WHEN IN ROME...

Grr.
I've been given a 'polite' word by my boss (Well, given by a co-worker but scripted by my boss) that I shouldn't be writing in my note book. I'm not sure why this is a problem because everybody doodles in their pads whilst waiting for things to do and systems to kick in.
I just 'doodle' more than some of the people here because I don't talk to anyone, read gossip magazines or join in with the masses amounts of bitching that goes on.
To me, I'm just trading vices, so to speak. I can work AND jot down the odd idea BECAUSE I don't talk, bitch or leave my desk to do a combination of both. I'm sorry that I can't completely lock myself into the work. I do a decent job, I just like to keep my creative clocks ticking. It's not like I'm in emergency services or anything. Making script notes might be a tad bad then.
I was also given some advice by a co-worker that a "messy desk gives the impression that you're busy". I always thought boss-types hated messy desks but I decided to oblige this unwritten rule in order to keep the gnats away from my little picnic.
I've messed up my desk. There is paper everywhere.
What a cunning deception.
I look busy now. Perhaps I should really go to town and use my desk as a toilet.

"Friend, Mentor...God?"

Blair has written a nice post about our friendship during our time in this clerical prison. It brought a lump to my throat. His Blog is always fantastic and you should visit it when you need a visual uplift.

Help Me

After such a fun weekend, today was always going to be a massive come down. Once again, I find myself sat at my desk, coasting through the few days I have left in this clerical prison.

I keep thinking of all the things I COULD be doing; interviewing for jobs, watching films, playing Smackdown whilst drinking tea, reading my new Transformers U.K books (Prey and Fallen Angel) or teach a group of rough, inner city kids how to sing gospel songs, which would, of course, cause us to win at the local contest and gain the respect of our peers and friends, just like in Sister Act 2. Some 'cool' formally violent and rebellious student could high-five me at the end, declaring that 'I'm cool' just as we all celebrate in slow-mo.

Maybe I could just call out Bingo for the elderly and inject random, surreal jokes into the mix: "Unicron's distain, number 22. Cress! It's number 4"

Today, I have written some stuff for a script called 'Death, The Young Man' because, for some reason, I like writing about the Grim Reaper and his fish-out-of-water non-adventures and one called 'Cupid at Gunpoint' Both may or may not ever see the light of anything as most of my stuff gets abandoned about half-way through.

Wikipedia (The web site, not the mysterious house mate of K.P) has nourished my information-starved brain with interesting and pointless information. Today I learnt more about Leicester, it's ghostly goings on and witches. Witches led me to hags, crones, The Grudge, Deaths Head, Dragons Claws, and Fall Out Boy.
I found it oddly comforting that their front man is older than me. The fact that he's revered and billion times more successful isn't so comforting however.

Belated Congrats to fellow Blogger Hicksion for getting a pilot commissioned at the BBC. Having flirted with them in the past, it's nice to know that someone gets to see the proverbial goods. *Doffs cap* I look forward to seeing 'Broken By Design' when it airs if only to swig a glass of brandy whilst drunkenly declaring "I sort of know the man who wrote that there programme..." to a dog.

You can SMELL the boredom, can't you?

KNEES (An Ode)

Knees
Knees
If you please
Let's raise a glass
And eat some cheese
In glorious tribute
To our knees
Knees
Knees

(Deleted rhyming words: Squeeze, Sleaze, Bees, Fleas and tease)

I'm so sorry.