My Review of “Big Fat Gypsy Gangster” (rated 15)

(Bulla presents in association with Black And Blue Films London and The Mews London and distributed by 4Digital Media)

The Fighter. Get Carter (the original and classic one with Michael Caine and not the unnecessary “reworking” by Sly Stallone). The Wrestler. And of course, The Long Good Friday.

I bet Bulla likes these films. And so do I, which I think is why I enjoyed this affectionate tribute to all of them plus the ingredients so over-used by TV programme makers of recent years – gypsies, gangsters and yes, dwarves. A largely unheralded film, I only chanced upon it after hearing comedian and actor Ricky Grover (best known in my house recently as Matron Hilary Loftus in the marvellous “Getting On”) being interviewed by Janice Forsyth on her Radio Scotland show on Saturday past. Intrigued, entertained and determined to see it, I searched for it online where I liked it on first on Facebook and then followed it on Twitter, where I persuaded a very nice man from the distributors to let me have a copy of the film after finding out that it was only having a limited cinematic release (that didn’t include Glasgow) before being released on DVD on the condition that I spread the word. I also freely offered to do a review on my blog.

You join an American documentary film-maker and his crew who are bundled into the back of a Transit van with newly released bank-robber and local hero Bulla upon his release from prison and whisked away on a frenetic ride (partly on a hijacked tour bus) as he reacquaints himself with his manor (now run by Mason the cop who put him away, played by Eddie Webber) and his decidedly insane friends, relatives and associates. Among them are Auntie Queenie (a superb turn by Laila Morse, whose brother I believe has a film out too this week, bless him) enjoying a few spirits in more ways than one, and whose pub is in danger of being closed, and his financial and legal advisor Jik Jickels (the always great and, as is revealed, sexily hirsute Omid Djalili) plus a skilled and talented supporting cast including Peter Capaldi (rocking a fine beard as Bulla’s “physician heal thyself” anger management therapist with the brilliant name of Peter Van Gellis), Steven Berkoff (as Bulla’s guru) and Derek Acorah, who enthusiastically joins in the sport as mentor to wanna-be psychic Kai (played with equal gusto by Rufus Hound). I don’t like to give away too much of the story – suffice to say I hope you will out loud and gasp at the situations they find themselves in as much as I did.

Plaudits and praise must most definitely go to Ricky Grover (who also wrote the script with Maria Grover) who breathes life and depth into his creation Bulla with an energetic and spirited performance that frankly should see him taking on less comedic and more serious acting roles in the future. He also directs a fine troupe of actors as his myriad of cleverly and wryly observed characters and draws the story to a satisfying conclusion, albeit with the help of tasers and a whiff (plus a swig) of lavender oil. I don’t often get the chance to say thank you to a film-maker after seeing their work but I am happy to on this occasion and say well done to all involved.

Bulla is available on DVD from Monday

HEY THERE GEORGIE GIRL

I was having a wee cuppa with a lovely friend of mine last week when another of her friends joined us and the conversation turned eventually to the miseries of child sexual abuse. The other two spoke of uncles and male friends of the family who you sensed even as a wee one were somehow not to be trusted; of creepy men in huts in the park, on building sites and other land who would entice kids in for a heat at the fire and a glimpse of his cock; and why no-one ever thought of hiring friendly older women to this kind of work (although I do accept that women are abusers too). My friend’s pal recommended a book for me to read - “Where There Is Evil” by Sandra Brown is the story of a woman and her father’s crimes against another child, which I have just started reading.
I am ashamed to say that during this conversation, I just sat nodding like an idiot, making sympathetic and supportive noises. You see, I was never abused in that despicable way as a child. I know my mother was assaulted by one of my granny’s brothers but was still horrified when she asked me when I was in my twenties if my dad had ever made any advances to me. My dad was nothing but loving and kind to me and we were very close. So when am I in company and the subject of these horrific crimes and atrocities that are perpetrated against innocent bairns, I feel like I used to feel like I did back in the late 1980s when I went to a couple of women’s consciousness raising group meetings and felt so guilty that I was in a relationship with a good man who has never lifted a hand to me that I left and never returned. Now don’t get me wrong – I am so very grateful that I was never a victim of either child sexual abuse or domestic violence - but I feel lost in these conversations and want to apologise to my friend and her pal for not saying that at the time.
That’s not to say I wasn’t abused. I was hammered to within an inch of my life for the mildest infraction and witnessed the same being done to my younger siblings, holding them afterwards as they sobbed; time and again I wrestled and forced myself between my parents as they physically and verbally fought because my siblings were howling in fear in the corner and begging me to make them stop; I dragged my father on the one time he was pushed to his limit by my goading mother, downstairs and threw him out of the house, his usually slicked down black hair flying, his mouth bleeding and eyes wild reminiscent of Jack Nicholson in “The Shining”, with me standing shaking in fear after he was gone (I am not apologising for or trying to downplay his response but it was almost always her attacking and beating on him) . I was punched, kicked and challenged to fights by a mother who saw me not as a daughter but as a rival who was turning out to be tall and fat with my father’s face and not hers – the last time she did this to me I admit with no pride and the deepest pits of shame that something snapped in me, I saw “the red mist” and the next thing I recall was my father pleading with me to loosen my hands from around her throat and let her breathe. My mother also verbally ridiculed me and even now, as a middle-aged woman, in a corner of my mind I am massively fat and thus have a poor body image, although I hide it well. She criticised me at 14 when I wasn’t interested in boys and accused me of being a lesbian (strangely as she was bisexual herself) then called me slut and whore at aged 17 when I made up for lost time with a slew of boyfriends. At age 15 when she called a family meeting to announce that she and my dad were separating and told us we kids “had to decide which one of you want to live with”, she had the temerity it seemed to me to be shocked when I chose my dad. She openly had an affair when they reconciled and memorably once stepped over him and walked out as he lay on the floor curled in agony with an angina attack and pleading with her not to go, leaving me to later call an ambulance and console the other two kids when he had another.
I know now that she had bi-polar disorder – in her highs she was the most generous and magnanimous giver of gifts and in her lows she would demand money from me or steal and pawn my things.
As an adult, I took her into my home when she turned up at my door at 3am in the morning after her lover had beaten her up and tossed her out; I picked her up from the police station after she set fire to her flat and then took her to a psychiatric hospital and signed her over to them for electric convulsive therapy; I listened to her tell me that she had hoped that my partner then of 10 years (now 25 years) and father to her grandchild was a phase I was going through. The last straw was when she came to my house to visit and proceeded to tell my 4 year old daughter that the fairy cakes she had baked for Granny “tasted horrible” and that the pictures my wee lass (at that age when they are fascinated in their growing sense of self that they were once a baby) showed her were “of an ugly baby”. Seeing the cycle moving to start again, I told my mother to never come back, ceased all contact with her and never saw her again. She died 3 years later alone in her bed, having also pushed her other children away.
But I feel that it is time now though to try to make peace with my mother and so via this blog one of the things I will be doing and asking you to read if you care are outlines and pieces of writing in the hope that eventually I will have a script or maybe even a book that tells her story. Mammy, our own Georgie Girl, this will be for you with love x

My TV Heaven

Hi – here as promised is a wee rundown in no particular order of preference or rating a wee list of what’s I think is good to watch on DVD, online and if you must, the idiot lantern. You can’t say “there’s nothing good on TV anymore” if you give them a shot.

1) Leverage
Leverage is a what Hustle (the BBC show, not the jizzmag) could have been if it was much slicker and funnier in its writing and performance. It tells the story of former insurance investigator Nate Ford (Tim Hutton, who I fancied rotten in Ordinary People in 1981) and his band of thieves who act as modern-day Robin Hood and merry men (and women). It also has Christian Kane in it, so it scores high on the male tottie points too.
2) The Wire
The Wire is a 5-season story arc centred around Baltimore’s Major Crimes Unit. Written by David Simon and starring some of the finest actors of recent years including Wendell Pierce, Clark Peters, Lance Reddick, Sonja Sohn, Idris Elba and Wood Harris among others. Look out for fantastic performances from Andre Royo as Bubbles and Michael K. Williams as Omar. And of course, it has Dominic West in it as the dirty drunken man-whore Jimmy McNulty, which is always a bonus *wink*.
3) Firefly
From the pen of Joss Whedon who brought us Buffy The Vampire Slayer and Angel comes the story of the sci-fi guys who didn’t win. A fine mix of cowboys and space, it has an amazing cast featuring Nathan Fillion, Gina Torres, Alan Tudyk and Rona Glass. Follow it up with the film Serenity and the comic books.
4) Boardwalk Empire
Produced by Mark Wahlberg (The Fighter) and Martin Scorcese and starring the brilliant Steve Buscemi as Prohibition-era Treasurer of Atalantic City Enoch “Nucky” Thompson. I’m only a few episodes into the first season and I’m hooked. It also sees the return of Michael K. Williams from The Wire plus Kelly Macdonald who is maturing into a fine actor.
5) True Blood
The sweariest and bloodiest show on the tube. Earthy and also sexy and very funny. Plus the sex-god that is Alexander Skarsgard who is often naked. What’s not to love?
6) Nurse Jackie
Starring the fantastic Edie Falco as the eponymous nurse who pops pills to get her through the day. A fine supporting cast including the lovely Eve Best and Gbenga Akinnagbe, who is also Chris Partlow in The Wire and is easy on the old eye full of Viscotears.
7) The Big C
Telling the story of Cathy Jamison (played fantastically by Laura Linney from Tales Of The City) and her cancer diagnosis, this is not as morbid as it sounds but is instead funny and well-written. Also starring Oliver Platt and Idris Elba, who was Stringer Bell in The Wire (do you see a pattern emerging? Quality programmes with quality people in them!)
8) Doctor Who
Matt Smith has brought a breath of fresh air into what was becoming a grinning idiot under David Tennant and is ably supported by Karen Gillan, Arthur Darvill and my girl-crush, the beautiful Alex Kingston.

Also honourable mentions to Luther, again starring Idris Elba, The Hour with Ramola Gari and Ben Whishaw (plus some bloke called Dominic West) and Body of Proof with Dana Delaney, Jeri Ryan and Sonja Sohn.
I would have mentioned Torchwood but frankly this new Miracle Day series has dragged on and on and should have been much more tightly written into 3 or 4 episodes. Were it not for the feisty Eve Myles as Gwen Cooper I’d probably have given up on it.

And that’s your lot. Happy watching in moderation x

No TV. No Cry.

Today’s blog was inspired by a visit this very afternoontide from two youngish men from Sky who honestly looked more like Jehovah’s Witnesses than guys trying to sell me satellite TV. First I pointed out my Money Saving Expert “No Cold Callers – Don’t Incur Our Wrath By Knocking” signs on my door and window
(http://www.moneysavingexpert.com/phones/no-more-junk), which the talking one claimed were faded and he didn't see, cheeky bleached blond sod. Then I told him that I don’t have broadcast TV via an aerial, digibox, satellite, cable or wire coathanger, which flummoxed him. He then tried to sell me phone or broadband and I bid him a polite farewell. And slammed the door in his orange face.
It did occur to me that I should also have told him that, even if I was in the market for wall-to-wall TV, it wouldn’t be from a bunch of scuzzy phone-tapping, paying-police-for-info, distressing families of murdered children, downright disrespectful and disgraceful to the Liverpool fans who died at Hillsborough and their families, lying, Tony Blair loving, having their children baptised “where Jesus was baptised”, oleaginous, dirty CNUTS!
Anyway, back on message. What I wanted to write about was yes, I don’t have a TV. Well, that’s not actually true because I have a smallish rectangular monitor that we as a family watch DVDS and videos on (yes, dear reader, we still have a video player) and that my dear darlings play Assassins Creed, Lego Harry Potter Years 1-to-bloody-4 and Halo via the Xbox360 on. And I do have a decent sized computer monitor (which we got for £20 from the British Heart Foundation electrical shop in Partick recently when our old one went kaput) that I do watch iPlayer, 4od and occasionally (very, very occasionally) ITV Player on (other download sites are available – and yes, I do use them too). But that is it. No inane smug and patronising breakfast TV. None of the modern day freaks-and-sideshow of Jeremy Vile. No X-cruciating Factor and its no talent pub singers, no Britain Has No Discernible Talent but aren’t the disableds and damaged cute, no Strictly It’s Not Only Your Feet That Are On The Skids. And very few adverts – if I see any, I am strangely drawn to them like a chimp to a butterfly – I have no idea what they are trying to sell now. Except for cars. Lots and lots and lots of cars. We are in a downward spiralling depression where we are going to have to end up eating lots and lots of home-grown tomatoes (I do have loads – give me a call if you want some. Seriously.) and the advertising agencies want you (not me) to buy a F*CKING NEW CAR! Sheesh.
Anywaysay (I go off on tangents – stay with me, you’ll get used to it) about 3 years ago we were like a lot of you, complaining that there was nothing but hours and hours of utter piss and drivel on our 4 channels (We didn’t have Satan’s Sky then and we never had, except for a brief period when we lived in the high flats and we got BSB for free because they used the top of the flats as transmitters and I loved Jupiter Moon until it became BskyB and they cancelled Jupiter Moon sadface which I loved as it was a sci-fi soap opera and shut off the signal after a wee while. And we couldn’t get Five because it was blocked by a Scottish Power pylon and none of our darling neighbours told us they would move the aerial for free.). So we looked at what we did watch, which was very little and we were mostly watching DVDs. We kept track of it and worked out that we were paying a licence fee and not actually using it. After doing a bit of research, we unplugged the aerials, covered them over with blank panels, wrote to the BBC Licensing people and told them we had done this. They gave us a refund then sent round 2 nice men who were very stunned when I opened the door to them with a smile and gladly showed them my blanked-out aerial inlets and they left satisfied with a promise to return in a couple of years.
And how happy we have been. We watch what we like, when we like. We read loads. We take the dog out at least 3 times a day (weather permitting although she went out today twice in that wind and rain, once in her coat and was seriously unchuffed until she met her boyfriend Winchester who is the only dog she allows to sniff her bum). We have friends over a couple of times a week for chats and food and sitting round the fire outside on the pa-tee-Yo. We listen to the wireless – Radio 4 or 6Music mainly with the odd bit of Janice Forsyth and Tom Morton (other radio presenters are available but are frankly mostly bawbags) and Radio 5 Live in the wee sma’ hours if I can’t sleep unless it’s THE BLOODY TENNIS!!!! I knit (and proper knitting too, not just the bobbly knitting but real knitting like hats and fingerless mittens). And I write.

So what you may ask, dear reader (wake up and stop looking at other people’s pussies for minute) what is the purpose of this diatribe and frankly insane rambling? Well, I am setting you a challenge. Especially if you are one of my lovely Twitterpals or Facebonkies who Tweet or update your status about how droll The Apprentice/ The Great British Jerk-Off/ Big Z-List Celeb (delete as appropriate) is. Here it is –

1) Buy yourself a copy of next week’s Radio Times, which is out tomorrow (not the one with Dominic West on the cover as I will have more than likely licked it, especially if you buy it in the ASDA in the Parkhead Forge) or download it from www.radiotimes.com . Not another listings mag or the TV pages from the paper. You’ll see why in a minute. And get yourself a highlighter pen.
2) Highlight (with your brand spanking new highlighter pen that you should have bought with your copy of the Radio Times – keep up!) the TV programmes and/ or films that YOU WOULD LIKE TO WATCH. Not the ones you have on for background or company or habit. Make sure you have at least one good film and one documentary (and by that I mean a proper one like Horizon or Panorama and not Look At This Fat Freakish F*ck on Five). You are allowed one soap opera episode (and if you say “But ah cannae live withoot ma stories”, then let’s see how you live without oxygen because you obviously did at some point to enjoy that pap instead of meeting your real friends for a shandy down the boozer. Note; no offence to any of you reading this who have actually ever been starved of oxygen.)
3) Now turn to the Radio section (I bet you never knew it had a radio section, did you?). Have a good look at that and find one thing – one thing – that interests you and highlight that (with your other highlighter pen that you bought because it was “Buy 2 for £1" and you like a wee bargain). Try Janice Forsyth’s Show on A Saturday on BBC Radio Scotland (try saying that with your teeth in squinty). Or Danny Baker on Radio 5 Live. Or The News Quiz with Sandi Toksvig on Radio 4 on a Friday at 6.30pm. Or the bloody Archers if you need a soap fix. Of course, you can go mad and pick 2. Or 3. Or whatever. Stay with me.
4) Now here’s the killer – HAVE ONE NIGHT WHERE YOU DON’T WATCH ANY TV AT ALL (Who’s that screaming in terror at the back? Nurse, the hypodermic!) Go to the library (while you still can before Dishface Dave sells them off to his mates to re-open as poorhouses, ‘cos that’s what’s gonna happen) and get a book or two. And read it. Or listen to some music. Have some mates round for some food and a few wee voddies. Go round a visit your mates. Or your old mum. Or your old dad. Bake some bread or some cupcakes. Talk to your kids. Build that Airfix model of the Vital Spark you’ve had since your were a mite. Just don’t put on the gogglebox.
5) Let me know how you get on – you might surprise yourself.

If you struggle or recoil in horror at my suggestion, fair enough. This is a blog, not The Prime Directive. But you might surprise yourself.
So what have I watched this week? Stay tuned for my TV and DVD recommendations tomorrow. Til then, toodle pip and thanks for reading this far xxx

Blogging About Blogging

I have decided, with a provisional place on the Writing For Stage And Screen evening class at Strathclyde University (once I receive my Individual Learning Account funding voucher and post it to them) to start blogging again. This is mainly to get me back into the habit of writing but also to get what I write out into the ether.

So what can you expect? Well, I have been thinking about –

· Day to day blogging about what is going on with me – my evening class and writing, my comedy writing, the strange and funny things that happen with my crazy family of a biker, a geeky teenager and a totally bonkers dog and that I see living here in the east end of Glasgow plus the occasional comment on topics and issues as I see them.
· Suggestions for movies to watch, books to read, TV shows to catch online and on DVD, comedians to look out for and other happenings that I hope might interest you.
· My so far successful attempts over the summer to plan meals in advance, shop wisely and feed my family wholesome home prepared vegetarian meals on a budget.
· Our plan instead of taking on an allotment to dig up our garden in a “Good Life” kind of way and grow some veggies for the autumn/ winter and plan what to grow in spring and link that into the cooking side as well.
· My plan to start doing things again like hillwalking, yoga and swimming/ saunas to get fit after losing weight with my Grave’s Disease.

I will try to be positive about my health, which at the moment seems to be on a good turn so fingers crossed but if it does turn bad then to have a place to document that and keep sane.

I would promise not to witter on about Dominic West or Christian Kane or Alexander Skarsgard or Jake Gyllenhaal but I’m a hormonal woman in her mid 40s who still gets man-crushes like I did when I was 14 and read the Jackie.

So, I would be glad if you care to join me. Please feel welcome to comment and/ or share my ramblings. Lots of love xxx

The Only Pleasure They Get...

This is the first thing I have written in ages. It's a stream of consciousness exercise from Sally Holloway's excellent book "The Serious Guide To Joke Writing". It's not meant to be funny per se, just to get the old creative juices going.
What really gets on my goat, apart from the cute saddle I bought for her, are the people who say things like "Smoking is the only pleasure I get." My mother and father used to say that when challenged by us kids as to why, when it was so expensive and bad for their health as well as ours. That used to confound me because I would think "Really? in this fascinating and wonderful world that we live in, with each other and 3 children, sucking on a burning paper tube filled with chemically treated dried plant material, inhaling the noxious fumes deep into your already tar-covered lungs in the full knowledge of what that will do to them, all the while feeding your addiction to and craving for nicotine is seriously THE ONLY PLEASURE YOU GET ANYMORE?".I'm now the age my parents were when they used to come out with that sort of crap and I ponder what I get pleasure from - my wonderful partner who I have been with now for over 25 years and have grown up with and continue to grow older with, our beautiful and talented child, my friendships, cooking meals from scratch, walking our crazy dog, eating all kinds of foods, growing said foods, listening to and discovering new music, writing, thinking about Dominic West in the nuddy...
Now I know that times were tough in the late '70s and early '80s - my dad was ill and my mum was suffering from lifelong and undiagnosed bi-polar disorder and they were going through a bad time in their relationship. But even then surely they could have made the time to find some tiny little thing to give them a moment of joy - a rainbow, a bird singing, a really good shit? I mean times are tough for us too - my health failing, the economic downturn making it harder for my partner to find jobs and the prospect for our daughter's future
Sure, having a ciggie may give you a few moments of peace and introspection but you can do that in so many ways.
It's not being imaginative or creative - a machine makes the cigarette for you, packs it into a little box and wraps it in cellophane. All you have to do is take one out and light it. Why don't you light up a joss-stick, then we'd all be happy? Or set light to a Joss Stone CD and then we'd be delighted?
It would certainly be poetic justice if there was some kind of eternal afterlife which you spent doing what gives you pleasure in this one. So while my parents sit chainsmoking Kensitas Club surrounded by people driving fast cars, dancing the tango and having really hot and steamy sex. With Dominic West.
It's like saying to someone "What really gets your blood boiling?" and they answer with things like Post Office queues, rainy weather or Simon Cowell when they should be up in arms about fascism, homophobia or Jeremy Clarkson.
The thing that makes me most angry I think is that they both died from smoking-related illnesses - he from heart disease and she from emphysema. If they had maybe stopped and thought, they might have seen their children all grow up, met our partners and their grandchildren.I really want to go back to them and say, look, if every time you feel the need for a smoke, seek out something else to do and then you might still be here with us.
On the other hand, maybe not...

It's A Boy Thing...You Wouldn't Understand

...or maybe you do? I've been having a bit of stick recently from female friends around my age. They think that at 43 I am far too old to be having pin-ups, crushes and fantasies. I say "phooey".
For as long as I can remember I have appreciated men. I'm a flaming heterosexual. I like to look at them and firmly believe that just because I've been in a relationship for almost 25 years, it doesn't mean I can't still enjoy the thought of other men. I do like the company of men and have always had male friends. I just think that it's less complicated to swoon over actors and singers than people in my social circle (not that there aren't some crackers there!).
My first crush, like a lot of women born in the late 1960's, was Donny Osmond. Yes, I know but I think it was the appeal of the large family - at 5 I was ready to become a Mormon!
Next was David Soul (Hutch from "Starsky and..."). I had one of those large fold out magazine/ posters above my bed. It was Hutch I liked - he was more sensitive than Starsky and seemed to be an early eco-friendly fella. I liked them rough and tough and also liked Martin Shaw as Doyle in "The Professionals" (but never Lewis Collins as Bodie - yuck!).
The 80s brought musicians but never the front-man - I much preferred John Taylor to Simon Le Bon or Gary Tibbs to Adam Ant. Yeah, I'll even admit to liking Richard Gere at this time but went off him when I found out I was taller than him (I never said I wasn't shallow). I discovered it was more fun to appreciate a film or a TV programme if there was some potential eye candy - Richard Hatch in "Battlestar Galactica", John Schneider in "The Dukes Of Hazzard" and Tom Selleck in "Magnum". I used to look forward to getting my copy of the "Jackie" for new posters to stick on my walls.
As I grew older and started to have boyfriends, it didn't dissapate. Michael Praed (Robin Of Sherwood) never hurt your feelings or messed you about.
I've never been into the "popular" movie stars though - I like Brad Pitt as an actor but he looks like a wee monkey to me and as for George Clooney, I don't get it. I prefer my fellas a bit more obscure - Viggo Mortensen was the only reason I watched "Lord Of The Rings" and if you aren't familiar with the work of Joss Whedon, then Marc Blucas, Nathan Fillion and Tahmoh Penniket will mean nothing to you.
I'm am intelligent and mature woman. As I said, I've kept a happy relationship going with the same man for almost a quarter of a century who doesn't mind my other "bits on the side". I don't think I'm emotionally stunted. Maybe I have never grown up past my teenage years but it doesn't make me a bad person.
So I'm going to go on enjoying my fantasy boyfriends. I'll keep watching my DVD of season 1 of "Dr Who" for Christopher Eccleston (which I asked for and got for Xmas)and "True Blood" (for just about every man on it - Alexander Skarsgard, Stephen Moyer, Ryan Kwanten et al). I'll keep dreaming about Wolverine and keep listening to Christian Kane. And yes, at my age I think I can still lust after the young ones like Joseph-Gordon Levitt (from Inception) and Aaron Jackson (Kick-Ass) while appreciating the more mature Jeff Bridges (my other half is basically the Dude a few years younger). I'm an equal opportunities fangirl and I'm never going to stop! I'll be sitting in my old rocking chair 40 years from now, still dreaming...