What the hell is going on? I have woken exhausted again having dreamt I was doing my degree for the fourth time. This is a recurring dream which I usually get upon my return to work. In the dream I know I am repeating my degree and that I am going to do worse than last time. Because of this, depressing thoughts have overwhelmed me and I have decided to stay in bed. I am attempting to raise my spirits by writing snide remarks on Twitter while Miss Dover, that little Allumeuse, tends to her beauty regime next door. I think I may change film 15’s title to Panopticon and go hunting for a photo of the moon.
National Service
Another sleepless night has made me think twice about staying in my beautiful Ipswich flat. Staggering groups of screeching women serenaded me during the drowsy hours between midnight and four by which time the seagulls took up their sweet roundelay. I slept at seven until the bells of St Ignatius called it’s worshippers (and myself) to mass. The day has followed in something of a fog and all I have achieved is a little light hoovering, a crossword (which I had to cheat at to finish) and some under the breath grumbling. I need to get back on top of things. Starting tomorrow I must email B about my diy nightmare buildings. Post some films to Hackney for some sort of evening of surveillance and get together some video samples for a curator in Leeds. On top of this I need to find two large lampshades and make an arts council application for One Million pounds. I pray for a quiet night but as I write a crowd of young men are setting out on their night’s revelry singing “Happy birthday to you, happy birthday to you, happy birthday. Happy birthday to you, happy birthday to you, happy birthday. Happy birthday to you, happy birthday to you, happy birthday.” they are literally chorusing as they do not seem to know the verse.
The Bins, The Bins!
This morning Miss Dover and I managed our first visit to the studio in quite a while. This was an event made even more momentous by the toing and froing involved in reaching our destination. My day had already been set off kilter by an argument about the bins. Apparently bins which we have been using for five months now do not belong to our flat but rather to the hairdressers below a service that they pay hundreds of pounds for. I was accused of filling there bins with my rubbish. I pointed out that at most I produce one small bg of rubbish a week and that perhaps the brimful bins may have resulted from the shadowy graphic design agency that sits between us on the first floor. The upshot of this is we have no bins. Nor will we be getting any in the near future. A telephone call to the council revealed that they do not provide bins on our street. If we are lucky we will receive an orange sack. I look forward to it. Anyway this news upset us so much that we both forgot vital materials that needed to be transported to the studio forcing us into a dreaded return trip. I never like going back, it seems such a waste. Nevertheless we eventually made it and while Miss Dover settled down to some painting I set about prising up the foam that had adhered itself so permanently to every surface of my studio (and mopping up the puddle at its centre) I have recorded some of the morning’s work, presented below, although I forgot my camera and was forced to use my phone. The last is my first test of the dvds for Pearlville it is proving to be a cacophonic experience. But technically all went well.
I have left film 15 untitled. This was an oversight not an attempt at creating some sort of filmic mythology. Stupidly I deleted all of the also ran titles so I have had to start from scratch. If stumped for much longer I shall resort to a Blue Peter type competition and bear the consequences.
