When your career is as fucked as mine one feels compelled to keep a tidy house. All those mistakes, bad gigs and rejected sit-com scripts are a direct result of too much clutter in the house. Sadly, clutter is the main thing that I buy and I like to store my clutter in a relaxed, random, leave-it-wherever-my-lazy-arse-fancies kind of vibe. So, today I decided that as I'm going to try to start writing sketches for Los Quattros Cunts this coming week I'd best have a big tidy up. Dust everything, vacuum everywhere and put one or two of those silly little purchases that I don't need on eBay.
Nearly everything I own is going on eBay.
Why the fuck did I buy a 4-disc jazz compilation? That was a fear of turning 40 moment if ever I saw one. I hate jazz (well, recorded jazz anyway). 40 was never going to make me like that noise. Or the second Sugababes album? Why the fuck did I willingly buy that? Why would anyone buy that? They do a Sting cover on it, for fuck's sake. I have Das Boot on video and DVD. I bought both copies myself. I have NEVER seen Das Boot. I will NEVER see Das Boot. I will often say that I will watch it but it's never going to happen. A fucking photo frame for photos of a dog? What was I thinking? 25 packs of Top Trumps. A huge camping light. A Hear'Say Easter Egg. A big beer mug that says "BEER" on it. A cowboy hat. A watercolour painting set. A Slendertone beer-belly removal system. Two lawn mowers! (I have NO grass) A yoga mat. Stars & Stripes dinner plates. Sex And The City: The Movie. A set of Tufty Club badges. An E.T. Pez dispenser. The Beautiful South biography. At Last, Smith & Jones Volume 1 on DVD. A skateboard complete with cool bands stickers all over it (never even stood on). A telescope. A babies night light. Macy Gray's other record. Fucking place mats. What the fuck can I do with a place mat? Five different versions of Monopoly. A big book called Teach Yourself Spanish. Russian dolls. A Pussycat Dolls hat. A kimono. A Winning Yachts 2005 calendar. A Dalai Lama mantra card. Scripts from Mork & Mindy. A letter from Paramount Studios warning me that I cannot perform a play based on Wrath of Khan. A plastic penguin that picks up tooth picks. A vest. A spirit level. Lisa Stansfield's autograph. A fondue set. A stupid Stradivarius violin (that I can't even play). A wind-up Ladybird. Finley Quaye on MINIDISC. Every Q magazine from February 1997 to July 2005. Balls of wool. A really tiny table tennis table. A Soda Stream drinks maker. A boxset of Freddie Mercury's solo works. A broken TV. A massive wooden tortoise. Fucking wind chimes.
This wasn't so much a blog as a car boot sale. If you want any of this shit, let me know. If not, eBay is in for a treat.
By the way, thanks to all the extremely nice people who emailed me relating to the Dawn Porter predicament. Glad I'm not alone. Solidarity, brothers!