Blurred Clarity

Update as of 28th February 2011

2011-02-28T16:17:00.000Z

Knee deep in rehearsals for Our Style is Legendary and having the time of my life. Dream come true, emotional times.

Make sure you come and see it won't you?

And even chronic food poisoning bought on by poorly cooked wild boar cannot spoil the fact that I'm on American TV for like the 5th year running, hopefully off to Australia to do some acting come Summer and wedding plans are dovetailing nicely.

Sweet as.

Until the next time, I'll leave you with some Charles Bradley who is rocking my world at the mo with his deep soul.

Serious.

Anticipated Sore Thumbs

2011-02-18T12:09:00.000Z

I may need one of these here thumb stabilisers after this weekend.

In a few hours I set off for Nottingham for what promises to be a two day FIFA 2011/Pro Evo marathon with my excellent comrade Kirky and his young daughter Edie, although not sure how much gaming she'll be getting in, her being about 9 months old and all.

I can't wait.

I'm seeing this as a chance to let my hair down before the serious hard graft of Our Style is Legendary begins with the start of rehearsals on the 21st February and of course the ever impending opening night on the 14th March. I'll only be able to take a breath when it all grinds to a halt come the 2nd April.

I'm excited, sick, emotional, worried but ultimately absolutely enthused that it will be a huge success.

I can't fucking wait.

On the train to day Radiohead's new album will be travelling with me, early listens marks it as a cracker.

I'll leave you with a dance-off, me versus Thom Yorke of Radiohead.

Have an outstanding weekend. I know I will.

The Cultural Weapon: Guest Post by Mike Van Graan

2011-02-16T15:15:00.000Z

Recently, on a trip back from Europe, I was struck by the front page of a British newspaper, featuring a picture of their Prime Minister and the headline “Cameron: my war on multiculturalism”.

The article began with the paragraph: “David Cameron launches a devastating attack today on 30 years of multiculturalism in Britain, warning it is fostering extremist ideology and directly contributing to home-grown Islamic terrorism”. In his speech, Cameron “warns Muslim groups that if they fail to endorse women’s rights or promote integration, they will lose all government funding”. In terms of Britain’s new policy, “all immigrants…must speak English and schools will be expected to teach the country’s common culture.” The article states that Cameron blames a doctrine of “state multiculturalism” which encourages different cultures to live separate lives, and which he believes, is “the root cause of radicalisation which can lead to terrorism”.

This “new” British policy is consistent with the rising nationalism in Europe with anti-immigrant parties having been voted into parliament in the Netherlands and in Sweden in recent times, countries that have prided themselves as “liberal” and “tolerant” societies. Two years ago, the Danish government offered foreigners one hundred thousand krone to leave Denmark. Last year, the French government dangled 300 Euros for every Roma adult and 100 Euros for every Roma child to leave France. France has also banned some forms of Muslim apparel.

Cameron’s “common values” that he would like immigrant communities to commit to echoes Laura Bush at the time of the USA’s re-entry to UNESCO after years of absence, when she said that UNESCO “can now help to achieve peace by spreading the values that will defeat terror and lead to a better and safer world”. She, of course, was referring to the values and worldviews of “the other” who in her view, sowed terror, whereas for many in the global south, it is the values, worldviews and ideology of wealthy countries in the north and the manner in which these are expressed economically, politically and militarily, that are the chief source of terror in the world.

Within European societies – in a post-9/11 world – there is a greater move towards homogeneity, towards integration around a set of “common values”, and an increasing intolerance of cultural difference, of otherness.

In so doing, the hypocrisy and self-serving “values” of wealthy European nations are again exposed.

A few years ago, when the World Trade Organisation was promoting the liberalisation of access to global markets, some of these countries were very concerned that their creative industry markets would be swamped by American creative products. They argued vehemently against “free trade” in the cultural sphere, as creative goods have worldviews, values and ideological assumptions embedded in them. Should American products flood global markets, consumers would imbibe these values, ideas, ideologies and perspectives on the world. This would lead to a homogenous world that would affirm the hegemony of one country, and would undermine global democracy.

This was the essence of the argument that led to the UNESCO Convention on the Protection and Promotion of the Diversity of Cultural Expressions, which affirms “that cultural diversity is a defining characteristic of humanity” that “should be cherished and preserved for the benefit of all” as it “creates a rich and varied world which increases the range of choices and nurtures human capacities and values”. The Convention states that cultural diversity flourishes “within a framework of democracy, tolerance, social justice and mutual respect between peoples and cultures” and “is indispensable for peace and security at the local, national and international levels”.

With this Convention, France, Germany, Britain, Canada and a host of other nations with strong creative industries are able to withstand American creep in their local markets, and maintain and celebrate their own identities and cultural heritage. The language of “cultural diversity” has thus been appropriated largely to preserve the audio-visual and other creative industries of countries of the north in their trade battle with America.

Yet, what these countries have piously demanded at a global level – heterogeneity, diversity and tolerance of other – they are increasingly moving away from, and in fact are actively clamping down on, at a national level.

All this is being done in the name of national security and a safer world. The irony is that such actions will achieve exactly the opposite.

The views expressed in this column are entirely the views of the author and are not necessarily those of any of the institutions – or their partners – with which he is associated.

Mike van Graan is the Secretary General of Arterial Network, a continent-wide network of artists, activists and creative enterprises active in the African creative sector and its contribution to development, human rights and democracy on the continent. He is also the Executive Director of the African Arts Institute (AFAI), a South African NGO based in Cape Town that harnesses local expertise, resources and markets in the service of Africa’s creative sector. He is considered to be one of his country’s leading contemporary playwrights.

For further information, see www.arterialnetwork.org, www.africanartsinstitute.org and www.mikevangraan.co.za

David Kato: In Memoriam

2011-02-15T15:50:00.001Z

You may not know who David Kato Kisule is, I think you should.

He was a very brave man doing the right thing, an openly gay, gay rights campaigner in a backwater for human rights: Uganda; itself the ugliest jewel in the twisted crown of African homophobia.

And I say was because on the 26th January 2011 he was murdered.

The police, themselves a government tool for the repression, murder and torture of gay men, have stated that his death has nothing to do with his sexuality.

We shall see. In reality, I doubt we will, such is the weight of state approved homophobia in Uganda.

I blogged on this disgraceful phenomena back in June of last year but David Kato's strength and bravery stand out for recognition in the face of such wide spread and deep-set bigotry. Uganda is competing enthusiastically for the worst place in the world to be gay (indeed the upsetting BBC documentary on Uganda has that very title), with it's threats of making homosexuality punishable by death, it's creation of legislation so people snitch on suspected homosexuals (parents are encouraged to hand in their own children, to be humanely killed I imagine, like sickly animals) and this atmosphere of terror leads to gay people being forced to live in slums, rejected by their families and at constant risk of state approved violence.

There is a real appetite in Uganda for the execution of homosexuals, not only because the government endorses such backwards views but because lies are spread about homosexuality. Lies that have a classic ring to them, as they were once used (and still are by hardcore bigots, idiots and certain Daily Mail journalists) here in the UK: homosexuality goes hand in hand with pedophilia, it's effects your lifespan, sexuality as a choice that thus can be cured etc.

David Kato lobbied for gay people's human rights in the face of all of this, out and proud in a country where this put his life in immediate and terrifying danger.

An amazing man, I salute him, his death is a terrible loss but this cause will not go unheeded.

Our Style is Legendary is 1 Month Away

2011-02-14T09:19:00.001Z

One month to go.

30 days.

Yep, in one month Our Style is Legendary will open in the West End at the Tristan Bates Theatre and run for three weeks.

It will destroy everything in it's path. No doubt.

Oh Christ.

Excited but also feel a bit sick.

Proof is in the pudding.

I think it's beautiful, in a funny way. It may also make you cry.

Who knows?

Your support would be much appreciated, hope to see all of my readers there.

Not north, not south, all notts.

Peace.

New Conservative Change Channel: Jonathan Lord Special

2011-02-10T12:56:00.000Z

I am the voice of Tory Muppet and am available for hire for weddings, bar mitzvahs and office parties.

Hello, Is It Me You're Looking For?

2011-02-09T14:01:00.000Z

Checking my blog stats today, as I am sometimes want to do, I noted a rich line of web traffic being emitted from Digital Spy.

"That's odd" I said to myself.

"Perhaps some publicity for my play Our Style is Legendary has attracted celebrity-watching attention, with it having two notable TV stars in."

So I clicked on the link and it turns out someone called Thumbs83 (he or she must have a lot of thumbs) has taken a shine to my comedy creation Kirky, that is gracing the BBC at the mo and wanted to know who I was. Some kind soul then web stalked me and brought the facts home. Hence the stream of clicks to Blurred Clarity from this forum page.

So welcome Thumbs83, other new visitors and curious souls, I am Daniel Hoffmann-Gill, welcome to my blog, thanks for visiting and showing an interest.

Here is my gift to you...

Cloud Nothings: Feeling Nothing

2011-02-07T17:23:00.000Z

Fuck this malaise, feeling a bit blue for like no fucking reason whatsoever, life is good.

I reckon it's because I'm in limbo but also lacking direction, frustrating stuff when you set the bar so high.

I also got let down today.

I'm a douche-bag.

Maybe.

Anyways...

When Big Joan Sets Up by Captain Beefheart & His Magic Band

2011-02-04T19:54:00.000Z

It all starts with a killer riff, then some lunatic (read_ Captain Beefheart) doing Al Pacino impressions before Al Pacino had even created the format for the impression itself to exist.

High-pitched skat.

Riff just keeps going.

Lyrics paint a picture of a monstrously large woman whose hands are too small. This worries her, a relationship is trying to be developed. Rules are set.

Riff keeps going.

Then a squeak of a clarinet, which then goes all jazzy.

Hi-hat snatches.

The song has stopped.

Improvisation occurs around a single note.

Hi-hat restarts the song, riff returns, the narrative plays on about Big Joan and her massive fatness and her paranoia about her small hands.

"You know something's happening or you wouldn't have come out like you did"

True.

"She ain't built for going naked"

Also true.

That riff is now burrowing deep and then the song starts to break down, particle by particle.

Instruments fall apart.

Beefheart emits verbiage that gulps and gobbles.

Guitars vomit.

Hi-hat riffs.

Bass plays the aforementioned killer riff and is soon joined again by a purged guitar.

Honking on sax and clarinet reaching some kind of peak, whilst the story goes on about Big Joan being too fat to go out in the day time and talking about her small hands.

Al Pacino briefly returns.

Is she a boy?

Screaming mixes with sax honking.

Cold sweats are starting.

The song is imploding.

Rhythm section emphasises the riffs punchline like a killing joke.

Lyrics have long stopped.

Song is driving itself now.

Driving itself around the bend.

Where is Big Joan?

Patterns are exchanged.

When will it end?

Now.

No.

Notes are hit in tandem.

Now it's over.

I think.

Interview with Me by Steve Anderson

2011-02-02T16:08:00.000Z

Reproduction of an interview originally published here.

Interview: Daniel Hoffmann-Gill

The Nottingham-born actor talks about slumming it as a teen and the tragedy that made him turn his life around.

Across the foyer of London’s Royal Festival Hall Daniel Hoffmann-Gill cuts an imposing figure. At 6ft 6in and thick cut, the actor, playwright and director is almost a giant. However, as he says goodbye to Rich, the designer for his upcoming play Our Style is Legendary, and scans the open-plan hall for his next appointment, I can’t help but think he looks like a lost little boy.

I approach Hoffmann-Gill, who is dressed in a scruffy wax jacket and ripped baggy jeans, and am greeted with a gentle handshake and a warm smile from behind a heavy moustache. It seems the lost boy analogy isn’t too far off as he tells me about his struggle growing up in Nottingham in the 1980s.

The only child of middle-class, entrepreneurial parents, Hoffmann-Gill was significantly better off than those living around him in the notorious St Ann’s area of the city, where racial tension and violence were prevalent. “It was interesting for me because it meant that I could experience a different way of life by making friends and hanging out in that community,” he says. “It was an important education for me.”
Hoffmann-Gill, now 34, describes his teenage years as a sad time, full of anger and violence, spawning from his relationship with an authoritarian father shaped by military discipline. “My dad had a lot of anger towards me and I had a lot of anger towards him. I think it’s a classic Oedipul thing, you want to kill your dad and have sex with your mum,” he tells me, not quite making clear whether he is joking or not.

His rough East Midlands accent comes alive when he spits expletives, passionately breaking his relaxed and soft-spoken demeanor: “I think it’s important when a son’s growing up and he knows he could smack the fuck out of his dad.”

His adolescent violence soon turned inwards as he started using drugs as a coping mechanism to deal with severe self-loathing, and was perfectly comfortable destroying a person he did not care about.
His life was to change very suddenly when he was 16, however, when his best friend Michael died of a heroin overdose.

Hoffmann-Gill reels off the date like it is eternally etched into his brain – “1992, 8th of December” – and for the first time, his easy, sprawling conversation becomes slower and more contemplative. It is less emotional than it is reflective; he has obviously come to terms with his friend’s death. Indeed, their relationship forms the backdrop to the autobiographical Our Style Is Legendary.

When Michael died, Hoffmann-Gill knew it was time to make a fresh start. “That part of my life literally died. That’s the way I believe things should be, if something goes wrong you have to chop the whole arm off otherwise it will kill you.”

A keen performer since an early age and nursed by “inspirational” school drama teachers, he decided to pursue a career in acting, as well as working with problem children in St Ann’s that were wandering down the same dark path he had.

Now working regularly as an actor, making a living from commercials and theatre, the self-loathing of Hoffmann-Gill’s teens has completely disappeared, as he boldly claims he now loves himself a great deal. “It’s not arrogance, but if you make your life reliant on other people giving you love to make yourself feel good, that means they can take it away and reduce you to fucking nothing.”

He says he still believes in a shared existence, however, and proudly tells me he is due to marry his fiancée Eva-Jane in December. The couple met four years ago when Hoffmann-Gill took over directorial duties on a play she was starring in. On a prompt sheet to remember the actors’ names he wrote ‘I love you’ next to hers. “It didn’t mean I loved her, she just looked great. I was like ‘fuck, she’s amazing’.”
Don’t count on the wedding being a big church ceremony though; as an avid science and philosophy reader, Hoffmann-Gill claims him and religion don’t mix. Counting Sartre and Nietzsche among his favourite writers, he calls the Bible and Koran “wonderful bits of writing, but nowhere how you want to live your life”.

“It doesn’t make any sense. Faith is just an excuse for bad ideas.”

Our Style is Legendary runs at the Tristan Bates Theatre, Covent Garden from March 14th until April 2nd. Tickets can be bought here.

Preview Images of Our Style is Legendary

2011-02-01T13:34:00.000Z

Our Style is Legendary: Trip to Notts (See You on the Ice)

2011-01-29T16:21:00.000Z

Yesterday, the cast, myself and the director of "Our Style is Legendary" went to Nottingham on a wee trip to explore the locations of the play, re-imagine the memories, get a feel for the place and bond over a few jars.

It was a wonderful day, really wonderful.

Not only did it bring the cast together for the first time (and don't they just look amazing) and began the process of the formation of a gang mentality, much needed for the us and them of live theatre (I am happy to see we've already developed a few in-jokes and phrases that link us a group) but is also acted as a catalyst to provocative thoughts on character, environment and the push and pull of space upon humans.

(Speaking of space and architecture, here is a sneak preview of the set design by Rich White.)

Perhaps, more importantly, it wetted the appetite for what was to come in the rehearsal process this February and ramped up the excitement to what awaited us all on this fantastic adventure.

Of course, visiting some of the locations was difficult, it as far too easy to transpose myself some 18 years back and see my young self, resting, nonchalant, against grimy, graffiti tattooed walls and thus, to see apparitions of friends, much loved but long dead; co-exisitng with my past self. The only place these friendships can ever exist again.

I didn't have a little cry until I was safely ensconced on the Piccadilly Line train back home...home, which is London now, not Nottingham.

So now, we wait, wait until the 21st February when rehearsals start in posh and ever so far removed Battersea, where we will take our Notts field-trip learning and make that little corner of SW11 forever NG3.

"See you on the ice..."

Russian Rap

2011-01-27T18:40:00.001Z

When I was in the Ukraine I had a wee bit of free time to watch Ukrainian tele, in between nearly being set on fire and eating borsch with pampushka and I observed a strange phenomenon...

Russian rap.

Yes, Russia makes rap music, which struck me as odd because Russia doesn't contain many black people. I sat and watched the Russian rap music videos, which to all intents and purposes, resembled modern rap music videos but with one crucial element missing: black people.

To be clear, I have no problem with white people rapping, nor do I see rap as a preserve of black people but there is no doubt that rap and hip-hop has it's roots firmly in black American culture and is the key contemporary musical form of black America and indeed, blackness.

That's why Russian rap surprised me, an inherently black form presented with no black people.

The other stark paradox is that Russia is wracked with racism and bigotry, not just the long tradition Russia has of anti-Semitism and anti-Polonism but of hatred towards anyone deemed non-Russian.

Russia is suffering an epidemic of racially motivated killing and violence, with some 85,000 neo-Nazi's and a casual but pernicious racism being entrenched in Russian culture, which finds an easy target in the easily differentiated matter of skin colour.

People of African or Afro-Carribean decent in Russia are so often abused, either violently or verbally, that they have ceased to report it and assaults are merely part of their existence.

Which is why I have a problem with Russian rap, it must be popular, otherwise the music videos wouldn't be in rotation but it exists in a country where blackness, the very root of the musical formula they are exploiting, is despised.

What an awful dis-connect, typical of small-minded racists. Bigotry makes the lives of black people awful in Russia, whilst a fundamentally black music form is paraded on television by white rappers and is clearly popular.

I know white people have been stealing black culture for some time but this really stretches the very limits of belief.

Me as a Cuckoo (Acting in the Ukraine)

2011-01-25T11:45:00.001Z

BEFORE:

AFTER:

Living the dream.

More images and footage as and when I get them.

A Letter in the Economist About Pubs...

2011-01-24T11:37:00.000Z

SIR-Around 40 years ago some friends and I wandered into a small pub in Birstall, West Yorkshire. After enjoying the local bitter, we made the mistake of asking the elderly landlady whether we could have some crisps. She looked at us askance and tersely replied,

"This is a pub, not a bloody restaurant."

Those were the days.

BILL CATLEY
Hong Kong

Acting Adventures in the Ukraine

2011-01-21T12:36:00.000Z

I spent the start of this week in the Ukraine acting.

It was a shoot for a commercial in which I play a cuckoo trapped inside a clock that will air in, of all places, Kazakhstan.

It was a weird experience.

I knew that Ukraine was going to be different from the moment we landed, as soon as the plane thudded onto the runway, the Ukrainians around me were unbuckling seat belts and trying to extract their excessive volume of hand luggage from the overhead racks. British Airways staff resorted to shouting at them to stop it and forcing people to re-do up their seat belts and I noted on the return journey, special voiceovers in Ukrainian came over the Tannoy, their content most certainly related to STAYING IN YOUR FUCKING SEAT YOU MENTAL UKRAINIAN.

In a fit of very British pique I did not remove my seatbelt until the light was switched off, by which time most the Ukrainians were all stood, ready to leave and staring at me as if I were mad.

In my time there I noted a people brusque, rude, slap-dash and corruption-ridden (I witnessed it first hand by traffic police and in the regular efforts to short change me in shops); and a world away from my experience with people in Poland and the Czech Republic. I felt very far away from home in a place a long way East and oddly, very, very Russian. The Cyrillic didn't help I'm sure, neither did the collapsing Khrushchyovka, awful roads, incessant gloom and quite possibly the worst food I've had anywhere in the world.

The shoot itself was a gruelling effort, 19 hours stuck in a Brezhnev era Soviet film studio/nuclear bunker (I kid you not, underneath us was a huge dis-used bunker and warning signs about what to do if you were hit by a nuclear bomb, ie: die) that was patrolled by feral dogs and flat-faced Ukrainian crones.

It was made bearable by the incredible Swedish director, who I've had the real honour of working with before and the excellent Norwegian DOP. And I've no doubt the end product will look awesome and be hilariously funny, in spite of all the breathtaking incompetence, Health and Safety in flagrante (such as chainsawing the set with wild abandon to rapturous applause) and leaking roofs.

If I'm honest, my rather negative tone about my Ukrainian experience may be related to the fact the crew NEARY SET ME ON FUCKING FIRE AND THEN LAUGHED ABOUT IT. I won't go into detail but it involves flame, a massive un-flame-proofed bird suit and the two meeting in unholy unison.

I'm glad I've been, glad to have my first job of the year but also glad to be back home in one piece. I'll leave you with some pictures I took of the dilapidated Communist film studio.

Martin Collins' Thoughts on Nottingham

2011-01-20T18:50:00.000Z

After asking a whole bunch of people about Nottingham and witnessing utter intellectual capitulation, I had to get an expert on board, so here is Martin Collins, star of BBC's "Big Babies" in full effect.

Hopefully that's put you all straight for the record...

I Saw This And Thought of You, Part 875

2011-01-13T17:48:00.002Z

Foreign Trash

2011-01-12T11:36:00.001Z

Foreign Trash.

This way.

Welcome to America.

Get out.

Heh.

I've kept quiet on the attempted assassination of Gabrielle Giffords, an act of terrorism that claimed innocents lives. I don't quite have the heart to unpick it all and to mourn yet another downward step in America's spiralling malaise, to imagine the predictable but no less vile response if the murderer had been a Muslim, or black (or God forbid, both...I can smell the salivating from here); where mental health issues, drug addiction and dysfunctional background would not have mattered one jot in the FAUX NEWS driven witch-hunt.

Instead, we have to watch as he is painted as yet another mentally deranged maniac, when in reality Jared Loughner is just one of millions mentally deranged maniacs that are being manipulated, agitated to the point of extreme action. Their derangement a product of the poisonous political atmosphere in America.

Still, we are left with a pretty ugly picture as the Republicans, especially the Tea Party febrile, fevered, fervent Republicans, led by that cunt Sarah Palin, deny any responsibility for their nasty, bitter language that has become the language of politics in the US. They shrug and genuinely think they have nothing coming to them, that the hateful lies, fiction and running political interference has no impact at all on people's perceptions.

The bile must be touching the back of their tongues.

Either that or the dis-connect is so great they've ripped a hole in time and space.

They draw the Democrats into pointing fingers because the left knows that if this could be pinned on them, it would be and with full force. And so the atmosphere darkens even further.

I made the mistake of engaging with a few mini-Jared Loughners on Twitter, fearful, angry types with plenty of bile to spill whilst calling you on the bile you were spilling, seeing theirs as holy bile, righteous bile and yours as plain old bile, Communist bile, Leftist bile, Socialist bile; all the while missing the point that they were so full of hate, so full of ignorance and confusion that they too could be that man with a gun in their hand, shooting children, women, judges and politicians, trained as they are like Pavlov's dogs to take back what is theirs through their Second Amendment rights.

I think I give up on this foreign trash.

I think.

Who will survive in America?

Kanye West- Who Will Survive in America from Miko Yung on Vimeo.

What do you Know About Nottingham?

2011-01-10T13:14:00.001Z

I thought I'd make a few videos to help promote Our Style is Legendary and one of the ideas I came up with was asking a whole bunch of non-Nottingham folk what they knew about Nottingham.

I never, in my wildest dreams, expected the answers to be as bad as this.

Nottingham is clearly struggling on the cultural map of the UK.

If your answers, my dear reader, are as bad as theirs, can ya' sen to Our Style is Legendary for a Notts education.

To Sergei Esenin by Mayakovsky (an excerpt for Michael)

2011-01-05T18:42:00.000Z

You have gone

(as they say)

to a Better World.

Bullshit.

Built yourself

a stairway to the stars, didn't you?

No more publishers

advances, no more bars.

Sobered up at last.

No, Esenin, this isn't a joke.

There's a lump of grief in my throat.

I can see you with your slit wrists

slinging up your bundle of bones.

STOP IT!

Come off it!

Are you crazy or what?

Smearing your cheeks with dead-white chalk?
You, who could do things with words

no one in the world

could do!

WHY? WHAT FOR?

None of us understands.

Welcome to 2011 (and the Ukrainian Question)

2011-01-04T17:17:00.000Z

Well, here we are and quite frankly, I've not much more to add.

Consider this a marker post for the new year, a post to ease the guilt over lack of bloggage because life is wonderfully busy at the moment. A holding page with pretty things to look at...

Actually, I've been dying for this day to come round, the day when the UK comes back to life after the winter turkey malaise and I can re-commence with full speed, fury and power on Our Style is Legendary; because as nice as it was buying costume on eBay (and what beautiful late 80s/early 90s costume we have ladies and gentlemen), there is much harder work to be done here.

Thankfully, the year has barely started and I already have my first casting as well as my first job on the horizon, hopefully making a trip to the Ukraine to do some filming (I find it impossible to say or type Ukraine without putting 'the' in front of it, any ideas why?) which would be grand and a nice welcome to the year. And of course, a new term teaching at the Actor's Centre commences this weekend, with old faces and new making for an exciting body of work for the next three months.

But in reality, until the 2nd April 2011, there is only one focus, one Everest, one star in my sky: Our Style is Legendary and that play being seen and loved by as many people as possible.

So here's to that.

Live Like Untamed Lightning

2010-12-31T15:02:00.000Z

I blame my brother-in-law, he gave me a book on the work of Mayakovsky for Christmas and I've been devouring it at a hefty pace. It is a most stimulating read, empowering, inspirational; a tool to drive you on, into the nothingness with no sense of dread but of wonder.

He provides a good guide on how to live your life and what to aspire to and what to discard.

To be precocious, honest, self-confident and to obliterate the past.

A welcome read as we approach the end of my most successful year, a stimulant to re-focus the mind, an addition to my personal manifesto as I re-embark on the challenges of a new year.

The actors life is an existential one. You faced by nothing, no work, or at the best hints of work or fragments of work. You look out into the abyss and can be crushed by the blackness, the endless nothingness.

Not me.

Nothingness is life. We are always staring into the pitch black. The difference is, I charge into the dark to see what it contains, or rather what I forge in the vacuum from force of will.

Exhilarating.

Have a happy new year folks, with much success and joy.

I know I will.

Words are

the commanders

of mankind's forces.

March!

and behind us

time

explodes like a landmine.

To the past

we offer

only the streaming tresses

of our hair

tangled

by the wind.

DHG: A Year in Review or Blowing Me Own Trumpet

2010-12-23T16:37:00.000Z

2010 has been the best year with regards to acting, which is wonderful but leaves you hoping 2011 can top it rather than disappoint, great success only keeps pushing the bar further up. As it should, I wouldn't want it any other way and obviously 2011 brings the joys and pressures of Our Style is Legendary as well.

Thing started very well, working with good friend Martin Collins in Spain on an Italian commercial...

And then, one of my proudest moments, my feature film debut was released in the UK and the US and is still doing the rounds on DVD, airplane seat backs and pay-per-view tele. It was really something to see my big hair and face up on the movie screen...

Have I told you all how much I love Norway? 2010 I got to go back again in order to sell glasses...

I managed to fit in a few more gigs of Poles Apart before working with Nottingham born director Dominic Murphy on a marvellous VW commercial that has unfortunately led to people shouting: "Pull yourself together" at me in the street. Just found out this is now making it's way to Ireland and France next year...

For me, the clear highlight of 2010 was the arrival of my own comedy creation, Kirky, who I have high hopes for as a star of UK television in the making. Kirky has took me to some lovely places, the BBC for a start and we made some more last month as well, so I can only hope that he'll be on everyone's TV even more often come 2011.

And then when I thought it couldn't get any better I secured one of those huge American TV jobs for Yahoo! directed by the finest commercial director of the last 15 years Bryan Buckley, where I got to mime to a Motley Cru song, which is perhaps the epitome of utter cool...

Surely the run of form would end here? No. Instead I got to work with Mark Denton again on some lovely looking Steam punk style Bulmer's adverts...

Towards the end of this year I crammed in some voiceover work, another Norwegian commercial, a film with Keith Chegwin, more Kirky, a short film and a national tour of the magical Hypothermia, one of the most challenging theatre roles I've ever had and, to be honest, a much needed return to treading the boards.

I'll leave you though with the full collection of vids I made for Gillette, which may be whoring of the highest order but they are funny as fuck and all made-up on the spot. Especially the one of me rapping. Here's to 2011 being even more awesome.

On Benefits?

2010-12-20T16:10:00.000Z

Don't get me wrong, I love where I live but when I saw this sign, in one of those pawn brokers/gentrified loan sharks with colourful branding that must comfort vulnerable people as they are exploited, my heart sank.

I mean, how on earth can you repay any loan when you are on meagre state benefits? How is that possible without, I don't know, selling your kids or a crucial organ? Who in their right mind would loan money to people unable to pay it? Surely the interest rates are exorbitant? Money is being made, yet again, off the back of poverty.

*shudder*

And with perfect timing, London Mayor Boris "Ball Bag" Johnson announces that this New Year's Eve, the free transport service is being sponsored by Wonga! That's right, Wonga! an exploitative short term money lender with shiny branding that does it's best to disguise it's utterly horrendous APR as it rips poor people off left, right and centre.

So on one hand with have the anti-debt, deep cuts narrative and on the other we have tacit encouragement to plunge levels of personal debt to new depths.

Cool.

I then saw what on first glance appeared to be a dead child in a skip on my road:

Merry Christmas.

Blurred Clarity is a Top Theatre Blog

2010-12-17T22:12:00.001Z

W00t for me.

I shit you not.

I am the 13th best theatre blog according to these chaps. Read it and weep the rest of you.

Funny thing is my entry comes with a warning: "Beware adult language".

When I told Eva-Jane she was like, "Have they even read your blog? When do you blog about theatre anyway?"

I went on the defensive and said I last blogged about the theatre in August of this year and she snorted...which is unfair, I think she was just sarcastic and did not snort at all and then I had a sulk.

I win very few accolades, so I am clinging to this one like a manic crab.

If anyone has any other awards for me, please do drop me a line and boost my flagging self-esteem...

Our Style is Legendary: 3 Months to Go

2010-12-15T16:44:00.000Z

One of the largest reasons for me being too busy to write stuff on the Internets is the wonderful, dream come true, that is producing my play "Our Style is Legendary" next year in that there London.

It's been a long time coming but as we inch past the 3 month marker for the premiere, I swing from mild panic to tearful joy as the full reality that my play will see the light of day in the West End of London, at a great theatre with a mind blowing cast of incredibly talented actors, under the watchful eye of a supremely gifted director; hits me deliciously hard.

Obviously, I am snowed under with work for the play, as my role (aside from being the writer) is to produce, which is short-hand for sorting everything out apart from the acting side of things. But pressures and stresses like this I can handle because, step by step, piece by piece, "Our Style is Legendary" is coming together in glorious form and as I sit there, on the 14th March 2011 and watch my words come alive, it will make the transition from being my play, into the actor's play, into the audience's play. It will be ours and the characters will live and breath through all of us and nothing could make me happier.

And this is where you come in, dear reader because I need you to come and see it, to promote it, to support it, to spread the word.

The show website is right here, you can buy tickets here and you'll also find us on Facebook and Twitter. We have gone social media crazy folks!

So if this blog goes quiet for a bit and nowt seems to be happening, you'll know why and perhaps, you'll pop along and see what all the fuss, blood, sweat and tears is all about...

A Response: My Brother-in-Law's Top 10 Albums of 2010

2010-12-10T14:59:00.000Z

Preface

It isn't a small pool anymore. There is so much to consider. And so, music is more subjective than it has ever been. Ten years ago, end of year LP lists from similar souls in similar environments would have heralded similar ingredients, with just the line up causing discussion and the occasional uproar. Now, I suspect, in our case, you'd be hard pressed to find one common choice between us.

Why? Is it the sheer volume? Yes. But I think it’s also the relative ease by which we are now able to consume music. Recorded music, quite literally, is worth less than ever. And I think that takes its toll. Respect for, if not the medium itself, at least the way in which the medium is procured, has been diminished, and hence music and opinions thereof, are becoming more and more fragmented. But, maybe that's a good thing. Individuals are making up their own minds, instead of being told that The Beatles are the greatest band of all time, or that Jay-Z is the greatest rapper, and all nodding and purchasing along in unison, the people are discovering new and exciting sounds the world over, for themselves, in any which format they choose to do so. Freedom.

Lists are more particular, more autonomous. They say more about the compiler then ever before. The pool may be bigger now, certainly, but that doesn't mean, as some antiquated fools would have you believe, that the quality has suffered. On the contrary, it’s just gotten personal, and everyone is involved, no one is being excluded. Geography matters not. So, with that said.

Worthy Notables;

WARPAINT-"THE FOOL", THE SOFT PACK-"THE SOFT PACK", HOW TO DRESS WELL-"LOVE REMAINS", EMERALDS-"DOES IT LOOK LIKE I’M HERE?", DEERHUNTER-"HALYCON DIGEST".

10. THE KNIFE–"TOMORROW, IN A YEAR"

09. JOANNA NEWSOME–"HAVE ONE ON ME"

08. FOALS–"TOTAL LIFE FOREVER"

07. LAURA MARLING-"I SPEAK BECAUSE I CAN"

06. GONJASUFI–"A SUFI AND A KILLER"

05. ALI FARKA TOURE & TOUMANI DIABETE-"ALI & TOUMANI"

04. GIL SCOTT HERON–"I’M NEW HERE"

03. KANYE WEST–"MY BEAUTIFUL DARK TWISTED FANTASY"

A veracious example of modern man in extremis. A frightening sound. Few artists are able to inhabit the many varying facets of what it is to be a 21st Century ego-centric behemoth (aka; modern man), so that the work in question wholly transcends whatever pre-supposed genre it might have begun in, becoming a piece of art unfettered by lazy categorisation in its own, unique right. Fascinating, exhilarating stuff.

02. GLENN RICHARDS–"GLIMJACK"

Esoteric, populist songwriters; it’s a tough gig, and few would opt for what is essentially a fools’ errand. However, Mr. Richards appears to revel in it. I suspect though, it’s simply all he knows. In another world, one somewhat skewed and off- kilter in contrast to our own, but perfectly ordinary so far as it is concerned, the people build statues in his honour, name streets after his songs, and in his image hone the countenance of all first borns.

01. THE WALKMEN–"LISBON"

The sound of snow falling upon the darkened city. The sound of the eloquent drunk, screaming to the high heavens from his lowly sidewalk. The sound of a band, 6 records in, finding the ideal balance between their disillusioned, urban austerity, and the soulful, heartfelt warmth to which their music has always alluded too beneath that studied, stoic cool.

The Best Albums of 2010

2010-12-08T12:20:00.000Z

This list always comes round so quick and a swift gaze at last year's 'best of' shows a few albums that I really don't listen to much anymore. I wonder at the arse end of 2011 how many of 2010's picks will be gathering dust in my vast music library?

Oh well, no regrets, as plenty on that list still get some hammer and one thing is clear, 2010 has been a surprisingly better year that 2009 for great albums; so I've had to incur the 5 notable mentions rule (agreed that this rule is a complete self-binding invention of my brother-in-law and me), on top of my actual Top 10 albums of the year.

So to warm us up, I shall begin with my 5 notable mentions that just couldn't squeeze their way into the official DHG top 10. In no particular order of notableness then...

As much as Eminem uses "Recovery" to diss "Relapse" (which made my Top 10 of 2009) I'm not quite sure if it's better than it's predecessor but it certainly is a cracking record that may pale in comparison with previous work but if a new hip-hop artist bought this album out, the critics would be on their hind legs lapping it up. The bonus is that a lack of tedious skits means that the album is a testimony to consistency and a consistent Eminem is a precious thing, as seen in the singles that have been lifted off of it and stormed the charts. "Recovery" is the first of a triumvirate of hip-hop notable mentions, which also includes the always excellent Big Boi and "Sir Lucious Left Foot...The Son of Chico Dusty" which, ridiculous title aside, is an album that puts to bed any debate on who is the most gifted half of Outkast. A smash-up of bone marrow mashing bass lines and kick drums, which some fine rhyming over the jazzy, kaleidoscopic, Deep South grooves. Hopefully there are many more where this came from and the same goes for Strong Arm Steady's LP "In Search of Stoney Jackson" which is so soaked in Pepsi, Chitlins, ganja and LA sun-smog, that is transports me every time I listen to it; serious, one of the funkiest hip-hop records of recent memory. Heavy flow, head-bobbing, trance inducing rap.

My last two notable mentions couldn't be more different. In one corner we have the high-pitched, Radiohead inspired, indie-dance-funk-new wave-guitar, art-fopps Everything Everything and "Man Alive" which has one of the strongest starts of any LP this year, it sweeps you up in it's arms and takes you for a serious disco dance and by rights it's wonderful modern sound should be in my Top 10 but the album loses it's way around the half-way mark and never fully regains momentum; which is testimony to how good the rest of it is that it still bubbles around as a classic of 2010.

And in the other corner we have the epic High on Fire and "Snakes for the Divine" which is one of the heaviest records I own. Quite simply, if the Norse Gods had sex with the Devil and gave the offspring to a brood of bloodthirsty Orcs to rise, they would sound like this. An utterly brutal howl of virtuoso, humongous riffs, pounding double bass drums and guttural singing about things like Frost Hammers and at one point, in the seminal 'Holy Flames of the Firespitter' (I fucking kid you not), you could swear the ground was going to split open and the undead will walk the Earth again. Just awesome heavy metal.

And now onto the Top 10 albums of 2010 in reverse order...

10. "THE DEFAMATION OF STRICKLAND BANKS" PLAN B

What a volte-face! From one of the hardest, grimiest spitters in UK hip-hop to a blue-eyed soul boy, I for one thought Plan B wouldn't be able to pull it off but he most certainly has and how. A huge commercial success, the boy can sing and makes some fine soul music without sounding like it's karaoke. This hook laden release re-announces Plan B as a unique and talented UK artist.

9. "STARS OF LOVE" CRYSTAL FIGHTERS

I nearly didn't buy this album by these London based Spanish mavericks but thank God I did because it's wonky, inventive collage of Balearic house, Iberian folk and high-tempo electro is utterly bewitching, both danceable and adorable and something that holds hands with both guitar-centric music and electronica and skips off into the distance to have a lovely party.

8. "THE SOFT PACK" THE SOFT PACK

Just up my street. This record took some serious hammer. No messing, straight-ahead, high energy garage rock and roll played at a pace with maximum gusto and total commitment. A wonderful, infectious racket with limitations but all the better for them.

7. "LOVE KING" THE-DREAM

He may sound a bit like Prince (esp. on the outstanding 'Yamaha') but The-Dream is the modern face of shiny, perfect, shimmering American R&B; mesmerisingly hook-laden, melodious to the extreme, exquisitely produced and a showcase for a great musical talent. The whole album just makes you want to get your groove on with some honeys and get a sexy sweat on. Lush.

6. "I SPEAK BECAUSE I CAN" LAURA MARLING

From one end of the musical spectrum to the other...the key artist in the revived British folk movement's second album is a leap forward from her excellent debut "Alas, I Cannot Swim". Textured, transportive, lyrically of the highest order with a rare ability to create mood and atmosphere at will and imagery that lingers long after the song has gone. A genuine dialogue between artist and listener has the most personal of touches.

5. "MY BEAUTIFUL DARK TWISTED FANTASY" KANYE WEST

Good grief, Kanye West has upped the bar for hip-hop. His production ability, song writing nous and his genius (yes, genius, no doubt about that) for creating soundscapes utterly unlike anything we've heard in any genre of popular music leaves him at the very peak of modern hip-hop. The reach and sprawl of this album is sometimes too much, too many ideas crammed in for us mere mortals to handle and of course, Kanye is not the best rapper there is, as shown here by the guest spots but as a marker for greatness' Kanye's legacy rests on this postmodern masterpiece.

4. "$O$" DIE ANTWOORD

FOK! There is something utterly electric and captivating about this contemporary musical phenomena but rather than get hung up on their South African-ness, their aesthetic, or whether they are 'for real' I'd rather focus on how seriously good their music is. On one hand, it's so very simple; pounding, catchy, rave style sonic backdrops that act as the playground for Yo-Landi Vi$$er and MC Ninja to stomp all over. They sound like they're having a ball and it's infectious but there is more there and at times the wealth of ideas, offered honestly, become hallucinatory, progressive and otherworldly and something else.

3. "GOOD THINGS" ALOE BLACC

Where has Aloe Blacc been all of my life? Take all the best bits of Marvin Gaye, Curtis Mayfield and Al Green and you have "Good Things" na instant and genuine soul classic. A honey dripped voice with a stunning range, arcing through some very traditional but urgent soul set-ups that move you both physically and spiritually. This could've been released in 1970 and would've stood shoulder to shoulder with any of the great soul LPs of that time. The sheer quality of this record is amazing, every track is a genuine winner, an album of rare beauty.

2. "THE DRUMS" THE DRUMS

Duran Duran+Joy Division÷The Smiths=The Drums. That's how good they are. Arch, skeletal, reverb drenched indie-pop with lyrics to die for and yes, they may dress like twats and the leader singer dances like a mime artist but their music is free, wondrous and quite possibly the future.

1. "STREETS OF OUR TIME" DANNY AND THE CHAMPIONS OF THE WORLD

I'm not normally one for Americana but this Australian (via London) band makes such heart wrenching, beguiling, exquisite music that cleaves me asunder and transports me to dusty back roads, a golden sun melting through blue skies and a feeling that everything, no matter what will be alright. As hopeful and gorgeous as this record is, it's through line is that of mortality and those crucial relationships in your life that make you who you are and that you could never be without; its a paean to humanity and a life lived with an open heart and no regrets and I wouldn't be without this record for anything in the world.

Sorry, it's Been A While...

2010-12-07T15:11:00.000Z

I was mopping the kitchen after the engineer who came to service the boiler had left mucky footprints all over and I thought to myself I should really get back to blogging, so here I am, after a lengthy but genuine hiatus.

It really has been a while but I've had good reason.

As I said right here, I was busy touring with the excellent Full Body & The Voice, playing the character of Dr. Erich in the incredible "Hypothermia"; blessed with a fine cast of wonderful actors and that didn't finish until the 7th November.

I was lucky enough to come straight back to more filming for the BBC and reprising my comedy creation Kirky, the HD Hunter before embarking on a short film set in the wilds of South London, preparing a showcase at the Soho Theatre and, of course, juggling the organisation for the two biggest events in my life to date: my wedding to Eva-Jane and the debut of my play "Our Style is Legendary"

Phew.

But here I am, back in full blog effect...well, until I get utterly snowed under again.

Here we go, hold on tight!

Blog Lite

2010-09-17T21:52:00.001+01:00

I'm putting Blurred Clarity to rest for a couple of months or so.

I've got filming to do for yet another commercial, then I start rehearsals for "Hypothermia", which tours until November 2010, never mind all the organising I have to do for my play "Our Style is Legendary" with finishing off the casting come November, PR, print and finding rehearsal space.

I will of course blog when I can, on a return to the life of a touring theatre actor and will keep Tweeting via Twitter my inane and garbled thoughts.

And of course, please come and see me in "Hypothermia", touring dates are here but I will pop them below and if you are planning on coming, please, please, please let me know so I can thank you and see you face to face. Your support would be much appreciated.

Huddersfield University 21st-23rd October

Box Office: miltonboxoffice@hudd.ac.uk

Peepul Centre, Leicester 26th-27th October

Box Office: 0116 261 6000

Cockpit Theatre, London 29th-30th October

Box office: 020 7258 2925

Hull Truck, Hull 2nd-3rd November

Box Office: 01482 323638

The Dukes, Lancaster 5th-6th November

Box office: 01524 598500

Until then comrades!

The Aruba Files: Photo Montage

2010-09-15T18:05:00.001+01:00

It's funny but in my previous post Highlander mentioned the similarity between Aruba (the Caribbean island just off-of Venezuela where I went on holiday and asked Eva-Jane to marry me) and the word shouted by John Fashanu on the seminal TV show "Gladiators", as evidenced right here:

Funny because just before I jetted off, I called my parents for the obligatory farewell before holiday and promise to text you when I land safely conversation. My mum put my dad on and as we talked about Aruba he mentioned that it didn't always use to be a tourist hot spot, which is quite true and it used to be a bit of a shit hole, also true, he then claimed that the reason it got to be a popular tourist destination is that during "Gladiators" John Fashanu would shout...

ARUBA!

And thus, the entire world decided to check this place out.

This is wrong on so many levels, first off, Fash the Bash is not shouting Aruba but AWOOGA and secondly, the island is popular with Americans who have never seen UK "Gladiators" and even if you did, would a retired football player shouting the word at you really be the deal breaker in spending an awful lot of cash on going there?

Naturally, being a good son, I said none of this and agreed whole-heartedly.

Anyway, here are a smattering of pictures of our holiday in paradise.

Back From Aruba!

2010-09-13T18:08:00.000+01:00

I am back from Aruba and it was paradise.

Naturally, blogging will be light for a long while for too many wonderful reasons to mention...the main one being I asked Eva-Jane to marry me and she said yes!

Much to do and we are very tired...

Full debrief coming at you very soon.

Off To Aruba!

2010-08-28T06:48:00.000+01:00

On me hols.

No blog posts for two weeks but there might by a Tweet or two.

Peace.

Our Story Will Be Told Brother Death (You're Never Over)

2010-08-26T20:30:00.000+01:00

You'd have killed me man. Punched me on the tit or summat.

I was busy feeling mardy today, too easy sometimes to get all grumpy over nothing, to get all vexed over nowt like a right ponce. You know me right? Like I have anything to be mardy about? I'm alive for a start, have my health and a beautiful woman who loves me and I'm shooting a film and then going to a casting for a great play...fuck, my life is transformed; things too good to be true. What a fine life.

Then my Eva-Jane let me know some good news about our play "Our Style is Legendary", casting is going well and things are coming together on all fronts, exciting developments and it hit me hard, smacked me right out of my self-indulgent bullshit like a punch to the solar plexus.

Our story will be told Brother Death, people will come and watch versions of me and you nobbing around, mostly speaking verbatim what we said to each other all those fucking years ago homes, word-spears being thrown 20 years and still hitting the target as true as they did then. And that ain't even the best bit.

The best bit is you'll live again my Brother, you'll fucking be alive again my sweet boy, you'll be alive again for every single show, like a beautiful re-run and our story will be told and people will laugh and cry and hate us and love us and you will live again.

And I'll be there, every night, tears in my eyes, living every moment because you know me, I don't believe in that God bullshit, you're in a hole in the ground Brother but you live on in my heart and in our play and people will be able to see you as I saw you and love you.

I miss you.

I think of you often.

I really miss you.

I'll never forgot you homes.

Hope I make you proud.

I love you.

It's the best memoriam I could ever give you Mike.

I dedicate this song to you.

Peace.

Kill Keith Filming Awaits

2010-08-25T18:44:00.000+01:00

As mentioned previously, tomorrow I am filming for my next feature film entitled "Kill Keith" that stars Keith Chegwin (naturally) and a whole raft of classic British TV stars. It's a small role playing the investigating detective but it is always nice to asked and comes nicely before popping off on holiday to Aruba.

If no one out there knows who Keith Chegwin is, as may be the case with many non-Brit readers, this informative and amusing video should provide all you need to know about the man in question.

As always with these things, it is all kicking off at some ungodly hour, all the way out in Hayes, so it'll be early to rise for me before making my way out to Middlesex/West London borders. And I forgot to order more Nature Valley crunchy granolas bars (Canadian maple syrup flavour) from Tesco online. They make for a fine breakfast snacklet. Bugger. I may have to suffice with a sausage bap.

Now for some reason I am listening to a lot of Jimi Hendrix of late and this track keeps pulling me back to the play button over and over and over and over again.

I love the intense imagery of the crippled girl, stranded on the cusp of suicide as the golden space ship, which really didn't have to stop, sailed on by her. My mum got me into Hendrix and that particular verse always stayed with me as a child, haunted me as I tried to unpick what it meant. I'm still not sure but it is beautiful.

On on that note, I leave you with this:

The Politics of Hair

2010-08-24T12:36:00.000+01:00

Some of you may be aware that very recently Iran banned certain types of haircuts as being too Western and too decadent. Pathetic because a genuinely powerful, secure, confident, democratic nation should never have to worry about the haircuts of it's citizens. As if haircuts can bring an entire nation crashing down? That kind of 'not one domino shall fall' bullshit will be the death of them...here's hoping.

The kind of haircuts Iran have taken umbrage with are mullets...

Ponytails....

And elaborate spikes (whatever that means)...

Naturally, the hairstyles these backward fucks approve of are just as fucking diabolical, shit like bouffants, quiffs and 90's throwback curtains...

Gel, however, can be used if sparingly. I kid you not.

I swear, some people are clinging so desperately to a bare modicum of power that they actually think this undignified flaying around at moral decay makes them look strong. Iran is not alone in this of course, the UK is blighted with Broken Britain (Copyright. All Rights Reserved) bullshit and America is contorting itself into ever more vulgar, vile and grotesque positions over the non-Mosque that is at least two blocks away from the place formally known as the World Trade Centre.

Whilst Iran may be an extreme example of the politics of hair, with thuggish militia forcing vigorous trims on Iranians with degenerate haircuts, it is not alone in connecting hair with some kind of insurgency.

North Korea controls the hair-do's of it's citizens, demanding exacting standards and seemingly, a desire for all males to look identical because long hair, naturally, drains you of your mental powers...

In Iraq barbars have been murdered by retarded religious bigots for distributing Western haircuts, while Indonesia hopes to bring in laws regarding suitable hairstyles and many other countries around the world are hatching similarly idiotic plans.

I don't know what it is about Islam and it's intolerance of good hair cuts, it makes me laugh that their God is so petty and envious that the way a human wears their hair can anger the daft twat, that and eating pig...like any omnipotent motherfucker would give a shit about tedious shit like that. We make our silly, pointless Gods in our own image, wracked with insecurities and weakness.

Facial hair is a whole other can of worms, ironically, considering how much Islam hates a good do, it loves a big beard, long the preserve in the Western world of real-ale drinkers, folk aficionados and pedophiles.

Iran has only just accepted the goatee, which is a horrible little beard, whilst Somalian Islamic militants (following a line led by the Taliban in Afghanistan) has instructed all men to grow beards but sans moustache; which is clearly flawed as a good moustache establishes a man as a true gentleman and a God amongst his hairless peers.

Haters of beards include Turkmenistan, Albania in the 1970s and Japan right bloody now, where beards are are deemed quite unpleasant but shit like this is perfectly acceptable...

Currently, I am rocking a beard because of filming commitments but normally I am resplendent in a fine moustache and proudly so, mainly because it's an excellent social device by which to measure the intelligence of anyone you're engaging with. If they are compelled to mention Hitler, The Village People or P0rn then they are an idiot and you can, pretty much guilt free, erase them from your life with no major loss.

And woe betide any loon that tries to police my facial hair and hair-do...

Falling Off Of The Cusp

2010-08-20T17:17:00.000+01:00

As promised, I share here that what was yesterday a moment of being "On The Cusp" has become a moment of falling off of that cusp, as I did not get the acting job in question.

On reflection, or as a device to cushion the blow, it was not as big a deal as I made out; it was merely yet another commercial but the money and director involved gave the job an extra air of kudos but I think I got ahead of myself and carried away about it's importance.

Doing commercials is a case of ever decreasing circles, the more you do the less you can then do, over exposure is a killer, this job would have been the nail in the coffin. I'm talking a good game of course but not getting this job means I can do the feature film I mentioned with Keith Chegwin and also do a theatre casting for a great wee show. I'm lucky enough to be able to have these options.

I suppose what galled me about this job was that people involved made me feel that it was mine, even at the casting today and so you build expectations, hopes, plan what you will do with the money and whatnot.

Acting is a career where sometimes the best man does not get the job and this was the case, I was the best man but the reason I didn't get the job? And if this doesn't speak volumes about the line of work I've chosen...I wasn't from Yorkshire.

That's right, it was all down to the county I was from.

You couldn't make it up.

On The Cusp

2010-08-19T17:49:00.001+01:00

I am currently on the cusp of yet another large job, tomorrow will be the do or die. If I secure it, further grand financial renumeration comes my way and further exposure and further advancement and so on and so on and so on.

My current exceptional run of form will either come to an abrupt end (it will have to sooner or later of course) or continue to new, giddy heights that will make the eventual fall all the greater. Such is the life I have gleefully chosen. No regrets. No fears.

The present is very much about juggling and maintaining momentum, as I am currently attempting to cast an actor with profile (ie: famous, ie: on the tele) for my play for next year, you have to move early to secure talent and have meetings lined up with some very exciting people indeed, performers I would be honoured to have in my play but so much is up in the air. It will be with some regret and a hint of relief when all is pinned down and "Our Style is Legendary" begins to fully take shape.

And then there are the impending commitments I have next week, filming and then preparation and packing, as on the 28th August, all being well, Eva-Jane and I go on a holiday of a lifetime to Aruba; a luxurious vacation with no expense spared as we indulge ourselves and each other. We deserve it.

So tomorrow is a day that will shape a large part of my near future, I approach it like any other, I have already achieved much in 2010, I will press for more of course but understand that any good run has to end because you get stitch and then vomit into a hedge.

God is Imaginary

2010-08-18T18:30:00.000+01:00

God is imaginary.

I think I've just found my new favourite website.

It makes for pretty awesome reading and provides me with extra ammunition for any debates I engage in with uppity religious types.

Get into it now.

British People and Their Bins

2010-08-17T18:39:00.000+01:00

(Not quite sure what this image means but whilst Googling for wheelie bin based pictures, I found this one. It has the air of a new sub-genre of dogging that is bin and back alley based, either that or a new fetish where upon you find wheelie bins a turn-on. Lovely. Any advocates or either practice please make yourself known in the comments section)

I don't know what it is about Brits and their waste (and receptacles of that waste) but we are obsessed with it, nay, nigh on in love with waste. We love arguing about rubbish, complaining about rubbish, dedicating front pages to news stories about rubbish and we get very precious about our rubbish and how we dispose of it and the rights we have, as Brits, to special waste status. And woe betide any fucker going through our rubbish...

No other country is so bothered about rubbish.

I suppose we have long has special status here in the UK, fortunate enough to chuck whatever we wanted away into seemingly endless holes in the ground, rarely recycling and rarely setting fire to it. The terrible environmental impact of this laissez-faire attitude has put all of this to an end, we need to find new solutions and as we do so, our very British attitude to waste rises it's nimbyish head.

We get very upset about local government investigating our waste in order to get us to recycle and cut down on it and that nimby attitude means that plants to treat and burn waste take an eternity to get planning permission, all the while we keep chucking rubbish in ever shrinking holes and fight in ridiculous bin wars.

I always thought this silly malaise only effected the bourgeoisie but I too have become afflicted.

I live in a London Borough that does not use wheelie bins, so our waste is collected in black bags with hardened receptacles for green waste and another for recycled stuff. This has two problems, first up was pikey sods ripping open our bags and sifting through for stuff that was of use to them. I actually caught one of them at it once, she was trying to fish out the skeleton of an old PC and I had to fend her off with swear words and a raised fist.

The second issue is that wild animals, such as foxes or feral cats, can attack bin bags at night with great aplomb and to be clear, I use quality bin bags, not them poxy thin ones and spill the fetid contents all over my drive.

So I have taken to lobbying Enfield Borough Council to get wheelie bins, the same wheelie bins that many parts of Britain complain so fervently about but where we are, whether its wild creatures or foraging gypos, we need them to protect our precious rubbish.

How British am I?

BUY ME!

2010-08-16T16:40:00.001+01:00

Today, the 16th August 2010, is the release date of my debut feature film on that there DVD.

Back of the net!

"My Last Five Girlfriends" is still doing the rounds in the US on pay-per-view and is even playing on planes, so that as people travel huge distances they can stare at my face and silly hair. How cool is that?

But today I came out on DVD (you heard) and that is a moment worth savouring because who knows if it'll ever happen again? I mean, I hope so, I'm good enough to do more films but this business is a fickle and merciless thing.

Anyway, many of you have mentioned to me that you would like to know when it was coming out on DVD and today is that day.

I've already got my copy, hot off the press but feel free to buy your own copies right bloody here. I can't recommend them enough for all the family and the DVD would make for a very suitable Christmas gift.

More importantly, you can watch me again and again and even pause the bits I'm in an gaze at my mane.

He Said He'd Get Me A Signed Gary Barlow...

2010-08-13T16:30:00.001+01:00

Yesterday an old school pal called Phil made contact after seeing the VW advert.

He was a good lad, full of beans, lanky, like me and my mum and dad even had him round for tea once (where he told me how to break double glazing if I ever needed to escape from a fire in my house), so he must have been alright.

I remember going round his for tea after school one day and his dad, a big strapping bloke, lifted me up and put me on the roof of his porch for a laugh. I just dangled there for a bit and then he got me down. I can't remember what we had for tea, my memory from my childhood is sadly shot to pieces...my own fault, so no regrets.

Anyway, Phil got in touch, which made me happy and we filled each other in on our lives and I tried to imagine Phil as a father, as the last time I saw him he and I were about 22 but now he's got a fine boy. Phil then started talking about his mate who is an autograph hunter and then Phil said:

"He wants your autograph for his collection, he said he'd get me a signed Gary Barlow in return for my girlfriends Birthday."

Well, how could I refuse that?

I felt honoured to be honest and I think that getting a signed Gary Barlow as a swap for me is a fantastic deal, as Gary Barlow is proper famous and a good songwriter...

Autograph swaps. Christ. I'm sure if you'd have told the 16 year old versions of me and Phil what we'd be up to some 18 years later, we'd have pissed our pants and then ran off to do summat daft.

Legalise Gay

2010-08-12T14:09:00.001+01:00

Some good news.

On the 4th August of this year a federal court judge by the name of Vaughn Walker overturned the Californian ban on gay marriage, the simply awful Proposition 8.

Judge Vaughn Walker made it very clear that the state of California cannot ban gays and lesbians from marrying because it violates America's constitution. Of course, this will not end here and an appeal is bound to happen and it will, no doubt, finally trundle all the way to the Supreme Court. As it should because this awful mess needs to be sorted out but make no mistake, this is an important step forward in the civil rights of America's gay community.

It is a shame that we are even here in the first place but humanity, it seems to me, moves far too slowly as a mass, to keep up with the it's own individual progressions. And the fight to recognise marriages (let us not faff about with terms such as "domestic unions" or "civil partnerships" but marraige, any other term for it is patronising and demeaning to same sex couples) between gay couples will, as it always does, bring out the foulest homophobic bile and prejudice.

Good.

This kind of filth needs to be exposed to the withering white heat/white light of fact and reason.

Judge Vaughn Walker's own words on the matter, in his ruling, provide us that care about the human rights of gay people, with a fine centrepiece to our argument, as we look to change hearts and minds of those of a more prejudiced mindset.

Surgically and methodically Judge Walker made it clear that gay couples seeking marriage are not seeking a new right but merely the same right as heterosexuals, a right that is a civil and not religious matter (thus jettisoning the religious bigots whose holy books forbid all kinds of fun activities, that the aforementioned religious bigots pick and mix from to suit their own moral mores). He also made it clear that procreative capacity has no bearing on marriage, after all, infertile heterosexuals can, of course, marry.

Why this is crucial is that any appellate court accepting the appeal must refer to the body of evidence that this trial has established and to overturn Judge Walker's ruling, a court would have to find a flaw in his logic.

Which will be an awfully big ask.

Further breaking news today regarding Judge Vaughn Walker is that, hopefully, same-sex marriages will once again be able to resume in the state of California.

Even Arnie thinks so...

Last Two Days: Acting Summation

2010-08-11T16:54:00.000+01:00

Pretty wise.

I like to think so, last two days have been a nice collection, a nice condensation of what acting is, or what acting is for me anyway. What makes me wise I suppose.

First up was yesterday, finishing off a four-day workshop on Harold Pinter with the legend that is Harry Burton, a real honour and it ended with a wee showing of our work. I was good, the scene was good, it was all good. Confidence, as always, high.

Then, after a few drinks with workshop comrades and the lovely mates that had turned out to support me, legged it to the excellent Roxy Bar and Screen in SE1, to do a Q&A with director Julian Kemp at a screening of "My Last Five Girlfriends", my feature film debut.

I sat there and watched my big face up on the big screen and marvelled, once again, at how far I've come and although I had arrived at the screening anonymous, as I made my way to the front with Julian to take questions, I became famous, an object, to one degree of another, of famousness, of celebrity, of the viewed. What's wonderful, at the place I am, is that I can then leave the screening and become anonymous again and slide out of SE1 on the Northern Line, Northbound, changing at Leicester Square.

And then came today...

I should probably precis this by saying that I am very good at auditioning and whether I get the job or not, I nearly always leave a casting feeling as if I did my very best.

Today I had a relatively important casting for the BBC, relatively important because anything for the BBC is important and because it was a casting director I'd not had the pleasure of meeting yet. I have had equally or more important castings this year. I prepared, as always, meticulously and tubed it to White City, Westbound, changing at Oxford Circus.

During the casting preamble I had little feeling of what was about to occur. I shall spare the details but I fucked up quite badly and although it was by no means a bad audition, it was not up to my usually high standard, which considering the importance of the casting made it all the worse.

To be very clear, I hate the part of me that fucked up, I want to kill it, smash it to pieces because life is all about opportunities and each and everyone has got to be taken, even if it, as is often the case, is all there is. The myth of things leading to other things is a destructive one, I believe in opportunity for opportunity's sake, each on it's own merits.

My anger is slowly subsiding at my error, it still burns but this sting of my perceived defeat will kill off any further failure for the foreseeable future. And by kill off I mean smashed to fucking bits.

However, no regrets, press on, better to be pretty wise then pretty fucking stupid.

Very Busy Doing Pinter

2010-08-09T21:06:00.000+01:00

To clarify, 'doing' as in immersed in a four-day intensive acting workshop on one of the greatest writers of all time, with the man who knew him the best and is the nearest you can get to Pinter now the legend is sadly dead; not 'doing' as in some sick sex act with the aforementioned legendary writer.

However, I can leave you with this in the meantime...

All the best to you!

On TV Again Part 2...

2010-08-06T09:51:00.000+01:00

As warned, the Bulmers campaign is multi-facted, thus, here is my own individual little promo where I talk about frisbees and name check Ashby de la Zouch.

Have a spiffing weekend people!

Fuck This Guy

2010-08-04T18:11:00.001+01:00

I love this photo.

Bravo that man.

I can't stand bigots, may they be ridiculed wherever they are found.

And we all know that if there is a God, he or she will most definitely hate homophobes, bigots and the prejudiced.

Have a good Wednesday...what's left of it that is.

ONE FROM NONE

2010-08-03T15:16:00.000+01:00

The top of my right arm now bears the inscription: ONE FROM NONE.

This being my second tattoo, I was not as wracked with nerves as my previous outing to Prick and all went to plan, this being the first part of a three piece tattoo on my right arm.

Of course, you always have to explain what it means when you get summat done and it ended up sounding a bit lame and pretentious, perhaps it is...who knows...All I know is I've wanted this text on my arm since I was 18, so fuck all you haters!

The idea for me is that humanity, life, existence is all something from nothing. No God, no creator, no before and no after, just the present. Life is about the force of will to make it something from nothing, of being one from none.

It also has a heavy personal resonance in that, my dad's sperm and my mum's eggs and womb aside, I made me. Of course, I inherited DNA and other elements that influence me but I made me and only I have the power to destroy me. The feeling that your life is in your hands and that you can make it or break it and that no excuses should be made, or blamed laid for failures and foibles. The same goes for life's successes, they do not belong to anyone but you, they can be shared but you did them.

It's an important part of my philosophy that only the individual has ownership over their life and if you hand that ownership over, so that others can build you up and make you feel good, you are equally as vulnerable to people knocking you down. That to me is a life lived on quicksand, with no core of love and self-belief, rooted in the self.

Hence, ONE FROM NONE.

On TV Again...

2010-08-02T16:16:00.000+01:00

Would you Adam and Eve it but yet another advert (making it's debut tonight, in the UK only I'm afraid) with my fizzog on will be appearing on your tele-boxes. Add this to VW, Kirky and my Yahoo! jaunt and I am verging on saturation point. No bad thing...unless you hate me...and the thing is with commercials, they are ever decreasing circles in that, if you do too many, people won't use you for a bit so I may be due for a crushing lack of work.

Having said that, I just got a part in a new feature film about killing Keith Chewin.

But more on that later...

The Guardian ran a nice little piece on the ad, with my face on, peering out at you from the screen like a Nazi hunter, which is always good for the old self-esteem.

It's for Bulmers of all people and I play the man who launches the frisbees so that people can have fun in the park during Summer. Don't ask. My character is called Steve. It was a fun shoot in Henley-on-Thames, in a massive field but I did get chronic hay fever and had to keep stuffing Vaseline up my nose. Costume was spectacular, a huge leather coat, bespoke top hat and antique racing goggles, topped off with a mustard polo neck that meant I nearly died in the infernal heat.

The upside was I got to meet Jeremy Paxman, who lived next to the field we were filming in. He was a jolly nice chap with his lovely kids and a wheezy old retriever following him dolefully about. He was very interested in our filming and recognised me from my appearances on the BBC as Kirky. This made me incredibly proud and I puffed out my chest somewhat. Compliments from Paxman, one imagines, do not come that often.

Tonight is the premier of the ad but I also shot some bits in character as Steve that will be seen around the place, they may also be posters. Anyway, here it is...

Female Circumcision: a Polite Term For Cutting a Girl's Genitals

2010-07-30T16:56:00.000+01:00

I found it shocking that the mutilation of a girl's genitals occurs in such vast swathes of the world, it is a profoundly disturbing left over of ancient, anti-female violence, carried out by men as a device to repress, control and, to a certain extent, destroy femininity.

I will not go into the depraved details of female genital cutting, plenty of information can be found on the practice, needless to say in most cases it involves the removal of the clitoris, to strip the female of an organ that enables sexual pleasure and of course orgasm.

This is no doubt rooted in perverse, phallocentric thinking; to brutally destroy female pleasure in sexual intercourse, to win back sex from the sullied mewling of the feminine. I do wonder who thought up this act of uber-violence, of inter-gender warfare, what it stemmed from. One can guess, we are all familiar with the clumsy, ill-thought out desires of man and the ease at which he turns to violence in order to force his will.

Ancient man can perhaps be forgiven for this base, backward error but what alarms me more is that it is still practised.

Precise figures are hard to come by, a conservative estimate is that some 130 million women are effected around the world, with 3 million girls vulnerable to genital mutilation each and every year; a raft of fresh victims.

Sadly, Africa is the continent most blighted with the evil practice, in a band that stretches east to west across the continent. Imagine if you will this band peaks at its extremities: on the east that gives us Egypt, Somalia et al and on the west hand side we have Mauritania, Mali and Sierra Leone. The band thins but is still present in Chad, Nigeria, Ghana etc.

Nations at the extremities have a figure of over 80% of the female population having experienced genital mutilation, which is bewildering in its scope. Even those in the slimmer sections of this awful band have rates between 20 and 40%. When one thinks the device used to carry out this practice is usually a razor blade or broken glass, with battery acid used to staunch the heavy bleeding, the speed with which this barbaric act must come to an end becomes even clearer.

Twitter Still Sucks Ass But...

2010-07-28T18:38:00.000+01:00

I'm on it!

Oh the shame of it!

Oh the pure hypocrisy!

Look, before you pass judgement on me, the reason for signing up was two fold:

1) I started to worry that some Internet stalker nob would create a Twitter account in my name and be a douchebag, so I went and did a baggsy before any web-ponce could. Which I think is fair.

2) I had to get in contact with Notts rapper Wariko and the only way I could do so was through his Twitter. Hence my starting up of an account.

Shamefully, I found myself, for want of anything else to do, tweeting about eating wasabi nuts.

I do solemnly swear to only make tweets about non-tedious stuff from now on in.

You get me?

Why Nana Is Cool

2010-07-27T17:41:00.000+01:00

(Editor's Note: Nana is a term mainly used in the North of England and refers to your Grandmother, it is pronounced nan-nar and does not refer to a Manga character, a native Alaskan corporation, or some Japanese musical artiste)

Like any of you needed telling but your nana is real cool, it still upsets me that both my fine nanas are lost to us, such is the way of life I suppose.

But there is a very good reason as to why Grandma's are cool: from a scientific perspective, having a grandmother is of extraordinary evolutionary value and a real boost to your chances of survival.

Ever wondered how the menopause fits in with the evolutionary dash of survival of the fittest and the urge to procreate? Surely a female losing her reproductive powers blows a big hole in the idea of human evolution? What evolutionary purpose does a whole raft of females with no reproductive abilities serve?

Well, evolution is not just about having sex and popping offspring out left, right and centre. It is about being able to protect, tend and increase the survival chances of the aforementioned offspring and that is where your nana comes in.

Senior female humans (the scientific term for a nana) provide additional nurturing and foraging skills, thus protecting their own gene pool advancement.

So all those cuddles have an evolutionary purpose as well as feeling nice.

Let's big up nanas everywhere!

On Fairness

2010-07-26T19:42:00.000+01:00

Fairness, to me, seems to be a very British thing, it is intrinsically moderate, reasonable and balanced. I like fairness, it is a good thing.

Fairness, it seems to me, has not caught on in many places. Europeans and Americans seem to opt for lofty ideals of justice, which is hifalutin in comparison to common-sense fairness, with all it's earthy connotations.

There is far too much talk of American exceptionalism, I for one have indulged in it but something that makes Britain exceptional is its fairness for all, even though, as a notion, fairness would blush as such an idea. That is what our tolerance is rooted in.

Fairness also enables difficult things to be done or said, it is the sweetener to the bitter pill, harsh but fair is one of my favourite phrases.

Fairness is however, a broad church, that allows for all-comers and there lays its weakness and its intrinsic Britishness.

Fair enough I suppose...

Disfigured Conservative Election Posters

2010-07-23T17:02:00.000+01:00

This post does exactly what is says on the tin.

Have a good weekend ya'll.

PS: my favourite is the one with George Osborne having a massive cock hanging off of his head, matched with a Hitler tache. Textbook.

The iPhone Sucks Ass

2010-07-22T10:58:00.001+01:00

Seriously people, it is nowhere near the best mobile phone out there, you are buying heavily into the brand, a great brand but a huge smokescreen that covers up a pretty dire product.

This incredible video sums it up perfectly...

You feel me?

Sick, 105 Redchurch Street, E2 7DL

2010-07-20T17:10:00.000+01:00

I like to shop.

I like to buy interesting clothes, accessories and knick-knacks and occasionally I peruse Time Out for shopping recommendations, to add to my list of places I always go.

They recently had a special feature on Redchurch Street, which is just off Brick Lane and one shop they mentioned, called "Sick", caught my eye.

"A grungy thrift shop, run by the founders of cult 1980s label Boy, which specialises in '90s vintage (if you can call it that). The store also sells a good selection of restored bikes and is shortly to open a fashion 'laboratory' in the basement. Whatever that is."

Well, I was always a big fan of Boy and I'm looking for 90s fashion at the mo, both personally and for my play and I do love a good restored bike, as well as a chance to rustle around in some brick-a-brac.

I stepped into what could only be described as an odd smelling shit-hole which contained hardly any stuff at all, most of it artily hanging off the walls, surrounded by detritus. The two people sat down chatting at the far end of the store, not actually that far away from the door in this mini-retail hell-pit, barely acknowledged my entrance; aside from a vaguely discernible sneer.

Now I don't mind them being vacuous, self-important fashion ponces but at least show you can grasp basic customer service techniques, especially when you're asking ridiculous sums of money for bits of old tat. Anyway, I went in further and looked at the "restored" bikes, which actually hadn't been restored at all and I should know because I've just been restoring two 80s bikes for my play.

I ventured closer towards the two wittering shop workers: one was about 50, leathery and dressed like a Frankie Goes To Hollywood off-cut; the other, a female, had some sheer material draped about her visage. They stared at me in utter silence. I politely enquired:

"Is there more...er...stuff downstairs?"

The leathery old pillock frowned at me like a frazzled Bukowski wannabe and the lady breathily exclaimed an affirmative. As I peered down the stairs, into what looked a tramp's basement, it occurred to me that maybe the bit of material hanging off her head was a symbol of her empathy with French Muslim women, who are banned from wearing certain types of religious headdress. I digress...

Downstairs was worse, basically an explosion of stinky old clothes, dis-figured mannequins, bits of sheeting used as dividers and an all pervading stench of damp, sick and piss. Two other customers were poking about in the melange of crap, trying to be cool no doubt and they briefly confused me for a member of staff, until I smiled at them, therefore belying my lack of pompous coolness and giving away the fact I was a decent human.

I made my way back upstairs to escape from this God awful "shop" (I use that word in its loosest possible sense) to find the polyester enveloped crone blocking my exit and seemingly impervious to my massive physical presence. My patience by this time was wearing very thin indeed, so I manhandled the dozy bint out of the way, bolstered with a booming:

"Excuse me duck."

She made some kind of noise as I stomped out of their pretentious car-boot sale emporium, to which I shouted:

"THIS IS FUCKING RIDICULOUS! THIS IS NOT EVEN A FUCKING SHOP!"

And with that I was gone, chuntering under my breath about how some parts of London seem to be in love with pretending to be poor and forgetting that basic customer service is not some old-fashioned concept but an important part of being a decent human being.

So in summary then, Sick of 105 Redchurch Street, London, E2 7DL is the worst fucking shop I've ever had the mis-fortune to step into, in my entire life.

Our Style is Legendary: Reading Tonight

2010-07-19T13:09:00.000+01:00

I'm quite excited and just a wee bit nervous, because tonight I have gathered a fine collection of actors, an excellent director and a very fine writer to do a reading of the latest draft of my play: Our Style is Legendary.

The reading is for me as the author to hear how it stands, I have done extensive re-writes of late and staring at the PDF can only teach you so much about the ebb and flow of the text, so I needed to hear it before I can construct the final draft and by that I mean the rehearsal copy; the one I will be sending out to agents and whatnot.

The play will go through further changes once in the hands of gifted actors during a rehearsal process.

I have asked all involved to be harsh with their feedback and the play's mentor, Ken Christiansen, has pitted a question for the readers that he wants answered. I hope that by the time we wrap up, come 10pm tonight (although a swift half may follow), I have plenty to work on this week that will push the play from the realms of the very good, into the exceptional.

I trust the folks I've invited to be forthright, intelligent and honest in their assessment.

Then, my aim is to take all the feedback on board and generate the final draft by this Friday.

My next play is already brewing now that this albatross around my neck is starting to lift. More on that later...

Old School, You Know The Rules

2010-07-16T14:29:00.000+01:00

Have a sweet weekend.

Peace and I'm out!

Yet Another New Commercial I'm In...

2010-07-15T22:04:00.000+01:00

It goes without saying that 2010 has been the best year of my career ever. Seriously.

I have had, to date, an incredible 60 auditions, which is just mind blowing. Today, for example, I had 3 in one day: a feature film and two commercials no less. My agent is a freaking legend.

Work wise, I've done 5 commercials all over the world (with my Kohler one in the America still doing the rounds); reprised Poles Apart successfully; my debut feature film came out across the UK and is now doing very well in the US (with an upcoming DVD release); Kirky came alive on the BBC (a dream come true) and I've had confirmation that my play about growing up in Notts (Our Style is Legendary, which has been brewing for an eternity) will make its premiere next Spring in London.

And it's only July...

I'm not blowing me own trumpet, I'm just using this blog to document a good time in my life because one thing I've learnt about this acting lark is that at any moment it can go deathly quiet. You never have time to savour these moments because you have to keep your head down and keep going, this blog is all I have, apart from my feeble memory that is.

Anywho, without further ado, here is my latest piece of comedy gold...

In My Beginning is My End

2010-07-14T12:18:00.000+01:00

Bluster.

I love that word.

Bluster is something the world of blogging (digitised opinion) is full of and I've played my part.

Political commentary has found an apt home in the world of blogging, most of the top blogs ply their trade opining on the issues of the day, shouting from the rafters their opinions from one side of the wire or other. And then there are the army of comment-whores, either fishing for a fight or cheerleading the agenda.

Seems to me a lot of people are just seeking a bit of human contact by proxy, even if it is brutal.

And so we return to bluster, because so much of political commentary now, whether blog based or not, is all about provocation, obsessed with prediction, interpretation and telling those who actually have real power what to do.

It's all pretty shrill, instant and intrusive and has long ago drifted into bluster but particularly cruel and sharp bluster; desperate for an audience. And let's linger on this audience, which seems to be regressing in terms of what it can handle, we are mostly left with a puerile simplicity littered with Unique Selling Points but little élan.

In this cruel 24-hour news cycle nothing ever stays news for long. Drop it and move on.

The end result is a lot of bluster and the UK joining the US in becoming increasingly immature about how it engages with politics and its politicians.

Which is a damn shame.

I Saw This and Thought of You, Part 425

2010-07-13T18:03:00.000+01:00

When will the Christian bigots realise that their silly Jesus has more pressing concerns then whether someone is gay or not.

The poor sod is fighting for his very life

She-Pee

2010-07-12T18:12:00.000+01:00

I kid you not, a device had been invented to enable women to piddle stood up and thus, defeat the phallocentric hegemonic oppression of visiting the latrines. HOORAH!!! UP THE WOMEN!!!

It is called the She-Pee or She-Wee or a whole host of other urine based catchy titles, that mix terms for piss and the word she, or fem, or lady. Cool.

Eva-Jane and I were at first a little confused as to how it would work, basically, it's a piss funnel that replicates a penis. You can purchase one to keep, which strikes me as a little unsanitary, or buy a whole host of disposable ones.

If you're not clear how to use it, there is a handy guide below.

The things people come up with.

Utter genius.

Like Mercury...

2010-07-09T18:40:00.000+01:00

Whenever I love an actor, I mean really love them, I always end up referring to them as "like mercury" and by that I do not mean Freddie Mercury:

Or the planet Mercury:

And to be truthful, I'm not quite sure what I mean.

What spurred this was the fact that Eva-Jane and I are off soon to see Mark Rylance in La Bete, an actor whose performances dwarf those of most humans, he is truly epic and bestrides contemporary acting like a colossus and he also constantly make me waffle on about his work being "like mercury". The best compliment my feeble mind can bestow.

I think I got it from a song by The Wedding Present, it is, unsurprisingly, called "Mercury" and is quite sublime, featuring some grand lyrics:

And I know where you want to be

You're in my hands but I just bet you'll slip away

You'll trickle like mercury

And I won't hear you

I can't seem to find the track online but here is another Weddo's track to hopefully turn some of you onto their great music...

So then I actually looked up what mercury is and discovered it is a quicksilver and bears the chemical element lettering of Hg. It is basically liquid metal, which makes it pretty unique. It doesn't conduct heat well but does channel electricity. It's also pretty toxic.

And that's about it.

I suppose the reference, with regards to acting anyway, is someone who has a raw but flowing movement, pace, excellent physical presence, coupled with a sheer density of being that verges on the supernatural. To be both fluid and metal, one or the other at times and most of the time both.

I still think it's a cool compliment...

My Postman Recognises Me Off The Tele

2010-07-08T22:08:00.001+01:00

I've had dabbles with fame before, in varying scales, such as after a show and the audience wanting to chat or have photos taken, to the premiere of "My Last Five Girlfriends" and signing autographs and then being stopped in the street (or worse, just stared at with whispering) by people who recognise me off the TV from commercials or whatever.

It's stepped up a level now as my trusty Postman has figured out who I am.

It seems that Kirky doing the rounds on the BBC and my new advert for VW that has just come out (and that I will post up when I either find it, or can be arsed to upload my copy to the Interwebs), have launched me to new heights of fame and thus, my Postman asked for an autograph.

At the time I was signing for a parcel, recorded delivery and all that, seems this squiggle was good enough, although I was more than willing to give him a more accurate autograph if he requires one.

However, I'm not very good at autographs. I never know what to put and end up either being obtuse or rambling and far too personal. I also have not perfected my autograph signature and have confused many a hunter as they compare signatures that are all different.

Fame is a funny thing, even the mild fame I am experiencing, it is a by product of my job of course but it's an odd experience to be stared at; to wonder if the staring is caused by my pink shorts, or unruly mop of hair, or because they saw me at the cinema. And then there's the texts and emails you get from mates you've not spoken to in a bit, who are jolted into contact by seeing you on the screen. That is one of the upsides.

I do wonder if I will ever ascend to even higher levels of fame, not that I care but the thought of it is both exciting, in that it will mean I am having greater success and terrifying, who wants to be a role model and having your behaviour, words and thoughts analysed and taken-apart?

I'll cross that bridge when I come to it, for now, I'm just grateful my Postman recognises me off of the tele.

What I Made When I Went to the Czech Republic

2010-07-07T10:17:00.001+01:00

Back at the start of May I got a huge commercial job which I shot in Prague with a fantastic crew and the greatest commercial director of all time, Bryan Buckley. It was for Yahoo! And I never know, with regards to grammar, whether when I type Yahoo! at the end of a sentence I have to put a full stop after the exclamation mark...

Well, the results have just come out in the US and with a probable release in the UK real soon and perhaps even the world, it's going to be a great bit of exposure for me skillz.

Here are some pictures from the shoot, which was phenomenal; glassing people and leaping off bulls and fighting and rocking out with a Japanese band, what more could you ask for...

And here is the 30 second cut, although I'm hoping to get the 60 second version as well and when I do, it'll be up here in all it's glory.

Die Antwoord

2010-07-06T10:15:00.001+01:00

As ya'll know I'm a sucker for all things South African and as well as the legendary BLK JKS (who quite simply, are one of the finest proponents of expansive, progressive guitar based noise in the world), it looks like SA is going to contribute another fine band to the world of music: Die Antwoord.

They are an immense proposition; part art-happening, part pastiche, part very fokken real musical explosion. Quite simply Die Antwoord is die zefste shit ooit my blaar! Tsjek dit uit!

There cod-rap, rave-clash, mash-up next level beats is pretty hard to capture in words but it goes without saying they are pretty fokken fre$ and whether you like it or not DIE ANTWOORD are here to stay.

Full fokken flex! Fre$! Mega-zef! Go!

In your fokken face bitch!

I Read Some Marx (And I Liked It)

2010-07-05T13:18:00.000+01:00

Hat-tip to Phil at A Very Public Sociologist for this amusing wee video, although to be clear, when I read some Marx, I was less then impressed with it.

The American Flag Shirt by Chuck Bukowski

2010-07-03T20:37:00.000+01:00

now more and more
all these people running around
wearing the American Flag Shirt
and it was more or less once assumed
(I think but I’m not sure)
that wearing an A.F.S. meant to
say you were pissing on
it
but now
they keep making them
and everybody keeps buying them
and wearing them
and the faces are just like
the American Flag Shirt–
this one has this face and that shirt
that one has that shirt and this face–
and somebody’s spending money
and somebody’s making money
and as the patriots become
more and more fashionable
it’ll be nice
when everybody looks around
and finds that they are all patriots now
and therefore
who is there left to
persecute
except their
children?

The Bluebird by Chuck Bukowski

2010-07-02T10:19:00.000+01:00

there's a bluebird in my heart that
wants to get out
but I'm too tough for him,
I say, stay in there, I'm not going
to let anybody see
you.

there's a bluebird in my heart that
wants to get out
but I pur whiskey on him and inhale
cigarette smoke
and the whores and the bartenders
and the grocery clerks
never know that
he's
in there.

there's a bluebird in my heart that
wants to get out
but I'm too tough for him,
I say,
stay down, do you want to mess
me up?
you want to screw up the
works?
you want to blow my book sales in
Europe?

there's a bluebird in my heart that
wants to get out
but I'm too clever, I only let him out
at night sometimes
when everybody's asleep.
I say, I know that you're there,
so don't be
sad.

then I put him back,
but he's singing a little
in there, I haven't quite let him
die
and we sleep together like
that
with our
secret pact
and it's nice enough to
make a man
weep, but I don't
weep, do
you?

2 Months After the Vote: From Lib Dem to Labour

2010-06-30T15:09:00.000+01:00

(This blog post was commissioned by Claude over at Hagley Road to Ladywood, where it is cross-posted)

This year’s General Election seems long ago now, I’ve filed it far away in the recesses of my mind, politics, in the UK at least, has lost it’s luster for me and I’ve now gone back to obsessing about American exceptionalism, female genital mutilation and South African crime rates.

What killed it for me was voting Liberal Democrat, as I did in 2005, as they represent (or so I thought) my views the closest and then had to watch the bastards power-grab a horrible little deal with the dreaded Conservatives.

But before I turned my back on UK politics in an extraordinarily tedious fit of pique, I did something quite dramatic: I joined the Labour Party.

I was raised in a very Tory household and as soon as I could I wanted to vote Labour, because it seemed to me the team in blue represented something cruel, mean-spirited and negative; features all shared by my Tory father. So from 1994 onwards I was a devout Labour boy and only when they broke my heart by getting us into an illegal and terrible war, as well as a catalogue of human rights infringements and a slow and horrible metamorphosis into a cruel, mean-spirited and negative political party (are we really turning into America with no choice at all between the Devil and the very deep, very blue and terrifying sea?), I turned to my ideological bed-fellows: the Lib Dems.

It seemed a perfect policy fit and with the election this year the golden bastards actually stood a chance of winning. Thanks to the archaic joys of our electoral system and also not as many people voting for them as expected (always a problem in an election) they were left as kingmakers and decided, even though 15.4 million Brits had voted for left of centre parties rather then the 10.7 million that had turned blue, to back David Cameron and his entourage.

Ouch. That hurt.

And I mean really hurt. And perhaps my hurt is irrational, flawed and riddled with an utter loathing of the Tories and everything they stand for and perhaps, in a stumbling through kind of way, the current Con-Dem alliance is doing alright (even though VAT increases kill us all, especially the poor and why some focused tax hikes on rich folk like me aren’t an option I’ll never know) but I voted for a party of the left, a liberal party because I was sick to death of Labour’s Tory transformation and my vote was betrayed. Where has the left gone?

And yes, I did just say betrayed, for this is a love affair and Nick Clegg has given me chlamydia.

So I decided to cheat on him with my old lover (this relationship and sexual transmitted disease metaphor is starting to run aground isn’t it?) and commit because I see no other options for those of us on the left to turn to, options that actually have power within their reach, rather than hopes and dreams. What use are they?

DHG Showreel Redux

2010-06-29T16:56:00.000+01:00

Eva-Jane, in all her beautiful wonder, has re-jigged my showreel to include snippets of Kirky and my role in My Last Five Girlfriends, as well as few other odds and sods.

There is more up and coming work I've done that will have to find a home in there but more on that later on.

Germany 4 England 1

2010-06-28T17:11:00.000+01:00

Oh dear.

What a strange match that was, I haven't the heart for in depth analysis, thank goodness I am half German so one side of my family roots can match on, the English side is utterly de-moralised.

England were crushed.

We actually didn't play that badly as far as I was concerned, a bit leaden at times but not awful. What killed us was the goal that was disallowed, that would've given the game a different air. Perhaps we'd still have got destroyed but by a smaller margin, which would've been some consolation I suppose. Fundamentally, we were done by two simple counter attacking goals and we had a real goal ruled out, the match could've gone so differently.

Having said that, if we had got through, serious problems would've gone un-explored.

From the short tournament, veteran goalie James came out with honour, as did the awesome Ashley Cole. We always knew our centre-halves lacked pace but they don't lack heart. Johnson at right-back still needs work but he does look good when he presses on.

Barry is a keeper but I'd prefer Hargreaves, perhaps both as many top teams have, Lampard did nothing all World Cup, little surprise it was his goal that was ruled out. Gerrard was out of position and thus half the player he can be but Milner is a top player, he can do much wherever he plays.

I suppose the killer blow was just how bad Rooney was. He was shocking, if he had been any other player he would've been subbed and dropped but Capello and the rest of us, prayed, hoped that he would find that spark...that something.

It never came and England go home.

Kirky, the HD Hunter! Part 3: Later with Jools Holland

2010-06-25T16:17:00.000+01:00

Something for the weekend sir?

How about the third and final installment, for now, of Kirky, the HD Hunter?

Don't say I never treat you...

Kirky, the HD Hunter! Part 2: Being Human

2010-06-24T23:04:00.000+01:00

This is what I made at the BBC part ruddy bloody two!

Things are going well for Kirky now, I am hoping that something will come of him, meetings are being set up and things are coming into place.

Here is a bit of background...

New Basford resident (and incapacity benefit claimant) Kirky has secured a job at the BBC, interviewing very important people who work behind the scenes at various top BBC shows, investigating the impact of High Definition upon their jobs. Kirky works in partnership with his housemate Dave, who operates the camera. Dave is on disability allowance, as he only has one arm after losing the other in the Falklands. Dave likes to collect shells. Both Kirky and Dave are big fans of television and also sound equipment, personal highlights are when the Free City of Danzig got television and the fact that the threshold of pain for sound in humans is 134db. Stun grenades operate at around 180db.

Slovenia 0 England 1

2010-06-23T17:22:00.000+01:00

Oh good Christ, they do like to make us suffer, our brave England boys.

Fresh off the press, England have just beaten Slovenia 1-0, although we should have got even more, their keeper Handanovic is a legend and kept out plenty of our sterling efforts. England played so much better than the two previous games, great passing, dominant play, nerves towards the end took the shine off but we played very well indeed, especially in comparison to the two previous matches.

All that matters is that England are through to the second round, who we will face we do not know yet, hopefully we will avoid my bredren Germans but for now, we can rejoice that England have not been kicked out and that our World Cup dream goes on.

James was, once again, awesome in goal; never had much to do but so solid, great handling and dealt well with an awful pitch. I have confidence that he will serve us well for the rest of the competition.

Our defence was epic, as it has been for the entire tournament, it is hard to beat, the only goal conceded so far has been an error. Cole was once again outstanding in defence and attack and Johnno on the right looked secure. Terry was an English lion, at one point throwing himself head first at a shot and Upson, in for Carragher, pulled off some great tackles.

Lampard and Gerrard, our two finest midfielders in the last 20 years, were far better, Gerrard especially, threading passes left, right and centre and driving hard whilst Lampard, still off for me, contributed far more. Milner was a revelation on the right, great in the tackle, can beat a man and can pass beautifully, my man of the match. Barry was strong, a few loose passes but overall a solid performance.

Rooney was better but still under par, he is getting there so let's hope his ankle holds up. His partner in goals was Defoe, of whom I am not a fan but although he touched the ball about twice, one of those was a goal and the second should have been.

I'll leave the final word to Fabio Capello:

"This is what I wanted to see - the spirit, see them fight together. I am really, really happy. I rediscovered the team I knew from qualification."

Shed Your Tears And Walk Away

2010-06-21T16:36:00.000+01:00

Yesterday Eva-Jane and I paid a visit to the ICA to watch an amazing documentary called "Shed Your Tears And Walk Away" and it is a phenomenal piece of film making, of sheer raw pain and a bleak reflection of the reality of life for large swathes of British people.

I urge you to see it or get on DVD when and if it comes out, it is an outstanding piece of filmmaking that documents a side of British life that is rarely seen. A life of drink, nihilism, drugs, friendship and a loss of a basic survival instinct; a sense of being trapped, of being utterly lost.

It is based in Hebden Bridge in Yorkshire but in reality, it could be a documentary of absolutely anywhere in the UK where hope has been lost and there is nothing, seemingly, to lose. One fear is that the situation in Hebden Bridge is seen as unique from this documentary, when it is endemic in the UK.

It reminded me, quite painfully, of elements of my own life, to be clear though, I was always on the periphery of social circles like this but it was, at times, like watching my own friends from the long distant past as they self-destructed and, crippled by fear, kept destroying themselves.

One of the reasons I left Nottingham was to avoid bumping into people from the past, letting me know who else was now dead, mad, locked up, fucked up. Text messages asking if I'd heard that so and so had hung himself or held up another beer-off, old muck-a-bouts begging us for a fiver.

The walking dead. Our British underclass. Nothing to do but shed your tears and walk away.

England 0 Algeria 0

2010-06-19T19:05:00.000+01:00

Oh my good God, that was fucking awful.

You know, I chortled to myself, upon watching France getting thrashed by Mexico 2-0, that England, for all their flaws, will never play sans heart, soul and spirit like the French. We may be bad sometimes but we'll never stoop to that level.

And lo, it came to pass, against an awful Algerian team (something I am grateful for, if they had been any good we would've been crushed like dogs, their number 15 Ziani is perhaps the worst player I've ever seen at a World Cup) we drew nil-nil and played like the French.

And it wasn't even that Algeria were offering tight banks of four and defending well, we could and did break them down, when we managed to string a few basic passes together but that was a rare occurrence indeed.

Quite simply, England played with no heart, no passion and utterly crippled by fear, fear of what I've no idea and if they were apprehensive against Algeria, they will be frozen solid by anguish as they have to beat Slovenia. Wednesday promises to be a terrifying and possibly deeply distressing day. I can't wait...

It feels slightly pointless to investigate England player by player, James was at least impressive, although he had nothing to do but should at least give us a strong figure in goal as the Slovenians pepper us with attacks. In fact, the whole defence looked good, in a solid and untested way that is and we will miss Carragher, who had a good game. Johnson and Cole did well at full back but needed to push on more, occasionally Glenn Johnson looked a bit at sea backtracking but this was hidden by the sheer incompetence of the rest of the team.

Midfield was dire, aside from Barry, who was my man of the match, even though he was a leaky with his passing at times but he covered so well and gave us shape, this will be much needed against Slovenia. Lampard went missing again, taking three touches when he should be taking one, whilst pal Gerrard was also AWOL, leaving Barry to carry all the weight. Lennon was alright at running in straight lines at pace but Wright-Phillips, when he came on, gave us more energy and effort, I hope he starts on Wednesday.

But it was upfront that my heart got broke. Heskey was okay but perhaps now has to go the way of the dinosaur, although I don't think Defoe or Crouch really gives us much. It was Rooney that destroyed me, his touch was awful, he seemed empty of ideas and effort; utterly crap and if he wasn't Rooney he would've been subbed and that cannot be good. He is our best player and he was a million miles away from being any good at all.

I have no idea where we go from here, surely it can't get worse and that seems to be our only succour.

Worryingly, it looks as if the problem exists solely in the mind of the players, what has riddled them with such paralysing fear, I have no idea. How can you be scared of losing if you've not even tried to succeed?

Here's to Wednesday, when I hope England find themselves again and make us proud and fight and battle and do their very best for themselves and for us, so the boo-boys will be silenced and our best player won't feel the need to do this...

Kirky, the HD Hunter! Part 1: Aardman Animations

2010-06-17T21:25:00.000+01:00

This is what I made at the BBC.

This is the first part of my comedy creation Kirky and if you have BBC in HD, you should've already seen him in action, I know a few pals have. More episodes are on their way, I'll put them up when they're done and hopefully, this is only the beginning for Kirky from New Basford.

Jesus is Everywhere!

2010-06-16T17:16:00.002+01:00

Thanks to Kirky for these...

Anti-Anti Immigration

2010-06-15T16:27:00.000+01:00

Hopefully, with the wonderful demise of the daft racists at the BNP and the unworkable ideas of the EDL floundering, anti-immigration rhetoric can die a much deserved death in the UK, aside from the pathetic whimpers in certain right-wing rags, when they need to whip up a healthy dose of fear, loathing and bigotry.

It seems that it is now America's turn to be blighted with ignorance and although I will be blogging on the demise of the right in the US later, as it is overcome by the awful Tea Party movement and the anti-immigration vote, I want to set out why anti-immigration discourse in the US is just so flawed and myopic.

Nativism is as old as time but it always seems so odd seeing it find a home in America, a nation which is built by and for those that come from somewhere else. And all of those vulgar cries by the current set of inhabitants to "shut the gates" always looks like a terrible fit of short-sighted pique; forgetting exactly where they came from.

Famously, Tasmania used to be part of Australia's mainland and was, of course, cut off by rising seas. It provides a fascinating insight into what the anti-immigration cretin's wet-dream would look like. Without immigration and exchanges of talent, trade, skills and people; Tasmania slipped far behind mainland Australia, full of seal-fat smeared bodies and wallaby pelts...

Much of America's utter brilliance is rooted in its vast open society, a home for immigrants for hundreds of years, a society where goods, ideas and people flow freely and thus, a great source of humanity's success is in this essential exchange.

These bigots it seems, just can't grasp that. Rather than seeing those that come in as bringing something that is akin to a life blood for any great country, they see them as taking away from what is already there.

Obama's immigration policy is not helping either, neither is the Republican's intransigence to any form of reform. The fact remains that the US is experiencing a talent crisis and requires some 26 million extra workers to maintain growth. And as other nation's grow as strong as the US in military and fiscal terms, America needs to embrace its openness as a key strength to keep it ahead of all other International rivals; this soft power can keep the US in power.

It's either that or Americans will soon be trotting about covered in seal fat and sporting wallaby pelts...

Who Ate All The Pies?

2010-06-14T22:02:00.001+01:00

"Punter likes football, Punter likes Pies, on the last game of the season, Punter dies..."

Some may call this musical about football a shameless cash-in on the world's greatest sporting event which is, of course, happening right now. Others may say that football and theatre should never mix and any fool that puts them together is making theatrical hemlock. With regards to the former point, they may well be right (and quite frankly, who cares? Football has long been about cashing in, something this show touches on well) but on the latter they'd be a long way from the mark...indeed with regards to this play, it would be a Geoff Thomas-esque spoon towards the corner flag.

I'll put my cards on the table and make it clear that I fucking hate musicals but along I went to see this show and I was pleasantly surprised and thoroughly enjoyed myself.

It is a short play, which is a blessing and if you can't say it in 90 minutes it just ain't worth saying and "Who Ate All The Pies?" is a brisk hour and fifteen that flashes by at a fine pace. Just like Arron Lennon...

The plot, quite frankly, doesn't matter but in a nutshell; it is built around a dysfunctional father and daughter relationship and a fictional football club that is pretty shite. That's it. But you shouldn't really be here for the plot but rather the big laughs that the lyrics, dialogue and performances demand.

It being a musical and all, people break out into song quite often and for no apparent reason. Trouble is, the songs are so bloody catchy and nearly all uptempo enough to get the entire audience tapping their feet and humming the tune as they leave the theatre. The only real low-key number is actually quite moving and was beautifully sung.

This leads me onto the performers, who to a man/woman, were all excellent; great voices and good acting, as well as making the dance routines work in a very compact space. Man-of-the-Match for me though was Ben Redfern, closely followed by Ali James. Both had energy, conviction and the real presence that such a show demands.

Even for those who don't care about football or know nothing about it, the musical has plenty to offer and really is very, very funny.

All in all, football was the winner, so if you're around in London, go and check out "Who Ate All The Pies?"

England 1 USA 1

2010-06-13T16:00:00.000+01:00

And so England's World Cup has begun and, result aside, it was a refreshing surprise, in that England played very well indeed and deserved to win by some margin. Of course, we did not. Arse.

Perhaps that could be blamed on the USA, who played very well defensively and were very hard to beat, they made a number of essential clearances and competed very well.

Saying that, I'm not used to watching England play such fine football in a major tournament and it was a real shame that they were not rewarded for all their hard work. England would've shaded it if it wasn't for an EPIC ROB GREEN FAIL and of course, I feel utterly gutted for him and hope that faith is shown in his keeping abilities because he pulled off a grand save that stopped us being beat. We shall see whether Capello is so forgiving of the goalkeeper...

Man of the match for me was Emile Heskey of all people, the big galoot was awesome, winning everything in the air and dominating the American defence at every turn. His attacking partner Rooney had an average game but as always grafted hard and was the only player to show the flashes of genius required in world football to win matches like these.

The highlight of England's midfield was Frank Lampard's impassioned rendering of the national anthem before kick-off, from that he drifted in and out of the game, far too often stuck as anchor man, a role he is utterly unsuited for. Skipper Gerrard had a cracking match but it was more intense effort than substance, it would be nice to have seen him further up the pitch. Out wide we were disappointing, Lennon did his best wide-right and had flashes of brilliance but needs to believe more in his abilities, good to see him taking people on though. Milner had a mare, why Capello picked him I've no idea, he was off the pace and looked ill and in yet more bizarre management skills, he was replaced after half an hour by Wright-Phillips who, bless him, dribbles with the ball as if any moment he will fall over it. He tried hard but lacked final product and also meant that Ashley Cole at left-back was pinned back defensively.

Cole was of course great, he is a fine talent, Johnson was also brilliant, real flair and was not exposed defensively, we are lucky to have two grand full-backs. As for central defence, Terry was as solid as ever, King looked alright but is already injured, which along with the selection of Milner, makes Capello's decision making look a little off. I was glad to see Carragher on for the second half, he is a resolute defender and maybe lacking pace but makes up for it with positioning and defensive genius.

Plenty of elements bode well for the game against Algeria, which is however, now a must win game for us.

COME ON ENGLAND!

The World Cup in South Africa

2010-06-11T11:00:00.000+01:00

It is time.

Yes it is.

Oh the excitement.

Game on.

Game bloody on!

Here we are, at last, the World Cup kicks off today and we are in for a real treat if the opening concert are anything to go by, which featured my favourite band the BLK JKS in full effect...

And a top notch performance from the human shaped legend that is Desmond Tutu...

My appetite is well and truly wetted and although work commitments are going to make consistent World Cup viewing very hard indeed, I have no doubt it will be a great tournament, with all my money, of course, on England.

COME ON ENGLAND!

There are of course some feelings of anxiety and not just about Ledley King's knees and John Terry's pace. I have already blogged on the crucial and unique role that football plays in South Africa and my serious concerns on how the Western media foolishly portrays and disfigures South Africa, through it's myopic, racist lens, best highlighted with the death of a fat racist.

I love South Africa a great deal and I hope, with all my heart, that this World Cup passes smoothly and successfully for this great nation and that a fine nation and continent are shown in the best possible light that they fully deserve.

Of course, many thought South Africa would never make it, many thought giving the World Cup for the first time to the Africa continent was foolish, they have all been proven wrong, their nay-saying voices have fallen silent.

So now, South Africa is in a prime position to challenge all of those awful Western assumptions about the continent it is representing. It is Africa's largest economy, the world's 24th biggest and sole African representative in the G20, as well as a UN Security Council member. It's robust economy has weathered the tough global conditions very well indeed. It is a sophisticated, open and democratic country; with one of the world's most progressive constitutions.

Africa's leading must now lead and I can't bloody wait.

Gold in Your Eye (an Excerpt From a Bukowski Poem)

2010-06-09T19:15:00.000+01:00

this poem is for those who think that
a man can only be a creative
genius
at the very
edge
even though they never had the
guts to
try it.

Meme Cancer: Coming Out of Remission in 2010

2010-06-08T18:22:00.000+01:00

The above picture documents a female blogger checking if she has Meme Cancer, as first defined by Daniel Hoffmann-Gill in June 2005.

It's been a while since I got tagged with a meme but what the hell, it came from Savannah, who is alright by me, so here is my response to the aforementioned meme...

1. Is there one book that you re-read with some sort of regularity? (every two years, once a decade sort of thing) and if so, why?

The Bible, so I can remind myself of how utterly awful it is; usually some Nietzsche so I can remember that humanity is all there is and a smattering of Rollins, whenever I lose the urge to pound the keys so hard my hands bleed.

2. Do you still watch cartoons? And if so, which ones and why those in particular?

Yes, Family Guy is my latest box-set love affair and it rocks like you wouldn't believe...you bastard.

3. What's the one thing you can't imagine living without on a daily basis?

My Eva-Jane.

4. Take out/take away or home cooking more than three times a week?

Home cooking all the way and I do it as I am an actor and thus a house husband and I am very good at it. Dishes include Bobotie, fried chicken salad and a fine stew & dumplings.

5. Which is your most favorite room in your home?

Our front room because I built it based on Eva-Jane's excellent design.

6. Are you currently following/regularly watching a TV series? Which one and why?

Don't really watch TV live so to speak, so I guess it would have to be Family Guy...you bastard.

7. Have you seen "The Player"?

Yes, it is a pretty good film but not outstanding.

8. Other than your blog, do you keep a personal journal?

No, my blog is my personal journal, although it may come and bite me hard on the ass one day, so be it.

9. Do you have a favorite movie quote that you routinely use?

Not routinely use but I do find myself occasionally saying: "I'd buy that for a dollar!" for no apparent reason (from the movie of my childhood: Robocop).

10. Will you tag six bloggers or will you leave this open ended and accept answers in comments?

No, as I fucking hate memes but I did this one as Savannah is cool. If people feel justly moved, they may empty their minds in the comments. Knock yourself out.

What's God got to do, got to so with it? Who needs a God when a God can be Broken?

2010-06-07T17:47:00.000+01:00

My dear brother-in-law got me great book some time ago, that turned me on to the genius of Robert G. Ingersoll. A man truly ahead of his time with his musings upon the place of religion in American society and more crucially, government. With the awful rise of the Tea Party in America, this acute and powerful voice of atheism is as relevant now as he was during the 19th century.

Ingersoll made the crucial distinction that there is no God in the constitution, the founding fathers of America retired him from politics because human's can govern themselves without the assistance of a supernatural power. And if God is ever allowed into the constitution, humankind must abdicate as there is no room for both. Government is and should be of, by and for the people.

Ingersoll was rightly proud that the United States was the first secular government in the world, all men were created equal, not just Christians...

Ingersoll argued that if a government is united by religion, it is a pointless one, as any religion that has to be supported by law is without value, a fraud and a curse. A religious argument that is supported with a gun isn't one worth making and a prayer that must be supported with a cannon is best never uttered; forgiveness has no partnership with shot and shell.

One of his greatest points is the hypocrisy of a constitution with no God, paired with the need to swear on a Bible and to take oaths. The fact you have to swear on a bible re-inserts God into the equation and, if you're atheist, forces you to lie. Also, an evil man can take solace in the oath and has God as a partner and the jury have the brand of God to cover the man but anyone who refuses to swear, because he does not believe, is deemed to be something lesser.

I'll leave you with some grand quotes from the legend that is Robert G. Ingersoll:

"If humans actions can displease or please an omnipotent being, then the being is not at all omnipotent, he is a slave and victim of man."

"Why should a God get angry over a little piece of bacon?"

"The more a man knows the more willing he is to learn, the less a man knows, the more positive he is that he knows everything."

"No man of humour ever founded a religion, ever."

Blood on the Tracks

2010-06-04T18:31:00.000+01:00

I've only just gotten round to uploading all of my Bob Dylan collection to my iPod, pretty much everything from his first album through to Desire, minus Self Portrait and plus all the Bootleg Tapes.

I was walking around London town today, in the sweet sunshine, head full of love, on my way to an audition and with the old iPod on shuffle, "You're Gonna' Make Me Lonesome When You Go" came on.

It took me right back.

Like anyone whose been in important relationships and has good music taste, "Blood on the Tracks" is the finest break-up album of all time and I remember, back in the Summer 2001, having broken up from my girlfriend of 8 years, it was always on my then DiscMan, spinning in my ears constantly.

I'd pace the streets of Wollaton late at night for hours at a time, rain or shine, weaving a path between cul-de-sacs, avenues and bungalows; the entire album on repeat, trying to absorb the wise words of Dylan, finding breakthroughs, finding solace, finding bits of me and bits of him. Or so I thought.

Head down. Hands deep in pockets. Occasionally, I'd look up, waiting for something to strike me from above but it never did. I'd watch plane trails and think about a piece of engine seeking me out. There was a lot of guilt and a lot of crying whilst pounding the streets of the suburbs and sometimes I'd look up and the sky would open and it would cloak what I was feeling. I wasn't really too sure what I was feeling.

That all passed of course and I ended up stealing so many of the albums lyrics for my next girlfriend, because I couldn't muster them myself. She was too young to know but her parents knew. I never liked that. I used to like my lies concrete, deep and all consuming.

No more.

All those thoughts rushed into me on Margaret Street and were soon gone again.

After the audition I listened to the album in its entirety, twice. It is now something else to me, it is just one of the finest records ever made.

Simple as that.

And I'm glad.

Forced Into the Closet by Violence

2010-06-03T17:24:00.001+01:00

I have blogged before on the awful state of Lesbian/Gay/Bi-Sexual/Transgender civil rights in many developing nations around the world. Whether it be brutal anti-lesbian violence in South Africa, which actually is the only African country to have the rights of LGBT people written into it's constitution (not that that stops disgusting acts of "corrective" rape, beatings and murder...what a vile idea), or the catalogue of murders and legal repression in the Muslim worlds and the Caribbean, of their LGBT communities.

Being a "developing country" it seems is a perfect excuse for being backwards, excusing cruel and unusual behaviour by claiming it is crucial a part of the indigenous culture and preserving the way things have always been, in the face of ever-advancing Western cultural mores.

It is Africa that has recently thrust itself into the hideous spotlight of homophobia and criminalising natural behaviours. Whether is be Malawi deeming homosexuality unnatural and indecent; Burundi criminalising gay sex; Zambia connecting homosexuality with Satanism, or Uganda offering up the death penalty for anyone homosexual.

The list goes on, with most of them leaning on ancient, colonial anti-sodomy legislation (something that India has just repealed in a huge step forward) and being encouraged by an infestation of American conservative evangelical Christians, peddling their homophobic nonsense.

It is not just Africa of course that fines, lashes, whips and imprisons it's homosexuals. Iran and Afghanistan both put them to death but it is in Iran's legislation that an interesting facet starts to appear, one that is shared by many of these homophobic nations.

In Iran, lesbians are only put to death upon the fourth conviction for the "crime" of homosexuality, they are, in a sense, let off the hook for the first three indiscretions (aside from the 300 lashes they would have received) and in many of these backward nations, lesbianism is not even mentioned in the law books; as if love between women is of a lower threshold and value perhaps or, just whisper it, offering a titillation factor to this chauvinistic, moral weaklings.

It is a truism to suggest that how a country treats it's vulnerable is a good measure of how well it treats the rest of it's citizens and by the current state of LGBT rights in many developing nations, this does not bode at all well.

Brechtian Experiments in Photo Rejeu

2010-06-02T20:02:00.000+01:00

Although I have cut down on the amount of teaching I do, due to the success of my acting career, I still have a regular commitment that not only am I very fond of but also excites me and keeps my mind keen to the skills, techniques and nuances of acting.

Aside from that, it also blesses me with some great friends.

This class occurs at the Actors Centre every Saturday morning and this term we are focusing on the techniques and methods of Bertolt Brecht. We have already done some great work and as difficult as it is to re-set the minds of those that are used to a far different form of acting, with far different aims and outcomes, we have made some good discoveries together.

An exercise I always enjoy is where I provide the class with dynamic and powerful political images and they have to bring them back to life, to copy exactly but to also capture the spirit. This is the meaning of rejeu.

For once I have some evidence of our work together, first up we have the original:

And what follows is the rejeu, with the director of the image, Hayley, out of shot:

This week, we embark on the rejeu of walks and the definition we require, in Brechtian terms, of the body and its owner...

BBQ!!!

2010-06-01T20:38:00.002+01:00

So I bought Eva-Jane a garden and lo it was the sun came out and to celebrate Eva-Jane and our garden, we had a ruddy bloody BBQ and it was grand.

My kebabs went down a treat, as did the Amaretto and Coke, the sun was out, good people came and a good time was had by all, although typing is tough as I burnt my finger quite badly whilst being drunk and cooking some jerk chicken.

This is the life I want to lead on a regular basis, loved by a fine woman, surrounded by good people, eating quality food and enjoying some top notch beverages. Happy days!

Here are some pics for those that have enquired after the garden and also to document a damn good time.

EVADHG

2010-05-31T16:51:00.000+01:00

I love you Eva-Jane.

See Some Grown Men Cry

2010-05-27T17:32:00.000+01:00

No, not them, as they are foreigners and their feelings don't count...

And neither am I talking about this guy, as I am not utterly convinced he's a grown man and he's a fictional character. What I am talking about is the footy manager legend that is José Mourinho and Italian mentalist centre-half Marco Materazzi.

For those of you that don't know, Mourinho won everything with F.C. Internazionale Milano this season and is now off to those bloody greedy, hording bastards Real Madrid, leaving behind an absolutely gutted Materazzi.

Watch the two men, share their pain and weep with them...

Tall, Elusive, Pig-Ignorant Dark Haired Girl Falls Hard For Deformed But Spunky Midget Man. They Embrace, It Looks Like Death, No One Was Saved. What The Deuce? (An Explosion Of A Romantic Novella, Stolen In Homo-Homage From Jake Chapman Of All People)

2010-05-26T17:16:00.000+01:00

(What follows does so under the beneficent gaze of Jeffrey Archer...)

(Not that Jeffrey Archer you douche bag...oh never mind...)

It all began with the lover that ended up being cast off (not a euphemism for a sex act) making all sorts of amazing promises to his bride-to-be with the dark do and such was the sheer force of these magical promises that her booby-trapped anatomy belched into his arms with the violence of an overdue autopsy.

Love was surely in the air, indeed, she emitted the following outburst right down his ear canal:

"I love you with all my heart, lungs, pancreas, spleen and kidneys!" she bled, right over him and I mean all over him. He left her to it, to mull it all over and this left a window of opportunity, about the right size for a short bloke full of spunk. So pretty small then.

Afflicted as she was with faith in all matters human, not yet introduced to the cruel dildo of reality that would come crashing right into her valve of inferior vena cava and fuck it right up. This dildo took the form of a deformed midget who, bless him, was actually quite nice if not a little bit loopy.

His mastery of Meatphysics left her all at 6's and 7's, so much so she was all at sea and all of a bother and hot under the collar. This was the midget, after all, who could explain Christians to Dinosaurs, who then, often as not, ate the tedious bores and laughed in the face of their poxy Christ. And by that I mean the Dinosaurs.

"If looks could kill you'd be fucking mincemeat."

Indeed.

Moved by love and the artistic spirit wriggling inside her (again, not a euphemism for a sex act), the tall, elusive girl does a whole series of drawings. This is a selection of her series of drawings and these are drawings, not photographs and anyone who says otherwise is dead meat!

Then there is the bit in pink, the bit in pink that was proper it was.

FUCKING LOCUST! FUCKING HUMAN STAIN! FUCKING SUFFOCATOR OF THE FUCKING CREATIVE FUCKING PROCESS!

Domestic bliss however does not ensure, due to a comedy of errors and a failure to be true and honest with each other and express your feelings in an open and forthright manner. It all gets so forced, esp. when the jilted lover returns to the scene to find his now and soon to be ex-girlfriend mincing about with a midget, that jovial countenances become so distorted that painful, rictus grimaces threaten to give birth their own bloody skulls through their own widely dilated lips.

There is then a sex act...or what that earlier, I may have used a euphemism and not flagged it...oh what the hell...

Add to this the raft of pickled babies mooning down with cheerless washed-out eyes and it paints a pretty grim picture.

In-laws play dress-up, making a sexual fetish of Auschwitz.

That's a tremondously tall order for a vagina!

Fuckface echoes Chlamidya, all nonchalant and au fait.

These days it's all about navel gazing queers shambling around in the remains of the conventional novel, stories about stories about stories about stories about stories about stories about stories about stories about stories about stories.

By the end of it, she has her unborn child ripped out of her guts and stolen by the feisty midget and dies in a pool of her own mess.

("I can't believe he thieved this."

"So?"

"All is stolen."

"That is a pretty fucking lame excuse.")

An Epilogue

The lover that was cast off, presumed dead by all and sundry, is actually the victim of a terrible series of invents which include but do not exclude: Flunitrazepam, a field in Slovakia and a midget with a wooden butt plug/hat stand.

Wake up there big man!

[Insert Vincent Price's bit from Thriller right here and now]

I Bought Eva-Jane a Garden

2010-05-25T17:43:00.000+01:00

Life is very, very good at the moment.

For Eva-Jane's recent birthday I bought her a new garden, or more accurately, paid for some landscape gardeners to work their magic on our foul-smelling swamp of an outdoor space; that was infested with various nefarious creatures, waist-high weeds and a mish-mash of nasty plants being slowly destroyed by ever present bastard-ivy.

They worked wonders and we now have a very swish looking modern garden, nice and simple but very contemporary for our limited gardening skills, or in my case, a serious loathing of working in the bloody garden.

Having said that, I have spent every waking hour, when not busy with acting and auditions, building fucking garden furniture and sheds and have the war wounds to prove it.

But it is worth it, as we now have a beautiful garden to compliment our wonderful home.

Good stuff.

Add to this the continued work as Kirky for the BBC (meeting Alicia Keys and Jools Holland), as well as the prospect of recent work being (at last!) seen on the Tele and a cracking audition for a great new play (that I really hope I've got), life couldn't be much sweeter.

All I need now is for England to win the World Cup and next door's dogs to stop trying to break through our brand new fence panels (I have invested in a special device to ward off dogs, foxes, cats and squirrels that emits a distressing noise to the aforementioned beasts. My only question is, how come I can bloody hear it?) and life will be perfect.