This is might be a problem, because when I come to sell the film rights of my autobiography, the Hollywood producers might want a bit more than "Wednesday: Went to work (avoiding the dog muck on the path). Wrote some rubbish in my blog". Nevertheless, I've adapted my experiences for the Big Screen.
I haven't yet decided what type of film I want them to make, so I've prepared some alternatives, all of which begin with my walk to work through the park.
Quick-cut shots of: Yellow tape, the body, squad cars. BOV walking towards the scene, taking off his sunglasses
BOV: Okay, Doc, what we got?
Doc: Male, mid-30s, no ID, though his cell phone was found smashed 2 metres away.
BOV (bending over the corpse): Hmmmm. Definitely some high velocity spatter.
Doc: Yes, probably from sea gulls, or pigeons, judging by the texture and taste. I've sent samples to the lab.
BOV: And the cause of death?
Doc: Well, from the positioning, and the injuries sustained to his knees and elbows, I'd say that the victim was doing star jumps when he slipped on a dog turd and sustained a fatal blow to the head.
BOV: I see. Get that shit analysed, then we'll put out an APB on the dog. Cleaning up this town's going to be harder that I thought...
Long, lingering shots of a sunny, Autumnal day in the park. Children are playing, lovers are laughing and occasionally punching one another. Brian Le Breton has paused to watch them, eventually sitting on a bench, a smile here, a frown there showing his reactions to all that is going on. The reactions of a detached observer, not part of this melee.
[Half an hour later]
BLB sees a woman walking purposefully along the path. He stops being detached and starts looking interested. Their eyes meet, he looks meaningfully. She frowns and averts her eyes. He sticks his leg out. She trips and lands spreadeagled on the path.
BLB (picking up her handbag): Excusez moi, Madame.
Woman (starts to get up and takes her handbag): Merci, Monsieur.
BLB (shaking his head despairingly and pointing at piles of shit on the path by way of explanation): La Merde de chien. (he motions for her to sit down).
BLB pulls out a half-eaten sandwich from his rucksack, tearing it in two, and gallantly offering her the bit without the teeth marks. She takes it, still shaking from her ordeal.
Over the shared sandwich, washed down by a flask of Chateau Pisse des Chats 1992 (which she finds in her handbag whilst looking for her lipstick), they discuss philosophy and life. She explains that to be eternal, love must be abstract and unfulfilled. BLB argues (without success) that eternity wouldn't begrudge them a quick fifteen minutes of fulfilment.
[two and a half hours later]
They get up from the park bench and walk away in opposite directions.
The Day After
BOV, hung over from a night at the pub, stumbles through the park on his way to work, when all of a sudden there is a blinding flash.
Long shot of mushroom cloud, and Britain being devastated by a nuclear explosion.
Everything is covered with white dust. All is silent. Camera pans across a scene of destruction. Cars on the road are stationary.
BOV crawls out from behind a large fallen tree. He dusts himself down: I knew I shouldn't have stopped for that Chinese on the way home last night...
Michael Caine (off camera): You're only supposed to blow the bloody doors off!
Based on a True Story (some details may have been altered slightly for cinematic purposes). And yes, these events happened on Tuesday, not Wednesday, but it's not called Wordy Tuesday, is it?