YOU CAN’T START A FIRE WITHOUT A SPARK [498]

Procrastination is the defining style of my writing, a last-minute culmination of what I have sent too long thinking about. That it does not read this way is more a testament to the craft of writing, the “10% inspiration, 90% perspiration” of committing yourself to completing a cogent work hundreds of times.

Despite this, I would rather my writing not become a race. For example, I was recently asked to write a witness statement for someone completing an apprenticeship course. Once I knew the date for when it was needed, that immediately allowed myself into thinking I need not write anything at all until nearer the time, but I had the time to think of what I needed to include. Meanwhile, I started to worry too much about the small things: how precise in detail did I need to be, and how long did the statement need to be – things that were not specified, but might make a difference to who needed the finished piece.

In the end, the completed statement, delivered on the day before it was needed, was exactly what that person required, and I need not have worried, despite having manoeuvred myself into a position where I did. What was worse, it took only minutes to write, but I gave myself a week of thinking time.

Therefore, I have sought to address this problem, making my writing process more productive. Ironically, I had wanted to conduct this earlier, but the copy I ordered of Robert Boice’s book “Professors as Writers: A Self-Help Guide to Productive Writing” was lost in the post, requiring me to order it again. While geared towards academic writing, the book’s direct approach was recommended to me as an aid to self-discipline – it is not just a matter of turning up earlier, it was what happens once there.

The major draw for me was a “Blocking Questionnaire” devised and standardised by Boice in tests on hundreds of people, its categories used across the book to help you locate the advice you then need. Broken into three sections, you are asked to assess a series of reactions to facing a tough writing assignment, the emotions that creates in yourself, and how you would approach completing it. With procrastination only one possible bock, I was interested if it was my only block, or a symptom of something larger.

Sixty-nine considerations later, the most memorable being “I’ll feel like writing if I do something else first”, and “If I were working efficiently, writing would come more easily, in more finished form”, my “Overall Blocking Mean Score” came to 5.13, just tipping from an indicator of inefficient writing into there being more serious problems, with recurring disruptive blocks. However, the maximum possible score was 10, so I was assured that any identifiable problems would be easier to address.

Categorising my scores revealed a more interesting issue: with little between them, procrastination was ranked joint third with apprehension about the work at hand, with “perfectionism” being a larger factor, and “rules” being largest of all.

What should I take from these results, apart from reading the rest of “Professors as Writers” to address them? I have more insight into what is either causing procrastination, or what it is covering. Based on the answers I gave, the blocks appear to be more emotionally and socially led. I have no problem with writing itself, but how writing makes me feel, and thoughts of how others will react, matter more – then again, they always do.

“Rules” was not an answer I expected, but the rules I put around completing the witness statement shows they do have an effect. I have been setting myself the target of completing a weekly article on various subjects, at five hundred-plus words in length, but that is more a deadline, or obligation, set outside of the act of actually completing it – at least, that is how I think of it, but is the act of setting myself a task triggering the construction of barriers, when all I have to answer to is myself? Time to read the rest of the book...

CAN’T YOU FEEL THE TOWN EXPLODING? [497]

I decided to use the famous shot of Buser Keaton being framed by the window in a falling wall, from his 1928 film “Steamboat Bill, Jr”, to illustrate exactly how I have felt since the UK Supreme Court decided that, for the purposes of the 2010 Equality Act, that transgender women did not count as women – I would have been flattened by the wall, had I not known where my marker was, which in Keaton’s case was a nail.

The monolithic stature and sheer audacity of the stunt means its context is rarely considered. After an hour of a comedy plot involving a rivalry between paddle boat owners, into which an effectual son of one captain arrives, along with his girl friend from college, a cyclone comes in to destroy the harbour town, at which point it becomes a disaster film – Keaton, in hospital, looks up as the building is torn away. His bed is blown through a street and a stable, avoiding falling masonry, until it stops outside a house – its occupant, seeing a crack opening the side of the house, jumps out of the top floor window and onto the bed, saving his life. Keaton, looking obliviously into the street, does not see the façade as it then falls, effectively re-entering the window the man had just leapt from. 

From there, every possible physical gag about walking into the wind, and last-second avoiding crumbling buildings, leads to a final escape on the steamboat. It is an extremely well-handled sequence, coming from someone either supremely confident in their ability to conceive and execute these stunts so effectively, or so lax in their judgement to have endangered themselves so recklessly in the name of entertainment, financial problems and alcohol abuse have contributed to the latter narrative. 

“Steamboat Bill, Jr” was also the last of Keaton’s films to be made independently, before a move to Metro-Goldwyn-Mayer that saw his creative control gradually eliminated. His previous distributor, United Artists, had already began to insist on the monitoring of expenses after Keaton deployed the most expensive shot in silent film history, the destruction of a steam engine and a railway bridge in “The General” (1926), while the cyclone sequence in “Steamboat Bill, Jr”, one seventh of the film’s running time but one third of the budget, replaced a planned flood sequence, although a real-life river flood also forced this change. In short, as Keaton reached his creative peak, he was becoming less trusted.

As I said, I knew where my marker was. I have held a Gender Recognition Certificate since 2017, having done everything required of me to prove my status as a transgender woman was stable and permanent. My gender was changed in law for all purposes, as the Gender Recognition Act 2004 stated. At no point was anyone telling me that I didn’t know myself, or that I am instead autistic or have borderline personality disorder because it fit the limits of their understanding. I am perfectly fine, and the matter was settled.

Since the Supreme Court decision on Wednesday 16^th April to define “sex” in the Equality Act 2010 to mean “biological” sex, because we all speak of ourselves in terms of washing powder now, it has felt like open season on trans people, despite gender reassignment being protected under the same act. I have been most perturbed by the tendency for the Supreme Court decision to have settled the matter morally, that trans people were never what they said they were, but I think the people saying that now only do so because they feel emboldened. So what – the terms “gender ideology” and “gender critical” appeared years after my formal diagnosis of gender dysphoria, and the phrase “live and let live” pre-dates all of them.

In May 2025, there are too many reasons to be apprehensive. Interim guidance from the Equality and Human Rights Commission appears to ban trans people both from the bathroom of their appropriate gender, and from their biological sex in certain situations, presumably if they “pass” in their gender too much, but I can’t be allowed to have nowhere to go. I can also still play a sport, so long as the association providing it is comprised of no more than twenty-five people. This is ahead of full guidance expected in the coming months. Meanwhile, I wrote to my MP asking for confirmation that my legal paperwork is still valid – I await their answer.

But I have not been made an outlaw. I have not been deemed an undesirable presence in society. Enough people treat trans people with dignity and respect to balance out those who say they should be, then do nothing more. 

Unlike Buster Keaton, I don’t feel that people have less trust in me because of my situation, but other people could not trust themselves with the subject and concept of gender, so it has been decided for them absolutely. Policing of gender will now be unavoidable – can you prove yours?

I’ll be fine, somehow – I think the law may still be on my side. In the meantime, hoping and coping produced the following playlist, unexpectedly all from the 1970s:

The Real Thing - Can You Feel The Force

Jackson Browne - Doctor My Eyes

Fleetwood Mac - Don’t Stop

Wings - With a Little Luck

David Bowie - Starman

Elton John - Crazy Water

Slade – How Does It Feel

AM I LIVING IN A BOX? [496]

For as much as the film “The Cabinet of Dr Caligari” (1920) is celebrated for bringing German Expressionism to cinema, while providing the foundations on which the horror film genre were built, the first thing it brings to my mind was its having been filmed entirely inside a studio whose floor measured only six by six metres, or about twenty feet each way – I don’t know if it was a cube.

Finding the space to make a film is never a concern for anyone watching the finished work, but it may dictate if that film can be made at all, whether by availability, permission or cost. However, knowing it is perfectly possible to produce a multi-layered work of art, encompassing many locations and actors, within the dimensions of a large living room, means that nothing is impossible, so long as you can scale your production to that space.

To that end, the theatrical painted backdrops of “Caligari” work to provide setting, mood, light and depth, although not necessarily depth of field – if it were not for actors appearing in front of them, the backdrop props and floor could have appeared to be one painting. They are surreal, almost medieval, and designed to unsettle, appearing like stark, monochromatic prints from woodcuts.

There is conjecture about how “Caligari” came to be portrayed in a German Expressionist style, as it was not stipulated in a surviving script, just as there is conjecture over whether its framing story, planting the tale of a doctor using a somnambulist to murder people into the mind of an asylum patient, was mandated to make the story easier for audiences to handle. To me, it doesn’t matter: the film’s imagery is burned into my retinas, just as the eyes of the somnambulist Cesare look through you.

Few other films look like “Caligari”, but its constricted studio size and low budget adds to a notion that the film’s bold artistic choices were made due to the practical concerns of when it was in production from 1919-20. Lighting effects were also much harder to achieve in the silent film era, making the painting of contrasting blacks and whites onto the backdrops – and, through make-up, onto the actors – an easier path to achieving contrast. 

The small Lixie-Film studio, located in the Weissensee area of Berlin, was originally built in 1914, at a time when many film studios were still essentially greenhouses, trying to catch as much natural light as possible, in any way possible – attempts in chiaroscuro in early silent films would have been made with natural light. Carbon arc lights were only introduced in 1912, entering theatres before being adapted for filmmaking, and with film stock at the time being insensitive to red light rendered tungsten-based incandescent lighting as useless. The manufacture of film stock sensitive to the whole colour spectrum would begin in 1927, just as adding sound to motion pictures became a further headache for studios to overcome.

The expressionistic effect of “Caligari” has taken on a different meaning for me on more recent viewings. I initially saw it in rather poor public domain prints, the outlines of what the art direction intended reducing details down to shades and impressions of light and darkness. Subsequent restorations of the film, and Blu-ray and 4K home editions, means that individual brushstrokes can be properly admired, painting light as much as painting with light.

I SEE THE PEOPLE WORKING, AND SEE IT WORKING FOR THEM [495]

It may be strange that I even have notes to share on using a laptop computer, as more people than not will have a computer in this form. However, I have only started using one in the last month, which was not by choice, and my experience has reinforced why I would not do so willingly.

The computer I use at work was initially a desktop computer, a “tower PC” housing a large motherboard and spinning hard drive. This was later replaced by a “thin client” desktop PC that used a smaller solid state drive, used less power, and more similar to the specifications you can find in a laptop computer – as battery capacity has improved, and as processors’ power consumption has been reduced, any remaining gaps caused by compromising for a more mobile form factor have been reduced or eliminated.

The local final step has been reached, and I have now been given a laptop computer to use. I have never been given a laptop to use before, and I have never considered buying one myself, and I remembered looking at this thing like I was a caveman discovering fire. My immediate thoughts were that I hated the tiny keyboard and trackpad – I really can only use a full keyboard and mouse, having the space on a desk to do that – and the screen was too small, despite being of average laptop size.

This laptop was not for me to work from home, as I don’t do that, but it does keep me at work marginally longer by physically taking it out of a locked drawer every day, then packing it away at the end. The secure internet connection that was required was easier to implement through software, but it means more manually logging into programs and remembering login details to work.

Instead of having two screens on my desk, I have now also been introduced to the idea of the monitor-based docking station, the keyboard and mouse from my old computer now plugging into the one monitor left on my desk, to which the laptop connects through a USB-C cable and becomes the secondary screen, half the size of the one it replaced. It looks odd, and it makes me want to get an eye test despite being due one anyway.

On top of this, I am afraid of breaking the thing. It has a plastic case, and I have already once dropped it into its locked drawer harder than I expected, so I am dreading when I will fracture a corner, or break a hinge, or open and close the laptop enough times to over-flex the ribbon connector between the screen and the rest of the unit. The act of locking, in an eclosed space, an electrical device still warm from over eight hours of use, still gives me reason for concern – the desktop unit stayed in the open.

Of course, this is all nitpicking. Advances in computing, components and miniaturisation mean that the components of the average consumer computer will be similar regardless of whether you have a desktop or laptop model, and previous compromises that had to be made for a more mobile form factor no longer apply, battery capacity on laptops now allowing for all-day use on one charge – the difference between desktop and laptop is now down to personal preference, unless you require a gaming PC with enough fans to keep the processors cool.

But when you are given a situation where wireless internet connections drop out because you need to log back into a program to re-establish it, or when you realise the USB-C connection wasn’t charging the laptop at the same time, or the mouse suddenly stops working for some reason, you realise that solutions for many still involve compromises for some. For me, thankfully having the space at home for a desktop setup, desktop computers are the simpler choice because they cause less anxiety - mostly because I only have to use them, not handle them.

YOU CAN'T PUSH IT UNDERGROUND [494]

Lately, I have come to feel that I am always running out of time. I may start the day with a to-do list in my mind, and the best of intentions, but deadlines abound: what do you need to get done, or have ready, before you leave home, start work, or before you go to bed? What free time does a working day leave you, and how much drive you possess to use that time productively as well? Or should you wait until the weekend, and will you have the energy to do anything about it then?

This predicament nearly derailed my attempts to put something out this week. For the record, and in case I ever change it, I put out a social media message every Friday to say what I will be writing about for the coming weekend - this is a practice I picked up from old 1950s drive-in films, particularly Ed Wood films like “Glen or Glenda” and “Plan 9 from Outer Space”, where the poster would be created first to generate the interest, and hopefully funding, to make the film. This time, I realised that at no point during the preceding week, I had given any thought, or put aside any time to think, what I could possibly be writing about next.

When I first thought of squaring the circle, of addressing the problem by making it the subject, I initially dismissed the idea as a pathology that needed to be worked out in its own time, and not as a discussion to be reasoned with towards a conclusion. For me, it boils down to a feedback loop: an anxiety over not being productive enough with my own free time, and the linear nature of time itself, where every moment is a moment you won’t have again, which creates anxiety. In terms of addressing it, this will again be something to ringfence time to properly address it – ironically, that might also be the answer.

Two resources have been sent my way to address these from different angles: “Professors as Writers: A Self-Help Guide to Productive Writing” by Robert Boice, a book with comprehensive diagnostic tools to assess productivity problems, and to build and maintain – I got a laugh from randomly opening at a page where someone had told Boice, “My God, you’re asking us to change our whole lifestyles!”, only to be told that they were the ones in control. The other was an article by Oliver Burkeman titled “The unproductivity challenge”, attempting to address the “completionist urge” by setting aside time to do nothing at all: “You’ll be claiming your right to exist, and to enjoy existing, regardless of your productivity.”

I may not be able to shake off the feeling that everything I have written here is a placeholder where a better idea for an article would have been, but this is the problem when you have an obligation to yourself to produce something new each week.

DON’T BLAME THIS SLEEPING SATELLITE [493]

As soon as I realised the cover date, I knew I had to take it. I had come across an eBay listing for a TV listings magazine where many of the programmes listed were never broadcast or never made.

Once it arrived, the only portent was in a corner of the contents page: “Readers of BSB TV Month will be aware of the merger between BSB and SKY which has resulted in the formation of a powerful new force in British television – British Sky Broadcasting. Unfortunately, news of the merger was announced too late for the exciting changes to be incorporated in this month’s issue.”

This merger was announced on 2nd November 1990, which I have talked about previously [https://www.leighspence.net/2023/10/did-we-fly-to-moon-to-soon-418.html], but on screens, it would appear as a takeover. The cover date of the magazine was 1st December 1990 to 1st December 1991 – British Satellite Broadcasting’s Now, the current affairs and arts channel ceased broadcasting on 1st December 1990, followed the next day by the Galaxy entertainment channel, with any programmes saved being folded into Sky One and Sky News. BSB’s competitor with MTV, The Power Station, would eventually end in April 1991, while their functionally-named The Sports Channel and The Movie Channel would continue under Sky branding.

You wouldn’t know any of this from reading “BSB TV Month”. The image of BSB contained within it is of a very bullish broadcaster ready to put on a show for the coming Christmas, ready to build on its successes into 1991, but the background story of the ruinously expensive launching of a satellite, getting dishes onto people’s homes, and then forcefully competing with Sky leading to an impasse and merger, creates the hindsight that renders the entire enterprise as hubris. What is worse, many of BSB’s shows were never kept following the merger, so all I have of these are the listings in this magazine.

Galaxy opened up each weekday morning with their children’s programming block, Galaxy Club. Its idents showed four human-sized letters with legs that spell CLUB, but the magazine tells us they have names and personalities: noisy Clive, quiet Lucy, bossy Una and brainy Benjamin. They are rarely on screen long enough for this to matter. Its flagship shows were “Teenage Mutant Hero Turtles”, renamed in the UK to avoid references to ninjas; “Kid’s Court”, its version of the Nickelodeon dilemma-solving show, hosted by Andrew O’Connor; and “Playabout”, an analogue to the BBC’s “Play School” featuring (now Baroness) Floella Benjamin. Also seen during the day would be soap operas, like CBS’s continuing shows “The Bold and the Beautiful” and “The Young and the Restless”, alongside BSB’s own “Jupiter Moon”, a sci-fi soap set on a space station university, and produced by former “Crossroads” and “The Archers” producer William Smethurst – this is just about the only BSB show ever to be released later on DVD.

Now opened each morning at 8.00am with “The Day Today”, a straightforward news round-up now only notable for how Chris Morris and Armando Iannucci used that name four years later for their satirical show – BSB’s own satire was on Galaxy at 10.30pm each night, in the oddly-named “Up Yer News!” Both shows were fifteen minutes in length, and a lot of similarly short shows appear all over Now’s schedule twice a day: cookery show “Plat Du Jour”; a show simply titled “Parenting”; topical interviews in “V.I.P.”; consumer show “You Can Do It”; and viewer write-in discussions with “Now Listen”. Perhaps their brief length was to try and catch their audience at various times, and to fill up the remainder of the hour left when Selina Scott’s current affairs show, “First Edition”, Sir Robin Day’s “Now Sir Robin”, Ann Leslie’s “Answer Time” and Geraldo Rivera’s chat show ended after forty-five minutes.

BBC Worldwide and Thames Television launched UK Gold, the first channel essentially dedicated to repeat broadcasts of old favourites, in 1992, but until then, Galaxy filled spaces across its evening schedule with BBC sitcoms like “Are You Being Served?”, “Till Death Us Do Part”, “The Young Ones”, “Porridge” and “Dad’s Army”, with “Doctor Who” and “Grange Hill” shown at the weekend. More current imported comedy shows also featured like “Night Court”, “Parker Lewis Can’t Lose”, “Murphy Brown” and “Kids in the Hall”, described as “Python for the 90s”. Drama would be older BBC shows Like “Secret Army” or newer imports like “Hill Street Blues”, “Hotel” and “China Beach”. Completing the “something for everyone” effect was evening quiz show “One False Move” and “31 West”, an entertainment show similar to how BBC One begins each evening with “The One Show”. Of particular note is Saturday night’s “The Happening”, a cabaret hosted by Jools Holland from London’s Astoria, its atmosphere perhaps feeding into his “Later... with Jools Holland” on the BBC. 

For the record, The Power Station, while opening each weekday morning with “Power Up with Chris Evans”, the radio DJ’s first TV show, includes a “Power Hour” of different genres each day, chart shows also by genre, a youth culture magazine named “Sushi TV”, and a heavy emphasis on live concerts in the evening, ranging from Faith No More to Rick Wakeman and Kenny G – its mix appears a bit more VH1 than MTV, if that still makes any sense.

So far, so good. “BSB TV Month” assumes you are buying the magazine because you are already watching the channels – there is no explanation of how to obtain the service, or how much it costs, for people wanting to find more, apart from enticing existing subscribers to opt into The Movie Channel for an extra £8.99 per month. (It seems that the standard subscription cost for the decoder box and other four channels was around £12.99 per month, on top of the initial £250 installation cost via Comet stores.) The rest of the magazine’s advertisements aim upmarket, with the new Ford Orion saloon, Pioneer hi-fi systems, the Lego Technic range and Fisher Price, while a company in Wales is selling a box to broadcast your decoder box’s signal to other TVs in your house, something apparently illegal if the signal is over 10mW in strength.

If BSB had reached Christmas Day unscathed, what would they have broadcast? Bill Murray in “Scrooged” adorned the front cover of “BSB TV Month”, its lunchtime showing on The Movie Channel followed by “Time Bandits”, “The Adventures of Baron Munchausen” and “Crocodile Dundee II”. Now, extending its weekend arts programmes into Monday, would have showed a ballet of “Sleeping Beauty”, and Placido Domingo leading Verdi’s opera “Il Trovatore”. Galaxy, meanwhile, were showing their regular programmes alongside Christmas specials of “Porridge” and “Steptoe and Son” – this would also have been the plan for Boxing Day. The BBC didn’t show them that Christmas, but neither were they showing “Up Yer News!”

WHEN THE TWILIGHT IS GONE [492]

Having just completed watching it for the first time, I have come to think of “Twin Peaks”, the renowned series created by David Lynch and Mark Frost, as “peak TV”, because I do not know what more television can do after this series, and I know I won’t have the same experience from a TV show again, even when I start watching this one again.

I have watched “Twin Peaks” with my family for the last few months, the lack of inspiration in the Christmas TV schedules presenting an opportunity to take up a recommendation from my sister, who would guide us through the series. Unfortunately, I initially missed the start of this experience, later watching the opening two episodes in my own time, because I had gone tenpin bowling – the “going out” part was almost as out of character for me as the bowling – but I chimed with the “vibes” this show was giving off, later realising that our weekend watching of the series had become an escape I wish I had found earlier.

Then David Lynch died. Already the great American Surrealist artist, and that rarity of a film director that was universally liked by people who worked with him, the outpouring of emotion in the media, both traditional and social, was sudden, and unanimously positive. I had seen little of Lynch’s work before starting “Twin Peaks”, having only seen “Eraserhead”, and now I felt remorse for not knowing to have watched more of his films, having already been thinking the same about those of Michael Powell & Emeric Pressburger – having a degree in film studies doesn’t avoid there being gaps in your personal canon, especially if those films didn’t come up while you were studying.

I am writing this to mark the experience I am having with this series, and not to act as a guide. I came across this passage from my diary: “I have found a TV show I don’t need to watch critically to get the most from it – as the day winds down, I can relax enough to watch it properly. It has made me realise I don’t dream much when I am asleep, but I daydream a lot – a resource I do nothing with, perhaps to my own discredit. I wish I knew to watch ‘Twin Peaks’ earlier.”

I don’t think I can adequately describe the story of the series as well as has been done endlessly elsewhere, but for due diligence, the inciting incident of “Twin Peaks” was the death of Laura Palmer, how it affects the small town in which she lived, and how the town affects the FBI agent sent to investigate. Notoriously, the killer was revealed to be Laura’s father, possessed by a force named “BOB”, when the ABC network required the killer to be revealed, itself killing the main driver of the series’ atmosphere – the follow-up feature film, “Fire Walk With Me”, breathed life back into Laura Palmer, even in death. The third series, broadcast twenty-six years after the first, told a larger story of the evil that perpetrated the original series, while also being a surreal, Surrealist repudiation of the lore built around the series and its characters, and of the expectation garnered it after so long away. To say any more would be giving too much away, apart from Kyle MacLachlan’s performance as Special Agent Dale Cooper causing me to start drinking coffee.

I scrambled around to understand how a show like this appeared in 1990: TV audiences fragmenting with growing popularity of cable TV, allowing more types of story to be made; popularising the filming of TV dramas in a more filmic way, arguably also started by “Miami Vice”; and its appearing concurrently with “The Simpsons”, a show that continues to look like no other. 

I became more fully plugged in to the “vibes” of “Twin Peaks” when I realised that notions of “suspension of disbelief” do not really exist here. It is not “weird” – a word that only ever appears with surface analysis – and it does not have a surreal or dreamlike quality: it is intentionally surreal and dreamlike. You are not being rewarded for getting references made by characters or the plot – this is the show that will be quoted by others. You are not going to be given episodes tied neatly with a bow – once the first two seasons were described to me as a parody of a US soap opera, particularly with the continuing use of a musical underscore to heighten the mood, I relaxed into its rhythm more easily.

I initially thought of “Twin Peaks” as being “peak TV” once I heard that the French film journal “Cahiers du Cinema”, in 2019, declared the third season as being the greatest film of the 2010s. I agree with that – it is an episodic film told in eighteen parts, the musical performances at the end of most episodes being the only sop to notions of structure, something that couldn’t be done in 1990-91 while on a network filled with the furniture of “previously on...”, “next time on...” and breaks for commercials. TV screens are bigger, TV sound is better, more easily able to replicate the cinematic experience. The transition from TV drama to film is complete, but the transition from weekly episodes to series box sets is there too, despite our family watching of the show at weekends.