Thoughts and scribblings of an overactive mind.


Bitter Graduate

Right. That last post got me thinking, and now I’m on a self-pitying warpath so bear with me.

University is cruel. It is. Best three years of your life, oh yes. But after? After is horrid. After is the most awful emotional process I’ve ever had to go through. I know I’m not alone, at least two people I’ve actually opened up to about this have said the same. I mean you go from being a more of less socially introverted wallflower to having these brilliant friends that become a very real family. You live with them, eat with them, cry, laugh, urinate (when drunk) together – you feel like you know yourself, like you are the person you’re meant to be.

Then it ends and everyone’s scattered. Worse, people change. People don’t seem as fussed as you are, they seem to be getting on fine whilst you have to hide the photos of all of you as it makes you feel sick to look at them.

Then you become hardened by it I think. You become cynical, a bit darker than you were. The Freudian id comes out to play. The frustration of life not being as good makes you angry, you get that fire in your belly and you become a bitch. I am SO cynical now. All that soppy cancer/war hero/animal rescue shit on Facebook makes me feel ill quite frankly. I know that’s different to how I was before, I have changed, I know I have.

Three things hold me together:

1) Andrew. He stops me from being too crazy, makes me laugh even when I’m trying to be miserable.

2) My writing. The one place I’m never cynical. My books are set at a university, I think I escape through them to that time again.

3) Steph. Because she’s the best, because she gets me and I get her.

And Christmas.

People live too far away.


New with me

It seems to me (you lived your life, like a candle….no, sorry – won’t go there,) that I haven’t blogged in a while, so I thought I would. What’s going on in my life?

Procrastination. Frustration. Christmas excitement. That about sums it up.

Steph came to see me for our fake Christmas which was lovely, we get each other exactly so it’s always so amazing to be together. Now she’s gone again so I have that slight empty sick feeling in my brain – university turned me into a gregarious creature, it does cruel things like that. Loneliness doesn’t work very well with me. I end up washing down the countertops three times a day, obsessively arranging the soap in the bathroom and talking to a pretend friend on the sofa.

I escape into my writing when I’m not exhausted from a hard day of being unfulfilled at work, and my darling Andrew is of course a constant comfort and source of enormous happiness. But partners aren’t everything are they? You need people. Chums. Pals. Mates.

Hmmm, lost the thread here. Going to start another post.

The Butterfly Effect


At the moment i am reading Andrew Marr’s “The Diamond Queen.” I’ve wanted to read it since the jubilee in the summer, but the sometimes tightwad that I am I never shelled out the cash for it. However, as we get closer to Christmas and people start to forget about how much they love the Queen once more, I happened to find Marr’s work en masse in “The Works,” apparently having found itself unloved and failing to sell. At a discount price of £3.99 though, I couldn’t help myself.

I’m only about a third of the way through and it is jolly interesting from all sorts of angles – historically, socially, patriotically and just as an interesting book for a enthusiastic young monarchist like myself. Today though I’m thinking about it in philosophical terms. Marr points out on several occasions how different our royal history might have run if such and such a thing had not happened, or had happened. The butterfly effect from within the royal family is really quite immense – the nation we now live in might have been a very different place and it was only the smallest of instances which made it what it is today. The biggest one is that the Queen was never really meant to be Queen – a fact itself predominantly due to the fact that her father, King George VI, was never meant to be king. Even when her father did become king after his brother Edward VIII abdicated (another butterfly moment) it would have seemed an extreme unlikeliness to young Liz that she would ever be queen. She would have expected to probably have a younger brother at some point who would overtake her as the heir – she certainly wouldn’t have expected her dad to die such a relatively young age as he did. Marr points out that King George could have well reigned into the 1970s had he kept his health. If that had happened then the queen wouldn’t have even yet celebrated her golden jubilee, let alone her diamond.

It just goes to show what a funny and unpredictable old man history can be. Things that we today take as such ordinary facts of life – i.e. the Queen is the Queen – have only come to pass because of relatively small decisions or occurrences. Things could have been so different, so easily.

It makes me almost fizz with excitement at the though of all those what ifs floating about in history. I read the other night that when the royal family were in the process of changing their name in WW1 they considered reusing the name “Tudor.” Imagine if that had happened!!! We’d be living in the second Tudor age! That would have been amazing!

You can’t help but then wonder, given all these historical butterflies flapping their wings, of whether similar changes are happening to our own futures. Our lives will likely never be chronicled to the extent that the Queen’s has been, we will likely never have a historian picking apart our pasts and saying whether if this had happened then actually we’d have more likely ended up living here or doing this. But it does make you think – where are even the smallest of my choices leading me? What impact will that event have on my life? We all have the potential to live a million different lives, but we only actually live one. What decisions make us live it, and why? Food for thought!

Matthew out.

Two Psychopaths in this TARDIS

Had a lovely chat with my bestie Steph last night. It reminded me of just how lucky I am to have her and his fantastic it is that I have someone who I can say is 100% on my same wavelength about pretty much anything and everything. To have someone who is just as unhinged as me, just as mad, bitter, crazy and sometimes psychotic. I spend a lot of time feeling lonely, but I guess when you’re that mentally close to someone it really doesn’t matter how physically close you are.

I know she doesn’t care for self indulgent blogging, but I hope with this blog post she’ll make an exception. Long may you be my characterisation and continuity consultant/advisor in a smock/ heavy/right hand man. Long may we moan, laugh and be bitter together. Long may two psychopaths live in this TARDIS.

Matthew out.

Hotel GB Review

I’ve been dipping in and out of hotel GB the last few nights. I don’t know quite what to make of it if I’m being honest.It’s entertainment, there’re no bones about that. Who doesn’t love watching useless youngsters embarrass themselves and then getting into trouble with Mary Queen of Shops or Gordon Ramsey from cooking? But I’m trying to figure out its worth, from a humanitarian point of view. And I’m struggling.

If I’m being honest, I’m more than a bit suspicious of Mary. She’s trodden these boards before, promising to turn young lives around and help youth unemployment. She’s the Mother Teresa of the job centre. There was her clothing range, her knicker factory – her grand crusade to get Britain manufacturing again! Yes! But wait…….where are those people now? Do they still have jobs? Is Mary still showering them with that tough love lesbian affection she does so well? I’m not convinced.

I think, I think it’s because I know there are no quick fixes to the “jobs” problem. These sort of shows seem to be performing miracles when in reality they’re not really. Dusting down a few ex-cons and alcoholics and giving them a job for a week is quite easy really. If they screw up, they get fired and another social down and out for whom our hearts are meant to bleed gets shipped in. Easy. Then at the end channel 4 can pack up Paddy McGuiness and leave, and all our poor down and outs will be down and out again (except for a grand total of two who will get jobs.) Gordon quite assuredly tells them they’re getting a years work experience in a week, which to me is like trying to square a circle. A week is a week. What, just because you’re celebrities your time is worth 52 times as much? You can’t substitute time, there just isn’t a quick way round it. Experience speaks volumes but you have to have proper experience. Just because you’ve been helping to get breast milk for David Guest (bluergh don’t get me started) it doesn’t mean you’re now an experienced hotelier.

Still, it is entertainment like I say. I think if it had just sold itself as that then maybe I’d be a lot more agreeable to it.

Oh and on a side bar, I started my promotional short story last night. It wasn’t a huge start and I may have to rewrite a bit of it already. But it’s a start.

Matthew out.

A story about Destiny

And so here I am this evening with my laptop in front of me and I’ve had success!! As predicted in my previous post, I haven’t used any of my mentally scrapbooked ideas. Instead I’ve come up with something brand new and, if I might say, rather brilliant.


“The Destiny of Melissa Smith” will horrify, excite and hopefully upset you into the bargain as well. Going to try and write it over the next week or so, hopefully you won’t have to wait too long to read it. I won’t write much about the plot here, but suffice to say it involves a girl with her whole life ahead of her – until she meets a certain fortune teller, and a certain young man!

Look out for more details at

Matthew out.

Thoughts from my Graze Box

As I sit here slowly munching my way through a punnet of dried apple bits I find my mind wandering. My energy for the job at hand (at the moment it involves printing plans) is waning, so I decide to allow myself a moment to think of what I’m doing in the bigger picture.

Today I got some good news – my publisher has suggested I write a few short stories to build some interest in my books after a very positive and very welcome review of some of my work over the weekend (see it here: That’s automatically set my brain whirring. I’m also working on book two at the moment AND I want to get back to book three as quick as poss too – but new stories! The idea of new stories pulls at me like a little kid pulling mum towards the toy shop window. Come on, come on, come and see this!! What monsters can I create here? What hearts can I break? What lovely little human moments can I insert right in the middle of the madness? I have a mental scrapbook of stories I haven’t yet used but want to some day. Some are earmarked to be books in they’re own right one day, some would be better as tv scripts but I don’t know if I’ll ever tread that path. Some just don’t know what they might be or when they’ll be used.

I’m going to give it some thought. What normally happens is that I end up coming up with something quite apart from anything already in my scrapbook. Then the poor scrapbook ideas have to wait around a bit longer, sometimes I panic that one day they’ll get bored and leave – I’ll forget them and they’ll go and fly into someone else’s brain. Hopefully my lack if forgetting ability will stop that happening!

Matthew out.