I am very pleased to be able to tell you that I have had a telephone call from Oliver this afternoon, and his first GCSE exam went really remarkably well.
He was so pleased with his world that he was practically euphoric. He had written loads, he explained, but not only that, none of the misfortunes that had been worrying him – his pens failing to function, his calculator battery running out, his desk exploding – had come to pass, and everything was perfectly all right.
I was pleased to hear this, and even more pleased to learn that he had thought to forestall all of these potential disasters by going to Inverness at weekend, and purchasing plenty of new, functional examination-passing kit. He had even thought about a new calculator, just in case, but had been deterred by the extortionate cost, and thought that he would just remember to bring his spare one from home after half term.
He wasn’t really worried that his desk might explode, I made that bit up, although probably he would have been worried about it if somebody had suggested it. He has had an anxiety-filled few days.
It is rolling now, and he is much more sanguine. He is not dreading the evil moment any more. It is happening, and he is all right.
I have got everything crossed for him.
I also occupied my morning with education, although rather less creditably than Oliver. I occupied the morning by writing a scurrilous monologue for my screenwriting course, which I have attached at the bottom of this entry. It is an unkind, and easily-identifiable lampoon of the lady who came to talk to us in yesterday’s class, and I should not have written it. Mark said that I have done very well to not get chucked out for as long as I have done, but it was always going to happen in the end.
They will have to be quick, it is the last class tonight, and actually I don’t think the tutor has read it yet.
I have lasted almost the whole distance without being booted out, imagine that.
It still isn’t too late.
Other than that, I have occupied my day by refilling our cupboards. I have made a chocolate pudding, some more fudge, some biscuits, some pistachio-and-peppermint chocolate, and a massive pan of curried chicken, which I am hoping will feed us for the rest of the week.
Mark has taken the two youthful dogs and buzzed off to the farm. He would have taken Roger Poopy’s ancient father, but when they were setting off this morning, he refused to stir from his cushion, and so eventually I took pity on him and said that he could stay.
He might as well. He has absolutely no interest in charging about barking at people on walking holidays in the Lake District. This is one of Roger Poopy’s best things, even though he is always being told to shut up.
Hence he has spent an elderly day snoozing contentedly in front of the fire. I lit this for his benefit, and also so I could get the washing dry, and then he had the added bonus of there being nobody youthful and irritating to bounce on his head or chew his tail.
I am going to go. It is my last class. I will not be educated any more until September, and I am feeling quite sad about it. I am enjoying my education even more than Oliver is enjoying his, and like him, I will be at a bit of a loose end when it is over.
I still have an assignment left to go. I have got to write a play.
I will have to think about that.
Below is my monologue. It is called The Hero’s Journey, which is the name given to the generic plot of all television shows ever.
Monologue for radio
Woman’s voice.
Heyyy, hey guys, so good of you to see me. Wow, I guess this is the moment I’ve been waiting for. (Laughs) Shall I sit here?
Now, I know you’ve got really full on lives, and so I’ve only got a few minutes, I really get that and I don’t want to waste a single second, really I don’t. (Laughs) But guys, I promise you this. This isn’t wasted time. This is one pitch you’ll be really glad you heard today. It’s all here, guys, in this little folder, our road to a big hit. It’s all ready for you. Pitch, beat sheet, and we do have some beats, I can tell you. This one dances to a rhythm of its own.
Right, let’s cut to the chase. (Laughs) Guys, there might even be a chase in this one. This is a great idea. (Laughs)
It’s a comedy. Well, a comedy-thriller. Real laugh-a-minute stuff. Guys, I’ve taken the story of the serial killers, Brady and Hindley, and I’ve taken a completely new look at it. Real novel angle. I looked on Wikipedia about sociopaths and psychopaths, and guys, guess what, those dudes were one of each. (Laughs) Do you get that? Who’d have thought it? Well, I thought I’d bring out the comic element, get people to see them and laugh along with them. You can’t say anyone’s ever done that before.
Thing is, y’know, guys, it can run and run and run, because these two killed loads of kids. And better still, they killed loads that we don’t even know about. So we’ve got an open field. Real opportunity for creativity. It could run for twelve seasons, maybe more. (Laughs) I wanted to hook the audience in, make them really feel what Myra feels, really start rooting for her as the comic/tragic protagonist, really get her passion for Ian, and keep it an open question all the way through, will he love her the way she wants to be loved? Will he, y’know, marry her? I wanted the audience to feel the bitter sweet pathos of that, even while they laugh alongside them. I want to appeal to the younger demographic, y’know? The over-fifties probably won’t like it much, and hey, I get that, but, well, who cares, do they even know what streaming is yet? (Laughs)
What d’you think? Guys, I really know we’re on to something here. It made the red list on Coverfly. I’m getting real positive vibes about it, everywhere I’ve taken the pitch, but I wanted you guys to get the first crack at it. (Laughs)
It’s my craft. Yes, I guess I’m pretty proud of myself.
So I guess we’re ready to go, then.
Together on the hero’s journey.
