Somewhere amongst the dense and often brilliant prose of Stephen Fry’s “Paperweight“, he refers to an unwritten rule generally accepted amongst newspaper columnists. He states that every journalist is allowed only one column during their career in which they write about having nothing to write about. Except he said it significantly more elegantly than that previous sentence, which may well rank amongst the ugliest examples of English prose since Katie Tits, or whatever she’s called, subjected the world to her views on parenting and celebrity and breasts. Which is what I’m assuming her book was about. I don’t know this. I never will. I will not sully myself further by even looking for a summary on Amazon.
It is in this spirit that I would like to add another “unwritten” rule to Fry’s list (unwritten in the entirely opposite and therefore preposterous sense of “written” having done just that), to whit:
NEVER ATTEMPT TO WRITE AN ENTRY IN YOUR MEANDERING AND OFTEN LARGELY ARCANE FILMMAKING BLOG WHEN FEELING A LITTLE BIT DICKY AND ABSENT AFTER DRINKING TOO MUCH STRONG LOCAL ALE AT A BIRTHDAY PARTY IN HEBDEN BRIDGE LAST NIGHT
Now admittedly the times where one need invoke this rule are going to be pretty thin on the ground. However, it will be no surprise to you that I am invoking it now.
So this is not a blog.
This is a mess.
Of my own making.
Have you ever been to Hebden Bridge? It’s a bit like a Yorkshire version of Totnes. Of course you may not have heard of Totnes. In which case, WHAT ON EARTH ARE YOU DOING WITH YOUR LIFE? Hebden Bridge is great. Set amongst the Yorkshire Dales, scattered with the disused mills that made the town rich and now home to a thriving alternative culture that succeeds in being genuine and inspiring rather than grating and tacky. I urge you to visit.
And they make very, very strong beer.
Things in blog-land will perk up this coming week. Jimmy and I have a whole raft (made by me with just my penknife, some modest logs and baler twine – so please don’t set off across the Channel on it) of High Tide announcements heading for your nearest screen in the next week or so. In fact Jimmy and I are going to spend several days in the same room before the week is out so you can expect great things. Or we might just play Risk. In which case I will be sure to tell you how marvellously I whipped his a-belted ass with a daring and brilliant military campaign based on amassing ALL my armies on Australasia before unleashing the dogs of war (called “Fido” and “Bouncer from Neighbours” if you’re interested) and sweeping across the world like a hairy Atilla the Hun. Who probably was quite hairy. So THE SAME as Atilla the Hun. Except one from Devon who made films. And couldn’t take his ale . . . . .
Enough. Enough. I need to crawl away and shrivel.
Remember, this is NOT a blog post.
Not to be confused with This is Not a Song by the largely forgotten early 90s Irish indie band The Frank and Walters.