Minor Spillage

We all know our brain plays tricks on us. Catching a glimpse of something in the mirror that isn’t there when you turn around. Seeing lights in the night sky and convincing yourself it must be aliens. What I experienced was not my brain playing a trick on me. Yet, to date, I have found no explanation for it. That’s why I’m finally writing about it. I'm writing this blog, in the hope that there is another person out there who saw it. Before I properly begin, it’s vital that you know that my favourite film is a 92-minute indie comedy from 2004 called Story of Yesterday . Maybe you’ve heard of it. Two old colleagues meet again by chance, both hitchhiking their way across Europe, but in opposite directions. They face obstacles and diversions that keep leading them back to one another, so they eventually give up on the trip and reminisce about the past, sharing the vital life lessons they’ve learnt. It didn’t reinvent cinema, but it’s heartwarming, funny, and was a useful career springb...

Ideas are Everywhere - A Smelly Prologue An idea can come from anywhere… It was a cold, wet and pretty miserable day in Manchester. Me and my friend Cheryl were wandering the streets hunting for a coffee and an escape from the rain. Suddenly,  the smell  hit us. You know the one. The Bins. It was horrific. In a matter of seconds Cheryl turned to me and said; "Isn't it weird how all bins smell exactly the same?" I shot her a look. "There's a poem in that!" So, here you go. Thanks to Cheryl for her astute observational skills. And thanks to you, for indulging in this pure and utter nonsense… What's That Smell? Eeeurgh… What’s that smell? What smell? That smell. Oh, that smell. Like carrot peels curling in on themselves a hundred times over as they rot, fester and decay. That’s the bins. Like a seagull that’s spewed all of its chips back out, piece by revolting piece, all over the  pavement. That’s the bins. Like a dirty great pile of toenails, mutating int...

Directing, it’s one of the greatest joys of my life.  I thought I’d use this entry to explain the process (or at least, my process for this current project) of directing for Theatre. If this isn’t for you, I sympathise. Writing this has taken me away from watching the new season of Fallout. They haven’t sponsored me, I just really like it.   Sometimes, jobs in the arts can be unnecessarily gate kept or shrouded in mystery. The truth is, it’s not mysterious at all. Find the method that works for you, know that you’ll probably get it wrong, and try again on the next project. Sometimes you’ll get paid, other times you won’t. Whether you have been commissioned by a Theatre, or get your mates to put a show on for you above a pub- you are directing. The process is a lot of hard work, preparation and often being blindsided by questions that you didn’t see coming despite all of the hard work and preparation. If the joy of creating something from script to stage sounds like your bag, m...

When I look out my window each morning, I see green as far as the eye can see.  It's beautiful, for sure. For everyone that is... but me. The green keeps going for miles and miles, Until it reaches a vast trailing river,  But as I look out deeper and deeper, I can't help myself... I just shiver. When I look out my window each morning,  I see ramblers passing, w rapped in coats so thick,  Dogs trail beside them, leaving their mess on the driveway, They have to be taking the mick? The dog doesn't care, neither does the rambler, All they see is a pretty little cottage, not a care, But as they go on, I'm still stuck there, Day by day, in this picturesque nightmare. When I look out my window each morning,  I see rain belting down,  With such ferocity and power and hate, Really, you can't help but frown. If only the rain knew what it was doing to me, Do you think it would care, like the walkers, or green? I don't think they do, all they see is a postcard,  N...