I bought a tub of Sour Cream and Onion Pringles earlier, and spent the afternoon continually drawn to them like a fleshy moth to a sour cream flame. Since weaning myself off them about an hour or two ago, I’ve just sat here thinking about how tasty they were. I might go and get some now actually, I don’t care what society says, I’m injecting these potatoes into my arms if it kills me. Which it probably will. I can’t imagine chunks of crisp will do particularly well in my blood stream. Unless my heart is actually a chipuliser. I’m a savoury terminator, that’s what I am. Sent back through time to buy a pack of bacon that won’t be out of date in 2085 so that the savoury resistance can defeat the sweet sugar king in his sherbert fortress. There’s a film in there somewhere. Shotgun copyright.
In a few days I actually will be writing a film. In precisely two days in fact, as part of the Script Frenzy challenge. I believe the challenge is to write a 100 page script in a month. This will be especially challenging given that it’s two days until the start of the month, and I do not have a film idea, any characters, any plot, anything basically. I’ve got a little bit of time now, so I might use that to sit around and write something down if I can. I may even write ‘Bin’. Finally. Quite what the hell happens in Bin is anybody’s guess. I can’t even remember how the idea came about, I think it was something that I discussed on an old blog on MySpace, which means it’s probably been about 5 years in ‘development’. I can’t say for certain what’ll happen, though I wouldn’t be entirely surprised if a potato processing terminator was sent back through time for a packet of bacon. I’m running low on ideas, I have to work with what I’ve got.
In the time since my last blog, I have written a few more stories down. Short stories. Scary stories. Around three of those, bringing the total to eight. I want more. I want 30 by the end of the year. I’m writing this down now so that come December I can use this blog to shout at myself for only reaching six, somehow managing to actually go backwards because I had to take some time out to go back through time for a packet of bacon (I’m not letting this idea go. Indeed, I’m convinced that the more I say it, the better it will sound).
I nearly got a waffle from a new shop, but then it was delayed and there was no time. In fact, I nearly tried two new waffle establishments. One in London and one in Brighton. The one in London had completely disappeared, or at least, wasn’t where Google Maps said it was meant to be, whilst, as I say, there was no time for the other one to arrive. I’ve added it to my waffle radar though, so I’ll be venturing there soon. Nothing comes between me and my waffles. Except time, apparently. Time is my nemesis. Whilst once I was young lang syne now time has withered me to the point where every year the bells chime and everybody laughs and sings songs about how long my beard has got, led in chorus by the jingly decepticon that is Jools Holland. I’m assuming that’s what happens, I’ve never learned the words to Auld Lang Syne, so when the clock strikes midnight I just sing “YOUR BEARD IS WISPY AND YOUR SHOES SMELL OF PASTRY” on repeat whilst banging a gong. Nobody ever comes to my parties anymore.
I should really go and eat a yoghurt. I’m so hungry. A yoghurt and some milk will rejuvenate my dairy batteries. If not then I’ll probably just gorge myself on Pringles again and watch The Simpsons. That, in my eyes, is a fine, if not particularly constructive, day. I might blog again tomorrow or the next day if I can actually remember what I’ve been doing. I’m quite tired at the moment. I hope Pringles do energy drinks.
