the joy of toast.

hello there!

No I haven't abandoned you, just been a weird coupld of weeks with work and everything. I've written this before but my current job is aproximatley 100% more absorbing than my old one meaning theres much less time to actually update this on a regular schedule, also the computer chair at home, which my buttocksa are currently embracing is not comfy, in a back room which stays cold and is not the most inviting place to come and spend a few hours writing, something I am saving up for is a folding bluetooth keyboard which would not only work with the wii, enabling e to update from the comfot of the couch, but also my phone which would mean I could write posts a hell of a lot faster from whatever park bench/airport lounge, pub I find myself in at the time. But It'll be a couple of months before I can get hold of one.

The post title towards toast is because em and I spurlged yesterday getting all the stuff we've been meaning to get for the house for ages, including (but not limited to) a new microwave, kettle and Toaster! No more lighting the grill (Broiler) for toast , Two slices of bread in, two slices of toast out! Wicked! (As Jane pointed out it was like I was in a student house!)

Joy.

Managed to get a cold from my friends, I'm not pointing fingers but three different people were all laid up in bed for at least a coupld of days and right now the only thing keeping me on my feet (or rather buttocks) is the insane amounts of coffee I've drunk to counteract the affects of the cold medication I've taken. Its like two aries are figthing for control of my system. One wants to go to bed and pull the covers over my head until the new year, the other wants to go dancing!

I'll go in reverse cronolgical order since I last posted.

Had a wicked party at Rob and carolines on friday night, played chess and trival pursuit and drank some beer and managed to avoid the homemade chilli vodka. Everyones coming over to our for new years and I have playdough and poker lined up for entertainment purposes!

Wrote some more music with will and Llion on thursday, nothing quite as scandeluos as last time but done in the same spirit. I'm thinking I need to write these things ahead of time to check them back as having read what I scribbed down in minutes at wills, I'd change nearly all of it if I could now.

Before that was a lovely xmas/new year with my inlaws who are all, to a person, lovely down to earth people. Its great to find a family were not only does everyone get on but they actually seek out each otheres company regularly. I'm very close to my family as well so having that one both sides of my marrige is fantastic.


before htat had a pub crawl around st asaph my old stomping ground. It turns out one of the old mans pubs in teh village is now a john wanye theme pub. In that theres all sorts of replicas and memorbilia on the walls. They're also serving real ale, which is a small passion of mine so I think my future business wil be driected there!

Anyways got to get on today got new years eve to prepare.

Later

Night out

Had a superb works night out. My head is only slightly too small for my brain this morning but I'm not going to make it worse by staying on the computer all day. I have one thing to mention though. Cognac hour is not a good idea.

xmas lunch

Got my xmas works do today. Bacon butty at work for breakfast, about 3 hrs of work then dinner and beer all afternoon! Woot!

Nevermind rapido

With friends around for a board game you could pay £25 for RAPIDO And have an okay time.


Or you could pay £5 and get a jumbo box of playdough and have a much much better time.




One person sits out and tells the other people they have 2 minutes to make an item/person/place/thing and once the time is over they judge who created the best.

ANGEL















BOXING
















CAN'T REMEMBER, POSSIBLY ME.

catch-up

Morning.

Bit of a catch up I think

Last weekend was fake xmas, My sister and her fiance the mighty mighty Wez came up on the Friday just missing Steve and Kara by a couple of hours. It was great to hang out with Steve and Kara for a bit, they're good friends who we never really get the chance to see but with that kind of relationship you know its good when you can just slip back into a conversation that you started 3 years ago. It great to have those kind of relationships and I feel very privileged to have that with a few people.

Jane and Wez were knackered after driving up from London so it was time for bed and then Saturday over to mums house for xmas dinner followed by Wez teaching us the intricacies of texas-hold-em poker. Even my mum really got involved in the rounds of bluffing and better (for chips not for actual dosh).

Sunday Wez, Em and I had 18 holes on tiger woods *ITS GOOD* on the wii. I wonder why anyone would buy any other version? You hold the remote like a club, swing in the same way and its sensitive enough that if you hook your shot in real life you'll hook it here. Its a great chill out game, as long as you don't take your golf tooooooooo seriously. Lets face it, its the only way I'd ever be able to play on the old course at st Andrews.

Quite busy at work at the moment thanks to a backdated pay award from April, which basically means every calculation on pay done to date needs revising. Keeping me employed anyways.

Had a cracking game of footie on tues, five or six people came up to me after the game to tell me how well I'd played, which is a first in my book. I'm never picked last for the teams anymore, which I think is the biggest complement anyone could ever pay me. Oh yeah and the wind was unbelievable. it was blowing the ball all over the shop so it made for a frenetic unpredictable game. Which was cool. And its great to keep up with old friends from my previous work. When you met people that you have an easy uncomplicated rapport with you should hold on to that for as long as you can.

Last night was badminton and Will came along for the first time which was great, I was pleased at how well he fitted in. His kamikaze style of badminton is always good to watch and I think playing against some of the better player at the club he'll just get better and better. He told me hes writing a story which sounds really good I can't wait to see what he comes up with.


Today is Mild Mayhem day. People are coming over for pictionary, rude word scrabble, poker and pizza. Or basically just to hang out... which is something I adore.

Oh and the picture is from this site Rap represented in graphical format. It pretty funny... even if you know nothing about rap!

peace out home slice!!

fake xmas

Fake xmas was a roaring success. My sister and Wez came up and we did all the xmasy stuff with my mum. Presents, wine, food and so forth. Now its time for 18 holes on tiger woods 2008 and then the boxing day meal!

I love doing xmas twice a year! Woot!

hmm.

Tip you've drunk too much. When you and your friends start an online petition to rename 'Brief Encounter' to 'Oh for Gods sake! Just shag and get it over with.'

My commute....

My commute takes me past a RSPB sanctuary and I stopped off there on Friday morning and I'm so glad I did. It was simply gorgeous.

Itsa me!

Mario Galaxy is the sensation of grinning Japanese salarymen tickling your brains pleasure centres directly. It's pure gaming Nirvana with a smile on its face and joy in its heart. I love it. I want to marry it, move to the country and raise little galaxies. (I'd probably cheat on it with Tiger Woods 2008 though.)

Geekfest is go!

The three of us have;
4 bags of crisps,
1 massive tub of dip,
2 pizzas,
4 bottles of coke,
6 sandwiches,
2 wiis,
and 3 copies of mario galaxy.
See you on Monday!

Switch Part 2

Switch 2


The car cut a swathe through the heavy summer air, shafts of light glinting through the partial canopy cover that the trees provided over the twisting mountain road. To our left the grass curb dropped steeply into the lush green of the deep valley. It was summer and the world seemed to be coming alive around us.

"Nice to be out of the city hunh?" Remy said, twisting the car into the next bend. I grunted and let the feel of the country wash over me. I loved to come here as often as I could, which was never as frequently as I would like. For most people born in the heart of the city, the country held a romantic fascination that rarely lived up to expectation. But I adored it. The mud and rain and earth made it real, vital in a way the muted concrete of the city never would be.

But this wasn't a pleasure trip. After the unpleasantness of the Van Sant incident, the chief had ordered us both out for a short while to let the public forget about it. To be honest, I was surprised by the fuss over it. When the evidence had all been properly examined he was clearly guilty and had committed suicide when confronted by a police officer. The chief had to fight down suggestions that I had manhandled him off his balcony. I suppose I hadn't helped. Van Sant was a homicidal narcissist with a penchant for the bizarre to colour his jaded pallet and I was glad he was dead. Although I probably shouldn't have said exactly those words to the reporter.

As the breeze drifted in through the open window, I felt it dissipate the tension of the past few weeks. Remy left me to my thoughts as he maneuvered the car over the undulating tarmac.

I'd almost fallen asleep by the time we pulled up in front of two enormous iron gates with the motto Fiat Lux emblazoned on them.

"We're here," Remy redundantly ventured as I gazed up at the distant ivy covered buildings. For a school it was pretty classy, large open playing fields teeming with identically garbed boys chasing some unseen ball in a game I'd once been forced to play but never knew the rules to. It seemed to involve a carefully measured level of violence and was probably meant to be confidence boosting. As I was one of the boys who'd stood on the pitch and got elbowed, kicked and punched out of the way, all it seemed to boost was my desire not to play the goddamn game.

The immaculate gravel crunched as we rolled up to the front entrance of the building. The crest on the gates was repeated here, dominating the arched door. Its austere facing was designed to impress onto small boys the absolute authority of the School and its Masters. The overtly serious demeanour implied any rebellion would be crushed and any deviation from the norm would be stamped on and destroyed. Private schools are not places where the weak, the different or the just plain weird thrive. They are independent fascist states bound by no laws higher than that of their supreme ruler, the Headmaster.

A squat black robed figure approached us from some unseen door in a state of high agitation.

"I told him to make sure you parked around the back! I don't want any disruption to the pupils, there's enough anxiety as it is!"

I looked back at the field full of laughing, shouting boys and then back at him. All the anxiety seemed to be emanating from this small red faced rotund man who could almost be described as jolly if not for the mortarboard and gown. This, and the stress and worry written clear on his visage, gave him the look of a fat man who's just seen the last doughnut being scoffed by someone else.

"Where shall I move the car to then sir?" asked Remy, politeness seeping out of every pore.

"Well, it's here now I suppose," remarked the man, all the bluster falling out of his sails. "I'm Thompson, the headmaster. You're the gentlemen Blunko sent?"

"Yes we are," I confirmed, storing away my superiors obvious school nickname for later use. "Can you show us the, urm..."

"Of course. This way please."

He turned gracefully for a gentleman of his girth and paced away through the main entrance. Remy and I followed him through the ivy covered archway.


"Charterhouse is one of this countries oldest schools." His words floated back to us over his wake. "We take the children of today and turn them into the leaders of tomorrow." He had clearly forgotten that Remy and I weren't prospective parents and was giving us the full spiel usually reserved for those rich enough to even consider sending their sprogs here.

"Our academic record is second to none with the highest proportion of students going on to the great triumvarate of Universities. But we believe a healthy mind must be supported by a healthy body. Physical education must be a primary concern of a Charterhouse man."

I'd done my research and behind all the bluster there did lurk a few nuggets of truth. The standard of education here was clearly head and shoulders above anything else available, even to the super-rich. The results spoke for themselves. Almost all graduates from Charterhouse went on to university and from there to the highest echelons of society. Captains of industry, political leaders; they had all at one time walked these marbled sunlit halls, including our very own police chief.

"We like to consider being at Charterhouse a passport to greatness," said Thompson, stopping outside a door marked Infirmary. "Which is why this issue needs to be dealt with quietly and competently." He looked at my partner and I as if he suspected us of carrying a live TV feed to the media.

He opened the wood panelled door and we stepped into a vaulted ward room with a number of occupied beds.

Three boys were sat in the beds, bolt upright, gazing vacantly in front of them. They were mid-teens with that well-fed, well-bred look that a certain level of privilege seems to bring.

However, belying this healthy image, the boys facial muscles were completely slack giving them the appearance of a vacant house. There, but not there at the same time. The eyes were totally dead as though no spark or soul was being held in that vessel.

I waved my hand in front of their faces but there was no response at all.

Remy took a pulse from one of the boys and peered deep into the eyes of another. There was no resistance to his gentle ministrations. It was as if they were simply lumps of meat with no reactions or feelings of their own.

"This is very interesting but shouldn't you have called in a doctor?'"

"We have a nurse on site and she did call for him but he could find nothing wrong. We thought they were acting up for being discovered where they shouldn't have been."

"And that was?"

"The library. Sitting up in the same manner you see them now." He looked at us intently. "We need to find whatever drug these boys have been taking and put a stop to it at once."

"A drug?" my partner replied, all innocence.

"I'm a man of the world, sir. I've seen my fair share and this looks like a drug induced coma to me."

It didn't seem much like a drug break to me.

I'd been walking the beat for the acid frenzy of '43, when a batch of pure LSD hit the streets. The stuff you normally encounter is watered down to be acceptable to the normal palette. Think about a glass of beer compared with a pint of 100% pure alcohol.

We filled the nut houses that summer. All these people just looking for a quick escape for a few hours suddenly finding their trip lasting for weeks or months with no let up, no escape. They couldn't sleep, they couldn't relax, most tried to beat themselves unconscious just for the peace.

You'd have to have a fairly firm grip on reality to survive that and if you're the kind of person who's taking acid for fun then you're probably not that person. Doors of Perception my arse.

But even those poor drooling freaks were a picnic compared to the eerie inhuman stillness that these three exhibited. The boys were really starting to creep me out.

"Maybe we should see the library, where it actually happened," I ventured.







The library was deeply impressive and yet suffocating. Dark oak surrounded us on two floors with the thick rich red of leather-bound volumes. Boys were scurrying around carrying huge books almost their own size.

"Where were they sitting?"

"Just over here." Thompson pointed to the head of the table. "I found them myself. I saw the light on as I took my usual rounds. I thought the caretaker had left it on accidentally. I had the shock of my life seeing them there."

"How were they sat?" I asked.

"They were bent over some art book or other. Jenkins sitting at the head of the table and the other two peering over his shoulders." He pointed to the head of the dark wooden table that covered more space than my apartment. The strong sunlight fell through an enormous window, highlighting the motes of dust, dancing in the breeze.

"Where is this book now?"

"Urm..." Thompson walked over to a recessed shelf and pulled a large silver book out.

"I believe this was it, although what something like this is doing in our library is a puzzle. It must belong to the art department."

The title was 'The Dark Hand - Nightmare Visions. Drawing and inspirations from Lovecraft'.

I was familiar enough with Lovecraft's work to know what to expect from someone 'influenced' by him, and the book didn't disappoint. Demons and humans, in hate and lust and a unshakable feeling of creeping dread. Evil images and dark forbidding pages shrieked of hidden twisted knowledge and eldritch magics.

"I don't believe in magic," said Remy, peering at the book over my shoulder.

"Magic is rabbits and hats and sleight of hand," I replied. "What happened to these children isn't magic. This is something much more sinister. Mr Thompson," I said, snapping the book shut. "I'm going to have the boys taken to the local hospital for further tests."

He was distraught at this prospect. "You can't take the boys out of school! They're my responsibility. We haven't told their parents yet!"

I restrained myself from reminding him where his responsibility had led these three boys.

"Actually sir, yes we can," I replied. "We'd rather have your permission but I do have the authority to take them without it."

"I'll speak to your supervisor!"

"By all means do so sir, but while he's confirming everything I've just told you, these boys will be in the hospital being examined."

He huffed for a bit and then stormed off without another word. He'd grown so used to being the ultimate authority that he simply wasn't used to taking orders.

"You've made an enemy there you know," said Remy.

"I'll have to learn to live with the pain," I said, turning back to the book.






I got the phone-call whilst I was sitting in the fourteenth interview of the day. It was with a small scared classmate of the three boys who, like his fellows, clearly knew nothing of what had happened. The scans had come back. There was a cloud over part of their brains all at the same point. Some metallic substance they said. A chill came over me. I'd seen this before.

I turned to Remy, interrupting his attempt to staunch the terrified tears from the boy.

"Get Delyth to meet me at the hospital and tell her to bring her full kit."

I drove myself there at full speed, leaving Remy to interview the rest of their class. I didn't think much good would come of questioning them. Even if they knew something, chances were that they wouldn't tell a police officer. Being expelled from the most prestigious school in the country was hardly the best thing to have on your resume.

I reached the room they were keeping the boys in. It had painfully bright walls and that smell of disinfectant and decay that my father always referred to as freshly scrubbed death. The three boys were still sitting bolt upright staring at the opposite empty wall.

Delyth was already examining the oldest boy, Jenkins Junior as he'd been called. There was very little junior about this tall muscular youth and only the tell tale rash of acne across his forehead gave away his teenage hormone crisis. She looked up at me when I walked in.

"This is absolutely fascinating!" she exclaimed.

Delyth was about as far from your typical IT person as you could get. She was short with glossy black hair a permanent smile and the quickest wits you'd see this side of a gameshow panellist. She didn't need glasses but wore them anyway. "People don't take attractive women seriously unless they're wearing glasses. Men are thinking about how to get me into bed and women tend to be distrustful if they see me as a threat."

"Is it what I think it is?" I asked, skipping the usual formalities.

"Yes, I believe so." She turned, focusing that thousand watt glare on me. "Although I'm intrigued by how you knew what to look for."

"Long story."

"And one day you're going to tell me that story."

We shared a tight smile.

"Let's just say China was quite an education," I said.

"For now." She shifted back into full-on professional mode.

"The metal that was picked up in the x-rays is a neural net. It's an inhalant computer. Absorbed through the lungs it travels through the blood stream to the brain, latches over the cerebellum and plugs in. It increases speed of thought, memory and basically boosts the brain to somewhere near genius level. My question is, where the hell did these kids get their hands on this kind of technology?"

I'd been asking myself the exact same question.

"I have my suspicions. Is the net still active? Can we talk to it?"

"Should be able to, it uses the same sensory pathways as the brain does, but remember the only things I know about these things are what I've read in speculative journals. This stuff is way in advance of anything I've encountered before. I'm going to try to access the computer directly via the low level system monitoring."

She reached into her bag and pulled out a small foldaway computer. The black rectangle opened itself like a book and floated above her knees as the screen flickered into existence in front of her.

"This may take some time," she said, putting a pair of headphones in Jenkins' ears.

She began entering commands and through the baffle of the headphones I could hear the tell-tale sound of computer noise.

For an hour Delyth typed commands into the laptop, looking for some reaction from the human statue in front of her. I was feeling rather like a spare part. I had already gone to get coffee and was considering going back to help Remy.

Suddenly Jenkins turned and regarded me with light again in his eyes. The movements were jerky and slow. It was clear whatever was left of the boy was not in control now.

"I think you may have cracked it." I said, feeling totally freaked out by the soul-sucking gaze locked onto my own.


//PATH//QUERY?

Delyth and I looked at each other. The words did not sound like the voice of a fifteen year old although they had just emerged from his mouth.

Delyth typed into the keyboard.

-Repeat.-

//PATH//QUERY?

The words shuddered out of his mouth giving them an electric quality. They had no accent or expression on them. The harsh language of the machine.

-Self Scan. Report.-

//REPORT//SCAN SHOWS 30% OPERATING EFFICIENCY. SEVERE DAMAGE TO ORGANIC SECTIONS A4E THROUGH E9B.//QUERY?

-Can the damage be repaired? Report.-

//REPORT//NO.//QUERY?

-Expand previous query. Report.-

//REPORT//NO. DAMAGE TOO SEVERE FOR RECOVERY. ORGANIC HOST LIMITED TO AUTONOMOUS FUNCTIONS ONLY.//QUERY?

-What happened?-

//REPORT//QUERY NOT UNDERSTOOD.//QUERY?

-How did the damage occur?-

//REPORT//OCCULAR SENSORY INPUT MISMATCH. EXTRA CEREBRAL RESOURCE USED. CASCADE EFFECT CAUSED ORGANIC SYSTEM DAMAGE. SHUTDOWN OF ALL AREAS. SHUTDOWN TO CONTINUE UNTIL FULL REBOOT.//QUERY?

So that was it. Jenkins had seen something that had caused the net such confusion it had pulled in all of its own resources to try and puzzle it out. Then, when it ran out of its own resources it pulled his in as well, using his own brain against itself. Total Shutdown. Except for the autonomous bits that he needed to keep breathing.

The question was, what had he seen? And what had the others seen after that?

"Ask it for the last image it saw."

Delyths fingers danced over the keys, and a picture emerged from the screen. A blasphemous 3D image resolved itself, like Escher possessed by the spirit of the Marquis de Sade. Bodies, human and otherwise, in various unnatural and disturbing acts. There was enough oddness and sexuality to attract the attention of three hormone ridden teenagers, but surely these perverted lusts were not enough to completely shut down three fully functional neural nets.

The frame around the picture attracted my attention. It had a series of runes or picto-glyphs running the around the entire border of the page.

"Look at those," said Delyth, her finger tracing the glyphs, one step ahead of me as ever. "It's a mathematical equation."

She copied the glyphs into a routine on her computer and pressed enter.

The image on the screen shuddered and died, leaving Delyth prodding buttons and swearing profusely and eloquently. When the torrent of abuse had stopped I asked her what had happened.

"It's an unsolvable equation. It has no solution. It's like a feedback loop, just builds up on itself becoming bigger and bigger with each cycle until it becomes too big for the computer to deal with."

She looked over at the three impassive faces staring at the far wall.

"Those poor bastards. One glance at that page and the net tried to process the equation, to make sense of it. When it ran out of its own power it started drawing in the surrounding brainpower. The boys wouldn't even know what they were looking at or why they couldn't look away as the neural net tightened on their cerebellum. Drawing more and more brain power away until they were left blank. Completely drained of thought and emotion."

"Is there..."

"No," she sighed shaking her head sadly, "They've been completely wiped clean. There nothing left in there now. Look." She held up her laptop. "Just an expensive paperweight now, everything's wiped. Their brains, the computer, total reset."






I burst into the heads office, through the protests of his secretary. It was, as you'd expect, stuffy and musty with leather and mahogany everything. Framed photos of austere gentlemen frowned down on us from every wall. But I wasn't looking at them, I was looking at the man that had caused irreversible brain damage to three innocent boys.

"What on earth...!?" he began.

"Sit down and shut up."

"I will do no such thing until you..."

"Sit down. Shut up."

He obeyed, my tone conveying everything I was feeling right then.

"I know about the nets."

His ruddy face paled and he waved off the secretary who shut the door behind herself.

"What nets?"

I smiled thinly.
"The neural nets you gave to those boys to keep their marks high. What was wrong with them? Too thick for Charterhouses' high standards?"

"I have no idea what you could be talking about."

"Play it dumb for now but we know it had to be you. Those boys didn't have the connections to get hold of those computers. You'd need major pull, huge finances and most importantly, trade contacts with China."

"China? That's preposterous."

"Is it? These things can only be made on the far side of the Silicon Curtain. We don't possess this level of technology any more."

I changed tack.

"We've got you clearly and cleanly. Protest all you want."

He sagged. He head sunk into his hands, knowing he had been caught out.

I softened my voice. There were still a few things he could resolve for me.

"Why these particular boys? That's the only thing I can't figure out."

"These boys?" he spat, the fire returning as he stared up at me, "You think its just these three boys? Everyone at Charterhouse has them. Everyone who has ever been to Charterhouse has them. Everyone!"

It was my turn to look stunned. Suddenly it all made sense. The high test scores. The schools unassailable position as the best in the country. All the achievements down to a micron thick layer of metal and silicon, processing faster than any unassisted brain ever could.

"Do you know what kind of genetic stock we've got now? Some of these blue-bloods have thirteen toes! We had to preserve the good name of this school. We add the supplement to their first medical here and they have no idea why they can suddenly understand concepts they couldn't even grasp before. The parents put it down to the Charterhouse way. We've been doing this for over two hundred years with no ill effects at all. Until now."

Everything started swimming in front of my eyes. Every living graduate from Charterhouse had been assisted by a computer and was still being assisted now. Some of the most important people in this countries most powerful positions.

The headmaster interrupted my brooding.

"Was it drugs?"

"Drugs?"

"That caused the boys to blank out. Are they better now, are they okay?"

I suddenly realised the enormity of what was before me.

Imagine the power. Imagine having a list of the highest placed Charterhouse old boys, and an email account with a scanned copy of the blasphemous page. One look at it would be enough. Overnight a thousand resets. Institutions, banks, businesses, government all rendered incapable of action by one single solitary picture.

What would you do?

Tell the truth and risk everything? Or lie, and pray that no one else ever figures this thing out.

What would you do?

weird news

Headline on Sky news last night (And title of my next band) 'Catflap Killer'

Switch 1.5 atmosphere

There's a place deep on the west side, past the gaudy display and tourist traps of the 'old city', where the real old city still dwells. Tourists always go there to experience life as it was during war years. They needn't have bothered. Just find an open sewer and jump in. That's the atmosphere of the real west side. Then shoot yourself in the head for being in the wrong place at the wrong time.

That's the real skinny, none of this 'Plutonium spirit ' with grubby faced urchins sharing Geiger counters and breathing filters as they skip their way to the school they set up underground.

In a lot of ways things haven't moved on for a lot of people since those times. The slums are still there, silently broadcasting back all the radiation they absorbed into the next generation of grubby faced urchins, or 'bastards' as I like to call them.

The slums are where most of vices jobs are, occasionally they'll call my boys in. Some john gets whacked and we're expected to do the hard stuff, like try and explain to his wife and kids what he was doing in that part of town. And that time of night. Without his pants.

One of the most depressing jobs in the world must be that of the youth justice officer. He sees the same kids week in-out getting in trouble from breaking and entering and getting pissed on synth cider at eleven in the morning. And he knows. He knows no matter what he does the same kids will be there the next week all the way up to the time they're not his to deal with anymore and they get sent away to the real jail. Where they learn all the rest of the skills they need for their continuing life of crime. It may be tough at the top but its tough enough to make diamonds at the bottom.

So stop me if you've heard this one before.

Man goes into a bar. He has a drink. He has another one, He asks the bartender where he could find some company. The bartender points out a clearly underage girl sitting at a booth on her own. The man, shocked walks away and calls the police.

Oh, you haven't heard that one before? Thats because it never fucking happens. The man doesn't call the police. He doesn't walk away. He's not even shocked anymore. He goes over and asks her how much. No pre-amble. No small talk. Straight to business there's no love in this.

So she nods her head to the bathrooms. They walk over and finish their transaction.

Except when he walks into the bathroom its not the sexual release he's getting. It's me. With a pair of cuffs and anger in my eyes. Which I know might turn some of you on. But not this guy.

All he wanted was a way to relax in a strange city and instead he's looking at 5-10 years and a record as a sex offender.

This might count as a victory on the crime statistics but honestly who won? We didn't.

The juvie hooker we're using as bait? I know for a fact as soon as this stings over she'll find another bar and this for real there. There's too much money to be made from fat horny suits for her not to.

If its a choice between dignity and eating well, if you've ever been there you'll know its no choice at all.

These guys pay for 5 minutes or an hour of intimacy and what they get is cold hard sex. All sharp corners and no emotion just lust. Or if hes really unlucky one of those antibiotic resistant venereal diseases. That's something to try and explain to your wife isn't it?

the freaks come out.

Why did no-one tell me that this Monday was international freak day. My regular supermarket is fairly bland, inoffensive and purposly designed as such. When you're picking up nappies and bleach you don't want inovation or novel experienec you just want to get your pruchases and get the hell out of dodge.

Well not tonight buster cause tonight they're the consumers and you're the 20% extra offer.

Everyone, including the serving staff seemed to be so distracted that they appeared to be communicating with the mother-ship. A man who was clearly over the European Standard for the number of elbows per person barged me out of the way at the chiller to get at the soya-milk. Soya-milk. Not diamonds, not gold edged turds or comemerative teacosies of the late Saint Diana. Soya-milk.

I think that guy needed some perspective. And deodorant.

My problems didn't end there. At the checkout I was acosted by a man I've never met and regaled with his entire life story. Now if you're scott of the antarctic or Captain Cook I think your story would make quiet interesting listening. Although if you're from Huddersfield and moved to Wales 20 years ago and are still picking on the little differences between the two, I think you need a hobby. Or several.

Sorry, had a weird couple of days and very little makes sense at the moment. A rant is often the best way to clear the decks as it were.

Fiction soon.

ow ow ow ow ow!

Went for a run this morning.

It was actually quite peacefull for the first ten mins. Too early for traffic too late for the pissheads very chilling.

And then my body woke up, realised what my head was making it do and responded with cramps! Hence the title.

2nd draft of switch is nearly done. Ill post it once it passes muster with the editor.

into rhyl now and then a Heros catchup weekend at Andys!

Woo!

evening.

Ah the joys of flexi-time, leaving work at the indecent hour of 4PM on a friday. Or 'heaven' as I like to call it.

First of all I should explain at my previous job the hours were much stricter but the internet policy was looser meaning that although I had to stay at my desk until 5:30 everyday I could basically spend the last ten minutes of the day updated the blog.

Now I can't so i actually have to come home from staring at the computer in work all day and physically turn on my home Mac to update.

Now I don't know about you guys but when I get home the last thing I want to do is turn on the computer! anyway, what this policy ahs meant is that my actual writing has had a lot more time spent on it at lunchtimes and such as theres no net access. which is great, I've had some quite reasonable ideas recently and it was great to give them the time they deserved!

Well whats been going on. Urm I've made a new batch of Beer which'll be ready in time for fake xmas (A Taylor family tradition), Ems made more bread and cakes than is probably decent, halloween went with not one trick or treater(never mind, more candy for me), been watching more and more rugby (hoorah) and some aussie rules football(impressive). Works great. Home life is perfect and I'm readlly happy with my fiction.

Life (as Tim burgess had it) is Sweet.

Laters

Rob

no updates?

Dear Blog,

I know ive been neglecting you but ive been using my blog time to finish the next part of switch. Almost done.

write soon

love rob.

tele-vision

Last night i watched two programes i normally miss. First up was "what not to wear" where people are ritually humiliated into following some made up cultural norm regarding clothes. The "guests" are poked and prodded into believing theyre freaks because of their sartorial choices and through the magical power of shopping they too can achieve the perfection of a perfume ad.

Actually that isnt fair, these people arent just randomly picked on and bullied, they have volunteered for this because they feel they need help with their clothing choices. Its the gleefull taunting of the presenters I cant stand, they revel in cajoling the poor saps about what people really think of them until the tears flow. Hateful television.

The other show was 'The Real Football Factories' where wideboy actor Danny Dyer goes to soccer clubs all around the world and interviews their hooligans. Every episode follows the same course. Danny arrives in Madrid/Naples/Bratislava meets a bunch of nutters who talk about pride and honour and passion and then cuts to CCTV footage of street fighting where there's no hint of any of those three things.

As a testostrone counter part to the early estrogen-fest it had weird similar themes. The power of going with the crowd, letting others make the descions for you. But the ladies are trying to change their lives, the blokes are just reveling in theirs.

Next week, I think I'll just read a book.

badders

Played in my first competitive match of the season and against all probabilities won both my matches.
There's 4 men a 4 women a side and its all doubles games so you have a mixed doubles then a mens or womens doubles. Each match is a best of three games and until last night id never won a game. Was a great feeling not letting the side down and taking maximum points away.

Back in action next week against the Steel Fury of our league. I'll be lucky to escape with minor brusing.

Stardust.

Stardust is the kind of film they tell you they dont make anymore. Straight out of the 'Princess Bride' mould its a fantasy romp with wit, humour, baddies you can boo at and genuine scares for the kids. Nice underplayed cameos by the cream of british comedy, mark heap, David walliams and Ricky Gervais. All in all the best movie ive seen since hot fuzz. And you can take the kids!

Neighbours, Weddings and why Anne Coulter is not a nice person.

The wedding mentioned last post was lovely, really informal, no speeches, few tear (of joy) lots of beer and a pig on a spit. Woot!

We have new neighbours next door, this happens quite regularly as it's a rental property that is just about up the code. If its the rental code from the 1690s. The heating just doesn't work the toilet backs up reguarly and theres an interesting fungus growing the bedroom wall that only answers to 'Kevin'.

As you can imagine the turnover is quite high and with Friday night being seriously cold the neighbours, who appear to be perfectly nice, had to go and stay somewhere else. However they left their dog in the house. So the pooch wakes up at 6:30 wonders where everyone is and where his breakfast is coming from. So he starts barking, and barking and barking and barking. Unfourtunatly this sets off the kennels in the house three doors down, so suddenly, lest i remind you at 6:30 IN THE MORNING, we have the canine equalivent of the St Martins in the Field choir blasting out all around us.

Em, bless her, can sleep through nearly anything. I however had to get up and I think it stuck me in a grump for the rest of the day. thats the only way I can explain pushing some of the weaker pedestrians into traffic as I stomped around the high street.






Anne Coulter, who I have mentioned before as a ferociously intelligent dangerous right wing bigot who's had her homepage hacked. The reason why this is funny is most right wing names are, to be fair, limited in their intellegence. Shaun Hannity, Bill o'Reilly these are not people who debate or explore topics. They are the finger pointers, the agitators, the empty vessels making the most noise.

Idiots in other words.

But Anne Coulter is not an idiot, she is incredibly intelligent and this she fascinates the other side. "With a brain like hers she should be with us!" Which is why an open letter explaining your entire career was a joke has a strangely plausible ring to it. Sadly it is a fake, she's still the same brittle, attractive, damaged woman she ever was. More's the pity. She des strike me as someone who's hollow inside.

In the interests of balance her real website is here but, honestly, if you're used to thinking for yourself and your political views sit anywhere to the left of, say, Goebbels I'd give it a miss.

Enjoyed the last game of the world cup. I did think the fairy tale for England would come true but a stronger south african side held out in a tense nervy game. And actually with all the hyperbole surounding the Springboks I can only imagine the reams of shit that would have been spewing from the commentators mouths if England had won it. Anyway, England have nothing to be ashamed of, they showed that experience can be more effective than youth. It does however help if you have youth in the shape of Tait and Flood to come on as fresh legs. Those boys really impressed.

The Welsh were simply abysmal. But could talk for weeks about that, and will do but not on this forum.

Oh and if you've never seen rathergood.com this is a good introduction. Its just flash animation and musical stupidity but a great way to pass the time. Main site here.

Peace out homeboys.

neighbours, pizza and other rambly things.

the sweet sweet smell of....

..A day off! Woo!

One of my old school friends is getting hitched today and I've had to take the day off. I mean I could have gone to work early as the ceremony starts at 4:00PM but I thought sod it, I'll have a long weekend to recover.

Caroline and Steve are great individually but together they do make the perfect couple. Anyone that spends any time around them can see exactly how their dynamic works and its really a beautiful thing. I couldn't be more chuffed for them knowing how much happiness my own marriage has brought me.

We went out for a chinese meal on wednesday as a little stag/hen do type thing for them and I was sitting around a table with the same people I sat around a table in the sixth form common room and it did not feel in the least bit weird. Its lovely when you can stay in touch with people that mean a lot to you. It hapens very rarely so when it does hold on to it for all you're worth!

Passed my Exam resit. I say pass. I think 81% counts as slightly more than a pass. In fact it proved what I knew all along. My tutor didn't doesn't and will never know her arse from her elbow. This was the exam I previously failed by a couple of percent and she missed clear marks that were on the paper and when I called her on it she blew me off with some pathetic excuse.



You can insult my knowledge of football, film, computers, rugby, anything you like and I'll take that info on board and try to improve. But don't tell me I know nothing about payroll when I live breath and eat it.

This has been a public service message brought to you by the number 5 and the letter §.

morning!

Life's been kinda frantic lately. The new job as I have mentioned is working out really well, there a nice level of busy-ness without the arse clenching "ahhhhhh! I've only got five minutes to get this report straight and out to client!"

The new job is in house not outsourced which means there's none of this 'them and us' attitude that was sadly prevalent throughout my previous career. It wasn't meant to be like that of course, but there only so much of "Payrolls fucked up again!" you can take from the client before you start saying "Hang on a minute! wasn't it actually your equipment that failed again?! Aren't you using an easy target i.e. the only outsourced thing in your company, to avoid talking about the massive internal issues that are wrecking our chances of delivering you a good payroll?!"

Shit. I hope no one from the previous job reads this blog!

Anyway, new place totally different, bit further to drive but its not so bad, the only really bad thing is I don't really get a chance to write anything at work. I can tell you this now I've left, I wrote all of 'notes from the road', most of 'switch' and all the other crap in quiet moments at work. I'd write everything in a textpad document and email back to my personal email account. Now I don't have that oppoutunity(at the moment). Oh well, the job itself is much more challenging so I guess I'll have to start writing at home! Boo!

This weekends been quite quiet so far badders on Friday followed by watching late night tv with beer (alcohol is the only sensible solution to Friday night tv) Went to another garden centre yesterday morning (I am, in fact, fifty) then hung out with some friends we haven't seen since the wedding and persuaded another couple to buy a Wii (at this point I'm wondering how much commission I need to charge nintendo!) then watched England struggle and strain to turn France over in the rugby semi final.

Hey ho, although if England do retain the world cup I'll be turning my tv off for at least a month to let the commentators Hyperbole die down. Nothing against England but imagine if you supported Everton and EVERY SINGLE COMMENTATOR WAS PRAISING EVERY MOVE LIVERPOOL MADE. It would piss you off after a while. It may in fact happen as I'd far rather watch the world paint drying championships than watch football. Every year we go to a barbeque on FA cup final day and I'll watch the game to remind myslef why I don't watch the games. And then I'll fall comfortably asleep in the second half knowing I won't miss anything.

I didn't always feel this way, when I worked in Liverpool it was the football chat every day. But not any more. I've seen the light!

A long day ahead of family visits, six solid hours of gaming with The Pedantic Crew (We roll four deep), finished off with Chinese food and Argentina versus South Africa or as I like to call it, heaven.

saturdaze

I will update more later but I just wanted to point you towards this photoblog. Basically this person scours the internet for the most interesting /funny pictures such as the one above. If you have ten mins take a look back these some amazing stuff on there!

Works going well but it very different to the last place. The last place had highs and lows of busyness which gave me plenty of time to think and write but this new place is constantly busy but you feel less rushed which is definaetly a good thing!

correction to previous post.

It has been pointed out to me that the last post was very harsh on the Aussies.

When Wales played them in September we met two distinct types of australian.

1. Were friendly happy and genuinely great people. Perfect blokes and shelias to share a beer with and I would cheerfully recommend their company to anyone.

2. Were cunts.

The post below was directed at the second group.

That is all.

Dreamz

(If you don't care about rugby you should probably skip forward to the next post.)


You are NEVER going to believe the dream I had last night! In defiance of all the known laws of both God and Man, both France AND England beat the supposedly superior teams of New Zealand and Australia to reach the semi finals of the World cup. It was so vivid but I know it was clearly a dream as I was supporting England against the cheating dirty whinging Aussies. What was the excuse this time Austrialia? Did you put your under 15 squad out? Or was that your full strength team being DEMOLISHED by the England front row in the manner they practiced against the Welsh before the world cup?



WHAT? You mean that beautiful dream is real? Thank you God! Thank you Jehova! Thank you Tom Cruise!


Define Irony. Irony is talking yourself up to the press that you're going to win the word cup and then getting beaten by a side that got killed against South Africa 36-nil. Its a beautiful day.

football booties

So, for the past couple of years ive played footie in a knackered pair of trainers that saw their best days sometime last century. "time for some new ones" me thinks and off to the shoe shop. Except EVERY pair of football boots are so garish the shelf in the shop looks like the bottom of a clowns wardrobe.

When did the footballers wives take over the design of footballers boots?

They are so bad im going to grab my old ones out of the bin and give them another go. With a healthy dose of deodorant, of course!

So it turns out no one has access to the internet at work unless you're so high up the food chain you're unlikely to spend the afternoon waiting for updates on the bbc.

HOWEVER the job itself is much more indepth than my previous roles I have had no time to miss the aforementioned internet access expect for the updating of blogs. Not that I was ever a regular contributor to my own blog but I expect the updates will become even more patchy as I now have to turn on my pc when I get home which lets face it is unlikely to happen on a whim.

The rain came down thisafternoon like God was pissed. and yet people still insited on driving less than a meter from the car in front on the motorway. Maybe its becuase I've been driving on b roads to work up until now but some of these guys are seriously nuts! Like they're immortal and desperate for an excuse to buy a new car.

Scary scaaaaary stuff.

The world of ties is not made better by frequent use. I would have thought I'd have been getting used to my collar and leash by now but even the fact they come in a wide variety of shapes and colours does not disminish how tied down I feel.

The people are still nice and the work itself is really interesting. Well you'd find it dull as a bastard but I like it.

Apart from that not much else is going on.

Laters.




(Phew! I managed to get through the entire thing without mentioning the rugby.)

(DOH!)

new job

New job. No email access yet. No net access at all. Its also a Tie-rarchy, where the wearing of ties is mandatory.
I havent worn a tie regularly since school and my neck is rebelling! People are nice thou and the job should be fine. More later.

Its been a while...

Hiya!

So it was Septemeber the 18th last time I updated properely which is nearly ten days ago!

What wonders I must have seen! What things I must have experienced!

Well, actually I've been pretty ill. A cold/flu thing that made me feel like I was about to lose my entire bodyweight in sweat and nose gunk, but I'm sure you don't want to hear that. I came back to work after the rugby with a sore throat I blamed on singing land of my fathers at the top of my voice. I'm so naive sometimes. I had been chosen as the host form of the father of all colds, yea the template, the arch-cold to which all lesser colds must pay homage.

So through the fug of the cold I had to say goodbye to all my work colleages. That was a strange experience. I had been at the old place for nigh on four years which I think is the longest time I've been in one place excepting for school. I sent an open invite to the pub this friday night we'll have to see who's able to make it and who wants to indeed. One of my close friends at work left two weeks ago so its starting to feel like the end of an era. I don't regret going, I think it was my time to move on. I just hope the new job is everything its cracked up to be.

So said "Goodbye Everybody!" on wednesday then jetted off to Cardiff on the Thursday with Andy Llion and Vicky, to watch Wales spank Japan which was actually good fun, then headed out into Cardiff proper. Note to self, the jukebox in the Queens Vaults is possibly the best in the city.

Got nicely drunk again, which did my cold no end of good, had a truly awful breakfast which everyone else really rated making it much much worse. Did some hungover shopping which is never a good idea and then caught the train home. All good.

Saturday I traveled with my wife and mother to London where Jane and Wez were having an engaement party. Met some fantastic people. When you start having a random chat with a drunk twenty year old and he annouces his favourite Stones song is "Gimmie Shelter" its hard not to give him a big manly hug. The kids are alright.

Got into random film chat which spun off into religion and nobody got upset or throwing fatwas around so that's got to be a good thing. Jane and wezs friends and family are all lovely which shows excellent taste on their part. We stayed with Paula and Joan who are just the most lovely couple EVER! the day after the party my uncle pete brought down our wedding video and everyone was in tears. With emotion at first and then at the sheer quality of Eds best man speech. It was totally superb.

Came home on the sunday on a bus from Crewe to chester with a bunch of drunk football fans. It was hard not to feel threatened but thats the way it goes I suppose. They didn't do anything just chanted (I couldn't use the word 'sung') obscene football songs and made everyone feel very uncomfortable. Thats the real difference between football and rugby. The violence in rugby is all on the pitch, supervised so the supporters don't feel the need to kill each other as battle has already been done on the turf. Football is, to be frank, a game for girly girls and their girly boys so the fans seem to feel the need to fight for the honour of the overpaid ballet dancers who kicked a ball around for a bit.

(I actually play football but I wouldn't bother watching it on TV anymore, but thats a post in and of itself.)

So then we hit this week of leisure, monday was all about the housework and buying a few bits and pieces for starting work on 1st October. Tuesday was kind of a dead loss, Yesterday Em took off so we spent most of the day being lazy and then I jetted off to my own exclusive premier of HAlo 3.

Now listen, if you like games Halo, 3 is okay. But the way its being presented on TV is this new thing that will get everyone into games.

No.

It does what it does very well but we have seen it all before many many times before (Return to castle wolfenstein anyone?).

I had a good laugh with my gaming mates, teaming up and taking on the baddies but thats all it really was. The online play was quite fun, but we had to mute everyone that wasn't in the room with us. There only so many times you can hear yourself being described as some who has intimate relations with donkeys by a person whose testicles are yet to descend.

Anyway thats you upto speed. peace out.

.

Dear Blog,
Sorry for not writing sooner, its been so busy what with shifting jobs, the rugby trips and having an industrial strength cold.
I will let you know all about it as soon as i can.
Love,
Me.

long day.

Yesterday was a very, very long day. After a night of rugby, beer and random chats with Ulster fans in an all night kebab shop Sunday night I hit the hay at about 11PM only to be rudely awakened by by alarm a scant 5 hours later. Let me assure you that my blood was still rich with Brains extra cold, Donner kebab and some sweet sticky liquor that was forced upon me and into my digestive system.

 

So I boarded the train at 5AM still reeling with the bonhomie of the night before. A four hour train journey later I was ready for the longest day of work ever.

 

To say I was less than productive would be an understatement. After my lunch break they had to poke me with a stick to rouse me from my lunchtable slumber.

 

For weird reasons I had to be in the office but I made it abundantly clear that I would be in cold turkey from a weekend of joyous hedonistic experience.

 

Cardiff was, as ever, an epic experience. The streets teemed with laughter, impromptu touch rugby games and a friendliness that the soccer authorities can only dream of.

 

And I get to go back on Thursday for the Wales Japan game.

 

Hopefully my throat, red raw with singing, will have recovered by then!

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Fiji vs Canada

So Fiji vs Canada was won by the Fijians but was eclipsed by the drinking in the pubs afterwards. Any game where standing your round with the oposition fans is more important than the result is good for you. Drunk now. Goodnight.

travelblog: Cardiff rugby

We lost, but we lost <i>well</ì>. This is a difference thats lost on some people so i'll try and explain. There's no shame involved if your team played well, took its chances yet still were defeated by a superior side. This 'winning is all that counts' attitude does no favours to anyone. Although, over the years my country has crafted losing into some kind of artform.

It was also interesting to note the difference in the Aussie fans themselves, there were a couple in front of us who were funny erudite people enjoying the game and having a chat with us. Marvellous.

Behind us, however, lurked a different barbie of shrimp. First off he smuggled a bottle of champagne into the ground. How, I didnt want to know but he was walking kinda funny. He was the most myopic blinkered fool I may have ever met seemingly with a two phrase vocab
"Smash him!" when we've got the ball, and
"Hands!" when they have. Now Wales is my team and I back them 100%. But when a Welsh player commits a foul, it's still a foul, i dont expect them to be let off due to their Welshness! And his little nickname scheme was intriguing. Gregan became Gregan-y, Jones became Jones-y and Fortesque-Smythe became... Well you get the picture. Basically he was a soccer yob from a country without a real soccer team. Not all Austrailians are like this but its obvious to see where the unfortunate stereotype comes from.

Oh and I almost forgot! We had a minutes silence to remeber Sir Tusker-Watkins, a great servant of the Welsh game. There was 45 seconds of utter quiet and then some idiot shouted a call and a bunch of fools called back. There was shocked silence for a second or two, this sort of thing does not happen at the rugby. And then a single clear voice in a rich valleys baritone rings out, audible to 72,000 people;

"Quiet! Philistines."

Are you G.A.G.A?

Anyone remember the bulletin boards from when the net was young and so were we?

 

Remember everyone used to sign their messages G.A.G.A.?

 

Ten points to the first person that tells me what it means.

 

(And no using Google now. I'll know. I will!)

The small rouge one.

Had a dream about Red Dwarf last night.

 

Bizarrely I was in it then I was watching it.

 

Red Dwarf was my group of friends secret language for a couple of years, every episode was watched to the point where the tape would wear thin, dialogue was learnt and quoted precisely mannerisms aped etc etc. There were penalties for mis-quoting by even a syllable.

 

I remember one night Jane and Craig spent the entire night testing each others knowledge and depth of geek-ism.

 

All this gets away from the fact that Red Dwarf was frighteningly funny. The writing had a sharp bitter flavour, full of the pain of wasted lives and bad situations.

 

Even the 'hero' was a gross out slob whose behaviour could very, very rarely be called heroic. Surrounded by a narcissistic human descended from a Cat, A hologram of the most annoying man in the universe(dead), A senile computer and an Android that only gained pleasure from housework it was a most unlikely crew to explore the out rim of space.

 

But we loved them.

 

So go on dig out some old red dwarf and laugh yourself stupid.

 

 

 

 

Smoke me a kipper...

honeymoon,

The pictures from the honeymoon are now on my flickr account, top left.

 

And yes they are all clean, I think.

EDIT: Now also all the right way up and with captions!

Still clean though.

rugby

Thank God for that! Wales 42 Canada 17 although the first half was very close. Celebratory beer now.
Phew.

Sport

Professional sportsmen are normally just that. Professional. They take winning and losing on board and they understand that its not the end of the world.

Thats why most aftergame interviews are so dull "They played well we just weren't as good etc etc etc". DULL with a capital DULL.

Unless you're a Serbian Basketball player....
Note: Please do not watch THIS if you are even slightly offended by bad lanuage. This guy could make Al Swearengen embraassed

facebook

facebook is starting to make me uncomfortable. My friends and family are linked on there and that's a good thing. It lets me stay in touch with the people I care about.

However I've just had a friend request from someone I haven't spoken to in over sixteen years and have no desire to. We were friends in that way you have to be friend with some poeple at school but as soon as graduation day rolls around you're like "Phew! Thank God I never have to talk to that dozy knob-waft again!".

And then sixteen years later he wants to be your friend... Hmmmm. I'll give it a miss thanks.

The Question is 'Who else can find me?'

As a child you're told that lying is naughty and wrong and that you should never do it.

 

So then you're an adult and told that lying is part of a corporate strategy.

 

Which is true?

 

update

100% done and 400 words under limit. Sure i can bulk it out with some 'therefores', 'meaning thats' and 'verilys'.

Well maybe not the verilys. It isn't on 14th century literature.

essays

Well ive answered roughly 65% of it.

Wait! that should read ive roughly answered 65% if I get a wriggle on tonight i might be able to have my weekend of rugby after all!!

It does mean not seeing the thursday badminton crowd who all made such an effort for our wedding but ill make it up to them next week.

Back

Back to find a mountain of post and about a gazillion thank you letters to write.

Oh, and in the post? Another essay due in by the 25th september, however due to work and family commitments I'm going to have to post it on the 19th. thats right, I have a fortnight to create the perfect 5000 word essay and post it out.

Its at times like this that I hate Michael Moorcock who'd consider less than 25000 words a 'slow' day.



(Edit: And I do not begrudge the thank you letters one jot, there are a great many people who am I espically grateful to, and the only way to really express that thanks is to send a letter.)

travelblog

Got a touch drunk last night so suffered this morning. Took a walk around the canal which runs for a mile and a half stretch underground through the busiest parts of Paris. There's so much of this city thats hidden, the metro, the canal, the catacombs. Whats on the surface is just for show, the beating heart of Paris is there, you just need to search a bit harder to find it.

travelblog

So you gamble. You stake everything on the next song to play on the jukebox. If it's great you stay, if it's shite you go home.

And "She sells sanctuary" by The Cult comes on.

I tell you, some nights the Gods are on your side.

(If you dont know the song buy it on itunes. If you hate it I will refund you.)

travelblog : drinking with ones wife in Paris.

Please note, some Frenchmen take it as a point of honour to try and chat up ones wife RIGHT IN FRONT OF ONE.

Also, slapping them down and shouting "Agincourt, bitch!" is frowned upon.

travelblog : Napoleons Tomb

Napoleons Tomb is crass and dreadful. Its a gaudy attempt to deify a mortal man through the use of marble and gold. Its the kind of place Michael Jackson or Paris Hilton would love to be interred. The self grandising is sickening with no hint of restraint or humility.

The rest of La invalidies museum is wonderful with an excellent collection of arms and armour and a genuinally moving 1st and 2nd world war display.

Just avoid the tat-fest that they've erected to one of their greatest leaders. I nearly vomited.

travelblog

lourve: overrated
musee de Orsay: awesome
eiffel tower:nice place for a picnic
rue de mofftard:nice place to buy the ingrediants for a picnic
place de innocents: where all the cool kids hang out
st michel:where all the touroids accumulate

travelblog : Chess

Walking through the park I encounter a sport I havent seen since New York, Full Contact Chess. The force with which they slam the timer down they may as well be slapping each others faces. Every move is a defiant challenge,'Come on then!!'

I play chess by email very irregularly and I really enjoy it but watching these guys play with guts and vitality makes me want to grab a board and take the world on!

travelblog : sacre Couer at 6 in the morning.

Last night after a couple of bottles of vin rouge, getting up at 5.30 to visit the best view of the city seemed like a genius idea.
This morning however it was of course a different story. Its a testament to how incredible the vista and experience was that it was totally worth it.
We had the whole place to ourselves and watched the first pink tendrills of dawn snake across the dark parisian sky.

...and then the first busload of touroids arrived. Now I appricate the fact I too am a tourist. But the difference is in attitude embracing the cultural variations. For instance either enjoying the cities multitude of inexpensive cafes and bars or bringing a thermos.

Travelblog : Shakespeare and Company

There is a shop by the side of the Seine unlike the tat shops and fine cafe bars around it. It's a book shop in the same way the Hundred years war was 'a bit of a kerfuffle'.
The sheer weight of the volumes chaotitcally arranged in this tiny two story house has bent the fabric of reality around it. I believe its the closest thing to the library in the Unseen University. No Orangutangs though.

Travelblog : Eiffel and his tower.

The tower itself is magnificent. Only built to stand for a handfull of years its a testament to its design that not only is it still standing but it has become the symbol of the great city it adorns.

Its powerfull attraction extends to the pigeons and beggars that swarm around like flies on ... well.

Some beggar tried to involve us in some sort of scam involving a gold ring. No idea what mind you, as we just gave her a quick 'Non merci' and away we went.

Right, time for a nap and then its out to Quai St Michel for dinner and beer.

Travelblog : La Defense

La Defense is what Albert Speer would have created had he had the luck to have been born French not German. Its a triumph of imposing ones will on the landscape and however impressive is understandably harsh and cold because of it.

travelblog : Escargot because you gotta!

Snails. We step on them, the French eat 'em. quel difference. However as an intrepid explorer I feel it is my duty to try these things so one plate of Escargots de Bourgogne en Coquille was duly ordered. The waiter presents you with a set of cutlery that looks like a pair of eyelash curlers and a minature pitchfork for a tiny devil.
Then the snails arrive in their shell and I remeber what en Coquille means.
The eyelash curlers are used to hold the shell firm whilst the pitchfork digs out the encephaloid (sp) that has been roundly basted with butter aux fin herb.
How does it taste? A bit like garlicy chewing gum, that is to say, delicious.

Took a stroll by the seine after dinner just soaking in the atmosphere. There's something special and different about being IN Paris. Espically on lune de miel!

travelblog: Paris

Paris doesnt change, its as dirty, noisy and wonderful as it ever was. Even during the seige of Paris during the Franco Prussian war the joy de vive (sp) was present right up to when the Zoo shot all the animals for food. Its unusual though, the French being notoriously un-sentimental about animals. This is one of the few places the idle phrase "Im so hungry I could eat a horse." could be taken to its uncomfortable conclusion.

Arrived about an hour ago, just off for a beer and then food. Not Cheval though!

travelblog: leg room

Upgrade to front row seats for two - £25.
Worth. Every. Penny.
Yay for honeymoon!

travelblog: Manchester airport

Airport bookshops are designed for people who dont actually like books. Their premium placing shelves are given over to such delights as; Inside Manchesters Gangs and Killer - Mind Of A Murderer. Books that most biblophiles wouldnt give the time of day to. It says something when all the bookshops offer is violence and all the newsagents stock are magazines with breasts on the cover. No wonder people get airrage when thats the only literature they see.

I've started and discarded six posts so far.


I am unable yet to sum up how I feel about what was possibly the best day of my life. I keep getting side tracked and getting a little over-emotional.

The warmth and generosity of our friends and family is truly overwhelming. Simply thank you is not enough. But while you're all waiting for your bouquet or troop of dancing monkeys, take a quick peak at the flickr tag on the top left. The only photos there are the ones I snapped using my phone so I'll put the good ones up when I'm back from Paris.

Its just been the most amazing and marvellous couple of days.

I am/we are so lucky.

married!

Very very happy! Will update when things slow down.

Helsie n Dave.

Helen and Dave are one of those couples that are so suited together that it can induce nausea in those not likewise similarly enamoured.

Their wedding was wonderful but in someways merely a formality. Anyone that knows them knows their commitment to each other is total and having a ring on their fingers is just the official seal on a romance nine years strong and counting.

That said the wedding itself was planned and executed brilliantly with pimms, ice cream and jazz awaiting the guests emerging from the cozy church into the blazing sun.

From there it was onto the reception that was majestically held in the Hawkshead Brewery. I had such a great time, met some fantastic people and got reaquainted with some old friends.

Helen looked devine and Dave wasn't too bad either!

And now its emsys and my turn. Arrrrggghhh!

Travelblog: part 283 in our ongoing series stupid/cool names for b ands

The Waxed Badgers.

Last work day for a while

Got a wedding in Kendal tomorrow and then I'll be back in Wales for friday to prepare for my own nuptials on the Sunday.

I'm pretty calm about it, apart from the moments of sheer mind-rending fear.

I know there's something important for the wedding I've forgotten but I can't for the life of me remeber what!

Just finishing up my last working day for a while. been a long drawn out battle from 9AM this morning but I think I'm getting near to finishing now!

As I'm going to be away for a bit now I'd like to leave you with the first episode of a series I call Switch. Let me know what you think.

Rob

SWITCH EPISODE 1

Prologue:



I don't sleep well anymore.

I was never what you might call a natural sleeper. A pack of Morley reds a day and an entire lake of coffee to myself meant I'd grab maybe a few hours a night. I'd rise in the morning and walk for hours around the dimly lit streets in that magic time when its too early for the normals and too late for the weirdo's.

The city is alone then. Its mine.

With no-one else around it shows itself to me, shares with me its secrets. The moments of tenderness in a place of unfeeling concrete and steel. The roses in the dirt.

When Jennifer came, my diet improved but my somnambulism was the one thing she simply couldn't change. Without the Stimulants my body had grown to rely on I became tired but simply couldn't cross over into anything approaching restful sleep.

I would lie awake for hours watching her breathe quietly next to me, marvelling at how easy she made it look. Even facing away from me I could tell she had that expression of quiet serenity on her face which made her look like she hadn't a care to call her own.

She never had nightmares and for this I envied her more than anything else. My own dreams though brief were always fraught with terror and a creeping unfaceable inescapable dread.

They would always start the same, I'd be washing the floor or chopping some vegetables or something similarly innocuous in my Mothers house where I'd lived there for most of my life until I got that cheap shithole flat on the east side. As I was going about my task I'd get the rising fear that something was wrong, something was happening as I was wasting my time on some mundane task. The fear rises into panic and into terror but I can't stop. I can't stop chopping or peeling or scrubbing or washing or whatever. I know I need to get upstairs to get to whatever's happening but my body just keeps on doing its boring task as my brain screams in its prison of flesh and bone.

Its just then I feel a dark presence behind me and rise screaming through to consciousness.

This time though it was the phone that woke me whilst I was halfway through scrubbing the brown rings on the bath.

Blinking my way into consciousness I felt for the reassuring weight of the receiver and Emitted a half question half cry into the black handle.

"Whharug!?"

The calm female voice on the other end, clearly used to dealing with waking people up at ungodly hours, patiently explained the relevant details, prompting only a few single word queries from me.

"Okay, I'll be there in twenty," I said swinging my legs over the side of the bed and plonking the receiver down onto its antique plastic housing.

"I've got to go," I said to the warm, curved form still sprawled under the duvet.

"Why can't you work a nine to five, like normal people?"

"Honey, nine to fives died out in the twentieth century," I replied.

"Says the man with a Bakelite phone," she said sifting in the bed slightly signalling the end of the conversation.

As I pulled on my coat and stepped out into the freezing air I realised what I didn't say was nine to fives never had existed, for cops.







Chapter 1:





The air was thick with the smell of
musk and cheap liquor, the downtown
perfume of faded dreams and shabby
fantasies. It was still raining with
a persistence and vigour that implied
God was trying to wash all the shit
off the streets and then drown the
streets themselves, start over again,
Noah style.

The cab dropped me off at the
junction of Wapner and fifth and I
walked the half a block until I saw
the tell tale yellow tape cornering
off a small alley set like a wrinkle
in smooth sandstone of the block.

I don't like arriving at a crime
scene in a cab, it sets the wrong
impression. Besides, my appointment
wasn't going anywhere.

"Over here boss!" Remy called out to
me from under a nearby shop awning
where he was sheltering from God's
streaming hate. A Frenchman by birth
he had adopted this country of
mongrels and chancers with oddly
enough, a European's passion.

In fact most people thought the dark,
scruffy officer with the air of
aloofness was the Frenchman not his
rotund beaming sidekick.
Unfortunately it was the other way
around although only one person has
ever had the balls to call me scruffy
to my face.

I waved to Remy and walked over to
the white sheet that was the blanket
for the concrete bed Jane Doe lay on.
This was the thirteenth Jane Doe for
me which is actually a low number
compared to the number of known
victims I've crouched beside.

I could hear Remy calling for me but
I wanted to take a quick look at the
victim before allowing myself to dry
out under the awning. I whisked the
soaked sheet back and gasped.

Homicide, Matricide, death by hammer,
death by carving knife and even in
one noticeable instance, death by
Satsuma, I flatter myself that I've
seen it all, but this? This I was
unprepared for.

A pair of sharp green eyes stared up
and through me in the rictus of
death. The eyes however were fairly
remarkable being both horizontal and
green. The whiskers didn't help
matters either. In fact if I'm being
honest the orange and black fur
covering every inch of her was pretty
surprising as well.

Remy came puffing up behind me.

"I tried to warn you. It kind of
takes you by surprise doesn't it?"

Stunned I nodded, my hand reaching
for a pack of cigarettes that hadn't
been there for two years now. In
times of stress my hands tend to act
of their own volition and they always
reach for the smokes they know they
shouldn't have.

She was clearly a gene-mixer. The
technology was decades old but still
illegal in every country that cared
about such things. She was clearly
born a human but at some point in her
past had had feline traits and
characteristics spliced into her
boring human DNA.

The mistake most people make about
genetics is that for every one
characteristic there’s one gene.

"Ooh there's the gene for big breasts
and look here's the gene for a big
bum, let's take that one out. Add the
blond hair and blue eyes genes and
that's your Aryan!"

In reality nearly every physical
characteristic has tens or even
hundreds of different genes which can
influence or block other genes
leading to a physical characteristic
which is clearly a mix of different
sources. Like an orchestra is made up
of tens of people all working
together to create a beautiful sound.

Its this blend of genes that creates
our unique makeup and proves a
nightmare for anyone trying to tinker
with it. Taking away a single gene
that seemingly has no function at all
can cause the whole pack of cards to
come crashing down. Understand when I
say a pack of cards I actually mean a
living human being whose un-tampered
genes are doing just fine thank you
very much, you can see the potential
for disaster is huge.

Jane Doe however was a work of art.
She had clearly been beautiful before
the switch and was lean in the way
track athletes were. Her coat was
plush and even strong shoulders
tapering down to delicate hands that
clearly had no paw in them at all.

"This kind of work's expensive." I
said out loud.

"Yeah," Agreed Remy," Not your usual
Thai botch job."

There were people for whom the thrill
of being, or being with, a part human
part animal was worth the risk of
permanently stunted genome. Some
traits would go in and come out like
Lego blocks. And some would stick
around and linger forever. Thailand
has always been a draw for
s*xtourists looking for a different
kind of hit.

For those born in the kind of poverty
we only ever see on telethons,
becoming part animal to milk money
from fat western perverts is a no
brainer. Unfortunately because of the
black market nature of the operation
even the pimps that put the money up
front for the procedure can't be
sure how well it'll go. The back
streets of Phuket are full of botched
jobs. Girls and boys whose beauty you
can almost still read through the
folds of mutated flesh and useless
extra limbs.

As ever, there’s still a market for
even these poor crippled beings but
its not the same as the animal
festishissation and worship that
happens in the slightly better lit
quarters of Thailand.

I looked down at the mangled body
with a mangled genome and wondered
how much of Jane had been human
before someone switched the lights
off.

I replaced the sheet. The rain was
keeping the vultures away although
one or two ghouls were being kept
back by the power of the yellow tape.

I knew where I had to go but If I was
heading into the darkness I'd need
more backup than My French companion
could provide.

"Stay here and wait for the coroner"
I said to Remy,

"Okay, Where are you off to?" he
replied.

"I've got to go and see a man about a
dog."







Chapter 2:



Smoke hung lazily around like a bad debt obscuring even further the dark recesses of the room. Half formed shapes and figures moved slowly in the murk. Here and there you could see a hand or an arm in one of the amber pools of light from the recessed bulbs. Bodies moved slowly around touching, grasping, pulling or stroking. Slow trance-like music burbled, its rhythmic pulsing adding to the dreamlike quality. Time seemed to lose its meaning. Seconds, hours, minutes all intermingled and became lost inside the space of the darkened room.

That is until I kicked the door through its hinges.

I'd known about this club for months now. Its location was changed regularly to keep people like me off the scent, we'd turn up days or even weeks too late, finding freshly painted walls and the sharp tang of bleach on every surface.

But this time we'd caught them at it, the gene switched body in the alley was all the leverage I needed to get some unorthodox methods sanctioned.

I'd pulled in the usual snitches and gave them the old once over. Most of them had seen it a hundred times before but on this occasion there was a small difference. The K-9 section had loaned us one of their finest four footed and we brought him in at the end of the usual merry-go-round.

Now most of the grebs and low lives didn't react. Why should you? Its just a dog. However when Low-k (really named Kevin Lomax) jumped out of his chair and cowered on the table screaming I knew we had something.

See dogs aren't clever. They just aren't. But they do have an amazing nose and a sense of smell better than anything we could ever conceive. Part of that sense is knowing when something smells wrong or altered or switched.

They can smell gene-switchers even after they've been switched back, don't ask me how. All I can tell you is that the person may look totally kosher to you and me but the dog can tell. And they really don't like it. It looks like a human but smells like a cat/shark/ring tailed lemur and the dog won't stop barking.

When we'd pulled the dog back off Low K but not too far, he told me everything I wanted to know and a few things I didn't. He spilled everything over his confession of a splice earlier in his life which he'd had changed back and his compulsion to visit this club. He'd go and enjoy other peoples changed genomes rather than the pain and expense of getting himself switched again.

I took the address to Vice and within hours we had a squad ready to bust down the door I'd just kicked through.

From either side of me streamed the uniformed officers grabbing the nearest body and cuffing them in a parody of the intimate scenes that had been happening just seconds before.

I strode past the flailing switchers and the humans that love them, through to the back where I knew my target would be.

I needed the help of the battering ram to get through the metal plated office door and there sat Simon Guanto beaming his big tusky smile at me.

"Inspector. So nice to see you. Won't you come in?"






Chapter 3:






The interview room was exactly as you'd expect. A windowless cupboard with cork board muffling the walls and unsettling stains on the floor. There was a camera mounted high on the wall. It was used for keeping cops honest or recording blood-soaked confessions depending on the suspect. I didn't know which way this one would go.

Guanto's presence was overpowering. Even though he was sitting peacefully in the middle of the interview room his aura seemed to fill the space to almost bursting. Thick set features, a turned up nose and little piggy eyes weren't helped by the prominent tusks that stuck up on either side of his jaw.

His confidence was almost as powerful as his odour, which burst through the pungent aftershave to assault the nostrils of anyone unfortunate enough to be sat close to him.

Like me.

"I want to talk about the girl."

He laughed and spread his stumpy arms, "Which girl? There were rather a few of them I seems to remember."

"Not at the party. We'll come to that later."

"Have you got a name for this particular girl? So I can tell you exactly where I was when she claims I was elsewhere?"

I leaned in.

"She isn't claiming anything. Take a look."

I dropped the stack of photos in front of him. He picked them up and started flicking through them.

"Don't know her." he snorted.

And that told me everything.

You see people have patterns in the way they speak and act. Under normal circumstances they'll just maintain their normal pattern. Five second with this guy would tell you he'd crack jokes through his mothers funeral. That's the way he is. He didn't take this seriously or he would have insisted on being lawyer'd up from the start. His casual attitude towards me and the law came from his secure knowledge that even though we'd caught him red trottered hosting an orgy, there wasn't much we could do. A slap on the wrist a big fine and next month he's in somebody else's city doing exactly the same thing.

But after his first look at the Jane Tiger photos he'd shut up tighter than a spinsters wallet. His tongue licked nervously across his twin tusks. He'd come in here on a procurment charge at best and now he was looking straight down the barrel of homicide. And I was about to rack the slide.

I reached into the cardboard folder by my side and slapped three pieces of paper upside down. I turned them over one by one letting him see my poker hand.

"Item one."

Slap.

"A one off payment from your account to an unidentified business in Thailand."

He shifted in the metal confines of his chair.

"Item two."

Slap.

"Two plane tickets for you and the alley girl before her change into Cheetara. But here's the rub, you flew back alone a week later with a large crate in the hold of the plane labelled LIVE ANIMAL."

"Now wait just a minute..." he started.

"Item three."

Slap,

"A substantial deposit of cash into your account two days after your trip."

He flustered, I didn't give him a chance to talk.

"So I'm thinking you pick up a stray girl on spec, give her the Thailand switch, let some bastard have his way with her and when he gets a little rough..."

"Hang on..."

"Maybe she gets too rough and he has to bite back? You put the squeeze on the poor sap blackmail him for your money back and dumping the body on the way to the bank. How are you liking this now?"

"STOP!"

I sat back impressed at the purple colour he'd achieved. The stink in the room contained more than just his musk now. That was raw fear mixed on in there.

I'd got enough to watch him be turned into bacon in any state with the right laws.

And then he totally turned the tables on me dropping a name I'd never heard mentioned in this stinking precinct.

"She wasn't for anyone, I sold her to Alexi Van Sant!"





Chapter 4:




I started out of the interview room like the hounds of hell were after me which they soon would be.

"Remy!" I yelled across the squad room. He came bumbling towards me his normally smiling face gaping and drawn. I knew he'd heard the blasphemy from Guanto from the interview room camera.

"Do you think its true, boss? Did he sell her to Van Sant?" He asked, searching my face for answers I didn't have.

"I don't know. It'll never stand up in court though."

I scratched my cheek trying to get a plan together. It didn't have to be a great plan or even a good one, just a plan that got me moving.

"Right," I said eventually "Get in there, take Porky's statement get it notarized and do not leave his side."

"Gotcha. Where are you going?"

"I'm going to give Van Sant a chance to talk before his lawyers gag him up like a gimp."

Remy nodded once and walked over to the interview room. Once again I blessed the Gods that gave me a partner who knew when to talk and when to shut up and get on with it.



I drove over to Van Sant's place in a unmarked squad car. No need to put the wind up him just yet. The twin towers baring his name rose, black and threatening in the distance. Looming over the road their unique architecture gave them the appearance of almost toppling over the drivers on the road below. All they'd need would be one good breath of air and they come crashing down around us.

Even then Van Sant would still be standing.

He was the last of The Twelve. The last remnant of humanities Golden age when science could conquer everything and our boundaries seemed limitless.

He was head of the research team at Everex Global when they made the discovery that made him and the other eleven world famous. Working with embryonic cells Everex had found a way of arresting the normal cell cycle.

Every cell in your body gets replaced many times in your life. The old cell reaches the end of its usefulness and dies. Think of it as a best before date, after that point the cell might go bad, form cancers do all sorts of nasty stuff.

Van Sant and his team found a way of stopping the cells from dying. A way of preserving the flesh as it was. Forever.

They'd inoculated all of the research team before the F.D.A. managed to bust down the door burn the lab to the ground and arrest them all.

The Courts tried them for crimes against humanity and in a bid to avoid the chair they all agreed to a memory wipe back to before they worked for Everex. What's a few years memeories and a long prison sentence when you're pretty much immortal?

Two of the twelve died in custody before they were all moved to a secure location. It seems the other inmates had their own ideas on what qualified as eternal life and what didn't.

Your cells may not die and so the body doesn't decay when you're alive but a slit throat or a shiv through your heart in the shower will sure kill you.

Fifty years later the ten all emerged together looking not a day older than when they were locked up.

One was killed in an auto wreck four days after his release. It seems fifty years of four walls and three squares hadn't prepared him for the nightmare that the freeways had become.

Some died through illness and disease but the rest survived for a couple of hundred years. And then of the remaining six, five committed suicide together. Nothing dramatic. Just gassed themselves using an old burner.

That leaves Van Sant. A man who hasn't left the top of the tower he built in the last hundred years. He's protected up there. Protected from knives, cars and disease. Protected from the things that got the other eleven.

But is he protected from the law? Is he protected from me?






Chapter 5:




The Secretary at the front desk was surprised when I produced my credentials and asked to see Mister Van Sant and was even more surprised when the monogrammed elevator doors pinged open signifying the acceptance of my request.

The express lift shot me skywards at an alarming rate. The smooth glass walls afforded an expansive view of the rooftops of the surrounding buildings. As we climbed higher and higher we rose almost through the cloud bank that was now only half smog thank to the efforts of the air scrubbers that were now mandatory on every building.

The golden metal doors eventually purred open and I stepped into a blinding white cube with no visible exits except for the one that had just clicked shut behind me. I stood still for a moment, disorientated before I felt the rush of gas filling the room.

"Hold still please," A disembodied voice breathed in my ear,"This chamber is just to make sure you don't bring any uninvited pathogens in with you."

After a breathless few seconds the light dimmed and the sections of wall in front and on either side of me rolled up into the ceiling leaving me standing in a plush apartment.

The entire top floor was obviously one huge room, with couches, bookshelves and tables placed seemingly placed at random. Every inch of wall and shelf space was occupied by a thousand photos, paintings and nick knacks. Here and there were antique weapons and musical instruments I was not familiar with, ancient photographs of smiling happy people, a hundred lifetimes worth of ephemera gathered in one place.

From behind one of the bookshelves the voice from the booth floated over to me, "I know what you're thinking."

I followed the voice behind the bookshelf to find a well built man with dark hair showing the first flecks of grey. His eyes were faded blue and were the only part of him that looked a few centuries old. He strode towards me and took my hand in his. His handshake was strong, but felt cold.

"You're thinking 'Where did all this stuff come from?'"

"Actually," I replied, "I was wondering how long it takes your house keeper to dust."

He laughed, "I do it myself. When you have so many memories Inspector its hard to keep them all in your head. There's only a finite amount of space in there. New thoughts keep forcing the old ones out." He swept his arms around him, "These are my memories. When I clean them all one by one, they keep fresh of all the experiences that I've had that I can no longer rely on my poor antique brain for."

I gazed around again, looking through his personal memories, here a photo of a lover, probably decades dead, there a wooden knife, a souvenir of a holiday taken before anyone on the planet was born. It was a creepy feeling, like looking uninvited through some ones private correspondence.

"Would you care for a drink?"

"No thank you."

We sat on a couch with a view of the downtown skyline. In the office I'd felt so sure about his guilt I'd rushed over here with no thought for how I was going to play this.

I was going to have to improvise.

"So what brings you to see me Inspector? I hardly think someone of your talents is part of a community outreach programme."

"No, I'm actually here about a murder."

"Really? A murder? How ghoulish. You don't think I had anything to do with it do you?

"Your name was brought up in an interview I was conducting. I just need to establish your recent movements."

"Who was it?"

"The witness or the victim?"

"Both."

"The victim was a poor girl who'd had her genes tinkered with, not quite as elegantly as yourself of course. She been spliced with a big cat. a tiger I think."

"Interesting and the witness?"

""A know procurer for people with interesting tastes."

"And you're taking the word of a known felon over mine?"

"Don't forget sir, that you too have a criminal record for altering your own biology. And you haven't actually told me where you've been.

"In that case I can tell you I haven't left the tower in weeks months in fact. Too many germs on the street for my battered immune system."

"What if I were to tell you a credible witness has you as the last person that saw this person alive?"

"I'm not falling for that tired line, you're jumping to conclusions..."

"We found a paper trail that lead this girl from grad school dropout through Thailand and into your hands. Two days later she's found in an alley. You bought her. You killed her. You dumped her body. What part of this is stretching things too far?"

"This is libellous..."

"Actually it would be slander but that's only if its not true."

He rose and in one movement pulled a polished kiri hunting knife from the wall and pointed it at my throat. I stayed exactly where I was, I could see the years of madness boiling away in his eyes.

"Give me your gun."

"I don't carry one."

"You don't carry a gun?"

"I don't normally think they're necessary."

"Even for defence?"

"Whenever I've seen a gun fired they seem pretty offensive."

I wasn't sure what he'd do. When you've seen generations of people die human life must become pretty much meaningless. I felt sure if he'd committed one murder another one wouldn't haunt him. I had to play this very smart.

"Of course the irony is it was your own DNA that caught you. In a sample under her fingernail. You do have a unique genetic fingerprint." I bluffed playing for time.

The three foot of steel didn't even quiver.

"Tell me your side of how it happened. Put it down and we can talk this thing through."

His eyes still locked with mine. I slowly put my hand over the top blunt edge of the knife and lowered it down.

He sat, defeated, a shadow of the imposing presence that had greeted me at the door.

"Do you know," he began "How lucky you are? How fortunate you've been? We are not built to live forever, we are designed to live like a match. Struck once we burn brightly before fading into the ashes of our dreams. We are not meant to dimly glow forever. The thing they never tell you about eternal life, the secret that is hidden is that Eternal life, is boring. Everything you do, everything you see, you've seen you've experienced before. There's nothing new nothing exciting nothing to discover."

He grew more impassioned.


"Do you know the weight of the things I've forgotten? Do you know the treasured memories that have been pushed out by the sheer weight of stuff? Even sex loses it joy after a while. So you start trying stuff that only interests you because it's different. I sunk so low I even got interested in Cricket for a while."

"Alison was something new and exciting but she wasn't right. I think she'd always wanted to become something more than she was born."

S"he went feral, inside every cat there's a lion dreaming of escape and in her there was a cat dreaming of a lion dreaming of escape. She attacked me, nearly killed me. I had to defend myself. That's what it was, self defence."


I'd had enough of his whining.

"Tell you what," I began "I could take you in. You could get the lawyers involved. claim mental anguish. You'll probably do twenty maybe thirty years. And be sat having this conversation in a hundred years with one of my successors about another poor dead girl. Or you could do what you know you should have done a long time ago but have never had the balls to go through with."

He looked up at me quizzically, tears blurring his eyes.

I walked over to the glass partition and opened the screen door leading to the balcony. The fresh air poured in for probably the first time in years.

I sighed theatrically "It appears I've left my handcuffs in the car. I'll have to go down and get them before I arrest you. Stay here."

I walked over to the lift and didn't look back.




I had gone about ten floors down in the lift before he overtook me. Unfavourable winds bounced him off the side of the building, as his body flopped and flailed, accelerating past the glass elevator towards the blurred ground below.



I don't care how vigorous your cells are, how resistant to decay or how immune to dying you've made them, when they're all spread out over a ten metre radius, you're screwed.

I walked past the squished remains of his centuries old body spreading its red load across the floor.

This was definitely someone else's mess, I'd dealt with enough dead bodies for one week.