I'm currently in the process of writing a script. Originally I planned to write a novel, but I decided that for the sake of time and my terrifyingly short attention span that I should change the medium to that of the theatre. "Hark!" I hear those of me who know me well cry, "Haven't you already written a script?". Yes, back when I was a wee nipper of only fifteen, I did indeed write a script, but it was hardly a serious project and the result was amusing, but crass and unoriginal. I also believe I lost the digital copy of it, so all I have left is one hard copy that I intend to keep for myself and not to distribute. You'll have to suffer with my new one.
The story is a black comedy that revolves around the life of a chap called Charlie. Charlie lives with his sister (and her boyfriend) and works in a paper merchant, although after three years of working there he still doesn't know this. After being stood up in a pub by a date, he drowns his sorrows to the point of coughing up his guts and passing out. When he comes around he overhears two shady characters who believe they're alone discussing plans for a job that "even an idiot could pull off". After a long deliberation session lasting all of thirty seconds, he decides to get one up on these crafty bastards and do the job an hour before them and live the life of a king.
Obviously it doesn't work out like that, and he gets dragged into a world he knows nothing about. You'll meet characters such as:
Tez, Charlie's friendly but untrustworthy right hand man
Sarah, Charlie's caring but impatient sister
Harry, the gang leader with a violent obsession for biscuits
Expect thrills, spills and chills; idiocy, idioms and incompetence; guns, gangsters and garibaldis.
And just for you lucky few who actually read my blog, here's the opening monologue by the lead character himself as he describes his life until the pub*:
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My name's Charlie, and… Well basically, my life's shoddy. It seems no matter what I do my life will always be that way. "Why so glum Charlie?" I hear you asking. That's a question and a half, but I suppose it all boils down to two weeks ago. I was working as I usually do, which is usually as little as I can get away with, at the wonderful cesspool known as Wildorth Smith Ltd. Three years of working there and I still don't know what it's supposed to do, I just sit in the corner typing up receipts for overpaid wonkas whose job it is to tell people to flip off in as many creative ways as possible. Anyway, I went home to get ready for a date I had that night, just a drink down at the Red Lion, nothing special, but the girl clearly thought I was a bit 'special' and decided to leave me dribbling into a bowl of peanuts for the rest of the evening. Of course I handled the situation in a sensible and mature manner, calling her up telling her I was going to chop up her dog and eat it before drowning myself in two pound pints of lager. I'm not quite sure what happened, but I did wake up in a cubicle a little bit surrounded by my own vomit and urine to the grating sound of two blokes talking at the urinals.
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*In the interest of taste, all harsh swearing has been replaced by friendlier words in bold - kitten approved
