Tony Blair’s Heart of Darkness


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My good friend and experienced blogger, Ming Ho, advised me, when I started this blog a couple of weeks ago, to stay on topic…. ‘Living With Prostate Cancer’ or ‘TV Writing’ or ‘NinjaMarmoset, Media Commentator’.   But whatever you do, she said, don’t flit around, blogs like that never work. Ehm, sorry Ming, you’re probably right, but today, it’s politics time.

My justification for it is that I have long been fascinated by Tony Blair and once wrote a play about him for Radio 4 called Can You Tell Me The Name Of The Prime Minister?. As part of my research for this, I managed to wangle myself a ticket to see him testify at the Chilcott Enquiry into the UK’s involvement in the Iraq War, back in 2010 (FOUR whole years ago, and still no published report!!). It was an electric experience on a damp February afternoon in London… at which the former PM batted his pathetic interrogators away with charmingly earnest, yet simultaneously arrogant, self aggrandising ease.   He was brighter than the lot of them put together, and I was on the edge of my seat, desperate to shout out a few decent questions, and to berate the committee for being so easily waylaid by his lawyers’ diversionary tactics.  I didn’t say anything however.  All spectators were sworn to silence, and there were armed security there to enforce the rule.

Fast forward four and a bit years and yesterday Tony Blair delivered the following speech about his take on the West’s response to Islamic Extremism in the Middle East.

Tony Blair delivering Bloomberg speech

Tony Blair delivering Bloomberg speech

I doubt that many, if any, passing blog visitors will have time to read the speech in full (I only do because I’m laid out in the closing stages of a course of radiotherapy – see Ming, I’m back on topic!!) but the text of Tony Blair’s speech about the Middle East and Islamic Extremism, and his prescription for the West’s role in it, is well worth close scrutiny. It is actually quite an extraordinary document. For a start, there’s much to agree with, some informed analysis, some frank speaking about things that need to be said.


It is also mind bogglingly self deceiving and self aggrandising. It is a manifesto that cries out in Old Testament fashion: ‘Behold ye minions, the dam is about to crack and we shall all be drowned!!! Heed my words!! Stay and fight!!’ whilst forgetting to mention that he was part of the guerrilla raid that put a ton of TNT under the whole thing in the first place.

And whilst in one paragraph he continues his increasingly lonely assertion that history will treat the invasions of Iraq and Afghanistan favourably (I wonder why???), he then goes on to state that it is in the West’s interests to support the murderous regime of President Assad in Syria.

Go figure, if you can.

Rarely has a document made me nod in agreement and gawp in heart pumping, smacked-gob incredulity almost simultaneously. There are important issues being discussed here, but, having read the whole thing, I find myself seeing not the haunted, careworn Bambi we’ve all grown to groan at whenever he appears on our TV screens, but the confused, bloated, mumbling form of Brando’s Colonel Kurtz in Apocalypse Now trying to rationalise the bloody chaos over which he presides.

I feel as if I’ve learned little about the Middle East and a lot about Tony Blair’s fucked up Heart of Darkness.

Blair's alter ego

Blair’s alter ego

(I’ll be back talking about soap writing and telly next time, promise!)



What she said – or ‘the crazee world of TV, and how (not) to survive it’


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I think this might break another rule of blogging, but for anyone interested in TV writing and what the job truly entails I commend this terrific blog to you, written by someone else – ! – my good friend Lisa Holdsworth – entitled They Say The Darndest Things, which decodes the tooth jangling, eyeball exploding double speak of the everyday pitch/commissioning meeting.

She's right, they do talk b*ll*x

Writer, blogger and media pundit, Lisa Holdsworth

Click here to read Lisa Holdsworth’s terrific blog.

And when you’ve stopped laughing/cringing/screaming… well what more can I add except a few choice, related anecdotes, just in case you thought Lisa was exaggerating in any way. However, sadly, and unlike brilliant Lisa, in most of my stories, I was left completely lost for words, gulping like a beached goldfish…

‘We LOVE this, but what if….

Quite a few years ago I wrote a treatment for a psychological thriller about an ageing, failing Detective Sergeant, who becomes obsessed with a serial killer and ends up murdering his own daughter. The treatment was sent to a major broadcaster, and three days later (which is quick) I got a call to say that they LOVED my treatment and would I come down to London for a meeting. Suitably excited, I hopped onto the next Pendolino and soon found myself sitting opposite a senior and well known Drama Producer and, by her side, her eager and enthusiastic assistant.

‘Yes,’ they said. ‘We LOVE this!  We absolutely LOVE it. But… what if… what if…

Me, cautiously: ‘Yes?’

‘No, really we LOVE this, it’s amazingly written, and especially the relationship between the father and the daughter, it’s so truthful, but what if, what IF… he didn’t kill his daughter?! What if instead of killing her, they formed a father and daughter detective partnership?  And instead of it being so dark, there were jokes and banter…?’


‘What THEY want…’

A few years later, I was at a pitch meeting for a project I had been developing.  I think it was pretty coherent, well-rehearsed, pithy, but layered too… I do my best not to bore people, but I could feel the producer’s attention wandering.  She was staring at the venetian blinds over my shoulder. I stopped.  ‘Something…. wrong?’

‘No, no…’ she said. ‘I mean, it’s a nice idea, but the reason I asked you here is because what they want….  what they REALLY want – the HOLY GRAIL – is…’  She leaned forward as if sharing the actual location of that elusive, sacred object. ‘The HOLY GRAIL… the thing they REALLY WANT… is… William and Mary.’

I opened my mouth to speak, but I couldn’t assemble a form of words that made any kind of sense.   My mental rolodex was whirring, and for the briefest of moments I thought I as about to be offered a commission for a historical drama about the co-regency of William III and Mary II from 1689-1694. Clearly accusations of dumbing down were unfounded!!  Then of course sanity returned and I realised that she was referring to the popular itv comedy drama starring Martin Clunes and Julie Graham.  But having got the right William & Mary I realised that I was still none the wiser…

‘William and Mary… with, erm… Martin Clunes…’ I intoned vaguely trying to sound as if I was on her wavelength, but failing miserably.

‘Yes.  We thought with your experience you’d be the ideal person for this.’

‘What…?’ I was riding the fine line between question and statement – sometimes the Australian interrogative has its uses. ‘You’re making a new series of it..?’

Even as I said this I realised how bonkers it sounded.  For a start, this producer had no connection to the aforementioned itv ratings hit. Also there was the small matter of William & Mary already having an extremely good writer of its own. Not to mention the fact that I had, to my shame, never watched more than twenty minutes of the show.

‘No, no,’ said the producer impatiently as if I were one of Mr Gradgrind’s slower pupils, ‘We’re thinking of developing something LIKE William and Mary because THAT’S WHAT THEY WANT.’

‘Ah, right’ I said dimly, wondering what had happened to the idea I had been pitching not five minutes ago, which tragically for me, bore no relationship to William and Mary, either historically or comedically. ‘Only it’s a bit different from… I mean to say, I’m not sure that it’s really where I want to be going right now.’

Ouch ouch ouch ouch.

‘I mean, that’s erm, that’s why…’ I’m stammering like a fool now,’…that’s why I came to you with this idea…’ I flap my hands vaguely in the direction of the pitch document, ‘which I’m afraid isn’t really in William and Mary territory. Sorry.’

‘You see,’ the Producer’s assistant piped up, eyes shining. ‘What they want – WHAT THEY WANT – is stuff that’s a bit like things they have already… only different.’

I could see the brilliant, undeniable logic of what he was saying, but in that moment I could think of nothing either witty or devastating; I just parroted like a fool.

‘Something they have already… but different… hmmm.  Interesting.’

‘The One Thing We Don’t Want is any more Cops or Docs’

They do.

‘No One Is Interested In TV Shows About actors, writers or the television industry.’

This is undoubtedly true.  There are no successful shows about TV writers, TV comedy actors, impressionists eating fine food, extras, people trying to get shows commissioned, people writing soaps, advertising or newsrooms.  They just don’t happen.

I gave your script to a friend/my kids/the girl who does my nails to get a second opinion.’

Well of course Lisa Holdsworth is one quick thinking and smart cookie, so she wisely responds with: ‘It’s always good to see things through a fresh pair of eyes’.

My resemblance to the mythical cookie, however, extends only to the crumbs at the bottom of the packet.

A long time ago in a script meeting far, far away…  myself and a few writers – and an executive from a large broadcasting organisation – were summoned by a famously powerful producer for a first draft meeting on a block of scripts that were due to headline a new prime time TV series.  The producer turned to me and started with: ‘I showed your script to my driver…’

‘Oh yeah?’ I said brightly, happy to respond with a suitable platitude, with all the wisdom of She That Is Holdsworth.

But the producer reached into his jacket and pulled out a neatly folded sheet of A4, covered in dense scribbles. ‘And these…’ he unfolded the sheet slowly, deliberately, ‘…are his notes.’  And he proceeded to read to me, and to everyone else in the meeting (which included the script editor), the detailed notes of the company driver.

After about a quarter of a page of the ‘chauffeur edit’, I tentatively raised my hand. ‘Excuse me,’ I said, just a little tightly,’I’m sure your driver is a great bloke and everything.  And I’m sure he has some very genuine and useful opinions about what he sees on the television, but this is a first draft, and we do actually have a highly trained script editor here, and really, if your driver has the skills to shape these scripts that we’re trying to develop, perhaps we’d better ask him to leave his car and come up and exec the series, and [the executive from the major broadcaster] can go down and start a new career as your driver.’

The producer paused.  He narrowed his eyes, and refolded the paper… very slowly, and put it back in his jacket pocket.  I had the sense that I’d better check under my car from now on.

I lasted another three months on the show, and when we finally parted company, it was, believe it or not, a happy day.  Sadly I have to report that the series was not a success, and as far as I know, the driver is still plying his excellent motoring skills on the streets of our fine capital.

Reader – they do say the darndest things – but I make this plea to you – heed The Word Of The Holdsworth. Heed it, I tell you!





My Confession: ‘I Have Killed – And I Will Doubtless Kill Again’.


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I realise that I have broken the first rule of blogging by posting once and then leaving it for ages.  I could pathetically blame the radiotherapy which has laid me out (it’s that or the medication) or take this opportunity to tell the world about my crimes, and my guilty conscience.  I could try to lay low, pull my hat down low and my collar up, but seeing as 4.4million people tuned in last Tuesday 1st April 2014 and collectively gasped (it trended on Twitter for about the length of a gasp) as a regular character was brutally mown down in her nuptial prime, I think the best thing I can do is confess that not only was I the author of the narrative that drove that truck (and not jealous love rival Jac Naylor as some Twitter wags have suggested) but feeling rotten as I was, it cheered me up no end.  Which possibly makes me some kind of psychopath – and a serial psychopath at that (Serial?  See what I did there?).  And like all serial killers I seem to be developing an MO.

Holby’s Bonnie Wallis about to meet her doom…

I first got the taste for blood back in 2000 when I was asked by Kieran Roberts, the then producer of the itv Yorkshire village soap Emmerdale, to deal Butch Dingle a lethal blow, courtesy of a seventeen ton truck which would conveniently land on top of a minibus full of much loved characters – and Malandra Burrows (NO!!  I take that back!  Malandra is lovely, just couldn’t resist a cheap gag). Admittedly it was left to my brilliant writer friend Karin Young to dispatch the (very good) actor Paul Loughran unto the great post-soap panto-contract in the sky, but I was the one to give him the deliciously terminal injury.  I can’t even argue that it was a crime of passion.  No, this character assassination required meticulous planning.

The seventeen ton truck on top of a minibus thing was a given.   I was never quite sure why… perhaps there was a job lot of heavy duty stunts available that year.  However, having handed me a seventeen ton murder weapon, the production team then revealed that the most obvious bit of road through the exterior Emmerdale lot at Harewood House was unavailable to us because it had been built above a primary water main and because the road was only a pretend road and did not conform to public highway building specs, dropping said truck upon it would most likely fracture the pipes and deprive the north of Leeds of its water supply.  And so, a convoluted chain of events, a bit like a plot line out of Final Destination, had to be constructed in order to get the truck and the minibus to interface fatally somewhere vaguely recognisable as our primary location.

The minibus was another problem.  Why were all our characters in the minibus in the first place?  The story office obliged with a plot line about Alan Turner running a minibus service into the local town (can’t for the life of me remember why) which would have done the trick, apart from it being well established that all the characters had their own cars and rarely used public transport.  So, the first half of the episode consisted of a lot of scenes of people complaining about their cars needing to go into the garage.

Back to the truck, whose brakes had failed (What??  It happens!!), which needed to leave the main road and drive around a tight corner at speed (in order not to linger over the water main) in order to leap into the air and then fall upon the unsuspecting Emmerdalians. So a few strategically placed children were all that was needed to encourage the driver – Kirk Smith – to choose the path of destruction rather than the safer one of the main road to Hotten straight ahead though empty fields where he could crash with impunity. ‘Leap into the air…?’ I hear you repeat uncertainly.  We all know that trucks do this quite naturally, especially when the load hasn’t been secured properly inside and sways about a bit.  Should this happen then the truck will fly over as if a compressed air concrete pile driver has been ejected through a specially pre-fabricated hole in the bottom of the chassis in order to ensure the vehicle tips exactly on cue.

There was only one opportunity to film this, and so five cameras were rolling as the stunt was executed meticulously, and the truck landed as planned on a minibus occupied with suitably attired dummies (insert your own joke there about ‘why didn’t they use a stunt bus?’ – I’m not going to do it!).

It was actually a genuinely exciting stunt to watch, and when the dust had settled a burly technician commented that it was a good job that the bus was full of mannikins because clearly all the characters inside would have been killed instantly.  You can see here for yourself:

Later the same year, Kieran met me under a canal bridge at dusk to give me the details of my next hit, Emmerdale farmer’s wife, Sarah Sugden, who was to be having an affair with her toyboy, Richie, in the barn, just as her adopted son, Andy, decided that it would be a good idea to burn the place to the ground in order to collect on the insurance and sort out his adoptive dad’s financial problems.  Given this fatal confluence, you would have thought it unwise to leave a LARGE CYLINDER OF ACETYLENE by the door, which, should it explode, would send yet another soap actor hurtling towards panto land…. You can imagine my glee when I heard that the explosion had to be re-shot to make it more explodey!!   You can see the final result if you join at about 16 minutes into the episode:

I now had the smell of pink diesel on my hands… and it’s easy to forget that there are real consequences to these joyfully cathartic screen murders.  For a start – panto jokes aside – it usually means that someone has lost a steady income stream, which can be a scary thing for an actor, especially if they’ve been on a soap for a long time.  Hopefully though it’s a natural end to a contract and they’re happy to go out with a bang.  And if they’re iconic enough there’s always the chance that they will return from the dead, like Kim Tate in Emmerdale and Dirty Den in EastEnders.  Conversely, they can make the mistake, as one well known (but unnamed) soap actor did, of getting drunk at a party and insulting both me and the series producer, after which he and I looked at each other and said, simultaneously, and without prompting: ‘Over a cliff.’

Fast forward 13 years – and having written regularly for Casualty and Holby City – I’ve seen off countless guest characters who I dispatch with the callous disregard of a drive by shootist – even if I feign sadness for them at the time.

If you stop to think about it, this is majorly dysfunctional behaviour.

But just when you think you’ve killed so much that it has become no more than an itch to scratch (my daughter says that you can always tell when a Holby patient is going to die, because they have the holiday of a lifetime planned, or they’ve just planted something in their garden that’s due to bear fruit next year), someone offers you a contract that truly stirs the blood again.  Last year I was commissioned to write Episode 25, Series 16 of Holby City in which love torn senior Nurse, Jonny Maconie would finally prise himself free of icy, damaged cardiothoracic consultant, Jac Naylor, and marry Bonnie Wallis, the nurse who has held a torch for him ever since they met at Nursing College.  Just as everyone starts to think that he has jilted her at the register office, Jonny turns up in a taxi, short of a fiver.  As Bonnie crosses the road to give him some change, wondering if this is what it’s going to be like for the next forty years…. BAM!

So here’s the interesting thing.

Conventional writing wisdom has it, that to kill a character randomly at the end of a story is a cheat – a deus ex machinae – that will leave the audience frustrated and annoyed.  If you’re going to kill them randomly it has to be at the beginning of the story, as an inciting incident, or else their death needs to be earned through a suitable confluence of plot so as to be narratively satisfying.  However, in this instance, the good burghers of Holby City editorial team had decided that Bonnie’s demise needed to be a cruel and ironic twist – and most importantly, embargoed to scare the willies out of the audience.

This created a genuine challenge. How to seed the event enough to earn it, but still to have it seemingly come out of a clear blue side road?

The solution seemed to be to suffuse the whole episode with a sense of impending doom… from calling it ‘The Cruellest Month’ (it was transmitted on April Fools Day – irony and a literary reference all in one, folks) to peppering the script with casual references to car crashes and collisions – to building up the expectation that Jonny and Bonnie’s wedding was ill fated from the start.  Except that right at the last minute, we solve the problem that has been dogging Jonny throughout and hit the couple with a truck instead.  Yes it IS a narrative cheat, but it doesn’t feel like one because the audience have been building up to something for 55 minutes, and so it’s actually both satisfying and surprising when it happens, but not in the way they expect.

The other trick is to make sure that the ‘surprise’ death fulfils the story imperatives of the narrative – e.g. Jonny has been saving up saying ‘I Love You’ to his bride to be until after the wedding, so it’s satisfying that when he finally gets to say it, it is to her dead body – and it becomes an inciting incident for more story.

So in many ways, counter to all my normal instincts, this has to be the most satisfying, least contrived and genuinely shocking death of a TV character I’ve had the privilege to write.  I hope the lovely actress who played her, Carlyss Peer, can forgive me.

And much as I resist such cheesy notions, it’s hard to avoid the fact that I wrote the script while going through scans and biopsies for life threatening health condition, so perhaps the idea if being hit from left-field felt more real for me than it ever had done before.  Which does go to show, that although, as writers, we play with the lives and deaths of our characters like careless puppeteers, life can play with us just as carelessly.

If you haven’t seen it – Holby City – The Cruellest Month – might possibly still be lurking round on YouTube…

Until next time….  take care crossing the road.


The marmoset has landed


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Soooo…. you know how it is. People have been banging on at you for years to start a blog, or a website, but it keeps sinking to the sludgy, guilt ridden bottom of your ‘to do’ list (somewhere just above ‘write novel’). But you think, ‘well, I’m busy, actually writing plays and TV shows and directing things and playing online scrabble’ so frankly you should be proud of yourself for having better things to do. Then, as chance would have it, you are temporarily incapacitated by a spot of cancer, and frankly you’re not feeling up to much what with all the pills and radiation and shit (the latter being the most painful).

The thing about cancer is that it involves many things – fear, stress, hilarity, love, camaraderie, loss of dignity, more loss of dignity and lots of sitting around feeling generally a bit crap and somewhat disinclined to do any real work.  You’re not doing very well at this being ill malarkey, and keep wandering off to the local Co-op where you nearly nearly keel over at the checkout into the basket of cut price malt loaf.  And then when you get home your wife of just nine months tells you off for over doing it, as does your sister, and it’s only when you tell your somewhat wonderful niece about your frustrations that she texts you and says: ‘What you need, Uncle Martin, is a PROJECT. Why don’t you start a blog?’

So for want of a good reason not to, now seemed to be the ideal time.

The blogging guides recommend that you set out a kind of manifesto in your first blog, something to aim for.

Well… I like a good rant (as any of my Facebook friends will testify), but I also like to analyse and interrogate the world around me; culture, politics and other assorted collisions with life.   I travel a lot, so occasionally I’ll do a bit of travel writing…. And then there’s the day job.  Hopefully I can find some vaguely original things to say about writing, directing and miscellaneous other media tartery.

So let’s see how it goes, and whether the blogging itch persists beyond the dreary indolence of cancer.   Or whether what I write is something you guys are going to want to read, and not just an exercise in solo air trombone.

Oh yes, and ‘Ninja Marmoset’?


That’s probably the other reason I decided finally to dive into the world of bloggery.  I had guessed that my usual online moniker ‘Smartartz’ would doubtless be taken, and so when, a few weeks ago, my old friend, George Dillon, pointed out that Martin Jameson could be rearranged to suggest a cuddly new world monkey with pugilistic tendencies, it did seem to offer a more than appropriate blog-moniker.


Like I say: ‘You know how it is….’