Last night I attended a Scriptwriting Workshop in London to try and gain some inspiration to continue my writing career, which has now been dabbled with for the past three years without a great deal of success. The ethos of the teaching was simple: just do it and we carried out quite a few exercises, such as the one I've pictured below:
It was a direct record of a conversation I'd overheard on the anticlockwise Circle Line the self same evening. In case you can't read it, which I imagine you cannot, it concludes with one bloke saying to another that the bedroom in the flat he used to rent contained the sum total of twenty two plug sockets. Why on earth his friend was interested in this rather bizarre fact, I do not know, but he relayed it anyway.
The only other notable thing to say is that I was impressed by one of the other delegates stories: she was a chef and met up with her recent ex in a swish cafe in Soho to talk things over. They were eating those large, posh Jammie Dodgers and she plunged her knife into the jam heart centre of the biscuit which caused her to utter 'that's what you've done to me' - he then responded by putting his arms around her and apparently they're back together. I love hearing stories of that nature!
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