anew' is now bringing new hardened realities to the forefront and I'm realising now what it really takes to start again and the feeling of being out of place when I could be at home with all things familiar is a conundrum indeed for a brain like mine which loves to churn things through unnecessarily.

My life here at the moment is a bit like being at a sophisticated dinner party and having to wear someone else's clothes after perhaps being caught in the rain or after accidentally spilling spaghetti down my front. I'm sitting there, smiling away, feeling slightly aware of myself, thinking I really should sort myself out and get myself into something more 'Me' or vaguely familiar at least. While I sit there thinking this, all the other guests at the dinner table are giving me weak smiles as they go about their own conversations and I have no choice but to look down at the XL large sweater I've been given to wear, only realising it has the words "30 Years Old. Experiencing Quarter Life Crisis. Out Of Place But Willing" emblazoned on it.

It's a personal mental holiday. I am on leave. On sabbatical if you must. And being without goals at the moment disturbs me somewhat.

There is excitement to be had regarding my vocal tuition or in layman's terms my 'Singing Lessons' though.

As Kirstie Walk would say "More on this later..."

Agreeing to Disagree...

"After thousands of years and with over 6.6 billion people in world, mankind continues to be surprised why we all can't think and be alike."

Who says politics isn't sexy?

With the upcoming D-Day looming for Senator Obama and Clinton this week, I thought I would show you Steve Grove. A slightly shallow reason to get into U.S. politics perhaps but the Creator of Citizentube on Youtube, reports on the daily news coverage of the American election process, giving insight and opinions to the internet generation. A fantastic opportunity I think, to get young people politicised. The added bonus as you can see is he's quite easy on the eye too. As a big fan of The West Wing you can understand why not it's not just his good looks that excites me so. He's smart and passionate. We like this in a man. Needless to say Steve goes onto my BFM list.

Anyway compared to my last entry this is a nice fluffy entry with a political edge to it. Apparently my last blog diatribe totally confounded some people. I apologise for going off on a complete tangent.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=X0k0ri5trM8&feature=user

The Jamie Oliver Syndrome...

Strike up the band. Send telegrams to your loved ones. Sing it from your rooftops.

I officially have a Life.

So why do I find it slightly disconcerting that a small part of me craves to be an unemployed bum again? (possibly because I thought about it while I was sat at my new desk battling with formulas in Excel) I admit right now and off-the-bat, the month off however desperately needed and thoroughly enjoyed it was, did get a bit boring and frustrating near the end. It did raise an interesting question however - if money was no object and if society didn't pressure us into doing it, would we be happy not working?

I have visions of aliens looking down at us from outer space. Witnessing probably what we see on those Wildlife on One specials about ants or wasps. Watching us mindless going about our day like drones systematically performing repetitive daily tasks without question. Our little honeycomb lives. I admit, it's a tad profound for my quirky blog but it's high time I go a bit Alain De Botton on you, just so you realise I'm more than a pretty face.

Scaling it up a bit and being a tad more BBC FOUR than BBC TWO about this subject - money is good to have. Of course it is. If that was no exception and we were all 'Ladies who Lunch' would we be happier? For me personally I like to have goals. A few years ago, the social aspect of a work environment was huge part of why I enjoyed 'going to work'. As time moves on and priorities change, I'd now like control my own life schedule and not so adamant about social intercourse at work as I once was. I admit this is probably an age thing rather than a philosophical question but there is something a tad deeper to consider. There is a crisis many find ourselves in today, due to an onslaught of technology that has allowed mass communication to permeate into our lives on a scale which has never been experienced before. The internet, mobiles, blackberries and our modern, ultra-efficient lifestyles means we have access to anything and everyone, wherever and whenever we want. It also means however, we can be accessed by our work 24/7. This in itself is a terrifying thought to comprehend for many like myself who try to adhere, and quite rightly so, the need to draw a line between 'work' and 'play'. This new era of the never-ending work ethic and the constant pressure to perform and deliver is an investment which I and others feel reaps very little in return and which also never ever seems to be enough for those who demand it. This can also partly come from our own expectations. As a result we feel as though have failed in some way. I mean this in terms of quality of life rather than financial, although current economic climates have even made this even more poignant to how much we have 'failed'. Anyone who lives in a big city like London will have heard of the common complaint many of my friends have regarding their quality of life. It was one of the reasons I had to leave London myself. Not as I was tired of hearing the same familiar conversation but because I too wanted to address the imbalance in my own life. It is disparaging to work hard and receive little recognition for it and it has made us more envious of those who can seemingly 'not work for a living' or work less but have better lives than we do.

Is this the modern generation being lazy and not appreciating what the modern age allows us to achieve? Have we forgotten how to live while we obsessed over integrating unachievable work ethics and new technology into our lives or is there a genuine concern we should be addressing and seeking a cure for the 'Modern Work Malaise'.

There are great books on this by the way if you're interested that touch on these subjects. Status Anxiety and Affluenza are fascinating reads (which is a more in depth examination to what every thirtysomething asks what it means to be successful and why we are still unhappy yet 30 years ago we had less but were more happier, or as I describe it as "Why am I not Jamie Oliver yet?" referring to his seemingly perfect life, career and family - recent Sainsbury wranglings to one side)

Perhaps the Modern Work Malaise should be called 'The Jamie Oliver Syndrome'. I have my suspicions however even he might doubt his level of personal success sometimes.

I suppose what I'm trying to say, insights and world ruminations aside, is that there are questions regarding what I want to do with the rest of my life. Work seems endless wherever I am but is necessarily to survive and stimulate the old grey matter. Do I go on with what I'm doing now? I'm sure this question rears it head throughout anyone's life. I'd like to write more. Perhaps do some freelance writing again, like the film reviews I once did but perhaps this time with some social commentary. If only I could convince Charlie Brooker to let me cover him when he next takes a holiday from his Guardian article.

Am I carving out a whole new career in the making or is this trappings of a lifestyle that has even more pros and cons to the one I have now? Who knows what intellectual trepidations that might bring.

Beyond Useless...

"Hi there, how's Australia treating you?"

"Umm, er, it's treating me fine I suppose. Thank you for seeing me."

"So, you've come to Australia to look for work? How exciting. Now, just to let you know the job advertisement you responded to isn't available now."

"The entertainment marketing job?"

"Yes, that's the one. Don't worry, after that ruse I'm sure we can find you something."

"Oh."

"I know. You're qualifications were perfect for that job, weren't they? We don't have anything at the moment, but it's great that we finally get the chance to meet so I get to waste more of your time."

"Right, so I filled in this application form for nothing? Why does it ask for bank details by the way and what's with the question 'If you were a brand what would you be?' is this you trying to be hip and relevant or something?"

"Oh you don't need to worry about that. So, tell me a little bit about yourself while I think about what I'm going to have for lunch today."

"Well, I've had a varied career as Art Director, Marketing Manager and Account Manager. I've had extensive experience in the field of creative, marketing and advertising and now specialise in entertainment design but not exclusively... excuse me, are you just nodding at me politely?"

"Yes... a low fat salad is what I'll have. Now, I will be phoning my 'contacts' to see if I can drum up some interest in you. I'm also going to say a lot of big, exciting company names to you now and make it sound as I know every one of them personally, when in fact, I only know the HR manager who only reluctantly takes my calls as I constantly hound them. Does that sound like something convincing?"

"Well, a job working for a successful company sounds great, but..."

"Fantastic! Now, do you see yourself as more a creative than a strategic person, would you consider working agency side perhaps? I only ask this just to make me sound as though I know something about your job. I just don't want you to know I'm actually listening for several unrelated keywords from which I will feebly attempt to match you against a highly inappropriate job spec."

Umm, well I'm a trained creative person but have had strategic..."

"That's great, that's all I needed to hear. I see you also have a working holiday visa?"

"Yes, I... Why did you just pull that face?"

"Have you seen any other recruitment agencies or gone for any interviews so far? Be careful now, I know I look anodyne and false but I will shaft your potential career prospects if I find out you're not just using me. And if there's any chance I can put another candidate against you for a job, I will do it."

"Umm...NO? You're the first person I've seen actually."

"Great. I'll be as useless as the next agency you see anyway."

"Fine. I'm just slowly getting disillusioned about job hunting, you might as well kill the last ounce of hope I have left. If you continue to annoy me I'll just remind you that your only other career options were probably lawyer or estate agent. Is there anything else you need to know? Do you need to scribble any more doodles of flowers and swirly patterns on my CV or is that it?"

"No, I have everything. Just to let you know, I won't be calling you for a few weeks, if that's okay with you? Do keep in touch though and let me know how the job hunting is going your end. Just so I can field your calls and say 'Nothing has come in yet'. I'll eventually return one of your calls and suggest some crappy job spec we've had lying round the office for some time, hoping it may distract from how unhelpful I've been. By then, you'll get an idea of how we operate."

"Well, thanks for speaking at me. It's been pure joy. Perhaps I should have spent it more productively figuring how many of your business cards I could fit in your mouth?"

"It's been great to finally meet you too. Hopefully we can get you the job that fits you perfectly Robert."

"It's Richard."

Kate The Great...

I'm reading yet another biography about my favourite actress, who most of my friends know I endless quote and refer to a lot. The videos below are an abridged version of the intense 600 page book I am reading now. It's also a test to see if videos are something I want to add to my blog.




Her lust for life and decent common sense always enthralled and inspired me. Her quote below is what I try to do with my life daily and I thought I would share these simple words with you:

The thing about life is that you must survive. Life is going to be difficult, and dreadful things will happen. What you must do is move along, get on with it, and be tough. Not in the sense of being mean to others, but tough with yourself and making a deadly effort not to be defeated.

- Katharine Hepburn

OK?...

Sometimes I wonder if words I spell are correct, words I have continued to spell for years sometimes. I hate to be incorrect. I make every effort to ensure words are written properly and my grammar is also in tip top working order, even though I do admit failing occasionally with syntax (the result I feel of thinking too quickly and typing too slowly). I realise the English language evolves continuously, but the wonderful rules we have created enabling us communicate effectively with each other is also in danger of dying out if we're not too careful. I think it's important to keep it good working order so to speak. So it terrifies me that the latest generation horrifically uses 'TXT SPK' in everyday conversation now or should I say 'CONVO'. I put my case forward with this aberration below:

ooow god c i dnt no hu u r babe im gessing u go 2 beal 6form but atleeast u no wat im talkin about....! this is frm head to toe "storkage" the guyz probably gona fink were a bunch of pedoz LOOL.....x

To be quite frank. What the fuck is that?

A grown 16 year old woman wrote this on a Facebook page. I know it's a "Social Networking Site" but there is no excuse. Emmeline Pankhurst is probably turning in her grave at the thought this girl now has the right to vote but not actually given herself the right to spell and form complete sentences. I felt quite sick reading it and wanted to violently stick the Oxford English Dictionary into one of her orifices. If you actually 'translate' it, she also thinks 15 years olds can be classified as pedophiles because they fancy their teacher (who is a friend of mine). Yes - after three, we can sigh simultaneously together. Do I sound like a Daily Mail journalist yet?

Anyway, I return to the point in hand. One of the simplest words Okay or OK used in my last entry, was one such word that made me think twice about it. I wanted to know where this phrase came from. Well, I wanted to know, as I have a keen obsession over the English language and also love to consume useless facts. According to Dictionary.com (I know it's American but I will find out what dependable old Oxford say too) it is derived from the following:

OK is a quintessentially American term that has spread from English to many other languages. Its origin was the subject of scholarly debate for many years until Allen Walker Read showed that OK is based on a joke of sorts. OK is first recorded in 1839 but was probably in circulation before that date. During the 1830s there was a humoristic fashion in Boston newspapers to reduce a phrase to initials and supply an explanation in parentheses. Sometimes the abbreviations were misspelled to add to the humour. OK was used in March 1839 as an abbreviation for all correct, the joke being that neither the O nor the K was correct. Originally spelled with periods, this term outlived most similar abbreviations owing to its use in President Martin Van Buren's 1840 campaign for reelection. Because he was born in Kinderhook, New York, Van Buren was nicknamed Old Kinderhook, and the abbreviation proved eminently suitable for political slogans. That same year, an editorial referring to the receipt of a pin with the slogan O.K. had this comment: "frightful letters ... significant of the birth-place of Martin Van Buren, old Kinderhook, as also the rallying word of the Democracy of the late election,'all correct' .... Those who wear them should bear in mind that it will require their most strenuous exertions ... to make all things O.K."

"How fascinating!" and yes, I'm aware only myself said that just now.

Wandering and wondering....

I started writing this to a friend and realised it was probably eloquent enough to put on here too with a few editorial tweaks.

It's my fourth week in Sydney now and as I sit here typing away at my laptop, thinking about how my life has changed, watching the unannounced clouds roll into the bay where I live (It's going to heave it down tonight with fantastic thunderstorm later - see, even the weather here is more interesting) I realised I'm just unemployed and wearing less clothes. However, it's not that bad really. It is hotter here and although I'm not cold at all, because I'm British I can't help thinking I may need an extra layer when I go out - just in case. It's a habit I have to break out of as I end up carrying a lot of useless crap around with me.

Life here is still in a state of limbo. It's not the worse state to be in but I'm desperately needing my own job and space now so I start my 'new life' in full. I went on the ferry to Circular Quays last week for an interview one morning. It was a spectacular Australian morning. A solid blue sky, as if someone had neatly selected the fill button on Human Nature's Photoshop and given the sky one hue of 'Blue'. I stood on the top deck of the ferry, allowing the breeze to dance through my hair and flutter against my face. I wore my aviator sunglasses, a crisp white cotton shirt, jeans and gracefully sat back to listen to Carly Simon's Let The River Run from the movie Working Girl. For a moment, I was Melanie Griffiths as Tess MgGill starting her first day of work, although for me it was my new life. Only then, for the first time since I arrived here did I think, "Richard. Everything is going to be okay."

It is nice to have open friendly public around you though when you make a significant move like this. Not have people who refuse to give you eye contact or glare into your soul if you invade their personal space on a train, bus or pavement, which pretty much sums up London's attitude to anyone and, I am ashamed to say, I was one of those people. (It's not quirky and eccentrically British - it's plain rude.) My initial spontaneity has been replaced with partial restlessness now and I fear for when order gets reintroduced into my life again, as I keep being told to enjoy the free time I currently have. I can't help knowing the organised part of me would like a 'Start Date' so it can schedule in events into my .Mac account calendar and buy trainers without guilt. I'm sure it will all fall into place come once the job arrives. I must learn to curb my impatience in the meantime.

I am enjoying the weather as it's not it's usual unbearably hot and more like a good British summer. I like seeing the water. It's everywhere and it's very calming. Even if you're in the middle of the city and your standing next to a man-made fountain it still has the same effect on you.

I went out on Oxford St, the gay district of Sydney last night and realised I loathe the scene wherever it may be. No new revelation there. Over here they're more vain and are usually 'off their tits' on something quite early on in the evening. This tends to stop when they reach 35 apparently, looking at the rental ads I saw last week. As then, they tend buy small dogs and apartments with great views of the harbour. I say this only as all the ads I've read are by gay men in their mid/late 30s who own amazing flats and a hairy collared animal who they describe as 'My Baby' or 'Chico' and always end their ad with the line "I do not tolerate drug users."

A spark of originality is all I ask for in a gay man. Please! My quest may continue a little longer perhaps.

There's A Life At The End Of This Tunnel...

A cockatoo landed on the veranda yesterday and my instant reaction was someone's pet had escaped. I realised then I was in another country. This is my new life now and big fat birds with yellow crests bounding up to a window pane is a perfectly common anomaly. Things are going to be different. I watched it with much bemusement and with a sense of pure novelty usually reserved for petting zoos and stupid people, realising my reaction to this exotic bird is probably how I've spent most of my time here since I arrived two weeks ago. It's not like I'm here on holiday or moved here permanently with both feet firmly on the ground, knowing which direction I'm heading. I'm in a limbo period and I'm not sure how to approach anything. I don't have my usual habits to fall back on or friends to immediately reassure me or places to go for comfort. I've spent some of it trying to recreate situations I had during my life back in London and unsurprisingly they just don't work over here. And that's good I suppose. I'm making hesitant choices over trivial things - what type of travel card to buy - Red? Blue? Travel Ten or Travel Pass? What meat do I choose from the alien supermarket freezer - why do the sausages look anemic and the lamb badly cut? Why do I think twice at meeting up with old friends who have offered to show me the way but prefer to meet complete strangers instead? I should be diving into everything head first, embracing it as it comes, but if I do, it means I'm actually 'living' here now.

A Time to Say Goodbye...

It is a wonderfully surreal experience knowing that the next month ahead of you will be full of choice, freedom and self inflicted fear. I got to steal a moment at my leaving do last night in order to see all my friends together under one roof. Laughing, smiling at me, sharing stories, so many different personalities sandwiched between wine glasses and beer bottles, all sharing one thing in common - my friendship.

I am a lucky, lucky man.

It was utterly heartbreaking but yet immensely life affirming to leave my friends. I hope they know how much happiness they've given me over the years. Old and new friends alike. Farewells and excitable exclamations from jealous friends were touching but I felt almost strangely unworthy, as I never felt I was doing anything special or come to think of it, anything they couldn't do themselves. I did feel like I was abandoning so many people who had given me so much. To relish in my future endeavor too much in front of them would have felt self-absorbed in way.

The 'Parentals' were there to also witness this potpourri of people who claimed to know me. The fact they got the chance to meet them all and see the side of my life they only hear in passing during the odd phone conversation was incredibly important to me and I know through friends who spoke to them they enjoyed themselves, despite the minimal reaction I got when I asked them. Modest to the end, my folks.

So, on to the next entry. This one will take a little longer to digress into literary prose. I'm stepping up to the bench, lets hope I can be brave and grab opportunity with both hands and not freak out and regress to the familiar.

Watch this space. And this time that space is awfully big.

This Year I...

In 2007, I...

...finally hit 30 ...met Lord Lloyd Webber ...tapped along side Darcy Bussell ...saw Carrie Bradshaw and friends ...watched Rufus do Judy ...lost a beloved friend and Godmother ...learned how to reach an A# ...finally saw the Baker, his wife , Cinderella and Jack go into the woods ...had a boat party ...got a crush on a reality TV star ...met him and met him too many times ...said goodbye to my other sister ...drank Manhattans on top of a NY skyscraper ... met my new brother in-law to be ...went to A&E with sliced finger ...booked a flight that will hopefully change my life.

Happy New Year! Lets see what 2008 brings shall we?

A time for change...

Tomorrow is the end of 2007 and like most cliched endings, is a dawn of a new era for many people, mostly significantly for me as I prepare to uplift my life and move to a different country on the other side of the world. It's been a long time since I wrote my last entry and I am angry at myself for not keeping my writing going over the last five months. Life has been eventful. It's been full of events I could have written about, but life took over, as it usually does in these situations and I foolishly put this blog to one side. I'm also considering opening up this blog to all my friends and family soon, so they can keep track of my life when I get to Sydney. I'm in two minds as I enjoy the anonymity and regular purging exercise I get from releasing all my thoughts and rants into the cyberworld. We shall see.

I have a musical to write and other writing to start and my new shiny white beacon of an iMac seems to be inviting me to use it solely for Facebook and porn. There are far too many diatribes on the passive nature on owning a computer to be included in this entry, so I will leave those for another time.

Moving to Australia is a thrilling and terrifying prospect. I'm currently facing a big chalkboard which has lots of intricate scribblings all over it which I've accumulated over the years and now stand poised with one of those eraser blocks in my hand, waiting to wipe it all off in one smooth swipe. I want to start a fresh new scribble and I'm hesitating, as hover over my life in London just one more time admiring everything I've achieved, I know deep down I'm not really losing anything it's just the action that terrifies me. I suppose this feeling is natural to someone starting a new chapter and many of my friends are envious of the freedom I have before me. I will however truly miss this moment in my life as it is rich and I have a lot of good things going on in my life right now. It's so predictable how making this decision has made me appreciate what and who I have in my life right now. Clichés that rear their ugly heads in fiction and in other people's lives are now making a long overdue appearance in mine. A comforting thought perhaps?

Thoughts on the boy Potter...

Okay, what I'm going to say will be considered controversial. Well, not if you're a literary critic, although they have all been quite praising about it I've noticed, but I've just finished the final installment of the Harry Potter septilogy and, well, I have my opinions I'd like to air after being sucked into reading the entire saga these past few years. I suppose I should prewarn those of a fragile idiotic nature who don't want to know what happens to perhaps 'look away now' or maybe the title of this entry should also read *SPOILER ALERT* But lets be frank here, if you didn't think I was going to talk about plot points when talking about the last book and are shocked to learn crucial elements to the story by reading this, then you're a bit of an twat really. Yes, that term was quite eloquent of me, I'm glad you noticed.

I'd like to say now, the only modern children's books I have read are Rowling's Harry Potter, Pullman's Dark Materials Trilogy and The Hungry City Chronicles by Philip Reeves. I have only got into reading these as working in the film industry as it's always good to have a bit of foreknowledge of potential movie campaigns you could end up working on. Although Reeve's Mortal Engines was a pure coincidence and a chance to read a signed first edition for free. Harry Potter has been 'fantasy-lite' entertainment, I realise it's kid's literature and perhaps I shouldn't be so harsh on the material but I think the elevated status deserves some critic, as no doubt the books will be compared to existing classics like the epic Lord of the Rings trilogy or Roald Dahl's various deliciously horrid and captivating children's stories.

Maybe I'm impatient with these books, but I found myself skimming the pages at a hundred miles an hour, perhaps it is merely the style of writing that didn't captivate me instantly and maybe I yearn for more meandering, fantastical passages and clever word play that I remember lapping up as a child. I personally itched a bit when scenarios got repetitive, like the 'camping whilst on the run' parts. The deaths were dealt with in a very real unglamorous way, which I congratulate her for, although I think I did suffer from total memory loss reading parts of it, as I didn't even realise Lupin was dead until he appeared as a ghost with Harry's folks and Sirius at the end. Calling Voldemort 'Riddle' made the final stand-off all the more striking, subtle changes in character dialogue were a clever touch. She should have made the importance of wands more apparent in the other books though, as I felt it certain plot pieces/devices like that were all too convenient and materialised out of nowhere. Bit like in Star Trek when they go "Oh my God we're slipping into a Worm Hole, how about we press this button that will release intermittent tachyon beams that will create a static warp shell." which to me, makes as much sense as me saying "Oh my God I don't have a boyfriend, how about I switch on my toaster."

It's not my favourite book from the series. Azkaban and Goblet of Fire still remain firm favourites. Had the first third been structured in a more entertaining way and punctuated more with other plot lines to build up the tension it would have been the reached the top of my list. My favourite parts were Snape's back story and Mrs Weasley calling Bellatrix Lestrange a "B*tch". How many parents will be self-sensoring that part when they read it aloud to their children I wonder. Still, I'll pay good money to see Julie Walters and Helena Bonham-Carter fight like cats in a bag.

On another note, I apologise for the lack of entries on my blog. It has been a ridiculously long time and have faltered badly on the maintenance front. I have now got a lovely spanking new Powerbook that purrs nicely and allows me to go wireless and even has Final Draft so I can write 'professionally'. I have news on Centre Stage, writing a musical and the usual pointless banter about men and life and will endeavor to write this all up soon into those lovely, little, eloquently written passages I do love to toil over.

"What's your story?..."

Peculiar that I traverse the steep steps of Waterstones on Piccadilly and look across to the giant photos above the bannisters that showcase the great literary luminaries of our age and who do I see? David Beckham, Jane Fonda, Paul McCartney and Bill Clinton. There is one shot of a real author - you know one of those people who actually have touched a keypad or typewriter and known how to use syntax and grammar, rather than speak to a ghost writer - this was of Margret Atwood whose expression in the photo was of shere awkwardness, even though she was in fact surrounded by books. This observation was further compounded by the fact I was rudely ushered to one side by an assistant to make way for their next author who was signing. My glimmer of internal hope died however, when I noticed it was not the Pulitzer Prize-winning Michael Chabon or even 'Chick-Lit Queen' Sophie Kinsella. No, it was Kanye West and his mother.

This is future of publishing people. I do hope people like my friend Ben get their literary efforts recognised, I pray to God they do.

N.B. Please note. Since writing this entry, Kanye's mother (his biographer) tragically died from cosmetic surgery complications. This bizarre soap-opera like event has somehow, to me anyway, strangely reinforced my arguement there should be more emphasis on real literary talent. Or perhaps I've got a sick sense of humour.

A few shots from the show...