The Curse of the Zombie Comic

Darkness fell over the town, and through the alcoholic haze the tavern owner did announce,
On the morrow a jester would arrive to spread comedic wit far and very wide
To ridicule all who pass, and play songs a plenty on its baleful guitar
or so the story goes.
Fear and trepidation suffused it way though the friends, the heroes of this tale
They sat at the tavern window now, but the drink had dulled their senses
The fore-shadowing of this doom all too soon unremembered.
Merry they made throughout evening till the cold damp street beckoned forth.
The warning forgot they sang and danced out into the night.

The evening was upon them again and warnings lost or ignored they once more returned to the tavern.
And there it was, the Zombie comic, sitting, eyes dull surveying the crowd,
The old and feeble of mind had quickly succumb to this jester's evil trance,
But our heroes sat there waiting, planning what to do,
To pass this hideous form and not to suffer that malignant curse endured by the frail,

After a time the zombie rested absorbing the power he had gained to return once more with attacks renewed.
In this time our heroes passed out into the garden to smoke and derive strength and fortitude,
Then again the comic returned, the drab rhythm of the sinister guitar entwining and luring even more.
Ale helped some to escape over the wall and dance into the night, free.
But our heroes stayed to plan a revenge.

A weakness was found, the plan was formed to allow them to defeat the fiend.
Overwhelm the beast with comic gifts was it, simple and devastating if only the fiend could see,
With the plan in action the fiend no longer knew how to cope,
Its victims should run and hide from the foul retorts not to invite and enjoy its sneering reposts
With the weapons of ribbons and gaily held hands the monster retreated weakened.
Preying elsewhere, a place without such valiant heroes
Leaving only placards of his evil presence, he left, but forever would be too much to hope,
But what of the old and mentally infirm?
Will the Zombie return to claim them for his own?
Time will tell, but our heroes are ready fight whenever it should happen.

The City

As the coach pulls into the station I get out, the cold damp September day sets the tone, slate grey and sombre. From my contemplative thoughts of rest - questions without answer, of things done, and things to be done, and then suddenly thrust, dumped into the maelstrom, hundreds of people crowding in the streets. Sirens scream and wail as an urgent riposte to the people who summoned them.

Traffic crawls and people wait, lights change red to green, green to red. The traffic stops and people start to move, each one on their own journey, their destination known only to them, no-one looks at each other. No communication apart to berate or belittle. Thousands of strangers all alone together. On toward the tube passed the newspaper sellers grumpily thrusting their free rags into people's hand and complaining when it's not taken, an impossibility to escape their clutches.

Now down below through the warren and on to the chthonic train, pushing to get in, so crammed that its impossible to move but no one looks at anyone; personal solitude twisted and warped by the masses.

Off the train again and at the bottom of a staircase a tourist recently arrived, jetlagged, struggling with luggage is ignored, never realising that they'd have this problem before leaving home. I pick up the spare bag before it's stolen or declared a ' suspect package' and for panic to ensure. At the top of the stairs I'm thanked and I rush on through more tunnels and on to another platform, less full this time, the train soon arrives pushing ahead a gale, sweeping rubbish and discarded newspapers aside - stampeding into the station. And I get on, as the train pulls out of the station a couple who look down on their luck but high on something else argue, the woman finally gets up and walks toward the door between the carriages, opens it, steps through into the next carriage, all the while the train rattles over the rough and dilapidated tracks. No one else seems bothered and don't even look up, let alone to pass comment. As she passes between carriages I worry that she might slip and fall, but to my surprise and horror my first thought is not that she'll be injured or killed but we'd be stuck down the tunnel for hours... This place is getting to me.

Eastward we travel, along the green, the purple, and the red. Then out to the twisting side streets where buildings gently fade. Crumbling brickwork, peeling paint, and with weeds growing in the gutters nature makes a valiant but futile effort to retake control. The vanguard is led by the precocious buddleia attempting to spread its fragrance over the decaying landscape but is soon vanquished by the pollution.

It starts to rain but it fails to dampen my spirits, the city has done that already.

The world now seems to consist of a universe no further than the next building and the sky seems so far away as to be infinite. I continue walking and come to an area of renewal, old buildings waiting to be pulled apart, diggers and cranes bite into them, and soon all that is left are piles of pallid rubble and twisted metal jeering at the pride with which they were built.

To rest a while, I find a generic café and sitting drinking my generic coffee I start to think where I was a few days earlier, standing on top of a hill overlooking a wooded valley with no one else in sight the wind in my face bringing the scent of heather, cloud shadows raced over the treetops turning them dappled green, here the sky almost seemed close enough to touch and the joy of nature abounded; alone but not lonely.

Another wailing siren brings me back from my reverie, I finish my coffee and head out into the grey streets toward the goal of this urban misadventure.

Into the concert hall, teak beauty abounds and the outside world forgotten, thousands patiently wait from the front row to the highest gallery for their muse, soon she appears, and artist and audience seem awestruck as one to be meeting each other, her songs wind their way though the hall and round the pillars and we newly appreciate the bear and the chim-choo-ree and rise in awe of the sawdust and diamonds. All too soon its over.

After the concert and a poor nights sleep in an anonymous hotel it's back on the coach. The wild-eyed coach driver tries to rat-run a 60 seat coach along suburban sidestreets, passed the rows of dull red grey suburbia and then on to a bridge where a sudden swath of green hits the eye, a park full of trees with a stream running through immediately lifts my spirits and I know I've left the cold impersonal city behind.

Joanna Newsom at the Albert Hall

In two words....

Absolutely Amazing!!


This was the best gigs I have ever been too, and the Albert Hall is great venue. The only one that comes close was Lamb's penultimate ever performance which was at the Shepard's Bush Empire.

Firstly the place was sold out (that's a capacity of 5,500) and all the songs were slightly reworked from the Album so they seemed fresh and had a 3 piece band not the full orchestra which is recorded on 'Ys', and on the album you can't appreciate the skill. One of the songs 'Only Skin' is 18 minutes long. She has written the lyrics for all her songs and they are not repetitive but more like poetry, then she's set them to music which she then plays, playing the harp is quite an intense activity, and then singing without sounding out of breath is some feat. One of the songs in the middle of her set 'Sawdust and Diamonds' got a standing ovation at the end.

Also she seemed to be as amazed at playing in the Albert Hall as the audience was to see her. One song she had the one of the support acts sing the backing vocals and at the end asked them to go get her phone and then had the House Lights raised so she could photograph the hall and audience.
She started off with 'Bridges and Balloons' and followed by 'Emily' which are my favourite songs which is cool.
'Only Skin' was the encore song which she preformed after a 5minute standing ovation and at one point she got lost on the lyrics, which most performers would be criticised for but instead it got a laugh from the audience and a prompt from the percussionist she was off again. If you find the lyrics you will know why.

The Long Cold Sunday Morning of the Soul*

Early morning at Beautiful Days

Its 6:30 in the morning, I'm cold despite two facts firstly; its August and secondly; I'm using two sleeping bags and wearing a fleece. I've just woken up, although waking implies being asleep which I haven't done a lot of in the past four days, two of these due to being camped out a cold hillside at the Beautiful Days Festival.

I'd been looking forward to it for ages, My first festival: but the previous two nights I might have managed 2 hours of poor sleep consisting mainly on sliding down in my tent and then pushing myself back up again so I exhausted.

I try to get back to sleep and I listen to Lisa Gerrad on my iPod hoping this will help bring sleep. It doesn't and hour and half later I give up trying to sleep, I dress and crawl out of my tent.

All around are a sea of tents with coughing and snoring emanating from many of them. As the rain has finally stopped I decide to have a walk and find the Tiny Tea Tent and have a fresh cup of tea to try and rekindle my atrophying brain.

As I wander through the slopping mud toward the village shop tent a few other bleary-eyed people are also awake at this time, either coming back from partying or other insomniacs.

One of them is walking in the same direction carrying a case of beer, she says 'Hi', she's about my age and looks like the kind of person that wouldn't look out of place at a environmental protest, and we start chatting about festivals and I tell her this my first festival and its a lot noisier than I'd thought it would be, she laughs as she thought this has been a really quiet festival and was looking for more music. At the village shop tent we parted company while she tried to sell the cans of beer and I slip and slide on the way up the hill toward the Tea Tent and my goal of a cup of tea.

I round the corner to the Main Stage and it looks like a very wet ploughed field, ploughed by thousands of people dancing to Gorgo Bordello the night before. Litter blows across the area like synthetic tumbleweed it the cold wind.

Despite this, the wind blowing and only a few people around I remember why I like this time of the morning, the freshness of the day, the secret time before most people are awake and the day seems bright, new and full of possibilities, but the cloying mud soon makes me wish I was fast asleep and warm in my tent.

I finally trudge up to the Tea tent, outside sat around an open fire of burning bits of timber that someone must have found somewhere are people who've been up all night discussing everything and nothing, they all seems to have the same type of baggy, loose knitted jumpers and ripped jeans almost like a uniform. I go on into the Tea Tent but realise I've no money, I swear and squelch off back down the hill until I meet the woman I'd spoken to earlier, I mumble about forgetting my money and she offers to buy me a cup, I gratefully accept saving the long walk back to the tent. We exchange names and she tries to sell more beer to other people in the people in the tent.

I go to the counter and get poured a mugfull of the sort after brown liquid and sit at a bench and sip it. The mug is filthy and I think it hasn't been washed up since the start of the festival, this would normally bother me but I'm so tired and thirsty that I just drink down the tea at the rickety table in the tumbledown tent.

The woman who bought my tea is still deep in conversation and negotiating beer prices, I'd like to stay and talk more but in my sleep deprived state and annoying shyness feel like talking even less than normal and anyway can't think of anything remotely interesting to say and I think chances of managing to hold a coherent conversation are beyond me, so I say goodbye and start to make my way back down to my tent.

I start to wonder whether it would be a good idea to drop out, nearly all the people I've met who most people would think of as drop-outs have been some of the friendliest and easiest people to talk to as strangers, but thinking further, while in theory I'd love the freedom I'd probably hate it, I'd worry about everything and generally hate the uncertainty of it and also I've no idea how to go about it and as I'm just about to buy a flat its probably a very odd thing to think about. As I trudge on back passed the Main Stage I release I've forgotten her name, I get back to my tent and wait for everyone else who can sleep to wake and I sit feel more tired than I can remember.

*Title:With apologies to the late great Douglas Adams.

The Brandy Run

After the dropping of the smugglers off the Brig turned back out in to the bay. The ship dipped and rolled in the increasing wind, spray crossed the desk dampening the spirit of the captain, money was one thing but spay soaked clothes on a cold night could make anyone miserable. The wind groaned in the rigging and the sails creaked against the breeze. Up in the Crow's Nest a sailor called down, it was all clear ahead.

The Captain stumbled down the narrow stairway, and along the companionway to his cabin, He sat down and looked at his charts spread across his desk, he need to get across to France to pick up the next consignment of brandy, but he was worried about the weather and the about the brandy smugglers. He'd heard stories of them beating those who had been late with collection. But the halo around the moon he'd seen on his way down to the cabin was a portent of a storm.


However after reading the barometer and seeing it set at Fair, he needed time to think of the gamble ahead an whether to risk the crossing. He selected a quill, sharpened it and started writing in his log and tried to think. Finally he decided go for the crossing and anyway what sort of Captain would he be if he didn't take risks. After telling the men of his decision, retired back to his cabin.

The wave that hit knocked the captain out of his bunk. He scrambled up and went out into the companionway as another wave hit as he looked at the stairway water was cascading down the step like a series of waterfalls, up on deck spay lashed, around water crashed over the side again, The Boson tried to tell the captain how the storm came out of nowhere, but the wind carried his words away along with spay.

It was pitch-black and the only light was from the ships lanterns, a mere flicker in the black void. The crew hanging on to the yards trying to reef the sail while the wind screamed though the rigging and sails started to rip, the mast was bending.

“Cut the mainsails away” yelled the captain. He had no alternative, if he didn't cut loose them he may loose the ship and everyone to Davey Jones' Locker, The men in the rigging started hacking at the ropes to the and as the sail ripped away it hung on the last rope for a second flapping like a sad flag before ripping away and disappearing in to the darkness.

With the mainsail gone the ship was a lot more calmed down but the wave tossed the around ship like a cornered wild horse. Wave after wave broke across the deck every few seconds and the crew were getting knocked off their feet and were likely to swept overboard. As the crew could not do much now expect hope the captain ordered them below, he was was captain and it was his ship the boson stayed above deck too and they lashed themselves to the wheel and tried to keep the ship facing into the wind and ride out the storm.

After about hour the wind dropped and quickly as it had risen, and eerie silence fell across the ship. Looking a ghostly blue glow started to appeared the top of the masts and end of the yards. The crew who were slowly emerging from below and looked in awe at the display, many of them fell to their knees and prayed.

On the horizon lightning flickered and played between clouds but over time the storm disappeared and the lights faded.

The captain called up his men and set them to work making good the storm damage, most of the sails had been torn, but they had enough canvas to move, however they had no idea where the were they could be anywhere in a within 50 miles. The captain having had this much bad luck decided not to attract any more and decided to limp to France and pick up is cargo, He headed South East and hoped to soon see the French coast and work out where they were and from there head into port.

The Winter storm

The moon shines down through the trees casting its chill shadow across the ground. The wind crashes through trees sounding like a storm-tossed ocean, sailing on this ocean are ragged clouds, tinted silver by the moonlight, ghost ships of the sky passing silently by. Through undergrowth darts a hare by now exhausted, close behind, gaining, is a fox, they pass out of the woodland onto the heath.
The moon disappears behind bank of cloud.
Across the moorland where the dragon used to live the pair chase. Panic and fear courses through the hare’s body pushing it on, behind the fox determined, pursues it sensing the feast ahead, not long now, it’s waiting will soon be over. Now the rain starts and lashes across the plain, the wind rages across the moor and in the forest leaves fill the chaotic air as the wind rips them from their trees, a few cling on to their trees like survivors from a shipwreck.

Out onto the moorland, follow the chase: the hare heads for a lone tree. A once mighty oak stands straining, blasted by lightning many times, past storms having broken it boughs, but still it stands proud, another winter to see through, resting until spring returns. The fox chases on but as it passes the oak it feels a presence and looses concentration in the chase. Suddenly the wind stops and a silence falls, the fox cowers, above the clouds still rush by, the heather all around thrashes about. The fox feels a chill run through it and there is intense cold the grass all around turns crystal white.
As suddenly as the calm the fell, the storm returns fiercer than before.
An old tawny owl feathers ruffled by the storm shelters in a tree at the edge of the forest looks over the moor can all this happening. It sees the effect the presence as it appears to be rushing around the moor searching. The storm all around is reaching its height lightning dances around the hills, the searching spirit stops an intelligence is there sensing, questing, travels off at speed toward the lightning, when it reaches the hill it surrounds the tallest tree on the hill, the bark around the trunk crystallises with frost the spirit waits in its self made calm.
Suddenly a silver ribbon shoots down from the sky, the lightning strikes the tree bark and wood explode, the spirit flies skyward.
Silence falls all around and the rain stops, the wind ceases a sense of expectation fills the moor and forest, all the creatures fall silent. Gently out the sky frosted flakes fall. All across the landscape millions upon millions of flakes fall, slowly the country is covered in snow, deeper and deeper, ice forms on pond and lakes.


Winter spreads out across the land and the trees of summer sleep, only the pine trees and hollys are awake for this time of snow and ice. As dawn approaches high in the sky geese can be heard calling escaping the winter farther north.

In this time of cold the distant expectation of spring keeps hopes alive.

Smugglers' Moon

The wind blew across the moor, it could be best described as lazy as for the line of men walking across the moor is seemed to blow straight though them too lazy to go around. Each man had a lantern and as the moon hid behind a cloud each let his lantern shine out for they know the revenue men are elsewhere tonight and hopefully their trade won‘t be interrupted. Far across the valley toward the sea a associate sees the line of lights and signals out into the bay.

A galleon at anchor, sails reefed against the storm, her lookout perched precariously in the crows-nest fighting the feelings of nausea, sees the flash of light. He shouts down to Boson.
Five minutes later the splash of oars can be faintly heard. The captain is happy is now going to get paid, and relieved the contraband is off his ship.

A hour later the oarsman rowed in the harbour and landed the brandy.
In the dark town somewhere nearby a dog barks, the men disappear into the shadows of an old building, they look up and down the winding street but, see nothing, waiting in the silence a little longer, they then go back to the business and loading the cart, covering the loot with hay. They set off north keeping to the secret paths know only to a few of the more villainous professions. Travelling though the dark tree covered lanes and keeping close to the river they travel on, as they are close to river, if they are disturbed they can quickly abandon their cargo into it.
Ever alert to the noises around them, the sound of the wind in the trees blocks out any warning but they keep going. Past a manor house, nearly there now.

The sun starts to rise bright after the storm, they hide the horse and cart in a barn and head into town.
It’s market day, so business can be done, in the hustle and bustle they soon make a deal. Its to a pub for a lunch and the back to the barn to wait till night to recover the goods and close the deal.

Aggghhh I’m becoming addicted to iTunes.

I seem to be buying more and more music lately, and with sites like www.last.fm and myspace it’s become more and more easy to find great bands or artists and more and more difficult not to buy music. This evening I have bought two albums one called ‘Waking the Mystics’ by Sophe Lux, the second ‘Fox Confessor Brings the Flood’ by Neko Case. (Si, she’s not Japanese or a cat). I found Neko Case by Last.fm recommending her and Sophe Lux sent a friend invitation through myspace. The trouble is both are very good and I ended buying both from iTunes. Great music is now only 2 mouse clicks away. You don‘t have to make a trip to town and suffer crowds and idiots it just there.
I have recently brought the following


Fox Confessor Brings the Flood by Neko Case (Country)

Waking the Mystics by Sophe Lux (She seems to have a toned down Tori Amos/Kate Bush/Bjork thing going on )

Remnants of a Deeper Purity by Black Tape for a Blue Girl (Dead can Dance stylings surprisingly they’re not produced by 4AD)

Has a good home by Final Fantasy (Crap name but a great violinist somewhere between Seth Lakeman and Badly Drawn Boy (yes I know Badly Drawn boy is not a violinist but it's same sort of thing) )

Gravity’s Rainbox by Klaxons (Okish Rock I won’t by buying more)

The Worst of Jefferson Airplane by Jefferson Airplane (Old but still good)

The Silver Tree by Lisa Gerrad (Excellent to listen to when writing Mind-Dribblely blogs. The songs get my mind in the right place)

What a Wonderful World by Louis Armstrong (Obviously a vital addition to all music collections)

I have bought all these in the past month. And there’s always more great music to find.

And as soon as Alpiano gets it together and releases Alphino’s Lens Flare that’ll be added too!
Above my Last.fm recommendation for this week and I'm think of buying a Joanna Newsom album next. Click Click oops T'is Done!!

This Green and Pleasant Land

I walk down street and hear a couple of old people saying that when they were young everything was better, a bygone age sepia tinged and nostalgic.
As I walk on my senses are assaulted by 12 year olds drinking, swearing and smoking. Cars lit up garish, rush by. Radios beat out their music to the world. I worry I’m getting old myself and don’t understand the ‘youth of today’. Then I look back 2 decades to when I was 12 I never drank or swore in public, even the bad kids had some respect for their teachers, now it seems teachers can’t go five minutes without been sworn at.

I wonder why.

I walk on passed the Off Licence where fake ID’s excuses and protestations of innocence are all rejected, they swear and leave empty handed. Where are their parents, why does the manager have to risk his job because of these urchins and their parents lack of control?

I walk on by the police station that closes at 5, thieves knowing the nearest car is 15 miles away, but there probably PCs inside filling in forms in triplicate just because they stopped some yobs wrecking a bus-stop.

I walk on out into the country and see rundown farms next to cottages only used at the weekend, Range-Rover in the drive. I look over at the farm and between the decaying buildings the farmer’s children play, the farmer and his wife look on, they worry about bills and the fact they’ll be the last generation to farm this land. Their children could cannot afford to carry on the tradition and live in this rural idyll as they have for generations past.* I walk back to town, enough of this bleakness, I return home and then onto the pub, with it’s friendly staff and my good friends, whose talk of Sci-fi, goblins and life in general lift my spirits, sometimes deep winding conversations about life or maybe a frivolous subject of whimsy about nothing or flit back between each whatever the subject are always interesting, all this on a Friday night, I forget about the ignorance and idiocy outside and enjoy my pint. Why would I want to swap this for night-clubs deafening music and drunken punch up.

----


* I was intending to add in at this point a political aspect to the this piece although I tried to add it in several ways and spent the best part of an hour trying, but I couldn’t get it to feel right, So I’m going to make the point in straight essay form…
It seems to me that a lot the problems occurring today a to do the lack of respect people have with the government. If we have no respect for our leaders, then how can respect be gained for other authority figures. 2 million people marched against the War in Iraq, the government plagiarised a 10 year old graduate thesis on WMD to browbeat it own MPs into agreeing and we are still there now, we shouldn‘t stay as it not our country but we can‘t leave because of the mess made.

The control they want over aspects of public life doesn’t mean thing are getting better. They won’t allow people to use their on judgement gained though years of experience. I know from friends and my own personal experience as well as reading blogs linked above, that the police and healthcare services are in decline, one of which a government minister called the author a liar, I know who I would trust. I going to stop now before I bore you all, but one last point about the depth of which spin and marketing (lying) has sunk. On the London Tube they now have a recorded announcement to inform us passengers that the Service is Good, why do we need an announcement for this, we don’t all announce that were at work today it’s expected, this should be the norm, the norm doesn’t need to be announced.
Anyway that’s all for now.

Morning

A swan glided out the mist as if a ghost, illuminated by the first rays of the morning light serenity made real, cool grey blanket covers the landscape deadening sounds so only the gentle splashing of the river as it spills over pebble and through reed-bed can be heard.
In the distance trees look black as if frozen, made of granite; the standing stones of nature. Below a heard of cow wait, sleeping until the warmth of the day returns. Though this scene she glides.
In the distance a lone fisherman walks across the field towards the waterline though the swirling mists he fades in and out of vision, ethereal.
The swan startled by this leaves the river and fly off breaking the peace of the morning, wings thrash and water splashes up though the mist she flies gaining height, powerful wings beating down.

Suddenly she breaks though mist, from seeing nothing but grey monochrome the world is full of colour.
Below the landscape looks covered in cotton-wool but, above the sun now bright shines in a cloudless azure sky.
Hills and building burst though the mists into the clear looking like islands and rocky shoals, the warmth of sun on her back brings a deep longing for home, the north, tundra and midnight sun. Decision made she turns north, below in the world of grey the only sign of her passage is her wingbeats as travels on back to her homeland.

Cool Video art seqences

Just a short post today to let everyone know I'm still posting... I just found these Video art squences

http://www.glumbert.com/media/pictureday

or this on the same theme

http://www.atomfilms.com/af/content/me

and one on Love and Fear.

http://members.shaw.ca/yofrizb/

powered by performancing firefox

Likes and Dislikes

I was reading the IMDB forum for the film Amelie. One the threads there was about naming 3 slightly unusual things you like and dislike, as the film does when introducing the characters.

Mine are...

Likes
Night walks, where if the moon is full everything is coated with a silver lustre and the world looks magical or if not you can see the milky-way and thousands of stars.

Lying in bed, safe, while a storm rages.

The smell made when the first raindrop hit the ground after a dry spell.

Dislikes
The sound of Nylon fabric rubbing against itself, it sends shivers down my spine.

Things being destoryed that maybe of some use. Hence I tend to hoarde stuff.

Closed minded people who never listen to other people's points of view.

The Journey Home

This is my first attempt to write anything like this, so if its really bad, I apologise in advance. So here goes...

Staring listlessly out of the tiny window, bright lights briefly spied, towns below full of activity and bustle glide underneath and the plane travels on through the storm-wracked night-sky.

A mixture of boredom and apprehension suffuse the cabin, quiet tense conversations are heard, details lost by the drone of the engines, somewhere a joke is made and a laugh is let out, quickly stifled as if here laughing is taboo. Soon silence rules in the cabin as landing approaches. Pitch and roll, the tension increases, out of the window a road flashes by, then a field, then lights, tarmac and then earthbound.

The aircraft stops, relief rises all around as this part of the journey safely over. Leaving the aircraft the whine of engines assaults the ears, wind whips across the empty airport pulling the rain into curtains which sweeps over passenger, plane and building alike, downing the briefly felt relief. Tedium returns.

To the passport control, all queues, rules, questions and induced guilt.

Onward to the baggage hall where tired people stand around like silent hunters, guarding their territory, waiting for the prey to be spilled out onto the conveyor, and then darting up, snatching their possessions and dragging them away.

Onward out past the throng of people anxiously waiting for relatives, each in turn smiling with relief as they see their loved ones, happy words and hugs are exchanged they are reunited, separation forgotten.

Onward out into the night again as the storm worsens, out into a parking lot obstinate luggage dragged and dumped in a car. Now out on to the night time roads, the rain splintering the scene into a yellow tinged kaleidoscope. Litter swept up by the wind crosses the street like some kind of urban tumbleweed wrapping itself around lamppost and railing, along the familiar deserted streets, a left a right and finally home. Shut the storm and the world firmly out behind the door.

Prometheus’ lure.





After helping friends’ who have just moved in to a new house, the boxes used to have transport their belongings needed to be disposed of, as the bin-men now won’t actually pick up anything not in a bag and only 3 boxes fitting in a bin bag we decided to burn them ( Not exactly environmentally friendly, but at least it’s carbon neutral -- They‘re cardboard).

Once we lit it and started piling cardboard on the blaze and as the flames rose higher, looking at the flames a kind of calm descended. We got some garden chairs, a beer and sat looking at the flames.
It got me wondering why… Fire can be lethal, cause us intense pain and can destroy our property, why would something so deadly be so enthralling?
We enjoy having open fires and even have flame effect gas fires if can’t have the genuine article. We light candles to mediate or create romantic mood in a room. Think of bonfire night, the original meaning has long been lost and effect of fire on the spectators is why I think it has lasted so long.
Many religions have fire gods and some more than one.
My guess is that it’s a deep-down primal part of the human psyche from the time we were living in caves and bludgeoning mammoths to death, at that time fire kept you warm, kept away predators and allowed you to cook. I’ve searched the net for anything to back-up my theory but I couldn’t find anything ( I guess I need lessons on searching). Also this compulsion for fire can become warped in some people and they become arsonists.

Why can't we do this at the Gym.

Enjoy!

It's Work Friendly, so share!

Reasons to keep your computer virus free.

Here is a story to hopefully encourage everyone to keep there computer tidy and virus free...

After Si's computer decided to continually blue screen after having downloaded a program from Limewire and we spent several hours trying uninstall various bits of software that seemed to be causing problems but we had not managed to solve the problem. It was then decided it was a lost cause and the only option was to get a new PC. So heres a timeline on the events of trying to get a new PC to work.

09:30 Leave to drive to Portsmouth to purchase a Barebones PC

11:45 returned with a base unit and new HDD a genuine copy of XP!

12:30 Having unpacked the PC we find it has no Video Card.

12:45 Get a 2nd Hand Video Card from local computer shop

13:00 Install Windows

13:20 Windows installed but we find the CD Drive now doesn't work in normal windows mode but
does in 'Safe Mode'

13:20 --> 17:00 Various cursing, swapping of equipment, cables and connectors, installing stuff in safe mode, a bit of re-installing and loads more cursing.

Finally get a different CD-ROM Drive working in normal mode.

Microsoft's troubleshooting program is useless.

17:15 Now connect old HDD and scan for viruses to new system

17:15:01 Beer Time! while scanning

18:15 The HDD had 13 viruses on it.

10 points to anyone who can why the old computer was crippled!

I.T. Tip of the day (Virus Scan everything, Download as little as possible from suspect sources and keep the virus scanner up to date).

Blog aggregators and freeware.

There seems to be only one area where Myspace blogging has an advantage over blogspot blogging which is you are informed when a Myspace blog is updated.
The good news is a program called RSSOwl (and it's free!) is a "Blog Aggregator" this looks at the RSS feed and highlights new blog entries from all your favourite blogs which includes Myspace blogs.

Secondly in the geek themed post is a method for preventing getting viruses from dodgy limewire downloads. Which is to look for a free program the does the same job at www.sourceforge.net. This is a community of geeks for produce some first rate software for free and often have programs that do almost the same as commerical programs but without all the bits you never use, so the software normally runs a lot faster and takes up less space on your hard drive

For Office workers and members of the Rat Race....

New Environmental policy? All you need are Owl Magnets!

New Labour has tried to trial a wiki style policy document. DEFRA (Dept for Elimination of Rural Affairs) is the department that has be chosen to trial this and not surprisingly the Great British Public has taken this idea to its heart and thoroughly trashed the document. Its worth reading as some of the additions are hilarious. For example

What tools can be used to deliver the environmental contract? Spade, Organic Yoghurt Stirrer, Old washing up liquid bottle, Sticky Back Plastic.

and of course Owl Magnets

It has been so thoroughly messed around with that it's now useless for anything other than having a good laugh at, and the Administrators have gone back to 'official' version. This is still a good laugh for example from the water saving section.

What would an environmental contract for water look like?

Citizens will:

• think about water usage in their homes
• turn off taps when not using them
• have fewer baths
• use rainwater for watering garden etc
• obey restrictions on water usage in times of water stress.

that'll certainly allow ministers to talk about 'The Great Unwashed'.

I assume the idea is so the bureaucrats can enlist the public to help write policy documents and get "buy-in". But if the Dear Leader fails to listen to 2 Million people marching against the war in Iraq then Civil Servants and Politicians can hardly expect this exercise to be taken seriously.

As for the choosing DEFRA to trial this seems very odd especially as their staff don't have to time to pay farmers because they are too busy leaping naked off filing cabinates.

This just seems like another New Labour fad that Allows the government to...

• look cool by keeping up with new technologies even if they are not fit for purpose.
• claim it is listening to the people when it publishes what ever intended to in the first place.
• blame the public when the policy fails.

But expecting this to work just shows how out of touch it is with the public and technology. If it actually wanted people's input it should have instigated some kind of discussion forum. Then after extracing the sensible replies, produce a document from to be commented on, update again and so on. Basically as one would for any business document that require input from many sources.

I mean who thought this up, one document with a thousand authors?? Have they seen wikipedia? That's full of errors and omissions and the people who update that are generally support the principle of wikis!

Cool Program for fans of Philip Pullman's His Dark Materials

Neonavis.com have produced a free bit of software that simulates Lyra's Alethiometer.