Bck

Typing on keybord without n ' ' symbol. h tht dosn't work so well. It's the first letter of the lphbet nd the word lphbet.

A Time to Fight

A delineation must be drawn: A line that cannot be crossed. Like a cheap Hadron Collider bought for an 'easy on the pocketbook' fee from a now defunct Eastern Block state The Dustman and his Buci Neri must be stopped.

He lies. He lives a lie. His words are a lie.

This could be the end for humanity - and several other breeds of primate.

Join now.

State your superhero and his/her power and please God if Dustpan Man is out there get in touch....

Superhero

If you were a superhero what special power would you have?

I'd be able to speak every language in the world.

What would you call yourself?

Linguaman.

It's Been a Pig of a Time

Sorry I've not written for a while. Swine Flu. Hands like trotters. Impossible to type.

Has it gone pandemic yet?

There Have Been Complaints

There have been complaints about the erratic nature of my blogging. At first I thought this may be topic related, (due concerns noted about, 'In the Blink of a Salamander's Eye') however it would appear that the main thrust of the complaints are simply the frequency, or lack thereof, of entries. NP your complaints have been noted and sent to the inappropriate authorities. Unless the Time Council vote to increase the length of a day to 25 hrs additional blogging on my part seems unlikely. However please feel free to browse the links below while you wait. The Doctor will be with you shortly.

The story of a man who lives with a chimp. Real or imagined it's hauntingly strange. Brokebackmonkey

The Old Bailey in London, England have put their criminal records online. They cover the years 1674 - 1913. Why not while away a few hours marveling at the crimes committed by Great Aunt Mord in here criminal heyday of yesteryear.
Auntmordthemurderess

A Rose By Any Other Name

I have a friend whose grandmother calls him Keith. Which is odd as his name is Niall.

The Blink of a Salamander's Eye

Sometimes when I can't sleep I imagine myself in a spacecraft. At first I take tentative steps: a short hop to the moon to test the controls, a brush with the Red Planet; skimming its atmosphere and marvelling at its untouched surface. Later, once I am confident in the craft, I go further. It has the capacity to bend space, allowing me to travel great distances in the blink of a salamander's eye. Space in its vastness is inexplorable and it is this overwhelming feeling of smallness that is no doubt responsible for me falling asleep, crushed under the duvet, by the greatness of it all.

There is something else though. As I sit in the seat of the spacecraft a black unknown exists behind me in the bowels of the ship. An unknowable presence of something long forgotten, unlearnt or never known. Something that troubles me; something I must ignore because going forward is too important, too vital, and all we can ever do.

My Name is

Nathan.

(My step-father-in-law calls me Norman.)

My Wife has a Name

My wife's name is Francesca.

Karaoke Fever

Does anyone else have a karaoke fantasy?

A smokey bar in NYC's Village. A brutish man with a wailing voice is dissecting Neil Diamond's Cracklin' Rosie with scalpel precision. For reasons unknown to the sober the whole bar is drinking Soco and lime in unisoned memory suspension. The bestial man finishes the slaughter of the innocents, and his place is taken on the low-slung stage by a young woman who gives a passable performance of Alannah Myles's Black Velvet, if you please.

You draw the smokey air down into your heavy lungs as you leaf through the tattered karaoke menu. Page after page of Elvis, Beatles, and Britney present themselves like whales in a barrel, but you want something more and you'd like to help yourself - so you settle for The Smiths What Difference Does it Make - Marr's obsessive, rakish guitar line cutting through the NYC evening like a Siren song. Languid, yet poised, you nonchalantly survey the room, balancing your weight on one hip, before proclaiming, "All men have secrets and here is mine, so let it be known," your eyes flashing the dangerous desire of a fully loaded popstar. A little whip of the mic cable banishes the DJ back to his corner to watch in awe as you mesmerise the assembled throng into an anticipatory lather before releasing them with a hip grinding, "But I'm still fond of you, oh oh, oooooohhhhh,".

And pity the fool who tries to follow you with My Way....

You only have yourself to blame.

Today I have a pernicious hangover. The type you can only obtain by drinking cheap continental lager served in an over sized glass shaped like a vase. The trick however, with a hangover, is to embrace it as part of the drinking experience. You can no more rid yourself of a hangover than you could rid yourself, the night before, of the gentle spinning of your inebriated world.

One of the great pleasures of life is enjoying a drink in bright intelligent company. Another is having sex with it.

Tonight I have an urge to make my wife sit through some more episodes of Lovejoy. She will however have to go and buy the DVDs. Is that cheeky? I hope so.

As promised

Cloverfield. All the elements of a disaster movie meets Japanese Monster Flick. Perhaps it was ultimately over complicated by being shot on a hand held camera. It certainly made me feel sick. I'm feeling for the editor - maybe that should be editors as I imagine they got through a few. Still at least the monster ate the 90210 cast. Go monster, go!

My wife read my Blog and said she doesn't understand it. I think she meant she doesn't understand Blogs in general, as in, what's the point geek boy? Haven't you got better things to do? Urm...yes I do. So bye for now avid reader of tripe.

Monday has rights too you know

Steven Patrick Morrissey is back amongst us today. A welcome return of the Pope of all things interesting in Pop. May his Poptifical excellence shine down and shame the painful into silence.

A sample of text messages from my phone:

You have missed a call: this person/number called at 17:41 on the 14/02 but left no message.

Diolch yn fawr.

Your blog makes me sad. Can you please put some pictures on it? Alienspouse.com has got pictures of cakes.

I think they all make valid points. It is true that Alienspouse.com does score more highly over my pictureless page, so "diolch yn fawr" NP for your suggestion, and thank you Mook for teaching me the formal 'thank you' in Welsh and thank you FP for calling.

I may seek to address the picture problem. I may not.

This time it's for real

After the success of my 'test blog' I have decided to continue in earnest. No more shilly shallying for me. Oh no. This time it's for real. Rather like I told my wife last night.

My good lady wife and I spent Valentine's Night watching two episodes of the 80's classic Lovejoy. Secretly I think she quite likes his roguish charm. Although it may not be so secret as she said, "I like his roguish charm," last night as we watched him flirt endlessly with anyone of the female persuasion. Perhaps he reminds her of me. That is sans mullet of course.

The joy of Lovejoy is its simple wonderfulness. Its joyous embrace of its own naffness and the holes in the plot line that you could drive a clapped out Morris through. Crass characterisation mixed with the odd line of brilliance.

Death and Venice sees the eponymous hero head for Italy on the trail of a shady organisation intent on well... stealing Venice. Preposterous but so silly as to be the best TV I've watched since 1986. Essex actors with dark hair and cod Italian accents - oh joy Meester Loovejoy! The only real Italian actor had a Neapolitan brogue. Bearing in mind that this is 1986 it's clear with only a passing knowledge of Italian history that the chances of a Venetian employing a Neapolitan in Venice is as likely as a Lovejoy and Lady Jane getting it on in a down and dirty sort of way. Venetians are notoriously... well let's just say that the island mentality is not uniquely British.

After all that excitement we needed a little light sedative so we popped in the DVD of Debby does Dallas - no not really - we popped in the DVD of Cloverfield. Mostly it was just to see how it was shot. That'll be handycam all the way then. We only watched the first few minutes - it was Valentine's Night and bed time - for tonight we'll finish it but here are a few thoughts:

1. It has a bigger budget than I expected - had I foreseen another Blair Witch? Was that lazy handycam referencing on my part? Yes to both.

2. The opening is like a bad episode of Beverly Hills 90210 (the original).

3. Whatever is eating the people of NYC will it please hurry up and chow down on the main characters as they are a torturous bunch of cretins.

4. I like the idea of a disaster movie shot on a camcorder.

More thoughts sometime in the future... and I still don't know what Html is...

First Time

Well I have to say, "It hasn't hurt and there seems a limited chance of catching anything".

To anybody who finds this Blog - it's a test thing. You know, a first time try. A fumble down the pants of the Internet, a coquettish glance at Cyberspace and her sister Networking. A hopeful "I fancy you."

Next I'll try Html - once I know what it is.

So long,

Nathan