Author: albarclay

I’m back in R&D in daytime, just for a couple of days, examining a good script with a lovely bunch. Happy times, doing the thing with the people. It’s what I set out to do after all. Practicality has been known to interfere but the intention and drive have been consistent and unwavering. And I’m happy in that room, and adding value and occasionally sad that positioning and sheer dumb luck haven’t allowed so many more of these rooms over the decades. But here we are.

“Who the fuck is Madeline?” This was spoken in reference to one of the lines in the play we are examining. It caused Rachel who plays my wife to tell us all: “You have to listen to Lily Allen’s new album. It’s only about 45 minutes. You can listen on the way home.”

Well, I’ve been listening to great albums as often as possible. Van Morrison at the moment as I got stuck there a bit repeating Astral Weeks. So after work I drove to The Globe for work and listened to West End Girl.

Rachel gave us some context that drew me in. It’s a breakup album. She is pulling no punches. And it is a remarkable piece of art where she shares her truth and bleeds it with beauty, but absolutely says what she needs to say.

She’s from an acting family. Her mum produces films, her dad works across the industry. Her brother has played some very unfortunate men – the man who killed John Wick’s dog, and Theon Grayjoy for starters. She’s always had a clear voice and it seems clearer than ever right now. She takes us through the collapse of her latest marriage and its fallout, in a manner that is exposed and exposing, tender and abrasive. And she finds catharsis at the end. I see why Rachel encouraged us to go to it. Sure, it’s a cultural touchpoint right now, but it has enough to be a step into a deeper musical reputation for a woman who has always been a strong wordsmith and a force to be reckoned with. She pushed herself into the conversation with MySpace, which caused people to underestimate her – perhaps as she was essentially an early influencer and we all know how empty most people with that label are. She’s not fucking around though and clearly you shouldn’t fuck with her. (Or you should if you’re married to her.) And she’s smart and musical. Good actress too I’m told. Didn’t see her West End debut but I had friends involved in Ghost Stories and word gets around.

It’s catchy as well. I’ve got to be careful not to sing the words “pussy palace” in falsetto right now. She’s made a really good album.

She was at Glastonbury forever ago and she absolutely carried a set on a big stage with sheer fucking energy. Woke us all up from our comedown bouncing around in a dress with all her early hits.

I went and did a load of Shakespeare and then it came on in my car as I drove home and I listened to the first half again. They often say that pain helps with art. Wouldn’t it be nice if it didn’t. But hey, it does so let’s all show our bits as best we can.

God love Lily Allen for sharing that stuff so raw. Fictionalised a little bit, sure. I suspect Madeline isn’t called Madeline and her voice notes are acted. I wonder what her ex makes of it. He doesn’t come over as a monster, just… lost in it all. I don’t like him any less, I don’t think that’s the intention here. This is art and truth through music, and catharsis and we are all desperately human and fighting through our own crap about sex and love and pain and life, every fucking day.

She’s been bold to do it. I wonder if there’s collateral for her legally as it is remarkably intimate. I hope not, as art like this is good for the world. And it doesn’t feel like she’s lying or exaggerating. More power to her, I say.

The way we value information has changed so much in my lifetime that it is very hard to parse it out. The internet seemed like it was gonna be a helpful tool for sharing things. It might become that in time but there are generations who grew up believing that if they’ve read something, it has weight. Back then people had to go to a lot of work and do a lot of thinking to come up with a book, and then it had to be decent to get it placed in such a way that you could find it. So we got conditioned to put value in the things we could find that were written down.

Now you’ve got people who have … read some articles online and they are honestly thinking they can go toe to toe with people who have been actual qualified scientists for decades. Delusions like flat earth and the Icke stuff have fed themselves and grown fat. Right now the fundamentalist Christians are going hard on the moon landing stuff because it looks like there’s gonna be another landing and they need to line up their bullshit early because they’ve decided that science disproves religion. I personally disagree with that anyway, but these people are way too obedient to start thinking cosmically. They just want to cling onto something.

And then this latest scourge of rational thinking is bubbling up all over the place and oh lord I detest it.

It is a misnomer to call it AI. Because it oversells what it can do. It is merely a vast aggregation tool, it can only regurgitate what it has eaten. But it can eat a lot, it has eaten a lot, and idiots like me are putting stuff up every day that it can eat as well.

It’s a restaurant where they serve leftovers and call them the Daily Specials.

There can be nothing new. No new thought. No creativity. It has a hard cap on innovation that can never be broken. It will atrophy us and make us smaller and smaller and smaller.

It is in the interests of the people who sell it for the capacity of this tool to be misrepresented up. To sell the idea it will break ground.

You can use it to labour save. Like a computer. Thoughtless donkey work might be speeded up, but forever beware of inaccuracy or hallucination.

The narrative being pushed is that if you don’t get behind it you will be left behind. And jobs are going because of that trust. But every human you cut and replace is going to make your output more and more bland.

On balance, is social media a good thing, or a bad thing? I’m asking those of you who were here before it was here. I think I know what I think about it. We were better without it. This will be the same. We aren’t evolving quickly enough to evolve with these fast communication things we have made. But they aren’t good enough for us to rely on like we do, like we learnt to do with books. Social media is totally manipulated now, it’s just a swamp. AI is just blowing smoke up your arse while regurgitating stuff that was crap when it was eaten.

This Walking Dead Game I’m playing has a spin-off series that revolves around a well known character in the TV series. It is written by humans but clearly the B team. The main series is brilliant and I care about all my decisions. That’s good writing. The spin-off I don’t give a fuck. It is generic, doing all the things that are supposed to make me care, but I don’t give two hoots about it and as a result my decisions have been pretty arbitrary and likely many more made up people are dead than need to be. And that’s just bad writing by humans. If an LLM had done it – and that is all these things are, all they can be – I would likely have not worked my way through it at all.

I can’t be bothered with all those slop articles every day everywhere that people are fobbing off as theirs. “It understands my voice!” No it doesn’t. You’re just lazy. And why so much of this ordinary stuff? “Here’s a rude sign someone put on my car,” “We put a gopro on a rabbit,” and it’s AI. It’s ridiculous.

Someone I respect sent me a load of dross to learn one time. I didn’t learn it cos it was basically just atrocious and lots of it. I went into the shoot saying: “Did you get hammered and write that script over the course of a long night?”. In my imagination they had been caning it, probably on substances. That was how much sense it made.

“No. It was chat GPT.”

“I’m glad I didn’t learn it. Let’s improv on the themes.”

Southsea again, at Dan’s. This is a semi regular board game weekend. At the core, Dan (our host), Fluffy John, Stuart and I. I’ve known Dan and John consistently since 1987. I do have friends that go back further but I rarely if ever see them. So it makes this precious.

Dan was an incredibly important part of my growing up. I still know and love his family, his bonkers mum who is so like mine, his dad who immediately understood my dad and made friends with him. His brilliant straightforward brother. His delightful quick witted sister. Dan was my best friend at school and after the family haemorrhage, he is one of the only people in my life that knew both dad and mum well enough to have opinions and stories about them. That counts.

John also went to school with me, and his mum looked after our budgerigar one time. We were consistent friends from day one to the end. He’s a very very solid man, with nothing dishonest about him. His wife Mayumi gave me some invaluable recommendations for my Kumano Kodo, including sending me to the best fish meal I will ever eat in a minshuku in Kii-Katsuura.

Stuart fits. He’s Brian’s age, and an engineer. I like spending time with practical geeky people like this. Can’t vanish up the arsehole of theatre every day. Life is big.

Next week is gonna be confusing in terms of focus. I can partition it, and I will. But I’m aware that this weekend is my time to zone out so that’s what I’m doing. I’m in excellent company for such a practice.

Jules is here too this time, his wife. This helps. We are all capable of getting overexcited and either getting too drunk or staying up too late over the course of enjoying each others company.

I’d best get back to it. So far we have played: Mountaineers (very tactile, game not so well thought through). Then Chronicles of Crime where we solved a noir Hollywood murder. You need an app. It played well. Then Tiger and Dragon, which John brought from Japan and it didn’t have English instructions but it played extremely well, we were in the garden in the sun. Then Brink. Extremely involved. Somehow I won massively. Largely because none of us knew how it was scored and I specialised. Then Pairs as a quick one and Deep Sea Adventure where you just sabotage each other.

We are setting up “That’s a question”…

A few times over the last few years I’ve driven through France. Both times, I thought to myself that I would take advantage of where I was and stop at a vineyard or two.

Last time, I stopped at Chateau Corbiac and at Chateau Coutet. At Corbiac she was like “would you like the tour” and I told her, no no I’m just here to buy some wine. I thought I was gonna come away with a couple of cases at least. I ended up with just one as it was really really pricey. I bought one case of six bottles of their 2015 Pecharmant. “I’ll have to stop at another cheaper place, seems I got one of the good ones,” I thought. Oh sweet sweet summer child.

My next attempt was at Coutet. “You can’t buy wine until you’ve had the tour”. Fuck it, I’ve got time, I’ll listen to someone blither on about wine for a while so I can get the vineyard pricing, I thought.

We got through the tour. I bought a case of the organic 2019 Grand Cru St Emilion. It was more expensive than the previous. I felt a bit disillusioned, I didn’t have the bulk I wanted, but I clearly had the value. “I will sit on these a few years and then flog them for a healthy profit,” I thought.

I dug into one of the cases, and left the other expensive one intact to resell. When I got back from America it had been opened and put neatly away on shelves. My initial reaction was a resigned frustration that a potential investment had been scuppered. Then I went online to see what sort of prices I could get for these bottles now, a few years after purchase.

Turns out, about the same for one, and less for the other.

I was driving through France, these places happened to be close to my route, I went in wanting to buy from source as an investment. Turns out that’s not how it works.

The assumption seems to be that if you are there at the vineyard then you are there because you are already gasping for that particular vineyard. They want to give you the tour and blither on about temperature and so forth so they can justify skinning you on the cost per bottle. Buying from the vineyard is the worst way for punters like me to get wine, it transpires. I stopped off in a supermarket as well on my travels, and found three bottles of Margaux on the top shelf that were priced at €24. I’ve still got them, and could get £150 each for them easy. Still got stuff to learn, it seems.

In a perverse way I’m quite grateful that the cases got opened and broken up. I might have ended up going to a few more vineyards before I finally decided to sell my first batch of “investment bottles” only to discover that they were no better than they were when I started in terms of value. I suppose it makes sense. That’s my optimism interfering with reality again. It happens all the time. But it usually keeps me pretty happy.

So I’ve brought one of each of the two down to Southsea for the weekend and my friends and I will get through them. I’m reframing it like this: a couple of years ago I treated my future self and my friends to twelve very lovely bottles of wine and paid for them in advance.

Some young fellow from Stoke on Trent helped me get forty quid a month off my mobile phone bill. I couldn’t quite believe it. I’d tried the Vodafone store on the King’s Road, knowing I have been overpaying for months, and they just did all they could to lock me in for ages at a punishing rate. Inevitably it was the “I’m thinking of leaving Vodafone” option that got me the best shot. It’ll make a lot of difference to me that forty quid. Good on that lad. He trained as an actor.

It takes a good person sometimes to break the customer out of overpayment once they are there. Loyal customers who haven’t switched provider for years are probably on charts in the boardroom with tags like “Blood Bank”. It used to be that loyalty was rewarded, but usually nowadays it’s tested to destruction in the name of profit. We all have to play the market now. I just don’t particularly want to switch provider as I know some friends of mine struggle with signal in my flat.

A reasonably quiet day today, winding back the spring. I saw an old friend for dinner. We went to Durbar in Notting Hill which is an old unlicensed Indian Restaurant, affordable and friendly. We ate very well for not much. I shouldn’t eat out really while my finances feel so unstable, but life is life and friends are friends. I’d sooner spend it on curry than give it to Vodafone for literally nothing different.

One thing I noticed is that “Device Care” was on my old contract. Did I have some sort of PPE phone insurance package that some unscrupulous pigfucker bundled on? Very likely. We all know that nobody can read all the terms and conditions we agree to. Some of them change every week or so and all of them are acres long. You’d have to be obsessive and bored to have read even a quarter of what you’ve agreed to. So unscrupulous businesses (aka businesses) can sneak in what they want to.

Some Cyclops in America tried to troll me on the old book of idiots for pointing out that an AI post was AI. It made me realise how lucky I am to have so much going on. I thought we were having a conversation and suddenly he came in with loads of very odd unpleasantly reactive stuff. It made me look him up and looking him up made me sad. I guess these lonely souls are the people the demagogues are appealing to – an illusion of strength, a hearkening back to some lost halcyon time that never actually existed.

Life is big and weird, and it’s great now too just as it was great then and will continue to be great without anyone making it great for you. You just have to look for the light and remember that you’re the only one that can truly frame your stuff.

Let’s all keep being big and weird and goofy when we can, and try not to be rude to strangers across the world just because we’re sad.

Invigilating today and trying to ignore the growing conviction that the “whole civilization” that died on April 7th was the good old USA. I’m still trying not to think about it, but where they lead, we follow, we always have, culturally.

The narrative that “liberals hate America” obviously has nothing to do with truth, but it does have a lot to do with generating a pretext to ignore all the things that liberals seek. Like accountability for those in power, basic human rights, lack of torture etc. I’ve already spoken about this notion of “suicidal empathy”. It’s out of the same playbook. And it ties neatly to all the stuff that’s been going on in the home counties where people who have never valued critical thinking have been encouraged to put up flags to express their “patriotism” and other people are taking them down again because it’s meaningless and ridiculous. But this is why they are being encouraged to put them up. Because people will take them down. And then the narrative that “they don’t care about are country” can come in. Because there are people out there that DO hate our country. And the more wedges they can drive into cracks to splinter us the less likely we are to be able or willing to defend ourselves if/when the time comes. Trump has made it obvious that we have been in a cold resource war for some time, and he feels it is time to make it hot.

The Lego propaganda videos from Iran are terrifying in their catchiness and accuracy but also reveal clear thinking from a terrible regime that we have been at odds with for ages. Let America throw resources at us, they say. It takes their attention off Taiwan.

It doesn’t feel like things are gonna get nice any time soon. I’m back to making sure I know where my iodine is.

Just this morning there was a thing in a respected paper about some gammon who painted a red cross on a listed building. The article was making out like the reason he had to paint over it was because “they hate are cuntree!” He would have had to paint over it if it had been a penis, or “I love Keer” or “refujeez ar welcum”. There’s a picture of him sulking like he’s been told he can’t have his train set today. And my usual crowd of ferociously stupid manchildren on the socials are crying about it all.

I’ve been invigilating, and my entertainment recently has been pretty pessimistic zombie apocalypse fiction, so perhaps that is colouring my attitude. I’m actually in a pretty bright and hopeful headspace about the next few months of work…

A tape this morning first thing. I really wasn’t in the mood. Acting doesn’t switch on until noon. Had to do it though.

Thank fuck for ground coffee. I bubbled an espresso, shat like a horse, and put on a winged collar and a frock coat.

I’ve got a good tripod now, and the morning light is great in my flat. They were drilling outside but thankfully it isn’t a tender scene. It was a monologue and then a few lines of character swapping. I learnt the first paragraph of the monologue to lull them into a false sense of security. Then the rest was semi learnt semi read. It’s ok, they said in the instructions that we could read it. Still, I like to do as much as I can but I’m old and gnarly enough to have received dozens of “thank Al for all his hard work but…” I didn’t take a day down to learn it. I lived my life instead. In the end I either look like they want or I don’t. I can be fucking Laurence Day Burbage and if I’m too tall or brown or whatever they’ll go with Tommy Wiseau instead. I think it was a great tape anyway. As I said to Lou, there’s a lesson in that. I still dressed appropriately, got up early, tried. But I didn’t beat myself up.

A few hours enjoying the wonderful weather and then off to meet a girl about a panda. Artist collaboration brewing again. Madness will ensue.

Now I’m home, staring down an early bed. Invigilating tomorrow. Got some lines to learn for Monday. Keeping myself honest.

I’m playing Telltale’s The Walking Dead game series, and it is an absolute masterclass of cinematic game design. I haven’t watched the TV series or read the comics but my understanding is that it is a parallel story with a few intersections, but with the freedom for the narrative to be influenced by the players choices. It’s beautiful and terrifying and menacing and human. Like “The Last of Us,” a zombie narrative where the people are worse than the zombies. It’s a done thing, but this was made in 2012, and has been untouched in my steam library since it was super cheap in a flash sale forever ago. The Walking Dead kinda created the whole Georgia zombie apocalypse trope and tone. The game is like watching a very good adult cartoon where you occasionally influence what the protagonists do, and from time to time have to do an easy timed twitch thing. The voice acting is actually exceptionally good for an older game. Usually – with some notable exceptions – some people were always just phoning it with no context until quite recently. There are some atrocious examples of voice acting from the nineties and early noughties. By 2012 they were using directors and studios , but the directors and actors weren’t gamers and tended to overdo everything or send it up or just miss the point entirely. This game stands out in that I haven’t had anything take me out of it in terms of bullshit voice acting or absurd accents or false emphasis, and that is exceptionally rare for that era.

It is a game that is constantly asking difficult moral questions as you play through. It’s great and very upsetting but somehow beautiful with it. I’m up early tomorrow though so I’m gonna get an old fashioned book out now and find my bedtime story in that instead. There’ll probably be fewer zombies. Hopefully the zombies don’t make it into my dreams. But the thing I’ve learnt is they somehow seem to manage to get everywhere.

For a day I’m back on the invigilatey train.  They’ve changed all the road systems round the edge of Brompton, and I was in Ibis Shepherd’s Bush but now instead of going up to just by Olympia and going left, I actually have a much more logical route to my last parking spot, turning right at Brompton Cemetery. I park on one of the border roads of my borough. From there it’s just a short schlep.

Made it in time and found out I’m running a huge room, but it isn’t one I haven’t run before so it’s fine. I had decent people on my team and a helpful woman from the programming team. The guy who gives us our info is still a little green so everything has to be checked and double checked my end, but actually it was pretty smooth. Not many potatoes today. Things are looking up.

There’s not much time to think in that huge great big conference room, particularly if you’re wearing the hat. By the end of it I was knackered.

Got home and up to my attic to dig out a particular frock coat. Tomorrow morning early I’m sending in a particularly wordy self tape that I don’t have to learn but that will be a right bugger to get in the can. I’ve been putting it off for that reason, but I’ve got some appropriate costume now. Does it help? Who knows. But it makes me feel like I’ve made an effort. There’s a lot in the pipeline right now. I’m almost overflooded with possibility. A nice place to be, but at some point there will likely be a time of careful pruning.

For now I’m just keeping all the balls in the air. Esta did brilliantly shifting one audition for a summer Much Ado tour to a time where I could do it without dropping two days worth of well remunerated workshops in Kent.

So yes I’m feeling flooded right now. I’ve learnt now about my attention and how it works. I can only look at the thing I’m doing and the next thing. As soon as the thing I’m doing is done I look at my diary to see what the next thing is. When I’m flooded like this then I can’t fit social in. The next thing comes on the back of the thing I’m doing. I sometimes think of old friends who couldn’t cope with this. I mourn them. But I know what I’m like.

If I haven’t responded to your thing it is not personal, I forgot. If you decide to cut me off and start just being peremptory with me because of some imagined slight, it is not intended, it never was. Still, I try to get it. Some personality types just don’t play well with others. But I miss you.

Lou and I were up and out early in the morning. The Brighton Marina Car Boot takes people from 6. The road outside Lou’s was shut from 6 for the marathon, but Bergie was parked out of the zone. Still, I thought we might go in and get a pitch before 6. In the end I’m glad we didn’t. We arrived at 7:30 and it was too early. They made us park in someone’s armpit anyway because we only paid for one pitch. The guy at the door tried to upsell us. It’s £12 for one bay, £24 for two. I wasn’t gonna pay £24 for a chance to move on the tut in my car. He just saw big Bergie.

The guy we were right on top of was pleasant, thankfully. But it was gale force wind, freezing cold and spitting. We steeled ourselves. The sale is right at the top of the marina car park and it is exposed to every element. We weren’t given a good pitch for wind resistance. They dealt with us as if it was going to be busy. We were one of only about six stalls there. Mostly regulars / dealers.

Not many people came by. I flogged more than I expected to frankly, but it’s only because I was pricing everything at a couple of quid. The dealers around us all had a few things they were holding out for a few hundred. Lou and I made a good trade but might have queered their grandiose pitches, cos nothing is worth more than what people buy it for.

Items moved on. There were expressions of joy. Three people haggled me up over the course of the morning. All three times I could tell they loved a silly thing, I basically told them it was free : “It can be yours for ten pee.” They gave me a pound.

There’s still a load of shite in my car but it not as much as there was. I’ll do a Battersea Boot before long. That’s a good one but you have to book it a week before and it is a touch pricier.

We got squalled a few times. It was horrid. But when it wasn’t shit things were bright. It was a fun and different context in which to hang with Lou in her manor. And it really is her manor now, she’s been there so long. One lovely peaceful guy came to the stall wearing a jacket she had made for him twenty years ago.

Then I drove back to London, did a self tape with Dan – thank fuck there’s an actor / film maker near mine who gets it… Chelsea isn’t full of them, or if it is I haven’t met them. I showed up at his at 8pm and got it all signed off quickly enough considering they wanted multiple versions. I’ve just come out the edit. Tiny part, but I love that stuff. You can do a lot with a little, and it’s what you have to do until they give you a lot.

Bedtime. Dayjobbing tomorrow and another tape. In the mix in the mix in the mix in the mix.

So it is as I feared. Waitrose was a gentleman’s relish free place. There were other men of about my age looking when I went in. Like the best mushrooms, some fucker was there first thing in the morning and snagged them all.

Lou and I had a lovely peaceful day by the sea, involving a good amount of driving but that never bothered me. She’s been flogging things on vinted and it puts me off the whole process seeing how she has to go to five different places in order to post things through businesses that the customers have selected. Evri and InPost and others I’ve never even heard of and it’s all far too involved for a few bob.

Once business was concluded the sun came out and we went to the bluebells. For a moment, a warm clear day. The clouds blew away, the light came. We walked in Falmer through the dancing hordes of lords and ladies in blue.

And the cherry blossoms in pink. And the childerlings screaming as they jump on nature. And little covens of hopeful people with their bluebell mindfulness ritual circles. “Now channel the times you’ve been blue, focus your blues and send all that sadness into the beauty of the flowahs, and when I ring the bell, put some money into my bank account. *ding* And remember, your generosity is energy for change in your life, every penny you transfah to me will bring joy and prosperity, hope and whatevah else you wrote on that piece of paper at the stahrt. *ding* So really breathe into your pockets now, feel the flow of prosperity from you to me like a river of blue and gold”. etc etc. I’m in the wrong job.

Then we got home and watched Amandaland and we absolutely howled with laughter. At one point we had to pause it. For some reason I thought it was a Hollywood show. It is totally the spiritual successor to AbFab, which still has a huge following in the states – I had people in smalltown Virginia doing “Patsy” for me when they found out I was English. I wouldn’t be surprised if their kids were doing Amanda in twenty years.

The spring feels like a new beginning at last. I started to really hope for some positive change in the world and our life too. Pendulums swing swing swing and keep on moving til they stop.