Everything I write tends to descend into a conversation about beef. I’ve just realised that my current project revolves around beef quite a lot already. Maybe I will substitute some of the beef for other meats. Chicken perhaps. Then producers who read it (if anybody ever lets me send it to them) won’t end up saying “Blimey, this sitcom’s a bit full of beef isn’t it? Some other meat or fish wouldn’t go amiss”, rather they’ll say something along the lines of “Well, there’s a fair amount of beef, but thankfully he’s mixed it up a bit with salmon and haggis, to the commissioning chamber!”

I actually had haggis in Edinburgh. It was an adventure, especially since I crashed through a chair when I went to eat it. Some nearby old people were concerned for my health, but I reassured them that I was trained to fall through chairs and it had actually just been one big stunt which was being filmed for my upcoming Hollywood vehicle ‘Stupid berk tries to eat haggis’. Anyway, the haggis was assembled into a tower not unlike the variety found in Isengard. “Hey, you old people! You know what this is like! Eh? Eh? It’s like the tower in Isengard? Yeah? Yeah? Isengard? Get it? Get it? We’d better not anger the trees! Eh? COME ON OLD PEOPLE GET WITH THE PLAN!” Anyway, that was haggis time.

Where was I? Ah yes, beef. It’s all gone beefy. Still, at least I’m writing something. On Saturday I’m starting my stand-up course. It should be fun. I haven’t actually done any stand-up for about two months now. I’ve become very lazy. My marvellous schedule has also gone out the window, I haven’t adhered to that since I actually spent all that time writing it. Mind you, it was fairly bobbins. There was maybe 5 minutes a day allocated to writing and the rest was basically just eating biscuits. There are some fairly decent biscuits in the house though to be fair. I might bake some cupcakes soon to complete my transition to 1950s housewife. Maybe I’ll make a film about it. It’ll be like that rubbish that’s in the cinema at the moment. Julie & Julia I believe it’s called. Or Julia & Julie. One way round or the other. It’s supposedly half about a woman who makes stuff, which is fair enough, as she’s actually doing stuff, but the other half is about a woman WHO BLOGS ABOUT MAKING THE FOOD.

“Hey, we don’t have enough films about people writing about boring tasks they’ve learned from a book, especially since audiences didn’t take to our last attempt ‘Origami Man & Rory Gami’. One was a 17th century mystic who folded paper, the other a frat boy who learns to fold paper and scrawls notes about it into his arm with a compass. Maybe we should have another go, and hey, blogging is cool now!”

“You’re right, why don’t we make a film about somebody who writes about turning on a fan oven!”

“OSCAR CITY!”

On the bright side, probably count yourselves lucky they didn’t adapt this blog into a film. Gandhi & Andy or something. One’s a man who can’t stop writing about beef, the other’s a man who refuses to eat beef and then writes about it in his notebook.

“Didn’t eat beef today. Was rubbish. My only dream is that one day somebody comes along and writes incessantly about beef to balance my see-saw of beef silence.”

With Martin Sheen as Gandhi and Pete Postlethwaite in the most mis-cast role of a lifetime as Andy Ward.

Andy: Parents, I’ve been blogging about beef again!

Mum: You’re not our son, you’re about 80 years old.

Andy: You know what we used to call beef in the 1940s?

Mum: What?

Andy: Feeb.

Mum: Get out.

This has gone somewhat off the rails again. I’m going to go and eat some biscuits. Bye!

I had a conversation with a customer about how windy it was yesterday. In fact I had a conversation with a few customers yesterday about how windy it was. They weren’t particularly exciting.

“It’s pretty windy out there!”

“Yeah…”

“And rainy too!”

“Yep, rainy times. I see rain.”

“So… pfft…”

“Do you want a bag?”

“I’d better. It’s pretty rainy out there!”

“Is it?”

“Yeah.”

“Is there any wind?”

“Yeah, it’s pretty windy too.”

This seemed to happen constantly. Then I rearranged chocolate bars and bleach so that the labels were facing the right way. Now I’m just sitting listening to the theme tune from Law & Order. I’m not actually sure what Law & Order is, but the theme tune is kind of cool. Not quite as cool as the theme tune to The Rockford Files. I think the best thing about the theme tune from The Rockford Files is that you can easily listen to it and pretend you’re a wizard. A slightly rural wizard perhaps, as there are distinct notes of farm in there. Actually, this gives me an idea for a series I might write.

Farmer: Wizard! What the hell are you doing!

Wizard: I’m ploughing the field with my tractor!

Farmer: But Wizard, that’s not a tractor! That’s a cow!

Wizard: WHU-OH! [Wizard slaps his head, cue 45 minutes of constant canned laughter/audience applause/start the theme tune]

♪ HE’S A RURAL! A RURAL WIZARRRDDDDD! HE DON’T KNOW NO TRACTORS AND HE DON’T RECOGNISE NO PLOUGHS!

A RURAL! RURAL WIZARD! HE POURS MILK ON WHEAT BEFORE IT HAS BEEN TRANSFORMED INTO WEETABIX AS HE DOESN’T UNDERSTAND THAT THE PROCESS ISN’T ENTIRELY FINISHED AT THAT POINT AND PROBABLY HAS TO GO TO A FACTORY OR SOMETHING TO BE TRANSFORMED INTO THE TOMBSTONEY SHAPE THAT TRADITIONAL WEETABIX IS. YEAH!

THEY DON’T HAVE CASHPOINTS IN THE COUNTRY EITHER SO HE CAN’T CHECK HIS BANK BALANCE THAT OFTEN! RURAL! WIZARD! YEAH! [Crash of cymbals] ♫

Episode 7: The Wizard attempts to butter his toast.

Wizard: Mmm… I sure do love butter. And I love buttering toast, which means I must also like toast.

Farmer: But Wizard, that’s not butter! That’s a plough!

Wizard: Hahaha! You mean I am ploughing my toast?

Farmer: You sure are Wizard! You sure are!

Wizard: What am I like?

Farmer: You’re a fucking liability that’s what you are.

Wizard: Don’t you mean, I’m a card?

Farmer: No. You’ve been the ruin of this farm. And for a supposed wizard we’ve not actually seen you do any magic. Why don’t you magic us up some cash so that we don’t have to die this winter?

Wizard: Ok, I’ll just go and get my magic dust from the cashpoin-

Farmer: NO! DO IT NOW! I WANT TO SEE CASH! [cocks shotgun]

Wizard: Ok, here goes…

[There is a flash. The plough transforms into a pile of notes]

Farmer: You did it Wizard! We’re saved!

Wizard: That’s right! I’m the Wizard!

Farmer: Hold on a second, these are Deutschmarks! This isn’t legal tender anymore!

Wizard: WHU-OH!

[Cue mass audience whooping and cheering]

This also leads perfectly into Episode 8: Identifying the Wizard’s corpse.

Anyway, I am off to examine my schedule, and maybe pitch this idea to a few TV companies. I wouldn’t be at all surprised if I do eventually write a proper script for Rural Wizard. Probably when I’m running out of ideas and think ‘You know what, Rural Wizard, that’s a real winner…’ Look out for it on TV soon.

Well I figure enough time has passed now, and I’ve been inundated with literally no requests to tell this story, so it’s time to tell the tale I believe. So there I was in this shop, when I saw a jacket which made me think ‘Mmm… that’s quite velvety and purple. Very reminiscent of The Joker’s jacket. Perhaps I should buy it. Actually, it’s fairly expensive, probably not, and there’s no real need to look like The Joker at the moment, so I’ll pass’. And I did.

You’ve been a lovely audience, THANKYOU GOODNIGHT!

I told you it was boring. This all took place in the shopping centre at Bluewater. The best thing about Bluewater is probably the Amoy restaurant, who give you unlimited free refills of prawn crackers. One day I intend to stage a tournament down there to see who can eat the most bowls. The prize? A POCKET CALCULATOR AND A BAG OF MOULES!

I can’t find any way to put that in glitter text, but rest assured it’s just as glamorous as it sounds. I expect to be attracting contestants from across the globe to this glorious showcase of human endeavour against what are, essentially, haunted crisps. I imagine it’ll be a lot like Street Fighter 2 in that respect. Street Fighter 2 minus the fighting, and plus the crackers. Street Bowl of Crackers 2 is basically what I’m getting at I think.

Anyway, I am spending today drawing up a schedule for my time. I figure that this is the only way I’m going to get anything done. I’ve started work on my second sitcom script now, and would like to get it finished by the end of the month. Fans of Llamageddon will be aware that titles always came before actual feature ideas, and this idea is no different. Whereas there was a basic plot to my first script that I tried to stick to, this idea could really go anywhere, which will hopefully make it easier, ESPECIALLY WITH MY MIGHTY SCHEDULE!

I’ve actually done very little of my mighty schedule so far. From looking at it now, you’d be able to gather that Monday exists, but very little else. Apart from the fact that I intend to have breakfast that day too. I can see this achieving nothing but basically making my breakfast schedule a lot more efficient. I suppose that’s a start. Maybe I can make it so efficient that I’m able to have two breakfasts. Maybe I’ll just cram the day full of breakfasts and spend the hours in between breakfasts baking myself a cake out of eggy bread. I’ll become like Willy Wonka. Come to Andy’s House of Breakfasts, where it’s breakfast every hour of the day.

That’s probably an overly positive spin on what it’ll really be like. Whereas I’d like for the local community to see me as some kind of eccentric philanthropist who they can all get along with, they’ll probably just walk past the house, see me standing in my dressing gown in the window and mutter something to themselves. “There’s that berk who eats breakfast all day. Look at him basting his curtains in marmalade. Freak.” Then I’ll try to wave but accidentally hit myself in the face with a renegade oven glove. I’ll be cast out of society. Even more so than I currently am. Currants and jam. I breakfastised that sentence. Yeah. Take that society.

This is why I need a schedule.

The wind just blew some coins about on my windowsill I think. It was either that or my rather fetching ‘Andy’ badge from One Stop, which ricocheted onto some coins and thus caused the sound of the coins. Either way, it’s a tremendously boring story that I’ll still put into my book ‘Andy Ward’s Fables To Bore Girls By’. There’ll also be a fable about swing music at the end and how I’ve never really listened to it much, that’ll be one to watch out for.

I’m finally going to start sending out my first sitcom script now. I hope that it is well received, however we’ll just have to see. I say I’m going to start sending it out, I’ve emailed a few production companies to ask if they’d like to see it and as yet I haven’t heard anything back. I mean, it’s only been a day, but I think in that 24 hour period they have quickly decided they never want to hear from me again. I shall secretly infilitrate the building dressed as a bag of toffees though and place it on all their desks. Including the head boss man, who I imagine to be much like the editor at the Daily Bugle. Speaking of toffees, whatever happened to Toffo? I’m not sure Toffo still exist anymore. We certainly don’t stock them in One Stop and I’ve not seen them anywhere else in a while. But why? I mean, apart from the fact that they weren’t particularly good. I think one of them tasted like mint. A mint toffee.

Actually, I’ve just looked it up on google, it seems that some of them tasted like apple, strawberry, banana and pineapple. It’s no wonder they failed, the demand for a tropical flavoured toffee probably wasn’t too high. Since they have stopped production I’d better make sure not to accidentally dress as a pack of Toffo. They’d rumble me in seconds. “Hold on a second… they don’t even make Toffo anymore! Get him!” “I’m just here to deliver my scripptttttssss!”

I’ve made myself sound a bit too Gollum-esque there. It’s not far off what I’ve become though to be fair. I do fear I’ve lost a bit of my mind after this year. Eventually I’ll probably become The Joker, though on the bright side, he did have a nice jacket. I nearly bought a jacket a bit like The Joker’s once, but that’s a story for another time, and another book. Bye.