A Room Of One's Own.

Losing my 'room with a view' and dreaming now of a quiet place to write.

That's all.

Can someone explain?

There's a news feed on my email, and this caught my eye.

"Hollywood director Steven Spielberg's decision to quit the Beijing Olympics over the Darfur crisis is drawing condemnation by China's state-controlled media and a groundswell of criticism from the Chinese public."

Initially I thought Mr S was due to run in the 100m, but realised that this wasn't the case, take your pick for the story. It's left me with a few thoughts:

1) Nice one to Mr S for withdrawing and bringing greater attention to the Dafur situation.

2) It's not (sadly) just Dafur the world media should be talking about.

What about Tibet, or indeed the Chinese track record of failing to respect basic human rights in their own country? It has always seemed strange, if not terrifying, that the Olympic committee ever took a bid from China seriously, as this seems to contradict the basic mission statement of the games, as stated on the official site "The Games have always brought people together in peace to respect universal moral principles."

3) But. Can anyone explain, why an American film director was involved with the Chinese opening ceremony in the first place?

Boxed.

Moving again.

Can anyone out there see even a shred of something amusing to keep me going through a week of relentless-card-board-box-ness?

The cats are loving it - they assume that the boxes have been placed there purely for their amusement.

I'm giving it 48 hrs before I join them, climb into a box and just pretend that I'm not here until delivered there (to the new house) at the weekend.

And the winner is?

Spitting mad and fuming.

Not because of reading 'Observer Woman' (which, naturally, left me spitting mad). But on account viewing the glitz-spangle that is the BAFTAs.

At first it all seemed to be going well.

I was cheering from my sofa as less obvious, but thoroughly (in my opinion) well deserving films/people picked up awards and the (too) obvious Atonement failed to sweep the board. Control, Vie En Rose, Tilda Swinton, Diving Bell and The Butterfly...

Then came the award for best special (CGI) effects. At first it was great that Golden Compass won over Harry Potter, but then four men got on stage and proceeded to make the usual gushing acceptance speeches.

Children, parents, producers, partners...

All were given due and, I'm sure, well deserved, votes of thanks. But.

But, there was one glaring omission. Not a single mention of Philip Pulman.

Not even a nod or acknowledgment. Sure they did a great job on the special effects and the book really did spring to life, for once coming close to the parallel universe so vivid when I read the book. But, for all their technical skill, the blokes who picked up the award only realised the vision and imagination that had already been created by Pulman.

Without him there would have been no award. Without him there would have been no talking bears or daemons to bring to life.
So how can they stand there and not even hint that the world they brought to life was created by someone else.

I turned over pretty fast after that. After all, me raging from the sofa with a bowl of dorritos wasn't really going to achieve much.

It just seems so painfully ironic that some in the movie industry fail to recognise that all the magic and sparkle generally starts with the writers - their imagination, their insular relationship with a keyboard. Actors, producers, directors, CGI'ers all start with raw material. Hasn't the WGA strike achieved even a bit more awareness that without the writers the Hollywood dream boat will hit the rocks?

Funny Ha Ha

The lovely writer of this blog kindly requested that I share a little Cornish scenic-ness .

I'm blessed with the most beautiful view of the sea and harbour from my window, so frequently wait for my muse/procrastinate whilst gazing out to sea, watching the ships come and go with a coffee and roll-up.

Today is foggy. But I can still see a recently docked boat. "Horn Lines" is emblazoned across the side in six foot letters so not even the sea mist can obscure it. Try as I might, all I can do is giggle.

Having recently dusted off my thespian persona I'm involved with dumb-funded , a newly formed theatre group. It's a lot of fun, with a bunch of lovely people. Our last rehearsal (inevitably) ended up in the pubs and clubs of Falmouth town. As we're performing comedy sketches, the talk turned to our own comedy influences. At some point (after too many beers) I demonstrated my hugely inept comedic timing by launching into Derrek and Clive monologues. If I have a comedy hero it's probably Peter Cook - but a tirade of "Who are you to come round here calling me a f@*&?ng c@*t" is probably not even vaguely amusing to most people, especially at 2am.

Anyway, "Horn Lines" is still making me giggle ("I'll tell you what gives me the horn.." sketch trickling through my slightly addled mind) and got me thinking about what is/isn't funny.

Consumerism gone mad is funny.

Well, either a question of laugh or cry, but seeing a desk lamp with the (special?) feature 'on and off switch' announced proudly on the box made me smile.

As too do the products from this company. Perhaps it's the insular nature of self employed freelancing, but I've taken to watching their 'as seen on TV' looped ads in Woolies and have to confess that they sometimes leave me laughing till I cry.

Is it just me?

Now I've owned up to that, I'm comforted, and promise that:

a) I shan't ever try to pursue a career in writing comedy* and will try to get on with some 'serious' writing.
b) I won't go to Woolies today to see if there are any new products 'on TV'.

[To prove my point, OPC or Blue Cat amongst many others in the blogosphere are 'proper' funny]