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.

Words

 

"Pete Dougherty has just been arrested on suspicion of holding class A drugs."

 

Children? I think we can let the word 'Suspicion' go now.

 

There's no suspicion. He is a drug addict. If he wasn't holding any he was on his way to score.

 

He's a millionaire that can afford the finest drugs that mankind has to offer.

 

 

Git.

 

Crappy tuesdays.

I never could get the hang of tuesdays. I've got nothing really to do in work as tomorrow is my last day for two weeks so the day is dragging-dragging-dddddddddrrrrrrrrrrraaaaaaaaagggggggiiiiiiinnnnnnnnnggggggggg.

Just trying to find little issues I can deal with quickly rather than getting involved in problems that are going to be a few days in the solving.

MEt with the registrar yesterday and she was very encouraging. Nothing was a hassle and it was all clear and straightforward. Which to be fair is exactly what you need to hear at this stage in the proceedings.



Oh and 'Overnight' is brilliant but I can't help feeling that if I'd had the same shocking introduction to the world of celebrity I might have turned into the same kind of ass-munch.

I'd have formed a better band though.

The joy of crappy movies.

I watched two movies yesterday, in between the rugby, family guy and pizza fest at andys.

The first film is one of my favourites purely for the sheer joy of filmaking that blasts out from every frame. ARMY OF DARKNESS is a fun stupid movie that just revels in the fact that its being made! Its a spoof heroic action adventure horror with bits of actual horror and the most quoteable dialouge in Christendom.

Hail to the King, Baby.

It works on so many levels because it is just having fun with what its doing. It both obeys and enjoys the genre. Its hard to belive its directed by the same guy thats made three po-faced spiderman films.


The other movie I watched was much much worse. Despite featuring a couple of interesting conceits (all knicked and done better by other films) Willam Dafoe in drag and Billy Connolly as a hard as granite hitman (yes, THAT Billy connolly) its a contender for a bad movie monday award. With a five cent simplistic take on morals and values its a hatchet job of a film badly made terribly thought out and missing key pieces of footage. And the script is wankier than something I knocked out with a friend at the tender age of sixteen. I'll see if I can dig it out for you to compare and contrast.

THE BOONDOCK SAINTS is totally shite and yet oddly compelling. The story behind it is fasinating. Now I haven't watched the Documentry OVERNIGHT yet but thats on the agenda for this afternoon. It concerns the writer director of the film being feted as the next big thing based on the script for this movie. I am incredulous to say the least!

Stoned Jones, Jim Prophet, Clearly Evil and ...

I've finally found the fourth name to join the above triumvate. They're names i've collected over the last few years and i've been waiting for the fourth and final name, knowing that with it the story would come. Ladies and Gentlemen the final name is ... Terminal Bob.

Writing

I am rarely happy with what I write and its even rarer that I get a good feeling when I finish a piece. I've just completed a five part short story called Switch that I'll unleash on you slowly. And I am more than happy with it, in fact I am very very happy with it. Now I just have to fulfil a promise to an actor friend and turn it into a radio play.

 

Actually looking at it in its current state it would die on its arse on Radio as its mostly monologues, good monologues but monologues nonetheless.

 

Have to rejigg the whole thing. But that's part of the appeal. Watch this space.

 

UPDATE: A friend has just emailed asked if he can use one of the lines from part five as his Email signature. I can think of no higher honour.

 

 

Things

Woke up at six and couldn't get back to sleep. Many many people over the course of the last few weeks have asked me if I was nervous yet. Well for the first time I woke up this morning and I was. I just kept on thinking about all the things that could go wrong over the next eleven days. There so many variables and so many people involved that almost anything could happen. Pigs falling from the sky wouldn't surprise me now.

 

The basics of it, the fundamentals, are in place and have been for months now. I have the rings and the booked the person to turn them into a legally binding contract. Everything else is really just window dressing, as vital as they may seem to the process if we had only the two of us and two tramps we dragged in as witnesses we would still get married and that's the part that doesn't scare me at all.

 

Committing myself for life to the one person that means everything to me is a real no-brainer. With her I am more than the sum of my parts. With her I can actually achieve the potential of who I could be. 

 

 

*Bleugh*

 

Sorry, got a bit soppy there. But its the toing and froing of people and events and the ephemera that surrounds the wedding that worries me. Not the actual event itself.

 

 

 

Travelblog: Catch-up

Its lovely seeing friends you dont get to see very often espically as this is the last free weekend before the wedding.

Thats right, in fourteen days Em will lumber herself with me for the rest of her life!

Is this the point where I should be getting worried? Because my calm impassive demeanor is still the same.

It was an appointment.

So, Its 5:30 in the morning in 1976 you're in Paris and bored. What do you do?

Well you attach a gyroscopic camera to the bumper of your Mercedes-Benz 450 SEL 6.9 and drive like a madman through the streets of paris .

wikipediaHas an excellent page on its inspiration and creation. its quite an astounding bit of motoring.

aaaaaah Saturdays.

I love me some early saturday mornings!

When I lived in Atlanta I'd get up about 6 or 7ish, grab a coffee and sit out on the veranda overlooking the wooded area at the rear of the house. I'd smoke and lose myself in the world coming alive around me. All the strange bird song and animal noise would just calm me.

And then of course the neighbours starting waking up and turning on raidios and cars and all the other noise pollution. but for a while for half an hour each day, the world was mine.

Works been good, now I've got tentative leave date I know what I'm working towards. I could have said "Screw you guys! I'm leaving then and I don't care what you think!" but that would have made me the bad guy. They asked if I could leave a week after I'm meant to so I can help run the payrolls through in September. I think its only fair. Also a number of people that have used the oppourtunity of leaving the company to tell the bosses and everyone exactly what they think of them and then been on the phone a month or two later begging for their job back. They're so suprised when the people they annouced were douchebags won't rehire them.

Had a night night last night, some friends came around to sample our homebrew which we concluded needs another week or so to attenuate. Luckily though they'd brought some of their own, its really really good stuff for homebrew, not too strong not too fizzy just really pleasant drinking. I made chilli (without beans of course) and we played on the wii. All in all a successfull night!

Notes from the road 12

 

Chapter 12

 

Sounds of laughter and music emanated out of the house like radio waves broadcasting into the night. The suburban street was lit only by the faintly yellow streetlights and their reflections from the still wet tarmac below them. Aside from the house of noise it was a quiet little suburb in a quiet little corner of a quiet little town in a medium-boring state. Nothing, good or bad, ever seemed to happen here and as in most places Youth (with a capital Y) had to make its own fun.

 

For Vicki, Lola and Rachel being 15 this mostly involved going around to each others houses, laughing at bad TV and discussing the pressing school issues of the day. Too cool for the geeks and no where near pretty enough to be popular, they surfed the high school wave of invisibility, safe in their anonymity.

 

It was a hot Friday night in June when the air seems to prickle with the promise of something greater just around the next corner. They were sitting in the front room with all the windows open and the TV blaring out the latest marketing campaign disguised as music video. This one involved a new-wave punk band, too young to have sex, playing on a beach surrounded by impossibly attractive women in silver-sliver bikinis.

 

"As if!" Scoffed Lola, self consciously bringing her knees up to her chest on the couch.

 

"Fake band playing a fake song on a fake beach surrounded by fake women with fake tits," Opined Vicki "The only thing that's real is my hatred and loathing for all of them."

 

"Get a load of you!" exclaimed Rachael doing an impression of Vicki's self righteous face "Its just a crappy song, don't get so tangled about it."

 

"I'm not getting tangled, I'm just bemoaning the state of 'pop' music today. It meant to be our generation right? Its meant to reflect our hopes and desires, not some fat bald sweaty chairman's thoughts on what the youth market wants."

 

Lola leaned forward on the couch to grab a handful of popcorn.

 

"So what do we want? What's representative of our doomed generation apart from teenage pregnancy, bad music and capitalism run amok?"

 

"Cynicism?"

 

"Ha Ha."

 

The beach song finished and the next video came on. It was your usual rap video crap about how nice to was to go to a club, sell drugs, shoot the guy you sold them to, smoke the drugs you've just stolen from his corpse and beat up a hooker on the way to another club. It was so bad it was beneath even the Invisibles contempt and so did not warrant comment.

 

The house was Vicki's mums here she'd lived  ever since she was born. It wasn't large but with just the two of them there since her Dad left, it was comfortable and had enough space for a sleep over. Her mum was out with Tim again and probably wouldn't get back for another couple of hours when she'd come in and make them all cinnamon toast and hot chocolate with marshmallows before going to bed.

 

"So, " said Lola with a wicked glint in her eye "You want to get high?"

 

Rachael and Vicki stared at her.

 

"What?"
 
"Get high? You know? Puffing the L? Lighting up a sweet doobie? Smoking up the 'erb? Taking hits from the bong?

 

"Yes we understood what you meant we just couldn't believe you meant it Lo."

 

Lo smiled.

 

"Why not? Because I'm too sweet and innocent?"

 

"Only comparatively sweet and not at all innocent," Chimed in Rachael "You've known Vic far too long for that."

 

"Hey!" said Vic with a grin "That'd be quite offensive if it wasn't true."

 

"I couldn't believe you meant it because you only ever talk to us and we aren't selling." said Rachael moving closer to Lola on the couch "Who did you get it from?"

 

"Just this guy I know." Lola tried to look casual as if the TV still held her attention but inside she was thrumming, desperate to tell all.

 

Rachael and Vic shared a look, their interest piqued as they continued their questioning.

 

"This guy? You don't know any 'guys' ! Who is he?"

 

"Just a guy, in French class."

 

Vic jumped up and began in her best acting voice,
"Their eyes met across a declined verb. She could feel the weight of his pronouns as he began to speak..."

 

Rachael fell about laughing whilst Lola started to turn a further shade of red.
"Its not like that. He just sold me some weed, that's all there is to it."

 

"What's his name?"

 

"Not telling."

 

"Well if you won't give up his name there must be more of a story!"

 

"There isn't. I barely know him, he just asked if I wanted some dope and I said yes. That's all there was too it."

 

Vic pulled up short in her gentle mocking
"Hang on, he asked?"

 

"What?"

 

"He asked if you wanted some weed?"

 

"Yeah. So?"

 

"Let me take a look at the bag"

 

Wordlessly Lola handed over a small plastic pouch filled to bursting with chopped herb.   Vicki opened it and took a long smell like a wine connoisseur identifying a particularly obscure vintage. The other two looked on in breathless anticipation.

 

She opened her eyes and looked straight at her.

 

"Sorry Lola its the oldest trick in the book. What you've got here is a particularly fine blend of oregano."

 

Lola snatched the bag back from her spilling some of the now worthless contents on the floor.

 

"How would you know?" she snapped. "You're no expert!"

 

"Smoke it and get ill then, but I know dope and that is not it."

 

Lola looked gutted.

 

"I should really have known, one moment I don't exist the next second he's super friendly like he's selling me something special."

 

"Yeah, men can be a bit like that." Replied Rachael "At least you didn't fuck him for it."

 

All three started laughing.

 

"Look," Said Vicki " I can show you something but you've got to promise not to tell."

 

"Okay."

 

"I'm in"

 

They walked through into Vic's mums bedroom which was decorated in a very plain Mexican style with a poncho hung on one wall as a decoration and a lakeside scene on the other. The furniture was as Spartan as the room, except for the bed which took up most of the far wall.

 

Vic walked up to the huge bed and reached under it to pull out a large dark rosewood box. She placed it on the bed itself and the friends could all see the concentric circle pattern carved deep into the lid.

 

She looked at both her friends who were silent realising the magnitude of what they were about to see. With a little flourish Vick flung back the lid and began shuffling through the items contained within. There was her Mums wedding veil and long neglected rosary but she was looking for something on the other end of the moral scale.

 

"I know about weed," Said Vicki building up to a triumphal finish "Because," She held up her prize "My mum smokes it!".

 

She was brandishing a sandwich bag with a small amount of brown leaf clustered in one corner  more damming however was the well used wooden hash pipe inside the baggie.

 

The girls looked vaguely disappointed.

 

"I was expecting a couple of ounces worth at least!" Said Lola.

 

"Yeah at least enough to steal a little bit!" Added Rachael."

 

"I think my mums hippie days of smoking are well over." said Vic," She's had the same amount in there ever since I knew about it."

 

"So," Lola said, the pain of an original thought slowing her speech and furrowing her brow "If we swapped the real stuff for the Oregano ..."

 

"She'd never notice!" finished Rachael beaming down on the dubious looking Vic.

 

"I don't know," Said Vic, slowly "Its a bit of a risk..."

 

-------

 

One careful replacement of herbs and application of a bic lighter later the girls were sitting with the box back in the lounge feeling a lot more relaxed about the whole situation.

 

 Rachael who had for the last ten minutes been stroking the still open inside of the rosewood box said

 

"What's this box within a box?"

 

Vic couldn't tear her gaze away from the test pattern on the TV
"Hunh?"

 

"This box within a box?"  Rachael said pulling out a miniature version of the rosewood box.

 

"Oh that." Said Vicki " I don't know I've never been able to get it open."

 

"I've seen one of these before," said Lola "give it here."

 

Reluctantly Rachael handed it over. It was roughly the size of a box of chocolates but felt quiet heavy for the actual size.

 

"Right, You've got to force the hinges on these things." Said Lola taking a strong grip on the box.

 

"Force it?" said Vic her eyes going wide "No no! No forcing! Gentle encouraging, yes. Forcing no!"

 

"Don't sweat it. I know what I'm doing!"

 

"I know what you're doing and I don't want you to do it! Stop"

 

"You want to know what's inside don't you?"

 

"No!"

 

Vic reached out towards Lola just in time to see her fumble and then drop the box. It spiralled down in slow motion catching the corner on the unyielding stone floor and breaking the lid off splitting the wood and spilling its contents under the sofa.

 

"What did you do? What did you do?"

 

"Vic. I'm really sorry." True regret burned dully in her friends eyes.

 

Vic glared at her and picked up the box and tried to start fitting it back together whilst Lola and Rachael started pick up the splinters scattered all over the floor.

 

"That's funny," Said  Rachael from under the bed.

 

"What?" Said Vic failing to see the funny side of anything at the moment.

 

"The only thing that was in the box was this book," She replied holding aloft an aged well thumbed paperback.

 

"Is it porn?" Asked the suddenly interested Lola looking up from behind the side table.

 

"I don't think so. Unless someone's idea of a horny title is 'Notes from the Road'."

 

---------------

 

My careering career

Morning!

Got a new job today and I'm all excited! Been waiting for the phonecall for a couple of days and been so nervous I couldn't actually write properly. I won't subject you to the graveyard of abandoned post. Needless to say grammar and form weren't really included in a post that simply would have read;

"Geeeeeeeeennnnnnnnaaaaaaaaaaayyyyyyyrrrrrrrrrr,!".

So, allowing for a physical, I'll be working for Conwy county council on their payroll. For those unfamilar with Conwy itself, its a walled town with a castle that was never meant to accomodate traffic. Hence my new commute will follow the road through the walled town and out the other side.

It looks a little like this and is astoundingly pretty.

Anyway still really happy.

England 62-5 Wales

No excuses. No talking around it. No questions. We. Got. Beasted.

England were a quality side ready and prepared for a genuine international. We looked like we'd been in the pub all morning and then emerged, blinking, into a packed Twickenham that just laughed at us.

The only thing that makes it worse is I now have to buy an English colleague lunch on friday as we put a small wager on the result.

bah.

Mad Capsule Markets

Japanese Metal with a strong punk influence?

Llion, this one's for you.

trouble afoot

I got into work today to find a load of new software on my and everyone elses PC with a note from a trusted guy in tech. Turns out management arent happy that people are growing their ebay empire in work time but rather than blocking the sites theyre noting which sites people goto and how often.

so whilst i might be able to explain a lunchtime visit to my email or news sites, blogger quests at 11 in the morning are a strict no no.

so future daytime posts might be a bit rushed!

response and responsibility

due to illness and holidays I've been in charge of the payroll for the last three days and quite frankly even though its quiet season its scary being ultimately responsible. I'm certainly not paid enough for what they're expecting and I don't think my manager is paid enough for her job!


Anyways aside from that everything's okay, the final preparations are going in for the wedding, I never realised when you see couples in deep and meaningful discussions about the colour of the bridesmaids dress EXACTLY matching that of the rose worn by the best man that its actually a displacement activity. If you're as well organised as I think you need to be, with this short amount of time to go, you'll do anything to avoid actually thinking about the wedding itself.

Reading that back it make it sound like I'm unsure about the wedding and I'm not. Its just everything is getting a little close right about now!

Anyway here's a picture of the hotel we're staying in on Honeymoon. The reviews say its a bit noisy but its right in the centre of Paris so you can't really avoid that! I think earplugs are the order of the day, and if not a couple extra bottles of the Vin de table should sort you right out!

Been a funny old week. I've started a brand new writing project that I've been aching to try out for years now but still haven't finished Switch part five even though the bare bones have been lying there waiting for weeks now. The mood will strike me soon and I'll finish it, which would be good as I've already got the beginings of the second episode playing out in my head.

bad head.

You know it's a bad headache when you have to keep checking your ears to make sure your brain isn't trickling out of them.

I blamed it on the hangover from Claires wedding on Saturday but I think its the bird flu finally come to finish me off. Darn avians!

I work with Claire and She and her husband kev have accompained us on many a rugby trip. And yes that is a pint of bitter in her hand!

With their wedding done and they both looked great, its Em and my turn next which isn't quite as scary as I thought it would be. Still a bit terrifying though.

Off to scout out some paracetamol, or aspirin, or a bat to club myself into unconciousness, which ever come first really.

A new entrant?

I didn't realise Ferengi could run in the presidential race!

Vote Quark/Rom in 2008!

The worlds third best spectator sport

I am of course referring to American Politics which is the third most compelling sport in the world.

Numbers one and two are Rugby and Sumo which of course are just different flavours of big bastards running at each other with murder in their eyes. And no padding.

The media seems to focus more on the candidates quirks than their actual policies because to be brutally honest the physical characteristics and differences between the candidates is the only thing that's interesting about them.

People complain that politicians are lying scumbags who'd pimp out their own grandmother to get that extra vote.

"Why can't they ever tell the truth?!" people moan.

Well interestingly enough the reason they can't ever speak the truth is that we won't let them.

Any person that has got to be a candidate for either of the major parties is a career politician. They have made their fortune or used Daddies, to get where they are today and they've done that by being obsequious and veiling everything they say in the cloak of denyability.

When we as the public hold people to such close account and such close scrutiny they simply can't afford to be seen to be wrong. No Pol can ever say 'Yep. Okay. I goofed up, there were no weapons in Iraq. Sorry about that. My bad.' because the public outcry would be enormous. 'What else have they got wrong?' the press would scream and it would be goodbye bye Mr Politician.

Instead they make statements that can't possibly be argued with and can't be quantified.

They could say, "We need to clamp down on some dissenting voices so we're going to start monitoring all your communications that go outside of our borders."

But instead we force them to say "I want to increase the security of our country."

How can you argue against security? "I disagree with my honourable friend, I think this country is just too secure. I want more danger for all our citizens. I will plough your tax dollars into increasing the variety and spread of the threats ranged against us."


So now with the race for the democratic candidacy under way we're back to listening to a bunch of people all trying to convince us as the voters they they are the right man/woman/crustacean for the job.

In these 'debates' every word is spun sanitized and polished up to a gleaming shine before its launched forth so the only part that holds the interest once our bulls%%t filter falls into place is their actual appearance.

And thank God, it used to be a choice between boring white guy number one and boring white guy number two. Now its a choice between racy ex-First lady with balls of iron and boring white guy disguised as interesting black guy number 2.



But we want a boring guy, don't we? We want someone who won't fly off the handle when the Russian bear wakes up and starts growling. We want someone who can go to those endless meetings on sanitation and discuss policy changes and all that dull dull dull crap SO WE DON"T HAVE TO.

sunset tranquillity

There's a road in Texas in between Amarillo and Albuquerque just before you hit the New Mexico border. Its not especially pretty, its not spectacularly stunning and its arrow straight as the roads over there tend to be.

It was getting to dusk when I was driving through it and the windmills that were the only presence at the side of the empty road were black sentinels standing out against the pink setting sun.

When I'm especially stressed or feel I've got too much coming at me, I switch off and pretend I'm driving that road again. The empty blacktop stretching off ahead and the sound of the tyres on the tarmac a mantra beneath me.

One day, before I'm forty, I'm going to drive that road again.

Happy birth-daze.

Had a great birthday spent in the bosom of my family and friends whilst simultaneously in the bosom of the pub. How could things get better you ask? Well some poor fools bought me all the kit I need to start brewing my own beer! Its bubbling away now, like a giant vat of fun waiting to be matured and drunk in the next 3 to 4 weeks. I've always wanted to be the mad scientist type, rubbing my hands manically in front of vats of coloured liquids with electricity sparking off in the background.

I may even cackle.

Anyways it was a wonderful way to celebrate being thirty, and today in work I got given cake! woot! I should birthday more often.

About a third of my way through Harry Potter, not from any great love of the series but because it is a cultural event. How many books can claim that? There's always a must see movie or a must listen album, but a must read book? The measure of it is if people who rarely read are compelled to do so. It's very different for we bibliophiles that devour any material that hoves into our field of vision. So Potter as a phenomenon should be appreciated and studied but I don't think there will be anything quite like it again, in spite of the multitude of pretenders to the throne, there won't be certainly in our lifetimes anything approaching the Potter mania that is currently manifest.

Having a weird brain day were its hard to focus on one thought for longer than ten seconds, I'll blame the hangover from yesterday.

Thirty.

So. Thirty then.

When I was seventeen, back when the dinosaurs roamed the earth, I thought that thirty was some distant strange far off land that one day some stranger in my skin might encounter. I never imaged it would actually be me staring down the barrel of middle age and daring myself to pull the trigger. You think you're going to live forever when you're that age and even if you do die you'll be all teenage drugs, opinions and snake-like hips until that day. It doesn't work like that.

HOWEVER that being said I want to be here, now at this age. A lot of people want to go back to being twenty one, I wouldn't swap my place for his for all the sweatshops in China. At twenty one I was a nervous stupid youth who wanted all the power with non of the responsibility when it all goes wrong. I've only just recently really learnt what that means, what it really means. I'm happy now, here in the situation I'm in. Okay job, nice house living with the person I adore more than anything on the earth and about to marry her. Why on earth would I swap that for early twenties acne, terrible terrible haircuts, crappy jobs where you're treated worse than scum, living with my parents and wasting my time by getting wasted?

I spent yesterday going through a mountain of old photos for the wedding and it was exactly the right thing to do. It showed me where I'd been, who I'd been with and what I had been doing for the last 10950 days of my life. And it showed me I've had a right laugh. And that where I'm going is just as important of where I've been.

I have:

Jumped off a Swiss mountain and parachuted to the valley below.
Worked abroad for six months for an American TV station,
Helped make a feature film that's available to buy on DVD.
Succeeded in gaining a degree in a hardcore science subject despite working full-time hours in a bar and having a brain leakier than your average colander.
Enjoyed a wrap party that lasted 48 hours starting in a Cardiff bar on a Friday night and ending Sunday afternoon on a beach with a bottle of mandarin vodka.
Watched Wales win their first grand slam in over twenty years.
Made someone laugh so hard they were nearly sick.
Shared icy beers in warm climes with cool people.
Made love in the surf with the ocean boiling around us.
Driven coast to coast in America in less than five days.
Been told a piece of my writing was superb by someone whose opinion on literature I respect.
Had my heart broken many times and broke someone else heart once. Only ever once.
Sang along with songs with friends at the top of my lungs in dingy clubs.
Fell in love with the most perfect woman who, against all laws of probability loves me back.
Felt the thrum and pulse of a city coming alive again.
Stood on a mountain top on my own and felt the touch of God.


So on the basis of that list when some slack jawed moron asks me "How does it feel to be thirty?" and I reply "F**king great." do you think that's justified?

My Nephew

Well its official! On the eve of my thirtieth birthday I have become an uncle! YAY!

Congrats to Amanda and Phil and a big hello to baby Jack!

That's brought a darn big grin to my face!

Have a great weekend!

Uncle Bob.

The revival of QOOC

"I'll try and use the shaft less, that's three times I've hit it tonight already!"

On Friendship.

Something that my Stag do proved to me is that real friendship isn't forced. There are many people that I have had close working relationships with that I would have considered good friends. When that working relationship ends that relationship itself dies. Oh sure if you see them in the street you'll say hello but you won't feel that attachment as strongly. It's like something has changed and you can't communicate in the way you used to. The conversation is stilted, the topics are all about stuff you used to do together to try and get that flow back. But nothing works.

 

HOWEVER, the flip side of that is when you meet up with someone you haven't seen in a while and the sparks are still flying and you sink straight back into the relationship you had as if its been five minutes rather than a few years, that is something special and something to be treasured. There are only a few people I would say are real proper close close friends but a good handful of those were with me on the Stag Do and that meant the world to me.

 

Thanks guys.

Notes from....

I hate myself for saying this but I really like this one.

Its got the elements of what I was looking for with a brief nod to Hunter S Thompson and his description of Nixon "A man so twisted he needed help to screw his pants on in the morning."

Little did I know when I wrote this the joys of the current administration which is starting to make the arch-Demon himself look like an underachiever.

Anyways I had to make Madison leave to give Jack something to focus on as I was at that moment unhappily single and I didn't see why my fictious characters should be happy when I wasn't.

I'm a bit of a bastard like that!

Notes from the Road 11

The Bridal Suite was huge and largely pink.

"I feel like I'm putting on weight just looking at it." whispered Madison in my ear as the concierge showed us around. It felt like everything was made of sugared confectionary I was trying to imagine who would think this fantasy place would be the perfect setting for starting a life together. Apart from an eight year old girl raised on tales of frogs, magic and princes that is.

It took up most of the top floor with two bedrooms (master and guest) 3 bathrooms, reception area and sitting room featuring the largest TV I have ever seen. It dwarfed the fittings in the rest of the room looming out from one wall dominating the available space. No matter where you were you could not but help but be aware of it's presence

I unearthed the remote from beneath a plethora of pink cushions and comforters and turned it on to try it out. There was a political show on and I found myself being frowned upon by Richard Nixon enhanced to a massive scale. I could see every wrinkle and sweat droplet and at this magnification the junkie madness in his eyes from years of power abuse was unmistakeable.

It was an unpleasant reminder of the uncomfortable times we lived in. The ingrained patterns of lunacy that could allow a vicious, amoral subhuman like Nixon to be elected to absolute power by the people of this nation not once but twice. We like to believe that politicians are motivated by a higher purpose, a greater power but every once in a while a pigfucker like Nixon comes along to remind us of the painful reality they're vengeful greedy idiots just like the rest of us.

I turned the TV off in revulsion and unplugged it from the wall as a safety measure. I stood up and saw Bran looking at me with a puzzled expression.

"Nixon," I said pointing at the blank still domineering TV.

He nodded sagely as if this were a totally normal response and walked on through to the bathroom.

You would have thought that after sending all that time in the harsh environment of the desert we would have been lounging on the couches that seemed to almost swallow you, with the air con turned up to full, ordering room service like it was the last days of the Hiatt Regency in Saigon, basking in all the man made luxury we could get.

But we were having none of that fake comfort, sitting on the wooden balcony overlooking the lake, watching the pale, sickly moon rise slowly with all the artificial lights in the suite turned off, smoking endless cigarettes and sipping moon-warmed rum. The night was close and deep with the scent of the pine trees permeating the air with a fragrance so fresh that it ironically reminded me of newly scrubbed floors.

Bran had already departed heading straight for the master bedroom with the fairly pessimistic instructions not to wake him 'Until the first bombs start falling. Theirs mind you, not ours.'.

Dog was curled up out side Bran's room his scraggy brown coat looking stupidly out of place against the violent pink door. I was still unsure if he was house trained but so far he hadn't left us any unpleasant brown surprises so I felt the odds were good.

Madison and I were sitting facing the lake with the bottle and an unspoken feeling between us. She brushed a stray strand of that dirty blonde hair I had come to love, out of her eyes caught me looking and smiled.

"You okay?" She said still smiling at me.

"Yeah," I replied moving closer towards her until her heavenly profile was outlined against the moon. She drew herself closer to me and angled her head towards mine as I leant in and our lips met and merged. The delicate rhythm of our silent conversation spoke of yearning and passion that had lain hidden for far too long. When we reached the end of the sentence she broke off but without moving her head away said " Well that was a long time coming,"

I placed my hand behind her head, gently tangling my fingers in that enticing hair and drew her into me again.


-------------------


It was late morning when I awoke, I knew she was gone before my eyes were even open. I was still curled around the empty space her slim body had occupied in the bed. The guest bedroom was mercifully white and clean but still had hints of the hideous pink that suffocated the rest of the suite.

I swung myself out of bed, stretched and caught sight of myself in the mirror fixed on the wall and grinned at a freeze-frame flashback of last night, playing in the cinema of my mind.

I found my trousers hanging from the light shade and pulled them on walking into the main lounge shielding my eyes against the morning sun and spotting Bran on the balcony.

He had his shirt off and one of those foil sun screens that must have come with the room, wedged under his chin trying to top up his already considerable tan. he looked like a gigantic turkey half wrapped in foil ready for the oven.

I found my shades and cigarettes on the table and walked out into the blinding light up to the rail looking out to mountains.

"She's gone hasn't she?" I said without looking to Bran by way of morning greeting, lighting the first of that days smokes.

"Yep."

"When I say gone I mean real gone, not like she just popped out for milk or something. She's left for good hasn't she?"

"Yep."

"Was I really that bad?" I asked only half joking.

"I found this," Said Bran and handed me a piece of stationary with my name inked on it in a delicate hand I recognised as hers.


----

Jack,

I'm sorry things turned out like this. I didn't mean to leave straight after what happened but I had already decided to go before last night. There are just some things I have to do and work through on my own. You and Bran have been great road buddies but its time for me to move on again.

When my time for travel is over I'll find you again, we have much unfinished business. Stay happy and stay in the phone book. I will find you.

Give my love to Bran and Dog,

Madison.

----

The sun continued to shine and the bird continued to sing but something inside just turned to ash as my heart broke.

"We'd better go." Said Bran interjecting on my little world of misery.

"Yeah, ..."

"They've probably run a credit check on that card I gave them by now and found my name isn't Stefan Maraschino."

I stared at Bran open mouthed as a polite yet firm knocking on the door began.

morning!

 

Bad mood today. No reason just a bad mood where you eat too much at lunch to try and cheer yourself up and spend the first part of the afternoon looking for another job.

 

Just a general feeling of despondency and malaise.

The doings of the Stag

Oh Yes.

Cardiff was indeed had by all.

Still drunk I think which might explain the previous two sentances.

(Photos on the flickr account on the left there.)

We were meant to get direct trains from Rhyl to Cardiff, which would have been lovely, however little did we know the journey would involve an hour and a half coach journey driven by Albert Steptoe.

Had a great time when we actually got to Cardiff though, went around a few of my favourite pubs; 'Prince of Wales, The Goat Major, The Yard'. Got great chips, twice. Drank some superb beer and some not-so-superb beer, Failed to go to a strip club danced like a loon, tried on a dalmation costume, talked codswallop with my friends and complete strangers, Got up after about four hours sleep and checked out Torchwood....urm I mean the Assembly buildings in the pouring rain, found a french cafe and got le plein petit déjeuner anglais, then a train ride home with no terrifying coach journeys with a man who has a blind spot for roundabouts.

Just to allay any fears I do still have my eyebrows and I wasn't handcuffed to a lampost, or sealed in bubblewrap, or arrested by the police. Cardiff has a great happy vibe about it which seems to be there even when the Rugby isn't on. Of Course I wouldn't go near the place when Cardiff city are playing at home but thats another football/rugby difference. Rugby fans have fun with rivalaries, some footballs fans use it as an excuse to beat the hell out of each other.

First time I came to Cardiff for rugby Scarlets beat Bath by a single point in a really tense semi final and an hour later we were in a bar disecting the game with Bath fans. If the same thing had happened in football I would be really nervy about having a chat with the opposition but rugby just sems to have more of a relaxed atmosphere.

I'm of course talking of union here, League is a great game but it definitely has more of a footie feel about it. Espically when you get local rivalries!

Hull

Anyways rambling a bit, got the day off so I'm going to chill out play some silly computer games. YAY!

Greetings

Been a bit crap this week due to finishing off my assignment yesterday! Woot! Feel so much better with that out of the way, it was really getting a bit over-stressy for a while. You wouldn't like me when I'm stressy. Not that I turn green or anything I just get a bit, you know, stupid.

So now that's over I've got Cardiff on Saturday to look forward to. My stag do is sure to be an entertaining affair I'm sure I won't get a midget dressed as a smurf handcuffed to me but I'm sure the Motley Crew I've assembled will do the best to celebrate the passing of my bachelor days by attempting to ridicule me.

Actually, they mostly do that any night we go out so I might not even notice the difference.

In other news R. Kelly and Usher are responsible for the most unintentionally hilarious video ever. Turn the volume off right after the point where Usher says "I have a fragrance launch in New York." or you might actually hear some of the cheesy slush.

VIDEO

"I have a fragrance launch..." glad these guys are keeping it real.

(side note: Have you noticed how everyone's now a 'recording artist' rather than 'Singer'? What? Yes I am 95 Humruph.!)

Seemingly these guys have both been dating the same girl and its up to them as modern millionaire around town , with their own clothing labels and Fragrances, to trap her in an elaborate scheme involving both of them, a restaurant, a personal basketball court a library, cigars, sharp clothes and an Aston martin.




It's so overly consumerist it reaches levels of self parody.

Haven't these people read the Great Gatsby? You can own everything and still have nothing.

travelblog: Whoops

There are a few things I regret in this life. There are fewer still that I regret that I dont remeber. Last night is one of those.

Its been a damp squib of a summer so far, so when its burning hot outside you should not under any circumstance drink a near endless suply of beer just to cool down.

This may well result in feeling unwell and abandoning the party being thrown jointly in your honour. WITHOUT TELLING ANYONE WHERE OR WHY YOU'RE GOING.

If you were there Im sorry i pulled a houdini on you and ill be a bit more circumspect about sunshine and beer in future.

Daze off

So I had two more study leave days which If I don't take them now I don't get. Work has calmed down so there was scope for the team to do without me for Thursday and Friday. So with about three hours actual coursework to do I managed to get it all done yesterday AND have time to go shopping. My question is who are all these people in town in the middle of the week? okay about half are holiday makers, you can tell them by their 'Oh my God is this it?' expression. It must be awful to have looked foward to their two weeks vacation and end up in Rhyl. We live here, we're used to its unique scent of desperation and faded, defiled dreams.

Anyways the entire centre was crowded which I can normally deal with but on my days off I like to be left the hell alone. Even stopping for a bit to eat got me even more agrophobic as I had to queue in the line of the shellsuited dead. Note to North Wales townies " You and the russian Maffia are the only peple that are still wearing shell suits. What does that tell you?"

The stag do is coming along nicely although a couple of people sadly can't make it due to other commitments. but so far there'll be seventeen of us painting Cardiff an attractive shade of vermillion.


Rambling a bit due to some exceptionally fine coffee.

Now the courseworks done I should be working on either our marriage vows or this radio thing. But instead I'm going to mess about on the computer for a couple of hours and then look at them this afternoon.

She's making a break for it! Stop her!

A question for all the ass-apes.

Why do you have to be cocks all the time? Is there some inner mechanism that run on a cycle beyond human understanding that compels you at irregular intervals to try and destroy any warmth or human feeling towards you? Are you forced against your will into saying the deepest and most hurtful things you can by an Id gone mad?
Or do you enjoy wrecking the lives and happiness of all you come across, tarnishing the souls of any unfortunates that cross your path?

I only ask because one of your butt faced brethren phoned me twice this afternoon. The first time he was as nice as pie and let me assure you, pie can indeed be nice. The second time I couldn't hear him properly as he had rammed the receiver right into his own anus and was farting out the question using his own gas and unique internal geography.

I don't know if it made him feel better taking all his aggression out on me but it did make me call him an Ass-ape in front of my colleagues and they all knew who I was talking about.

So congratulations cocks. Everyone knows who you are. That's how much the rest of the world likes you.

Stinky Cheesy Gnocchi

I made this for a few friends a while ago and one of them has been asking for the recipe. I though I'd just share this all with you lovely people.


Stinky Cheesy Gnocchi: What you will need.

Milk
plain flour
Butter or marge
Block stinky cheese (Gorgonzola or something similar).
Fresh Gnocchi.
Bit of mozzarella for the topping.


Chop the stinky cheese into small cubes and put to one side.
Boil a full kettle.
Melt about a table spoon of butter/marge over a low heat in a non stick saucepan.
Add about a tablespoon of flour, increase the heat and stir it around with a wooden spoon.
A lot.
The flour/butter mixture will turn into a paste which you need to keep on stirring around the base of the pan.
What you're doing is cooking the flour so when it turns a lovely golden colour its ready.
Turn down the heat to about a half full.
Add a splash of milk to the pan, just a splash. This is VERY IMPORTANT.
Stir it until its absorbed by the paste.
Add a splash more milk and continue. If you add a big dollop all at once its lumpy sauce for you my friend! Keep going and the paste will turn into a nice thick sauce and you can add as much milk as you want to then.
Then add the cubed cheese and keep stirring.
Boil up the gnocchi using the packet instructions, drain and mix with the cheese sauce.
Place the whole lot in an oven proof dish top with mozzarella and bake for about 15 mins until the cheese topping is nice and golden.

Dead simple I know but really rather tasty.

Tooty Flutey

Well yesterday was a bit of a waste.

Not really but I didn't get as much coursework achieved as I wanted, I'll just have to make up for it today I suppose.

I did my flute out and give it a darn good blowing. Ahem. I don't suppose it officially counts as practice if you play along with Hip-hop tracks trying to pick out the main rhythm line using a flute really does it? I can only really play when I'm alone in the house as I get really embarrassed at how rusty I am. I can barely remember scales but my fingers stilll know where they're meant to go so that's something I suppose. Still the flutes never going to be cool is it? You can play a guitar or drums or sax and make it sexy (Unless you're Curtis Stigers) but with a flute your hands are stuck out to the side and your cheeks are puffed out like you're blowing up a balloon. Not attractive. Probably why Aphrodite cursed the darn thing after all her Goddess friends laughed at how she looked when she played it.

However if you can FLUTEBOX you'd probably be pretty cool.

Needless to say I can't.

Yet...