I haven't had a job since 2005. Not a real job anyway. Fourteen years. My joblessness has pubes.
I've somehow managed to sustain myself by appearing in the odd tragically under the radar sitcom, comically raising my eyebrows in adverts and pickpocketing. I appreciate this could sound like bragging but I'm increasingly of the opinion that I have wasted a large portion of my life.
In an average year I probably get about 200 days in which I can do what the fuck I like. What have I done with that time? I remember going into the National Gallery one day some time around 2011 but I'm pretty sure that was just for a shit.
What do I do? I write. I wrote a fun book that sits in a couple of thousand bathrooms. I write these blog posts. I wrote half a novel (doesn't everyone?) and I wrote a few chapters of a book about pubs which my agent told me was "depressing and I just think the people who like these kind of pubs don't read books". I've written a series of sitcom pilots which all get similar notes - "this is very funny but also no". I write and rewrite long long long letters to former girlfriends.
Of course it's not all writing. The late noughties featured an awful lot of Sky Sports News but I eventually found that a training ground interview with Nicky Butt doesn't get any better on the fifth viewing. I go for walks which I tell myself is thinking time but is actually listening to podcasts and therefore other people's thinking time. I think about sending an email. I put on a wash. I look up people on IMDb and work out where they were in their careers at my age. I hang up the wash.
Jesus Christ, this is a grim sit down and write.
What do you do? You get to work - you say hello to Malcolm and Annette and the new girl Anish, you sit at your desk/booth/lathe - what the fuck do you do? Emails. That seems to be everyone's answer. What's in the emails though? You're all just emailing each other aren't you? Do we live in an email based economy? I honestly don't understand how everyone fills their day. Retail, I get that. Or restaurant work, or painting road markings - I get all that. The rest of you though? If I get on the tube any time between 6 and 10am it is absolutely shit packed with you people - in suits, in black skirts, reading The Economist, watching Top Gear on your iPad - where in the name of heavenly piss are you going and what are you going to do when you get there?
Statistics say I've got about another 40 years of this shit. I mean, I could go and get a real job but a) my CV has a gap the size of Russia and b) it's only about six months until all jobs are done by robots anyway so what's the point?
Of course, if I meet you at an industry party or in a casting then I have very much 'been busy' but the truth is I'm hoping the task of clipping my fingernails will take up a good 45 minutes today. I remember bumping into an actor/writer friend in the street and we did the old 'what you up to?' dance. I was happy to be able to tell him that I'd 'just finished filming' something because it had only been about three years. He was literally chasing me down the street yelling recent projects at me. Hilariously I was on the way to a session with a therapist and let me tell you he could have added that to his credits because his name played a significant role in that hour. Everyone says they're busy but I've been in a lot of cafes with people on laptops and I've looked at their laptops and it is my pleasure to reveal that not a single one of those fuckers is doing any work.
Everyone says they never get a minute and yet social media is FULL. Everyone is bashing out a fucking book a week on Whatsapp and it's getting worse. I've sat alongside teenagers in libraries whilst fiddling around with my soon to be rejected scripts. They sit down - they pull out their exercise books, then they pull out their phone and then they pull out a whole bag of custard creams. The only thing that goes in the books is crumbs.
Of course I'm making excuses for my lack of productivity. With this many years of free time I should have a lot more to show for it. It takes 10,000 hours of practice to become world class in any field apparently. I could be offering Yo-Yo Ma some competition. Alright, that's it, I've decided I want a cello for Christmas. Come 2033 Yo-Yo Ma better watch his ass.
Ok, going for a nap now.
I know you're sat there in a rage. "I NEVER GET A SECOND TO MYSELF! I'M SNOWED UNDER!". And yet you found the time to read this didn't you? A half arsed blog post by a man who's most significant achievement was starring in a David Hasselhoff vehicle on Dave. A man who had to Google the spellings of both the word 'achievement' and the word 'vehicle'.
I've somehow managed to sustain myself by appearing in the odd tragically under the radar sitcom, comically raising my eyebrows in adverts and pickpocketing. I appreciate this could sound like bragging but I'm increasingly of the opinion that I have wasted a large portion of my life.
In an average year I probably get about 200 days in which I can do what the fuck I like. What have I done with that time? I remember going into the National Gallery one day some time around 2011 but I'm pretty sure that was just for a shit.
What do I do? I write. I wrote a fun book that sits in a couple of thousand bathrooms. I write these blog posts. I wrote half a novel (doesn't everyone?) and I wrote a few chapters of a book about pubs which my agent told me was "depressing and I just think the people who like these kind of pubs don't read books". I've written a series of sitcom pilots which all get similar notes - "this is very funny but also no". I write and rewrite long long long letters to former girlfriends.
Of course it's not all writing. The late noughties featured an awful lot of Sky Sports News but I eventually found that a training ground interview with Nicky Butt doesn't get any better on the fifth viewing. I go for walks which I tell myself is thinking time but is actually listening to podcasts and therefore other people's thinking time. I think about sending an email. I put on a wash. I look up people on IMDb and work out where they were in their careers at my age. I hang up the wash.
Jesus Christ, this is a grim sit down and write.
What do you do? You get to work - you say hello to Malcolm and Annette and the new girl Anish, you sit at your desk/booth/lathe - what the fuck do you do? Emails. That seems to be everyone's answer. What's in the emails though? You're all just emailing each other aren't you? Do we live in an email based economy? I honestly don't understand how everyone fills their day. Retail, I get that. Or restaurant work, or painting road markings - I get all that. The rest of you though? If I get on the tube any time between 6 and 10am it is absolutely shit packed with you people - in suits, in black skirts, reading The Economist, watching Top Gear on your iPad - where in the name of heavenly piss are you going and what are you going to do when you get there?
Statistics say I've got about another 40 years of this shit. I mean, I could go and get a real job but a) my CV has a gap the size of Russia and b) it's only about six months until all jobs are done by robots anyway so what's the point?
Of course, if I meet you at an industry party or in a casting then I have very much 'been busy' but the truth is I'm hoping the task of clipping my fingernails will take up a good 45 minutes today. I remember bumping into an actor/writer friend in the street and we did the old 'what you up to?' dance. I was happy to be able to tell him that I'd 'just finished filming' something because it had only been about three years. He was literally chasing me down the street yelling recent projects at me. Hilariously I was on the way to a session with a therapist and let me tell you he could have added that to his credits because his name played a significant role in that hour. Everyone says they're busy but I've been in a lot of cafes with people on laptops and I've looked at their laptops and it is my pleasure to reveal that not a single one of those fuckers is doing any work.
Everyone says they never get a minute and yet social media is FULL. Everyone is bashing out a fucking book a week on Whatsapp and it's getting worse. I've sat alongside teenagers in libraries whilst fiddling around with my soon to be rejected scripts. They sit down - they pull out their exercise books, then they pull out their phone and then they pull out a whole bag of custard creams. The only thing that goes in the books is crumbs.
Of course I'm making excuses for my lack of productivity. With this many years of free time I should have a lot more to show for it. It takes 10,000 hours of practice to become world class in any field apparently. I could be offering Yo-Yo Ma some competition. Alright, that's it, I've decided I want a cello for Christmas. Come 2033 Yo-Yo Ma better watch his ass.
Ok, going for a nap now.
I know you're sat there in a rage. "I NEVER GET A SECOND TO MYSELF! I'M SNOWED UNDER!". And yet you found the time to read this didn't you? A half arsed blog post by a man who's most significant achievement was starring in a David Hasselhoff vehicle on Dave. A man who had to Google the spellings of both the word 'achievement' and the word 'vehicle'.
When are you next doing stand up Fergus?
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