Mostly Harmful.
Well, that was quite a decade. After many, many years of floating amiably through life like a member of the Drones Club who is temporarily out of funds (that part hasn't changed) life lurched to a sudden, sickening halt. My beautiful wife Kelly became very ill. We picked up sticks, left our jobs and London, and moved to Belfast to be near her family. She died a year into the decade and I didn't know what to do. So I grieved in an empty house and I drank and drank.
I'd always wanted to write. It was as vague as that. I wanted to write SOMETHING. I didn't know what it was, but I started to write a blog - short squibs of grief spat at the universe. Then, to get out of the house, I started writing reviews of gigs for Culture Northern Ireland. Then I wrote for The Vacuum because Kelly had done. Then I started writing EVERYTHING:
I started a theatre company. I made a film. I starred in an advert for the Belfast Service industry. I became a radio pundit. I did a voice-over for a Finnish medical robot. I became an arts reviewer. I wrote a novel. I wrote a book of short-stories. I started signing on again. I wrote a few screen-plays. I wrote a few plays. My plays went to the Edinburgh fringe. So did I. I made my professional debut as a playwright and that play toured the island of Ireland and got great reviews in The Guardian and The Times. I was Artist in Residence at the MAC. I have failed to secure any funding from the Arts Council. I've done book readings in Belfast and Dublin. I stopped signing on again. I watched an incredible amount of old films. I've scripted a reality TV pilot. I've scripted an animation pilot. I've written a comic. I illustrated a biography of Alisteir Crowley. I recorded two albums. I wrote an album for a London based punk band. I started a new band: Blasted Heath. I recorded a regular, extremely popular podcast named Stalemates. I ground my teeth into powder and I drank a lot of red wine. I broke my thumb falling over on the Comber Greenway, surprised by a bonfire. I started painting again. I wrote another novel and another book of short stories. I'm making another film.
And I met my beautiful, generous and loving partner, Susan. In a way, if I could survive it, there was no way that the decade couldn't improve, but I could never have imagined how lucky I'd turn out to be.
The world is going to shit, the government is more hideous than ever and apparently I really am no longer a fucking European. But I am loved and I have hope and I feel like I'm just starting to understand how to do my job. We'll see what the next ten years holds. I'm cautiously optimistic. Obviously I'm old now so it wont all be good. But I'm hoping some of it at least will be. And I hope I get to do some more mad shit.
I'd always wanted to write. It was as vague as that. I wanted to write SOMETHING. I didn't know what it was, but I started to write a blog - short squibs of grief spat at the universe. Then, to get out of the house, I started writing reviews of gigs for Culture Northern Ireland. Then I wrote for The Vacuum because Kelly had done. Then I started writing EVERYTHING:
I started a theatre company. I made a film. I starred in an advert for the Belfast Service industry. I became a radio pundit. I did a voice-over for a Finnish medical robot. I became an arts reviewer. I wrote a novel. I wrote a book of short-stories. I started signing on again. I wrote a few screen-plays. I wrote a few plays. My plays went to the Edinburgh fringe. So did I. I made my professional debut as a playwright and that play toured the island of Ireland and got great reviews in The Guardian and The Times. I was Artist in Residence at the MAC. I have failed to secure any funding from the Arts Council. I've done book readings in Belfast and Dublin. I stopped signing on again. I watched an incredible amount of old films. I've scripted a reality TV pilot. I've scripted an animation pilot. I've written a comic. I illustrated a biography of Alisteir Crowley. I recorded two albums. I wrote an album for a London based punk band. I started a new band: Blasted Heath. I recorded a regular, extremely popular podcast named Stalemates. I ground my teeth into powder and I drank a lot of red wine. I broke my thumb falling over on the Comber Greenway, surprised by a bonfire. I started painting again. I wrote another novel and another book of short stories. I'm making another film.
And I met my beautiful, generous and loving partner, Susan. In a way, if I could survive it, there was no way that the decade couldn't improve, but I could never have imagined how lucky I'd turn out to be.
The world is going to shit, the government is more hideous than ever and apparently I really am no longer a fucking European. But I am loved and I have hope and I feel like I'm just starting to understand how to do my job. We'll see what the next ten years holds. I'm cautiously optimistic. Obviously I'm old now so it wont all be good. But I'm hoping some of it at least will be. And I hope I get to do some more mad shit.
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