That’s it. I’m done. No more. No more promises. No more getting my hopes up.
I’ve been offered a writing job. On one of the dailies. It’s just grind work but it pays okay and what with Mary expecting I’m going to take it. I want to if I’m being honest. This living on dreams isn’t working for me any more. It hasn’t been for a while if truth be told.
I’m just going to put the script away. Let The Corn Mother sleep for a while, maybe for good. I gave it a good shot. We all did but it just doesn’t seem like it’s going to happen.
There’s this one version that I really like. Not sure if anybody else ever did, apart from maybe that director Alain. It’s quietly unsettling rather than being all brash and upfront. You’re never quite sure what the villagers did and it’s not so overly straightforward. It’s more a portrait of the psyche of a community fracturing under its own dysfunction and the pressures brought to bear on it by internal and external conflicts.
I guess it’s in part a reflection of what’s been going on in Britain for much of this decade. Electricity blackouts and the Three-Day Week a few years or so ago and now we’ve had a load more strikes and general argy bargy this winter. It’s been darned cold as well, which probably doesn’t help. The Summer of Love seems like a long time ago now. Time to grow up a bit I guess.
Some people are talking about how this new government is the start of a clean sweep, a fresh start for the country. I don’t know. I don’t trust them. There’s something about that Thatcher, something in her eyes. It’s hard to properly trust somebody who took milk away from children.
In the meantime life goes on. I’m going to phone up the red top this afternoon and tell them yes. I’m kind of looking forward to it I think. Being part of society’s machine, a semi-willing cog. I might even enjoy it.
