You can crush us, you can OWW NOT SO HARD!

I wonder when I’ll finally be able to look at something in my environment – some tunnel or cityscape or storefront – and feel a true sense of ownership/belonging. Because certainly it’s all familiar in that things I see every day no longer surprise me, but none of it resonates in that particular way of home.

Skittish is a good way to describe my handle on London. The cats, my colleagues, friends, high streets – if not terribly cuddly, at least these elements seem to have accepted my presence. Now I have to work on my charm because nothing and no one will do your bidding unless you’ve mastered this essential quality.

After getting horribly lost for a while yesterday, I took a more direct route to work this morning only to find that the front door was locked. This forced employees to use the rotating door instead, I guess for some statistical purpose that involved a headcount. But being channelled in this way only strengthened the illusion that I’m working in an ant farm.

I ate my lunch at 11:30 despite my philosophical quandary, which went something like this:

I’m hungry – I can’t eat cold fruit because I have a toothache – my sandwich is soft and not cold so my upper molar won’t suffer if I eat this - I can’t eat my sandwich now because I’ll be too hungry later – but the fruit is cold – and my tooth hurts – and I’m hungry

In the end, I ate the sandwich. Fuck consequences! Yeah, right in the *ss.

Um, so here’s some good news. I haven’t had a glass of wine in about four days, and after severe headaches and some deep, obscure hungry feelings, my mood has improved greatly. Tonight we’re meeting up with friends to bowl, have a few drinks and see Control, and I think I’m going to substitute beer with a coke or something. Because there’s really no point in destabilising my overall disposition for a single glass of wine or beer (which is about all I can stomach these days).

Does this make me a straightedge or what? I’m hoping my rampant atheism will somehow preserve my badass reputation, though I’m not holding my breath (that would be juvenile, which I’m ANYTHING BUT).

Last night I got sick and tired of sucking at banjo and decided to go for speed over accuracy. And you know, it doesn’t sound perfect or anything but it does sound like I’m playing banjo finally. I wonder if I can keep up the appearance of being able to play for long enough to convince my teacher that I’ve been practicing much. My next lesson is on the 18th, so we’ll see if I can accomplish a new trick by then.

Yesterday on the bus, I came up with an idea for a screenplay. Instead of letting it go, I wrote down a brief synopsis when I got home. Now I’m mentioning it here so that I have no more excuses not to follow through with an idea. Working in the film industry has given me a pretty good idea of what’s required to make a film, so if it’s any good, I plan to put together a development proposal and send it off to someone.

Someone like my writer friend, who isn’t really a friend if we no longer communicate or live in the same city, but what’s the point of superficial acquaintanceship with influential people if you can’t pester them with your latest Big Idea, hmm?

Next week is the Times BFI 51st London Film Festival. We’ve booked four films so far, though I somehow talked myself out of seeing the new Wes Anderson and instead am going to some dubious French flicks and an American remake of some other dubious French flick. But Bruce assures me there will be plenty of time and space to book the ones that float my boat, as expensive as this whole business can get.

Hey, watch this:



If you like what you see, have a look at his other bits.

Look that way. No, to your right. And up. Up a bit more. Right…there. Limmy.