Production Designer - Paddington2 & Paddington, Submarine, Lipstick on Your Collar, Karaoke, Wah-Wah, Bunny & the Bull, A Boy Called Christmas, Medusa Deluxe.
In 60’s Tories destroyed our railways with Beeching cuts claiming we couldn’t afford them so that we all had to buy cars and donors were paid to build roads.
In 80’s they ran down our industry and privatised utilities so big business benefited.
In 2010 they used financial crisis to birth austerity which began destruction of roads, NHS and public services.
They then harnessed the disgruntlement to deliver #Brexit to destroy absolutely everything.
Hope you enjoyed the first 2 eps of #C4Screw? Catch Eps 3 & 4 next Wed & Thurs on C4, or why not binge the lot this weekend? https://t.co/QXjrLPgHot
It’s up! New #drama#screw2 on @Channel4 produced by @stvstudios Written by the incredible master of character and thriller #robwilliams Featuring a formidable cast. An absolute blast to direct - series 1 up as well, if you need a catch up! Ep1 tonight, 9pm #donttrustanyone 👀
Off to Greece on holiday. Treated ourselves to business class @British_Airways - tickets bought in February. Arrive at Heathrow to find we’ve been bumped to economy. Story of my life…
A PAIN IN THE ARSE
Isabella suggested that I shouldn’t write a blog if it was going be too miserable and morbid. But this is how it is.
I left the previous hospital a few days ago. It was such a relief. It was a general hospital and a mad house. I might have said already that I was on a dementia and stroke ward which was noisy if not tragic.
I was taken in an ambulance to a hospital fifteen minutes down the road, to a new neurological ward, where they are used to patients like me with spinal injuries.
The room is small, grey and grim. There’s a TV on the wall opposite me which doesn’t work, despite Sachin’s efforts. The view to my left is of the sky and every two minutes a plane passes across the window, on it’s way to Heathrow. I think of the passengers packing up their things and getting ready to disembark. I wonder if I’ll ever go on an airplane again.
I’m still weak and in low spirits. I’m trying to eat despite my nausea. The doctor ordered an abdominal X-ray which demonstrated that I’m full of shit and heavily constipated. A clinical nurse stuck his finger up my ass to try and dislodge some of it, which gave me a tremendous pain which lasted all night and prevented me from sleeping. People pay good money for that. Two of my visitors made the same joke.
I still speak to my analyst on the phone, after years of silences and dreams, we’ve become more intimate. I tell him how much I love him after so long. I wonder whether he’d come here to visit me. He tells me to eat despite my disgust, and seems to believe that I can find some living force within myself, that I will not want to give up, as I so often feel like doing.
I had a visitor here yesterday, a good friend, and we were gossiping away happily when a more or less stranger walked in.
I recognised her of course but I barely know her and had no idea what her name was. Luckily she introduced herself. She’s a woman I see in the supermarket and on Brook Green when I am walking my dog. I would usually chat to her a little bit. She found out from a film producer film friend of mine where I was. She went to the previous hospital and was redirected here. We talked about films and politics and not long after she left for a pilates class.
It was strange to be visited in such intimate surroundings, in my pyjamas, barely able to speak by someone I hardly know. The friend who was here was annoyed on my behalf and said she should have called or texted but I don’t think she has my number. I wondered whether she was being kind or just inquisitive. She didn’t ask me much about myself. I’m not a kind of show. I’m happy for any company, but wonder if I should be annoyed.
I’m pleased to be out of the last place but my spirits are at rock bottom. It is quiet here. At night it is dead silent. When it gets dark I listen to Radio 4 and take sleeping pills. I try not think about my misfortunes, but they are mounting up. More and more is going wrong with my body.
At each examination they find something new which makes me worry. I can’t help wondering if I’m ever going to get out of this, or whether I’m going to die here. Sometimes I think about killing myself, by some kind of overdose. I wonder if it would be a relief. As I said to my friend David the other night, I feel I have been picked on and bullied, that somehow, someone has made a mistake and got the wrong person, that this is an injustice, and that someone will recognise that I have been hard done by, that this farce will end and will I return to my normal state.
But on the other hand I realise that this is not a mistake, that this is reality; that this has happened to me.
I have gone through the door and can never return. This is my fate. But at least I’m alive, even though I’m stuck in this small grey room, desperate to not be left alone. Frightened. Injured.
Your loving writer Hanif.
xx
Do go and see the amazing #Possession@arcolatheatre written by the brilliant @hailssasha (#malorytowers writer)
Based on incredible true events, a modern but enlightening play, with great cast and inspiring direction. Only two weeks left!