Hey, it's my birthday today.

I'm going to be forty. Next year! But for now, I'm not really caring one way or the other.
I have done something today. I've written half a page or so of the screenplay. I have quite a good feeling about this. It was fun too. Maybe the idea of having such a tightly conceived and rigid form helps. I dunno.


Anyway, this is it. Can you guess what it is yet?

EXT . NAGIMBI VILLAGE

An African village. It meets all the cliches. Straw huts. Green hills and red earth behind. We pan the countryside then move slowly in. A voice begins to be heard on the air. As we move closer in, people are gathered around in the center of the village. The voice is obviously addressing them but they are paying little attention. Children are playing. Old men are laughing. Women begin to move away sharing a joke. The voice continues; not pompous, but merely pursuing a rather abstract piece of business. Slowly we move in to see the voice delivering the words is EDWIN PORTER, a man in his early thirties, dressed as a typical colonial administrator of the times (1880’s). He has the sardonic air of one who doesn’t truly believe anything he is saying. Beside him are JANE PORTER, his wife, who stares ahead save for swatting mosquitoes, and a handful of red-jacketed soldiers stood behind the Porters.

The whole event is clearly some ritual, in which none of the participants appear to place any stock, but which nonetheless should be pursued.

EDWIN:

The Great Queen over the water extends her hand in friendship to the people of the Nagimbi. Henceforth, she shall regard the Nagimbi as her children. She offers them the same protection and rights as all her children. The people of Great Britain and the Nagimbi are one. They shall share the hardships and sorrows, and they shall share their happiness and wealth. They shall support each other in times of trial and war. They shall share their lives as subjects of the Great Mother, Queen Victoria.

CU HUTCHINSON:

He is well aware that people are not paying attention. But still the words should have import.

EDWIN (CONT'D):

Welcome to the British Empire.

CU: A REDJACKET.

The Redjacket slaps at his neck. A small blowpipe arrow has hit him in the jugular. He falls to the ground.

EXT: NAGIMBI VILLAGE.

EDWIN (CONT'D):

Oh, I say.

So, elsewhere, Ernesto became a hurricane today, then fell back to TS as it moved over Hispaniola. This is proving to be the hardest storm to forecast. It could still end up a monster hitting the Panhandle or even further West, it could be a big thing rolling up Tampa Bay, or it could fizzle to a TS drenching Souther Florida. I don't remember seeing one so difficult to predict for both track and intensity. Makes you realise how difficult it still is to save lives with these things. Probably hundreds are dying now on Haiti/Dominican Republic.
In the Central Pacific, one of the most unusual storms ever, Ioke, is still a Super Typhoon, has been for a few days and looks like being for the foreseeable future! It may, someday, interact with land, somewhere. Nobody appears to know at the moment.
The family have headed off home this afternoon. They should be getting to bed themselves about n ow I'd guess. I really enjoyed them being here. Especially having Mum & Dad and Tania & the girls here all at once, it was good fun.
Strange - the news is quiet. Why's that? Because the politicians are taking their summer holidays! I can't believe anyone still bother with those ratfink charades of elections.
So now we're just left with the usual war and lies, blood and hype, and of course money. I can't be arsed even thinking about any of that shite, let alone wasting words writing on it.