Camberwick Green

Isn’t that made of people?

Barring confused book/kid’s TV references, what other subjects did I think about as potential blog-mines?  “Daft Punk” was one, maybe the first, I wasn’t really keeping track.  Absoloutley no lifespan in that one, gave up straight away.  “Horse and cart” was another one, let’s call it the next thought.  The setting out on this particular ‘creative journey’ started with a horse and a cart (obviously) escalating to rag and bone men followed by an M1-esque diversion to something along the lines of that scene from “Young Frankenstein” with the Werewolf joke (there-wolf).  I ended it there, I think this particular story-gay’s leg’s had been hobbled a couple of minces in…

Other titles had travelled through my conciousness.   Some kids saying “innit” and stuff kicked their way into my sentience.  I tried to write something in a middle class tone concerning a 14 year old kid from north London wearing a cap at an angle quoting Busta Rhymes and/or Will Smith, or whoever else is famous to the yoof nowadays.  It involved words like “mutha” and “dontcha”.  That ain’t… I mean ‘isn’t’ going to work, plus anyway, it has been done far too many times to be worthwhile.  I’m not that linguistically agile or creative enough to write a whole piece in a colloquial tounge I have no knowledge, appreciation and understanding of.  I tried to use it when describing what I intended up there, and even I’m thinking ‘patronising twat…’  Just to further add a nail to this lexicographical coffin, the title for this was to be “Me and me crew”.  Jesus.

“Dave and the Seaguls”.  Now that one has legs.  That one could take many a route on the story train.  A musical group?  A lad who’s best friends were seabirds? A girl, who’s name was Dave and was a member of a gang of girl’s with boy’s names called “The Seaguls”.  It is endless.  Change the person, change the definition of “The Seaguls” and you have a plethora of stories to dig away at.  I might use that one later.

To cut a short story long, I couldn’t think of anything to write about.  I was scraping the bottom of the barrel.  What I did choose was my favourite title and first line that I imagined today.  It made me titter to myself (rightly or wrongly) so I stuck with it and went from there.  I was going to bang on about other things that were made of people but couldn’t be bothered.  I’m happy with it as it is, it made me smile for a few seconds.  If you want Booker Prize stuff then go somewhere else.  Go on, I’ve had enough of you people judging me.  It’s my writing anyway, fuck off.  Go on, fuck off?!

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