Hey batta batta batta SWING batta!

Two things I realised as I started keyboard-jabbing this mother: 1) The name John Hughes probably didn’t mean a lot to everyone, 2) I’m not sure that John Hughes meant a lot to me. Nonetheless on seeing the news he had died, displayed on a small square of BBC floating above my muesli this morning, I felt a bit sad. I’m not sure why. He was only 59, maybe that’s

James May’s Masterplan

At the weekend me and some other bipeds trundled over the border into Surrey. There is there a groove in the isle of Britainland which is filled with grapes. All very interesting in itself (the soil there is similar to that of an area in France apparently, some hotshot vineyard that I can’t remember the name of. Nickipedia could answer the question but he isn’t here right now. Anyway, this

Son Of Movie Bar: Tuesday 4th August

Pssssssssssshhhhhhhhaaaoooooooww, info burst… Son Of Movie Bar is a fun monthly film networking night and meeting of people of that sort of inclination. It is held on the first Tuesday of every month, hence the title of this post. I dare you to find another Tuesday in August 2009 that occurs before the one I’ve mentioned above. Ha! You can’t, can you? I win! Ah, another inexplicably empty pistachio shell-like

Should I Give A F***?

Or when  should one allow profanity to creep onto the page and when should one just watch one’s f**king mouth? When I first sat down to try and write a script, back when the first digit of my age was still 1, I recall my preoccupation with writing good dialogue. I found it difficult (still do). In retrospect I can see that my difficulty in giving characters words to say