It began with Jack Nicholson and ended with Jack Nicholson. Thinking about it, I may make ‘One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest’ my final film. I rather like symmetry like that. China town is a confusing, twisting and turning narrative about a private detective (Nicholson) who decides to bite off seemingly much more than he (or indeed anybody else) can chew.

I went for a walk on Wittering Beach yesterday and it reminded me of life.

The emptiness of the actor The pride burns in his face, unshaven. Those pudgy cheeks, once shaped Made women flock to his door There was money, drugs and so much more. He’s the leader of the pack The head of the state Yes isn’t it so very funny It makes me warm inside, That when he gets home he tries To scratch out his eyes.

I can’t come to the phone right now. I’m busy. Steve, I need to talk to you, please can you call me when you get this. I can’t come to the phone right now. I’m busy. You asshole Steve. Please talk to me, I just need to hear you speaking to me. I’ve had a tough week, I just need you to tell me everything’s going to be O.K.

We are the young and the free We are the innocent and the curious. We are the undervalued and the underrated The disenfranchised and the rioters. We are the youth.

Traditionally, Scotland is associated with three main things: kilts, rain and deep fried Mars Bars. In recent years however, the rain has turned to sun as Scotland’s summers have heated up. The blame, claims a leading political commentator, ‘has well and truly debunked the myth of Global warming’. In shocking new revelations it appears that these stories have simply been a part of Scottish National Party Leader, Alex Salmond’s plan to make Scotland more attractive to potential tourists

He was dead, that much was obvious. He had heard them calling his name from the other side of the point. They wouldn’t be worried for his safety, (the climb was not a difficult one) they just wanted to know where he was. They had their answer soon enough, in a body bag in the back of a police Land Rover. That was the end of it. There was no inquiry. Continued...

Somebody died on my ward today. I didn’t know him, I never even saw him, but he was there. Now he’s gone. The nurse was crying when she gave me my afternoon painkillers. She wasn’t really a nurse. She, like most of the other staff on the ward were simply doing this to pay the bills. She had almost no formal experience, that’s why she got stuck with us, the people who were sore and stiff. People who needed help getting in and out of bed. She’s simply a glorified carer. Continued...

The problem with writing a story is that that is all it is. A story. It’s not true. I know that however hard I wish, however desperate I am, what I put down on paper will never be reflected in my life. So I am happy, in my thoughts. I am entirely in love with my girlfriend who I met in the pages of a pad of A4 paper. That is it really. That is why one writes, to escape the fact that the things which torment us in life can never find their way onto our page. Spite me, hit me, and abuse me. I will