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Outside my house is a burned-out car, which was quite surprising. It appeared overnight, and I found it while walking to the newsagent in the morning. Apparently my housemate got to see them putting it out on her way into work, which was exciting.

Surprising, because you don’t often see cars set alight in the middle of London, but the sight of a burned out car and that particular aroma of burned rubber, petrol and oil did bring back memories.

It reminded me of where I was brought up, and why I left.

Anyone in the UK who didn’t watch the superb Life On Mars over the last couple of months has been missing a rare treat.

If only there were some way that people who’d missed it, or lived in a different country, could somehow download the entire series onto their computer instead of having to wait for the DVD release. Sadly, such a brilliant technological invention may never exist. If it did, I’m sure you’d all be using it right now.

DMc summarises Life On Mars here (scroll down to the picture). Short version: Copper gets run over, wakes up in 1973.

The series was co-created by Matthew Graham, who also wrote or co-wrote five of the eight episodes.

So it’s a super-duper treat to find that he’s going to be writing an episode for Doctor Who.

Let the rejoicing begin!

DMc from Dead Things On Sticks (in the sidebar – go visit, he’s good) has just had a new TV series commissioned.

OK, so it’s in Canada, and is unlikely to have guns, explosions, or fights between thirty-storey-high giant robots. Which is a shame.

But still. Yay Denis!

Depends on your point of view.

Ever wanted to know exactly how the budget for a 71-million-dollar movie is spent?

The Smoking Gun has the answers as it publishes the full budget breakdown from “The Village”, and edited highlights of the spend on M. Night Shyamalan’s other films.

Armando Iannucci, one of the finest comedic minds in the UK, has recently been lecturing at Oxford University on the current state of British Sitcom.

MP3s available here.

Or, what Piers is working on right now.

Persephone (formerly Untitled Horror Project) – a feature.

I’m just finishing off the second draft, should be done by the end of next week. The narrative frame is OK, but there’s at least one subplot I’m going to have to take a long hard look at in the next draft. Because I don’t think it’s bringing anything to the party.

Playground – Radio Drama

Draft 2 is sitting in a drawer, and has been for some time. It’s a two-hander, and one of the characters doesn’t have a strongly-enough defined point-of-view.

Everyone Repents – Warhammer 40k short story.

Because I thought it would be fun. There’s a short story competition running over at The Black Library. Synopsis and Writing Sample are in, and I’m waiting to hear back whether I’ve made it into the next round.

Theatre Comedy

For NewsRevue and The Treason Show. Actual paid work. Not paid much, admittedly, but hell it’s not like I’m going to say no to the money. Christine & I are still putting these in, but not as often as we used to – probably 6 or 7 sketches written a month rather than 6 or 7 written a week. Of which we sell maybe 1 in 3.

Cons Anon – Radio Sitcom

Sitcom Challenge, again with Christine. Write a sitcom in two months. Other people on the challenge are William, Michela, and Jamie. We’ve plotted ours out and are rewriting the outline this week, with the intention to go to script by the end of the week.

There’s a terrible poster adorning the side of bus shelters in the UK right now.

It features a picture of Sir Alan Sugar, star of the UK version of “The Apprentice”. He stares menacingly out of the poster, finger pointing directly at you. A wisp of smoke rises from his finger.

Beneath it, the caption: Ready. Aim. Fired.

This makes no sense.

Who’s fired? Well, the picture is of Sir Alan. Is he fired? No, he’s the firer. Huh?

And the phrase is Ready. Aim. Fire. So it’s not as if someone has just copied the phrase onto the poster without thinking about it. Oh no. Someone has actually gone ahead and thought “You know what that poster really needs? A D on the end.”

Many pub urinals in the UK now have adverts at eye-height so you have something to read while you piss. The versions of the poster in there make sense. Same picture. No extraneous D.

And of course, you have the beautiful double-meaning. Ready. Aim. Fire.

You see that? That’s good advertising.

This isn’t the first time that a D has screwed something up. Let’s take a few moments to look at “Tomorrow Never Dies”, the 18th James Bond film.

Take a moment to consider the title.

It makes no sense.

In no way could it be said to have anything whatsoever to do with the film. At no point does anything bearing the epithet or metaphor for Tomorrow come close to dying, or indeed not dying.

But when you find out that the film was written under the title “Tomorrow Never Lies”, suddenly you discover a world of beauty. The Chief Villain quotes the title when explaining his dastardly plan. Filled with delicious double-meaning, as the paper he owns – Tomorrow – is filled with lies from end to end. And, of course, thematically you can lie all you want, but James Bond will find you out. A beautiful title.

And then a D came along and spoiled it all.

Advertisers, I’m begging you. Resist the lure of the D!

Bother!

When I was a young boy, I spent a lot of time with my grandparents, and my great aunt. Mum and Dad both worked, so my brother and myself were looked after by Nanna, Poppa and Auntie Ann quite a lot of the time.

They put you in a big white sheet,
and tuck the corners in nice and neat.
Oh-oh-oh-oh, where will we be in a hundred years from now?

Auntie Ann would sometimes sing me a song. About how the world was evanescent and fleeting, and how in the end all things must die. This isn’t the song that any parent would sing to their children. There are some truths that are told by others.

They put you in a big brown box,
and cover you under six feet of rocks.
Oh-oh-oh-oh, where will we be in a hundred years from now?

Last night over dinner I was telling my girlfriend about this. She’s from Texas. It turns out that it was sung in the playground there when she was growing up; she was taught it by her schoolmates.

The worms crawl in and the worms crawl out,
they crawl in thin and they crawl out stout.
Oh-oh-oh-oh, where will we be in a hundred years from now?

And children across the world will be singing this song to each other long after I’m gone to dust. Because there are some songs that you can’t be sung by your parents, but that have to be learned by us all.