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WLFS Trailer

May 26, 2016 Leave a comment

So here it finally is,  the trailer for our feature length film With Love From Suffolk.  The whole thing was done on under 7 grand with a LOT of input and love from local businesses.

It’ll be screened at Suffolk cinemas throughout June and July so make sure you go if you’re in the county. Tickets are a fiver.

Enjoy and please share.

❤️

 

WIth Love From Suffolk

 

I’m keeping the day job

December 2, 2013 Leave a comment

This is the sort of festive twaddle you get if for some obscure reason you follow @suffolkpiano on twitter. I apologise in advance.

I went to that Scandinavian ice hotel last Christmas. Have to say it was a frosty reception.

Just been found guilty of posting an abusive Christmas tweet. It’s unlikely to be a long sentence though.

How can you tell if a polar bear has been drinking? He’s not arcticulating very well.

What’s the best way to nourish someone? It’s just Delia Smiths’s asking. Sounds like she’s had a few.

What’s more dangerous than people wearing paper hats next to candles? Drunk people wearing paper hats next to candles.

Who ate all the Christmas stockings? The goats of Christmas present.

Yak wanted

May 6, 2013 Leave a comment

As you can probably tell from this less-than-quarterly entry, I’ve been proper busy. I am not a writer. A writer’s writer I mean. I took a solemn vow as an impressionable teenager to NEVER get involved with anything creative. It’s just, well… dangerous.

This may have had something to do with my dad (who was very much a writer’s writer) having a writer’s tantrum and throwing a box full of copies of his latest book from an upstairs window, narrowly missing my daydreams below.

Now that I have finally caved in and become him, or rather a less well read, less connected, less successful ( in writing terms) version of him, it occurs to me that I really ought to have a box of books in my arsenal ready to throw out of a window.

This would, inevitably, be wonderful therapy for the sheer frustration encountered when trying to find someone to print me a simple, inexpensive, black and white, thirty pages poetry booklet. I’ve done the e-book. Easy. I just want to gently hand a few hard copies to hapless friends without killing them.

In this wonderfully technological age, it should, I foolishly assume, be a simple matter of searching, clicking and ordering online. Never before has there been such an array of technological wizardry available.

I tell you, to get this PERFECTLY SIMPLE job done, it would be easier to go into my shed yesterday, reconstruct from memory I do not possess, an exact copy of the original Gutenberg press, from half set Galician yak fudge.

Books though. Pah!

Happy St G Day

April 23, 2012 Leave a comment

Happy St George’s day to EVERYBODY!

I think he was Turkish and worked in a kebab shop. Skewer employment it was anyway.

(Note to self: work on dragon-slaying jokes)


Image

Milligan

April 20, 2012 Leave a comment

Well, that’s odd. I was looking for a poem I think surely must be by Spike Milligan (please correct me if I’m wrong) and it’s not coming up on any search engine so perhaps I’d better recite it:

Gregory Griggs cared not two figs

Whether he lived or died.

But when he was dead, he lay on his bed

And he cried and he cried and he cried.

This, to me, encapsulates what the best comedy is all about;  tragedy being mangled back into a travesty of itself.  Life can be so grim.  It can chuck all kinds of rubbish at us.  Correction, that should be ‘death is grim’.  Life is Life is beautiful.  But when death does hurl itself at us in the crappy way it does,  we may as well belt something like this poem out and go laughing all the way to the “box office” as a friend of mine calls it.  It’s only “not funny”  if you decide it’s not;  in which case, I don’t think I can help you.  Sorry, I’m not trying to be offensive or disrespectful or distasteful here, it’s just I’ve met people who refuse to laugh, and they don’t all work for the council or LIVE IN MY NEIGHBOURHOOD!  But that’s a whole other blog.

Inspired by Spike Milligan’s epitaph “I told you I was ill”, I’d quite like this when my time’s up :

(hint: now read it out loud)

Banged up

April 13, 2012 Leave a comment

Gone are the days when, as a lad, you would break a thermometer open to swill the deadly mercury round your hand or merrily boil up any lead you could find just for a whiff of those fumes and the possibility of major burns as you forged your useless, one-sided coinage.  You could happily saunter into a chemist’s shop and innocently ask the old boffin for some saltpeter after looking up ‘how to make fireworks’ in an encyclopedia. 

I am reminded of such halcyon smelting days by today’s news of a guy being sent down for two years quite possibly for not having grown out of a phase I was only shocked out of at twelve or so because the boffin had retired and the new man, all harsh-stares-over-half-moon-glasses, meanly reported this request to my mother.  My mother, until then I suspect, hadn’t realised she’d raised what’s commonly known as a boy. 

In my defence, your honour, I had read ‘saltpeter’ as an ingredient and guessed it meant the blue touch paper (having already experimented with “other” things and  having gathered most of what was needed from my dad’s shed).  Okay, I also admit there was probably some mutual egging on happening too with a friend down the road. Playing with fire, I would argue, is a natural thing but it tends not to be done in front of one’s parents for reasons I have blanked out of my memory.

I have a theory that wars are never really about territory or anything as sophisticated as grievances to be settled.  No, armies only come into being because making a louder noise than the last one becomes an obsession if unchecked in earlier years.  It starts with match heads in silver foil (Can I say that without being arrested? Watch this space…) and the laughter initially produced then progresses to nervous laughter and finally horrified silence.   Somewhere along that line of progression, you (we) make a bang that causes the windows to shake so much you (we) leg it for a few hours in case of an ear-bashing we (who?) couldn’t hear anyway. 

Returning to the scene of our ‘experiment’ was an interesting introduction to the possibility of Divine intervention for all around the place we had stood were the twisted shards of the metal firework casing we had wrongly named  the “Fountain ” of flame.

So on behalf of all sons who have made their mother’s hair go grey years too early, I say this … “Didn’t you hear that noise or wonder where all the matches and parrafin were, or why the shed was smouldering?”

 

“Oh yeah…Sorry”

 

Flies

April 10, 2012 Leave a comment