Delusions Of Grandeur
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Delusions Of Grandeur

As if any more evidence were needed that Russell T Davies is suffering from some form of mental illness that convinces him that he’s The World’s Best Writer this is it:

Writing isn’t just a job that stops at six-thirty… It’s a mad, sexy, sad, scary, obsessive, ruthless, joyful, and utterly, utterly personal thing. There’s not the writer and then me; there’s just me. All of my life connects to the writing. All of it.

First off Russell you’re British – unless living in Los Angeles has made you forget where you’re from – and we British don’t put commas before the and at the end of a list. Oh, and one more thing, enough with the adjectives, there are only so many we can process.

Still, looking at him I doubt he’s that bothered.

Russell T Davies

Really though what an atrocious piece of self aggrandization!

It was culled from The Writer’s Tale, where by the grace of Davies himself you can download copies of the Doctor Who scripts. We can see us having some fun with those.

The thing is, paragraphs like that are usually reserved for septuagenarian stage actors or authors on the South Bank Show. Not deluded Welsh homosexuals with messiah complexes.

If his writing was really that important to him, you’d think he’d actually have spent some time learning to do it properly, wouldn’t you?

Or is that just us?

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