Friday, 23 May 2008


I'm full of nostalgia today, and I've just suddenly remembered something that really made me laugh.

I once had a "wacky" idea for a sitcom based on the lives of the Beat writers/poets living in Tangiers in the 50's/60's. Any shit biography of Ginsberg, Kerouac, Burroughs (especially) will wax lyrical about the escapades of the Beats in North Africa. Very exotic, very liberal and very, very cheap, Morocco was the No.1 destination for any self-respecting artist with a penchant for cheap weed and sodomy. Burroughs famously produced the manuscript of Naked Lunch in Tangiers, whilst the rest of his mates spent a lot of their time conducting either elaborate experiments with tape recorders or attempting to harness the power of ozone (don't ask). For the most part they were all completely fucking pissed.

Anyway, my sitcom idea revovled around all these boozey bohemian exploits. I seem to remember a storyline where Jack Kerouac drunkly falls asleep naked on his latest novel. The manuscript is ruined, however the ink has been transferred on to his arse and has to ask Burroughs to help him transcribe it. In walks sage old Paul Bowles*, shocked and appalled to find Bill peering up Jack's arsehole with a pen in his hand, and so unfolds a "hilarious" comedy of errors. I even had Thomas Pynchon in there as a recurring character. He'd be in the corner of a bar behind a newspaper - we never see his face, just the collar and cuffs of his navy uniform- a bit like Wilson in Home Improvement.
[Actually, if me old mate Lisa is reading this, can you remember any more details about this? Ha ha - remember our Holy Grail-themed nightclub, The Chapel Perilous? Genius.]

So, do I get my own series or what?

* I bloody love Paul Bowles. Go and read his short stories. They're fucking incredible.

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