til Death


So here we are at the end of the year, hell at the end of the decade and …

Actually, when does the decade end? Is 2010 the end of this decade or the beginning of the next one? Tricky number, zero. Still, fuck it. If the Romans couldn’t get to grips with it then why the fuck should I? I mean, they built roads and shit while all I’ve ever done is push buttons on a keyboard … and even that I do pretty badly.

Mind you, have you seen the roads in Rome? Shockingly bad. Fuck knows how those people supplied an empire.

But I digress.

Did you have a good Christmas? Did Santa bring you everything you wanted? I asked for World Domination and some French Fancies but the fat git failed on both counts. How was 2009 in general? Mine went almost exactly like this:


I realised we were living in the 21st Century … nine years after the fact.

Discovered Oli stops reading when he reaches his own name and then talked briefly about magic puppies with Lego faces.

Tries to get someone to hold my hand.

Learnt, once again, communicating by email results in appalling scripts and that the more notes someone has for you, the better the script is.

Revealed I had a BIG IDEA … with no time to write it.

Had a pile of work, so massive and so daunting … I decided to fuck everyone off and go to Disney Land instead.

Didn’t go to Disney Land, just knuckled down and attacked the pile of work.

Talked about a Writer’s Vision – basically how to lie in order to get money.

Revealed to the world that Satan talks to me through the TV and told me I have to leave Pipex and sign up to Sky Broadband or he’s going to make me rape, kill and eat next door’s babies.

Fielded an email from an American Production company looking for something almost exactly like the BIG IDEA. It’s right easy this marketing lark – you just sit there and wait for them to call you.

And then saw Seven Pounds and got depressed because I can’t write like that.


Had a pointless conversation with an Air Hostess in the middle of a forest.

Got bored.

Decided, more or less on a whim, never to speak to anyone ever again.

Named and alphabetised my T-shirts.

Decided I didn’t want to be in Battlestar Galactica.

Revealed my obsession with Creative Screenwriting Podcasts.

Got confused about Easter.

And got bored once more, this time by Benjamin Button. Fuck it, if he doesn’t pay any interest in his own life, why should I?


Failed to blog about THE A TEAM V DAD’S ARMY and DAISY DOGNUTS. No, I have no idea what that means either.

Talked about the technical difficulties involved in writing a script … although for the life of me I can’t remember which fucking script I was talking about. I may have been making shit up to make myself seem cool.

Shit a solid gold brick.

Explained why this:

Made me into a writer.

Discovered a clone of me from the future used to stalk me in the past.

Got attacked by a T-Rex and rescued by Spiderman.

Got nominated for a Rose d’Or. Sort of.

Met up with Lara Greenway and Terry Wogan in Madam Tussauds.

Got emails from actors asking if they could be in a film I didn’t write. Only to find out I may have written bits of it, sort of.

Realised I could carry all my scripts around on my phone, all the time.

Got annoyed about mugs and companies who sell themselves as cool without actually telling you what their products do. Like Apple.

And offered to buy people lunch.


Got nominated for a BAFTA. Actually, this has nothing to do with me.

Dropped an imaginary phone into an imaginary vat of home brew at Dan Turner’s imaginary house.

Wrote a script to an extremely complicated and prescriptive set of rules. Rules which the producer who set them immediately complained about.

Karma Magnet came out as a DVD extra.

Pimped some stuff for someone else.

Got fucking angry about the media’s ‘information’ about Swine Flu and declared it was all fucking bullshit and no one was going to die from it. Bird Flu, anyone?

Warned people their ideas would make a 90 page script into a 180 page script. They didn’t listen, I wrote the script, they got upset.

And filming started on a sitcom pilot … so I hid in Crouch End.

Wow, nothing really happened in April, did it?


Got annoyed about story drops – the point in a film/TV thing where you could stop watching and not feel like you’d missed the next hour.

Got really unreasonably upset about MOMENTS LATER. That must have been a particularly bad day.

Just for the Record began filming. I went to hide in the Caribbean and got sucked off by an air steward in First Class. There was a video of that and everything … but I seem to have lost it.

Got a phone call from the Mail on Sunday who wanted to talk to me about not being in Cannes.

Took a meeting in a room chock full of little rubber pigs – every single one of which bore a sticker proudly proclaiming: THIS IS NOT A TOY

Went to Nuneaton. Never again.

Apparently I went on holiday somewhere, but for the life of me I can’t remember where.

Oh, and I bought a new laptop:

Touchy touchy!


Came over all positive for a moment and said some nice things. Hopefully that was just a phase.

Launched Jack Tweed’s movie career. Great.

Went to the Screenwriters’ Festival and drew some sperm:

Muttered something about being forced to promote stuff even when I thought it was shit

Saw a preview/promo for Fleeced:

Saw a trailer for Just for the Record … which has since been removed. Damn.

Saw a poster for Just for the Record … which has since been binned.

Tried to make sense of Spatulas, Iguanas and a fruitbowl.

Attacked a man on the bus so I could rip this page from his paper:

Because of this paragraph:

Which is about a sitcom pilot I co-wrote.

And came over all nice again and promoted other people’s short films.


Finally explained about the movable goalposts of excitement.

Held a meeting in a street which was on fire.

Attended a screening of Splendid. It was.

Got hassled by an all female Squad of pissed up Motown fans. One of whom insisted she was a natural blonde with the landing strip to prove it who went on to kick me in the chest with a spiked heel. I quite enjoyed that day.

Got angry about morons giving James Moran a hard time for writing good telly.

Did this:

For these people:

Deleted more than I wrote.

Ran out of ways to procrastinate and very nearly had to do some work.

And saw the trailer for the sitcom pilot I co-wrote:


Oh, and a music video from the same:

Another trailer for Just for the Record. This one’s still there!

Took part in a three-way conference call between New York, Barbados and Crawley. (I was in Barbados, but strangely my car was in Crawley).

Was told I wasn’t allowed to photograph an imaginary gorilla and used it as an excuse to show this trailer again:

Finally realised (but haven’t fully accepted) that NO ONE FUCKING CARES ABOUT SCRIPT FORMAT.

Confessed I frequently imagine I’m Steve McQueen.

And tried to work out what I wanted out of the SWF.


Are we all still here? Are you as bored as I am yet? Yes? Good, moving on.

Saw a trailer for Exposé.

Signed contracts and received feedback for the BIG IDEA. Wait, did I mention I sold the BIG IDEA without trying? No, not to the American Production company, but to a different American Production company. Actually, my friend sold it for me without my permission or knowledge. Suits me, as long as I don’t have to do any work.

Made some cats out of blue icing.

Talked about two adaptations and how they’d missed the fucking point. Since I’m now working on two adaptations I look forward to people throwing that blog back in my face.

The Dutch gave me some money, via the BBC.

So did Sweden, Denmark, Italy, America and Russia.

And, for reasons which escape me, babbled about furniture for far too long.

Is that it? Is that all I did in September? Was it a short month this year?


Hooray! This is nearly over and I can go and do something more interesting!

In October, I lost my rag with Microsoft.

Got suckered into thinking this was a real school orchestra:

Got stuck in a rant about designing cars and then bought one to cheer myself up.

And … that’s it? That’s fucking it? What the fuck was I doing in October?


Went to the Screenwriters’ Festival – fannyed around, didn’t really make the most of it and met a lot of nice people. Like Hayley McKenzie – she’s lovely. Oh, and I compared cock size with Simon Beaufoy. I’m not telling you who won.

Masturbating monkeys … I still don’t really want to talk about that.

Tried to sell my car via my blog. Bizarrely, I actually sold it in absolute darkness, during a storm and a power cut to two Eastern Europeans who paid cash and didn’t want to test drive or even inspect it.

Got all mellow and wibbly over stuff like this:

Wrote an open letter to directors.

Wrote an open letter to writers.

Wrote an open letter to producers.

Hmm … looks like I did more in November than October but still, come on! Have I really been too busy to blog?

Yes, I have as it happens …


 Moaned a lot about writing constantly without actually writing any scripts.

Pointed out the target audience for a script is the producer and the director, not the people who pay to go and see a film. That’s the target audience for a film.

Spoke to a wall.

And that was it. That’s the entire fucking year.

I can’t help noticing the beginning of the year involved a lot more blogging than the end of the year. I’m sorry about that (unless you hate my blog, then I’m happy for you) but I have been exceedingly busy. I’m currently working on four feature scripts as well as keeping all the other plates spinning and blogging has become an expensive luxury.

January and February 2010 promise to be absolutely fucking mental and possibly completely impossible – but hopefully once this lot is out of the way, normal blogging service will be resumed.

And by normal service I mean me talking shit in extremely long-winded, ill-thought out and ill-advised posts.

Happy New Year to you all, see you in the next decade!

Or maybe the last year of this decade … depending on how you count it.

Categories: BBC, BBC Sketch Show, Bored, Career Path, Exposé, Festivals, Fleeced, Industry Musings, Just for the Record, Karma Magnet, LVJ, My Way, Progress, Publicity, Random Witterings, Rants, Sad Bastard, Software, Someone Else's Way, That Band, The Wrong Door, Things I've Learnt Recently, til Death, Two steps back, Writing and life | 1 Comment


Apologies for the blog-absence, but I’ve been doing this:

Red boot

… for these people:


And really haven’t had the time. However, I’m back now with sleeves rolled up (which looks frankly ridiculous since I’m currently wearing a T-shirt) and ready to get back to work.

How are you all?

Have you been keeping well?

If you enjoyed the last post about turd-rattlingly crazy fans, why not become one yourself?

The following link is to the fan page for my probably-next-to-be-filmed feature film, ’til Death. The clever folks in charge are asking if you’d like to become fans, here:


Personally, I think it’s fucking mental to become a fan of something you’ve never seen and which currently doesn’t exist; but I’ve done it anyway since I should at least pretend to be supporting my own career. If you feel the urge to do the same, that would be lovely.

Thank you in advance.

Categories: Sad Bastard, til Death | 2 Comments

Spinning plates

I finished film number three in the Easter Extravaganza on Sunday. So far it’s all going swimmingly, I even managed Saturday off for Mandy and I to catch my brother’s play in London. Here’s a vaguely Danish video link:


If you accidentally find yourself in Copenhagen in the next week or so, I highly recommend it.

I’ve got one more film to go now before Easter and plenty of time to do it in.

Sort of.

Because the problem is, the workload for each script doesn’t finish when you send it off. It’s just not that simple. It really is a case of setting the plates spinning then rushing back and forth occasionally to make sure they keep going. With each successive project set in motion it gets harder to keep them going, but so far it’s been remarkably easy.

Which worries me a bit.

A quick recap – four feature films before Easter:

Plate #1 – is a sword and sorcery re-write I’d been nibbling at since the last meeting in September. This was a major re-write which changed pretty much every word in the script. I finished this on the 3rd of March and so far haven’t heard anything back. This could be innocuous and just means producer and director haven’t had time to read it yet (we’re all busy) or it could be bad and they’re sitting around trying to work out how to tell me how truly awful it is. Either way, it’s a plate which has been spinning unaided for a long time and is beginning to look a bit suspicious …

Plate #2 – is ’til Death which had a minor re-write somewhere around the 5th and 6th of March in between me fucking about with Legoat my parents’ house. That draft was well loved but has generated some new ideas which I’ll get told at a meeting on Friday, and that means another minor re-write. In addition, the one-pager (logline and synopsis) no longer reflects the script so that has to be changed to match. It’s not the end of the world, we’re talking a couplle of days to do both but it’s a wobbling plate which needs a quick flick.

Plate #3 – was the solid gold brick shat by a producer and I a couple of weeks back and the one I finished on Sunday. Which, since I only started it on Wednesday and had Saturday off, surprised the hell out of me. No outline, no planning, no cards, notes, character outlines, treatment or synopsis – just sit down, start at the beginning and write with the central premise in mind. Not something I’d recommend, but it seemed to fit the style of the project. I was on a bit of a roll with that, finished it at 23.06 on Sunday and handed it in safe in the knowledge I could forget about it for a few days at least. I’ve only just started it spinning, I don’t need to do anything for a while …

Except I get an email at 00.07 on Monday morning – the producer had read it. One hour and one minute later! The plate’s wobbling already! Crap, it might fall off before it even gets going. Worse still, he might have an immediate set of notes which interfere with moving on to plate #4 … but no. He read it, he laughed, he liked it. Meeting on Friday to discuss the next draft.


I’m ahead of the game!

So Mandy and I buggered off to New York for a few days. We saw the Statue of Liberty:

Statue of Liberty

Carrie Bradshaw’s house:

Mandy at Carrie's

Real movie steam:


Went to Times Square:

Times Square

And had a drink in a revolving restaurant:


Shortly after that we got attacked by a T-Rex:


But luckily, Spidey turned up to save the day:


And all was well in the Big Apple. Which is neither big nor Apple-ish. It is quite tall though.

Whilst queing endlessly for the ferry out to the Statue of Liberty and having to strip naked to get through the x-ray machine, it occurred to me terrorists are badly named. On September the 11th I imagine there were quite a lot of terrified people – but within a year that terror gives way to being bloody annoyed. “Why have I got to take my belt off? What the fuck do you think I’m hiding there? I was a child when I joined this queue.”

They should call them annoyingists, not terrorists. They’d get the same effect if they just followed people around and hummed all day or snuck up behind people and licked their ears – it’d be cheaper, kinder to the environment, nobody would have to die and it would have exactly the same impact on society.

Anyway, we’re back now and it’s time to set plate #4 in motion – a completely new feature project this and terribly exciting. I may even have to break out the new pack of index cards.

As long as nothing else wobbles in the meantime.

Categories: My Way, Progress, Random Witterings, Rants, Sad Bastard, til Death | 2 Comments

Did I shit a solid gold brick?

Sort of.

The first meeting was very successful, the one about ’til Death (one I almost missed due to Stuart Perry), where lots of good and better ideas were thrown around. The kind of meeting where the only question really asked is “Why’s this character doing this?” If there’s a good answer, move on. If not, why not? These kind of meetings aren’t about lack of clarity in the script, there’re about making absolutely sure writer and director have the same opinion about the motivations of the characters.

Just in case anyone asks any awkward questions.

Afterwards I made my way to the next meeting, a meeting which promised mystery, surprises, laughter, madness and me shitting a solid gold brick. So, pants in hand, I ventured into the lions’ den …

Which is a weird place to hold a meeting. You probably don’t know this, but lions are incredible know-it-alls and have an opinion on *everything*. After I’d had my hair, my clothes, my shoes, my laptop, my use of language and my opposable thumbs criticised, we moved the meeting to a bar which was much quieter.

Fucking lions.

On the way to the meeting I kept thinking about what might happen. I knew we were meeting to discuss a troubled project and how it could possibly be saved. I knew the producer had an idea he claimed was the greatest idea ever, part madness, part genius and one which would really appeal to my sense of humour.

I’m not that fussed about madness or genius, but I like things which appeal to my sense of humour. So while I’m musing about these things I remember how little I like superlatives.

At least, not when someone else is using them.

Basically, I want my idea to be better, madder, more genius-er and more humourously appealing than his. He’s the god damn producer – I’m the writer. Ideas are my domain, he should stick to schmoozing, raising money and trying to sleep with actresses.

So I tried to think of a better idea. What would be so outrageous his idea would seem pitiful by comparison? Obviously we’d still do his idea because he’s the producer and it’s his film; but I want to chuck something into conversation first which makes his idea seem sane, rational and boring by comparison.

Mulling over the nature of the problem and the possible causes (of which there are many) … I had the idea.

No, that doesn’t do it justice.


No, still not good enough.


Right. That last ‘THE IDEA’ is supposed to be in really big letters, a funky colour and flashing.

But it’s not.

Fuck it, you’re mostly writers. Use your imagination.

I get to the pub (the bit about the lions’ den was a lie) and after all the usual pleasantries – you know, what do you want to drink? That’s a nice jacket? My have you lost weight? Usual stuff – we get onto the meat and potatoes …

After the meal, we were ready to talk.

“So,” he says, breaking all the conventions about starting speeches with the word ‘so’ … “do you want to hear the biggest, craziest, bestest idea about how to fix the problem you’ve ever heard in your or anyone else’s life?”

“Yes, but I’ve got an idea too.”

“It won’t be better than mine.”

“We’ll see about that.” I gloat unnecessarily …

And I tell him my idea …

Which, as it turns out, was exactly the same as his idea – to the letter … and the five exclamation marks at the end of the pitch.

And the rest of the meeting was a flurry of laughter and stupid ideas about how best to realise the monumentally stupid solution, whilst both of us squirmed with discomfort. After all, it’s hard to be comfortable when you’ve both just shit a solid gold brick.

Categories: Progress, Random Witterings, Sad Bastard, til Death | 11 Comments


I’ve finally finished the script I’ve been avoiding working on since September.

Not deliberately avoiding, just getting side tracked with other projects. I really must learn to say no occasionally.

Anyway, it’s done now and what a pain in the arse the last few pages were. Story wise it was fine, but the characters keep swapping bodies which makes it bastard hard to identify them on the page. On screen it’ll be obvious …

Hmm …

On screen I hope it’ll be obvious who’s who. Which you can also read as ‘I hopethe script makes it as far as the screen’ – nothing’s certain in this crazy old world.

So a character who starts out as Bob, ends up in Mabel’s body*. Do you label that as:


It’s a mine field. Especially if Mabel then ends up in Bob’s body and you have:




Doesn’t exactly paint a clear mental image, does it?

In the end I did a mixture of everything and then reinforced it with lots of action which referred to Bob’s feminine hands or Mabel’s hairy back. But then I had to write a new scene where


locked himself (herself) in the toilet while


banged on the door shouting:

"Stop playing with my tits."

For an hour.

Then it got really complicated when Bob and Mabel ended up inside the same body. At which point I just killed everyone and called it a day.

Bob and Mabel are fucking dead, it's over.

So there we are. One script down for the Easter bonanza – two more to go.

Tomorrow holds two meetings in store: one about final notes for ’til Death and the other about … I don’t know. It’s a mystery meeting where, according to the producer, he has to be looking me in the eyes when he tells me what it’s about. HAS TO. There is no other option and apparently I’ll shit a solid gold brick with excitement.

Which will be lovely.

I must remember to take a change of underwear.

* Names changed to protect the pointless.

Categories: Progress, til Death | 9 Comments

No more

Right, that’s it. No more procrastinating, no more dithering, no more picking aimlessly at bits of script.

In short, no more fannying around.

It seems to me I’ve achieved nothing particularly useful (writing wise) in the last half a year or so and have spent far too long not doing it. So no more.

From now on I’m back to just knuckling down and getting on with … oh look, Stargate’s on.

No, God damn it! No more Stargate. No more Simpsons. No more Battlestar Galactica … well, maybe I’ll just finish season 2 and then … definitely no more.

Except maybe season 3.

But after that, back to work baby.

With a vengeance.

Is there a season 4?

No, fuck season 4.


The script I’ve been picking randomly at since September – that’s going to be finished by March the 4th at the latest. No, shut up, no excuses. It’s going to be finished by March the 4th. Do you hear me, me? Am I listening to myself?

Why March the 4th? Because that’s when the meeting for the final(ish) set of notes for the final(ish) draft of  ’til Death is. And after March the 4th, I’m going to be busy with the final(ish) draft, obviously.

After that I’m working on a new script based on an old idea which has once again reared its malformed and, frankly, just plain weird head. It’s got everything – sex, death and … um … fish.

Actually, not so much fish. Mostly just sex and death.

Without the sex.

Okay, it’s just a lot of death.

But it’s got the whiff of sex all the way through it (which I’ve always thought smells a bit like telephones – you know, the old dial up ones). The treatment feels like the characters might spontaneously burst into sex at any minute … but probably won’t.

In fact they don’t. I know they don’t. I wrote the treatment. Four fucking years ago.

So no sex.

Just death.

And Nazis.

But not real ones.

Maybe in Jersey.

The country, not a pullover. That would be weird.

Although probably quite warm.

And that script WILL be done by Easter.

Why Easter?

Why fucking not?

When is Easter?

I don’t care. It will be done by Easter, whenever it fucking is, or there’ll be hell to pay.

If it existed.

Which it doesn’t.

Seriously, when is Easter?

Why did I agree to this?

Categories: My Way, Random Witterings, Rants, Sad Bastard, til Death | 5 Comments

From script to treatment

Sometime in the near past (I lose track of days. I know it wasn’t yesterday or the day before but beyond that escapes me) I re-wrote the treatment for ’til Death to match the script.

A bit cock about face, I know; but since the latest draft bears very little resemblance to the original treatment and the treatment is sometimes part of the sales pack, amendments were needed.

As it turns out it’s quite a useful technique. By going through the script and summarising each scene – what happens and why – you  get a better insight into your story. Instead of reading each scene and then summarising it, I just glanced at it briefly and then wrote down what I thought it was about, how it moves the story on and what the characters were doing and why.

Only after I’d written the scene in the treatment do I go back and compare it to the script. Occasionally I find information I’d intended to be in the scene was missing, or obscure, or the characters’ motivations just weren’t clear enough. Often I’d be convinced a certain line of dialogue was in the scene only to find out it wasn’t but bloody well should be.

For one scene I couldn’t remember for the life of me what it was meant to be about or why the characters were doing the things they were. Closer examination failed to reveal any hints so the whole scene got cut and no one will ever miss it.

It’s a pretty valuable exercise – comparing what you’ve written with what you think you’ve written and one I would recommend to absolutely no one; because, although it is useful and does reveal a fair amount of interesting things about your script … Christ, it’s fucking boring.

So boring in fact I can’t remember when I did it or how long it took. That mind-numbing process robbed me of a day. Take my advice, don’t do it unless you’re having problems sleeping. Or you’re absolutely positive all the paint in your house is dry and there’s nothing else to watch. I tried to liven things up by jabbing myself in the leg with a compass but even that failed to break the monotony.

Next time I’m defintely, definitely just getting the treatment right in the first place.

Categories: My Way, Things I've Learnt Recently, til Death | 2 Comments

No Disneyland for Phill

Common sense has prevailed and I’ve actually done some writing instead of running away. The list so far stands at:

Adjust ’til Death for budget, location and cast.

The writer’s vision.

Alter the treatment to match the script.

A sketch for a theatre project.

A list of episodes for a TV series with a brief synopsis of each.

A re-write to a sitcom pilot.

And the rest of the re-write to my sword and sorcery epic.

Not massive inroads perhaps, but inroads all the same.

Categories: Progress, til Death | 7 Comments


I’ve got a lot on my plate at the moment and all of it has to be done NOW. Perhaps before now. In fact, it has to be done quicker than it takes to write the word ‘now’.

I finished the third draft of ’til Death last week and handed it in, the response was almost immediate – it’s spot on. Does that mean it’s finished and ready to go?

Sadly, no. Although there shouldn’t be any more major story tweaks. From now on it’s just adjusting for budget, location and cast. Plus adding in the list of little images which spring to mind while I’m idly hitting people with sticks or swords.

On top of that there’s the supporting material – the writer’s vision, which, as usual, was me sitting on a large pile of money. Strangely, they won’t let me write that and I have to dress it up a little; and since the latest draft of the script is dramatically different from the treatment, I also have to alter the treatment to fit.

For those of you who don’t write treatments at all, it is sometimes a necessary skill – the treatment sometimes gets packaged with the script in order to secure financing so it’s a skill we all need to master. True I could probably get someone else to do it for me, but since it’s my words (in script form) the treatment is trying to sell, I’d rather it was my words in the treatment doing the selling.

Also on the list are:

A sketch for a theatre project I’ve been promising to do and haven’t quite managed yet.

A list of episodes for a TV series with a brief synopsis of each.

A re-write to a sitcom pilot.

And the rest of the re-write to my sword and sorcery epic – which isn’t actually at the bottom of the list, honest.

There’s quite a lot of work there and it’s all pending immediately. The sketch is a quick one when I can squeeze it in but the rest are a bit more complicated. The treatment re-jigging is a boring but necessary slog, the writer’s vision is hard because I don’t have any, the episode synopses – although brief – need a lot of thought to make sure they all make sense and tie in together, and the two re-writes are … well, re-writes. These things take time.

The key component in all of these isn’t really the writing time, it’s the thinking time. Writing is the last stage and the literal tip of the literary iceberg.

I used to have this theory: when your available resources won’t cover the tasks required, the best course of action is to bugger the lot of them and spend your resources on something which makes you happy.

I used to apply this primarily to money. If paying one bill still leaves five other final demands from people who want to take you to court, then fuck it – six final demands isn’t any worse than five and paying each of them a couple of quid is just insulting. It’s obviously a far superior strategy to spend the money on comics and damn the lot of them. A strategy which gained me a lot of comics and an extremely poor credit rating.

I’d like to think those days are behind me now, that I’m older, I’m wiser and I’m more mature. Sadly that’s just a delusion and faced with a mountain of work I’m taking the only sane option …

I’m off to Disney Land, who’s coming?

Categories: My Way, Progress, til Death | 12 Comments

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