I'd entertained the idea of starting this post with a laboured and tenuous sort of joke revolving around the concept that I'd just woken up from a very long sleep, beginning after the posting of my last update and ending only moments ago. Seems a bit poor though, doesn't it?
For those who may be concerned as to what I'm doing with myself and where from I'm spending my time, please allow me to clear that up for you. Back living in the charming little rut that gave us James Joyce, the Cleary's Clock and tracksuit bottoms tucked into knock-off Tommy Hilfiger gym socks. My return to Dublin was, and remains, brought on by a need to sort out some things in personal life and such associated heaviness. I've deferred my studies in being a cinematic tyrant until this coming Autumn, so till then I busy myself with writing whatever I can get a hold of.
"Why no new blog updates then!?" I hear you chirp, with your clipped and paranoid anger. Steady on, reader, steady on. I've simply been busy doing articles critiquing comedy, working on a new play and an upcoming web series. I have my beak in all sorts of sandwich boxes these days, like the scampish cuckoo I so desperately long to be.
Specific adoration and theoretical hugs today go to one Eimear Nolan, who requested that I update.
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