Sunday is Anday...

As mentioned in my previous post, one of my very good friends, Andy, is one of those annoying people who logs onto other peoples blogs and leaves comments (sometimes complimentary, sometimes insulting, often in an unsuccessful attempt to be funny) without having his own blog so that others may repay the gesture. He will happily read the personal and revealing anecdotes of others and give his two cents worth (hello Andy?! We're not even American) but will he provide his own anecdotes? Will he let the world know who he is? Will he leave himself in that same vulnerable position so that others may comment on his life? Noooooo!

Well no more. I'm doing it for him. From now on, Sunday is Anday. Every Sunday, I will be providing you all with regular updates, stories, pictures and rumours surrounding the life of Andrew Hill. Enjoy.

Week one: Here is Andy sleeping with a cat.

Dirty Stinking Pedestrian!

As I arrived home at one o'clock in the morning after a near 3 hour journey from Colchester with £13 less in my bank account following the purchase of what must have been an extremely rare and sought after train ticket, a thought resurfaced in my mind that has nagged me for the better part of 6 years:

I need to learn to drive - NOW!

I am sick and tired of relying on public transport and the lifts of friends to get me about.

I'm fed up of spending half a day transporting myself 10 minutes down the road.

I've had enough of being the guy who puts everyone out because they have to pick him up or drop him off or spend months trying to get rid of the stains after he spilt his milkshake in the backseat.

But most of all: I'm 23. I can't drive. THAT'S NOT COOL!!

So I'm going to learn. My previous method of continually watching repeated episodes of Top Gear until the ability to drive became ingrained into my psyche has clearly failed. I will have to learn the same as everyone else.

My amazing and physically attractive friends Andy and Verity (for those who don't know, Andy is the guy who goes round commenting on everyone elses blog without bothering to start his own) have given me a great head start with a total of 6 driving lessons for my birthday. So I'm going to start there and then this time next year I'll be behind the wheel of some run down second-hand escort and loving it.

My friends, the challenge has been set: By 27th July 2007, Glyn will drive.

I Was Reading This Bit - I Swear!

On my way to work this morning, I stumbled across a copy of yesterday's Sun newspaper. Except it wasn't a complete copy, just the third page. And as I was looking down at it, something caught my eye (I know what you're thinking - Oh yeah? I bet a couple of things caught his eye. Ay? Ay? - well grow up). What caught my eye was a 50-year-old, fully uniformed, female salvationist holding a collection box. And as I figured this was probably the only time I would see a 50-year-old, fully uniformed, female salvationist holding a collection box on page 3 of the Sun, I quickly picked up the page and read through the article in an attempt to ascertain what in blue blazes she was doing there. It turns out that the Sun has got the hump because the Salvation Army will no longer sell copies of their newspaper in the Sally Army shops at British forces' bases in Germany. British soldiers are accusing the SA of being old fashioned and prudish. One Lance Corporal said: "This is an out-of-date decision by people who aren't in the real world". It seems that no one (including the Canon David Meara for crying out loud) can understand why the Salvation Army is now refusing to sell soft-porn.

What I don't understand, though, is why we were selling it in the first place. It seems to tie in with the morally corrupting attitude (an attitude which the Sun thrives off of) that if enough people like it, then it can't be that bad. After all, it's only a pair of breasts. In this day and age, what's the big deal? And I'm disappointed that the Salvation Army in Germany seems to have adopted this attitude as it's the opposite that is the very thing that the Salvation Army stand for. If people can't understand why the Army won't sell the Sun then people don't understand the Army. And if the Army is selling newspapers like the Sun and conforming to the world's opinions then the Army doesn't seem to understand the Army. We were established as a group of eccentrics who were willing to look ridiculous in order to stand against the moral indecencies of society. Now it seems we've become a much weaker and more harmless organisation who have indecisively changed their minds on something they used to think was ok and who are now just hoping to keep a low profile until it all blows over.

Am I over-reacting?

Oh, and for those of you wandering how I did it, here's a pictoral guide, illustrating how a Christian man can read the articles in page 3 of The Sun without succumbing to temptation:

WARNING - THEY DON'T MEAN IT!

I will admit that since starting this blog, I've come to attribute a great deal of importance to the amount of comments I get in response to each post. To reveal my psychological connection between automatic doors and Jedi Masters and recieve a total of 9 comments is, in my opinion, a great success. I felt that I had managed to connect with people in a way I had never quite achieved before. People coming together and sharing stories and feelings that had previously remained suppressed. On the other hand, the complete lack of response to my probing questions on the subject of sex left me feeling downcast and melancholy. Maybe people weren't ready. Maybe people misunderstood. Maybe people simply didn't care.

And it hasn't stopped there:

I admit that I have been struck by jealousy at the 14 comments that have been left in response to Ben's latest post.

I have scoffed as I have noticed the big fat zeros underneath some of Matt's more recent messages.

I have danced a merry little jig in my heart when I have logged on to find a new comment has been left.

And when I have sneakily crept online during work hours to find that no one has commented in the 30 minutes since I last checked, I have died a little inside.

Yes I confess - I have probably placed far too much importance on the presence of comments.

Therefore, the recent con that I have fallen victim to, while teaching me a valuable lesson, has also caused a certain degree of pain as I have been built up only to be knocked right back down.

I logged on to my blog this evening to find (woe is me) that no one had commented on my latest post since I last checked. However, as I scrolled down I discovered (oh happy day) that a new comment had been left on the post prior to that. The comment was from a Mr Anonymous (not preferable but still, better than nowt) who said, rather generously, that he loved the idea behind my website and that he thought that it was very unique. Well that was nice. Within the whole blogging community, someone had stumbled across my humble site and thought it stood out enough to be labelled "unique". I wasn't sure exactly what he meant when he said that he loved the idea behind the website (what? The idea that I have a site in which I regularly update my friends as to what I'm up to? It's a blog.) but I figured he was probably refering to my unique and engaging prose style. All in all, if a bit confusing in places, a very nice and positive comment. And I felt a little bit better about myself for it.

But it didn't stop there.

Further down I noticed that another comment had been left in response to another post. "Well that's marvelous" I thought, "how wonderful". And I wasn't dissapointed. When I clicked on the comments, someone (another anonymous - they're probably just embarrassed at being so unrestrainably nice) said: "Hey what a great site keep up the work its excellent."

The next post: "I'm impressed with your site, very nice graphics!" I'm starting to get a little bit suspicious now. Who is this anonymous compliment merchant? Is it one person or is it many people? Should I be surprised that my complete lack of graphics has got itself a mention as being graphically advanced?

Next post: "I say briefly: Best! Useful information. Good job guys." Ok - What!?!! This one doesn't even make sense. It's as if it's been passed through the google translator. Something's going on here...

And that's when I noticed it. The tiny little blue link at the bottom of each anonymous comment that took me to (you guessed it) some cheap web-based product advertisement. The dirty stinking sychophants were only interested in one thing: themselves. They had toyed with my emotions for their own selfish gain.

I won't pretend it didn't hurt but at least I can say that I've learnt two very important lessons here. First, to enable the word verification option on my comments list (bloggers of the world I would advise you do the same - these cretins'll get ya otherwise). Secondly, I'm not going to allow my self esteem to be judged by comment quantity anymore. I am who I am and I am without comment. So there!

Do Flies Deserve Death?

OR

I've just sprayed a couple of flies and as I watched them slowly choke to death while they painfully struggled to stay in the air before crashing to the ground where they used every last ounce of strength to wriggle their dying limbs in the desperate hope that they could find a way to cling onto their futile and fading lives, I couldn't help but feel a little bit like Hitler.

I know they're only insects but is it inhumane to torture flies in this way? Is it stupidity or moral conviction that causes me to feel guilty about slowly draining the life of a house fly?

In other news, I've just finished another conversation for my script for summer school. It ties in with the first affair dialogue. See what you think. Brutally honest opinions are, as always, welcome:

The Affair #2

A Cry for Help!

Alright alright alright, so I haven't blogged for the better part of two weeks. But there's a reason for this. My brain has stopped. I have lost all creativity and imagination. I have spent the past fortnight trying to think of something interesting or funny or profound or even legible to write about but nothing has surfaced.

I was going to blog about my birthday but all I could think to say was "Hey! It's my birthday." (I'm 23 by the way)

I was going to blog about some job prospects that have come my way but I don't actually know what they are. They sound awesome but that's pretty much all I know (sounds weird doesn't it but it's true).

I was going to blog about recent observations of the world but I couldn't think of what to write about.

My creativity has all but dried up. And that's worrying for a reason far greater than the good quality of this blog. It's worrying mostly because over the next couple of months, I'm leading the drama option at two summer schools... AND I DON'T KNOW WHAT TO DO!!

The London North-East school is concerning me most (I'm also doing South Western but that's later and I'm doing it with Claire Brine who we've agreed is going to be in charge so I'll let her worry about it for now - she's really good at coming up with ideas and getting me organised). It's less than three weeks away and Kirsty and I don't really know what's happening. This time two years ago, we had everything planned, were writing up activity packs and I was creating an MDF wheelbarrow with fake legs coming out of it (to date, the best prop used in a piece of theatre - ever). This time last year, we had a lot of work to do but still feeling confidant and I was spending most of my spare time creating giant papier mache body parts (also pretty cool props but not as good as the wheelbarrow).

This year however, we're starting to panic. I've had the idea of setting the scene in a restaurant where we overhear the conversations of various people as they try to fill their lives with stuff that ultimately won't satisfy them (money, sex, family, spiritual experimentation - you know, the usual). I've written a few of the conversations that I'm fairly happy with (the past two years, Kirsty and I have got the students to devise and write their own stuff but that usually involves us staying up till 3:30 in the morning finishing off scripts and stuff - we promised each other we wouldn't do it to ourselves this year) but I'm not sure where to take it once I'm done with that or how to make my point or even what point to make...

So here is my cry for help. I'm swallowing my pride and posting the conversations I've written so far. Please have a read through and let me know what you think. And then, if you have any ideas as to where I can take this, please let me know. I know this is about as far from professional as you can get but I'm desperate. Here are the conversations as they stand:

Tarot Cards

Family Guy

The Affair #1

I thank you in advance.

On a completely seperate note, my good friend John Mitchinson is trying to get sponsers for a hair cut. Those of you who know John (or have seen him from a distance in the past year or two) will know that this is something that should be encouraged whole-heartedly. But more than that, he's raising money for an excellent cause and if you can, please visit his blog and sponser. You can check it all out here.

Public Apology!

The author and administrator of this blog would like to publically declare that Matthew Geraldine White has never divulged (nor has he ever attempted to divulge) any information regarding his sex life to the disarmingly attractive Glyn Goodfella Harries. The conversation outlined below was shared as a form of banter and was taken no further than the few words mentioned in yesterday's post. For further confirmation, please speak to Mr White's wife, Mrs Christina Turnip White who overheard the comments (but doth did get the wrong end of the stick as she thought that the conversation commenced with Mr Harries' innappropriate probing into the Whites' private lives and thus spent the rest of the evening calling the right honourable Mr Harries a pervert).

Mr Harries offers his humblest apologies for any confusion or misunderstanding that may have occurred off the back of his previous comments. He would also like to answer his own previously posed question by stating that no two people should talk about sex at any time whatsoever.

Stupid for Sure but I'd do it Again.

I did this a while ago but I wanted to wait till Mike McCredie was back from his honeymoon as I figured he would appreciate this:

12 bulldog clips on the face. And just in case you need any further convincing (some thought I stuck them on with blue tac), here's the aftermath (and me trying to look hard at the same time):

Now I know it's not exactly 65 clothespegs Mike but these were bulldog clips. Those bad boys hurt.

Yes it was painful but I'm proud of what I achieved.

Let Me Sexplain...(see what I did?)

I feel I need to clarify one or two points that may have drifted astray in my last blog. I originally took the complete lack of response to my last post as a sufficient answer to the question "should we talk about sex more?". However, after having to stop Matt White from regaling me with his favourite honeymoon moments last night, it dawned on me that I might have given the wrong impression.

So allow me to clarify: I have absolutely no interest whatsoever in the personal sexcapades of my friends. If I ever have to write an article for Nuts (did I just say "sexcapades"?) then I'll get back to you but in the mean time, I really don't want to know. I was simply wandering if Christian people put too much of a taboo on sex. And I was commenting on the fact that married people and single people don't seem to talk about it that much. I've had single friends who seem perfectly comfortable talking about sex until they got married at which point they just shut up about it. Maybe it's because they think that now if they talk about sex, they'll have to reveal what they've been up to (hence Matt's assumption that he had to open the conversation last night with the words - and I quote - "on my wedding night..."). I don't think this is necessary (it's certainly not desired). I think intelligent, informed conversations on sex can take place without reverting to "what we did last night...". But then what do I know? Maybe we should just leave it alone. I'm open to suggestion. But please please please, Matt, no more anecdotes.