Catch Up

Hello. How have you been? Have you missed me the way that I missed you? 

The others? They mean nothing to me. You’re my favourite

Sorry I’ve been so slack recently but it’s not you, it’s me. Real life’s been getting in the way again. I don’t make life complicated, it just seems to get that way all by itself. 

The new draft of ‘Stuck Between Stations’ has been completed and sent off to the producer. Let’s see if he has any ideas on how to actually make it good. 
Now I think it’s time to concentrate on my Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse sitcom. 
Or start work on that novel.
Or think of a really funny post for this blog. I think I probably owe you one. 
Or form a band. I’ve still got the moves:
Yes. It is inflatable. And so is the guitar.
Or just have a shower. It’s only half five in the morning and already I’m sweating like Michael Jackson’s doctor.

Harsh, but fair.
But mostly harsh. 

Thought For The Day.

America is the only country on Earth where someone born a poor black boy can die a rich white woman. 

That is all. 

Official Declaration of my Greatness

There. It’s official. I am the World’s Greatest Dad. I’ve got a mug to prove it and I’ll wave it in the faces of social services if they come knocking. “You can’t take them away! I have crockery and we all know that crockery is objective!”

It has also been seconded by the coaster it came with.

Pinko Liberal Writing Competition

If, unlike me, you’re not a pinko-bed-wetting-bleeding-heart-white-male-middle-class-guilt-ridden-Guardian-reading-liberal you may not have noticed the writing competition the pinko-bed-wetting-bleeding-heart-white-male-middle-class-guilt-ridden-Guardian appears to be running. 

Every year, the pinko-bed-wetting-bleeding-heart-white-male-middle-class-guilt-ridden-Guardian Weekend magazine publishes an annual summer short story edition. Normally these are written by established pinko-bed-wetting-bleeding-heart-white-male-middle-class-guilt-ridden-Guardian-reading-liberal authors.
But this year, they will publish a story written by a pinko-bed-wetting-bleeding-heart-white-male-middle-class-guilt-ridden-Guardian-reader. It can be on any theme, must be unpublished and no longer than 2,000 words. Full details can be found here 
Sorry. I appear to have been channelling the spirit of Richard Littlejohn in that post. 

Dave’s World of Sport

The sun is out and it’s a weekend of sport.

I have a very narrow definition of what constitutes a sport. It came about after a very long afternoon in the pub and much debate and compromise with friends:

“If you can play it professionally wearing slacks, it’s not a sport. It’s a pastime.”

Golf? Pastime. Snooker? Pastime. Darts? Pas-fuckin’-time.

Much to the annoyance of some friends and family, this means that cricket is not technically a sport. Or much fun to watch. Only the English could invent a game that lasts for five days and still result in a draw. The only thing it has going for it is the opportunity to drink outside without feeling like a tramp.

Formula One is just as bad. There’s something wrong when what goes on behind the scenes is far more interesting than what actually happens on the track. And I can’t understand the way people support a company (though, I suppose, what’s the difference between supporting Ferrari or Manchester United these days? They’re both multi-national corporations.)

Question for Formula One fans. When I watch Newcastle United play, I wear a replica top. When you watch racing, do you sit on your sofa wearing a flame retardant suit?

(For some, the family curse is webbed toes or the haunted castle in Bavaria. The Turner family curse is having to support Newcastle United. Seriously, if I changed allegience, I’m out of my father’s will)

Brian Blessed In Your Pocket

New from David P. Turnerberger III Enterprises.

The Brian-Blessed-In-Your-Pocket! Comes with 5 phrases:





And of course:


All lovingly rendered at 140 decibels.

Impress your friends! Annoy your neighbours! Worry your pets!

If I can get the funding, I reckon we could have it in the shops by Christmas. Who wants one?
Phrases designed in conjunction with Anton and Rob Stickler.

‘Lost’ Masterclass

I don’t know about you but, personally, I gave up on ‘Lost’ about half way through the first series when I suddenly realised that they had no idea where they were going with the programme.

Then I caught a documentary/puff piece about the last season finale on Sky 1 and it looks like it’s gone completely insane and got a hell of a lot more fun. It’s even got time travel paradoxes which, as we all know, are my favourite kind of paradox. I might start watching again.

Anyway, if you’re going to the Screenwriters’ Festival (and, if not, why not?), there’s an opportunity to take part in Masterclasses with Carlton Cuse, Damon Lindelof and the gloriously named Jack Bender (have fun at passport control, Jack!)

It’s at BAFTA on 3rd July and the full details are here.

Continuing the juvenile giggling at peoples’ names, did I always read the credits on Buffy correctly and the music was composed by a Thomas Wanker?