I'll Never Write the End of This

So, university is over until next year.
For part of my final creative writing assignment I had to write a play or a bit of a play. So I did. And here it is:

As you can see, I didn't pay much attention to stage directions or making it make any sense but, as I've said before, I am an artist.


KATHY: I never liked him that much. I’ve liked people a lot more. But they were bad people with ugly habits and grim futures. From the beginning I knew he was good, he had good intentions. And, yeah, everyone said that he was boring but I didn’t think so. And anyway I was sick of all those ‘fun’ characters who got off their faces every night and were taking break dancing lessons. I was more like him than them.
We met at work, both temping at a huge company in town. Being temps, no one would associate with us. So we ate lunch together, walked to the station together. Then we started going to the pub to complain about our days and slag off the permanent staff. And all of a sudden, before either of us could even notice, we were together.
For a while it was good, really good. He treated me really nicely and I think I was quite decent to him too. We had a good time.
But after a few months he started annoying me. First of all it was just little things he did, words he used, the way he made sandwiches. But then everything about him irritated me. His hair, his weird lopsided smile, his trousers, his key ring. The way he quoted newspaper articles all the time, as if he had no opinions of his own. His overuse of the word “nice”, his fingernails. His hair, his voice, how indifferent he always looked. The position he slept in, how he acted around my friends, his answer phone message. How he called me Kath or ‘K’, the way he sometimes spoke about himself in the 3rd person. The outrageously stupid things he came out with, his ringtone, his hair. And yet I stayed with him.




A busy café in central London. Christmas music is playing from a small radio and there is some tinsel decorating the till. A couple in their mid twenties are sitting opposite each other at a table.

KATHY: Are you going to get anything to eat?
SIMON: I don’t think so.
KATHY: Me neither. Just coffee.
SIMON: Yes, I’ll have coffee too.
KATHY: Cappuccino?
SIMON: No, filter coffee.
KATHY: Oh. I thought you’d get cappuccino.
SIMON: I was considering cappuccino. It was between cappuccino and filter coffee.
KATHY: And filter coffee won.
SIMON: Yes, but it was close.
Silence as they examine menus. A WAITRESS appears beside them
WAITRESS: Hi, you guys alright?
SIMON: Hello. Can I have a filter coffee please?
KATHY: Can I have one too?
WAITRESS: Sure, two coffees.
WAITRESS exits
KATHY: So, have you done any of your shopping?
SIMON: I’ve done most of it.
KATHY: What did you buy?
SIMON: I got the majority of it from the Oxfam Unwrapped catalogue.
KATHY: Really? Like, toilets and donkeys?
SIMON: Yeah, I got a goat for my sister and a well for my mum.
KATHY: Oh. Have you gotten me anything yet?
SIMON: Yes but it’s a surprise.
KATHY: Is it from the Oxfam Unwrapped catalogue?
SIMON: Yes.
KATHY: Oh, right.
The WAITRESS reappears with two coffees
KATHY: Thanks
The WAITRESS exits
KATHY: I went to the cinema last night.
SIMON: What did you see?
KATHY: That new film, I don’t remember it’s name. American, you know the one with the guy in it, that new one.
SIMON: Oh yes. It got a really good review in The Guardian.
KATHY: Yeah, it was really powerful. I went with Michael.
SIMON: How’s he?
KATHY: He’s alright. Broke up with his girlfriend though, was feeling a bit rough, needed someone to talk to, a shoulder to cry on.
SIMON: Ah. I’ll give him a ring later on.
KATHY: No, it’s alright, I already sorted it out, he’s better now.
SIMON: I’ll ring him anyway. Haven’t spoken to him in a while.
KATHY: Fine.
SIMON: Why don’t you want me to ring him?
KATHY: I don’t not want you to. Go ahead and ring him. I was just saying that I already sorted it out. Pause Why would you ring him anyway? You’re not even friends. You’ve only met him twice.
SIMON: Don’t be ridiculous- I’ve known him for ages. Mick and I are good friends- I even bought him a Christmas present.
KATHY: From the Oxfam Unwrapped catalogue?
SIMON: Yes!
KATHY: He won’t have gotten you anything. And why are you calling him Mick? No one calls him that.
SIMON: Kath what is your problem?
KATHY: I don’t have a problem. How’s your filter coffee?
SIMON: I’ve had better. I suspect that it is actually instant.
KATHY: Yes, that’s what it tastes like. I’ll be back in a minute.
KATHY stands and exits. Simon gets his mobile phone out of his pocket and dials a number
SIMON: Mick, it’s Si! How’s tricks?



Time passes. Kathy returns to the table. They sit in silence for a while.

SIMON: You alright?
KATHY: Yes.
SIMON: Good. Mick is going to come down in a bit.
KATHY: What? Did you just ring him now?
SIMON: Yeah. He’s up for coming to the gig with us later.
KATHY: He hasn’t got a ticket.
SIMON: I don’t think that will be a problem, I doubt it’s sold out.
KATHY: Why?
SIMON: Why what?
KATHY: Why wouldn’t it be sold out?
SIMON: Well, this girl isn’t exactly well known is she?
KATHY: Just because you’ve never heard of her.
SIMON: I have heard of her, I read about her in-
KATHY: I know, you read about her in The Guardian.
SIMON: Yes.
KATHY: I’ve known about her for months.
SIMON: Oh, well done.
KATHY: We always go to gigs together, you and me. Just us. That’s what we do.
SIMON: So? You want me to call him back and tell him not to come?
KATHY: No, I wish you hadn’t called him in the first place.
SIMON: Well, I’m sorry. I didn’t realise that us going to gigs alone was so important to you. He doesn’t have to come tonight, he can just hang out with us here before we go.
KATHY: Fine.
Enter MICHAEL
SIMON: Here he is! Mick! Over here!
KATHY: Calm down, for God’s sake.
MICHAEL walks across stage and takes a seat at the table next to SIMON
MICHAEL: Hi Kathy, you alright?
KATHY: Yes.
SIMON: What’s going on, Mickey?
MICHAEL: Oh, not much. Just been in bed most of the day.
SIMON: Still feeling a bit rough, are we? After breaking up with Sarah?
MICHAEL: Yeah, well. Not brilliant.
SIMON: I never really liked her all that much, to be honest.
KATHY: You never met her.
SIMON: Well, I didn’t like the sound of her, from what Kath told me.
MICHAEL: So, what’s this gig tonight?
SIMON: Ah, well, about that. Kath says you can’t come.
KATHY: Simon! It’s sold out.
SIMON: It isn’t. She says we can only go to gigs together, no one else is allowed to come.
KATHY: It isn’t that, Michael, he’s just being a bell end.
SIMON: So, sorry. I would have liked you to come, someone decent to talk to.
KATHY: Stop being like this, you’re making him uncomfortable.
SIMON: What? You’ve been horrible to me all day.
KATHY: I haven’t. I am just sick of this. Sick of all this stupid, petty stuff.
SIMON: It’s not me! It’s you! Always putting me down, going on and on about stuff that doesn’t matter, trying to make me look stupid in front of our friends, treating me like I am an idiot.
KATHY: They are not ‘our’ friends, they are my friends. You have no friends.
SIMON: You see, Mike? This is exactly what I am talking about!
KATHY: You have no friends so you try to steal mine. But they don’t like you, no one likes you because you are a fucking idiot.
SIMON: So you don’t like me? Why on earth have we been together all this time then?
KATHY: I am not talking about this now. It isn’t fair on Michael.
MICHAEL: Um, yeah. I think I’d better go anyway.
SIMON: No, don’t let her make you feel like you have to leave.
MICHAEL: Nah, mate, I’ve got some stuff to sort out. I’ll give you a ring later.
MICHAEL stands and exits
KATHY: Do you want another coffee?
SIMON: I suppose.


Well, there you go. Oh, and by the way: Six Sentences is really cool. My Christmas Tree story went up on there today so you should go and read it in a different font and/or submit your own six sentence story.

"Look at these assholes"

So it's fair to say that I failed at NaBloPoMo. I was, like, busy and stuff.

The past few months have well and truly flown by and now it's nearly the end of term. On the whole I've enjoyed it- it was well weird at first but now it's all cool.

I am supposed to write a play for tomorrow. I don't do plays. They are too difficult. And I am expected to do well or whatever since I 'studied' acting for two years. Whatever.

I saw The Darjeeling Limited yesterday and it was so, so great. I recommend it. STRONGLY.

How Come Stuff Like This Never Happens to Anyone Else?

Get this:

So, on Sunday I bit the inside of my lip when I was eating some bread. It hurt but I didn't draw blood or anything. So I forgot about it.
Monday night I got home and happened to look in the mirror. I saw a mark just under my lip- a purple mark. I was like "WTF?"
I said to my dad "WTF is this?" and he was like "Oh, you must've burst a blood vessel" and I was like "!!!"
So I showed it to everyone the next day and they were like "OMG Eisor WTF is that?" and I was like "Burst my blood vessel up innit" and they were like "Oh my days".
So that night when I got home I looked in the mirror again and the mark had DOUBLED in size. You can imagine what I was like.
So today I did not leave the house. Because you know what it looks like? It looks like a lovebite. A lovebite on my face. And that is so not cool. I have a very classy image to uphold! What a blow.


I am currently reading 'A Heartbreaking Work of Staggering Genius' by Dave Eggers and it is well good.

Also: How unfair is this? What exactly has he done to get on the Sex Offenders Register? Who is he harming? What a world. Hahaha.

Have You Seen...

The new spatula has gone missing. She hasn’t seen it, I haven’t seen it. We check behind the oven, under the fridge, in all the drawers. It is no-where to be seen. We suspect that the heat, greasiness and caked on food has overwhelmed it and driven it into hiding. We have no sympathy. We need the spatula to make pancakes.


Buckets more coming soon.

A Polish Man in London and The Fit Girl on the Tube

My homework for Writing London- Creative Writing About London this week was to:
Write a character description of a stranger. Like, someone you see sitting outside a cafe, on the bus etc. And then write what you think they think of you.
I didn't really stick to the brief but, hey, I'm an artist.

Check my writing skillz

4:30pm on the Central line, Eastbound. The bunch of yellow carnations are squashed and dirty. He’s been up and about since daybreak and is exhausted. But he’s clutching the flowers to his chest and smiling to himself.
He’d come to be with Ana. She’d been working as a cleaner while studying English s:
part-time. Her English was great to begin with- why did she need lessons? If anyone needed them it was him. He couldn’t speak English for shit. At school he’d been top of the class in almost everything but he had come to realise that this counted for nothing here. He couldn’t do plastering or bricklaying. He was no one.
Ana had said that there were lots of Polish people in the U.K. He wondered where they all were. He saw a lot of black people. A hell of a lot. And not just black, Indian, Chinese- they were all here. He kept his bag close.
Ana was living with 8 girls- 5 Polish and 3 Ukrainian. The Polish girls were all from big cities like Warsaw and they teased him, calling him “farmer boy”. He usually stayed in the bedroom whenever Ana was out- he thought that was for the best.
When Ana returned from work in the evenings they went to the pub with her friends. Her new friends. They all spoke English to each other. Ana translated as best she could until she got too drunk.
Ana has been in London for five months. The first month she was on the phone every night, crying and begging him to come and join her. He had booked a ticket as soon as he had the money. When she met him at the coach station she had cried and hugged him harder than ever before. But now she was distant and seemed to resent his presence. “I can’t hold your hand all the time!” she shouted. “You are supposed to be a man- go and get a job, make your own friends- look after yourself!”
Today is their anniversary. Three years since their first date. After Ana leaves, he ventures out into frosty, sunny London in search of the perfect gift. He’s heard that Oxford Street is the number one place for shopping so that’s where he goes.
Many hours later he returns, bruised, battered and triumphant. He lays the flowers on Ana’s side of the bed and collapses next to them, spent.


Yeah it's not like... properly finished though. So, I did that. And then I did this:

She’s looking at me and writing in a notebook. Is she a policewoman? She doesn’t look like a policewoman. Maybe she is undercover.
I wonder why she is wearing sunglasses on the train. She could be blind but I don’t see a stick or a dog. Maybe she just likes sunglasses.
Her handbag is made out of pink, see through plastic. There is a lot inside it. It is very messy.
Now she’s laughing at something the short man sitting opposite said. He is wearing sunglasses too. She’s telling him a story. She speaks fast and with a lot of exclamations. She makes the wanker sign with her hand. Now they are both laughing. She laughs like a witch.
She takes off the sunglasses and rubs her eyes. She looks tired. The short man hands her a wad of cash and she puts it in her purse, quickly. Maybe she is a prostitute? Or maybe not. She doesn’t look like a prostitute. She is wearing a cardigan.
They continue to chat animatedly. She doesn’t show her teeth when she smiles. Maybe she doesn’t like them.
She puts the sunglasses back up on, stands up and they get off at Debden.


My thoughts on both 'pieces':
I like parts of the first one. I like the basic idea and I like the character. It's obvious that I lost interest towards the end though. And it's not very good technically but who cares, really? Who cares?
The second was totally difficult and I am not pleased with it. Apart from She doesn’t look like a prostitute. She is wearing a cardigan. which I am sure is genius.

Oh- the wad of cash was the deposit for Gerel's new house and he asked me to hold onto it for safekeeping. Just to clear that up.