The first...

...missed day.

Today's just tooooo busy.

I'll try and blether something for y'all over the weekend.

Have a good one,

C

Fiction: Interesting...

'afternoon

Bit of an empty head today, so I thought I'd tell you a story.

...

Interesting...

We were out in the car – me, Steve, Darren, Mikey. Mikey was driving, Darren and Steve in the back. I’d called shotgun (once in sight of the car, of course). We were driving around fairly aimlessly – bored, so we decided to go smoke a joint on the top of Arthur’s Seat. It’s a brilliant view, all lit up at night. White spires rising up out of an array of orange streetlights.

Bit parky, though, and I’m not a great fan of just sitting in the car, so we headed back to the flat, grumbling about not having any money to go to Taste that night, but mostly just shouting at each other. Havin’ a bit i’ banter, eh? We drove down between the Palace and the Parliament and up Regent Road, merrily dealing out abuse to each other, in the grand Scottish tradition. While driving up the Hill towards Easter Road, I rolled down my window, stuck my head out the same and shouted, “Show us yer cock, mate” – in a fit of high spirits, you understand.

I saw the guy lift a hand to wave at the car, but in a lazy, “…and who are you, exactly?” kind of way. Darren said, “Wouldn’t mind, actually. He was quite fit.”

“Aye, but there’s very few you wouldn’t mind, Daz,” I replied. “You’re not the fussy type.”

That got a laugh and Mikey pulled into the garage on Abbey Mount, not without a comment on ‘poofs – fuckin’ sluts the lot of you.’ More laughter, and I nipped into the garage to grab some munchies while Mikey was filling up the car.

Helluva queue for a Sunday night, though, so I waited. Someone came in behind me and I turned, expecting to see Mikey, money held out for the petrol – doss bugger doesn’t do queues if he can help it. It wasn’t Mikey, though. It was the guy I’d shouted out the car at, smiling and tugging some earphones out his ears.

“Was it interesting?” he asked.

“What?” I replied – any and all banter making a sudden, sharp exit. Darren was right – I wouldn’t mind either.

“Whatever you shouted out of the car,” he answered, hand vaguely lifted to re-enact the moment.

“Um, no,” I said, blushing furiously and desperately wishing it had been.

“Ah, well,” he replied, “that’s a shame. I do like it when things are interesting.”

“Sorry,” I said, wishing I could think of something witty to say – some chunk of chat. Also wishing I wasn’t such a dick.

Mikey came in then, predictably waving money. I took it and turned back to the till, embarrassment now my wee pal, settling in for the duration. I was fiercely aware of him standing behind me. He couldn’t help but be looking at me. I was hoping like Hell he was looking at my ass, actually and tried to get an idea of this by clocking our reflections in the garage window. Simultaneously pleased with my choice in trousers for the evening and furious at my inability to find just one fucking thing to say. And why was I such a stumbling moron all of a sudden? He wasn’t God’s gift or anything. Attractive – and definitely shaggable. But he just seemed so cool. “I like it when things are interesting.” Not something you hear every day. And then I had it.

“So do I.”

“What?”

“So do I,” I repeated, completing the half-turn I’d made to speak over my shoulder so I now faced him. “Like it when things are interesting.”

“Hm,” he replied, smiling. “So we have something in common.”

“Yeah,” I said, grinning, eyes flicking up and down him. About my height, glasses, and a fringe my fingers itched to fix.

“Excuse me, mate?”

I turned and blushed again – more of those in ten minutes than the last ten months, I’m not usually the shy and retiring type. The queue had evaporated past me, seemingly without me noticing and, going for the full body embarrassment, I stumbled while approaching the till to pay, ‘cheers’-ing the attendant who’d called for my attention. Transaction over, I turned back to – well, what was his name? Acutely aware of the attendance waiting behind me, I stuck out my hand.

“I’m Craig.”

“John,” he replied. “Nice to meet you, Craig. It’s been,” – smile -, “interesting.”

“Yeah,” I said and, grinning in my turn, I found myself walking out the door and back to the car, all three of my compatriot smiling away, eyes fixed on me.

“Aye aye?” Daz called form the back seat. “Makin’ pals?”

“Maybe,” I replied, turning to lean on the car door, eyes seeking John, still at the counter, trading banter with the attendant.

“Sod it,” I said. “Wait a minute.”

I pushed the car door shut and waited, fidgeting, restless, my heart starting to pick up. John finished his transaction at the till and came towards the door. My mouth was dry. Fuck. What if he wasn’t gay? What if he was just chatty? He pulled open the door, arm at full stretch to shift the bugger. Heavy things, garage doors.

He exited, eyes lighting on me and aborting a move to stick his earphones back in.

“Hello again,” he said. “Thought of something else interesting?”

“Depends,” I replied, heart hammering – never having gotten over the overwhelming terror of asking someone out.

“On what?” he asked, smilingly. I don’t think he’d stopped smiling once.

“On whether or not you want to give me your number?” His smile broadened.

“I surely do,” he said, hand dipping into his pocket, producing a phone which he flicked open with a practiced gesture. I hastily grabbed my own, nearly dropping it in my hurry to get it ready. He reeled off his number and I punched it in, offering mine in return. He shook his head.

“Just ring me. Sometime. It’ll make it more – “

“Interesting,” I finished for him, broad smile on my face. My heart had calmed down in my chest but I had to have strong words with the rest of my system on really not needing all this adrenaline, thanks very much.

“I’ll ring you. Definitely,” I assured him.

“I hope so. See you soon, then.” He offered his hand and I took it eagerly, holding his eyes with mine. Or maybe the other way around. We might have stood there for a while but Daz, ever tactful, stuck his head out the window.

“C’mon, eh, Craigy! You can get laid later. All right, mate?” he added, nodding at John.

“Shut the fuck up, Darren!” I replied, fiercely. John laughed, disengaging his hand from mine. I felt the lack.

“Hi there, Darren,” he called, waving through the window. Turning his gaze back to me he added, “Call me.”

“Definitely,” I repeated. He turned, hand lifted again in that lazy way.

“See you round, then,” he called back over his shoulder.

“Bye,” I replied, watching him go – and enjoying it. Darren went to stick his head back out the window, but I forestalled him by jumping back into the car – slapping the top of his head on my way in. I slipped my seatbelt on and turned to Mikey in the driver’s seat, grin splitting my face.

“Come on, then,” I said. “What are we waiting for?”

Mikey only smiled, shaking his head. “Tart,” he said.

“Jealous,” I replied. The boys in the back raised a ruckus as we drove off.

Wahey!

...

Have a good one,

C

Ummmmm

I had a saved bit of rambling which I punched up for today, only it's been saved as a couple of day's ago's date and I'm not quite sure how to fix that.

Scroll down (or click on right hand side) for today's entry, dated for 25th: The Big Bad, "I said NO!"

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Have a good one,

C

Social camouflage

Wee fellas look good in kilts. Now, that may be something inherent in the design - we were historically a nation of short-arses. Still are in places. Wherever I'm standing for a start. Great big blokes look good in a kilt, too, obviously - you can't help but look good in a kilt. But a wee fella - with a jaunty walk and a well-turned calf, not unlike the one I walked along Lauriston Place behind t'other night - looks especially good.

I was wearing joggers. Funny thing that. Now, I look good in a kilt, because I'm a wee fella, as we've covered above. What surprises me, then, is that I seem to become most intimidating by sticking on a pair of the classis Adidas 3-stripe. You see, the wee fella with the well-turned calf happened to glance back as I was walking up behind him, and I noticed, as I often do when I've changed into a chav, as 'twere, that he looked slightly wary.

To be perfectly honest, it's quite fun. Social camouflage. I've never been intimidating before but people (people what are bigger than me!) actually get out of my way. All that from some tracky bottoms and a hoody. I only wear them because they're comfy.

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Have a good one,

C

The Big Bad "I said NO!"

I hate 'No'. I really, really, really hate it.

Call me an excessively psyched-out introspective, far too alive to the semantics of regular conversation if you will, but I just can't bear sentences that begin that way. To illustrate:

"I'm going to do it this way."

"No, you should do it that way."

What the HELL do you mean, no? Is your opinion more valid than mine? Have you the authority to so flatly contradict me? I don't think you do. You see, what would be far nicer, in my opinion is:

"I'm going to do it this way."

"I wouldn't do it like that. I'd do it like this."

OR

"I think..."

"I reckon..."

"I would..."

See, all of these are valid - everyone is allowed an opinion, but please, DEAR GOD, don't flatly contradict mine. And definitely don't do it in such a casual form that you clearly don't realise what you're actually doing.

Unless my opinion is something like, 'I think I can jump off this roof without being hurt' - then you can shout 'no'. That's fine.

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I was round at James and Alexis' pad last night - which is looking lovely from all kinds of interior decoration - and was having a nice time, chatting away. Until I left. To make sure and catch a television programme.

This is just so against my entire ethos. But it was the season finale of Lost which I have dedicatedly watched the entire series of. Quite a feat for me as I never usually manage to be in at the same time every week or pay any attention to missed episodes. I don't know whether I've suddenly because sad - stopping in of an evening to watch telly. Not good enough - I clearly need more to do. Actually, I clearly need to apply myself to that which I already have to do.

Lost was good, though. I enjoyed. There is little in the way of sense, however, I have to say.

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I've put a hit counter on bottom of the page - and amazingly it has found something to count. Thanks for stopping by!

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Have a good one,

C

Pay attention

Everyone should practise some kind of art. It teaches you to pay attention. Or maybe those who pay attention become artists.

I was once graded on my ability to be a penguin, if you can believe that. Drama School. Not quite a tree, but it sounds so ridiculous - and I'm quite sure I looked at least reasonably daft. It wasn't entirely stupid, though.

We had to go to the zoo and watch the animals. I wasn't really graded on my ability in stiffly waving my arms, with my head tipped backwards, but on the preparation for stiffly waving my arms, with my head tipped bakcwards. And the preparation was, pretty much, paying attention. When I stop to think about, just about the entire course was predicated on paying attention. Pay attention and think. Everyone should practise some kind of art because everyone should be paying attention.

For tritness - how many beautiful or amazing things did you pass on the way to work - and how many did you pay attention to?

For a case in point...

...

...check out this guy!

Is he not cool?

He hangs out on a wall on South College Street.

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The weekend was pleasant - my grandest achievement was, however, cleaning the flat. So nice to have one's surfaces clear...for ten minutes or so, anyway.

Have a good one,

C

Simple Pleasures

Got to my bed by pumpkin time last night. Not earth-shattering in and of itself, but;

I got some food in,
made dinner,
watched a movie,
did the dishes,
- knocked off to bed,
feeling pleasantly sleepy.

Not earth-shattering stuff, but an evening, pleasantly filled and then sleepy at bedtime is really quite lovely. A simple pleasure.

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The movie was Right Guid. Timur Bekmambetov's Night Watch - adapated from the original books by Russian writer Sergey Lukyanenko. It only cost $4 million (only 4 million - starving children in Africa and all that, but still...) and it's shot on an epic scale.

Quick synopsis is your basic Dark and Light at war. Vampires and werewolves and witches and things, which I do realise isn't everybody's thing. Everybody watched Lord of the Rings, though, eh?

It's shot on a very visceral scale - the bit where the vampire guy stuck scissors through the seer guy's wrist and used them to twist his arm back had me hiding behind my cushion. There's some moral stuff going on in there, too (surprise - fantasy authors always have a moral or philosphical axe to grind) with the Nightwatch (forces of Light) licensing those in the Daywatch (forces of Dark). If you license a vampire to bite someone, you're better than the vampire because...?

The other very exciting thing is the writer, Mr Lukyanenko, seems to be quite prolific. Begin the hunt for translated work.

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It is FRIDAY! Hurrah for that. Not only that, it is the Friday before payday. One more weekend to get through before lovely money becomes, once more, a part of my pocket. *laughter*

Have a good one,

C

Volunteering

Howdy

Well, I had nominated myself for the Staff Association Committee. Didn't get in. Darn. Only properly annoying thing about it was that I was going to apply to the Children's Panel - which is part of the justice system for kids in Scotland, with the kids' welfare as more of a priority than punishment for any offense committed. I've missed recruitment now, though, as I thought it probably not the best idea to be signing up for both that and the SAC at the same time. Still, means my feet are clear for the next time they're looking to recruit.

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Patrick introduced me to a new comic. Haven't found the evil orange bunny yet, but I'm looking forward to it.

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The Artsworkers E-Bulletin I get is kicking back in with the offers again - after a long hiatus over the summer. Festival really puts a crimp in the cheap theatre offers. Off to the Zurich Ballet on 5th October with my Mum and the small Jenni so far. Anyone else wants to come along, drop a line. £5 a ticket, which is Not Bad At All. Absolutely desperate to go and see Allan Bennet's History Boys, but not sure I can afford the tickets. We shall have to see - there are waaay too many birthdays going on next month and, as I am being So Ridiculously Spoiled (being taken to Florence for a start), I'll have to conjure marvellous gifts for all.

Not that I wouldn't be doing that, anyway. I genuinly believe in the 'better to give than receive' malarkey. I love giving people things - get a wee happy from their happy!

Never know what to get my Dad, but he's actually providing useful answers to the, "What do you want?" question these days. Amazingly. Brother still sucks at providing any useful information on sister-in-law's wants, though, and she's faaaar too polite about it. I can relate, though - positively detest telling people what I want. Feels too much like instruction. "Buy me this." *shudders*

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Have a good one,

C

Scribbling

My boss didn't know what *this* was, you know. I reply, "Emoticons."

"What are those?"

"You know. e-*MOTE*-icons?"

No, she did not know.

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Chatting to Elizabeth yesterday, about the blog. She was telling me that it's like getting me in stereo - all Chris, all the time, as she put it. She's an internet buddy, is Elizabeth, which isn't her RL name. It's an interesting way to get to know someone - textually. She and I have never spoken, never met, each only saw a photo of the other a couple of years after we 'met' - I only learned her true name about six months ago. (I'm one of the few who actually uses his name as a netname). Sometimes, though, I think I know her - and that she knows me - a lot better than some friends I see all the time. When all you have is text, you tend to communicate more.

Obviously, Elizabeth knows what *this* means.

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I have no explanation for these. I was amusing myself:

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Have a good one,

C

Please show your working

My entire weekend, and I show my working.

In reverse order (ish):

• Book binding
• Neil Gaiman
• Short Stories
• Attention span of a refined sort
• Memory (Bus) Lane
• Belfast is pleasant
• Childish excitment on hotel rooms
• Mardy as used in conversation

Hamish binds books. Which suddenly struck me, as I was reading Neil Gaiman's short story collections, Smoke and Mirrors, as a great gift for a writer. One wonders why more don't do it really. I very much enjoy short story collections but have noticed a bit of a tendency to charge through them at a great rate of knots (sp?) and I reckon I miss some of the cleverness. I thought that it would be a marvellous idea to stick a couple of blank pages in between each story - make you take a mental breath. Which would be easier to do if one was binding one's own, as 'twere. See where it joins up? Forgive the rambling-ness, but I was quite tired when I thought this one up, having just returned from Belfast.

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I got the Airport Express back from the airport, on the Memory (Bus) Lane, all the way. Once you get to Corstorphine roundabout, it takes the same route as the 26, the bus I got back into town from Uni (QMUC) for a few years.

A particular corner reminds me of Alexis asking a surprisingly naive question for her. I remember teasing her quiet mercilessly for that one. There's a stretch of road, just before the zoo, that reminds me of arguing with Jackie about the relative aesthetic merits of James Dean. There's also a house which reminds me of a particular chap in a particular outfit predominated by white. Contemplating all these with the weekend's activities and that sense of oddness that reading Mr Gaiman always leaves me with had me in kind of a spaced-out mood. Tired boy.

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Work, play and side benefits from Belfast trip: all good. The staff at my job's offices in Belfast are all friendly, nice and quite fiercely efficient. Good meetings (yes, such things exist, I swear) with information swapped on both sides, all closing out by about 2.30pm so I buggered off to check into my very plush hotel. Cue childish excitement from me, but come on! The room was almost as big as my entire flat. *laughter*

Belfast City itself is lovely. Can never be assed fighting with Blogger on photos for too long, so here's just one. I'll flickr the rest when I get a mo.

Checked out the scene on Friday night - which was nice and easy. Once you've got a wee map, the entire city is easy to get around in - about forty minutes walk from one side of the 'centre' to the other. Nothing terribly exciting on my dip into Belfast's stews to report - those 6 am flights really put a crimp in your party-hat, let me tell you. It was a beautiful flight, though, as I've said. The only drawback of having phone and camera in one I've found so far. You can't turn phone on while flying, so can't take any aerial shots. But, yes, I can recommend the Union St. Bar to any one of the bufter type who's going to Belfast. Pink peppercorn sauce on my steak. Still trying to decide if that was incidental or kitsch.

The careers fair was busy enough to warrant my presence (and the chunk out of budget) and it took place at the Europa Hotel - most bombed in Europe, don'tcherknow. Only the one flight to Edinburgh from Belfast on Saturn's Day which I couldn't get because of still being hard at work advising medical trainees on the GP career path. Such a shame as it meant work had to pay for my overnight stay on Sat, too. Which, in turn, meant I could go out with local colleague and the lovely Jane and Clare from the floating community of exhibitors. They are lovely and use 'mardy' in conversation, which is fun. What? Sue me - I like the Arctic Monkeys.

And how utterly pleasant to get through all of that work and play, fly back to the Burgh and STILL have yesterday off. Niiiiiiice.

Have a good one,

C

Blogging from Belfast

Hidey Ho

Away on a trip at the moment - in Belfast, as the title says. Spending today with colleagues in our offices over here and tomorrow at a careers fair - flying the flag for General Practice. Not seen much of the city yet, bar the road between the airport and the offices. Enjoying my day with my Northern Irish colleagues. Happily, there's only one flight from Belfast to Edinburgh on a Saturday, which I can't make as I'll still be at the fair which means I get my overnight stay paid for tomorrow night. Get a day in Belfast on Sunday to wander round, take some photies. I'm told there's a gourmet fair on in the Botanic Gardens so I might have a look round there.

Never been in Ireland before - revelling in the accents, although I didn't hear any until I got in the taxi. Roundly addressed as 'boy' at the end of every sentence! The flight over was lovely - although HORRENDOUSLY early. I had to get up at five. Urgh. Bit of a panic when I just missed the quarter to six airport bus. Made it to check in with an entire minute to spare.

Quite tired now, but work stuff is winding down. Might bugger off to hotel and catch a nap before I look for something to fill the evening with. Disappointingly, the friend I was supposed to spend tomorrow evening with has been suddenly sent to Paris (get him) so I'll be at a bit of a loose end then, too. Rather expect I'll be a tired bunny by then, as careers fairs can be quite intense. Might just catch an early night and be up bright and early on Sunday, make the most of the day. And, yes, I was going to say the flight was lovely - never flown over that particular part of Scotland before and it was breathtaking. Folds of hills in perfect green.

Have a good one,

C

3-D Sensuround in Full Stereo!

Dreams are still rocking out. This morning I was trekking through some African country or other, with a composite friend, both of us on horses. I got very pissed off with myself as I forgot to fill my waterbag, but happily there was a river right there. My horse was a nippy bugger, though. Kept trying to pretend it was too ill to move. Likely.

I should really be writing these down.

...

Late posting today (I kid myself that anyone'll care ) as I was in - now brace yourself - work training that I enjoyed. Now you see why you had to brace yourselves. Really brilliant afternoon with an inspiring trainer on Newsletter and other writing. You'd think I would come out of it and have a likewise inspiring blog entry, but I'm too busy so this is all you're getting for today!

Have a good one,

C

A hunting we will go...

I ran the Management School's scavenger hunt last night, as per usual for this time of year. I used to work there, on Reception and ran a few events for them while I was employed. The scavenger hunt, or Question Quest, as we call it these days, was popular enough with the incoming students that the school invite me back to run it for them every year. It's a nice little earner - and cheque usually appears just in time for my birthday. It's always a laugh - and thankfully the rain stayed off for the most part. Not that I have to go out and run the course on the evening - I did that on Sunday to set it all up. Once that's done, all I have to do to earn my £20 an hour (woohoo!) is turn up, explain the rules, send them out the door and mark their game sheets when they get back. Not to mention drinking the school's wine.

I also enjoy the evening as it gives me a small sense of droit de seigneur - getting first crack at the new intake of MBA students (my interest having nothing whatsoever to do with the fact that some of them will end up rich - they have to be pretty too!) A more refined version of Fuck-a-Fresher week, let's say. ;-) There were a couple of very handsome chaps, unfortunately I didn't get anywhere. Ah, well. There's always next year...

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Every captain of every sci-fi series EVER - take note of the sound advice.

Have a good one,

C

Tattoos

I was thinking of getting a tattoo. Turning thirty soon. Nae bothered about getting older - I always figure another year on the count is grand if you've done a year's worth of stuff, and this have has been a very good year. Thirty is still significant, though - by common cultural agreement if nothing else. God knows there's none too few finding the very idea of me reaching such a benchmark hilarious. You know who you are.

So, the tattoo thing. Marking this significant event by marking myself. Still not sure if I'll do it, but if I do, I was thinking one of these:

They're chinese characters, obviously. They mean 'honour'. Outdated concept, maybe? Certainly not a word you hear every day - I think it's a good one.

There are dictionary definitions, obviously. I like a more up-front approach. How about being able to look yourself in the eye? Knowing you've done the right thing, behaved in the right manner. Done your best. I've got this theory. Half-baked, one might call it, but go with me.

When you study something, it's generally useful to have a comparison. So, with Sociology and Psychology - things I spent sometime at Uni with - we often looked at Western socities as opposed to Eastern. In basic terms, individualistic vrs a more societal focus. What does that mean to us?

Personal services are on the increase: psychologists, life coaches, social workers. We've got a plethora of programmes on TV around child care - isn't that all indicative of the way we live now? Without contact with your neighbours, no large family groups. No 'herd' back-up. Now, I don't argue against that. I think it's great that there's such a drive towards personal development, but do we have to lose our focus on the group, the whole as well?

And that's where honour comes in. Personal honour. It's mine - it's part of my development, part of me. By its very nature, however, it holds responsiblity (another dirty word these days, it seems) for the group. A requirement to do my best for others.

I think there's quite a nice balance there. Maybe it's not such a half-baked theory, after all.

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I don't have a link for this, but it's from New Scientist. Apparently, we're not allowed Googling any more!

FWSEing

SO WHAT'S this "FWSEing", you ask? Lawyers for a famous web search engine (FWSE) beginning with G have been sending out letters to remind publications that we must not use their trademarked name as a verb, lest we "dilute" it and turn it into an ordinary English word that nobody can sue over. So we shan't. "Foosieing" it is from now on. I FWSE, thou FWSEest, she, he or it FWSEies...

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Have a good one,

C

You never have to look far...

...for perspective.

Some of my words to live by. (and of course, I gave her a couple of quid once I'd taken the photo)







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Which, I recognise, isn't the cheeriest way to kick off a Monday, so let me assure you that I did, in fact have a lovely weekend.
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Hung out with the New Circle on Friday night which was a laugh. Played yon Buzz game at which, unfortunatley, I got bitch-slapped. It's not that I'm competitive, you understand - it's just that I Have to Win! #laughter#

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Alexis and James were round for dinner on Saturday - party in celebration of Alexis getting a new job. Woop! Hurray! General sounds of merriment!

Alexis has decided what I shall be wearing to her wedding! I am to be her Man of Honour (very progressive, innit?) and, as I am fast friends with both her and her hubby to be, James, not to mention that fact that I'll be wearing a kilt, as will the groom's party, there was some consternation about how to make sure everyone would know I was hers on that particular day.
Her Mum, the lovely Rita, came up with a lovely plan. I'm going to look so pretty! (But not prettier than James, obviously. Like the bride, it Does not Do to outshine the Groom.)

Alexis' soon-to-be maiden name is Stewart and her brother and Dad will be wearing the Hunting - both Modern and Ancient. Alexis herself will be wearing white, which shade (shade? of white?) has yet to be decided, but definitely white. With some red in. Which lends itself ideally to the Royal Stewart for me. Kilt and (here's where it gets clever) the big sash malarkey that wraps up, round and down.

Wonder how the Best Man is going to feel about joining into the first dance with another bloke?

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Sunday was spent charging round town getting the Pub Crawl route together for Tuesday night. I run this every year for my old work at Edinburgh University. Always fun. I was struck, as I am on a daily basis, by how beautiful a city I live in. I'm very lucky. I was going to share some lovely photos, but Blogger is being a nippy b*tch today, for some reason. Maybe tomorrow...

Have a good one,

C

Dre-e-e-e-eam, dream, dream, dreeee-eam

Wotcha.

So, my sleep pattern's shifted - it must have done because, for the first time in ages, I'm remembering my dreams and, let me tell you, there is some freaky stuff going on in my head. This week we have had your bog-standard flying dream, we had winning a competition to take over XFM Scotland for the morning and when I showed up there was no-one there. Wish I could remember the tunes I played, though - they were wicked - right up until the time Dr Fox intervened. (And what the Hell he's doing in my head, I shudder to think) We also had some weirdness to do with me having extremely long, curly hair (that one's easy explained - I am in dire need of a haircut. My fringe is starting to do that Farah Fawcett flick). This morning's really takes the Big Biscuit, though:

I was in a big barn type thing which was, at one and the same time, on a farm and in the middle of suburbia. Inside this barn, two clans of sharply dressed vampires cum sorcerors cum fairies with swords and guns were fighting it out in a Matrix/Underworld/Tad Williams' War of the Flowers type way. Sometimes I was on one side, sometimes the other, sometimes both were trying to hunt me down. I won, of course - it was an excellent way to start the day - I heartily recommend it.

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Started a new tale last night. I'm not calling it a story, as I'm hoping it'll be something a little longer than that implies. I've had this image in my head for ages of an entire world dedicated to play. Words like avatar, cyborg, sorcery, points and levelling are all bouncing round my head and I'm not sure how it's all going to work out. When I write, I tend to start and then plough straight through to the finish (which is probably why I usually produce shorter stuff) so I'm not entirely clear on where 'The Playground' is going. At the moment it seems to be a member of a Creator race being villified by his compatriots for creating such a pointless waste of time. He's pretty sure the humans will like it, though. We'll see how it goes.

I'm usually quite a play-to-my-strengths kind of guy and, should it work out that short stories are my oeuvre, I'll go with that, but every writer wants to go for a book, don't they? I have this sneaking suspicion that my writing will follow the rest of my life - it's either one extreme or another. As far as story-telling goes I suspect it'll either be short stories or epic-length. That could be a hope rather than a suspicion, though.

...

I'm an avid pedestrian. Failed my driving test twice *pauses for derisory laughter on reader's part* and then moved into central Edinburgh where a car is more of a hindrance than a help, so I never got round to sitting it again. I also have Views on pollutants and being too lazy to walk five minutes to get to the shop so we can assume I'm a bit biased when it comes to driving and drivers, BUT I really would like to skewer those buggers who only feel it necessary to use their indicators when there are other cars about. Pedestrians don't need to know that the car is going to make a turn into the road the pedestrian is crossing, after all. It would be all right to kill these people, wouldn't it?

No? Not even if I hid the bodies really well?

Damn.

...

I've been reading Neil Gaiman's online journal for a while (very entertaining - and they're making a film of Stardust *excitement*) but I only recently discovered the site's exclusive content yesterday. Go look if you're a fan - or even if you're not, because you bloody well should be. Man's a genius.

Have a good one,

C

Plus ça change

Howdy!

All change! Hamish suggested using Blogger instead of yon other one I was using. Seems to be a better interface - you're damn sure it's quicker, anyway. Of course, I have a faint suspicion that Hamish had an ulterior motive in asking me to shift, as the RSS (I didn't know what that meant either) on the other blog site I was using only lets him download the titles rather than the full text onto his Digi-brain (good phrase - thank you, Patrick).

This also means I've got a few posts under today's date - can't figure out how to change date stamp yet. I might figure it out, though - you never know.

So, the results of The Big Bad Read are in and I can't help but be a little bit disappointed that Lord Voldemort came out top. Now, it's hardly surprising, given Harry Potter's popularity - and just to be clear, I've read the lot an enjoyed them, I'm not having a go at JK.

It's just that I sodding *agonised* over who to vote for. I took a week and many long conversations with various friends over who, in fact, was the greatest literary villain, knowing all the while that Voldermort would win because Mme Rowling is just so bloody popular. I do think it's well cool that a couple of graphic novel villains got into the list, though, but I wonder at Zaphod Beeblebrox being on there. I'm just not sure he's a villain. Dastardly, perhaps.
Oh - I voted for the Wicked Witch of the West, if you're wondering.

...

I was reading last night (surprise) and it put me in mind of this Sinfest comic, which I then went looking for. On the hunt for it, though, I ran across something like another ten that I really wanted to share, so I thought I'd just give the site link - go check them out. From the beginning. Really. You might lose a couple of days of productivity, but what the Hell, eh?

Have a good one,

C

BT Sucks - and why can't we use lovely paper any more?

Salaam and good morning to you, worthy friends.

Well, BT sucks. It's official. My Gran's phone got cut off. This was a bit of a major panic as her Panic Alarm is linked to her phone line. Don't blame BT for cutting the line off - Gran's a bit senile these days and had been squirreling bills away, for some reason she couldn't quite explain. No matter.

Mum and Dad are in Boston just now, enjoying all kinds of seafood, so I'm the Responsible Adult for Gran. You wouldn't think that paying a bill and getting a phone reconnected in today's world of telecommunications would be a problem, would you? Well, paying the bill wasn't (surprise) but getting confirmation that my Gran's phone was reconnected was. 118 500 couldn't tell me how to get to an operator through my mobile, my mobile company told me 118 500 were the people to call. Ack! Pth! It took about two hours to finally get through to a person instead of an automated system! Grrrr.

Anyway, all sorted now, so if Gran falls or sets fire to something, she can hit her panic alarm. That's if she remembers it's there. *sigh*. And, not to leave this part of today's tale on a downer - I finally, after the two hours of phone calls, realised that there was a very simple way to find out if Gran's phone was back on. Phoning it. Yes, I know. I'm a moron - but I was harassed!

...

And why can't we use lovely paper any more?

I'm reading The Book of Loss by Julith Jedamus at the moment. It's set in 10th century Japan and focuses on a group of ladies in waiting to the Empress and their amorous adventures. One of them tells of how she wrote to an estranged lover four times. Once, on vermillion paper, with bold strokes. Once, on the thinnest of rice paper with the lightest of strokes - almost unreadable. Once, on an anise leaf, to commemorate a tryst in the woods. And once on plain white, solid and scrappily written - quickly and without edit, as she worried she'd lost her nerve if she re-wrote it.

It struck me, as it always does (everyone's heard of the Pillow Book, right) that this is such a deep way to communicate with people. As well as the written characters, how they're formed and what they say; the material on which they're written speaks volumes, too.

And what do I get? Gaydar instant messages. Feh.

Have a good one,

C

House Guest and Distant Connections

Good Morrow, fair people.

House guests and distant connections. An internet buddy of mine, Lucel, dropped me an email the other week saying that her nephew was going to be visiting the 'Burgh and would I like to meet him / maybe show him around a little. Being the welcoming chap that I am, I invited him to stay at mine for his first couple of days. He arrived last night, so I got to do my tour guide bit. Always fun.

We went for a hike up Salisbury Crags - stunning in all ways and weathers. We got to the top just as the sun was going down over the Castle. Which was nice. After a quick bite to eat at my place, Sam was keen to go do some more walking, so we went wandering up the Royal Mile. He got a potted history of Mary Queen of Scots and her tempestuous relationship with Queen Elizabeth I, segueing into the Gunpowder Plot, as relating to James I and VI. Well, he did ask. Not that I didn't enjoy it. That smug feeling of superior European history:

"What? Oh, no, darling - we don't even discuss something unless it happened at least five hundred years ago."

*grins*

Sam was a bit disappointed that he'd entirely missed the Festival. I ran him through the various shows I'd seen (including Black Watch - must see event which my pal Davy Colvin was in *pride*) but told him he'd really missed out on the Cow Parade. I got a bit personally excited about them, as you'll see from the link.

It was very nice to meet and greet Sam. The internet is a great way to connect with new souls and I have true friends from New York, Washington, Spain, Iceland, Atlanta, New Zealand etc and so on. If I ever do meet them in the Big Room, however, it'll be quite a while from now, so it was good to make a vague connection with one of them. In nephew form. He's still about and it's one of life's constants that we only go do the interesting thing our own city offers when we have guests, so I'll keep y'all posted on anything you should go see.
Turning to today, it's a bit bloody miserable. Dreadful weather - I reckon Autum is definitely here. So, to cheer you up should you be suffering from premature SAD, we have the difference between cats and dogs.

Have a good one!

C

Jumping at several small opportunities may get us there more quickly than waiting for one big one to come along. ~Hugh Allen