<?xml version='1.0' encoding='UTF-8'?><?xml-stylesheet href="http://www.blogger.com/styles/atom.css" type="text/css"?><feed xmlns='http://www.w3.org/2005/Atom' xmlns:openSearch='http://a9.com/-/spec/opensearchrss/1.0/' xmlns:georss='http://www.georss.org/georss' xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4652767956704602308</id><updated>2012-01-07T21:12:15.926Z</updated><category term='mum'/><category term='homeless short magic boy drawing inspiration'/><category term='fat'/><category term='couple'/><title type='text'>Word Doodling</title><subtitle type='html'>I would describe my writing as prodominantly cheap laughs at the expense of others and myself. Sometimes I have a go at a poem. My comedy is drawn from the people I've met and the things I have seen. Some deserve to be laughed at more than others but fortunately I've forgotten which ones are which.

Please feel free to give direction and substance to my work. It probably needs it.</subtitle><link rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#feed' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://stevestamp.blogspot.com/feeds/posts/default'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4652767956704602308/posts/default?max-results=100'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://stevestamp.blogspot.com/'/><link rel='hub' href='http://pubsubhubbub.appspot.com/'/><author><name>Steve Stamp</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00915986885705175592</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://bp3.blogger.com/__pJn9qnm_Oo/R6d8Nqksz6I/AAAAAAAAAAQ/4pag89KcUlA/S220/grem.jpg'/></author><generator version='7.00' uri='http://www.blogger.com'>Blogger</generator><openSearch:totalResults>29</openSearch:totalResults><openSearch:startIndex>1</openSearch:startIndex><openSearch:itemsPerPage>100</openSearch:itemsPerPage><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4652767956704602308.post-9047223495988459969</id><published>2011-03-16T15:49:00.002Z</published><updated>2012-01-07T21:12:15.931Z</updated><title type='text'>Sam</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-P5v6RmZJAAo/TYDeK8jhjBI/AAAAAAAAAIM/tTT87A7FxZY/s1600/boy%2Bwatching%2Btelly.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 206px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-P5v6RmZJAAo/TYDeK8jhjBI/AAAAAAAAAIM/tTT87A7FxZY/s320/boy%2Bwatching%2Btelly.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5584707817574599698" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Sam was sadistic,&lt;br /&gt;Some thought him autistic,&lt;br /&gt;Though that term gets thrown around too much nowadays,&lt;br /&gt;A bit of a misfit,&lt;br /&gt;He liked to dunk biscuits&lt;br /&gt;And let them break off and disappear away&lt;br /&gt;One day watching TV, he heard this weird thing&lt;br /&gt;About using your urine on jellyfish stings&lt;br /&gt;And this got him thinking about what would happen&lt;br /&gt;If you pissed on a jellyfish – what would be it’s reaction?&lt;br /&gt;Would they become impotent? Would it do them no harm?&lt;br /&gt;Would their stings become things they just used like arms?&lt;br /&gt;Maybe the effects would only last a minute?&lt;br /&gt;Or maybe they’d melt into the sea like a biscuit?&lt;br /&gt;Anyway, rest assured all you jellyfish reading,&lt;br /&gt;These horrendous thoughts were equally fleeting,&lt;br /&gt;Very soon his mind returned to other things,&lt;br /&gt;Putting flies in the freezer, pulling off their wings&lt;br /&gt;And attaching them to pieces of string&lt;br /&gt;And walking them around like tiny dogs in his kitchen,&lt;br /&gt;He’s probably forgotten the idea by now,&lt;br /&gt;So I suppose we’ll probably never find out,&lt;br /&gt;If Sam ever considers this experiment again,&lt;br /&gt;I’ll make sure I’m there and I’ll let you know then.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4652767956704602308-9047223495988459969?l=stevestamp.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://stevestamp.blogspot.com/feeds/9047223495988459969/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4652767956704602308&amp;postID=9047223495988459969' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4652767956704602308/posts/default/9047223495988459969'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4652767956704602308/posts/default/9047223495988459969'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://stevestamp.blogspot.com/2011/03/sam.html' title='Sam'/><author><name>Steve Stamp</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00915986885705175592</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://bp3.blogger.com/__pJn9qnm_Oo/R6d8Nqksz6I/AAAAAAAAAAQ/4pag89KcUlA/S220/grem.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-P5v6RmZJAAo/TYDeK8jhjBI/AAAAAAAAAIM/tTT87A7FxZY/s72-c/boy%2Bwatching%2Btelly.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4652767956704602308.post-2997342321883136455</id><published>2010-09-02T23:02:00.003+01:00</published><updated>2010-09-02T23:07:39.833+01:00</updated><title type='text'>The Duck</title><content type='html'>I once met a duck,&lt;br /&gt;I was driving a barge,&lt;br /&gt;He wouldn’t move over,&lt;br /&gt;Started giving it large,&lt;br /&gt;Saying things like&lt;br /&gt;“you don’t even know you’re born”&lt;br /&gt;I had to shout at him,&lt;br /&gt;Barges don’t have horns,&lt;br /&gt;It was a strange situation,&lt;br /&gt;Quite hard to guage,&lt;br /&gt;A talking duck&lt;br /&gt;Suffering from canal rage,&lt;br /&gt;So in the end&lt;br /&gt;I just ran him down,&lt;br /&gt;He floated up behind,&lt;br /&gt;I think he’d drowned,&lt;br /&gt;I felt a bit bad,&lt;br /&gt;So at the end of my journey&lt;br /&gt;I bought a book&lt;br /&gt;on taxidermy,&lt;br /&gt;I cut him open,&lt;br /&gt;Took out his insides,&lt;br /&gt;Put him on a nice stand,&lt;br /&gt;And gave him glass eyes,&lt;br /&gt;And now the duck&lt;br /&gt;Sits on my mantelpiece,&lt;br /&gt;With a couple of badgers&lt;br /&gt;And a gaggle of geese&lt;br /&gt;And a number of squirrels&lt;br /&gt;And a fox and a cat&lt;br /&gt;And a sheep and a dog,&lt;br /&gt;I just realised that&lt;br /&gt;I may have actually&lt;br /&gt;Got a bit carried away,&lt;br /&gt;But I ran them all down&lt;br /&gt;So they were dead anyway,&lt;br /&gt;If you want to blame someone&lt;br /&gt;For these newly departed,&lt;br /&gt;Blame that damn duck,&lt;br /&gt;He’s how it all started.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/__pJn9qnm_Oo/TIAfknz-LDI/AAAAAAAAAHk/A-JzYBye6Ts/s1600/duck+pic.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 213px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/__pJn9qnm_Oo/TIAfknz-LDI/AAAAAAAAAHk/A-JzYBye6Ts/s320/duck+pic.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5512440657924205618" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4652767956704602308-2997342321883136455?l=stevestamp.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://stevestamp.blogspot.com/feeds/2997342321883136455/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4652767956704602308&amp;postID=2997342321883136455' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4652767956704602308/posts/default/2997342321883136455'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4652767956704602308/posts/default/2997342321883136455'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://stevestamp.blogspot.com/2010/09/duck.html' title='The Duck'/><author><name>Steve Stamp</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00915986885705175592</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://bp3.blogger.com/__pJn9qnm_Oo/R6d8Nqksz6I/AAAAAAAAAAQ/4pag89KcUlA/S220/grem.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/__pJn9qnm_Oo/TIAfknz-LDI/AAAAAAAAAHk/A-JzYBye6Ts/s72-c/duck+pic.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4652767956704602308.post-1761185463182080964</id><published>2010-02-17T21:56:00.007Z</published><updated>2010-02-17T22:34:56.754Z</updated><title type='text'>Festive</title><content type='html'>Here is a little poem I wrote around Christmas time. It makes me sound like a bit of a Scrooge but I promise I'm not.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/__pJn9qnm_Oo/S3xssWbbUJI/AAAAAAAAAHU/qNveALvj_sU/s1600-h/28.bmp"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 400px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/__pJn9qnm_Oo/S3xssWbbUJI/AAAAAAAAAHU/qNveALvj_sU/s400/28.bmp" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5439341959147376786" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The warmth of the cold&lt;br /&gt;Bringing&lt;br /&gt;Everyone together&lt;br /&gt;Except for the ones who don't get along&lt;br /&gt;They&lt;br /&gt;Need to be organised carefully&lt;br /&gt;Clouds of coughing&lt;br /&gt;The high streets filled with desperation&lt;br /&gt;Eating more than is neccessary but less than is required&lt;br /&gt;Groovy uncles come out of their shells&lt;br /&gt;The masses retreat into alcoholism&lt;br /&gt;Tired children&lt;br /&gt;Grumpy&lt;br /&gt;Sitting in front of the TV watching&lt;br /&gt;Snow &lt;br /&gt;White&lt;br /&gt;A whole year of energy saving goes out of the window&lt;br /&gt;And around a tree&lt;br /&gt;A tangle of strangling contradictions&lt;br /&gt;Jesus.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4652767956704602308-1761185463182080964?l=stevestamp.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://stevestamp.blogspot.com/feeds/1761185463182080964/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4652767956704602308&amp;postID=1761185463182080964' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4652767956704602308/posts/default/1761185463182080964'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4652767956704602308/posts/default/1761185463182080964'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://stevestamp.blogspot.com/2010/02/festive.html' title='Festive'/><author><name>Steve Stamp</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00915986885705175592</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://bp3.blogger.com/__pJn9qnm_Oo/R6d8Nqksz6I/AAAAAAAAAAQ/4pag89KcUlA/S220/grem.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/__pJn9qnm_Oo/S3xssWbbUJI/AAAAAAAAAHU/qNveALvj_sU/s72-c/28.bmp' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4652767956704602308.post-2357343238339331359</id><published>2010-01-19T20:30:00.003Z</published><updated>2010-01-19T22:19:11.757Z</updated><title type='text'>People Just Do Nothing - Studio Footage</title><content type='html'>We filmed a few scenes/ interviews to get a feel for the characters and to get used to being on camera. It's all new for us, none of us are actors, so none of us were sure how it would turn out. After seeing the footage I am really excited about it and I'm confident that we could film a full length episode. Obviously we'd need to have a few less swearwords but generally I think it has enormous potential. My intention is to post videos like this up fairly regularly on facebook and our production blog in order to get people's attention and hopefully a bit of interest.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;object width="320" height="266" class="BLOG_video_class" id="BLOG_video-a93b996c94d66fba" classid="clsid:D27CDB6E-AE6D-11cf-96B8-444553540000" codebase="http://download.macromedia.com/pub/shockwave/cabs/flash/swflash.cab#version=6,0,40,0"&gt;&lt;param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/get_player"&gt;&lt;param name="bgcolor" value="#FFFFFF"&gt;&lt;param name="allowfullscreen" value="true"&gt;&lt;param name="flashvars" value="flvurl=http://v3.nonxt4.googlevideo.com/videoplayback?id%3Da93b996c94d66fba%26itag%3D5%26app%3Dblogger%26ip%3D0.0.0.0%26ipbits%3D0%26expire%3D1331263896%26sparams%3Did,itag,ip,ipbits,expire%26signature%3D32B0240A3A0615FE413623D3AE3AC6D91D796697.66C8A4DF9EA929B7911F5FFCAD7D05DD7F42BB43%26key%3Dck1&amp;amp;iurl=http://video.google.com/ThumbnailServer2?app%3Dblogger%26contentid%3Da93b996c94d66fba%26offsetms%3D5000%26itag%3Dw160%26sigh%3DFSEjUd_NuRSkGfsDhVaalzlB-Qs&amp;amp;autoplay=0&amp;amp;ps=blogger"&gt;&lt;embed src="http://www.youtube.com/get_player" type="application/x-shockwave-flash"width="320" height="266" bgcolor="#FFFFFF"flashvars="flvurl=http://v3.nonxt4.googlevideo.com/videoplayback?id%3Da93b996c94d66fba%26itag%3D5%26app%3Dblogger%26ip%3D0.0.0.0%26ipbits%3D0%26expire%3D1331263896%26sparams%3Did,itag,ip,ipbits,expire%26signature%3D32B0240A3A0615FE413623D3AE3AC6D91D796697.66C8A4DF9EA929B7911F5FFCAD7D05DD7F42BB43%26key%3Dck1&amp;iurl=http://video.google.com/ThumbnailServer2?app%3Dblogger%26contentid%3Da93b996c94d66fba%26offsetms%3D5000%26itag%3Dw160%26sigh%3DFSEjUd_NuRSkGfsDhVaalzlB-Qs&amp;autoplay=0&amp;ps=blogger"allowFullScreen="true" /&gt;&lt;/object&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4652767956704602308-2357343238339331359?l=stevestamp.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://stevestamp.blogspot.com/feeds/2357343238339331359/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4652767956704602308&amp;postID=2357343238339331359' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4652767956704602308/posts/default/2357343238339331359'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4652767956704602308/posts/default/2357343238339331359'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://stevestamp.blogspot.com/2010/01/people-just-do-nothing-studio-footage.html' title='People Just Do Nothing - Studio Footage'/><author><name>Steve Stamp</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00915986885705175592</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://bp3.blogger.com/__pJn9qnm_Oo/R6d8Nqksz6I/AAAAAAAAAAQ/4pag89KcUlA/S220/grem.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4652767956704602308.post-2003591862333081736</id><published>2009-12-26T10:28:00.003Z</published><updated>2009-12-26T10:37:37.608Z</updated><title type='text'>People Just Do Nothing</title><content type='html'>People Just Do Nothing is a comedy pilot I've been developing for the last few months. Its a mocumentary about unemployment which focuses on young adults living on an estate and looking for ways to make money outside 'the system'. Here is a little snippet from the draft script. This blog is not great with formatting so apologies for the alignment etc.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;LESLIE’S PHONE RINGS. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;LESLIE &lt;br /&gt;Hullo? Hey Sniper! Yeah the score? Course. I mean… listen man… yeah, I’m at home. Ok, see you soon. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;HANGS UP.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Shit. That was Sniper. He’s coming up to get the score.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;OLLY &lt;br /&gt;You should have said we weren’t here!  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;BARNABY &lt;br /&gt;Call him back and say you’re out!  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;OLLY &lt;br /&gt;It’s too late now!  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;LESLIE &lt;br /&gt;Shit! I should have just not picked up. I didn’t want to pick up! It’s Sniper man! I can’t lie to Sniper! It’s like lying to someone who will kill you for lying! &lt;br /&gt; &lt;br /&gt;CUT TO - INT. LIFT.   SNIPER GETS IN AND PRESSES A BUTTON.   &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;CUT TO - INT. LESLIE, BARNABY AND OLLY’S FLAT. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;LESLIE &lt;br /&gt;Shit. Guys. Hide. He doesn’t know you’re here. Just hide. I’ll take the rap for this shit man.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;OLLY &lt;br /&gt;I’m not fucking hiding like a pussy.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;BARNABY &lt;br /&gt;I’m fighting. I’ve never been in a fight before. I'm a rider. &lt;br /&gt; &lt;br /&gt;CUT TO - INT. LIFT.  LIFT DOORS OPEN AND RANDOM TEENAGER GETS IN. HE LOOKS AT THE CAMERA. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;RANDOM &lt;br /&gt;You lot makin’ a TV show?  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;SNIPER&lt;br /&gt;Yeah bruv. Bout radio or unemployment or some yarn.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;RANDOM &lt;br /&gt;Seen, seen. You lot MC and that?  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;SNIPER&lt;br /&gt;Yeah bruv.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;RANDOM (TENTATIVELY) &lt;br /&gt;Is it...  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;SNIPER &lt;br /&gt;Yeah, Corrupt FM.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;RANDOM &lt;br /&gt;Seen. &lt;br /&gt; &lt;br /&gt;CUT TO - INT. LESLIE, BARNABY AND OLLY’S FLAT.  LESLIE AND OLLY ARE HOLDING MAKESHIFT WEAPONS. BARNABY HAS ADOPTED A STRANGE STANCE. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;LESLIE &lt;br /&gt;What are you doing with your hand?  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;BARNABY &lt;br /&gt;If you uppercut someone in the face with the flat of your palm you kill them instantly. Con Air.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;LESLIE &lt;br /&gt;Oh right.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;OLLY &lt;br /&gt;Why haven’t we got any proper weapons? We should have some proper weapons like shanks and strats.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;LESLIE &lt;br /&gt;I don’t know if this is a good idea. What if there are loads of them or they’ve got a dog or something.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;BARNABY &lt;br /&gt;We need Chabuddie G.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;LESLIE &lt;br /&gt;Seriously though guys, I can handle this. I’m just going to say “look dude, we haven’t got the money. You’ll have to give us more time. There’s nothing we can do.”  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;OLLY &lt;br /&gt;I'm not shook. I'm not fucking hiding. &lt;br /&gt; &lt;br /&gt;CUT TO – INT. LIFT.   &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;RANDOM&lt;br /&gt;You lot know Decoy and that?&lt;br /&gt; &lt;br /&gt;SNIPER&lt;br /&gt;Yeah bruv.&lt;br /&gt; &lt;br /&gt;RANDOM&lt;br /&gt;Heavy. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;RANDOM TEENAGER GETS OUT&lt;br /&gt; &lt;br /&gt;RANDOM &lt;br /&gt;Alright, cool.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;SNIPER &lt;br /&gt;Nice one fella.&lt;br /&gt;  &lt;br /&gt;CUT TO - INT. LESLIE, BARNABY AND OLLY’S FLAT. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;LESLIE IS ALONE. HE PACES FRANTICALLY, PICKING UP WEAPONS AND PUTTING THEM DOWN. THERE IS A KNOCK AT THE DOOR.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;LESLIE &lt;br /&gt;(CHEERILY) Coming! (TO HIMSELF) Shit. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;LESLIE OPENS THE DOOR. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;SNIPER &lt;br /&gt;Hello mate. You got that score then?  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;LESLIE &lt;br /&gt;AH, that’s the only thing. (HE LOOKS BEHIND HIM TO SEE THAT BARNABY AND OLLY HAVE DISAPPEARED) Do you want to come in?  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;SNIPER&lt;br /&gt;Do not mug me off.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4652767956704602308-2003591862333081736?l=stevestamp.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://stevestamp.blogspot.com/feeds/2003591862333081736/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4652767956704602308&amp;postID=2003591862333081736' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4652767956704602308/posts/default/2003591862333081736'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4652767956704602308/posts/default/2003591862333081736'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://stevestamp.blogspot.com/2009/12/people-just-do-nothing-is-comedy-pilot.html' title='People Just Do Nothing'/><author><name>Steve Stamp</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00915986885705175592</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://bp3.blogger.com/__pJn9qnm_Oo/R6d8Nqksz6I/AAAAAAAAAAQ/4pag89KcUlA/S220/grem.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4652767956704602308.post-1425211190419805917</id><published>2009-09-21T22:04:00.002+01:00</published><updated>2009-09-21T22:09:55.512+01:00</updated><title type='text'>Super Ordinary</title><content type='html'>This is a film by Ben Murray and Rory Matheson. I was asked to be involved with because I "fitted the part" (in other words it was generally felt that I would look hilarious in purple spandex and yellow pants). I did - the film was a success.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It was shot for the super8 competition so everything was done in one take with no editing.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;object width="425" height="344"&gt;&lt;param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/pQiZUN4w5QQ&amp;hl=en&amp;fs=1&amp;rel=0"&gt;&lt;/param&gt;&lt;param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"&gt;&lt;/param&gt;&lt;param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"&gt;&lt;/param&gt;&lt;embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/pQiZUN4w5QQ&amp;hl=en&amp;fs=1&amp;rel=0" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" width="425" height="344"&gt;&lt;/embed&gt;&lt;/object&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4652767956704602308-1425211190419805917?l=stevestamp.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://stevestamp.blogspot.com/feeds/1425211190419805917/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4652767956704602308&amp;postID=1425211190419805917' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4652767956704602308/posts/default/1425211190419805917'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4652767956704602308/posts/default/1425211190419805917'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://stevestamp.blogspot.com/2009/09/super-ordinary.html' title='Super Ordinary'/><author><name>Steve Stamp</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00915986885705175592</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://bp3.blogger.com/__pJn9qnm_Oo/R6d8Nqksz6I/AAAAAAAAAAQ/4pag89KcUlA/S220/grem.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4652767956704602308.post-8100883971019148445</id><published>2009-09-21T21:57:00.003+01:00</published><updated>2009-09-21T22:03:17.465+01:00</updated><title type='text'>The Art of Being Lost</title><content type='html'>I did a travel blog describing my journey through China, Thailand, Fiji, Peru, Bolivia and various other wonderful places which you can find here. You can see my drawings if you click on Photos.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://www.blogabond.com/TripView.aspx?tripID=6097"&gt;http://www.blogabond.com/TripView.aspx?tripID=6097&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt; I wrote everything in internet cafes so excuse the spelling mistakes.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4652767956704602308-8100883971019148445?l=stevestamp.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://stevestamp.blogspot.com/feeds/8100883971019148445/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4652767956704602308&amp;postID=8100883971019148445' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4652767956704602308/posts/default/8100883971019148445'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4652767956704602308/posts/default/8100883971019148445'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://stevestamp.blogspot.com/2009/09/art-of-being-lost.html' title='The Art of Being Lost'/><author><name>Steve Stamp</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00915986885705175592</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://bp3.blogger.com/__pJn9qnm_Oo/R6d8Nqksz6I/AAAAAAAAAAQ/4pag89KcUlA/S220/grem.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4652767956704602308.post-1888046752417598548</id><published>2009-09-08T12:01:00.004+01:00</published><updated>2009-09-08T12:11:28.870+01:00</updated><title type='text'>London to Brighton</title><content type='html'>I sit on the train&lt;br /&gt;with a pad&lt;br /&gt;and a pen&lt;br /&gt;and&lt;br /&gt;a book of poems,&lt;br /&gt;it must look like I'm&lt;br /&gt;studying&lt;br /&gt;because the guard walks past and says&lt;br /&gt;"It's an exciting life isn't it?"&lt;br /&gt;I think&lt;br /&gt;he expects me to&lt;br /&gt;respond&lt;br /&gt;in the negative&lt;br /&gt;with a similar sense of&lt;br /&gt;sarcasm&lt;br /&gt;but I agree!&lt;br /&gt;It is&lt;br /&gt;an exciting life.&lt;br /&gt;I'm excited about where&lt;br /&gt;I'm going&lt;br /&gt;even if you're not.&lt;br /&gt;Twat.&lt;br /&gt;Don't&lt;br /&gt;put a hole in my ticket&lt;br /&gt;please,&lt;br /&gt;I'll use that&lt;br /&gt;again.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4652767956704602308-1888046752417598548?l=stevestamp.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://stevestamp.blogspot.com/feeds/1888046752417598548/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4652767956704602308&amp;postID=1888046752417598548' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4652767956704602308/posts/default/1888046752417598548'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4652767956704602308/posts/default/1888046752417598548'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://stevestamp.blogspot.com/2009/09/london-to-brighton.html' title='London to Brighton'/><author><name>Steve Stamp</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00915986885705175592</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://bp3.blogger.com/__pJn9qnm_Oo/R6d8Nqksz6I/AAAAAAAAAAQ/4pag89KcUlA/S220/grem.jpg'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4652767956704602308.post-3200049279244040963</id><published>2009-01-05T20:54:00.002Z</published><updated>2009-01-05T21:03:23.994Z</updated><title type='text'>FELLA</title><content type='html'>&lt;div align="left"&gt;A quiet pub. An elderly couple sit silently on a nearby table as FELLA, 33, who is sporty but slightly overweight, conversates with JEREMY, 21. JEREMY looks around awkwardly.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;FELLA&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;So he goes up to his mum and he’s like, “Mum, why is my dick so much bigger than all the other kids at school? Is it cos I is black?”&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;JEREMY&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;Yeah...&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;FELLA&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;She goes “Nah, it’s cos your 26 and a retard now watch you don’t get spaghetti down your Arsenal shirt.”&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;JEREMY&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;That’s a good one.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;FELLA&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;S’a true story.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;JEREMY(sarcastically) Yeah alright!&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;FELLA&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;S’a fuckin’ true story! Mate of mine told me. (he pauses and looks confused) You tryna mug me off?&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;JEREMY(laughing) &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;No I just... it’s a good one...&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;FELLA&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;Good what? Fuck you laughin’ at?&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;JEREMY (suddenly scared and defensive)&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;I thought you just told a joke!&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;FELLA&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;I’ll fuckin’ knock you out.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;JEREMY&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;Sorry.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;FELLA&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;Nah I’m just fuckin’ about.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;Enter DAVID, 22. He is young, slightly effeminate, good looking.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;FELLA&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;Waaay! Here he is!&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;DAVID&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;You alright? Anyone need a drink?&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;FELLA&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;I’ll ‘ave a Carlin darlin.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;JEREMY&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;No, I’m ok.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;FELLA&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;He's ok. Fanny.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;DAVID comes back from the bar with two drinks.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;FELLA&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;That Sophie bird... &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;DAVID&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;What?&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;FELLA&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;She’s alright in’t she?&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;DAVID&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;She’s alright. I think she just looks good in comparison to the rest of the girls at work.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;FELLA&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;Who?&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;DAVID&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;That Sophie girl.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;FELLA&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;Oh yeah! Fit as mate.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;DAVID&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;I dunno.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;FELLA&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;Anyway, you know I shagged her?&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;DAVID&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;Nope. I thought she was married?&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;FELLA&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;Marriage is just for the kids. It’s like santa. We all know it’s bollocks.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;DAVID&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;What do you mean “like santa”?&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;FELLA&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;Like, not real.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;DAVID&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;He’s... not real?&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;FELLA&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;What?&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;DAVID&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;I’m jokin’.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;FELLA&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;Are you muggin me off?&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;DAVID&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;I dunno.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;FELLA&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;What? Anyway yeah, so I had her. S’alright. Another notch on the bedpost.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;DAVID&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;I thought you slept on your ex’s sofa?&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;FELLA&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;Yeah.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;DAVID&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;So you don’t have bed posts!&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;FELLA&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;Does your bed?&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;DAVID&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;Nah, mine...&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;FELLA&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;(interrupting) Well then... (he pauses thoughtfully)... even if there was you wouldn’t have many notches.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;DAVID&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;What is a notch anyway?&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;FELLA&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;A shag.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;DAVID&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;No, I mean like “a notch on the bedpost” - what is a notch on a bedpost?&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;FELLA&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;S’a shag you cunt.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;DAVID&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;No, I get it - it’s a metaphorical reflection of the accumulation of shags- I get that but what is an actual physical notch on a bedpost? Like, what would that look like? Where did that figure of speech come from?&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;FELLA&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;Do you want a glass in the face? The point is I got more notches on my bedpost than both of you lot put together.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;JEREMY (thoughtfully)&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;My bed has posts.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;DAVID&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;Does it have notches?&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;JEREMY&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;I’m not sure.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4652767956704602308-3200049279244040963?l=stevestamp.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://stevestamp.blogspot.com/feeds/3200049279244040963/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4652767956704602308&amp;postID=3200049279244040963' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4652767956704602308/posts/default/3200049279244040963'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4652767956704602308/posts/default/3200049279244040963'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://stevestamp.blogspot.com/2009/01/fella.html' title='FELLA'/><author><name>Steve Stamp</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00915986885705175592</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://bp3.blogger.com/__pJn9qnm_Oo/R6d8Nqksz6I/AAAAAAAAAAQ/4pag89KcUlA/S220/grem.jpg'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4652767956704602308.post-4823360173393288912</id><published>2008-10-24T19:21:00.004+01:00</published><updated>2008-10-27T13:19:50.425Z</updated><title type='text'>Blazin Unit the movie</title><content type='html'>&lt;strong&gt;The Mixtape of Destiny... coming soon... here is a snippet&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;SCENE 1 - A PARK - LATE AT NIGHT&lt;br /&gt;Two hooded figures sit on a bench in the middle of an eerily dark, deserted green. Trains and tower blocks nearby indicate a city.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;A cyclist appears from some bushes at the other end of the park and frantically pedals towards the two figures. He is dressed in black and wears sunglasses.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The two figures stand as the mysterious cyclist quickly approaches. Leaping of his bike, the cyclist darts towards the two figures and lays a small package on the floor in front of them before sprinting furiously away.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;LYRICAL&lt;br /&gt;Oi, where did you get this bruv?&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;FIGURE (SHOUTING FROM A DISTANCE)&lt;br /&gt;I found it. Just like you are finding it. I know nothing.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;RAGO MARK&lt;br /&gt;He left his bike.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;LYRICAL&lt;br /&gt;Yeah...&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;SCENE 2 - HOUNSLOW HIGH STREET - LATE AT NIGHT.&lt;br /&gt;LYRICAL walks while RAGO MARK rides the bike.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;RAGO MARK&lt;br /&gt;What’s on that ting man? &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;LYRICAL&lt;br /&gt;I dunno man. Everyone’s got their own theory you get me? I heard its the first garage mixtape ever created - they put an old record on 45 rpm by accident instead of 33 and one dude just started MCing... &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;RAGO MARK&lt;br /&gt;One brear told me that Oxide and Neutrino used to work in Mothercare ‘til they heard the mixtape. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;LYRICAL&lt;br /&gt;That’s mad. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;RAGO MARK&lt;br /&gt;I know &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;LYRICAL&lt;br /&gt;Mothercare... that’s nuts.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;RAGO MARK&lt;br /&gt;That’s what I’m sayin’... I know one guy who works there now. But he ain’t ever gonna hear no mixtape. This is our time man. B Unit ya get mah!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;LYRICAL&lt;br /&gt;Yeah rude boy! Our time to shine!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;RAGO MARK&lt;br /&gt;I need to get famous man, quick. This shit is takin’ too long right now.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;LYRICAL&lt;br /&gt;What was goin on with my man in the park?! He looked lost bruv!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;RAGO MARK&lt;br /&gt;He looked cracked man.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;LYRICAL&lt;br /&gt;I overheard one guy in Pizza Hut talkin about the mixtape and he said that the UN were after it cos it is catagorised as a weapon of mass destruction!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;RAGO MARK&lt;br /&gt;Seen. What is UN? A crew?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;LYRICAL&lt;br /&gt;Government ting.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;RAGO MARK&lt;br /&gt;Seen, seen. Mass destruction sounds nuts. We should call our album that.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;LYRICAL&lt;br /&gt;Means we gotta be careful with this thing though.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;RAGO MARK&lt;br /&gt;What, you shook?!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;LYRICAL&lt;br /&gt;Nah nah, but we just need to hold it down. It is deeper than we even know bruv. One boy from college said that it aint even a proper mixtape. It’s a metaphor.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;RAGO MARK&lt;br /&gt;What’s that?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;LYRICAL&lt;br /&gt;I dunno but it sounds deeper still.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;RAGO MARK&lt;br /&gt;Truesay. There’s none for havin’ some fuckin men in black guys knockin at my mums yard. She would batter me... Last time jakes came to the house she tried to shank me blud!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;LYRICAL&lt;br /&gt;Your mum is joke.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;RAGO MARK&lt;br /&gt;Ain’t a joke when it’s real blud. I had to stay in my bathroom for two days. Man was eatin soap and drinkin toilet water.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;LYRICAL&lt;br /&gt;(Laughing)&lt;br /&gt;Why didn’t you just drink from the tap?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;RAGO MARK&lt;br /&gt;I was tied up.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;LYRICAL&lt;br /&gt;Later... (long pause)...so what, can your boy at Mothercare get discount?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;A MESSY BEDROOM - LATER&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;LYRICAL&lt;br /&gt;You got something that can play this? Been a while since I even seen a tape...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;RAGO MARK&lt;br /&gt;Yeah man, I still got that same hi-fi from year seven!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;LYRICAL&lt;br /&gt;(laughing) Later! That must be a collectors item man! That’s some Cash in the Attic shit.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;RAGO MARK&lt;br /&gt;Dickhead. You wanna hear the Mixtape of Destiny you better respect the damn hi-fi.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;LYRICAL&lt;br /&gt;They shouldn’t have called it the Mixtapeof Destiny. That name is weak. They should have called it something more aggy... like the Darkside Grit-Tape.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;RAGO MARK&lt;br /&gt;Grit-tape?! You joker. I would have called it something deep but still kinda rugged like... Solid Love.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;LYRICAL&lt;br /&gt;I swear MC Romeo’s album was called that.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;RAGO MARK&lt;br /&gt;He had an album? I remember him doin’ a tune with that Christina Milian. She was LIVE!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;LYRICAL&lt;br /&gt;Yeah yeah yeah she is deeper still. What, better than Lisa Maffia though?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;RAGO MARK&lt;br /&gt;Nah nah nah nah nah nah...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;LYRICAL&lt;br /&gt;You get me. I wonder who named the Mixtape though. Like, who was there.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;RAGO MARK&lt;br /&gt;MC Creed?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;LYRICAL&lt;br /&gt;Yeah, he is madly old still...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;RAGO MARK&lt;br /&gt;ACTUALLY YOU KNOW WHAT! You know what I would call it?! The Mass Destruction Ultra-Shank Blessing.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;LYRICAL&lt;br /&gt;Yeah that’s a sick name still.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;RAGO MARK&lt;br /&gt;That’s what I told Claire that I wanted to call my first child.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;LYRICAL&lt;br /&gt;What so she would get an abortion?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;RAGO MARK&lt;br /&gt;Yeah man!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;LYRICAL&lt;br /&gt;Joker. Is it ready?&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;RAGO MARK puts the tape into a large, elaborate hi-fi and turns it on.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;RAGO MARK&lt;br /&gt;Yeah. What, shall I do it now?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;LYRICAL&lt;br /&gt;Yeah bruv!&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;RAGO MARK&lt;br /&gt;What, you ready?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;LYRICAL&lt;br /&gt;Course man. (pause) Nah, wait wait. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;br /&gt; &lt;/div&gt;LYRICAL takes a spliff which has been tucked behind his ear and puts it in his mouth. He puts up his hood. Then he stares at the floor with a look of deep concentration and breathes deeply.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;LYRICAL (CONT’D)&lt;br /&gt;Aite man. Go on. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4652767956704602308-4823360173393288912?l=stevestamp.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://stevestamp.blogspot.com/feeds/4823360173393288912/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4652767956704602308&amp;postID=4823360173393288912' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4652767956704602308/posts/default/4823360173393288912'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4652767956704602308/posts/default/4823360173393288912'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://stevestamp.blogspot.com/2008/10/blazin-unit-movie.html' title='Blazin Unit the movie'/><author><name>Steve Stamp</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00915986885705175592</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://bp3.blogger.com/__pJn9qnm_Oo/R6d8Nqksz6I/AAAAAAAAAAQ/4pag89KcUlA/S220/grem.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4652767956704602308.post-471559891960920851</id><published>2008-10-06T15:39:00.003+01:00</published><updated>2008-10-06T15:49:24.767+01:00</updated><title type='text'>Badmanz first draft</title><content type='html'>&lt;div align="left"&gt;This is an early draft of the Badmanz script which we were developing into an animation. All has gone a bit quiet for the time being so I'm thinkin a Blazin Unit script might be a better use of my time. Anyway, have a look. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;INTRO MUSIC&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;INT – MUSIC CLASSROOM – DAY&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;MR FREARS&lt;br /&gt;Guys, I have to say, I am totally feeling that urban Dizzy Rascal mobo vibe you have going on there. Really cool. I could totally get down with that completely. Totally catching that vibe. Street…&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;TIDDY&lt;br /&gt;I told you man. Brears like you just need to take the time to listen.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;MR FREARS&lt;br /&gt;Can you untie me now?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The camera pans out to reveal the MR FREARS tied to a chair. TIDDY, CAMEO and JEZZLE are standing around menacingly while FELIX sits with a keyboard on his lap&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;TIDDY&lt;br /&gt;So you know who is gonna win the music competition tomorrow yeah?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;MR FREARS&lt;br /&gt;Let’s just say I have a very good idea boys, yes.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;CAMEO&lt;br /&gt;Go on…&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;TIDDY&lt;br /&gt;He means us man.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;CAMEO&lt;br /&gt;You better mean us. I’ll shank you with a board marker blud, don’t think I haven’t done it before.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;TIDDY&lt;br /&gt;You ain’t done that before.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;CAMEO&lt;br /&gt;Yeah but don’t THINK it! Cos I will do it and then you will really have something to think about.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;MR FREARS&lt;br /&gt;What?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;TIDDY&lt;br /&gt;Just make sure we win. This ain’t a joke ting.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;MR FREARS&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;OK guys, you’ve made yourself clear. I think it’s cool that you are so passionate about your music. Really excellent…&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;TIDDY pulls out a gun.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;TIDDY&lt;br /&gt;Leave us.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;INT – MUSIC PRACTICE ROOM – DAY &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;CAMEO&lt;br /&gt;We need this room now blud, get out before I ring my cousin. You pum pum.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;PUPIL&lt;br /&gt;But… we were here…&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;CAMEO&lt;br /&gt;I’m ringing him now…&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;TIDDY&lt;br /&gt;Bruv don’t get stupid. I’ll stab you wid your violin bruv it aint a long ting.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;FELIX&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;Do you have a pass?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;PUPIL&lt;br /&gt;A pass?&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;FELIX&lt;br /&gt;Yes, this is a specialist practice room. I’m afraid you need a pass signed by Mr Frears.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;PUPIL&lt;br /&gt;Oh, ok. Sorry Felix. Sorry guys. I didn’t realise.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;CAMEO&lt;br /&gt;You’re lucky I got no credit.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;TIDDY&lt;br /&gt;Just get out man, move.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Tiddy produces a white label CD-R that reads GUNSHOT RIDDIMS. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;TIDDY&lt;br /&gt;Blud, put track 3 on. Come we get on some murky hype flow…&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Tiddy starts to “spit” the most ridiculous lyrics. Desperate to get involved CAMEO charges up and grabs the mic and barely gets through a coherent sentence before he is stumbling over his words and the track has to be stopped.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;FELIX&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;Guys, we need to get something written if we want to get taken seriously.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;TIDDY&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;Yeah for real, we need something fresh man – that beat sounds like some 90s Artful Dodger fassy riddim. We need some next grime. We gotta make an impact man. If those those A&amp;amp;R brears are gonna give us a deal we gotta come with something that slaps them in the face and jacks their Nokia..&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;CAMEO&lt;br /&gt;(excitedly) SPACE GRIME BRUV! I must have been on Fruity Loops last night yeah and I swear down I created a whole new genre of music! FUTURE SPACE GRIME! It sounds sick man its like some intergalactic crunk shit! Proper sick!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;TIDDY&lt;br /&gt;Alright fuck it. That’s the one. I’ll write the lyrics; Felix, you and Cameo can work on the beat. Jezzle, can sort out the outfits.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;INT – SCHOOL HALL – DAY&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;There is a buzz in the air, a small boy is finishing a classical piano recital.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;INT – DRESSING ROOM AREA – DAY&lt;br /&gt;The boys are dressed in matching outfits and are holding various weapons. Cameo is smoking.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;TIDDY&lt;br /&gt;This is gonna be nuts man, I hope we get gun shots.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;CAMEO&lt;br /&gt;Me too blood. I hope I get shot.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;FELIX&lt;br /&gt;You’re are a strange young man.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;MR FREARSLooking good guys, very urban. Especially you Felix. Super urban.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;FELIX&lt;br /&gt;Why? Because I’m black?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;MR FREARS&lt;br /&gt;No, no. Just… you know… your vibe.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;TIDDYWhat’s the audience sayin?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;MR FREARS&lt;br /&gt;Chatty as always. I think you should find them very receptive. Although try to watch your language and Cameo please put out that joint, it’s not a good example for these kids.&lt;br /&gt;CAMEO&lt;br /&gt;(coughing) This is yours anyway… what do you mean kids?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;MR FREARS&lt;br /&gt;We don’t need the infants seeing you smoking.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;FELIXWe’re playing for the infants?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;MR FREARS&lt;br /&gt;Yes and you’re on right now guys! Get out there!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;FELIX&lt;br /&gt;Oh god… I don’t know about this…&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;TIDDY&lt;br /&gt;Shut up man! It’s up to us to show these kids real music from the streets. Our thoughts, feelings, trials and tribulations you get me…We don’t want them to grow up shielded from what goes on. We need to represent youth culture and open their eyes. It’s up to us to show what the youth of today is REALLY about.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;INT- SCHOOL HALL – DAY&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The lights dim, spotlights appear and the gun sounds SFX go off – THE PERFORMANCE STARTS.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The BadManz peform the most explicit / heavy GRIME TUNE – full of expletives, references to bitches, gang culture etc. etc.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;We see the small infant kids stunned, mouths open.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;When Jezzle’s bit comes in (up until now he’s been silent) he MCs with the most gravely, heavy Jamaican accent.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;When the music stops, Tiddy dedicates the track to his “Boy Soldiers” who cannot be with us today.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It ends with one of the four year old infants innocently repeating one of the many expletives he has just heard.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4652767956704602308-471559891960920851?l=stevestamp.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://stevestamp.blogspot.com/feeds/471559891960920851/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4652767956704602308&amp;postID=471559891960920851' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4652767956704602308/posts/default/471559891960920851'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4652767956704602308/posts/default/471559891960920851'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://stevestamp.blogspot.com/2008/10/badmanz-first-draft.html' title='Badmanz first draft'/><author><name>Steve Stamp</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00915986885705175592</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://bp3.blogger.com/__pJn9qnm_Oo/R6d8Nqksz6I/AAAAAAAAAAQ/4pag89KcUlA/S220/grem.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4652767956704602308.post-5295477070557287842</id><published>2008-09-15T20:30:00.007+01:00</published><updated>2008-09-16T08:58:01.499+01:00</updated><title type='text'>Asbestos Dave</title><content type='html'>&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;There is an Asbestos Dave at every university. In fact universities are filled with them – Asbestos Dave characteristics tend to reveal themselves when class A drugs have been consumed. These guys have got all the latest gadgets despite talking about how broke they are, they’ve travelled the world… you will not impress Asbestos Dave - essentially he has done everything you have but better and on drugs.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;This is a snippet. Just to fill you in - Bernard is 65, newly single and attending Sussex University. One day it will all make sense.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;ASBESTOS DAVE&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;So what sort of shit are you into? Commercial or explorative? &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;BERNARD&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;Explorative? I’m not really into music. Bit of soul, motown, ya know. But I can put up with anything really, if it’s shit I can just turn off this baby! (BERNARD pulls out his hearing aid). &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;ASBESTOS DAVE&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;Cool. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;BERNARD&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;WHAT? Hah, I’m joking. You’ll probably need one of these one day, that fuckin’ stuff on so loud all the time. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;ASBESTOS DAVE&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;I only listen to what my body tells me is right. If my body said don't listen to it so loud I wouldn't. So… I probably won’t go deaf. It’s just about listening to your body. (he laughs) Your body won’t hurt itself you know. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;BERNARD&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;Maybe you just can't hear it! What have you taken? You’re mental! &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;ASBESTOS DAVE&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;Not a lot. I’m trying out some shit from a friend of mine. Have you seen my mixer? It’s pretty much the most expensive you can get. Check this out. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;ASBESTOS DAVE plays with the music, turning down the bass, then the treble and finally flicking the cross fader rapidly. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;ASBESTOS DAVE&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;Not a lot of people have seen me mixing properly. I just do it when there’s no-one around. I hate showing off but this tune is sick. Have you heard this before? Gravity. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;BERNARD&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;Nah. I like a bit of Marvin Gaye myself. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;ASBESTOS DAVE&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;Yeah I got a Marvin Gaye Coldsnatch Remix. Sick. Do you want a spliff? I’ve got some Mongolian squidgy black and I’m pretty sure it’s cut with Oxo. Tastes amazing. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;BERNARD&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;I’m alright with my Drum ta. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;ASBESTOS DAVE&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;Drum’s cool. Yeah. I’m gonna skin this big style. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;BERNARD&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;Sorry mate? &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;ASBESTOS DAVE&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;I was just saying I’m going to use two rizlas to skin up. Have you seen anyone do it before? Watch me if you want. I can do it perfectly every time. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;BERNARD&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;You go for it son. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;ASBESTOS DAVE&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;I might order a pizza. I can’t be fucked to cook. Ever. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;BERNARD&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;I’m not much of a cook meself. The wife used to sort it out, we had a good little arrangement me and her. I’d do the washing up. Every Wednesday she would say to me, it’s your turn to cook, Wednesday night is your night… And every Wednesday I’d tell her to fack off! HA! She was a good girl. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;ASBESTOS DAVE&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;Awesome. Smell that? Smells like absolute vibe is about to get caught. What? I thought you said something. I could cook if I wanted to - if I wanted to I could make you the best lobster you have ever tasted in your life. Just can not be fucked.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4652767956704602308-5295477070557287842?l=stevestamp.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://stevestamp.blogspot.com/feeds/5295477070557287842/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4652767956704602308&amp;postID=5295477070557287842' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4652767956704602308/posts/default/5295477070557287842'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4652767956704602308/posts/default/5295477070557287842'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://stevestamp.blogspot.com/2008/09/aspestos-dave.html' title='Asbestos Dave'/><author><name>Steve Stamp</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00915986885705175592</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://bp3.blogger.com/__pJn9qnm_Oo/R6d8Nqksz6I/AAAAAAAAAAQ/4pag89KcUlA/S220/grem.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4652767956704602308.post-8948777020623640880</id><published>2008-08-14T12:06:00.000+01:00</published><updated>2008-08-14T12:07:20.603+01:00</updated><title type='text'>Adulthood</title><content type='html'>&lt;div align="center"&gt;SCREWBOAT&lt;br /&gt;Bruv have you seen Adulthood?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;LAMBSHANK&lt;br /&gt;Yeah man that is serious!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;SCREWBOAT&lt;br /&gt;I know! It captures urban youth culture so effectively, particularly with its use of colloquial language, and with a gritty sense of realism that is as edifying as it is disturbing.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;LAMBSHANK&lt;br /&gt;What?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;SCREWBOAT&lt;br /&gt;I dunno. Sorry... Blatently truesay topboy you get me.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;LAMBSHANK&lt;br /&gt;Seen seen.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4652767956704602308-8948777020623640880?l=stevestamp.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://stevestamp.blogspot.com/feeds/8948777020623640880/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4652767956704602308&amp;postID=8948777020623640880' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4652767956704602308/posts/default/8948777020623640880'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4652767956704602308/posts/default/8948777020623640880'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://stevestamp.blogspot.com/2008/08/adulthood.html' title='Adulthood'/><author><name>Steve Stamp</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00915986885705175592</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://bp3.blogger.com/__pJn9qnm_Oo/R6d8Nqksz6I/AAAAAAAAAAQ/4pag89KcUlA/S220/grem.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4652767956704602308.post-9054362975931759663</id><published>2008-08-14T12:04:00.001+01:00</published><updated>2008-08-14T12:06:21.062+01:00</updated><title type='text'>Lyrics</title><content type='html'>&lt;div align="center"&gt;SCREWBOAT&lt;br /&gt;I thought of the sickest lyric last night just when I was about to go sleep.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;LAMBSHANK&lt;br /&gt;How’d it go?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;SCREWBOAT&lt;br /&gt;I can’t remember. I think it was something to do with roofing.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;LAMBSHANK&lt;br /&gt;Roofing?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;SCREWBOAT&lt;br /&gt;Yeah but I can’t remember.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;LAMBSHANK&lt;br /&gt;Later. Sounds next.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;SCREWBOAT&lt;br /&gt;I know.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4652767956704602308-9054362975931759663?l=stevestamp.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://stevestamp.blogspot.com/feeds/9054362975931759663/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4652767956704602308&amp;postID=9054362975931759663' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4652767956704602308/posts/default/9054362975931759663'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4652767956704602308/posts/default/9054362975931759663'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://stevestamp.blogspot.com/2008/08/lyrics.html' title='Lyrics'/><author><name>Steve Stamp</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00915986885705175592</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://bp3.blogger.com/__pJn9qnm_Oo/R6d8Nqksz6I/AAAAAAAAAAQ/4pag89KcUlA/S220/grem.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4652767956704602308.post-4211344080625109388</id><published>2008-08-14T12:00:00.002+01:00</published><updated>2008-08-14T12:04:46.124+01:00</updated><title type='text'>Political</title><content type='html'>&lt;div align="center"&gt;LAMBSHANK&lt;br /&gt;You know what, if Russia tried to invade us I wouldn’t have it blud.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;SCREWBOAT&lt;br /&gt;Nah, I’d switch.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;LAMBSHANK&lt;br /&gt;I’d ring my cousin from East. They got armies man, serious.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;SCREWBOAT&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;Is it? What have they got tanks and that?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;LAMBSHANK&lt;br /&gt;Nah but they could blatently link some.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;SCREWBOAT&lt;br /&gt;What they got planes?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;LAMBSHANKProbably.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;SCREWBOAT&lt;br /&gt;Submarines?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;LAMBSHANK&lt;br /&gt;Blud, why you gonna need a submarine if Russia invades London?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;SCREWBOAT&lt;br /&gt;So that you can hide in the river Thames and then pop up and start murkin guys.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;LAMBSHANK&lt;br /&gt;Oh yeah truesay. That would be sick.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;SCREWBOAT&lt;br /&gt;Russia wouldn’t chuck it anyway.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;LAMBSHANK&lt;br /&gt;Nah they know.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;SCREWBOAT&lt;br /&gt;We got too many tugs.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;LAMBSHANK&lt;br /&gt;Ezackly.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;SCREWBOAT&lt;br /&gt;We got more stabbings than anywhere in the world I reckon.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;LAMBSHANK&lt;br /&gt;We got bare stabbings.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;SCREWBOAT&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;That shit speaks loud to other countries. Like, if you come try invade us you will get stabbed up. Rags.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;LAMBSHANK&lt;br /&gt;See the government think that knife crime is bad yeah but they’re just dumb blood. Knife crime is positive. It’s protection.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;SCREWBOAT&lt;br /&gt;From Russia.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;LAMBSHANK&lt;br /&gt;Yeah basically.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;SCREWBOAT&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;And also from random brears who chuck it on road.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;LAMBSHANK&lt;br /&gt;Or won’t give you their phone.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;SCREWBOAT&lt;br /&gt;Ezackly.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4652767956704602308-4211344080625109388?l=stevestamp.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://stevestamp.blogspot.com/feeds/4211344080625109388/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4652767956704602308&amp;postID=4211344080625109388' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4652767956704602308/posts/default/4211344080625109388'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4652767956704602308/posts/default/4211344080625109388'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://stevestamp.blogspot.com/2008/08/political.html' title='Political'/><author><name>Steve Stamp</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00915986885705175592</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://bp3.blogger.com/__pJn9qnm_Oo/R6d8Nqksz6I/AAAAAAAAAAQ/4pag89KcUlA/S220/grem.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4652767956704602308.post-2384098651008167693</id><published>2008-07-02T19:51:00.004+01:00</published><updated>2008-07-02T19:54:52.006+01:00</updated><title type='text'>A poem</title><content type='html'>&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Time Lines&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Granny’s only forty but she’s already had a heart attack,&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Another on the way and I wonder if she knows it,&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Footsteps will be followed all the way to the end,&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Filling shoes that are handed down,&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Indifferent because they will never be yours,&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Dreams that are lost before they are realised,&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Young eyes see clearer than the clouded young mind,&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Frustrated elders watching the lost youth,&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Decision makers, time takers – who is really happiest?&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4652767956704602308-2384098651008167693?l=stevestamp.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://stevestamp.blogspot.com/feeds/2384098651008167693/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4652767956704602308&amp;postID=2384098651008167693' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4652767956704602308/posts/default/2384098651008167693'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4652767956704602308/posts/default/2384098651008167693'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://stevestamp.blogspot.com/2008/07/poem.html' title='A poem'/><author><name>Steve Stamp</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00915986885705175592</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://bp3.blogger.com/__pJn9qnm_Oo/R6d8Nqksz6I/AAAAAAAAAAQ/4pag89KcUlA/S220/grem.jpg'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4652767956704602308.post-7419391251491619122</id><published>2008-06-30T22:22:00.001+01:00</published><updated>2008-06-30T22:26:29.303+01:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='homeless short magic boy drawing inspiration'/><title type='text'>Drawing Inspiration</title><content type='html'>&lt;div align="left"&gt;A homeless man is lying on a park bench with two cans of drink. He looks miserable. Noticing something taped underneath the bench, he finds a drawing of himself lying on the park bench with two cans of drink and looking miserable. The next day the man returns and finds another drawing, it is almost identical but this time includes a thought bubble which reads “What would I be without the drink?” The homeless man smiles and drinks. Returning once again the next day, the man is disappointed to find that there is no drawing.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;He checks every day and for the next week there are no drawings. He grows thoughtful and spends a lot of time lying on the bench looking at the drawings. The next day the homeless man returns to the bench without any drink. He looks different. The man sits upright and looks about him, seeming to acknowledge the surroundings for the first time. He is approached by a child who speaks to him and shows off his football skills while the man watches and applauds. The boy passes him the ball but he shakes his head and passes it back awkwardly. The boy looks disappointed. In an attempt to redeem himself, the man does a coin trick. The little boy is amazed and runs off to tell his friends.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The next day the man returns looking smart; he finds a drawing taped underneath the bench. It is him performing the coin trick. The man smiles and looks around. He doesn’t have any drink with him. Later we see the boy once again showing off his football skills and passing the man the ball. This time the man laughs, pulls out a deck of cards and shuffles them effortlessly. Suddenly there is a group of children sitting cross legged on the floor, their eyes wide with excitement.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The next day the little boy comes to the bench but the man is not there. He notices something stuck to the bottom of the bench. It is a pack of cards.&lt;br /&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The End&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4652767956704602308-7419391251491619122?l=stevestamp.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://stevestamp.blogspot.com/feeds/7419391251491619122/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4652767956704602308&amp;postID=7419391251491619122' title='5 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4652767956704602308/posts/default/7419391251491619122'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4652767956704602308/posts/default/7419391251491619122'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://stevestamp.blogspot.com/2008/06/drawing-inspiration.html' title='Drawing Inspiration'/><author><name>Steve Stamp</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00915986885705175592</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://bp3.blogger.com/__pJn9qnm_Oo/R6d8Nqksz6I/AAAAAAAAAAQ/4pag89KcUlA/S220/grem.jpg'/></author><thr:total>5</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4652767956704602308.post-3269625284946816531</id><published>2008-04-23T00:26:00.003+01:00</published><updated>2008-04-23T00:34:43.115+01:00</updated><title type='text'>Shit happens</title><content type='html'>&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;This is based on characters that you would see in the park before school. Garian is actually a real person; on a school trip he once crushed a raw egg in his hand because a teacher told him he wouldn't be able to. I think Garian is more of an inspiration than he will ever know.&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;em&gt;A Park. Four schoolchildren huddle round in a circle, from the centre of which grey smoke puffs out at regular intervals.&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Greg&lt;br /&gt;I need a shit&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;James&lt;br /&gt;Yeah I always get that man. Zoots makes you need to shit, it’s a laxative I think.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Greg&lt;br /&gt;So’s coffee. And all I’ve had for breakfast is coffee and spliffs so it’s not looking good for my insides.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;James&lt;br /&gt;(laughs) Yeah man.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;A tall dark-skinned boy appears, he is partly in school uniform but the clothes are too small and have the effect of making him look overgrown. He is wearing his hood up and looks agitated. The two silent boys walk away slowly in the opposite direction as he approaches. James looks up and nods to him uneasily. Greg looks down at his feet uneasily.&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;James&lt;br /&gt;Yes Garian. What’s up man?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Garian&lt;br /&gt;Blood, what’s dat your smokin’?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;James&lt;br /&gt;Safe Garian, it’s a spliff.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Garian&lt;br /&gt;Yeah yeah yeah pass dat pass dat.&lt;br /&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;He takes the spliff and smokes it quickly, as though in a rush, taking three or four pulls at a time before blowing out clouds of smoke at the boys.&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Garian&lt;br /&gt;What is it cool if I finish this ting? There’s only a couple bun left.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;James&lt;br /&gt;Yeah man fuck it. (attempting to be jovial) It’s just making us need to shit anyway!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Garian&lt;br /&gt;What?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;James&lt;br /&gt;(awkwardly) Nah we were saying that it’s… like a laxative… like coffee…&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Garian&lt;br /&gt;You lot chat shit man. Who are you blud?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;James&lt;br /&gt;I’m James… blud. Yeah man, I’m in your Graphics class. With that prick Mr John.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Garian&lt;br /&gt;Yeah blood yeah blood. What have you got a pound?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;James&lt;br /&gt;Nah man, nah.&lt;br /&gt;Garian&lt;br /&gt;What about you bredrin?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Greg&lt;br /&gt;(clearing his throat) No I… left my money…&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Garian&lt;br /&gt;Don’t chat shit. Come on man I know you got a pound man.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Greg&lt;br /&gt;Nah I don’t. I have a packed lunch.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Garian&lt;br /&gt;Packed lunch ya nah! Joker. What, so if I was to make you jump, I wouldn’t hear any money in your pockets?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Greg&lt;br /&gt;You…might hear my keys…&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Garian&lt;br /&gt;Later I bet you got bare p.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Garian goes to pat Gregs pockets but Greg steps back.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Greg&lt;br /&gt;Allow it Garian.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Garian&lt;br /&gt;What you mean allow it? You don’t know me.Who you movin’ away from?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Greg (lookin at James)&lt;br /&gt;Fuck man…&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;James&lt;br /&gt;What?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Greg&lt;br /&gt;I think I just shit myself…&lt;br /&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;He reaches down the back of his trousers and when he pulls his hand out it’s covered with poo. At first he seems shocked and embarrassed but quickly his whole demeanour shifts and suddenly he stands tall, taking a step towards Garian and pointing his fingers at Garian as if it were a gun. James smiles and looks at Garian.&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;James&lt;br /&gt;Oh shit! That is fucked…&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Greg&lt;br /&gt;Now what the fuck did you want big man?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Garian&lt;br /&gt;(not backing down but evidently fazed) What are you gonna do with that blood? I got machines blood you don’t wanna fuck about.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Greg&lt;br /&gt;(snatching the spliff off him with his clean hand) Give me that shit man. And go fuckin’ beg for money somewhere else you fuckin’ little cunt.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Garian&lt;br /&gt;Nah blood, you’re fuckin wrong blood. Fuckin’ shittin’on yourself…&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Greg&lt;br /&gt;(coming at him with his hand outstretched) Get the fuck out my face before I give you a slap that you won’t forget.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Garian&lt;br /&gt;(turning to James) What blood? You fink this is joke? What have you got for me?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;James&lt;br /&gt;(after pausing for a while with a strained expression) The same thing man.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;He reaches back and reveals his hand is also covered with shit. He is laughing wildly.&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Garian&lt;br /&gt;Don’t try boy me, you know I’ll see you brears in school…&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;James&lt;br /&gt;Oh shit… I can’t believe we just did that. That's pretty fuckin' mad.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Greg&lt;br /&gt;I know, he’s such a fuckin’ donut. As If I’d actually shit myself (he pulls out a messy snickers bar from his back pocket and laughs)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;James&lt;br /&gt;(his expression changes suddenly) Yeah... See you later.&lt;br /&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4652767956704602308-3269625284946816531?l=stevestamp.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://stevestamp.blogspot.com/feeds/3269625284946816531/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4652767956704602308&amp;postID=3269625284946816531' title='3 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4652767956704602308/posts/default/3269625284946816531'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4652767956704602308/posts/default/3269625284946816531'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://stevestamp.blogspot.com/2008/04/shit-happens.html' title='Shit happens'/><author><name>Steve Stamp</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00915986885705175592</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://bp3.blogger.com/__pJn9qnm_Oo/R6d8Nqksz6I/AAAAAAAAAAQ/4pag89KcUlA/S220/grem.jpg'/></author><thr:total>3</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4652767956704602308.post-7973005444720695624</id><published>2008-04-15T21:51:00.003+01:00</published><updated>2008-04-15T22:07:15.592+01:00</updated><title type='text'>Badmanz intro</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://bp3.blogger.com/__pJn9qnm_Oo/SAUYheRztOI/AAAAAAAAAAc/IJMHvdmtncI/s1600-h/April+08.jpg"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5189581108956869858" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://bp3.blogger.com/__pJn9qnm_Oo/SAUYheRztOI/AAAAAAAAAAc/IJMHvdmtncI/s320/April+08.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;Badmanz is an animation which so far has yet to see the light of day. We have recorded an intro skit and theme music and basically this is a storyboard to try and give an idea of what this intro/advert could look like. This is for Timbo, mostly because he is an animator but also because he is the only person who seems to read this blog. To be honest this is something I drew because more because I wanted to use my felt tips than any other reason but let me know your thoughts. Obviously this is not the most inspiring story board ever created but I'm hoping it will give you more of an idea of how the intro could look.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4652767956704602308-7973005444720695624?l=stevestamp.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://stevestamp.blogspot.com/feeds/7973005444720695624/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4652767956704602308&amp;postID=7973005444720695624' title='5 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4652767956704602308/posts/default/7973005444720695624'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4652767956704602308/posts/default/7973005444720695624'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://stevestamp.blogspot.com/2008/04/badmanz-intro.html' title='Badmanz intro'/><author><name>Steve Stamp</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00915986885705175592</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://bp3.blogger.com/__pJn9qnm_Oo/R6d8Nqksz6I/AAAAAAAAAAQ/4pag89KcUlA/S220/grem.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://bp3.blogger.com/__pJn9qnm_Oo/SAUYheRztOI/AAAAAAAAAAc/IJMHvdmtncI/s72-c/April+08.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>5</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4652767956704602308.post-5986460689017872817</id><published>2008-04-14T21:03:00.002+01:00</published><updated>2008-04-14T21:51:07.798+01:00</updated><title type='text'>Travel writing?</title><content type='html'>&lt;strong&gt;I have been toying with the idea of travel writing for some time and I decided that a short trip to Switzerland with my girlfriend Shion and her Japanese mother and cousins was a good opportunity to have a go. All of this is true. Apart from where I look like a twat and then it’s just to get a laugh. Obviously.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Switzerland I&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I was groggily trying to convince myself that sleep deprivation was part of the holiday excitement when the taxi arrived. Despite the fact that we had left the house with plenty of time to spare the taxi driver seemed to have created an alternate imaginary scenario whereby we only had ten minutes to get from Richmond to Heathrow Airport and he was our heroic Keanu Reeves figure risking life and limb to get us there. And risk he did. Swinging round the corner at the bottom of Richmond Hill at 40 mph is not only recklessly stupid but also entirely impossible as this man found out when his catastrophically misjudged turn took us to the other side of the road for 2 seconds of bum clenching panic. The driver’s awkward laughter afterwards confirmed that he too had just shat himself. I was glad I had arranged my holiday insurance. Skiing is as dangerous as it is fun. No, I take that back. Skiing is as dangerous as the skier is shit. And I am a pretty shit skier. Anyway, ten minutes later we were at Heathrow Airport, still dazed by our early morning near death experience and moving our bulging luggage onto trollies with all the care and tenderness required to avoid the zip bursting and a discharge of colourful waterproofs all over Terminal 2.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Despite the fact that my knees tend to quarrel with the seat in front, I don’t mind planes. As I sat happily chomping on the cardboard sandwich that the British Airlines had cunningly named a “brioche”, my attention became focused on the TV in front of me. The flight was apparently too short to warrant any in flight entertainment and so we made do with a map of Europe over which flew a plane the size of Belgium, leaving a red line behind it. This, I gathered, was our plane and as I was reminded of the Indiana Jones films in which his travels were mapped in a similar fashion but enviably Indiana Jones’ journeys were carried out at a speed that even our taxi driver would have been proud of. Upon landing we took part in the obligatory but entirely inexplicable race to get to the conveyer belt to wait for our luggage. And then we waited.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;After waiting four hours for BA to graciously arrange for the last of our bags to join us in Switzerland, we found our way to the train station and headed for the mountains. The views were amazing and I was impressed by the speed at which cameras were drawn for the occasion. Shion’s mum and her two cousins, Yorji and Taka, are Japanese and if I didn’t know it already I now know for sure that no-one on the planet is as wholeheartedly devoted to the documentation of every remotely exciting holiday moment as the Japanese. When my girlfriend’s grandmother came to visit from Japan she brought with her a memory card holder, like a miniature credit card holder, containing 6 memory cards. She went home with four filled memory cards and was probably disappointed with her lack of commitment. I decided I would try and fill my one memory card by the end of the holiday and did my best to keep up with the whirring cameras of my companions. The tram up to the hotel felt like the relaxing part of a rollercoaster and as I snapped away at the sunset happily I thought that was probably ominous.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I’m not sure about cheese fondue. It’s cheese sauce. It’s basically the same thing you put on macaroni cheese or cauliflower cheese except it’s on its own and you dip bread in it. Why make such a big show of it? I mean, it was nice and warm and cheesy but to be honest I expected more. Chocolate fondue I understand; dipping strawberries into hot melted chocolate is almost overtly luxurious. Dipping bits of bread into a big communal pan of cheese sauce is a meal from a Dickensian workhouse. I could mention that this was the nicest cheese sauce I’ve ever tasted but I wouldn’t want to ruin my dramatic condemnation. While I’m ranting, why do hotels sell you a double room and then give you two single beds pushed together? As far as I’m concerned that’s like sellotaping two radios together and calling it a TV. A double bed is one bed. Rant over. Goodnight.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Switzerland II&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The next morning my excitement was matched only by my fatigue as my girlfriend dragged me down to the breakfast buffet. I love breakfast and as we would be skiing all day I made sure I ate twice as much as I normally would. Feeling uncomfortably full I put on my fifteen layers of clothing and got my skis. I wasn’t sure how to respond when the guy in the ski shop asked if I was any good so I said “medium” which to me was a simpler and less shameful way of saying “I can go forward and turn comfortably in at least one direction.” As we sat bulkily in the tram up to the mountains I was slightly nervous. Everyone else had been skiing since they were young, Shion and Miki had lived in Switzerland and Taka and Yorji regularly went skiing in Japan. I had been once and, although I had vague memories of being able to ski fairly well by the end of the trip, I was not confident in my ability. I was soon to realise that my nervousness was entirely justified.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Reaching the top of the mountain I was feeling good. As well as creating the illusion that I was a proper skier, my carefully planned layers of warmth and waterproofing were successfully keeping out the cold. I put my skis on and slid myself awkwardly along behind the others who were excitedly planning our first route down the mountain. I assumed that a blue run would be for children and disabled people so I was glad when we decided on a red run. There were quite a few people around, in fact the top of the mountain was fairly crowded, and the crowd slid towards the edge and gracefully zigzagged their way down the mountain. All I had to do was follow the crowd.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;One moment I was shuffling towards the edge of a slope, the next I was facing downhill and picking up speed at a rate at which I was not entirely comfortable with. Gripped with a rush of sheer panic I clumsily turned and managed to slow myself, looking back just in time to see Shion’s mum tumbling into the snow. Secretly pleased that I may not be the worst skiier and reassured by my ability to slow myself down I carried on downwards, following behind Taka who was skilfully zipping past the other skiers. Once again I felt the adrenaline rising as my speed became more and more adventurous and, noticing that the slope was narrowing into a sharp, rather tricky looking bend, I decided once again to turn into the snow and slow myself. It didn’t work. I realised at this rather unfortunate instant that although I was fairly comfortable turning to my right, my skis refused to oblige in the same way when I asked them to turn left.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I picked myself up and shouted a friendly “Sorry mate” to the young man who I had smashed into. I accompanied it with the awkward laughter of a novice - someone who is both embarrassed and amused by his absolute lack of proficiency. He didn’t seem to respond, although I knew he was alive because he was standing up trying to work out where his other ski had gone. Somehow he had come out of it worse than me; probably because he wasn’t expecting to be wiped out by somebody going round a straightforward turn by going straight forward. His friend, or possibly relative as he was much older, skidded up and lifted him to his feet while offering me such valuable advice as “get a grip” and helpfully underlining the fact that I was “a danger to myself and others”. Highly amused and mildly traumatised I once again offered my awkward laughter and an apologetic response and without further ado decided it was a good time to continue making my way down the mountain.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I am pleased to say that this incident was the last of my catastrophes for this day and I won’t bore you with descriptions of the spectacular views of the white mountains that surrounded us other than to say that Switzerland has some of the most inconceivably beautiful scenery I have ever seen. Emerging out of the fir trees and being greeted by these impressive landscapes became more and more enjoyable as the day wore on. This was probably because of the obvious difficulty in appreciating a view while your skis amuse themselves with a tangle at your expense. Anyway, having ridden myself of the morning’s trauma, I was beginning to feel fairly confident and had it not been for worsening weather on the top of the mountain I would have happily been out there until it was too dark to identify which runs were blue.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Miki, my girlfriend’s mum, was very excited about the idea of us trying all the classic Swiss dishes; In fact I suspect that she had planned our daily food intake around the same time she booked the flights and hotel. So far she had excitedly introduced us to sausages, schnitzel, cheese fondue, and some sort of terrible alcohol that Swiss people make. Tonight we were going to eat meat fondue. Meat fondue is something I was not familiar with in any way. I knew cheese fondue was when you dip stuff into melted cheese and chocolate fondue was when you dipped stuff into chocolate so the idea of meat fondue was alarming and confusing. Would we be stabbing our little elongated forks into a saucepan with a lump of meat? I just didn’t know. But the reality of meat fondue was even more bizarre than I had imagined.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;We were presented with an elaborate array of carefully folded rolls of thinly sliced meat, the kind of “chicken breast” meat that you buy in Asda for £1 and you have to throw it away after a day because as soon as you open it it hardens into a brown plastic sheet and starts smelling of gravy. These folds of meat were frozen into little icey toilet rolls of meat and in the middle of the trays of food, which I should mention also included olives and fruit and some other illogical additions, sat a saucepan full of what looked like stock or some sort of watery soup. The idea was that you dipped your meat, which incidentally broke like glass if you went near it with a fork, into the soup and then ate the thawed out meat, which at this stage looked like a wet handkerchief on a stick.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;After this edifying experience we went back to the hotel room and, after noting that tomorrow, our last night, would certainly have to involve the “Rock and Roll band all the way from Southampton” who were playing in the bar downstairs, we went upstairs to collapse with exhaustion. One thing which I didn’t remember from the last time I had gone skiing was how much the motion of skiing stays with you even when you are off the slopes. As soon as I closed my eyes I felt myself moving from side to side and feeling the icey grind of the skiis skidding as I turned, spraying the snow up as a moved left to right to left…. Then I smashed into an imaginary South African and lay back happily, making the effort every now and then to cross the small but dangerously unpredictable gap to see how my girlfriend was doing on her irritatingly separate bed.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4652767956704602308-5986460689017872817?l=stevestamp.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://stevestamp.blogspot.com/feeds/5986460689017872817/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4652767956704602308&amp;postID=5986460689017872817' title='4 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4652767956704602308/posts/default/5986460689017872817'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4652767956704602308/posts/default/5986460689017872817'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://stevestamp.blogspot.com/2008/04/travel-writing.html' title='Travel writing?'/><author><name>Steve Stamp</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00915986885705175592</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://bp3.blogger.com/__pJn9qnm_Oo/R6d8Nqksz6I/AAAAAAAAAAQ/4pag89KcUlA/S220/grem.jpg'/></author><thr:total>4</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4652767956704602308.post-6366483815175636758</id><published>2008-03-27T13:16:00.001Z</published><updated>2008-03-27T13:18:38.929Z</updated><title type='text'>Back of the Bus IV - The Mixtape</title><content type='html'>&lt;div align="center"&gt;Screwboat&lt;br /&gt;So whats the mixtape sayin? We got a name yet?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Lambshank&lt;br /&gt;I got a deep name for it. The Lambshank Redemption.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Screwboat&lt;br /&gt;That’s your name though man. Fuck that. Why can’t it be Screwboat Remention?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Lambshank&lt;br /&gt;Re-dem-tion blood. Like the film innit. Its like a play on words.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Screwboat&lt;br /&gt;I ain’t feelin’ PLAYS blood!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Lambshank&lt;br /&gt;It aint a play it’s a film innit. Moran Freeman bruv you get me.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Screwboat&lt;br /&gt;Lambshank Redemption… Nah man fuck that. I like the old name.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Lambshank&lt;br /&gt;What ‘Garage Crew Party Vibes’? Nah man we’re more gutter than that man fuck that name man.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Screwboat&lt;br /&gt;Nah, I meant the guts name.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Lambshank&lt;br /&gt;Oh you mean ‘Oi Bruv Have You Got the Time on Your Phone vol 1.’… Yeah that’s alright… we need to speak to Rago Murkage 3000 and the rest of the Unit though.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Screwboat&lt;br /&gt;Yeah. It needs to stand out straight away. The name needs to be so murky that you don’t even buy the record it just jacks your money.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Lambshank&lt;br /&gt;Yeah blood… and gives it to us…&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Screwboat&lt;br /&gt;You get me…&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4652767956704602308-6366483815175636758?l=stevestamp.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://stevestamp.blogspot.com/feeds/6366483815175636758/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4652767956704602308&amp;postID=6366483815175636758' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4652767956704602308/posts/default/6366483815175636758'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4652767956704602308/posts/default/6366483815175636758'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://stevestamp.blogspot.com/2008/03/back-of-bus-iv-mixtape.html' title='Back of the Bus IV - The Mixtape'/><author><name>Steve Stamp</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00915986885705175592</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://bp3.blogger.com/__pJn9qnm_Oo/R6d8Nqksz6I/AAAAAAAAAAQ/4pag89KcUlA/S220/grem.jpg'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4652767956704602308.post-3146886517821778529</id><published>2008-03-03T20:19:00.010Z</published><updated>2008-03-06T23:06:59.136Z</updated><title type='text'>Back of the Bus III</title><content type='html'>&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;"&gt;LAMBSHANK&lt;br /&gt;Come we link a bens.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;SCREWBOAT&lt;br /&gt;I ain’t got any funds bruv.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;LAMBSHANK&lt;br /&gt;I beg you shank your nan and take a tenner out of her purse.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;SCREWBOAT&lt;br /&gt;Fuck that. That’s your answer to everything man.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;LAMBSHANK&lt;br /&gt;Nah it aint.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;SCREWBOAT&lt;br /&gt;Yeah it is. No money for McDonalds, Screwboat I beg you shank your nan… No money for cinema, Screwboat I beg you shank your nan. I ain’t shankin her anymore. She’s shook to answer the door, I have to pretend I’m selling windows and shit. Why don’t YOU you shank YOUR nan?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;LAMBSHANK&lt;br /&gt;I shanked my nan so you could pay bus fare blud!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;SCREWBOAT&lt;br /&gt;Nah you didn’t. I would never pay bus fare. Man a shank a bus driver for tryna make me pay bus fare. I’m still getting on for free when I’m a granddad bruv watch. I’ll still say I’m child fare you get me!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;LAMBSHANK&lt;br /&gt;You get a grandad pass when you’re a granddad.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;SCREWBOAT&lt;br /&gt;Shut up.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;LAMBSHANK&lt;br /&gt;Anyway, I’ve shanked my nan bare times for you. You’re a dickhead.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;SCREWBOAT&lt;br /&gt;(after a long pause) What else can we shank?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;LAMBSHANK&lt;br /&gt;I dunno... Anything...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;SCREWBOAT&lt;br /&gt;Yeah... The other day I shanked the microphone while I was spittin’ cos I got so aggy!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;LAMBSHANK&lt;br /&gt;Yeah I did that a few times still… still… We could shank each others nans?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;SCREWBOAT&lt;br /&gt;Yeah blud! Aite let's do it!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;LAMBSHANK&lt;br /&gt;(pauses) What is shank?&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4652767956704602308-3146886517821778529?l=stevestamp.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://stevestamp.blogspot.com/feeds/3146886517821778529/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4652767956704602308&amp;postID=3146886517821778529' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4652767956704602308/posts/default/3146886517821778529'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4652767956704602308/posts/default/3146886517821778529'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://stevestamp.blogspot.com/2008/03/back-of-bus-iii.html' title='Back of the Bus III'/><author><name>Steve Stamp</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00915986885705175592</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://bp3.blogger.com/__pJn9qnm_Oo/R6d8Nqksz6I/AAAAAAAAAAQ/4pag89KcUlA/S220/grem.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4652767956704602308.post-1149124266853263590</id><published>2008-03-03T20:09:00.003Z</published><updated>2008-03-03T20:19:04.038Z</updated><title type='text'>Heros Interview part 1</title><content type='html'>&lt;strong&gt;This was inspired by my traumatic attempts to get a job after university. I had never had any interviews and, although obviously not a factual account of my experiences, a lot of these scenes were genuine fears that I had. After my second miserable interview I went home and wrote this to make me feel better. I ended up getting the job and I haven't wet the bed since. I think it needs a lot of work but could potentially be a decent short film.&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;em&gt;Scene One- Bed Monologue&lt;br /&gt;A young man, Hero, is struggling to drag himself out of bed. On the chair next to his bed lies a suit with a shirt and tie neatly placed on top. Hero stares at this thoughtfully.&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;Hero (Voiceover)&lt;br /&gt;I can’t let that dream be a bad omen. I bet lots of people have dreams like that before a big interview. Yeah it makes perfect sense, the teeth falling out part is common enough, it means you’re worried about how your appearance or something… I wonder what wetting yourself in the Job Centre means… I wonder what wetting the bed means… Oh well, four hours sleep is fine. I bet loads of people survive on four hours of sleep a night. Like soldiers and people who live next to students.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;em&gt;Hero puts on the clothes slowly and awkwardly.&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/strong&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Hero&lt;br /&gt;This shirt is huge but it looks alright with the jacket. Ok, that’s that. Suited and booted. Ok. Looks, ten out of ten as long as I keep the jacket on. Comfort… three at best. Fuck it, that’s fine. That’s what working life is all about, suffering in silence, braving the misery of day to day life… How do people wear this every day? Oh god. It’s like a needy little silk python wrapped around my neck. Maybe I will do a Masters after all. I wonder if this is the only reason people do Masters? Just to be a student for one more year. This is all getting too much. I haven’t even had an interview yet and my job is eating away at me! I’m definitely going to have a panic attack in the interview. I can see it now. Collapsing onto the floor… I’ll probably wet myself again. Oh god. Relax. Ten out of ten for looks. Oh, maybe nine. Need a shave.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Scene 2- Bathroom Monologue&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;Hero stares at himself in the mirror. His face is covered with shaving foam and he stands with the razor poised as though he is not unsure where to begin.&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Hero (Voiceover)&lt;br /&gt;Maybe I should grow a moustache so they will take me more seriously. People with moustaches always get taken seriously... Apart from Gary Neville. And to be fair, that is the kind of wispy nose tickler that I would be looking at. No I’ll go for fresh-faced, young, eager and ready to learn. I hope they don’t ask me anything too difficult. I feel so sick I think I will probably vomit on myself. I wonder if they will still give me a job if I vomit on myself. Probably not. I’ll have to swallow it or catch it. Maybe I’ll take a little bag or a cup or something... SHIT! I’ve cut my lip! Who cuts their LIP shaving?! My lip! This is a nightmare, ok just carry on and finish shaving. Make sure there’s no more cuts. Shit, I’m bleeding into my mouth! They’re going to think I’m some sort of horrific vampire man. Vampires don’t count under equal opportunities I suppose. They will be worried about all the documents being covered in blood… &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;br /&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Scene 3 – Dining Table&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;Hero sits eating his Weetabix which he eats with difficulty, trying to negotiate with the plaster that hangs bloody from his top lip.&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/strong&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Hero&lt;br /&gt;Why is everyone texting me good luck? How do they even know I have an interview? Now there’s more pressure! God. I have put way too much deodorant on. It feels like I’ve got some sort of powdery white jam under my armpits. Fuck. What am I going to do!? I have to leave in 2 minutes and my lip is still bleeding everywhere! Tissue… It’s not stopping… Ok, I’ll wear a plaster just until I get there. Surely it will have stopped by then. Now, how do you put a plaster on your lip when it’s lip is pissing blood. I suppose stick one end to the top… and tuck the other one… into your mouth… under… your lip…. Well that feels strange but at least it will stop people from seeing the blood. Fuck, no time. Ok, quick bit of toast. This is horrible. I’m sweating already and I haven’t even left the house yet. God. Its like wallpaper paste under my arms. I hope they don’t stuck down... maybe I'll scrape them before I go...&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4652767956704602308-1149124266853263590?l=stevestamp.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://stevestamp.blogspot.com/feeds/1149124266853263590/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4652767956704602308&amp;postID=1149124266853263590' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4652767956704602308/posts/default/1149124266853263590'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4652767956704602308/posts/default/1149124266853263590'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://stevestamp.blogspot.com/2008/03/heros-interview-part-one.html' title='Heros Interview part 1'/><author><name>Steve Stamp</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00915986885705175592</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://bp3.blogger.com/__pJn9qnm_Oo/R6d8Nqksz6I/AAAAAAAAAAQ/4pag89KcUlA/S220/grem.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4652767956704602308.post-5069193469319547013</id><published>2008-03-03T19:58:00.003Z</published><updated>2008-03-03T20:05:53.187Z</updated><title type='text'>Heros Interview part 2</title><content type='html'>&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Scene 4 - Local Shop&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;Hero speaks to an elderly shopkeeper who is clearly having difficulty understanding what he is saying&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Hero&lt;br /&gt;… Just kind of a formal smell… you know, not too minty but nothing wacky like strawberry or anything. I need to smell like I have good personal hygiene and like I’m mature... I need to smell mature. Do you know what I mean?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Shopkeeper&lt;br /&gt;No sir.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Hero&lt;br /&gt;Ok, let me… so you understand. I’m going to an interview.  I need my breath to smell nice but not too nice. I don’t want them to notice it. I want it to be just… air. Not noticeable. If it’s too minty, I’ve made too much of an effort. If it’s…&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Shopkeeper&lt;br /&gt;We have spearmint. This is a milder mint flavour.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Hero&lt;br /&gt;How mild?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Shopkeeper&lt;br /&gt;I… I don’t know.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Hero&lt;br /&gt;Ok, I’ll take three packets. No just one. Two. One. I only need one. I need a drink aswell… (he studies the fridge carefully)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Hero (voiceover)&lt;br /&gt;God. So many decisions. What looks sensible. Water is sensible. Bottled water. But is that bad for the environment? Organic apple juice..? Does it look weird if I have a carton of juice in my interview? I would have to make sure I didn’t finish it there ‘cos of that noise your straw makes when it runs out. That would definitely put them off. Maybe they would think I was very laid back. No, I’d look like a child. I need something grown up. Something serious. Water is serious. Water from Scotland. Perfect.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Hero&lt;br /&gt;One water from Scotland aswell.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Shopkeeper&lt;br /&gt;Ninety five please.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;em&gt;The shop keeper takes the money and hands Hero some change which he immediately puts into the charity box on the counter, smiling at the Shopkeeper as he does so.&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;Hero (voiceover)&lt;br /&gt;I’m a good person. If I don’t get this job then karma obviously doesn’t exist. I wish they could have seen me do that. Maybe I’ll tell them in the interview.&lt;br /&gt; &lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Scene 5 - Reception Area&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;Hero approaches a bright reception desk looking dishevelled and anxious.&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;Hero&lt;br /&gt;Hello I’m here for an interview with Miss Kocha-lo-popa-how you say it?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Kucholopodopodus&lt;br /&gt;(from behind) It’s Mrs… Kucholopodopodus…&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Hero&lt;br /&gt;Oh, sorry yeah. No I wrote it down but I got blood on…&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Kucholopodopodus&lt;br /&gt;You must be Hero?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Hero&lt;br /&gt;YUP! Yeah, I mean yes. That is me. Hero. Everyone should have a Hero in their team!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Kucholopodopodus&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;You have a bit of plaster…&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Hero (Voiceover)&lt;br /&gt;Shit, shit I forgot the fucking plaster!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Hero&lt;br /&gt;Oh thank you. Yeah… I cut myself shaving… on my lip. Had to be today of all days.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Kucholopodopodus&lt;br /&gt;Indeed. Follow me please Stephen.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Hero&lt;br /&gt;YUP! Yes. Certainly.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Hero (Voiceover)&lt;br /&gt;FUCK FUCK SHE SAW THE PLASTER SHE IS GONNA THINK IM A COMPLETE SPASTIC! AND WHY HAVE I STARTED SAYING YUP!? I HAVE NEVER SAID YUP IN MY ENTIRE LIFE AND ALREADY I’VE SAID IT TWICE!&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;em&gt;Hero and Kucholopodopodus enter a small room with three very smart men who look at Hero sceptically.&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Kucholopodopodus (finishing her question)&lt;br /&gt;…here today?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Hero&lt;br /&gt;Sorry? Yes I am here today…&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Kucholopodopodus&lt;br /&gt;I asked how it was that you got here today?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Hero&lt;br /&gt;Oh I walked. I like just down there. Kind of down there and left and up the hill bit. But yeah just there basically yeah…&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Kucholopodopodus&lt;br /&gt;Have you lived here long?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Hero&lt;br /&gt;Oh just a few months. I just finished uni so I moved back with my parents and now I’m trying to get away from them (laughs awkwardly) No I’m not. I am sortof.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Kucholopodopodus&lt;br /&gt;Ok. This is William Phenis and Joanna McDermot. William is the manag….&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Hero (Voiceover)&lt;br /&gt;WILLIAM PENIS! HIS NAME IS WILLIAM PENIS! WILLY! WILLY PENIS!  This is TOO funny I cant wait… oh god they’ve asked me something…&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Hero&lt;br /&gt;Yes, it is nice to meet you all… Im sorry what was the question? (drinks water)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Phenis&lt;br /&gt;I am aware my name is particularly amusing…&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Hero (Voiceover)&lt;br /&gt; (choking, coughing) Oh my god he can read my thoughts! He knows everything I’m thinking!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Hero&lt;br /&gt;No no I wasn’t thinking about that. My name’s pretty stupid aswell. Not that your name is stupid but… Hero! Who calls their son that? At least your mum didn’t really have a choice. Apart from the Willy bit. William! …bit…&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Phenis&lt;br /&gt;What Mrs Kucholopodopodus was saying is that this job requires a great deal of organisation and careful presentation…&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Hero (Voiceover)&lt;br /&gt;Oh god, she’s talking about the plaster... FUCK! NOW HE KNOWS!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Phenis (who has been speaking)&lt;br /&gt;…suited to the role?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Hero&lt;br /&gt;(in an automated manner)Yes, I think I am very much suited for the role as I am both hard-working and organised. I have good time management skills and I am very good at using computers.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Hero (Voiceover)&lt;br /&gt;OH YEAH! Nailed that one… But what’s the point if he he knows I came here with a plaster in my mouth?! This is all just formality. They all know I have already blown it. I’m sure he was looking at my lip just then. I can still taste the plaster… Oh god I’m making it worse, he can hear me. Need to stop thinking. I am SO HOT! I can feel the sweat on my forehead. Even if I had planned to take off my jacket and reveal my horrible baggy shirt I definitely couldn’t do it now… My BACK is sweaty! I never get a sweaty back! And as for my armpits… Id be surprised if the sweat rings didn’t meet in the middle. Very surprised. At least it’s watered down the jammy pits…&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Phenis&lt;br /&gt;Have you any experience working in an office environment?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Hero&lt;br /&gt;Yes, I have worked with other people who are also doing work at a row of computers in the library. Is that similar? I don’t really know… I suppose some of them weren’t working, they were probably on facebook! But theres probably a few on facebook in most offices isn’t there? (laughing crazily) No I wouldn’t go on it. But I know people that would. I would tell them not to. Facebook is rubbish anyway. Sorry. No I suppose I haven’t. Worked in an office that is.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Kucholopodopodus&lt;br /&gt;Are you familiar with any computer programs?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Hero (Voiceover)&lt;br /&gt;Well I am an accomplished downloader of illegal music and pornography…&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Hero&lt;br /&gt;No not really. I mean, yes. Word and Excel and that. Erm… Powerpoint. Yeah… that’s the main ones I have used. I did a GCSE in I.T. aswell.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Hero (Voiceover)&lt;br /&gt;Not that I remember any fucking thing about it. I don’t even remember what I wrote my dissertation on and that was 2 months ago.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Kucholopodopodus&lt;br /&gt;What kinds of things did you do on Excel for example?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Hero&lt;br /&gt;Oh, number stuff. I think we added up the boxes and… made… totals…&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Hero (Voiceover)&lt;br /&gt;I wonder if I could bribe them, maybe if I give them something they will think I’m a nice guy and will want to work with me. Haven’t got any money though… Aha… perfect.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Hero&lt;br /&gt;Does anyone want a chewing gum?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Phenis&lt;br /&gt;No, thank you Hero. We don’t usually permit chewing gum in this office.&lt;br /&gt;(chewing already but quickly spitting it out again) No, me neither. Just needed a little taste. Little hit. (awkward silence) I’m not addicted to it or anything… just… dry mouth. Have you got a bin? I have a…&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Hero (Voiceover)&lt;br /&gt;Bollocks. I’ve spat it onto my sleeve. I can’t let them see this. I’m going to have to take off the jacket and fold it so the chewing gum is invisible then mime the process of going to the bin and discarding it…&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Kucholopodopodus&lt;br /&gt;Yes there’s one just here. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;em&gt;Hero peels the jacket off his back and reveals a sweat drenched shirt. He walks to the bin and stands with his back to the three interviewers as he bends down mimicking putting something in the bin. Then he smiles politely as he walks back to his seat.&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;Kucholopodopodus&lt;br /&gt;Are you sure you got it?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Hero&lt;br /&gt;Oh yeah, threw it straight in. Yep. Sitting in the bin there. Definitely did that really.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Kucholopodopodus&lt;br /&gt;I think you might still have a bit…&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Hero (Voiceover)&lt;br /&gt;Oh. God. What is that white line from my chair to my… sleeve… I’m attached to my chair! The chewing gum…..IS CONNECTING ME TO THE CHAIR FIVE FEET AWAY FROM ME! Oh GOD! Is this really happening?! Make them laugh! Quickly!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Hero&lt;br /&gt;Wow look... De-ne-ne-ne-ne-ne-ne-ne SPIDERMAN! …its funny because my name is… (takes a deep breath and looks at the chair)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Hero (Voiceover)&lt;br /&gt;Shall I try and pull the chair towards me? Why not let’s have a go...&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4652767956704602308-5069193469319547013?l=stevestamp.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://stevestamp.blogspot.com/feeds/5069193469319547013/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4652767956704602308&amp;postID=5069193469319547013' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4652767956704602308/posts/default/5069193469319547013'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4652767956704602308/posts/default/5069193469319547013'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://stevestamp.blogspot.com/2008/03/heros-interview-part-2.html' title='Heros Interview part 2'/><author><name>Steve Stamp</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00915986885705175592</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://bp3.blogger.com/__pJn9qnm_Oo/R6d8Nqksz6I/AAAAAAAAAAQ/4pag89KcUlA/S220/grem.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4652767956704602308.post-3967220383174289004</id><published>2008-02-18T19:42:00.006Z</published><updated>2008-02-18T21:43:58.989Z</updated><title type='text'>New Era</title><content type='html'>&lt;strong&gt;Back of the Bus&lt;/strong&gt; is something which I always felt needed an original twist and that Timbo just confirmed it by drawing my attention towards those Hoody skits! I always imagined some sort of animation and thought that the visual possibilities were enough to make it exciting. Until we can get the visuals, Hiphop producer &lt;strong&gt;Hoax&lt;/strong&gt; has helped me record a few of the skits and slapped a few beats in the background to bring them to life.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;Link will be provided soon - unless someone wants to tell me how to put an audio track on here???&lt;/em&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4652767956704602308-3967220383174289004?l=stevestamp.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://stevestamp.blogspot.com/feeds/3967220383174289004/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4652767956704602308&amp;postID=3967220383174289004' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4652767956704602308/posts/default/3967220383174289004'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4652767956704602308/posts/default/3967220383174289004'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://stevestamp.blogspot.com/2008/02/new-era.html' title='New Era'/><author><name>Steve Stamp</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00915986885705175592</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://bp3.blogger.com/__pJn9qnm_Oo/R6d8Nqksz6I/AAAAAAAAAAQ/4pag89KcUlA/S220/grem.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4652767956704602308.post-6827323642086153791</id><published>2008-02-10T18:13:00.000Z</published><updated>2008-02-10T18:30:18.030Z</updated><title type='text'>Back of the Bus II</title><content type='html'>&lt;strong&gt;Pregnancy is something which is taken far too lightly by some. None more so than the backseat-frequenting teenagers Lambshank and Screwboat.&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;Screwboat&lt;br /&gt;Bruv my girls pregnant!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Lambshank&lt;br /&gt;Is it? Rah, that’s deep man…&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Screwboat&lt;br /&gt;I know, I know. Its proper mad.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Lambshank&lt;br /&gt;Yeah blud, proper mad decisions you gotta make. You need to like discuss shit with your girl and dat…&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Screwboat&lt;br /&gt;I know, I’m sayin… like what trainers should we get it and shit?! I don’t even know about yoots and dat…&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Lambshank&lt;br /&gt;You can get 120s in baby sizes thesedays blud. Jerome got some for his kid innit… but he might be pissed if you get them aswell.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Screwboat&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;Later! Fuck that brear. My kid would bang up Jerome’s kid from day!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Lambshank&lt;br /&gt;Yeah I hear that! He’s gonna be aggy man. I’m gonna give him a shank at his christenin’ blud then he’ll be able to run tings at nursery and develop you get me.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Screwboat&lt;br /&gt;Safe man safe. Ain’t easy bein’ a dad man. You gotta look after your seed innit…&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Lambshank&lt;br /&gt;I know I know…&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Screwboat&lt;br /&gt;How’s your kid?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Lambshank&lt;br /&gt;What kid? …Oh shit!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;(pause)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Fuck it. That was time ago.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4652767956704602308-6827323642086153791?l=stevestamp.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://stevestamp.blogspot.com/feeds/6827323642086153791/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4652767956704602308&amp;postID=6827323642086153791' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4652767956704602308/posts/default/6827323642086153791'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4652767956704602308/posts/default/6827323642086153791'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://stevestamp.blogspot.com/2008/02/back-of-bus-ii.html' title='Back of the Bus II'/><author><name>Steve Stamp</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00915986885705175592</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://bp3.blogger.com/__pJn9qnm_Oo/R6d8Nqksz6I/AAAAAAAAAAQ/4pag89KcUlA/S220/grem.jpg'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4652767956704602308.post-176708625515575869</id><published>2008-02-07T23:07:00.000Z</published><updated>2008-02-07T23:33:46.775Z</updated><title type='text'>Hobo sapians</title><content type='html'>&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;This started out as an idea just to create comedy where it isn't obviously found, ie. homeless people. I wanted to create likeable characters who made fun of the preconceptions that the general public have around homeless people.&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;/strong&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Today I came up with the name Hobo sapians which is obviously a reference to homo sapians, meaning human being or literally translated "wise man" or "knowing man". I think this is something I might take further. One idea I am toying with at the moment is a short film about an alien coming down to Earth expecting to be greeted as a welcome visitor but instead finding himself living on the streets...  Anyway this is just a bit of dialogue between a young homeless couple living in Hammersmith.&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Scene 1&lt;br /&gt;A shop doorway&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Darren&lt;br /&gt;Mate, this is a joke. Lets go sit next to some bank machines. Apparently you make proper money by bank machines.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Dawn&lt;br /&gt;You think these cunts are goin’a give us notes?!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Darren&lt;br /&gt;We’re in the wrong spot. It’s all about the spot in this game. I knew one guy who found this spot in between KFC and McDonalds and right next to a cash machine. That, my friend, is the spot. See, KFC has these meals and they’re all one ninety nine, two ninety nine, three ninety nine or whatever. But they don’t have donation boxes! Other places you get your penny change and you just put it in a box. KFC you either leave it on the counter, which just seems like a cheeky tip, or you put it in your pocket even though you don’t want it. That’s why KFC has to come into the equation. If a homeless dude sits outside KFC he is guaranteed a penny from almost everyone who walks in. Or out. ‘Cos that’s when they have the penny.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;Dawn&lt;br /&gt;Listen to you. Piss off.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Darren&lt;br /&gt;No seriously. Then you have McDonalds. Same deal really except that they have these stupidly priced meals where you get like thirty p change. Now you and I know that if even half of McDonalds customers give you thirty p when they’re done filling their faces then we are lookin’ at some serious cup filling. You will have to super-size your fuckin’ cup!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Dawn&lt;br /&gt;They don’t do supersize anymore ‘cos of that film.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Darren&lt;br /&gt;What film?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Dawn&lt;br /&gt;That Supersize Me film.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Darren&lt;br /&gt;When did you become a film buff?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Dawn&lt;br /&gt;Fuck off- I can still fuckin’ read. When did you become an expert in fuckin’ home-less economics?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Darren&lt;br /&gt;Homeless economics… that’s actually quite funny for you.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Dawn&lt;br /&gt;Stop grinning you look like a drunk.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Darren&lt;br /&gt;Anyway, I’m not finished. So you’ve got your greasy pennies from KFC and your McIncome from McDonalds’ stupidly priced meals THEN just to top it all off you have the ultimate. The cash machine guilt trip. It’s known all over the world, tried and tested.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Dawn&lt;br /&gt;It’s fuckin’ obvious, that’s what it is. What’s also obvious is that no fucker is going to actually give you any money. You think they’re gonna get out an extra tenner to keep the fucked up guy sitting on the floor next to them happy?! No.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Darren&lt;br /&gt;Ah, that my dear girl is where you are shortsighted. Of course the geezer never whips out a crispy tenner and hands it to you there and then. But he thinks about it! He does! He thinks about how good a person he would be if he gave just a tenner because, lets face it, he has enough that he can spare a tenner but ultimately he won’t. HOWEVER…&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Dawn&lt;br /&gt;Is this gonna go on much longer? I wanna get some breakfast…&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Darren&lt;br /&gt;However. If a few minutes, hours, maybe even days or months, if that same cashpoint geezer sees the same guy on the street and recognises him…&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Dawn&lt;br /&gt;People don’t recognise homeless people.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Darren&lt;br /&gt;Of course they do, what are you talking about? We’re the most quirky lookin’ fuckers about!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Dawn&lt;br /&gt;They see us out the corner of their eye. They do not recognise us.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Darren&lt;br /&gt;They do! I remember when I was young we knew all the tramps around my area. It was joke, they all had nicknames… (pauses thoughtfully)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Dawn&lt;br /&gt;What?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Darren&lt;br /&gt;I wonder if we have nicknames…&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Dawn&lt;br /&gt;Probably. Yours would be “That-ugly-little-cunt-down-Ealing-Broadway”&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Darren&lt;br /&gt;Twat, yours’d be “Dirty Dawn… the reject from porn… looks like something the fuckin’ dog did on the lawn” you cunt.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Dawn&lt;br /&gt;How’d they know my name you cat guzzling paedo?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Darren&lt;br /&gt;Go chase a kid. You’re the most difficult fucker to explain anything to I swear. I’m telling you how to make a mint just by sitting on your arse and you’re talking a load of bollocks and tryin’ to confuse me.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Dawn&lt;br /&gt;I’m bored. Lets go look through a fuckin’ bin or something. I heard if you look in bins outside Greggs you get hot meals. ‘Cos they’re so fuckin’ nasty every cunt throws ‘em away!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Darren&lt;br /&gt;Ok- but let me explain this fuckin’ cashpoint thing.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Scene 2&lt;br /&gt;The bin outside Greggs the Bakers.&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Darren&lt;br /&gt;So later on they have a coupla ten pees or whatever they feel like they’d be evil not to you know what I mean? It’s like, they’ve already denied you of a tenner so this little bit of change makes ‘em feel like they’re not a complete cunt.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Dawn&lt;br /&gt;Told you! You fuckin cunt! Fuckin’ sausage roll! Fuckin sausage roll!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Darren&lt;br /&gt;Alright love, don’t have a fuckin prolapse. Its only half  a fuckin’ sausage roll.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Dawn&lt;br /&gt;Piss off. Better than collecting pennies all day.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Darren&lt;br /&gt;Piss off. Go whore yourself and get us something proper to eat will ya? Make yourself useful.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Dawn&lt;br /&gt;Cock. You would probably make just as much as I could, you should get yourself down to Hampstead Heath. You said it yourself, its all about the spot.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Darren&lt;br /&gt;We need some props or summin. There’s one geezer down near Picadilly, he’s got a dog that lies there with a dummy in it’s mouth. Get’s him loadsa money apparently…&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Dawn&lt;br /&gt;I could always give you some sort of injury.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Darren&lt;br /&gt;I bet it’s a Trampskam.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Dawn&lt;br /&gt;A what?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Darren&lt;br /&gt; Trampskam. Like the geezer with the dog. I bet the dog's been dead for years. It's a Trampskam.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Dawn&lt;br /&gt;Where the fuck did you hear that?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Darren&lt;br /&gt;I just made it up. Catchy though innit? I might copywrite it.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Dawn&lt;br /&gt;Fuck off you don’t know how to fuckin’ write let alone copywrite!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Darren&lt;br /&gt;Yeah I do! You just send a letter with the thing you wanna copywrite to yourself and then don’t open it- then you have a date on it and it proves you thought of it first.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Dawn&lt;br /&gt;I don’t think anyone’s gonna be fighting for the word Tramplie.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Darren&lt;br /&gt;Trampskam.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Dawn&lt;br /&gt;Whatever. Maybe I’ll copywrite Tramplie. This could be our way out.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Darren&lt;br /&gt;I just realised we cant.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Dawn&lt;br /&gt;Why? …Oh yeah…&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4652767956704602308-176708625515575869?l=stevestamp.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://stevestamp.blogspot.com/feeds/176708625515575869/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4652767956704602308&amp;postID=176708625515575869' title='3 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4652767956704602308/posts/default/176708625515575869'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4652767956704602308/posts/default/176708625515575869'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://stevestamp.blogspot.com/2008/02/hobo-sapians.html' title='Hobo sapians'/><author><name>Steve Stamp</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00915986885705175592</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://bp3.blogger.com/__pJn9qnm_Oo/R6d8Nqksz6I/AAAAAAAAAAQ/4pag89KcUlA/S220/grem.jpg'/></author><thr:total>3</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4652767956704602308.post-5560859506353843352</id><published>2008-02-04T21:28:00.000Z</published><updated>2008-02-05T22:01:28.587Z</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='mum'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='couple'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='fat'/><title type='text'>Working with the Missus</title><content type='html'>&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;In any successful relationship the gentleman will reveal a side to his character that is as pathetic to his friends as it is endearing to his girlfriend. This can be as subtle as a change in tone, or as obvious as curling up on her lap like some sort of ridiculous child. A comfort zone with a partner is something with untold comedy potential - mainly because there is no censorship. You can say whatever the fuck you want and, at least in theory, get away with it...&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;/strong&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Scene 1 – Morning &lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;A small, tidy bedroom. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Bob&lt;br /&gt;…Baby?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Chip (sleepily)&lt;br /&gt;Yar.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Bob&lt;br /&gt;You know how you love me?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Chip&lt;br /&gt;Yar…&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Bob&lt;br /&gt;Will you make me a coffee?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Chip&lt;br /&gt;You're confusing love with slavery&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Bob&lt;br /&gt;No, I’ve seen websites about that. I don’t want any of that. I just want a coffee… I would do it myself but I can’t. My left eye is stuck together, look. Its stuck. It has strings if I try and open it.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Chip&lt;br /&gt;You’re so rank.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Bob&lt;br /&gt;I’ll tie you up with my eye string if you don’t.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Chip&lt;br /&gt;You’re getting into that whole slavery thing again.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Bob&lt;br /&gt;I will make it into rope. Then you will be sorry.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Chip&lt;br /&gt;I’ll hide in my fort. (pulls the covers over her head)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Bob&lt;br /&gt;I’ll gas you out… Come on! Im meeting your parents today! That deserves a coffee surely!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Chip&lt;br /&gt;You should WANT to meet my parents.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Bob&lt;br /&gt;No-one WANTS to meet the parents. It’s like wiping your bum, you to do it… otherwise… it will get messy… or something… ok, bad analogy.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Chip&lt;br /&gt;I will make you a coffee if you promise you will be nice and not say any of your “controversial” jokes over dinner. Mummy would have a heart attack.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Bob&lt;br /&gt;I promise. I will be on my best behaviour.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Scene 2 –&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;Bob sits at the desk, leaning back on his chair and looking at a blank Word document.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Bob&lt;br /&gt;How the fuck am I supposed to be a writer if I can’t be arsed to type anything?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Chip&lt;br /&gt;Come on baby, just get into it and you will be fine.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Bob&lt;br /&gt;I don’t want to sit here all day. Maybe I should become a street performer. I reckon they must get a fair bit.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Chip&lt;br /&gt;What would your talent be? Skipping with your fucking eye string?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Bob&lt;br /&gt;Oh yeah I forgot about that! Nah, I can juggle.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Chip&lt;br /&gt;For about ten seconds.&lt;br /&gt;Bob&lt;br /&gt;I can do kick-ups.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Chip&lt;br /&gt;You really think you would make money from it?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Bob&lt;br /&gt;Yeah if I was imaginative enough... Maybe I could juggle AND do kick-ups at the same time and… skip... I dunno. I remember the best street performer I ever saw. He was in Covent Garden, this midget geezer and he put music on and started kicking himself in the head! It was amazing! Just booting himself in the head and spinning round in a circle in time to the music! THAT is innovative…&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Chip&lt;br /&gt;You could do that.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Bob&lt;br /&gt;Can’t reach my head.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Chip&lt;br /&gt;I bet you tried.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Bob&lt;br /&gt;Yeah I did. Soon as I got home.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Chip&lt;br /&gt;You can be a writer baby, just put your mind to it.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Bob pushes his forehead into the computer screen.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Bob&lt;br /&gt;Now what?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Chip&lt;br /&gt;See, your funny! Now write some stuff down.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Bob&lt;br /&gt;I can’t. (sighs) So anyway. You didn’t tell me your mum was fat.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Chip&lt;br /&gt;What? Why would I tell you that?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Bob&lt;br /&gt;To warn me in case I laughed or looked at her arms or something.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Chip&lt;br /&gt;Her arms?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Bob&lt;br /&gt;Yeah, I always notice fat people’s arms. They have a funny shape. Like chicken dippers.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Chip&lt;br /&gt;Oh my god.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Bob&lt;br /&gt;No but you know what I mean, it’s weird when you meet someone for the first time and they are funny looking. You should give advanced warning. I nearly hugged her for fuck sake!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Chip&lt;br /&gt;What? Why?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Bob&lt;br /&gt;‘Cos! Fat people always look huggable! I almost just went for it. I swear its automatic, its, like, natural…&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Chip&lt;br /&gt;What to hug fat people?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Bob&lt;br /&gt;Yeah! That’s blatantly why they’re so happy all the time!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Chip&lt;br /&gt;Can we stop talking about fat people now??&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Bob&lt;br /&gt;You would be happier if you were fat.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Chip&lt;br /&gt;No I wouldn’t, I’d be miserable.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Bob&lt;br /&gt;Why?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Chip&lt;br /&gt;‘Cos I’d be fat.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Bob&lt;br /&gt;Yeah but you’re not thinking about the hugs! And I bet there’s other stuff.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Chip&lt;br /&gt;What “other stuff”?! Other things fat people get more of? You’re actually a twat.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Bob&lt;br /&gt;No think about it! People would do stuff for you, help you onto the bus, you can probably get discounts, its basically a disability innit.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Chip&lt;br /&gt;You’re talking about my fucking mother!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Bob&lt;br /&gt;Nah not her, she’s alright. She can still walk and that… Although I did notice the waiter help her up at the end of the meal.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Chip&lt;br /&gt;Right. Fuck off.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Bob&lt;br /&gt;Im joking! …He didn’t help you though. That’s all I’m saying! That’s all Im saying. Anyway, it was nice to meet the oldies finally. Did I do alright? Work the old magic?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Chip&lt;br /&gt;You were doing fine until about two minutes ago.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Bob&lt;br /&gt;Im sorry! I’ll shut up now. I didn’t mean any of that. Sorry.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Chip&lt;br /&gt;I cant believe you think my mum is disabled&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Bob&lt;br /&gt;Nah but it’s in a good way! Like, she WANTS to be disabled! It’s deep! It’s not like she lost a limb in an accident, she just eats loads of food and then reaps the rewards! Is she on benefits? She should claim benefits, might aswell milk it for all it’s worth… I reckon I might even go for it one day, smash a few pies…… Chip?&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4652767956704602308-5560859506353843352?l=stevestamp.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://stevestamp.blogspot.com/feeds/5560859506353843352/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4652767956704602308&amp;postID=5560859506353843352' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4652767956704602308/posts/default/5560859506353843352'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4652767956704602308/posts/default/5560859506353843352'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://stevestamp.blogspot.com/2008/02/working-with-missus.html' title='Working with the Missus'/><author><name>Steve Stamp</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00915986885705175592</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://bp3.blogger.com/__pJn9qnm_Oo/R6d8Nqksz6I/AAAAAAAAAAQ/4pag89KcUlA/S220/grem.jpg'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4652767956704602308.post-9193796070554451579</id><published>2008-02-04T20:59:00.000Z</published><updated>2008-02-04T21:16:20.230Z</updated><title type='text'>Back of the Bus</title><content type='html'>&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;This is a concept I came up with for a series of skits. It's pretty self explanatory. There are two characters, effectionately known as Screwboat and Lambshank, who have illuminating conversations on the back of the H91.&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Screwboat&lt;br /&gt;I must have seen one brear with the exact same hat as me the other day blud!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Lambshank&lt;br /&gt;Later… What did you do?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Screwboat&lt;br /&gt;Obviously I was gonna shank him but then I was like nah so I just jerked it off him when I walked passed and ripped the sticker off!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Lambshank&lt;br /&gt;Oh shit! You ripped his sticker off! I heard about one brear in East who killed his mar-js cos she ripped the sticker of his hat…&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Screwboat&lt;br /&gt;Is it..? Nah well this brear didn’t do anyfing bruv. He was all pissed and man was just laughing in his face like “DAAAAAAAHAHA YOUR HAT LOOKS LIKE IT’S FROM BUSH MARKET NOW BLUD!”&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Lambshank&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;Joker. What did he do?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Screwboat&lt;br /&gt;…He said it was from Bush Market…&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Lambshank&lt;br /&gt;Seen... yours is from Bush aswell innit?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Screwboat&lt;br /&gt;Yeah… but mine’s got a sticker though. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;Lambshank&lt;br /&gt;Standards.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4652767956704602308-9193796070554451579?l=stevestamp.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://stevestamp.blogspot.com/feeds/9193796070554451579/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4652767956704602308&amp;postID=9193796070554451579' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4652767956704602308/posts/default/9193796070554451579'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4652767956704602308/posts/default/9193796070554451579'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://stevestamp.blogspot.com/2008/02/back-of-bus.html' title='Back of the Bus'/><author><name>Steve Stamp</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00915986885705175592</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://bp3.blogger.com/__pJn9qnm_Oo/R6d8Nqksz6I/AAAAAAAAAAQ/4pag89KcUlA/S220/grem.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry></feed>
