We've just come back from a few days in sunny Portugal, spending some time with a couple of friends, so we're still acclimatising back into everyday life at the moment, but feeling very refreshed.
Myself aside, none of us had flown before, so it was a whole new experience for the rest of the tribe to encounter and negotiate the gamut of airport security before boarding the medium sized metal bird that was to propel us south for two and a half hours to sunnier climes.
The villa we were staying in was nothing short of stunning, with our bedroom being larger than the entire ground floor space of our house here in the UK, and that's before even considering the games room and a cinema that I could quite happily move into and never leave again.
Portugal itself was stunning - hot and dry, but not stifling, it is such a departure from the landscape and sights of the UK, complete with stray dogs, stucco villas, blue, blue sea and the best fish that I have tasted in a long, long time.
With our friends we go-carted, we golfed, we drank wine and smoked cigars (well, I did anyway), and played in the pool (which was ice cold thanks to the heating being on the fritz but strangely refreshing and vital because of it) and the jacuzzi.
We ate barbecue, chicken curry and I even cooked one of my famous, huge full English breakfasts which rose from my plate like a bacon, egg, friend bread and bean version of the mashed potato Devil's Mountain from Close Encounters.
Feeliing much relaxed and rested, we reluctantly returned to the UK on Sunday to find that I had matched five numbers on the lottery! Sadly, though, so had six hundred or so other people, so I'm writing this from the usual place, rather than in retirement!
Tuesday, 17 February 2009
Saturday, 31 January 2009
Bloody Valentines and Hotel Heiresses
A couple of things for this entry, and they couldn't be more different.
First up, I went to see the remake of the eighties slasher movie My Bloody Valentine with my friend Nick last week. I love the original, although it was unfortunately a victim of the censors on its release, with 9 minutes of gore being excised, and which have only just been reinstated into a recent DVD release, so I was curious to see what the current fad for remaking classic movies woudl do with this.
One major factor in the right direction was the fact that this was in 3D, which I have to admit I had reservations with before I saw it as the last 3D movie I saw in theatres was Jaws 3D which was, frankly, rubbish.
I'm happy to report, though, that MBV3D (as I shall refer to it) scored on just about every level. The obvious draw, being the 3D, was awesome. It was a far cry from the 'point a stick at the screen' 3D of years gone by, and instead felt much more immersive, almost as if I was standing just to stage left of the actual shoot itself.
3D aside, it was a welcome return to the feel of the 80s slasher movies - gore, gratuitous nudity, outrageous kills and a left of field ending. Stupid, yes, but immensely enjoyable. If I want Citizen Kane, I'll watch Orsen Welles, but though the classic 80s horror movies are flawed in terms of character and morality, they are - above all - fun, and that's all I want from a kill-by-numbers flick. (Oh, and the fact that it had Supernatural's Jensen Ackles in it didn't hurt, as I think he's a talent to watch and keeps me very entertained in the TV series.)
Secondly, I want to discuss Paris.
Hilton, that is. Yes, socialite and porn star Paris Hilton (who I have to grudgingly admit was OK in the recent House Of Wax remake) has come to London to find her (and try not to gag) British Best Friend (or 'BFF' as they nauseatingly refer to it throughout the programme.)
I can't help but feel sorry for the desperate individuals who are vying to be best friends with Paris, but not for the reasons you might think. Though I really (really) (no, really) want to hate this woman, I find myself thinking that if she was away from the spotlight, the papparazi, and all the fake showbiz crap that she might actually be a decent human being.
I have to point out, that even if I were a single man and had come across her in a bar I wouldn't find her to be my type, and so I can say this with the usual sexual tension omitted, that I kind of think that she might be fun to hang out with.
However, we're never going to find out, so I'll let her humiliate her potential BFFs until she finds her girl (or maybe the single, very gay, man) and happily continue in my very happy life.
First up, I went to see the remake of the eighties slasher movie My Bloody Valentine with my friend Nick last week. I love the original, although it was unfortunately a victim of the censors on its release, with 9 minutes of gore being excised, and which have only just been reinstated into a recent DVD release, so I was curious to see what the current fad for remaking classic movies woudl do with this.
One major factor in the right direction was the fact that this was in 3D, which I have to admit I had reservations with before I saw it as the last 3D movie I saw in theatres was Jaws 3D which was, frankly, rubbish.
I'm happy to report, though, that MBV3D (as I shall refer to it) scored on just about every level. The obvious draw, being the 3D, was awesome. It was a far cry from the 'point a stick at the screen' 3D of years gone by, and instead felt much more immersive, almost as if I was standing just to stage left of the actual shoot itself.
3D aside, it was a welcome return to the feel of the 80s slasher movies - gore, gratuitous nudity, outrageous kills and a left of field ending. Stupid, yes, but immensely enjoyable. If I want Citizen Kane, I'll watch Orsen Welles, but though the classic 80s horror movies are flawed in terms of character and morality, they are - above all - fun, and that's all I want from a kill-by-numbers flick. (Oh, and the fact that it had Supernatural's Jensen Ackles in it didn't hurt, as I think he's a talent to watch and keeps me very entertained in the TV series.)
Secondly, I want to discuss Paris.
Hilton, that is. Yes, socialite and porn star Paris Hilton (who I have to grudgingly admit was OK in the recent House Of Wax remake) has come to London to find her (and try not to gag) British Best Friend (or 'BFF' as they nauseatingly refer to it throughout the programme.)
I can't help but feel sorry for the desperate individuals who are vying to be best friends with Paris, but not for the reasons you might think. Though I really (really) (no, really) want to hate this woman, I find myself thinking that if she was away from the spotlight, the papparazi, and all the fake showbiz crap that she might actually be a decent human being.
I have to point out, that even if I were a single man and had come across her in a bar I wouldn't find her to be my type, and so I can say this with the usual sexual tension omitted, that I kind of think that she might be fun to hang out with.
However, we're never going to find out, so I'll let her humiliate her potential BFFs until she finds her girl (or maybe the single, very gay, man) and happily continue in my very happy life.
Tuesday, 20 January 2009
Cometh The Donkey
It was a little over a year ago that I wrote about the complicated American system of electing their Presidents, and now, finally, the new PUSA is moving into 1600 Pennsylvania Avenue.
As we bid farewell to Bush the second, we are standing on the brink of a world of hope, of promise, and of possibilities, and for all the money in Bill Gates' bank account I wouldn't want to be in Barack Obama's shoes.
Never before, and certainly never in my lifetime, has so much anticipation been place on the back of a humble Donkey (the Democratic mascot, you see) - the last time was perhaps when another such beast was ferrying a certain expectant mother to a stable in the Holy Lands.
From where I'm standing, Obama certainly has the right feel abut him, and he seeme to have the vision, the dream, and above all and most vital, the integrity to actually do what he says he will do.
The task ahead of him is a mighty tall order, with security threats and economic meltdown, but even if he doesn't manage to pull off his minor miracle, then the one thing I ask of Mrs Obama's little boy, is that no matter how bad it gets, how desperate the stakes become, and however much he might be tempted to stray to the dark side, as his predecessor did, all I want, and I suspect the American people do to, if for him to tell the truth.
That's it. Simple, no?
By doing this one simple thing, this new inaugurated Donkey will prove that he is no ass.
As we bid farewell to Bush the second, we are standing on the brink of a world of hope, of promise, and of possibilities, and for all the money in Bill Gates' bank account I wouldn't want to be in Barack Obama's shoes.
Never before, and certainly never in my lifetime, has so much anticipation been place on the back of a humble Donkey (the Democratic mascot, you see) - the last time was perhaps when another such beast was ferrying a certain expectant mother to a stable in the Holy Lands.
From where I'm standing, Obama certainly has the right feel abut him, and he seeme to have the vision, the dream, and above all and most vital, the integrity to actually do what he says he will do.
The task ahead of him is a mighty tall order, with security threats and economic meltdown, but even if he doesn't manage to pull off his minor miracle, then the one thing I ask of Mrs Obama's little boy, is that no matter how bad it gets, how desperate the stakes become, and however much he might be tempted to stray to the dark side, as his predecessor did, all I want, and I suspect the American people do to, if for him to tell the truth.
That's it. Simple, no?
By doing this one simple thing, this new inaugurated Donkey will prove that he is no ass.
Thursday, 8 January 2009
And Your Point Was....?
As we settle down into this new year (yeah, another one - seems they happen on an almost annual basis these days), we've been having our year end here at work, which has meant some stupidly long hours and a little more stress than usual. (Ironically this is the second blog in two days despite this heavy schedule - how come I can't manage this when I'm less busy?)
What it has made me think about, though, is that ultimately what I do - pushing numbers around - is not going to make a jot of difference once I'm dead and gone.
That's not to say that my life is pointless - far from it - or that I leave no legacy - after all, I've published two books, written a movie soundtrack etc etc - but when compared to some of the people that I know, their professions will leave a lasting effect, whereas mine will make no difference whatsoever.
I have friend who is a nurse - she saves lives, and there are people no doubt walking around today as a result of some of her actions. I have another friend who is a teacher - there are children who have listened to her wise words and who in years to come will remember her as not only a great teacher, but also as their first crush. And I have my beloved .dark. whose profession is to be mother and mentor to her two offspring, and who have grown up into fine specimens of this race we call human.
The point of this missive? Well, nothing really. Just wanted to share.
As you were.....
What it has made me think about, though, is that ultimately what I do - pushing numbers around - is not going to make a jot of difference once I'm dead and gone.
That's not to say that my life is pointless - far from it - or that I leave no legacy - after all, I've published two books, written a movie soundtrack etc etc - but when compared to some of the people that I know, their professions will leave a lasting effect, whereas mine will make no difference whatsoever.
I have friend who is a nurse - she saves lives, and there are people no doubt walking around today as a result of some of her actions. I have another friend who is a teacher - there are children who have listened to her wise words and who in years to come will remember her as not only a great teacher, but also as their first crush. And I have my beloved .dark. whose profession is to be mother and mentor to her two offspring, and who have grown up into fine specimens of this race we call human.
The point of this missive? Well, nothing really. Just wanted to share.
As you were.....
Wednesday, 7 January 2009
7 Down, 358 To Go*
First of all, a very Happy New Year to any and all of you who may be reading these little missives that I fire off from time to time. Hard to believe I've been doing this for a year now, but it's interesting to look back at the things that have amused, enraged, and made me think over the last twelve months.
So, here we are a week into 2009 and things are very different than they were when I started these notes from the funny farm.
For a start I'm in Essex, I'm working in London again, and I'm happily settled into the family unit that I have inherited, and I couldn't be happier.
As far as new year resolutions go, well I haven't made any. I have a couple of goals -finish the edit of the book by the end of February, get stuck into my first novel, and develop a couple of screenplays that I've had on hold while I've been doing the last three non-fiction books, set up our new website - but no firm dates or anything, because I know that outside of my 'proper' job I'm rubbish with deadlines.
There are some things, unfortunately, that will be changing this year - the Astoria is being pulled down to make way for the new Tottenham Court Road tube station, and will be sorely missed. I saw some great bands there - Foo Fighters, Ash, Martin Gore, Vain, and most recently Ace Frehley - and consider it one of the finest venues in London (second only to Brixton Academy, which itself is second only in my all time favourite venues to Nottingham Rock City, where I spent much of my teenage years, and which brings me back to the book!)
I am happy, though, and healthy, and looking forward very much to my first full calendar year with the wonderful people that I share my life, and our house, with.
Here's raising a glass of red to each of you, and I hope that you're all as happy and content as I am.
Oh, and here's to another year of these outpourings - a drop in the ocean in the grand scheme of things, but they make me happy, and hopeful entertain you for a brief moment every now and again.
See you next time.....
(*days of the year, in case you were wondering)
So, here we are a week into 2009 and things are very different than they were when I started these notes from the funny farm.
For a start I'm in Essex, I'm working in London again, and I'm happily settled into the family unit that I have inherited, and I couldn't be happier.
As far as new year resolutions go, well I haven't made any. I have a couple of goals -finish the edit of the book by the end of February, get stuck into my first novel, and develop a couple of screenplays that I've had on hold while I've been doing the last three non-fiction books, set up our new website - but no firm dates or anything, because I know that outside of my 'proper' job I'm rubbish with deadlines.
There are some things, unfortunately, that will be changing this year - the Astoria is being pulled down to make way for the new Tottenham Court Road tube station, and will be sorely missed. I saw some great bands there - Foo Fighters, Ash, Martin Gore, Vain, and most recently Ace Frehley - and consider it one of the finest venues in London (second only to Brixton Academy, which itself is second only in my all time favourite venues to Nottingham Rock City, where I spent much of my teenage years, and which brings me back to the book!)
I am happy, though, and healthy, and looking forward very much to my first full calendar year with the wonderful people that I share my life, and our house, with.
Here's raising a glass of red to each of you, and I hope that you're all as happy and content as I am.
Oh, and here's to another year of these outpourings - a drop in the ocean in the grand scheme of things, but they make me happy, and hopeful entertain you for a brief moment every now and again.
See you next time.....
(*days of the year, in case you were wondering)
Tuesday, 9 December 2008
The Little Things That Are Anything But
There are things that stay with you, things that may only last for a moment, but which lodge themselves into the depths of your subconcious and stay there, emerging occasionally when you least expect them to.
One such thing happened the weekend before last.
We were due to visit friends up in the wilds of Yorkshire, and so I got up early to make coffee so that we could hit the road for the four hour journey to sunny Leeds.
As I came downstairs the first thing I noticed, or to be more accurate, didn't notice was that the birds were quiet. Usually they are very vocal of a morning, twittering away and generally making a wonderful nuisance of themselves, but today was different.
They were quiet, and as I walked into the dining area I realised that all was not well in the cage where we keep our two guinea pigs, Aston and Jemima.
Aston was lying very still, which was strange for her as she is the more confident of the two and usually the first to rush to the bars for a treat, but not today. She was still, having shuffled off her mortal coil and gone to guinea pig pastures elsewhere.
The thing that stays with me, though, and broke my heart was the sight of Jemima gently tugging on Aston's ear, trying to wake her. It was such a gentle gesture, born of the refusal to accept that her sister had gone on ahead to wherever guinea pigs end up, and it brought a tear to my eye.
It's these little things, the brief moments that are over in an instant that define much more than we think possible.
Aston is currently being cremated and will be returned in a wooden casket, as have other animals in this household before her. It may seem silly, or a waste of money, but for those who have pets, no matter how small, will understand that they're every bit as important to a home as the human occupants.
She lived a good life, was loved and gave her own brand of guinea pig love in return, and now she's somewhere else, sorting out the eternal guinea pig box for Jemima when her turn eventually comes (a good while from now, I hope).
They may be little things, these moments, but the way they resonate within us is anything but.
R.I.P Aston - you are missed.
One such thing happened the weekend before last.
We were due to visit friends up in the wilds of Yorkshire, and so I got up early to make coffee so that we could hit the road for the four hour journey to sunny Leeds.
As I came downstairs the first thing I noticed, or to be more accurate, didn't notice was that the birds were quiet. Usually they are very vocal of a morning, twittering away and generally making a wonderful nuisance of themselves, but today was different.
They were quiet, and as I walked into the dining area I realised that all was not well in the cage where we keep our two guinea pigs, Aston and Jemima.
Aston was lying very still, which was strange for her as she is the more confident of the two and usually the first to rush to the bars for a treat, but not today. She was still, having shuffled off her mortal coil and gone to guinea pig pastures elsewhere.
The thing that stays with me, though, and broke my heart was the sight of Jemima gently tugging on Aston's ear, trying to wake her. It was such a gentle gesture, born of the refusal to accept that her sister had gone on ahead to wherever guinea pigs end up, and it brought a tear to my eye.
It's these little things, the brief moments that are over in an instant that define much more than we think possible.
Aston is currently being cremated and will be returned in a wooden casket, as have other animals in this household before her. It may seem silly, or a waste of money, but for those who have pets, no matter how small, will understand that they're every bit as important to a home as the human occupants.
She lived a good life, was loved and gave her own brand of guinea pig love in return, and now she's somewhere else, sorting out the eternal guinea pig box for Jemima when her turn eventually comes (a good while from now, I hope).
They may be little things, these moments, but the way they resonate within us is anything but.
R.I.P Aston - you are missed.
Sunday, 16 November 2008
The Write Stuff
You may have noticed a distinct lack of activity in this blog as of late (yes, both of you who read it!) but I do have a very good reason, honest!
At long last, some seven years after I first began to plan it, and eighteen months after beginning the first draft proper, I have a genuine, finished first draft of my semi-autobiographical look at the rock music of the late 80s and early 90s.
Clocking in at a shade under 150,000 words, which has surprised the hell out of me as my original aim was to hit 100k, but clearly there's more to this tale than originally met even my eye, I have a fantastic sense of accomplishment, as my previous book was just a third of this length.
That's the good news. The (only slightly) less good news is that I have now jumped straight into the editing process, and this is proving to be very interesting indeed.
I'm reading chapters that I wrote up to a year and a half ago and the difference in quality between them and the final few that I completed is stunning. The first chapters are still good, but it's intersting to see how much my craft has developed even in the last eighteen months, proving the old adage that practice does indeed make (one become that little bit closer to) perfect.
The danger I have now, though, is because this project is finished as a first draft, I need to decide which project is next. I'm decided on the fact that I want to tackle one of my fictional ideas at long last, but I'm torn between them.
Also, for one of the ideas I can see it working well as a book for adults, but equally the whole story could be told from the young adult perspective, which would mean being much less explicit with certain themes and language, but also a challenge to see if I can produce something as good as Darren Shan, who I have recently discovered thanks to Deborah's boy Tav.
Decisions, decisions, but I suppose I shouldn't be complaining, as it's much better to have too many ideas to choose from than to have no ideas at all.
At long last, some seven years after I first began to plan it, and eighteen months after beginning the first draft proper, I have a genuine, finished first draft of my semi-autobiographical look at the rock music of the late 80s and early 90s.
Clocking in at a shade under 150,000 words, which has surprised the hell out of me as my original aim was to hit 100k, but clearly there's more to this tale than originally met even my eye, I have a fantastic sense of accomplishment, as my previous book was just a third of this length.
That's the good news. The (only slightly) less good news is that I have now jumped straight into the editing process, and this is proving to be very interesting indeed.
I'm reading chapters that I wrote up to a year and a half ago and the difference in quality between them and the final few that I completed is stunning. The first chapters are still good, but it's intersting to see how much my craft has developed even in the last eighteen months, proving the old adage that practice does indeed make (one become that little bit closer to) perfect.
The danger I have now, though, is because this project is finished as a first draft, I need to decide which project is next. I'm decided on the fact that I want to tackle one of my fictional ideas at long last, but I'm torn between them.
Also, for one of the ideas I can see it working well as a book for adults, but equally the whole story could be told from the young adult perspective, which would mean being much less explicit with certain themes and language, but also a challenge to see if I can produce something as good as Darren Shan, who I have recently discovered thanks to Deborah's boy Tav.
Decisions, decisions, but I suppose I shouldn't be complaining, as it's much better to have too many ideas to choose from than to have no ideas at all.
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