Strange Cheese

I stumbled across this while Googlewhacking to see if my serialised comics book has made any impact; it's from my former employer's Wikipedia page and is the only entry for the section Comics International:

Former Comics International editor Phil Hall has made numerous allegations about Skinn's character, including claiming that Skinn fired him in January 1997 for missing a business meeting to attend his mother's funeral.^[9]. Skinn claims that as Hall was working freelance, he could not be fired and that Hall's memory must be at fault as his mother had died almost a year earlier.

This would once upon a time have had me reaching for my inhaler and hurtling a barrage of abuse at the computer screen. 'Numerous allegations'? Cheeky bastard. Once, in a column for the Comics Village did I relate the tale of being fired because my mum died - which did happen and I have the email to prove it! It also happened in 1998, not, as he suggests 1996. There have been some others, but all out of the general glare of publicity; but no more than were levelled at me by him.

He loves accusing everybody else of rewriting history, while he edits his own to his heart's content...

***

This time tomorrow I shall be unemployed. I think I've indicated that it's begun to hit me harder than I expected or showed, but there are some glints of light on the horizon, which is better than I could have hoped for.

As for this part of my recent history, well, let's make sure I get my redundancy money before I comment on it further, eh?

***

I had a list of things. I seem to have mislaid it...

Octopi Primrose

Part of me wonders if my wibblings about television are more of a turn off than my ones about football? Maybe I should do one about football and television as a form of weird hybrid?

The similarity with this title and the last one is deliberate. I have now seen the 4th episode of Doctor Who and the finale of Smallville. I am no further to proving my DW theories from last time, but nor have they been disproved. I expect the next two part episode, which will also conclude this series until the autumn, will either prove me to be a genius or just another sad fanboy second-guessing SF series.

The latest DW was entertaining, but it wasn't the work of genius that many of my friends have been bestowing on it. I shan't go into details but it was a trifle confusing for the young'uns, the villain was not very defined nor was there much logic or reason behind whoever 'House' was; yes he wanted Time Lords and there might have been some relevance in the 'boxes', but I'm growing a little tired of each episode ending and me having more doubts/questions put in my head.

But, the main reason I'm writing this is because I watched the finale of Smallville and here's my review:

Meh.

Yep; that's it. 'Meh'. And trust me that's being generous.

The series has always been a mixture of shit, shittier and diarrhoea, but the final episodes were poor. I mean really, really poor. Villains despatched in less than 1 minute; a pointless, and boy do I mean pointless, return for Michael Rosenbaum; a pointless death, a pointless disappearance and a pointless book end that didn't really make any sense. Final episodes of series you invest a lot of time and energy into are supposed to bring a tear to your eye; send a shiver down your spine; have you on the edge of your seat, shouting at the telly.

None of you want to read about me wibbling on about a show you won't watch and probably think I'm mad for wasting 170 hours of my life on.

The finale was just the tip of the iceberg in terms of how shit this series could be.

And I'll say no more...

Octopus Prime

I watched the final episode of Stargate Universe on Wednesday, it was a series that, imho, was for a large part better than SG1 (albeit after Jack left) and much much better than the pooey Atlantis. This isn't rocket science and we are talking Stargate, after all.

Universe was Battlestar Galactica meets Voyager meets Lost in Space.

There were a couple of characters that really worked - Everett Young, the guy in charge; excellent character - watching him go insane on a weekly basis was a true highlight. Nicholas Rush played by Begby aka Robert Carlyle, a real post modern Zachary Smith, but with balls. And, Eli Wallace, who was the one that probably struck a chord with most SF fans - the computer game geek in space; David Blue's character was allowed to grow in the two series probably more than anyone else and it was fitting the final part should focus on him.

And what a finale? Keeping the grimy, nasty theme alive until the last knockings. It was a brilliant ending for a better than average series and it amazes me that SyFy (what an awful moniker) cancelled this and kept Haven. Universe had no big massive ending as such; it had both a hollow and oddly fulfilling 'conclusion' - if you can get your head around that. Great last 90 seconds though; really, really excellent; possibly the entire franchise's finest hour.

***

It very much appears that the jury is reconsidering its verdict regarding Doctor Who. Even some of Steven Moffat and Matt Smith's biggest defenders are questioning whether the series actually benefits from an ultra-confusing US styled season long plot thread. The speculation that the current plot is actually going to spread out across all 13 episodes rather than just this half season has got non-nerds contemplating their commitment. From what I've read - probably all wild speculation any how - is that the death of the Doctor, the child/Timelord, Amy and the one eyed woman, are not all necessarily to do with each other.

I had this entire blog entry called 'Multiverses' which delves into my own speculation regarding DW but I decided to not bother running it because of the way I was feeling; why don't I just cut and paste it in here?

The following contains Doctor Who spoilers and a couple of theories...

There's a new film coming out from Fox Searchlight Films, the indie arm of the Murdock owned film company. It's called Another Earth and looks like the next esoteric SF film success - the first being Gareth Edwards' Monsters. I don't know much about Another Earth apart from the trailer I saw a couple of weeks ago on IMDB, but it appears to be the story of what happens when a alternative Earth appears in our sky, with the same people, but living different lives. The premise is intriguing and it is a thoughtful and intelligent examination of the event rather than having space ships, ray guns and evil twins. It could be described as a 2011 Donnie Darko in that it will ultimately appeal to people who are not genre heads.

A couple of years ago there was a series called Charlie Jade, which had a great idea, but wasn't particularly very well executed. It was about 3 parallel universes that were either merging into each other or were infecting each other. it was a serious take on Sliders and probably failed because the idea was probably far too complicated for its target audience. In recent years, Fringe has the same concept of us existing in a multiverse rather than a single linear existence (an idea that hasn't been discounted by scientists, but sounds to me like a theory driven by human imagination and wish fulfilment rather than any solid scientific evidence) and has produced some really bonkers TV.

Just last week, one of the producers of Game of Thrones said in an interview that people who can't get their head around the geography of the new HBO series should try and think of it as different versions of North and Central America. It seems like the idea of parallel universes is de rigueur...

Don't panic, I am going somewhere with this; although I can't guarantee I'm going to understand much of it, so you're all well and truly scuppered.

[I just deleted an entire paragraph because no matter how I worded it, it just didn't seem right.]

Doctor Who. There are your Steven Moffat fans and your RTD ones. Those who love David Tennant and those that hate Matt Smith. There are so many different camps it's a little pointless wasting time explaining them all to anybody, so we won't. DW has generated a lot of copy since it returned at the end of March 2005 and that's because it's one of those rare British things - an SF programme that is almost universally appreciated. This is something that should be considered a high achievement considering it is ostensibly a kids' programme - ably highlighted in the most recent episode by the Doctor getting his hand covered in alien snot and then wiping it on Amy Pond's sleeve (one of the first times I've laughed out loud at the series ever - which also shows the kind of level my humour is at). There has been debate about whether DW is no longer for kids, but now for adults [with little brain power]; with some academics claiming DW is even too scary for kids. That's is answered in one word (maybe two, depending on whether you're that pedantic): Bullshit.

The point is, DW has always been a kids programme, that way you can excuse the glaringly huge plot holes in most episodes. To emphasise that point, last week's episode had one of those moments that if you think carefully will make no sense at all. Back in the second ever new DW episode, when Christopher Ecclestone takes Billy Piper to the End of the World, there is an important part of the story that involves DW turning off the spaceship they're on and that requires him to go through an Indiana Jones styled adventure just to flip the off switch. I remember people at the time being apoplectic that something so stupid should be the thing the entire story hinged on. "Why on earth would the off switch be at the end of a deadly assault course?" Opined one of my friends, analysing the show far too much than is healthy. The excuse that it was just a kids show was pooh-poohed with gusto. "My kids are more intelligent than that!" Okay, it's not aimed at your kids then!

Throughout the 4 series of Ecclestone and Tennant, Davies came in for slagging off all the time - his stories were dull; they made no sense; they had characters doing things they wouldn't do; I can think of a host of complaints aimed at the series; yet all the critiques still watched it avidly every week. I sometimes think they did it to just be able to criticise it before any of their other dissenting friends could. My counterargument to the silly plots and impossible scenarios has always been to say its a kids show and that's always been thrown in my face; but kids like Indiana Jones films and they're full of bollocks that makes no sense. If a kid is playing a platform game on his PS2 then the simplest task is going to be made more difficult by the placing of an obstruction; even if it doesn't make sense. The game the kid plays will be as dull as dishwater if all he has to do is walk around a game encountering no threats. So having assault courses on the way to the off switch is the kind of thing a kid will encounter playing a game. Makes sense now, doesn't it?

Last Saturday's Doctor Who could have been one of those RTD episodes my friends were quick to complain about. It was riddled with plot holes; made little sense and could very well have been put in place just to allow the main plot to be advanced. Not only was it one of the weakest episodes of DW for years, it was also obviously aimed at kids - which, as I keep harping on about, is supposed to be the target audience. I did warn you earlier there were spoilers and here they come...

The Doctor, Amy and Rory turn up on a pirate ship, an incredibly civilised pirate ship it has to be said, even if the opening 7 minutes were a bit silly. They've arrived as the members of the crew are being picked off one by one by a Siren, a creature of the sea who takes anyone who has a cut or graze or in the case of the captain's son, a disease - if you are damaged in any way, it takes you. This gives way to essentially 25 minutes of running about, hypothesising, with a bit of human drama thrown in to make it look like half an idea. The Siren is actually 'the doctor from Star Trek: Voyager', but she's not so don't rush off to look. It's an automated nurse that got summoned whenever there's damage, but grows bored when the occupants of its spaceship all die. It decides to start treating injured humans instead. It exists on a different plane of reality, or as the Doctor put it, comes from a universe that sits inside ours - a different plane of existence - an example of multiverse. That's going to be important, that.

After several signposted plot twists, everybody lives happily ever after. The pirates flying through space in their new ship with a mega powerful nurse ready to attend their every medical need; Rory and Amy back on the Tardis and the Doctor feeling all smug. Except it was really poorly executed; the clever special effects on Lily Cole - the Siren - were overshadowed by some poor acting, some laughable decisions and the fact that any kid worth their salt would have seen most of the plot long before it came into plain sight. For me, the most glaringly bad part was when the Doctor, Amy and the Captain decide they have to go with the Siren. The three wake up in some hold on a ship - able to walk around freely and do whatever they have to do. They eventually find all the characters taken by the Siren, all wired into the ship's computer and unconscious, but being fixed, to the best of its abilities, by the medic. Why were all the crew and Rory on beds and unconscious and the Doctor, Amy and pirate captain not? How come the Siren/medic didn't place them three in the same medical stasis as the others? How did everyone make the leaps of logic they did without any real clues?

There's more; but I'll be fucked if I'm going to get all nerdy. The point is, it was as bad an episode as the worst of any that appeared when RTD was series runner; but regardless of how bad it was, I believe it explained what is going on in the rest of the series.

For however dreadful last week's episode was, there were a couple of key moments and I'm not talking about when Amy saw that curious one-eyed woman. The second was when the Doctor was looking at the scan of Amy at the end, the one that says she is pregnant and isn't in alternating sequence. This is the second time this has been observed and I think I've sussed out what Moffat is doing. Earlier in the same episode, the first key moment, Doctor is explaining to his team and the captain that the alien spaceship is occupying the same place in space as the pirate ship, but in a different universe; a different reality and that all over the place are spots where the two realities can interact - thin spots (borrowing from someone else again). The pirates in space final sequence had me frowning and scratching my head though - where were they? In our universe or the pocket universe the Doctor casually mentioned?

Now... who is the Impossible Astronaut? Who is in the suit that kills the older version of the Doctor at the beginning of the new series. There have been suggestions that it's the younger Doctor, it is Amy, it is River Song or it's the girl from the suit in the first two episodes. I'm swerving towards it being the Doctor who received the Tardis blue invitation (and not the one who sent it). I think the Doctor who gets killed at the beginning of the current season, the older Doctor, is actually the Doctor from an alternative dimension. I believe in that alternate dimension there is no Rory, so Amy has a relationship with the Doctor and has a child - the girl in the Impossible Astronaut - and the existence of that child has thrown the universe out of whack. Amy is alternating between being Amy of our Doctor's life and Amy from the other dimension; hence why she is pregnant, she isn't pregnant, she is, she isn't, etc.

That was as far as I got with it before I started to get my aforementioned blockage, but I was planning on continuing the piece on DW with a question that has confounded me. Timelords - Lords of time and space? Yes? Therefore, strictly speaking they always exist, or at least they exist at whatever point in time they stop at. If Ecclestone went to the end of the world, then technically Smith could do the same and might bump into himself. Do you see what I mean? What is there to stop Matt Smith's version to pop into the past/future and meet up with himself when he was #3 or #6 or Paul McGann? It's (sort of) how we had the 3 Doctors and the 5 Doctors episodes in the 70s. So when the clips from this coming Saturday's episode were shown and the Doctor was getting excited about there being another Timelord somewhere, surely there's loads of them, or were DW and the Master the only people to have Tardises? [I am also aware there were other Timelords, I just don't want to bog the entire story down with unimportant nerdy minutiae.]

And that's sort of how that ends. Probably should have waited until tonight's episode before hypothesising, or possibly writing it like there's a middle and end of it, but...

***

Smallville ended last night in the USA; 10 years of unbelievably poor formulaic TV. You can set your watch by this show. Intro, titles, 30 minutes to take the story past the intro and concludes on 30 minutes regardless of how hopeless the situation is to allow 11 minutes of reflection, humour, love and satisfaction.

By the time I realised that Smallville was the devil's poop it was too late, I was hooked like a [gender non-specific] whore on crack. The final series has had, on the whole, the best story arcs and most character development. There's elements of the series that I can't fathom, the most recent ones being Alison Mack's sudden disappearance from the show - presumably she wanted away for some reason, and we had to make do with only 5 appearances this season - and the anticipation that she's going to be around for the finale. The other was the emergence of Darkseid as the villain; it seemed like an afterthought once they realised they were going to struggle to bring Lex Luthor back for anything but an appearance in the final episode.

I shall enjoy sitting down to the final 90 minutes over the weekend and I can say that I won't be fondly remembering this series like so many others that have existed during Smallville's 10 years; but it was interesting to see how they either did comics well or really badly - sadly, badly wins by a considerable margin...

When was the last time you saw sadly and badly sitting next to each other in a sentence, huh?

Arseholes Are Like Opinions, Everybody's Got One

A mate of mine, who shall remain nameless, claims he hates 98% of everybody. Not just the people he knows, but everybody. How he can be so sure of the exact percentage, I don't know, but what I am starting to realise is the perhaps he's not as misanthropic as I thought he might be.

People are just complete and utter bastards. Most of them I wouldn't piss on if they were on fire and if I could have immunity from prosecution, I'd start mowing down great swathes of them before I could finish writing this sentence with the biggest and most powerful automatic weapon I could find. I really have lost that loving feeling... Especially to drivers of cars.

What I would like to know is how some of the people driving on the roads ever got driving licenses? Yeah, some of them haven't, but in my experience it's the ones without licenses that are the safest drivers - that's not saying I condone the illegal act, but for fuck's sake I wish more illegal drivers would inhabit the roads, at least that way I'd feel as though they're all not out to kill me!

Coming back from work this morning, I witnessed no fewer than 5 examples of crass stupidity, dangerous driving and aggressive arrogance from people who probably are very lovely to their friends and are not cruel to animals and love their children, but give me a big knife or some dynamite and I'd show - in several thousand bits - just why that person had to die.

It started with the driver of the Vauxhall. "Sorry mate, but you can't park there." I looked around and couldn't see a sign that said permit holders only nor was there any restrictions imposed. I asked him why and was dumbfounded when he said, "Because that's where I normally park." Now, I ask you, what would you do in my situation? I'm less than 100 yards from the shop I want, but there's this guy who obviously fancies himself telling me that I've parked in his [read: anyone's] parking space. What to do? So being slightly arsey, I suggested it didn't have his name on it and started walking up the road to the shop. "Be a shame if your shiny Fiat gets an ugly scratch on the doors, wouldn't it?" Suddenly everything went a shade darker. I stopped and looked at the guy, about 35 wearing a tracksuit (natch) and with short cropped hair. Instead of over reacting or even essentially having any reaction, I looked at him incredulously and said, "What?"

Now I need to point out that he's double parked; just as I was getting out of my car he pulled up and is parallel with the car directly behind me. He just stopped there and got out of his car. I'm hypothesising here, but from the look of the slippers on his feet, he had just jumped in the car and gone to get the fags that he was holding; in the 3 minutes he was gone, I came along and pinched his parking spot and guess what? The next one was right down the other end of the street, a couple of hundred yards at least.

His answer to my question was literally to stroke the side of my car. I can't afford some wanker damaging my car and I wasn't about to start an argument with this guy. I muttered For Fuck's Sake under my breath and walked back to the car. I was allowing myself to get bullied, but what do you do? Honestly, would you risk a fight in the street with a person brazen enough to do that? I know I wouldn't. The insult was him waving at my like a child as I pulled away. That is a man who needs a serious beating by someone even more of a cunt than he is.

So, I decides that the milk I need will be available on Collingwood Road; but before I could get there I almost had the front of my car taken off by a Renault Espace that only stopped at the last minute as I drove past the road it was on. I could see the woman driving talking to her passenger, completely engrossed about something and thought, half-jokingly, 'She isn't going to stop!' She almost didn't.

After narrowly avoiding that, I get to a mini roundabout and almost have the front of my car removed again, this time an old bastard in a Fiesta is turning right at the junction, but doesn't bother to indicate. I throw my hands up in exasperation and am amazed that he manages to see this and flick me the Vs while failing to indicate where he's going - I suppose he needs his hands to be offensive to other drivers. I'm now slightly fearful of the rest of my journey and with good reason; as I pull into the aforementioned Collingwood, a woman in a Nissan 4x4 just pulls out in front of me. From a standing start, parked on the other side of the road, she just pulls into the middle of the road. I slam on my brakes, toot my horn and she's like looking at me totally unaware that she almost hit me; then calls me a wanker and turns right down Ashburnam.

I get the milk I want, get back in the car and head home. I pull into Fullingdale and there's a big fuck off BMW doing a sort of 3 point turn using the car pads at the rear of our convenience store. The road is busy, but he just carries on doing what he was doing, aware but ignorant of my presence and that of another car coming in the opposite direction. Yet when the lady driving the grey Vauxhall and I look at this guy being incredibly rude and selfish, he just tells us both to fuck off. I mean, how could we be so audacious; it was obviously his road because he has such an expensive BMW.

Very expensive as it happens; a call to my 'friend', the manager of a local BMW garage and he said it was worth about £70k - which is more than my first two houses cost; put together. He also said that if I knew the registration number or even give me a good description, he could probably find out who the car belonged to, especially if the car had been bought from his place. Being game for a laugh and all that it turned out the owner of the car was a Milos Djurovic. I wonder if he pays his road tax or even has a driving license recognised by this country?

Now as this was 100 yards from my front door you would think that nothing else could happen. Well, think again. Now, you all remember the Eastern European exhibitionists over the road? The couple that like to shag with the curtains open? Well, he's a taxi driver (no surprises there) and today was either hosting the tea party for the local taxi firm or had got all the drivers together to discuss forming an Eastern European wing of Bounds Taxis. The entire fucking road is empty apart from about a dozen taxis parked all around his house; where I park my car, where the wife parks - everywhere!

Being slightly pissed off by this point (and this was before I found out about friend Djurovic), I stopped the car, knocked on his door and essentially did what had happened to me not 10 minutes earlier; except I did it in a civilised and friendly manner. My neighbour apologised, but the owner of the taxi parked in front of my house looked a trifle pissed off that he was going to have to walk 30 feet further.

All of that took 11 minutes; from leaving work, buying some milk and getting home, I managed to encounter at least 5 arseholes.

Obviously this is something that happens more increasingly every day; the roads are never likely to be anything but hostile, selfish and potentially violent. Whoever uses the roads begins to feel that they own the part they're using, even if evidence suggests they're not actually using it at that specific moment.

It's not like I'm standing here (or sitting as is more accurate) suggesting that I've never been selfish in the car, but the wanton ignorance and stupidity of other drivers leads me to believe that these are either people who need signs to go to the toilet or they're just hateful cunts who are so over confident and full of self belief that they are completely oblivious of other people; thick chavs with pointless and vacuous lives.

Gah, people, don't you just fucking hate them?

This unscheduled rant was brought to you by Injury Lawyers 4 U and The Only Way Is Essex.

Status Quo Song

My official last day at work is May 20, but in reality I've not been there for ages. I go in, check my mail, potter about and come home. Spend varying amounts of time looking on line for possible jobs and then, depending on the weather, sit in the garden and slowly allow the darkest parts of my soul to take control of my mind.

My critics, of which I have many, could suggest that I've had a year to prepare for this and in reality I have, but, in my defence, the last couple of years have been odd and much of it through no fault of my own and I'm not just talking about slipped discs and arthritis scares. This stuff is the subject of a blog entry currently under construction and while it has a place here, it isn't going to be allowed to enter. The thing is, I prepared myself early, within a week of knowing there was a good chance I'd be made redundant, I was scouring the papers and the net for a replacement job. I had notional success too; interviews for 4 jobs (6 if you count the two on offer at my current employer), a second interview for one of them, but... always the bridesmaid. I have this theory that I don't actually get jobs from interviews and if you examine it closely there is truth in my theory.

I was never interviewed for my job at Comics International, nor was I for the work I did for IMS (in fact, it was me that went to the meeting with demands and they gave me them), when I came into the social care industry, my interview for the YMCA was on the steps of a co-operative vegetarian market on a cold February Saturday and with my current employee my 'interview' was half an hour chewing the fat with an old friend before he told me what the deal was. Even the Mayday Trust was odd; I went for a job as a support worker and got offered a deputy manager's post based on my experience. I'm beginning to think I give good interview to a point. There's always one person better than me. The story of my life in some respects and don't get me wrong, I'm not complaining about it, I can just see a pattern over the last 49 years.

The question on the lips of some of my close work colleagues and the majority of my friends is, 'what are you going to do?' and the honest answer is, I haven't got a clue. One of my bosses, bless her heart, suggested I go back to journalism. I'm always careful not to do something hysterical in front of colleagues, so I said that I'd been away from it for too long, was far too rusty and a bunch of other feasible but largely bollocks answers. The truth is I'm not good enough. I was good enough for what was essentially a semi-professional comics magazine, but I'm a damned sight better 'journalist' now than I ever was when I worked for QCL and I'm still several miles behind most of the people I know. I'm not technical, you see? At least not technical enough to hack it in the hack zone.

One of the reasons why I've edited and serialised my 'book' about comics, was at the suggestion of an old friend in the industry who said in an email the other month, 'Why don't you get back into comics; ironically, you're about the right age to succeed now?' But, in reality, they might as well have said why don't you see if you can get paid for beating yourself up. Plus, while the serialisation appears to be well received by some, I've been spending a lot of time over the last week re-editing the coming weeks' entries, because they're just too boring and subject specific, but they need to be there. Plus, there's this thing about not liking comics; if I work with a kid that I dislike, there's a good chance the next one I will like. With comics, I despise them with a passion - the same way most addicts despise the drug of their choice. The thin line is far too fragile now and I'd upset too many people.

Obviously, remaining doing the kind of thing I do now is the most likely answer; but I'd just about hit the top of the tree as far as unqualified people go, at least in terms of pay and benefits. I could return to management, but I hated it the first time around and frankly there are several totally logical and uncontroversial reasons why that becomes an outside chance at best; equally, there are a number of reasons, if I could go that route, why it would suit me. Taking a step backwards looks like the likely course and end up taking maybe a £5k wage cut, returning to work shifts, nights and Bank Holidays, 6 years after I said I'd never do that again. But, I'm also now joining 900 other people on Northampton's dole queue and that's where the reasons I'm saving for another blog entry come into play; but essentially I leave my current employer with zero confidence that I can even do this kind of job any longer.

There's my little music sideline project, but that is a project, something I can do in my spare time with a couple of hours free. If, and we all know it's a big IF, something comes out of it, then great, but I've had too many dreams dashed to enter into this with nothing but achievable targets.

This is probably the main reason for my mental blockage - the half a dozen unfinished blog entries that I can't focus on - this blog has always been cathartic, even when it's got me into trouble and the truth of the matter is I'm worried sick. The wife might see it, if she does she's not letting it outwardly affect her - which, by the way, is a very good thing as long as she isn't letting it fester inside. I've always been able to put on a brave face; most people who know me know that I get grumpy, but they also a) treat it with the ridicule it usually deserves and b) know that it will pass, normally very quickly; but on the whole, I'm the man with the sunny disposition. Two of my senior bosses who I've been dealing with over the last couple of months have been inspired by my lassez faire attitude, my positive outlook and my jovial resignation of the events unfolding in front of us and I'd be lying if I said that wasn't what I do in most situations like this. I've always been a good man to have in a crisis.

It's when I get home and have the rest of the day staring at me that I become racked with doubt, worry, fear and hopelessness...

Still, mustn't grumble, eh? It's not like I've not been here before, is it?

Moving on...

Actually, no, let's not. I want to brag about something and by God, it might give me a bounce in my self esteem.

I am great in a crisis. I don't know why I didn't think of it before; probably because areas of self analysis didn't go there in the past. My wedding: my best man wasn't. I had to arrange everything he had a month to do in 24 hours. My shop: when the chips were down, instead of sitting burying my head in the sand, I got out and did things to avert the disaster. Ultimately it didn't work, but it gave me another year at trying.

Death: With both my parents, the wife's brother, various relatives and friends, I either ended up having to deal with the logistics; be the shoulder to cry on or keep calm while everyone around me was falling apart. I did my own grieving, but usually days, even weeks after the event. However, I don't do pet deaths anywhere near as easily, but they don't tend to be as public.

When I was at Comics International, probably the thing my old boss misses the most is my ability to solve problems. Give me a pagination table and the need to put a quart in a pint pot and I'd do it, seamlessly. Half a page of copy in 20 minutes - done and dusted. Technical glitches - even if I didn't know what I was doing, I'd fix it enough to get us by. Even if I wasn't there, I'd get a call asking me what I'd do and invariably we'd come up with a solution.

So when I came into social care, the best of me was seen when situations got stressful, potentially violent or just a bit over the top. If there was a problem to be solved, I'd solve it. From getting a forgotten kid an education to helping people when they think all is lost. The first couple of years I was with my soon to be terminated employer, I was working almost exclusively with the young people who didn't interact - at all. I had so much success, even if I didn't alter their course, we found out why it was happening. It was probably the happiest time I had there, I felt like my employer's crisis manager.

Perhaps I can think outside of the box; or maybe it's because I remain calm, because I have to, that allows me to think straight; see the obvious where others are overcomplicating things? All I know is I deal with another person's crisis with the same skill as I mask my own.

Hung Like a Horse Whisperer

I have a blockage... Don't panic, it's nothing physical. There is not going to be a stream of shit at some point that is going to cause a disaster. The blockage is up here [taps side of brain]. It's not a full on mental block, but it is stopping the synapses from doing their job to the extent that I'm racked with doubt and self censorship.

I think it has to do with my feeling of damp squibness. The feeling that things, for everyone, not just me, are going to get a lot worse before they get better and it will be a gradual plunge into shit not a quick and unexpected one. I have this feeling that we're all going to watch ourselves drown and it'll be slow enough for us to discuss it with each other and apportion blame.

I have four unfinished blog entries. I know what I want to say, I just can't seem to be able to put it down on cyber paper. Or, as is the case of the four unfinished pieces, I don't seem to be able to put across what I am trying to say without overcomplicating it. I am becoming the literary equivalent of one of my fellow quiz team members; I appear to be using 50 words where 1 would suffice. Is what you are trying to convey to me a negative answer, an opposite to an affirmative answer? A short word that essentially is you saying that you are not, as they say, in certain circles, up for it? Sometimes No is just No. I seem to think that more is needed. I am going off on tangents that I shouldn't. and they're not making it better.

I suppose you could say I have a rose rather than a blockage. You know, the thing you stick on the end of a hose that has umpteen different jet settings. I don't have a blockage, I have a mental rose. I'm wandering off down many paths when one or a couple would do. I'm sprinkling when I should be spurting; I'm veering off into sexual innuendo areas again.

I have lots to opine about; but nothing has solidity or the point I want to put across is being obfuscated by minutiae.

In a nutshell, I'm having a moratorium on politics,. I'm going to stop writing my political blog for a while because of the way I feel about politics at the moment.

I want to be a fanboy/nerd and talk about my theories on Doctor Who, but every time I write something it ends up being deleted or I stare at it and despair.

I have a semi-serious piece about illegal activities and the Internet, which is genuinely about a friend of mine and not just a thinly-veiled piece of confession.

I have a rant about work - which is unfinished and waiting for the 21st May (if I deem it worthy of publishing).

And, while I think about it, I have this question...

Who are you and how did you find me? You know who I'm talking to; your mum works with my wife. I want to know how you found me? Was it by accident? Did you find me and then work out that your mum worked with my wife, because she never talks about my blog to her colleagues, so something must have happened that made you put 2 and 2 together to make 4. Do I know you? Are you a comics fan? And if you are how did you work out that the woman your mum might mention was actually my wife? Especially as I've mentioned her name just once ever in these pages. How did you work it all out?

I think I know what the problem is. Everything feels a bit pooh at the moment... Oh, I sort of said that already... See?

Bah!

The Beast With Two Heads and Other Tales of Terror

Back in February, I was having some unusual reactions to the concoction of pills I was taking for my back pain, nerve damage and sciatica. To add insult to the injury, my face erupted in a mass of thundering blind spots - my skull looked like it was trying to get out of my face! It was quite ... almost humiliating; this 48 year old man suffering from spots a teenage oil head would be aghast at.

At the time, the project I was running last year was being showcased in a DVD produced by Northamptonshire Libraries. It was one of the highlights of the School of Life project I was involved in and they wanted me to appear, on camera, talking about it. Not a problem, except for the lumpy face. I turned up for the shoot about a week after the worst, a spot about two inches under my left eye - and at one point so huge that I could just about see it with my left eye - had just started to stop looking like a limpet had attached itself to my face. However, I was still incredibly conscious of its presence and couldn't help but notice people were drawn to it like some religious icon - My God how can something so big not drag his face off? - they probably thought to themselves.

The director suggested we shoot from a specific angle so that it wouldn't really be in shot, especially if I kept my head reasonably still. We did the shoot - I think I talked about it on here - and that was that. I forgot all about it. Then at the end of March I went to a conference in a place called Alderton and it got its world premiere and there it was, my extra head, so huge it was bobbing in and out of shot like a penis in a porn film. It was still so big, the week of the swelling going down had just reduced the impact slightly. I looked in horror as my spot stole my thunder.

I got copies of the DVD today and figured I'd look at it again and see how bad it was. My memory is shot, but not that badly.

People who see it and then meet me are going to wonder where half my head has gone...

***

The ground is like August, but the grass is greener. The trees are out - bar a few Ash trees - and so has all the blossom. It's been weird, you normally get blossom and then greenery; this year they came together. The days are warm, but the wind is weird. The weather, as usual, is bonkers again. It wouldn't be Britain if the weather wasn't schizophrenic.

You know what's going to happen, don't you? It's going to start raining soon; just a wee bit to start with. May will trundle along with periods of rain and warmth and hot sunny days; then the rain will get heavier and in June and July we will be cursed with more tales of woe as people on Snowdon get flooded out. August will be damp and September will be a repeat of April, but 5 degrees warmer. Autumn will arrive on October 2nd, it'll snow by the 20th and there will be a mini ice age in December before the same weird shit happens again, but differently in 2012.

That'll be £10,000 please.

***

Someone at work asked me why I do that. Put *** between stories.

The short answer is 'cos', the long one is - it breaks up unrelated stories. I toyed with giving each bit headings - like I used to when I did my comics column, but Jesus Harry Christ, it's hard enough to come up with weird and surreal titles, let alone weird and surreal sub headings.

***

While I was in Kettering today, I popped into my old office. A lot of my colleagues over there hadn't seen me since January, when I was using a cane and looked pretty emaciated. My office partner Doreen commented at the time that I looked drawn and half the man I was. She's an ebullient West Indian who I've know known for 6 years and I miss sharing an office with her. Today, she was genuinely astounded. "Where the stick? You look normal!" Gee thanks Doreen!

The thing was I saw many of my former workplace pals and they all thought I looked better than I have in years. Probably the three stone I've put on in weight since I packed up smoking, I suggested. But no, they all thought I really looked good.

Now, there is a point to this backslapping and praise and that is I don't think I look good. Yeah, I do look healthy and I actually suit a bit more weight than I had, maybe a stone, but not three! The irritation extra weight carries on the arm pits, thighs and gut is just frightening and the sooner I lose some of this extra padding the better. Plus, there's this fucking massive irony taking place that hasn't escaped me because I'm the one dealing with it. As a smoker, I really started to struggle to walk fast and got out of breath really quickly - one of the reasons for stopping, I hasten to add. Now, with my lungs still playing catch up with the rest of my healthier body, my extra weight has suddenly meant walking long distances and steep hills is just as bad, if not worse with the added aggravations. But, if I've put on three stone, then I've effectively increased my size by just under a quarter again. Imagine carrying a sack of spuds around on your back!

So it's got to go and I see three logical solutions: start smoking again. Go on a diet. Kill myself.

This is not a referendum.