Well I started a blog to create a writing habit and although I haven't been a prolific blogger I have been a prolific writer. I am writing all kinds of crap at the moment and loving it, two assignments and a play that I’m really excited by on the go. Truth be told I have always thought that I was an artist that couldn't draw, or a singer that couldn't sing, recently I have been considering that there is an off chance I am a writer who can write, well a little bit anyway. Sorry, nobody likes a big head; it’s part of the reason Saddam Hussein was so unpopular, that and all the dictator-y stuff - but mainly the head thing. Speaking of Saddam that was an awesome moustache wasn't it? Why do all the horrible dictators have such great facial hair? Stalin, lush moustache - check, Gaddafi, OK it is a bit bum-fluffy but - check and don't even get me started on the Hitler ‘tash. The guy killed a lot of Jews, but that ‘tash was a beaut! I joke of course...Gaddafi's facial hair is a disgrace. He deserved to die for that insult to beards alone.
And facial hair brings me nicely to my hair. It's becoming somewhat of a tradition for me to do something a bit bonkers with my hair during the summer holiday. This of course has developed from my rather misspent youth where I appeared to have a new hair colour every 15-20 minutes. The problem is, as my wife has pointed out, I tend to look a bit of a tit. Which I don't mind, I’m a West Ham fan, the look is almost natural! But she (and she is probably justified in this one) doesn't really want to be seen with said tit. Now my reasoning for this is the fact that I don't really leave the house during the summer and largely sit in my pants playing x-box, a fair argument, right? Apparently not, just because we might actually get to spend some time together this summer I have to avoid looking like a knob head? Is that really fair? Really? Actually, Dawn has a point; purple hair might be a bit lame. I have had this issue before: I did reach a certain point and have to look in the mirror and say "can you really pull of an earring?" the answer was of course "no" It made me look like a chav, OK so technically I am a Chav I’m a council house boy and proud. You cannot dictate where you're from. But that doesn't matter anyway.It’s where you’re going that’s important. Everything you go through leads you to become the person you are now. As it happens I can look in the mirror and not hate the guy looking back, well most of the time, That's pretty important. But (again coming back from a tangent) at 30 should I look in the mirror and ask the question "can I pull of dying my hair?" I can't help but feel I should. With me, colouring my hair may have been (in the past) about trying to define myself and make a personal statement, now I just do it for shits and giggles! So with that in mind what about blonde with shaved bits around the sides and longer on top, could I pull that off? Kind of like Ste from Hollyoakes, only shorter sides and peroxide-y
On the good news front: My final story has been going pretty well. I am actually pleased with it, even if it has turned in to a massive ego-fest. I realised that virtually every character in the piece is me, or somebody like me. Which makes me sound completely narcissistic, but I’m not! Honest! Admittedly it is slightly autobiographical, it is laden with self-deprecation. Was I really that bad with girls at school? nope, I was worse! Was I really that much of a geek? Nope, I was worse! Although I look back and cringe at original flavour Bovey (Speaking about yourself in the third person is creepy isn't it?) I admire that guy, he was so much more comfortable with himself, yes he didn't wash, was emotionally unstable, shoplifted and treated his siblings like crap, but at least he didn't care about what others thought of him. He was the guy who cheerily wore glitter hair gel and a dinosaur jumper. I wouldn't have the balls to do that. A rebellion for me these days is buying a new variety of shower gel. God I’m boring! But is boring really bad?
Oh, regarding a previous post: I’m still on the spiritualism trail. Still don't really believe in a divine being quite yet. But been listening to a lot of LIVE. (great band) and that's almost enough to drive a man to Christianity all by itself! I am getting the kids to look at Wicca at the moment. A bit of a controversial decision, but I think it's a good opportunity to look at prejudice and opression from a new angle. The persecution of "witches" in this country is appalling when you thing about the witch-hunters and their trials in the 17th century, but at the same time I am getting them to explore people of ill repute such as Crowley. Crowley's story is a fascinating one. Bought up by wealthy parents, he rebelled and became an expert in the occult before getting hooked on drugs. I don't want to be that guy (drugs are bloody pricey!) but I admire the knowledge. I have been collecting books on the occult since my teens and for a while the paranormal was my religion I have barely read them. But now I am more sceptical, but still have that thirst for knowledge, I want to know everything. I am going to read every book I can find on anything mystical. It's fascinating, all bullshit, but fascinating bullshit.
Anyway, this is my most directionless rant yet,so to make it even more random here are a few sections from my final assignment. Please take in to account that the protagonist suffers from ADHD:
Seagulls seem to learn. They never steal a pasty off anybody who looks like a hard nut, have you noticed that? If I even look at a sausage roll a seagull appears from somewhere and eyes me up like a crack addict trying for a fix. But I apparently lack IQ capacity of a seagull, though I do share their love of pasties.
Dad was on facebook and glanced
up from his conversation with a chesty looking blonde lady, she looked nothing
like mum, what a jerk. He barely even acknowledged the fact that I looked like
I had just had a fight with Chuck Norris, the extent of his care was summed up
with his only two, barely coherent words “nice shiner” cheers dad. Oh well, at
least he wasn’t in the bathroom having sex with the blonde lady who’s cleavage
looked like it could have saved the titanic. To be honest she looked pretty
easy, but even she would have had to have lowered her standards to have a ride
on my dad. I don’t know how mum manages to pull it off, if you’ll excuse the
awful innuendo. Dad’s lack of sexual
activity was my saving grace as I could unwind in the only way I know how.
