Friday, 17 September 2010

Blog Lite


I'm putting Blurred Clarity to rest for a couple of months or so.

I've got filming to do for yet another commercial, then I start rehearsals for "Hypothermia", which tours until November 2010, never mind all the organising I have to do for my play "Our Style is Legendary" with finishing off the casting come November, PR, print and finding rehearsal space.

I will of course blog when I can, on a return to the life of a touring theatre actor and will keep Tweeting via Twitter my inane and garbled thoughts.

And of course, please come and see me in "Hypothermia", touring dates are here but I will pop them below and if you are planning on coming, please, please, please let me know so I can thank you and see you face to face. Your support would be much appreciated.

Huddersfield University 21st-23rd October


Box Office: miltonboxoffice@hudd.ac.uk


Peepul Centre, Leicester 26th-27th October


Box Office: 0116 261 6000


Cockpit Theatre, London 29th-30th October


Box office: 020 7258 2925


Hull Truck, Hull 2nd-3rd November


Box Office: 01482 323638


The Dukes, Lancaster 5th-6th November


Box office: 01524 598500

Until then comrades!

Wednesday, 15 September 2010

The Aruba Files: Photo Montage

It's funny but in my previous post Highlander mentioned the similarity between Aruba (the Caribbean island just off-of Venezuela where I went on holiday and asked Eva-Jane to marry me) and the word shouted by John Fashanu on the seminal TV show "Gladiators", as evidenced right here:



Funny because just before I jetted off, I called my parents for the obligatory farewell before holiday and promise to text you when I land safely conversation. My mum put my dad on and as we talked about Aruba he mentioned that it didn't always use to be a tourist hot spot, which is quite true and it used to be a bit of a shit hole, also true, he then claimed that the reason it got to be a popular tourist destination is that during "Gladiators" John Fashanu would shout...

ARUBA!

And thus, the entire world decided to check this place out.

This is wrong on so many levels, first off, Fash the Bash is not shouting Aruba but AWOOGA and secondly, the island is popular with Americans who have never seen UK "Gladiators" and even if you did, would a retired football player shouting the word at you really be the deal breaker in spending an awful lot of cash on going there?

Naturally, being a good son, I said none of this and agreed whole-heartedly.

Anyway, here are a smattering of pictures of our holiday in paradise.












Monday, 13 September 2010

Back From Aruba!


I am back from Aruba and it was paradise.

Naturally, blogging will be light for a long while for too many wonderful reasons to mention...the main one being I asked Eva-Jane to marry me and she said yes!


Much to do and we are very tired...


Full debrief coming at you very soon.

Saturday, 28 August 2010

Off To Aruba!



On me hols.

No blog posts for two weeks but there might by a Tweet or two.

Peace.

Thursday, 26 August 2010

Our Story Will Be Told Brother Death (You're Never Over)



You'd have killed me man. Punched me on the tit or summat.

I was busy feeling mardy today, too easy sometimes to get all grumpy over nothing, to get all vexed over nowt like a right ponce. You know me right? Like I have anything to be mardy about? I'm alive for a start, have my health and a beautiful woman who loves me and I'm shooting a film and then going to a casting for a great play...fuck, my life is transformed; things too good to be true. What a fine life.

Then my Eva-Jane let me know some good news about our play "Our Style is Legendary", casting is going well and things are coming together on all fronts, exciting developments and it hit me hard, smacked me right out of my self-indulgent bullshit like a punch to the solar plexus.

Our story will be told Brother Death, people will come and watch versions of me and you nobbing around, mostly speaking verbatim what we said to each other all those fucking years ago homes, word-spears being thrown 20 years and still hitting the target as true as they did then. And that ain't even the best bit.

The best bit is you'll live again my Brother, you'll fucking be alive again my sweet boy, you'll be alive again for every single show, like a beautiful re-run and our story will be told and people will laugh and cry and hate us and love us and you will live again.

And I'll be there, every night, tears in my eyes, living every moment because you know me, I don't believe in that God bullshit, you're in a hole in the ground Brother but you live on in my heart and in our play and people will be able to see you as I saw you and love you.

I miss you.

I think of you often.

I really miss you.

I'll never forgot you homes.

Hope I make you proud.

I love you.

It's the best memoriam I could ever give you Mike.

I dedicate this song to you.

Peace.

Wednesday, 25 August 2010

Kill Keith Filming Awaits


As mentioned previously, tomorrow I am filming for my next feature film entitled "Kill Keith" that stars Keith Chegwin (naturally) and a whole raft of classic British TV stars. It's a small role playing the investigating detective but it is always nice to asked and comes nicely before popping off on holiday to Aruba.

If no one out there knows who Keith Chegwin is, as may be the case with many non-Brit readers, this informative and amusing video should provide all you need to know about the man in question.



As always with these things, it is all kicking off at some ungodly hour, all the way out in Hayes, so it'll be early to rise for me before making my way out to Middlesex/West London borders. And I forgot to order more Nature Valley crunchy granolas bars (Canadian maple syrup flavour) from Tesco online. They make for a fine breakfast snacklet. Bugger. I may have to suffice with a sausage bap.

Now for some reason I am listening to a lot of Jimi Hendrix of late and this track keeps pulling me back to the play button over and over and over and over again.



I love the intense imagery of the crippled girl, stranded on the cusp of suicide as the golden space ship, which really didn't have to stop, sailed on by her. My mum got me into Hendrix and that particular verse always stayed with me as a child, haunted me as I tried to unpick what it meant. I'm still not sure but it is beautiful.

On on that note, I leave you with this:

Tuesday, 24 August 2010

The Politics of Hair


Some of you may be aware that very recently Iran banned certain types of haircuts as being too Western and too decadent. Pathetic because a genuinely powerful, secure, confident, democratic nation should never have to worry about the haircuts of it's citizens. As if haircuts can bring an entire nation crashing down? That kind of 'not one domino shall fall' bullshit will be the death of them...here's hoping.

The kind of haircuts Iran have taken umbrage with are mullets...


Ponytails....


And elaborate spikes (whatever that means)...


Naturally, the hairstyles these backward fucks approve of are just as fucking diabolical, shit like bouffants, quiffs and 90's throwback curtains...


Gel, however, can be used if sparingly. I kid you not.

I swear, some people are clinging so desperately to a bare modicum of power that they actually think this undignified flaying around at moral decay makes them look strong. Iran is not alone in this of course, the UK is blighted with Broken Britain (Copyright. All Rights Reserved) bullshit and America is contorting itself into ever more vulgar, vile and grotesque positions over the non-Mosque that is at least two blocks away from the place formally known as the World Trade Centre.

Whilst Iran may be an extreme example of the politics of hair, with thuggish militia forcing vigorous trims on Iranians with degenerate haircuts, it is not alone in connecting hair with some kind of insurgency.

North Korea controls the hair-do's of it's citizens, demanding exacting standards and seemingly, a desire for all males to look identical because long hair, naturally, drains you of your mental powers...


In Iraq barbars have been murdered by retarded religious bigots for distributing Western haircuts, while Indonesia hopes to bring in laws regarding suitable hairstyles and many other countries around the world are hatching similarly idiotic plans.

I don't know what it is about Islam and it's intolerance of good hair cuts, it makes me laugh that their God is so petty and envious that the way a human wears their hair can anger the daft twat, that and eating pig...like any omnipotent motherfucker would give a shit about tedious shit like that. We make our silly, pointless Gods in our own image, wracked with insecurities and weakness.

Facial hair is a whole other can of worms, ironically, considering how much Islam hates a good do, it loves a big beard, long the preserve in the Western world of real-ale drinkers, folk aficionados and pedophiles.

Iran has only just accepted the goatee, which is a horrible little beard, whilst Somalian Islamic militants (following a line led by the Taliban in Afghanistan) has instructed all men to grow beards but sans moustache; which is clearly flawed as a good moustache establishes a man as a true gentleman and a God amongst his hairless peers.


Haters of beards include Turkmenistan, Albania in the 1970s and Japan right bloody now, where beards are are deemed quite unpleasant but shit like this is perfectly acceptable...


Currently, I am rocking a beard because of filming commitments but normally I am resplendent in a fine moustache and proudly so, mainly because it's an excellent social device by which to measure the intelligence of anyone you're engaging with. If they are compelled to mention Hitler, The Village People or P0rn then they are an idiot and you can, pretty much guilt free, erase them from your life with no major loss.

And woe betide any loon that tries to police my facial hair and hair-do...