It's a while back now, but I caught Stephen Fry on "Shrink Wrap" being - I don't know, interviewed? analysed? - about his Issues... or rather about interviewer Dr. Pamela Connolly (ie Stephenson!)'s issues with his issues, which according to her, were the wrong ones. What I found so interesting was how little she believed him, and how undamaged he finally appeared. Yes, it's possible that Stephen Fry has been living in total denial of a condition which only a protacted series of television gigs can diagnose. It is also possible that nobody in television really wants to hear anything he has to say anymore and, rather than giving him a pen and paper, have given him a panel show and let him relegate himself from creative comic force to - pretty literally - the much drearier and much more passive position of Icon. At no point was he asked about his work, which regardless of the nature of the interview would seems to me both interesting and crucial (especially as he kept referring to fears that he was a workshy fop getting away with murder). He just kept getting asked about the bumming.
But this is really about the internet, and a pretty chilling thought I had at the bus-stop, which is why it's in today's post: Stephen Fry claims to be the second person ever to get online. Douglas Adams, he claims, was the first (I think that's it). Both thoroughly embraced this new technology in all its forms. Both are heroes to me and to many. What struck me waiting for the 35 however... what dropped my jaw... was this:
Come the invention of the internet, neither got much bloody writing done did they?
The "Whoozit Activity Spiral" by the way comes highly recommended by friend and collaborator Viv. It keeps Sofia quiet. That's Sofia below, not above, that's someone else's baby, from the internet. And that's not the Whoozit Activity Spiral that they're lying on either, it's the Whoozit Gym to Go, but I found the image and I thought: Ah, bright colours, spirals, hangy things... that's sort of what I'm trying to do with my room.
Boxes still unpacked. I spent most of today finally and exhaustively catching up with Mond's European adventures. On the internet. (I love him.) Not writing my synopsis for Puffin. Not writing songs for the Wambam Club. Not catching the Swiss Pole-Vaulter in the Shunt Lounge. Activity Spiral, my eye! I did finish "His Dark Materials" though (which it could be argued is more than Philip Pullman did.) Look, I'll shut up now. Shh. Here: