Blank Page meeting leads to nothing but of blank pages... at least for me

So I tried desperately hard to get something done for last weeks Blank Page meeting. The task was to create something from the phrase "I woke up drunk again". I had initially considered paining something. Something epic using oil paints on a proper canvas, something worthy of the great masters. At least that was my first instinct. Of course with me my first instinct is seldom appropriate and on this occasion it was especially inappropriate owing to the fact that I have all the artistic talent and vision of an autistic oranutang with near crippling arthritis in both his hands. Still, is suppose that puts me quite high up the list for an Arts Council grant, so maybe it’s something worth bearing in mind for the future.

My second instinct was to do what I do best (which, considering my limited mastery of anything, should be considered relatively) and write something. I decided to write a nice short story. Well, I tried to start writing a nice short story but somehow never managed to get round to it. Then inspiration hit me. In the old days of doing my MA in Feature Film Screenwriting at Royal Holloway I used to leave doing my weeks work until I got on the SouthWest Train locomotive bound for Waterloo. Somehow the very fact that this would be my last opportunity to get my work done allowed me to focus on the task at hand. My lecturer even noted that this was a method that she quite frequently employed too, a fact that I felt somewhat vindicated me. So, a few days before the meeting, once it became clear that I would be conveniently misplacing any time that I might have found to do the work, I decided that I would simply write a short story with a pen and newly purchased pocket notepad on the way to the meeting on Tursday. London Transport, however, had other ideas. Unfortunately a trip on the Metropolitan line is somewhat akin to travelling on a particularly decrepit and unimaginative rollercoaster, which is to say that it is a touch bumpier that the 9.32 from Egham and only marginally more exciting (you can after all continually check the daily lack of progress on the new Wembley Stadium as you go past). The result of my tube ride was a pad full of squiggles that bore more relationship to an erratic cardiogram than any recognisable form of handwriting. So, only maginally worse than my usual efforts with pen and paper. My handwriting is absolutely appalling and it always has been. I think that goes some way towards explaining why I've so warmly embraced word processors. Last week I even briefly toyed with the idea of buying a PDA onto which I could write notes which could instantly be converted into a word format document. Of course laziness could also play something of a part in my desire for an otherwise useless pice of handheld gadgetry. It would, after all, save me the bother of having to type up my notes. Besides, anything that could conceal the inadequacy of my penmanship had to be a good thing. I actually tried one out in my local PC World and I was impressed to discover that it could even make sense of my illegible scrawl. But in the end I really can’t justify the purchase, even for a 2^nd had iPaq at Computer Exchange at only £75. I simply don’t have the money, which is why I should really get myself some sort of temping work. I will. Eventually. I actually have the house to my self next week so it’s my intention to do a lot of writing and get busy on the job front. Knowing me I’ll probably just end up spending more or less the whole time playing one iteration or another of Halo.