For the last year, using the miracle of Tesco Clubcard rewards, my family and I have enjoyed everything that The Merlin Annual Pass has to offer. Without sounding like a corporate kiss-ass, I heartily recommend everyone gets one of these if you can afford it. We couldn't, hence the clubcard thing.
Anyhoo, we've done Alton Towers twice, Chessington about 5 times and I'm taking Luke back there the day before they expire. Thorpe Park twice (once on my own on a tuesday - thoroughly enjoyed myself) and Legoland a few times. We also went to Warwick Castle, which is actually a better 'family day out' than the other places, which can end up being days filled with stress, arguments, and crying kids because mummy and daddy wouldn't spend £8 on a mug.
That's one of the main things I noticed about these places, is that a lot of people leave the exit gates at the end of the day looking thoroughly miserable, and probably wishing they'd never come, especially as most of the locations now charge for the car park.
The majority of these people fall into one of several categories..
The Not-Exactly-Forward Thinkers
Two sub-sets: Large groups of lads or loved-up couples. They're the ones that rush to do a ride or two as soon as they get in, then have a bite to eat, after this they'll pass one of the sideshow stalls, the rigged throw the basketball, climb the ladder, hook-the-fish that initially looks easy, but it's up to the Alpha male of each subset to display his skill and prowess, and should he succeed, he'll win a stupidly huge stuffed thing, normally a snake, banana, or in the case of the couple, a cute heart with arms and legs. For the next half hour, the prize will be proudly displayed atop shoulders. After this time, the obvious sets in. It's cumbersome, awkward, you can't take it on any rides, and frankly, you look a bit of a tit if you haven't got any kids with you. Good luck squeezing it into the car for the long trip home, lads.
The Confused Foreigners
Mainly Middle-Eastern, Arabian. many wives and children in tow. The male offspring are pushy little shits, but hey-ho, that's them and all that. The girls, however, are essentially released into the park to fend for themselves. Best way to describe how this group is to relate what happened while I was queueing for Sonic Spinball at Alton Towers, which summed up everything I'd seen over the past year.
So I'm standing in the single-rider queue, waiting bloody ages and staring at Beth, one of the ride attendants who obviously forgot her Playtex that morning (EE madam?) when this giggling alerted me to a group of girls in the main queue. All wearing colourful headscarves that showed their faces, they looked about 14-16. Saudi, I'd guess. Anyhoo, they've all got expensive purses and clothing, and they're watching the cars, which seat 4 at a time, get loaded and set off on the track. If you have any bags or loose items, you hand them to Beth (...sigh...). So it comes to their turn, and 5 of them try to get on at once, with their bags, and look very confused when Beth (...) tells them they have to hand in their bags, and that only 4 can ride. So the whole ride shuts down while these 5 girls try to figure out who gets left behind, and they finally release their vice-like grip on their bags. So 4 sit in the car, one stays behind looking VERY awkward and alone, as if she's been shunned. She doesn't have long to wait as the ride only lasts a minute or so, and all 4 girls come back in their car with their headscarves all over the bloody place. The lone rider sees this and brightens up considerably, and refuses to go on the ride.
Later that day I see the father of these girls screaming blue murder at Guest Services, apparently declaring that the ride has defiled his daughters' modesty. A great time was had by all
The "I've paid a shitload of money for this, I can be as scummy as I want" type
That's almost a direct quote. Second time we went last week, a small family were behind us in the queue for the Sky Ride, which takes you to the back of a park. Saves bloody walking. Anyway the mother is smoking, and passes a sign about the designated smoking areas of the park, and that patrons are kindly requested to only smoke in these areas. Just makes it nicer for everyone else. Not so. "I've spent a load of money getting here, I'll smoke where I want. What are they gonna do? Fucking chuck me out?" Spoken like a true Chav, in front of her kids and within earshot of several other children. Sadly, they joined us in our gondola, and proceeded to impress us with her skills in guessing how old my kids are "See? I were right". Yes, well done, you've won a tumor, please go away.
Sadly, our passes expire at the end of the month, and we won't renew, not this year anyway. It's not the time it takes to get to the parks, or the cost of the fuel to get there, or the expensive... everything at the parks themselves. I do believe it was Jean-Paul Satre that said 'Hell is other people'. He obviously had to queue 2 hours for a 30 second rollercoaster one too many times as well.
(PS, one thing I did notice, out of the 5 major parks I went to, SAW: The Ride at Thorpe Park is the ONLY one where there were signs around the queue line that supplied a phone number where you could report anti-social or aggressive behaviour. Not particularly interesting, but I thought it was worth a mention)
10 August 2010
11 June 2010
Well, what the hell happened there?
Complete lack of inspiration, that's what, plus, I was kinda distracted...
He kinda takes a lot of the concentration away from spouting drivel via a keyboard, but it's calmed down a bit now.
I DO have a couple of things cooking, but I tend to start something, barrel along at an incredible rate, then realise I have no clue where I'm going with it.
So, C+, must try harder. I'll see what I can do
He kinda takes a lot of the concentration away from spouting drivel via a keyboard, but it's calmed down a bit now.
I DO have a couple of things cooking, but I tend to start something, barrel along at an incredible rate, then realise I have no clue where I'm going with it.
So, C+, must try harder. I'll see what I can do
18 July 2009
Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince
Oh this is impossible. I've written 5 different first lines of this poxy review and deleted them all because they all tailed off into nothing. Which is kind of prophetic...
Ok, the first thing that I'll have to mention is the lack of screentime for Matthew Lewis, Evanna Lynch, David Thewlis, Natalia Tena and the Phelps twins, but I'll always accept slabs of disappointment in the intermediate movie, but only as long as everyone gets to kick some serious arse in the last 2 movies. The thing with these books are that they're 'harry potter and the...', meaning that eventually, every scene would be revolving around Daniel Radcliffe, with Rupe and Ems a close second. This would of course mean that every other actor would be given adequate screen time just enough to fill a plot hole, or just be there for decoration to please the fans. This is particular for Matt Lewis, who after his strong performance in the last movie, is reduced to carrying a tray in the Slug Club and walking down a street wearing earmuffs. But like I said, slabs of disappointment.
On the flipside of that is the enhanced screentime for the cast that does get to shine. Rupert Grint reinforces his reputation as a comedic master. His entire performance during the love potion/poisoning scene had the entire cinema roaring with laughter. Even Emma, who I'd never really considered anything above a competant actress, really starts to dig her nails in, and not before time. The accuracy with which she plays the potion-making scene is bang on. Alan Rickman finally gets time to BE Snape. before he was just a sneering git that hated Harry, but now he's the character JK meant him to be.
Jim Broadbent. Now, to start, I was slightly irritated by the stupid grin he always carried, luckily it wasn't constant, and the brilliance shone through, none more so than the scene in hagrid's hut. He carried the role so well i'll always picture him when i read the character.
Tom felton. Tom, Tom, Tom... I knew well with full confidence that Tom would be able to do this and by golly I was right. he's brilliant, and totally fucking nails the part. From being a simple bully with nothing important to do (seriously, I can count his lines in the last film on one hand), to carrying the heaviest burden imaginable, he. just. nails. it. 'nuff said.
Jessie Cave is a newcomer as Lavender Brown, but could easily double for Glenn Close in Fatal Attraction, only less bunnies and more wrackspurts - Brilliant.
Bonnie Wright - perfect. Her subtle flirting with Harry to the kiss (finally) is delivered perfectly.
Ok, to plot, and what's been cut and changed. Like i said earlier, while I'll find a particular change or omission irksome, even perplexing, I'll hold my tongue until the fat lady sings, and bitch about any plot holes left open then. but for the now -
Ginny hiding the potions book - Harry hiding the book was a mechanic for locating the Diadem in the final HP book. The fact Ginny does it means that Harry won't know where the diadem is, so Ginny will have greater inclusion in it's discovery in HP7 Pt2 (its official name in the studio).
The addition of the attack on the Burrow - simply a means to snip several minutes of conversation with several people about the same thing (Harry's suspicions about Draco) and blow shit up as a bonus. Also gave Tonks, Remus and the twins' something to do.
The scene in the cave - spot on. Totally, beyond words.
Sectumsempra - adequate. I didn't particularly want to see Draco on the floor with his chest wide open while he gushes blood and scrabbles at his chest. What was on screen was more than enough, thank you.
The omission of Dumbledore's funeral. Look at it this way. The only thing that came out of the funeral that isn't in the movie is the small meeting between Harry and Scrimgeour, where Scrimgeour wanted harry to stand by the ministry, but Harry tells him to shove it. This will be coming in the next movie as bill nighy has been cast as Rufus Scrimgeour for HP7 Pt1 so there's be plenty of chances for harry to tell the ministry to go fuck itself then.
I'd read a few reviews of this film before I saw it, and while the reviews were mainly positive, the overall impression I got was that the authors left the theatre with a sense of unfulfilment - a yearning to know what the hell is going to happen next. I agree. But then, that's the point,. and as such, Yates has nailed it. That's what the book was - a prelude to book 7. I've said before, while it's a great book, it's not a strong tale on its own. It's the prologue year to a shitstorm of coolness to come. That's why, in my belief, there won't be a total of 8 movies. There'll be 5 normal-length movies, and a final 7.5 hour move on 3 DVDs.
I shall have to set aside a special evening to watch all those, because there's no way in hell I'll be able to watch just the one
I will conclude, however, by confiding that the title of the movie, and any mystery surrounding the Prince, is thrown to the back of the room and largely ignored for most of the film. The final revelation from Snape is so dull and has been given so little attention that no-one cares. half-blood who?
Ok, the first thing that I'll have to mention is the lack of screentime for Matthew Lewis, Evanna Lynch, David Thewlis, Natalia Tena and the Phelps twins, but I'll always accept slabs of disappointment in the intermediate movie, but only as long as everyone gets to kick some serious arse in the last 2 movies. The thing with these books are that they're 'harry potter and the...', meaning that eventually, every scene would be revolving around Daniel Radcliffe, with Rupe and Ems a close second. This would of course mean that every other actor would be given adequate screen time just enough to fill a plot hole, or just be there for decoration to please the fans. This is particular for Matt Lewis, who after his strong performance in the last movie, is reduced to carrying a tray in the Slug Club and walking down a street wearing earmuffs. But like I said, slabs of disappointment.
On the flipside of that is the enhanced screentime for the cast that does get to shine. Rupert Grint reinforces his reputation as a comedic master. His entire performance during the love potion/poisoning scene had the entire cinema roaring with laughter. Even Emma, who I'd never really considered anything above a competant actress, really starts to dig her nails in, and not before time. The accuracy with which she plays the potion-making scene is bang on. Alan Rickman finally gets time to BE Snape. before he was just a sneering git that hated Harry, but now he's the character JK meant him to be.
Jim Broadbent. Now, to start, I was slightly irritated by the stupid grin he always carried, luckily it wasn't constant, and the brilliance shone through, none more so than the scene in hagrid's hut. He carried the role so well i'll always picture him when i read the character.
Tom felton. Tom, Tom, Tom... I knew well with full confidence that Tom would be able to do this and by golly I was right. he's brilliant, and totally fucking nails the part. From being a simple bully with nothing important to do (seriously, I can count his lines in the last film on one hand), to carrying the heaviest burden imaginable, he. just. nails. it. 'nuff said.
Jessie Cave is a newcomer as Lavender Brown, but could easily double for Glenn Close in Fatal Attraction, only less bunnies and more wrackspurts - Brilliant.
Bonnie Wright - perfect. Her subtle flirting with Harry to the kiss (finally) is delivered perfectly.
Ok, to plot, and what's been cut and changed. Like i said earlier, while I'll find a particular change or omission irksome, even perplexing, I'll hold my tongue until the fat lady sings, and bitch about any plot holes left open then. but for the now -
Ginny hiding the potions book - Harry hiding the book was a mechanic for locating the Diadem in the final HP book. The fact Ginny does it means that Harry won't know where the diadem is, so Ginny will have greater inclusion in it's discovery in HP7 Pt2 (its official name in the studio).
The addition of the attack on the Burrow - simply a means to snip several minutes of conversation with several people about the same thing (Harry's suspicions about Draco) and blow shit up as a bonus. Also gave Tonks, Remus and the twins' something to do.
The scene in the cave - spot on. Totally, beyond words.
Sectumsempra - adequate. I didn't particularly want to see Draco on the floor with his chest wide open while he gushes blood and scrabbles at his chest. What was on screen was more than enough, thank you.
The omission of Dumbledore's funeral. Look at it this way. The only thing that came out of the funeral that isn't in the movie is the small meeting between Harry and Scrimgeour, where Scrimgeour wanted harry to stand by the ministry, but Harry tells him to shove it. This will be coming in the next movie as bill nighy has been cast as Rufus Scrimgeour for HP7 Pt1 so there's be plenty of chances for harry to tell the ministry to go fuck itself then.
I'd read a few reviews of this film before I saw it, and while the reviews were mainly positive, the overall impression I got was that the authors left the theatre with a sense of unfulfilment - a yearning to know what the hell is going to happen next. I agree. But then, that's the point,. and as such, Yates has nailed it. That's what the book was - a prelude to book 7. I've said before, while it's a great book, it's not a strong tale on its own. It's the prologue year to a shitstorm of coolness to come. That's why, in my belief, there won't be a total of 8 movies. There'll be 5 normal-length movies, and a final 7.5 hour move on 3 DVDs.
I shall have to set aside a special evening to watch all those, because there's no way in hell I'll be able to watch just the one
I will conclude, however, by confiding that the title of the movie, and any mystery surrounding the Prince, is thrown to the back of the room and largely ignored for most of the film. The final revelation from Snape is so dull and has been given so little attention that no-one cares. half-blood who?
14 March 2009
Watch the News
Haven't enjoyed writing something this long in a while. Hope you like it
Watch the News
He pulled up the zipper on his hooded jacket. He typed a small message on the laptop that sat on his desk under the Saw2 poster, hit ‘enter’ and shut it down. Pulling the note out of his back pocket he grabbed his bulky backpack and headed out of his dark bedroom. He didn’t try to step quietly down the stairs, his parents wouldn’t care what time it was, where he was going, or what time he’d be back. As he passed the door to the living room he could hear the TV blasting out some soap opera drama crap. Pausing by the front door, he leant the note against the vase that stood on a small table under the coat rack. There was a few letters already there from this morning. More bills piling up. He wondered how long it would be before they were all homeless. Not that it mattered to him any more.
“Going out” he ventured. No response. Probably too caught up in the fraught emotional drama of fictional characters to care about their own son.
Heaving the backpack over one shoulder he closed the front door behind him. It was quite heavy, not surprising really, with what it contained. He considered taking a bus into the city, but decided against it. Those 7/7 idiots screwed up that way. Too many security cameras these days. He wanted to stay off the radar if he could help it.
The gravel in the driveway crunched underfoot as he turned left and proceeded in a due-easterly direction. Maybe they were following him already. ‘Shouldn’t have had too many chatrooms conversations about this. You never know who’s snooping in on those things. Mind you, I can look after myself on the internet. I know about proxy servers, IP blockers, all that’. He reassured himself as he walked on, the BT tower just visible in the distance.
“Dave!” Shit.
A portly teenager, about the same age caught up with him, huffing as he fought for breath, having run only a short distance.
“Dave, hold up…” He caught up and leant heavily on his shoulder as he seemed to cough up what could very well have been a vital organ. “Ah shit, I gotta quit smoking. Nice backpack, new? You going into town?” Great, Like he needed this.
“Uh.. Yeah, no, well, yeah. No reason, just gonna hang out in the square, y’know” The fat kid leant over backwards, his balled fists on his kidneys. He relaxed, exhaling heavily, in that bloody irritating way he always does.
“Oh, cool. I’ve got to get some stuff from Forbidden Planet then I’m meeting up with Alice and Melvyn in the Trocadero. They’ve got a new machine in and Melv reckons he played it already when he went to Universal last year with his parents. Mind if I walk with you? It gets boring walking on my own”.
“Greg, breathe, please.” He started walking again, Greg falling into step beside him.
“Oh, yeah, ok. So you seen the trailer for the new Transformers movie? Looks awesome. The first one totally rocked so anything Michael Bay does to outdo himself should be fuckin unbelievable man…’ Dave listened without listening. This is what Greg was like. He’d spend an hour an evening on the internet, that was all his parents allowed him to do. They weren’t that strict, but they rationed his online time to an hour of fun per evening, so he spent that hour mainly browsing movie websites, star wars, aicn, all those. Sites that claimed exclusives but borrowed from each other. The exclusive was only beheld by the site you visited first. He also regarded bay movies as the pinnacle of Blockbuster entertainment. As long as shit blows up and a black guy or two shout a lot, that’s award-worthy in his opinion.
They walked the length of Shaftsbury avenue, Greg breaking off at the store adorned with Doctor Who and Watchmen paraphernalia, continued down the road and hung a left on Charing cross road to Leicester square. The park in the middle was quiet at the moment. Coming here a lot earlier would have meant trying to complete his task during lunchtime, when hundreds of people tried to eat their lunch while sitting in each others lunchboxes. He walked past the Odeon and grabbed something to eat from the Subway on the corner. The trick was always to spell out what you wanted when you ordered, or they tried to sell you double everything.
He found a quiet spot on the grass under a tree. Heaving his backpack off his shoulder he placed it gently on the grass and started to eat his sandwich. He always found it amazing that in the middle of a craphole like London you could actually find pockets of peace. It was approaching 4pm and given the time of year dusk was falling rapidly, which also meant the starlings went nuts about this time. The continuous chirping was actually quite pleasant, while also being irritating as hell.
He opened the top of his backpack and fiddled around with the contents inside while simultaneously pressing the keys on his mobile phone, looking from one to the other. Closing the top of the backpack he heaved it to beside the trunk of the nearby tree and stood up. Having a look around for anyone taking an interest in him, and set off empty-handed south towards Trafalgar square.
Greg sat in the huge arcade machine, the grin on his face actually making his cheeks hurt. He jiggled on the seat like a schoolboy on a trip to the beach.
“Sorry mate, I can’t let you play this game”. The grin evaporated.
“What? Why?” Greg rolled himself out of the hydraulically-mounted bucket seat, ending up on all fours, before hauling himself upright. Sweating profusely, he pushed his glasses back up his nose before facing the tall Trocadero machine attendant. The attendant simply pointed to a large sign on the cage surrounding the machine.
‘No-one over 18 stones in weight can use this machine’. Greg started going pink.
“How dare you? I might be a little overweight, but I’m not 18 stones” The attendant shrugged.
“I’m sorry, but the weight is actually a guideline, the real issue is your… size.” Greg looked down at himself.
“Size?”
“Look mate, this machine turns you upside down as you get into the third level. The fact is, this thing needs to hold you down, and because of your… size, the harness won’t get over your… it won’t go over you. I’m sorry, it’s just unsafe.”
Greg tried to respond, but he seemed lost for words, and was barged out of the way by the next customer, laughing openly in Greg’s face as he took his seat and smugly pulled the harness over himself. Dejected, he turned to his friends who were waiting in the queue. They seemed to be rather attached to each other, emotionally and literally.
“Come on, let’s go”. There was a sucking sound as Melvyn and Alice separated themselves from each other’s face.
“What? Why? We want to have a go on this thing, then I promised Alice we’d have a dodgem marathon later”.
“This place sucks, I wanna go”, Alice’s giggles weren’t filling him with hope.
“You go man. We’re gonna stick around here. Look, I’ve been promising Alice this for ages.” Greg picked up his Forbidden Planet carrier bag from the floor beside the machine and gave a hateful look at his ‘friends‘.
“Fine, thanks for nothing, have fun”. He stormed off, tripping slightly over a step on the way out.
Stepping out onto Piccadilly Circus, he leant up against the railings and breathed heavily. He hated days like these. It wasn’t his fault he was fat, his parents were big, his sister was just a bit smaller than him. His older brother was as thin as a rake, but he didn’t even look like the rest of the family, so Greg never considered him to be from the same gene pool. He looked up and felt his eyes stinging. No, he wasn’t going to start crying. He cried enough when the bullies picked on him during his school years. Standing up straight and sniffing loudly, he set off to where he knew his one true friend would be, always willing to have a chat.
Trafalgar Square was always busy at around 5. The offices and schools were out, tourists stood around in bunches, looking straight up at the admiral, taking out of focus and badly-angled pictures on their digital cameras. David strolled by the empty plinth at the back of the square. He wondered what abomination they’d finally lump on there. The naked amputee statue was interesting, but you’d get bored of staring at those tits all day. He walked down the steps at the rear of the square, over to the column and sat down on one of the steps. Unzipping his top, he finally took down his hood and pulled his mobile phone out of his pocket. Immediately it vibrated and Linkin Park sounded tinnily from the speakers. The caller ID told him Greg was calling. Why the hell he ever gave him his number he couldn’t remember why. He sighed heavily and hit the button.
“Greg, what’s up? I thought you were meeting Aly and Mervin. Alice and.. Yeah, them. Oh, right. Well, I was going to head back now anyway. No, don’t worry, my dad’s coming to pick me up. No, I’m in Trafalgar square, he’s picking me up near the road”. Dave’s phone suddenly beeped. “Ah shit. Sorry Greg, my battery’s going. Nah, I need to make another call quickly. I’ll catch you soon, Ok?”. He hurriedly pressed the ‘end’ button and looked at the screen. The screen promptly went blank.
Shit.
Greg trudged down Coventry street and into Leicester Square. He’d been on his way here when he called Dave and couldn’t be arsed to change direction. He was feeling bloody miserable. He’d inadvertently selected the short walk to reflect on his life. He was 17, overweight, but not obese, oh lord no. His weight was losing him friends. If they actually were his friends in the first place. He’d tried calling them but he couldn’t hear anything over the sounds of all that awesome fun they were having. He was even getting out of breath walking short distances, and it was even slightly downhill to here from the Circus.
He staggered slightly as he walked towards the railings surrounding the park. Looking around his eyes rested on a tree at the far end, and a backpack that was resting against the trunk.
Damn damn damn! Dave pressed the power button on his phone again, in the vain hope of squeezing one iota of power out of the battery. No joy. Looking around frantically, he spotted a Mobile Phone shop just off the square and broke into a sprint towards it.
Greg’s fingers scrolled through his contact list and found Dave. He was sure this was Dave’s backpack. Picking it up he held the phone to his ear. Straight to voicemail. Luckily, Greg knew exactly where Dave was.
“Can you charge my battery for me? I’m expecting a really important phone call, it’s an emergency”. The mobile phone shop assistant took the Phone out of Dave’s hands.
“Yeah, I think we can do that”. She opened a drawer and took out a charging plug for his phone. “How much charge do you need?”
Dave tried to sound relaxed. “Just enough for one call. I’m… I need to call my dad to pick me up. I’ve been to the Trocadero… There’s a new machine in there…” He was rambling, but an extra alibi can’t hurt. The girl connected the charger to the bottom of Dave’s phone.
“Oh yeah, I heard about that one. Is it true you get strapped in and it turns you upside down?” Dave was wringing his hands slightly.
“Er..? Yeah, I think so. I didn’t really get that far up. Just hung around the dodgems, you know… “ He looked at the clock behind the counter, this was cutting it fine. Bloody Greg. If he hadn’t called he’d have enough charge left. A few minutes passed. “Will that give me one phone call?”. The girl unplugged the phone.
“Yeah, you’ll get a minute or so. But you really have to let the batteries run right down or it shortens the life, you know. I can give you….” But Dave was already leaving with a hasty ‘thanks…’
“David? Are you still up there? Dinner’s on the table.” Dave’s mother stood at the foot of the stairs. He spent all his time up there on that computer, she often lamented to him that spending that amount of time wasn’t healthy, and given his recent exam grades if he didn’t actually get out there into the workplace he’d never get anywhere. Start early. That’s how her father got where he was, but you couldn’t tell kids that these days. They sit there expecting life to hand itself to them on a plate.
She noticed the letters on the table, and the note that wasn’t there earlier. It was in David’s handwriting. She opened the envelope and read the note, which simply said.
‘Out of here
Getting paid
Watch the news
Bye’.
Standing in the middle of Trafalgar Square, Dave scrolled through his contact list, until ‘Payday’ was highlighted. He’d probably hear it from here. He didn’t care about who it affected. Or who got hurt. He just cared about the money. Keep telling yourself that. He hit the call button just as a heavy hand landed on his shoulder and an out of breath Greg held up his backpack.
“Caught ya”.
All characters and situations are fictitious. This work is the property of Peter Morris-Kelso and cannot be reproduced or altered without the owner's permission
Watch the News
He pulled up the zipper on his hooded jacket. He typed a small message on the laptop that sat on his desk under the Saw2 poster, hit ‘enter’ and shut it down. Pulling the note out of his back pocket he grabbed his bulky backpack and headed out of his dark bedroom. He didn’t try to step quietly down the stairs, his parents wouldn’t care what time it was, where he was going, or what time he’d be back. As he passed the door to the living room he could hear the TV blasting out some soap opera drama crap. Pausing by the front door, he leant the note against the vase that stood on a small table under the coat rack. There was a few letters already there from this morning. More bills piling up. He wondered how long it would be before they were all homeless. Not that it mattered to him any more.
“Going out” he ventured. No response. Probably too caught up in the fraught emotional drama of fictional characters to care about their own son.
Heaving the backpack over one shoulder he closed the front door behind him. It was quite heavy, not surprising really, with what it contained. He considered taking a bus into the city, but decided against it. Those 7/7 idiots screwed up that way. Too many security cameras these days. He wanted to stay off the radar if he could help it.
The gravel in the driveway crunched underfoot as he turned left and proceeded in a due-easterly direction. Maybe they were following him already. ‘Shouldn’t have had too many chatrooms conversations about this. You never know who’s snooping in on those things. Mind you, I can look after myself on the internet. I know about proxy servers, IP blockers, all that’. He reassured himself as he walked on, the BT tower just visible in the distance.
“Dave!” Shit.
A portly teenager, about the same age caught up with him, huffing as he fought for breath, having run only a short distance.
“Dave, hold up…” He caught up and leant heavily on his shoulder as he seemed to cough up what could very well have been a vital organ. “Ah shit, I gotta quit smoking. Nice backpack, new? You going into town?” Great, Like he needed this.
“Uh.. Yeah, no, well, yeah. No reason, just gonna hang out in the square, y’know” The fat kid leant over backwards, his balled fists on his kidneys. He relaxed, exhaling heavily, in that bloody irritating way he always does.
“Oh, cool. I’ve got to get some stuff from Forbidden Planet then I’m meeting up with Alice and Melvyn in the Trocadero. They’ve got a new machine in and Melv reckons he played it already when he went to Universal last year with his parents. Mind if I walk with you? It gets boring walking on my own”.
“Greg, breathe, please.” He started walking again, Greg falling into step beside him.
“Oh, yeah, ok. So you seen the trailer for the new Transformers movie? Looks awesome. The first one totally rocked so anything Michael Bay does to outdo himself should be fuckin unbelievable man…’ Dave listened without listening. This is what Greg was like. He’d spend an hour an evening on the internet, that was all his parents allowed him to do. They weren’t that strict, but they rationed his online time to an hour of fun per evening, so he spent that hour mainly browsing movie websites, star wars, aicn, all those. Sites that claimed exclusives but borrowed from each other. The exclusive was only beheld by the site you visited first. He also regarded bay movies as the pinnacle of Blockbuster entertainment. As long as shit blows up and a black guy or two shout a lot, that’s award-worthy in his opinion.
They walked the length of Shaftsbury avenue, Greg breaking off at the store adorned with Doctor Who and Watchmen paraphernalia, continued down the road and hung a left on Charing cross road to Leicester square. The park in the middle was quiet at the moment. Coming here a lot earlier would have meant trying to complete his task during lunchtime, when hundreds of people tried to eat their lunch while sitting in each others lunchboxes. He walked past the Odeon and grabbed something to eat from the Subway on the corner. The trick was always to spell out what you wanted when you ordered, or they tried to sell you double everything.
He found a quiet spot on the grass under a tree. Heaving his backpack off his shoulder he placed it gently on the grass and started to eat his sandwich. He always found it amazing that in the middle of a craphole like London you could actually find pockets of peace. It was approaching 4pm and given the time of year dusk was falling rapidly, which also meant the starlings went nuts about this time. The continuous chirping was actually quite pleasant, while also being irritating as hell.
He opened the top of his backpack and fiddled around with the contents inside while simultaneously pressing the keys on his mobile phone, looking from one to the other. Closing the top of the backpack he heaved it to beside the trunk of the nearby tree and stood up. Having a look around for anyone taking an interest in him, and set off empty-handed south towards Trafalgar square.
Greg sat in the huge arcade machine, the grin on his face actually making his cheeks hurt. He jiggled on the seat like a schoolboy on a trip to the beach.
“Sorry mate, I can’t let you play this game”. The grin evaporated.
“What? Why?” Greg rolled himself out of the hydraulically-mounted bucket seat, ending up on all fours, before hauling himself upright. Sweating profusely, he pushed his glasses back up his nose before facing the tall Trocadero machine attendant. The attendant simply pointed to a large sign on the cage surrounding the machine.
‘No-one over 18 stones in weight can use this machine’. Greg started going pink.
“How dare you? I might be a little overweight, but I’m not 18 stones” The attendant shrugged.
“I’m sorry, but the weight is actually a guideline, the real issue is your… size.” Greg looked down at himself.
“Size?”
“Look mate, this machine turns you upside down as you get into the third level. The fact is, this thing needs to hold you down, and because of your… size, the harness won’t get over your… it won’t go over you. I’m sorry, it’s just unsafe.”
Greg tried to respond, but he seemed lost for words, and was barged out of the way by the next customer, laughing openly in Greg’s face as he took his seat and smugly pulled the harness over himself. Dejected, he turned to his friends who were waiting in the queue. They seemed to be rather attached to each other, emotionally and literally.
“Come on, let’s go”. There was a sucking sound as Melvyn and Alice separated themselves from each other’s face.
“What? Why? We want to have a go on this thing, then I promised Alice we’d have a dodgem marathon later”.
“This place sucks, I wanna go”, Alice’s giggles weren’t filling him with hope.
“You go man. We’re gonna stick around here. Look, I’ve been promising Alice this for ages.” Greg picked up his Forbidden Planet carrier bag from the floor beside the machine and gave a hateful look at his ‘friends‘.
“Fine, thanks for nothing, have fun”. He stormed off, tripping slightly over a step on the way out.
Stepping out onto Piccadilly Circus, he leant up against the railings and breathed heavily. He hated days like these. It wasn’t his fault he was fat, his parents were big, his sister was just a bit smaller than him. His older brother was as thin as a rake, but he didn’t even look like the rest of the family, so Greg never considered him to be from the same gene pool. He looked up and felt his eyes stinging. No, he wasn’t going to start crying. He cried enough when the bullies picked on him during his school years. Standing up straight and sniffing loudly, he set off to where he knew his one true friend would be, always willing to have a chat.
Trafalgar Square was always busy at around 5. The offices and schools were out, tourists stood around in bunches, looking straight up at the admiral, taking out of focus and badly-angled pictures on their digital cameras. David strolled by the empty plinth at the back of the square. He wondered what abomination they’d finally lump on there. The naked amputee statue was interesting, but you’d get bored of staring at those tits all day. He walked down the steps at the rear of the square, over to the column and sat down on one of the steps. Unzipping his top, he finally took down his hood and pulled his mobile phone out of his pocket. Immediately it vibrated and Linkin Park sounded tinnily from the speakers. The caller ID told him Greg was calling. Why the hell he ever gave him his number he couldn’t remember why. He sighed heavily and hit the button.
“Greg, what’s up? I thought you were meeting Aly and Mervin. Alice and.. Yeah, them. Oh, right. Well, I was going to head back now anyway. No, don’t worry, my dad’s coming to pick me up. No, I’m in Trafalgar square, he’s picking me up near the road”. Dave’s phone suddenly beeped. “Ah shit. Sorry Greg, my battery’s going. Nah, I need to make another call quickly. I’ll catch you soon, Ok?”. He hurriedly pressed the ‘end’ button and looked at the screen. The screen promptly went blank.
Shit.
Greg trudged down Coventry street and into Leicester Square. He’d been on his way here when he called Dave and couldn’t be arsed to change direction. He was feeling bloody miserable. He’d inadvertently selected the short walk to reflect on his life. He was 17, overweight, but not obese, oh lord no. His weight was losing him friends. If they actually were his friends in the first place. He’d tried calling them but he couldn’t hear anything over the sounds of all that awesome fun they were having. He was even getting out of breath walking short distances, and it was even slightly downhill to here from the Circus.
He staggered slightly as he walked towards the railings surrounding the park. Looking around his eyes rested on a tree at the far end, and a backpack that was resting against the trunk.
Damn damn damn! Dave pressed the power button on his phone again, in the vain hope of squeezing one iota of power out of the battery. No joy. Looking around frantically, he spotted a Mobile Phone shop just off the square and broke into a sprint towards it.
Greg’s fingers scrolled through his contact list and found Dave. He was sure this was Dave’s backpack. Picking it up he held the phone to his ear. Straight to voicemail. Luckily, Greg knew exactly where Dave was.
“Can you charge my battery for me? I’m expecting a really important phone call, it’s an emergency”. The mobile phone shop assistant took the Phone out of Dave’s hands.
“Yeah, I think we can do that”. She opened a drawer and took out a charging plug for his phone. “How much charge do you need?”
Dave tried to sound relaxed. “Just enough for one call. I’m… I need to call my dad to pick me up. I’ve been to the Trocadero… There’s a new machine in there…” He was rambling, but an extra alibi can’t hurt. The girl connected the charger to the bottom of Dave’s phone.
“Oh yeah, I heard about that one. Is it true you get strapped in and it turns you upside down?” Dave was wringing his hands slightly.
“Er..? Yeah, I think so. I didn’t really get that far up. Just hung around the dodgems, you know… “ He looked at the clock behind the counter, this was cutting it fine. Bloody Greg. If he hadn’t called he’d have enough charge left. A few minutes passed. “Will that give me one phone call?”. The girl unplugged the phone.
“Yeah, you’ll get a minute or so. But you really have to let the batteries run right down or it shortens the life, you know. I can give you….” But Dave was already leaving with a hasty ‘thanks…’
“David? Are you still up there? Dinner’s on the table.” Dave’s mother stood at the foot of the stairs. He spent all his time up there on that computer, she often lamented to him that spending that amount of time wasn’t healthy, and given his recent exam grades if he didn’t actually get out there into the workplace he’d never get anywhere. Start early. That’s how her father got where he was, but you couldn’t tell kids that these days. They sit there expecting life to hand itself to them on a plate.
She noticed the letters on the table, and the note that wasn’t there earlier. It was in David’s handwriting. She opened the envelope and read the note, which simply said.
‘Out of here
Getting paid
Watch the news
Bye’.
Standing in the middle of Trafalgar Square, Dave scrolled through his contact list, until ‘Payday’ was highlighted. He’d probably hear it from here. He didn’t care about who it affected. Or who got hurt. He just cared about the money. Keep telling yourself that. He hit the call button just as a heavy hand landed on his shoulder and an out of breath Greg held up his backpack.
“Caught ya”.
All characters and situations are fictitious. This work is the property of Peter Morris-Kelso and cannot be reproduced or altered without the owner's permission
Standing against the gullible masses + comparing tabloids newspapers to the bible
I don't know why i constantly do it to myself, but when the working day is a bit quiet, i'll invariably reach for a colleague's copy of the Sun. Why I constantly put myself through this dirge of editorial-as-news is beyond me.
For example, to drag out a tired theme, the news last week reported that ChavQueen Goody had awoken in hospital to discover a 'Crazed hammer weirdo leaning over her, chanting and muttering'. Jade then yelled for help, and the woman ran off. She was later arrested and found to be carrying a bag that contained a hammer. She was also discovered to be french. This, it would seem is enough for the sun to classify this strange woman as a raving lunatic who should be locked up forever to save us all from her lunacy...
No, read on.
One thing to take on board is that Jade Goody is desperately unintelligent. Criminally so. And the 'muttering and chanting' that she heard was more than likely just spoken french, which Jade understands less than proper English.
“She had not attempted to use the weapon.”
A Met Police source said the woman was armed with a hammer.
Hold on. How can she be armed if she had not attempted to use the hammer? Surely this whole story would have more credence, and basis in reality, if the woman had been standing over the prone patient, hammer in hand, screaming for blood. Nope, what we've got here is a mildly alarming incident, that was nothing whatsoever, merely another reason to put JG in the pages and sell more copies.
On another subject, the Sun, again, this week reported that there was a recent screening of the new Harry potter movie and that the reviews were less than favourable. Probably would have had more effect if the news wasn't 4 months old and contained nothing not already known by anyone that cares.
The problem is, staunch Sun readers lap this bullshit up like it's gospel. There's a phrase, 'According to the Sun...'. There are 2 ways to read that statement. One is to take everything as fact, the other is to treat everything printed as news as utter bullshit intil you hear it from the horses mouth, so the speak.
If you believe the former, then i'm sorry, but you're as beyond help as scientologists, Jehovah's witnesses and mormons. If, like me, you believe the latter statement then sadly you're in the minority. They're all around us, and they really believe the Page 3 girls write their own articles.
For example, to drag out a tired theme, the news last week reported that ChavQueen Goody had awoken in hospital to discover a 'Crazed hammer weirdo leaning over her, chanting and muttering'. Jade then yelled for help, and the woman ran off. She was later arrested and found to be carrying a bag that contained a hammer. She was also discovered to be french. This, it would seem is enough for the sun to classify this strange woman as a raving lunatic who should be locked up forever to save us all from her lunacy...
No, read on.
One thing to take on board is that Jade Goody is desperately unintelligent. Criminally so. And the 'muttering and chanting' that she heard was more than likely just spoken french, which Jade understands less than proper English.
“She had not attempted to use the weapon.”
A Met Police source said the woman was armed with a hammer.
Hold on. How can she be armed if she had not attempted to use the hammer? Surely this whole story would have more credence, and basis in reality, if the woman had been standing over the prone patient, hammer in hand, screaming for blood. Nope, what we've got here is a mildly alarming incident, that was nothing whatsoever, merely another reason to put JG in the pages and sell more copies.
On another subject, the Sun, again, this week reported that there was a recent screening of the new Harry potter movie and that the reviews were less than favourable. Probably would have had more effect if the news wasn't 4 months old and contained nothing not already known by anyone that cares.
The problem is, staunch Sun readers lap this bullshit up like it's gospel. There's a phrase, 'According to the Sun...'. There are 2 ways to read that statement. One is to take everything as fact, the other is to treat everything printed as news as utter bullshit intil you hear it from the horses mouth, so the speak.
If you believe the former, then i'm sorry, but you're as beyond help as scientologists, Jehovah's witnesses and mormons. If, like me, you believe the latter statement then sadly you're in the minority. They're all around us, and they really believe the Page 3 girls write their own articles.
02 March 2009
Geeky Perv Alert
I've loved Futurama since day 1, and it only proved that Fox doesn't give a shit about anything except numbers, not fanbase, when it comes to cancelling series. (see Angel & Firefly for evidence).
Anyway, getting back on topic. The chicks in Futurama are hot, in a 2-D fictional way. Any's a complete fruitcake so my attention always steered towards leela. There's always been plenty of nudity (kinda) in the episodes, but never enough shown to warrant a stricter rating. Until now. Actually, no, that's a lie. It would appear that leela's mutation doesn't just give her one eye and elbow talons...
She doesn't have any nipples.
What a jip.
What a jip.
26 January 2009
Embracing the past
Haven't updated in a while.. again. Sorry about that. I'd like to make one small excuse in that I've discovered Facebook, which verily doth rock, much more than i thought it would. I'd always shied away from such social networking sites, no real reason for it, I suppose I thought it was too much like Myspace, which is the internet equivelant of standing on a box shouting "Look at MEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE". Luckily, Facebook, i've discovered is much more about everyone else, which suits me fine. Also, it's a damn sight better than Friends Reunited. I've got people from my old schools talking to me now, when they wouldn't have spoken to me in public 20 years ago (Hey, i'm cool with that, i don't hold grudges, besides, i wasn't exactly the outgoing type).
Anyhoo, I'm also off the beer, well, except special occasions, not just for celebrating the weekend, so hopefully the creative juices will start doing something again.
I do have a few ideas floating around up there, Just need to iron out the edges before putting skin to keyboard.
So hello again, welcome if you're new here (just plugged this on FB), have a look around the old posts, but hands off the stories, all copyright me and stuff. i've got plans for them...
Anyhoo, I'm also off the beer, well, except special occasions, not just for celebrating the weekend, so hopefully the creative juices will start doing something again.
I do have a few ideas floating around up there, Just need to iron out the edges before putting skin to keyboard.
So hello again, welcome if you're new here (just plugged this on FB), have a look around the old posts, but hands off the stories, all copyright me and stuff. i've got plans for them...
04 September 2008
For Sale
One Moped, available on http://www.autotrader.co.uk/. There may be an issue with the suspension...
Seriously, didn't the guy taking the picture think to at least close the doors? What is that? A Bedroom? There's just... clothing...
27 August 2008
Yankee Hypocrites
Couldn't gove a toss about the US elections. I trust all the lying, two-faced candidates as much as the lying, two-faced leader and opposition leader we've got over here. However, given the current events regarding Hillary's 'ex-voters' leads me to believe that the debacle in Florida 8 years ago that gave the world the inept fuckwit we've been lumbered with, is purely for the fact that the great American voter is a moron.
Ok, so McCain's out on his own since his opponent drops out, so all the interest now centres on the Obama/Clinton tussle, meanwhile McCain starts complaining that Obama's getting all the interest - well duh. Looks like that free ride you were patting yourself on the back for has screwed you fully in the anus. There's no interest in the Republicans.
So, back to the Democrats. Obama and Clinton go hammer and tongs at each other. Clinton's got Bill, Barack's got the fist-bump. But while they're decrying each other's policies, they're also decrying McCain. Let's concentrate on hillary, but not too much, she's fucking hideous close-up.
She's got a legion of (mainly) female supporters cheering and applauding her as she shouts down mcCain and Obama. Then it starts to look like Clinton's going to drop out. The supporters rally and try to trump up support, but to no avail. Crying in the streets they go home without a candidate.
Now, this week, Hillary turns up in Denver, pledging support for Barack, despite their differences, and implores the Democratic faithful to vote Obama, if only to keep the Republicans out of the whitehouse.
Nope. the fucking dimwits have started the Clinton for McCain campaign, where the same braying sheep that followed Hillary and hankered on her every word are completely forgetting everything she preached to them and are turning to the person they've hated ever since they learned how to spell his Surname.
Shit, guys. Tell it what the fuck it is.
You were voting for the White woman because she wasn't a Black man. I hate to imply Racism where it may not be, but this is so transparent it's painful.
However, if Obama gets in, I sincerely hope he doubles his security detail when he's travelling through good ol' boy land...
Ok, so McCain's out on his own since his opponent drops out, so all the interest now centres on the Obama/Clinton tussle, meanwhile McCain starts complaining that Obama's getting all the interest - well duh. Looks like that free ride you were patting yourself on the back for has screwed you fully in the anus. There's no interest in the Republicans.
So, back to the Democrats. Obama and Clinton go hammer and tongs at each other. Clinton's got Bill, Barack's got the fist-bump. But while they're decrying each other's policies, they're also decrying McCain. Let's concentrate on hillary, but not too much, she's fucking hideous close-up.
She's got a legion of (mainly) female supporters cheering and applauding her as she shouts down mcCain and Obama. Then it starts to look like Clinton's going to drop out. The supporters rally and try to trump up support, but to no avail. Crying in the streets they go home without a candidate.
Now, this week, Hillary turns up in Denver, pledging support for Barack, despite their differences, and implores the Democratic faithful to vote Obama, if only to keep the Republicans out of the whitehouse.
Nope. the fucking dimwits have started the Clinton for McCain campaign, where the same braying sheep that followed Hillary and hankered on her every word are completely forgetting everything she preached to them and are turning to the person they've hated ever since they learned how to spell his Surname.
Shit, guys. Tell it what the fuck it is.
You were voting for the White woman because she wasn't a Black man. I hate to imply Racism where it may not be, but this is so transparent it's painful.
However, if Obama gets in, I sincerely hope he doubles his security detail when he's travelling through good ol' boy land...
25 August 2008
Life, the everlasting life, all that crap
I had something thrust through my letterbox today. It was from my local church, St martins, about a 5 minute drive away. All the usual guff. Little tibits about village events that is deemed worthy. Something it pointed out was the "Dougle G club". which stands for ' Games and God', where young kids can play energetic games while learning about christianity.
I am, by definition, an atheist, although I'll disparage that definition later. It strikes me as desperate than the modern church has to resort to childish attempts to get down wiv da kidz in an attempt to get them into church. Listen up, Father, if the kids aren't interested from the age of 7 in the church, you're not going to get them in any later than that for the simple reason, Kids aren't as gullible as you think they are
And I don't mean that in an nasty way. I'd never claim that the christian faith was a brainwashing cult, I leave that claim to the scientologists. I simply mean that, if you were to tell a child that has no religion in its upbringing, then preaching the holy bible to him/her will yield no results, for one simple reason; the bible, as a story, is totally unbelievable and spectacularly self-contradicting. Genesis, in its entirety, is an excuse for billions of years of the planet sorting itself out to the state it is in today. Creationists can't accept this because they're working on a much shorter timescale. they think the earth is only about 6000 years old. Double that, then multiply it by 10. then another ten, then so on. The world is physically older then the faithful is willing to believe, because they're willing to be controlled in what they believe. To be faithful is to be controlled in what you believe by a book that tells the story of events that happened beyond the realms of human recording. It's guesswork, and it's worth several million a year in charitable donations.
So anyway, I'm an atheist, so I'm evil and deserve to rot in hell. Well there's the thing, i don't believe in hell, so I have no fear for it. hell is another invention to scare the qullible into obeying. And why am I evil? I spent 90% of yesterday helping out at a charity day, working my tits off for no pay and no adulation. I did it because I wanted to help. I'm also a loving husband and father, and would readily lay my life on the line for them.
I posted before about when I was confronted my some mor(m)ons, and the last sentence of that post still holds true. Do what you do to fulfill your life, gain comfort and solace from it, and allow it to make you a better person. I can do all that by myself, thanks very much.
Sorry again if I've offended anyone but us evil heathens are good at that
I am, by definition, an atheist, although I'll disparage that definition later. It strikes me as desperate than the modern church has to resort to childish attempts to get down wiv da kidz in an attempt to get them into church. Listen up, Father, if the kids aren't interested from the age of 7 in the church, you're not going to get them in any later than that for the simple reason, Kids aren't as gullible as you think they are
And I don't mean that in an nasty way. I'd never claim that the christian faith was a brainwashing cult, I leave that claim to the scientologists. I simply mean that, if you were to tell a child that has no religion in its upbringing, then preaching the holy bible to him/her will yield no results, for one simple reason; the bible, as a story, is totally unbelievable and spectacularly self-contradicting. Genesis, in its entirety, is an excuse for billions of years of the planet sorting itself out to the state it is in today. Creationists can't accept this because they're working on a much shorter timescale. they think the earth is only about 6000 years old. Double that, then multiply it by 10. then another ten, then so on. The world is physically older then the faithful is willing to believe, because they're willing to be controlled in what they believe. To be faithful is to be controlled in what you believe by a book that tells the story of events that happened beyond the realms of human recording. It's guesswork, and it's worth several million a year in charitable donations.
So anyway, I'm an atheist, so I'm evil and deserve to rot in hell. Well there's the thing, i don't believe in hell, so I have no fear for it. hell is another invention to scare the qullible into obeying. And why am I evil? I spent 90% of yesterday helping out at a charity day, working my tits off for no pay and no adulation. I did it because I wanted to help. I'm also a loving husband and father, and would readily lay my life on the line for them.
I posted before about when I was confronted my some mor(m)ons, and the last sentence of that post still holds true. Do what you do to fulfill your life, gain comfort and solace from it, and allow it to make you a better person. I can do all that by myself, thanks very much.
Sorry again if I've offended anyone but us evil heathens are good at that
26 July 2008
Exactly how do you prepare yourself for an hour of agony?
Booze, would be the answer normally, but tattooists generally frown upon customers entering their salons asking for hitler to be tattooed on their foreheads.
(Pedants note; I never capitalize 'hitler')
I'm getting another tattoo done tuesday morning (would have been monday but... never mind, it's dull) and it's going to be about an hour of 100jbs (jabs per second) on the spine and shoulder blades. It would be dishonest to say i'm not shitting myself. The only solace I can derive is that i'm paying for pain, but not in the max mosely sense of the phrase.
Which, while detracting slightly from my point, brings me to ask, who the fuck pays for pain, seriously? I had a small shitty tattoo done on my spine years ago (which this new one is covering up) and it was excruciating for 5 minutes. This new one I'm having done is going to be at least an hour and while the studio offers pain relief, It's pricey, so I'm taking a book.
I'm going to file this one under 'pissed posts'. I'll read it tomorrow and cringe, then edit and/or delete
(Pedants note; I never capitalize 'hitler')
I'm getting another tattoo done tuesday morning (would have been monday but... never mind, it's dull) and it's going to be about an hour of 100jbs (jabs per second) on the spine and shoulder blades. It would be dishonest to say i'm not shitting myself. The only solace I can derive is that i'm paying for pain, but not in the max mosely sense of the phrase.
Which, while detracting slightly from my point, brings me to ask, who the fuck pays for pain, seriously? I had a small shitty tattoo done on my spine years ago (which this new one is covering up) and it was excruciating for 5 minutes. This new one I'm having done is going to be at least an hour and while the studio offers pain relief, It's pricey, so I'm taking a book.
I'm going to file this one under 'pissed posts'. I'll read it tomorrow and cringe, then edit and/or delete
17 May 2008
aw crap
Nothing to see here.. move along... but seriously folks, take my wife, etc... Nowt to report, just waiting for contracts and things to happen. Bit weird really, what with me being a complete virgin when it comes to these matters, I feel I should be making phone calls or meeting people. Oh well, suppose it's ll a learning experience.
On the plus side, made £40 quid on ebay for some old strategy guides, which was nice. On the down side, my truck is destroying itself on a daily basis. Outrigger leg needed replacing, mirror broke, crane pissing hydraulic oil all over the bed, plus the anti-gravity repulsorlift generator's been stuck on all week. makes steering a bugger...
On the plus side, made £40 quid on ebay for some old strategy guides, which was nice. On the down side, my truck is destroying itself on a daily basis. Outrigger leg needed replacing, mirror broke, crane pissing hydraulic oil all over the bed, plus the anti-gravity repulsorlift generator's been stuck on all week. makes steering a bugger...
04 May 2008
Green Fingers - a surprising turn of events
after a month racking my brains trying to sort out the back story for Bleeding, all of a sudden Green Fingers adapted itself into a screenplay in about 3 hours, the swine.
Some director bloke likes it, and apparently, he's gonna film it.
scuse me while i get another fookin' beer...
Some director bloke likes it, and apparently, he's gonna film it.
scuse me while i get another fookin' beer...
01 March 2008
GAWD BLESS YA 'ARRY!!!!
So Prince Harry went out to afghanistan and fought the enemy. Big fucking whoop. He's in the bloody army, he's supposed to. For the last 10 weeks he's been out there, doing his job, commanding his troops, and doing it very well. Obviously, he's kept his face under wraps, and thanks to a news blackout agreed with the British media, he's been doing it under a shroud of well-maintained secrecy.
...until some prick with a sense of self-importance larger then the aesthetic quality of his basic-at-best website thinks it'll be a great idea to blab to the world about his exclusive (which he stole from Australia) find that Harry's out doing his job, and thereby immediately making him and his entire platoon the Taleban's MVT.
Then , of course, all the news agencies (including the BBC - for shame) reported every hour, on the hour, about Harry's final movements out of the battle Zone. Just in case the taleban had a couple of SAM's they needed to get rid of..
I'm not going to name the prick that spilled the beans (although it's pretty much public knowledge by now) but it's dickwads like these that make me realise William Atherton's Dick Thornberg wasn't such a stretch from the truth after all...
...until some prick with a sense of self-importance larger then the aesthetic quality of his basic-at-best website thinks it'll be a great idea to blab to the world about his exclusive (which he stole from Australia) find that Harry's out doing his job, and thereby immediately making him and his entire platoon the Taleban's MVT.
Then , of course, all the news agencies (including the BBC - for shame) reported every hour, on the hour, about Harry's final movements out of the battle Zone. Just in case the taleban had a couple of SAM's they needed to get rid of..
I'm not going to name the prick that spilled the beans (although it's pretty much public knowledge by now) but it's dickwads like these that make me realise William Atherton's Dick Thornberg wasn't such a stretch from the truth after all...
26 January 2008
Pissing in the wind - Theologically speaking
Time is precious, especially when you've got so little of it in the day to get all of your work done.
Today, I'm going about my business, delivering nondescript building materials to an address that's a bugger to get to (again). As I'm waiting at the door I've just knocked on, 3 guys wearing black bomber jackets pass me.
The Following is an ABSOLUTE FACTUAL TRANSCRIPT of events that happened to me today.
"Hello there"
Um.. ok, polite enough..
"Hello" (I knock at the door again)
"Keeping busy?" They're standing there, side by side, with rather unsettling smiles on their faces. I'm a polite person, very non-antagonistic..
"Yeah, it's picking up. Always quiet this time of year" (Jeez, open the fucking door)
"Do you get much free time in your line of work?"
"Oh, I only work 7 till 5, I spend the rest of my time with my family, really"
"Oh. that's very nice. Tell me, would you consider devoting some of that free time... to Jesus...?"
Oh. Jesus tap-dancing-fucking Christ. here he go (inhales)
"Sorry, I don't believe in God. You're wasting your time"
Three smily faces become three faces of concerned disappointment so quickly I don't even see the transition
"Oh, so you've rejected god" (heads tilt to the side sycopantically, I try not to laugh)
"No, I don't believe in god" Perplexed expressions
"That's what I said"
"No. In order to reject a non-specific deity (Thanks Bill Bailey) I have to have had some initial belief in them. I've never believed in a god, therefore, I haven't rejected anything."
"Oh, so you're an Atheist" (the expressions are almost like those you'd see over a death-bed)
"Nope"
"But if you don't believe in Our Lord, you must be an Atheist"
"Says who?"
This completely threw them. Timothy (who was leading the conversation) quickly spoke with Sebastian (watery eyes, bad skin) before turning to me. I think they have courses teaching them how to deal with difficult specimens.
"The bible teaches us.."
"Excuse me, The bible might teach you, but I've never read it, therefore it can never teach me anything, let alone tell me how to lead my life, let alone tell me how to treat others with differing ideas on how to lead their lives."
"But, if you do not accept Jesus and his teachings then you'll never be.."
"Never be what? A good person?"
"Well, yes, you'll never.."
"HOW DARE YOU!!!" (I actually shouted, the mirth held tightly within, an academy award beckons before age 40, I'm sure) "How dare you pass judgement on me without knowing me. I work hard for my meagre wage, i provide for my wife and child, who I love with all my heart and soul, and would readily lay my life on the line to spare theirs. How dare you say that I'm not a complete person unless I pledge devotion to a fictional character in a book."
15 seconds of silence followed. They turned their backs on me to discuss something, when a neighbour of the house opened their door
"Is no-one answering? I think they're out the back, I'll get them for you"
"Thank you. Soon as you can would be lovely"
The 3 of strong faith turned to me.
"We understand you have a strong belief in your own following.."
"Nicely put"
"..but would you take this leaflet, and might I ask you to spare some of your time.."
"A leaflet? A Fucking leaflet? You're trying to preach the word of the Lord Almighty to the massed heathens and the last vestige of truth you cling to is a piggin' leaflet? Why can't you accept that you can't change the way people think?"
"We're not trying to change..."
"What have you been doing in this street today?"
"Well, we've been canvassing the neighbourhood, asking the residents if they'd like to join our church"
"Fair enough. And if they were atheists, or agnostics, of if they belonged to a different church..?"
"Then.. we would have told them of the ways of Mormon, and advised them to join our church"
"So you're telling them to change the way they think? If they have one belief, you consider that to be wrong, and advise them to come around to your way of thinking. Does your faith teach tolerance?"
"Of course, but when the lamb has strayed..."
"Oh, get fucked, will ya? You claim to preach tolerance, yet when someone dares to think in a slightly different way from your bigoted views, they have no choice but to be saved by your noble belief. Stop talking to me. you're insulting my intelligence with every breath"
At this point the customer actually opened his door and gave me an excuse to leave these imbeciles.
I have no problem with religion of any kind, up until the point where it tells me how I have to live my life. I am a husband and father. I work bloody hard for a living, and I struggle at times to get by. I am a realist, not an atheist. The word atheist is bandied around a lot as someone who doesn't believe in God. I have no belief, to be an atheist is to belive there is no god, which in turn, is a belief.
I'm also tolerant. Years of bullying and being demeaned by my peers have teached me humilty, that no man is above another, no matter their status in socity their wealth or breeding, of their faith.
I Think, therefore I am. God's got nothing to do with it.
Today, I'm going about my business, delivering nondescript building materials to an address that's a bugger to get to (again). As I'm waiting at the door I've just knocked on, 3 guys wearing black bomber jackets pass me.
The Following is an ABSOLUTE FACTUAL TRANSCRIPT of events that happened to me today.
"Hello there"
Um.. ok, polite enough..
"Hello" (I knock at the door again)
"Keeping busy?" They're standing there, side by side, with rather unsettling smiles on their faces. I'm a polite person, very non-antagonistic..
"Yeah, it's picking up. Always quiet this time of year" (Jeez, open the fucking door)
"Do you get much free time in your line of work?"
"Oh, I only work 7 till 5, I spend the rest of my time with my family, really"
"Oh. that's very nice. Tell me, would you consider devoting some of that free time... to Jesus...?"
Oh. Jesus tap-dancing-fucking Christ. here he go (inhales)
"Sorry, I don't believe in God. You're wasting your time"
Three smily faces become three faces of concerned disappointment so quickly I don't even see the transition
"Oh, so you've rejected god" (heads tilt to the side sycopantically, I try not to laugh)
"No, I don't believe in god" Perplexed expressions
"That's what I said"
"No. In order to reject a non-specific deity (Thanks Bill Bailey) I have to have had some initial belief in them. I've never believed in a god, therefore, I haven't rejected anything."
"Oh, so you're an Atheist" (the expressions are almost like those you'd see over a death-bed)
"Nope"
"But if you don't believe in Our Lord, you must be an Atheist"
"Says who?"
This completely threw them. Timothy (who was leading the conversation) quickly spoke with Sebastian (watery eyes, bad skin) before turning to me. I think they have courses teaching them how to deal with difficult specimens.
"The bible teaches us.."
"Excuse me, The bible might teach you, but I've never read it, therefore it can never teach me anything, let alone tell me how to lead my life, let alone tell me how to treat others with differing ideas on how to lead their lives."
"But, if you do not accept Jesus and his teachings then you'll never be.."
"Never be what? A good person?"
"Well, yes, you'll never.."
"HOW DARE YOU!!!" (I actually shouted, the mirth held tightly within, an academy award beckons before age 40, I'm sure) "How dare you pass judgement on me without knowing me. I work hard for my meagre wage, i provide for my wife and child, who I love with all my heart and soul, and would readily lay my life on the line to spare theirs. How dare you say that I'm not a complete person unless I pledge devotion to a fictional character in a book."
15 seconds of silence followed. They turned their backs on me to discuss something, when a neighbour of the house opened their door
"Is no-one answering? I think they're out the back, I'll get them for you"
"Thank you. Soon as you can would be lovely"
The 3 of strong faith turned to me.
"We understand you have a strong belief in your own following.."
"Nicely put"
"..but would you take this leaflet, and might I ask you to spare some of your time.."
"A leaflet? A Fucking leaflet? You're trying to preach the word of the Lord Almighty to the massed heathens and the last vestige of truth you cling to is a piggin' leaflet? Why can't you accept that you can't change the way people think?"
"We're not trying to change..."
"What have you been doing in this street today?"
"Well, we've been canvassing the neighbourhood, asking the residents if they'd like to join our church"
"Fair enough. And if they were atheists, or agnostics, of if they belonged to a different church..?"
"Then.. we would have told them of the ways of Mormon, and advised them to join our church"
"So you're telling them to change the way they think? If they have one belief, you consider that to be wrong, and advise them to come around to your way of thinking. Does your faith teach tolerance?"
"Of course, but when the lamb has strayed..."
"Oh, get fucked, will ya? You claim to preach tolerance, yet when someone dares to think in a slightly different way from your bigoted views, they have no choice but to be saved by your noble belief. Stop talking to me. you're insulting my intelligence with every breath"
At this point the customer actually opened his door and gave me an excuse to leave these imbeciles.
I have no problem with religion of any kind, up until the point where it tells me how I have to live my life. I am a husband and father. I work bloody hard for a living, and I struggle at times to get by. I am a realist, not an atheist. The word atheist is bandied around a lot as someone who doesn't believe in God. I have no belief, to be an atheist is to belive there is no god, which in turn, is a belief.
I'm also tolerant. Years of bullying and being demeaned by my peers have teached me humilty, that no man is above another, no matter their status in socity their wealth or breeding, of their faith.
I Think, therefore I am. God's got nothing to do with it.
06 January 2008
Mugglenet got hacked
I'm a moderately passionate Harry potter fan, not quite passionate enough to visit a supermarket at midnight to get my copy, but enough to know that Harry named his daughter Lily luna.
Therefore, it was with a sense of anger that I'd learned that mugglenetgot hacked quite severely this week.
Now, I'm in 2 minds about this. One, that I'm fucking angry that a well-meaning, non-malicious site such as mugglenet would be the subject of such an attack.
And Two. You're a hacker. You've assembled a team of the best hackers in your sad little no-other-friends-on-the-planet circle, you've managed to steal some of the best hacking tools from limewire and mininova, you're all braced for the most 1337 hack on the feckin planet and you hack Mugglenet??? That's it? It was down for 36 hours and NO-ONE NOTICED.
Emerson, if you read this, which I doubt, but if, well done for getting back up and showing these genetically deficient fuckwits exactly how much of a dent they made in out lives, and to the hackers themselves, got one word for ya...
Therefore, it was with a sense of anger that I'd learned that mugglenetgot hacked quite severely this week.
Now, I'm in 2 minds about this. One, that I'm fucking angry that a well-meaning, non-malicious site such as mugglenet would be the subject of such an attack.
And Two. You're a hacker. You've assembled a team of the best hackers in your sad little no-other-friends-on-the-planet circle, you've managed to steal some of the best hacking tools from limewire and mininova, you're all braced for the most 1337 hack on the feckin planet and you hack Mugglenet??? That's it? It was down for 36 hours and NO-ONE NOTICED.
Emerson, if you read this, which I doubt, but if, well done for getting back up and showing these genetically deficient fuckwits exactly how much of a dent they made in out lives, and to the hackers themselves, got one word for ya...
05 October 2007
Window Shopping
It's been a long time coming, couldn't figure how the hell to end it. In the end, i decided on a departure from my normal tangents..
Thanks to Jammie for Lightning, Speaker, Pillbox Hat & Fir tree..
Window Shopping.
The high street buzzed with Saturday shoppers. Bargain-seeking housewives with noisy offspring, elderly couples holding everyone up as they potter about and randomly stop for no apparent reason, their prattle drowned out by the shouts of the market stall holders hawking their cheap imported wares. In amongst all the 'normo's', Siobhan and Clarissa barged past everyone to get to no-where in particular, swearing randomly as they went.
"Oh this is really pissing me off, Sibs." yelled the shorter, fatter one to her lanky companion, who was currently held up by an old woman gazing at a comfy cardigan in the window of Quality seconds.
"Ah... crap... Hang on C, I'm just... hang on.." 'Sibs' sidestepped the old woman and trod on the toes of a small child as she passed. The child's mother glared at her as the child burst into tears. "Oh... sorreee" she mumbled incoherently as she caught up with her fellow rebel outside Woolworths.
"So, where d'ya wanna go C?" drawled Siobhan, chewing her gum in a hopefully aggressive way. She checked her make-up in the shop window. Her face was mainly black and white, a stark message to the oppresive regimes of the establishment, which mainly amounted to her incredibly wealthy parents. Clarissa was a schoolfriend who she'd never really managed to get rid of. Truthfully, she liked C, as she was pretty much her only friend, and imitation was supposed to some kind of flattery. Clarissa checked her make-up too, it was pretty much the same, but C hadn't got around to dying her hair purple as Sibs had done. Pale face, black edges and the entire Emo look somehow didn't quite gel with her frizzy ginger hair, but she was happy as long as she had people like Sibs to tell her she looked ok.
"Ummm.. wanna go to Top Shop? My cousin's mate says they've got this great new line.." Sibs cut across her.
"Too conformist, I've told ya. Never go into a shop that has anything from the top 10 playing out of the speakers. They're trying to turn us all into clones, all wearing the same outfits and listening to the same crap. No-one tries to be an individual anymore. Not like us..." She nodded moodily as a familiar pair of identically-garbed creatures of the night passed in the opposite direction. "See? we're making a statement. We don't follow normal clothing patterns". Clarissa sighed. That line was lifted straight from Kevin & Perry. Sibs did this a lot, tried to be a rebellious type, but in the end, just displayed her general ignorance. Clarissa kept her tongue. It was quite fun listening to Sibs talk sometimes, she'd even started writing some of her less-intelligent musings down at home.
They came up to a recently-vacated bench under a young fir tree, no doubt planted to give some colour to the grey facade of the buildings lining the street. There was a hot dog stall at the end of a raised planter. Siobhan reached into her pocket and pulled out a tenner.
"Here, C, get us both a couple of hot dogs or something, I'm bloody starving." Clarissa sighed again, but did as she was asked. Another benefit of having Sibs as a mate - she was generous to a fault. Clarissa joined the long queue, tutted at the undetermined waiting time, pulled out her mobile phone and started jabbing at the keypad.
Siobhan stretched out on the bench stretching her arms along the top of the back of the bench, giving sort-of threatening glares to anyone they even looked like they wanted to take the weight off their feet. Looking at the queue, Clarissa hadn't moved an inch.
"Excuse me, dear, is that seat taken?" Siobhan jumped a foot in the air
"Jesus Christ! You scared the bloody life out of me! What'tya do that for?" The little old lady's smile didn't falter at the tone.
"Oh, my dear, I'm sorry about that. Would you mind if I sat there? My hip's giving me gyp again." Siobhan looked her up and down, she was wearing a pink suit with a skirt far too short for her years, and topped it off with a stupid little pillbox-hat. She was leaning on a walking stick and, although smiling, had a pained look in her eyes.
"Oh, well, I was waiting... Um.. yeah, sure.." She shuffled to one end of the bench and the woman sat down with a grateful sigh. She placed her heavy shopping bag beside her and sat back. Siobhan was pointedly looking in the opposite direction to the woman 'don't talk to me, don't talk to me, don't talk to me...' she thought, Clarissa was not much further along. She caught her eye and gave the internationally recognised shrug of general 'what's happening?'. Clarissa shrugged back and pointed at the old woman at the front of the queue, who seemed to be paying for a cup of tea with pennies. Siobhan sat back down in her seat and exhaled noisily.
"We never seem to be in a hurry, do we dear?" Siobhan cast a furtive glance out of the corner of her eye. 'Oh god, she's talking to me, isn't she? At least she isn't.. yes, she's offering me a sweet'. Siobhan gave a non-commital grunt as means of a response. "Would you like a bonbon?' She sank further into her section of the bench, trying to make herself invisible.
"No thanks" she muttered, head bowed as low as she could into her chest. If she gave off an air of indifference,maybe she wouldn't..
"Well, you see everyone these days, all rushing around, no time to take in what's around themselves. When you get to our age, You've done your rushing. We just want to take it easy".
"Bit selfish" Siobhan surprised herself by responding.
"Oh, you do speak. And why would you call us selfish?" Arms still folded across her chest, Siobhan sat up a little.
"Well, you might want to take it easy, but people have got places to go. You get in the way". The old lady observed her for a second.
"We have places to go too, you know. I ask you, what destination was so important that you had to barge past so many people? This bench? That burger van? You might be young now, but I'd advise you to slow down a bit. You're wasting your youth. Trust me on this Siobhan". She held her bag of sweets a little higher and poked around inside, a small smile in the corner of her mouth betrayed her supposed nochalance.
"How do you know my bloody name?" Siobhan was giving her her full attention now. "Who are you? Have you been following me? What do you want me for?" The old lady chuckled gently and placed the bag of sweets back into her straw bag.
"I don't want you for anything, my dear. I haven't been following you at all, and I know your name, because you and your friend at the burger van were shouting at each other at the top of your voices in your haste to get to this rather dull bench. I doubt there isn't a person in this street that doesn't know your and your friend Clarissa's name. I'd also wager that they've all got a pretty shrewd idea of what kind of characters you both are too. I'm surprised you weren't deafened by the tutting" The indignation on the young girl's face emitted a radiation possibly hotter than the burger van's grill. She stood up, her face beetroot with adolescent rage
"Hang on, who the bloody hell do you think you are you old bitch? I can do what the fuck I like" Again, the woman didn't flinch at the tone.
"Yes, you can. I told you, you're young, but I'll tell you again, you have to slow down, or you'll dance yourself into an early grave, and everyone you know will think of how poorly you spent your years. Sit down, my dear. Please." Siobhan folded her arms and resumed her position on the bench, stoically looking away. She glanced at Clarissa, she was at the front of the queue and apparently hadn't noticed the shouting.
"Can I bore you with a little tale? When i was about your age I lost a very good friend. She wasn't the best of friends, in fact she could be a stubborn, selfish bitch herself sometimes, and she acted like the world owed her a favour. Stropping about all the time, pushing others around, barging through crowds, a lot like you, truth be told, no offence... well, not much." Siobhan huffed and folded her arms a little tighter. "But her family and friends loved her, and would you like to know what happened? She was struck by lightning. Simple as that. A bolt from the blue, so to speak." At these words, Siobhan instinctively looked up. it was a clear blue sky. She held herself closer. After a long pause, she spoke.
"Why are you telling me this? I'm nobody, I don't need a Mr Miyagi. There's thousands of kids like me." For the first time, she looked the old lady in the eyes and was instantly struck at how tired, yet indescribably familiar they were.
"You honestly believe you're nobody? See your friend there? She loves you more then you know. She might think you're a little predictable with too many movie quotes in your vocabulary, but she cares more for you than she'd ever say, and if you weren't there for her, she'd disappear into herself. It's not just you, Siobhan, don't take this for something it isn't. There's thousands of close friends who never tell each other how they really feel about each other.... and... then... then it's too late to say anything, because you grow up, or grow apart." Tears glistened in the old woman's eyes, and Siobhan felt deeply ashamed she didn't have a tissue to offer her. Suddenly, Clarissa was beside them, holding a ketchup-dripping hotdog in each hand, a bemused expression on her face as she beheld the spectacle of her rebellious Emo friend conversing tenderly with an old dear wearing an entirely inaproppriate outfit.
"Um.... Sibs? You... ok?" Siobhan looked at her friend and nodded. She turned to her elderly comapnion and placed a hand on her shoulder. She tried to speak but no words came. It wasn't a thought process that came easily to her. The old woman nodded and smiled.
"Don't you worry dear, I'm ok, it just does good to let it out. Remember that, don't keep it all bottled up. There isn't a problem you'll ever have that someone else hasn't already had, and overcome. Just.. remember what friends are actually for." She smiled at Clarissa "Now, didn't your friend there want to do something...?"
Siobhan stood up. Again, she was stumped for words. She settled for a timid 'Thanks', took her friend's arm (and one of the hotdogs) and walked away in the direction of TopShop.
A short while later, quite unexpectedly, there was an almightly bang as a white-hot bolt of lightning touched ground blasting apart a bench, where, several witnesses had sworn that a sweet old woman in a pink outfit had been sitting moments before, yet no-one could recall actually seeing her leave.
Thanks to Jammie for Lightning, Speaker, Pillbox Hat & Fir tree..
Window Shopping.
The high street buzzed with Saturday shoppers. Bargain-seeking housewives with noisy offspring, elderly couples holding everyone up as they potter about and randomly stop for no apparent reason, their prattle drowned out by the shouts of the market stall holders hawking their cheap imported wares. In amongst all the 'normo's', Siobhan and Clarissa barged past everyone to get to no-where in particular, swearing randomly as they went.
"Oh this is really pissing me off, Sibs." yelled the shorter, fatter one to her lanky companion, who was currently held up by an old woman gazing at a comfy cardigan in the window of Quality seconds.
"Ah... crap... Hang on C, I'm just... hang on.." 'Sibs' sidestepped the old woman and trod on the toes of a small child as she passed. The child's mother glared at her as the child burst into tears. "Oh... sorreee" she mumbled incoherently as she caught up with her fellow rebel outside Woolworths.
"So, where d'ya wanna go C?" drawled Siobhan, chewing her gum in a hopefully aggressive way. She checked her make-up in the shop window. Her face was mainly black and white, a stark message to the oppresive regimes of the establishment, which mainly amounted to her incredibly wealthy parents. Clarissa was a schoolfriend who she'd never really managed to get rid of. Truthfully, she liked C, as she was pretty much her only friend, and imitation was supposed to some kind of flattery. Clarissa checked her make-up too, it was pretty much the same, but C hadn't got around to dying her hair purple as Sibs had done. Pale face, black edges and the entire Emo look somehow didn't quite gel with her frizzy ginger hair, but she was happy as long as she had people like Sibs to tell her she looked ok.
"Ummm.. wanna go to Top Shop? My cousin's mate says they've got this great new line.." Sibs cut across her.
"Too conformist, I've told ya. Never go into a shop that has anything from the top 10 playing out of the speakers. They're trying to turn us all into clones, all wearing the same outfits and listening to the same crap. No-one tries to be an individual anymore. Not like us..." She nodded moodily as a familiar pair of identically-garbed creatures of the night passed in the opposite direction. "See? we're making a statement. We don't follow normal clothing patterns". Clarissa sighed. That line was lifted straight from Kevin & Perry. Sibs did this a lot, tried to be a rebellious type, but in the end, just displayed her general ignorance. Clarissa kept her tongue. It was quite fun listening to Sibs talk sometimes, she'd even started writing some of her less-intelligent musings down at home.
They came up to a recently-vacated bench under a young fir tree, no doubt planted to give some colour to the grey facade of the buildings lining the street. There was a hot dog stall at the end of a raised planter. Siobhan reached into her pocket and pulled out a tenner.
"Here, C, get us both a couple of hot dogs or something, I'm bloody starving." Clarissa sighed again, but did as she was asked. Another benefit of having Sibs as a mate - she was generous to a fault. Clarissa joined the long queue, tutted at the undetermined waiting time, pulled out her mobile phone and started jabbing at the keypad.
Siobhan stretched out on the bench stretching her arms along the top of the back of the bench, giving sort-of threatening glares to anyone they even looked like they wanted to take the weight off their feet. Looking at the queue, Clarissa hadn't moved an inch.
"Excuse me, dear, is that seat taken?" Siobhan jumped a foot in the air
"Jesus Christ! You scared the bloody life out of me! What'tya do that for?" The little old lady's smile didn't falter at the tone.
"Oh, my dear, I'm sorry about that. Would you mind if I sat there? My hip's giving me gyp again." Siobhan looked her up and down, she was wearing a pink suit with a skirt far too short for her years, and topped it off with a stupid little pillbox-hat. She was leaning on a walking stick and, although smiling, had a pained look in her eyes.
"Oh, well, I was waiting... Um.. yeah, sure.." She shuffled to one end of the bench and the woman sat down with a grateful sigh. She placed her heavy shopping bag beside her and sat back. Siobhan was pointedly looking in the opposite direction to the woman 'don't talk to me, don't talk to me, don't talk to me...' she thought, Clarissa was not much further along. She caught her eye and gave the internationally recognised shrug of general 'what's happening?'. Clarissa shrugged back and pointed at the old woman at the front of the queue, who seemed to be paying for a cup of tea with pennies. Siobhan sat back down in her seat and exhaled noisily.
"We never seem to be in a hurry, do we dear?" Siobhan cast a furtive glance out of the corner of her eye. 'Oh god, she's talking to me, isn't she? At least she isn't.. yes, she's offering me a sweet'. Siobhan gave a non-commital grunt as means of a response. "Would you like a bonbon?' She sank further into her section of the bench, trying to make herself invisible.
"No thanks" she muttered, head bowed as low as she could into her chest. If she gave off an air of indifference,maybe she wouldn't..
"Well, you see everyone these days, all rushing around, no time to take in what's around themselves. When you get to our age, You've done your rushing. We just want to take it easy".
"Bit selfish" Siobhan surprised herself by responding.
"Oh, you do speak. And why would you call us selfish?" Arms still folded across her chest, Siobhan sat up a little.
"Well, you might want to take it easy, but people have got places to go. You get in the way". The old lady observed her for a second.
"We have places to go too, you know. I ask you, what destination was so important that you had to barge past so many people? This bench? That burger van? You might be young now, but I'd advise you to slow down a bit. You're wasting your youth. Trust me on this Siobhan". She held her bag of sweets a little higher and poked around inside, a small smile in the corner of her mouth betrayed her supposed nochalance.
"How do you know my bloody name?" Siobhan was giving her her full attention now. "Who are you? Have you been following me? What do you want me for?" The old lady chuckled gently and placed the bag of sweets back into her straw bag.
"I don't want you for anything, my dear. I haven't been following you at all, and I know your name, because you and your friend at the burger van were shouting at each other at the top of your voices in your haste to get to this rather dull bench. I doubt there isn't a person in this street that doesn't know your and your friend Clarissa's name. I'd also wager that they've all got a pretty shrewd idea of what kind of characters you both are too. I'm surprised you weren't deafened by the tutting" The indignation on the young girl's face emitted a radiation possibly hotter than the burger van's grill. She stood up, her face beetroot with adolescent rage
"Hang on, who the bloody hell do you think you are you old bitch? I can do what the fuck I like" Again, the woman didn't flinch at the tone.
"Yes, you can. I told you, you're young, but I'll tell you again, you have to slow down, or you'll dance yourself into an early grave, and everyone you know will think of how poorly you spent your years. Sit down, my dear. Please." Siobhan folded her arms and resumed her position on the bench, stoically looking away. She glanced at Clarissa, she was at the front of the queue and apparently hadn't noticed the shouting.
"Can I bore you with a little tale? When i was about your age I lost a very good friend. She wasn't the best of friends, in fact she could be a stubborn, selfish bitch herself sometimes, and she acted like the world owed her a favour. Stropping about all the time, pushing others around, barging through crowds, a lot like you, truth be told, no offence... well, not much." Siobhan huffed and folded her arms a little tighter. "But her family and friends loved her, and would you like to know what happened? She was struck by lightning. Simple as that. A bolt from the blue, so to speak." At these words, Siobhan instinctively looked up. it was a clear blue sky. She held herself closer. After a long pause, she spoke.
"Why are you telling me this? I'm nobody, I don't need a Mr Miyagi. There's thousands of kids like me." For the first time, she looked the old lady in the eyes and was instantly struck at how tired, yet indescribably familiar they were.
"You honestly believe you're nobody? See your friend there? She loves you more then you know. She might think you're a little predictable with too many movie quotes in your vocabulary, but she cares more for you than she'd ever say, and if you weren't there for her, she'd disappear into herself. It's not just you, Siobhan, don't take this for something it isn't. There's thousands of close friends who never tell each other how they really feel about each other.... and... then... then it's too late to say anything, because you grow up, or grow apart." Tears glistened in the old woman's eyes, and Siobhan felt deeply ashamed she didn't have a tissue to offer her. Suddenly, Clarissa was beside them, holding a ketchup-dripping hotdog in each hand, a bemused expression on her face as she beheld the spectacle of her rebellious Emo friend conversing tenderly with an old dear wearing an entirely inaproppriate outfit.
"Um.... Sibs? You... ok?" Siobhan looked at her friend and nodded. She turned to her elderly comapnion and placed a hand on her shoulder. She tried to speak but no words came. It wasn't a thought process that came easily to her. The old woman nodded and smiled.
"Don't you worry dear, I'm ok, it just does good to let it out. Remember that, don't keep it all bottled up. There isn't a problem you'll ever have that someone else hasn't already had, and overcome. Just.. remember what friends are actually for." She smiled at Clarissa "Now, didn't your friend there want to do something...?"
Siobhan stood up. Again, she was stumped for words. She settled for a timid 'Thanks', took her friend's arm (and one of the hotdogs) and walked away in the direction of TopShop.
A short while later, quite unexpectedly, there was an almightly bang as a white-hot bolt of lightning touched ground blasting apart a bench, where, several witnesses had sworn that a sweet old woman in a pink outfit had been sitting moments before, yet no-one could recall actually seeing her leave.
15 September 2007
Fudge
Quite possibly the geekiest thing i've done in many a year (and for me, that's saying something), but if you're at all interested, here's me, demonstrating how to make my rather splendid fudge-type-tooth-rotting stuff.
27 August 2007
How the Teaser Trailer for deathly Hallows should look.
Black. A pin-prick of light suddenly appears centre screen, we hear the distant sound of a door closing.
Footsteps. They get increasingly louder as we gradually see 2 people walking towards us. All we can see is their feet, which are just below centre-screen as they approach. We begin to make out that one pair of legs belong to a girl in victorian dress, the other to a man. black trousers, black shoes.
The girl stops walking, but the man takes a few more steps, then stops.
The figure jumps down from his invisible dark ledge, then straightens up. We see the face of Neville Longbottom, long hair, with a visible scar on each cheek.
He stares straight at camera, then smiles his lop-sided smile, then speaks.
"Hi, Harry"
-Cut to Title-
Footsteps. They get increasingly louder as we gradually see 2 people walking towards us. All we can see is their feet, which are just below centre-screen as they approach. We begin to make out that one pair of legs belong to a girl in victorian dress, the other to a man. black trousers, black shoes.
The girl stops walking, but the man takes a few more steps, then stops.
The figure jumps down from his invisible dark ledge, then straightens up. We see the face of Neville Longbottom, long hair, with a visible scar on each cheek.
He stares straight at camera, then smiles his lop-sided smile, then speaks.
"Hi, Harry"
-Cut to Title-
12 August 2007
My Greatest Ever Doodle
Many, many moons ago I actually had some free time on my hands whilst at work. During this rare free time, I tended to doodle. Some efforts were optical illusions, others mere spheres with gourad-worthy shading. Trowlong through an old CD of old pre-re-installation data, i found this puppy.
Not earth-moving news, I know, but I thought it a mite cool
Oh, and I re-read heart-shaped face again. Damn I need therapy
Not earth-moving news, I know, but I thought it a mite cool
Oh, and I re-read heart-shaped face again. Damn I need therapy
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