(no subject)
There are seventeen days until my deadline is up for Sarah's script. I'm quite enjoying the challenge.
Gigantic Days is also something I've been thinking about a lot - ingredients in the current stew include dramatizations of real and imaginary childhood events, a trip along Marton West Beck, the narrator mistaking a shopping trolley for a super-advanced robot, the writings of Charles Fort and a sequence involving Tim building an enormous machine of unclear purpose. There's also a lot of stuff about English folklore, especially the curious role of snakes in North-Eastern English mythology (cf. St Hilda's anti-serpent campaign and the legend of the Lambton Wurrum).
One side-effect of all of this thinking is a curious incident from Monday. We had a new case worker in - I think that Mick is purposely trying to overload us so that the first floor collapses and he can claim insurance money for all the items on the ground floor which were squashed, eg. photocopiers, computers, Tony. Anyway, he was asking whether there was a towel anywhere in the staff room which he could dry his hands on after washing up. I was struck by a passionate feeling that there was some kitchen roll in the vicinity, but someone didn't want us to use it. Who was that, and why did he feel so strongly?
Later on it struck me that there was no kitchen roll in the staff room. I was misremembering an incident from Noah Baumbach's film The Squid and the Whale where Anna Paquin deliberately wipes her hands on a paper towel that Jeff Bridges has forbidden her to use. This means that I am now officially unable to differentiate between films and reality - a frightening thought, but one I might be able to turn to my advantage yet.
Gigantic Days is also something I've been thinking about a lot - ingredients in the current stew include dramatizations of real and imaginary childhood events, a trip along Marton West Beck, the narrator mistaking a shopping trolley for a super-advanced robot, the writings of Charles Fort and a sequence involving Tim building an enormous machine of unclear purpose. There's also a lot of stuff about English folklore, especially the curious role of snakes in North-Eastern English mythology (cf. St Hilda's anti-serpent campaign and the legend of the Lambton Wurrum).
One side-effect of all of this thinking is a curious incident from Monday. We had a new case worker in - I think that Mick is purposely trying to overload us so that the first floor collapses and he can claim insurance money for all the items on the ground floor which were squashed, eg. photocopiers, computers, Tony. Anyway, he was asking whether there was a towel anywhere in the staff room which he could dry his hands on after washing up. I was struck by a passionate feeling that there was some kitchen roll in the vicinity, but someone didn't want us to use it. Who was that, and why did he feel so strongly?
Later on it struck me that there was no kitchen roll in the staff room. I was misremembering an incident from Noah Baumbach's film The Squid and the Whale where Anna Paquin deliberately wipes her hands on a paper towel that Jeff Bridges has forbidden her to use. This means that I am now officially unable to differentiate between films and reality - a frightening thought, but one I might be able to turn to my advantage yet.