Writing update in which I will only use the word fruit once

•August 15, 2012 • 2 Comments

Good evening all!

Several exciting pieces of news have come about writing wise, so I’ll plough through them now.

1: I recently did an extremely fucking not safe for work guest post on blog called “BookCunt”. This isn’t the most exciting thing going on at the moment but embarassing stories being what most of you visit here for I thought I’d lead with it.

BookCunt: Scent of a Woman (Don’t read this if you’re in my immediate family)

2: I have landed my first feature contract! I’ll be working with Starfront Pictures LTD on a found footage horrot film and I’m very excited about it. This is a big step for me and an unexpected shift in genre of choice from rom com to horror. Speaking of which…

3: My site specific horror zombie play Not Long Now is picking up steam and getting funding.  The writing competition is still going on so writers, enter your scripts by 3rd September to get a chance to be part of the project.

Everyone else go to www.notlongnow.net and read all about it, and please spread the word. This is an ambitious idea and I need your help getting people excited about it.

4: Comfort Food, my rom com recipe web series is in editing at the moment and hopefully a trailer may be coming out very soon. If you haven’t watched the pilot yet you can see it at www.comfortfood.tv it involves fruit.

5: I recently did an interview with James Burrough for 100 day Screenplay challenge about writing and pop music and a lot of stuff that might have been irrelevent to the questioning.


Thanks for reading and for all your support getting to this point! Hopefully some more articles on stupid shit that’s happened to me coming soon to make it all worth it.




Pub garden raspberry

•July 28, 2012 • Leave a Comment

Big raspberry mess

In the garden of a small pub in Old Street, I see a single raspberry growing on a plant behind me. I wait until nobody is around and pluck it from the green. I try to put it in my pocket but worry it’s going to squash everywhere, so I use two receipts from the pub to build a tiny origami cage.


After school club pineapple

•July 20, 2012 • Leave a Comment


Stolen from after school club on the last day of term. Pretended to be going to get the basketball and slipped it into a plastic bag.


Lost pilot’s grapes

•July 14, 2012 • Leave a Comment

Two green grapes

A woman on the street near where I live seems to be dressed as a World War II pilot. This makes me smile and she sees this. She walks over and asks me for directions to the station. As I begin to tell her, she puts her teso reusable bag down on the floor and pulls out a map. I point the station out on the map and show her the quickest way to get there. As I bend down to pick her bag up for her I take two grapes from an open bag.

Nooobody doooess it bettterrr…

Bar lime

•July 14, 2012 • Leave a Comment

This isn’t the first piece of fruit I have stolen, but it is the first since I decided to begin chronicling them. From here on out, you’ll know all about them.

Small slice of lime

This lime was taken from a pub. There were two barmen, so it took some skill and timing. With patience though anything is possible. I carried on my conversation, and when barman 2 went round to pick up empty glasses, I waited for barman 1 to be serving someone and pounced. Sneaking behind the bar, I took a single slice of lime and quickly ducked back out of the way. The collection begins.

Not Long Now, writers required!

•June 7, 2012 • 1 Comment

Not Long Now is an immersive theatre project taking place in London 2013 in which the audience find themselves trapped in a large building while the early hours of a zombie apocalypse rage outside. The audience may join any of several groups of survivors and attempt to survive the onslaught as the creatures fight their way inside, or may be already there.

We are looking for a team of writers to join the project and we are open to submissions. So if you’re interested, send your scripts along to submissions@notlongnow.eu along with a short paragraph telling us a little about yourself. We’re looking for between four and eight writers.

Submissions do not have to be zombie themed, nor do they have to be theatre scripts. Just send us something that you feel shows us why you’re suited to the project.

A shortlist will then be prepared from the most suitable candidates, and they will have the opportunity to tour the building. We’ll then be holding short interviews to talk about your ideas for the project.

Those who are finally chosen will be asked to produce a plot skeleton of their ideas. From here, ideas will be joined together so that the different groups of survivors will interact and key events are factored in. From here, writers will have free reign over their characters, plots and ideas.

Unfortunately due to the collaborative and site specific nature of the project, we are unable to accept submissions from overseas writers, or those who would be unable to travel to London to view the location.

If you have any questions please don’t hesitate to get in touch, you can email us at submissions@notlongnow.eu or head over to our twitter or facebook page and join the conversation.

Get submitting!

You feel a dull but sharpening buzz in the back of your head as a sticky trickle sneezes you back into consciousness.

With your blurred vision and unknowable circumstance, you resort to a default set of perceptions, so when you feel the hot weight of a body against you you assume this is the morning after, that the figure is marsupial in its affection.

You feel a tickle of hair against your open gums and the pneumatic taste jolts your eyes wide open. You are immediately choked by the bad sweet yellow and Lego brick red of a squirming head, torn, and creased with jellied blood.

The body grinds against you, trying to escape the gnashing teeth of a man. It shakes itself free and detaches from the man’s mouth, letting it fall directly onto your cheek. You feel the lamprey hunger for skin as you roll, sliding the body out from between you.

The man spits chewed lips from his bleating red gasket and you drag yourself on to war torn feet. You pull the vomiting, stunted body with you and throw open the nearest door.

As you seal your entrance with a splintering avalanche of furniture and finally feel the pulsating thaw of a well taken breath, the screaming body crumples toward the floor and blushes red from its open wounds.

Outside, a thousand cannibals fold themselves in half. Scratching, and right at your door.

Stop! In the name of love!

•February 11, 2012 • Leave a Comment

It was around this time last year when I pleaded with the general public to stop being grumpy and enjoy Valentine’s day. Those who know me know that I do love a bit of nonsense, and every year I send out something stupid I build from things I find in what I lovingly deem my “cupboard of useful things.” This cupboard currently contains bamboo rods, a huge amount of C batteries (the most useless kind of batteries around) and limited edition Pirates of the Caribbean sun tan lotion. These things and many more come together to make some object of affection for someone that I think is surprising.

This is the tale of one of these objects.

The ingredients were as follows. Old wrapping paper, emulsion filler, an empty glass jar, a polystyrene cup and some of those little things you get with freezer bags that wrap around the end to keep things fresh.

And of course, the girl. Full disclosure, though strictly speaking Valentine’s day is supposed to be about love, I was not in love with her. It was better than that, (people fall in love with people who beat them, what good does that do?) I liked her. She made me laugh, and she wasn’t afraid to make me feel like an idiot, and as a total idiot I really appreciate that. I’m also to be perfectly honest with you, a vicious arsehole. Especially on dates. Seriously, a girl was boring me once so I told her I had to get home to a chicken breast in my fridge that was about to pass it’s sell by date. One upon looking at the statues in Trafalgar Square a girl once asked me “is that how big real lions are?” and I just left.

And why is it looking after all those tiny people?

So when I like someone I like to savour it. I turned the jar upside down, made the freezer bag things into a stem and made a flower from the wrapping paper and the cup into a plant pot. Then I stuck the whole thing to the inside of the lid with emulsion filler. It looked a bit like this.

Unfortunately due to the miracle of the postal service (honestly, how does it even work? It’s fucking mental) the whole thing got bashed about. By the time it arrived it looked more like this.

The grey shit at the bottom is polyfill remember. In cast my art is so beautiful it distracts you from the truth.

With no note, no name and nothing to place it, the girl had no idea what this was and naturally assumed that thing in the middle there was a fuse. Knowing just enough about herself and her housemates to know they were not fireproof, she called the police. Who I’m assured, were fucking baffled.

“I have no idea what this is, but I’m scared of it” Said hypothetical policeman 1.

Hours later I got a phone call “Oh my god it’s you! It’s Sandy! It’s fucking you, Sandy!” screamed at me for ten minutes.

And we didn’t fall for each other. But that’s ok, because it made her laugh, and she makes me laugh.

The truth is I might not get it. I’m overweight with bad skin and I live in the kind of conditions that inspired a girl I went out with once to write a song called “fuck me so I can’t tell how shit your flat is” but for whatever reason, I get asked out. I get the cards and the phone calls. I get ex’s asking me to give them another chance and I get myself into a whole load of shit. And maybe I’ve gotten to a place where I don’t appreciate that as much as I should, and I should lean off people that moan at this time of year. But honestly, no I shouldn’t. It’s not about who likes you, it’s about who you like. If someone sends you something back then that’s great. But if they don’t, that’s still nice. Don’t be greedy.

Her next birthday present.

Honestly, this whole thing is a lot more fun than you think it is.