Leaving the country
Looks as though I might get a holiday this year after all. No destination in mind yet, but we're bouncing ideas amongst the group (there are four of us up for it so far). Plan is to go somewhere in a couple of weeks.
Wednesday, June 30, 2004
Leaving Malborough Village Hall
I went to an alehouse I used to frequent
And I told the landlady my money was spent
Sat down to watch my nan's 40th wedding anniversary video this weekend. It was shot in September 1992, when I was but 12 years of age. Thankfully, I only appear in the video once or twice, as the cameraman was concentrating more on the laudable dancing skills of the older guests --
(and here was I thinking the Welsh were bad dancers. The Irish do themselves no favours here, up to forty people all performing the same one-step dance moves -- it's like the whole room can't decide between walking forwards and walking backwards, and guys, no ones going to arrest you if you move your arms once in a while)
-- but the point I was trying to raise, was that I was one funny-looking kid when I was 12, and I guess the reality of that's only sinking in now I can look back a dozen years. A lot scrawnier than I am now (I hadn't discovered beer yet, and thus hadn't set about building the gut), I appear to be all head. Just this massive head and an impressively bouffant hair-do with a stick of a body floating around underneath.
How this kid ever turned into the handsome specimen you all know and love is a mystery :)
Another worrying thing is that -- at 12 -- I'm already one of the
tallest people in the room.
Later . . .
Tuesday, June 29, 2004
Leaving Port
Started working on my July challenge piece for the 'orkshop last night. First time I've written about something so related to my job, which is going to be weird if any of my colleagues read it . . .
Are all your stories set in ports, Kev?
The theme of the July challenge is 'Cargo Bay Necromancers from 6195'. Yeah, no one was really sure what to make of that until someone said, 'Consider it as a verbal inkblot.'
Leaving London
King Rat by China Miéville.
I want to reaffirm my statement that China Miéville is some kind of insanely talented god. Okay, this book is nowhere near as vast in scope as Perdido Street Station or The Scar, but the language is every bit as beautiful, the writing and plot every bit as relentless, the characters every bit as sympathetic. It's also nice to see that he can write an urban fantasy with just as much skill as he writes the other. London takes on a new look, one that is dark and teeming with things unseen. The descriptions of Drum and Base music, and the associated scene, are clear enough for me, an outsider with no knowledge, to understand. Miéville translates his passion for the city and the music to the page amazingly well.
As a writer Miéville both inspires me and plunges me into deep regions of self doubt. Since reading this book I've bounced between two trains of thought: one, that all writing should be this good, and that this is something to aspire to; and two, that I should give up now, throw away my pen, because I will never write anything a quarter as good as this man. It's worrying.
Later . . .
Monday, June 28, 2004
Leaving Fusion Squared
Went Fusioneering with Tris, Tom and Big Ron again Saturday night. Tom, who last time ended the evening by slapping me round the face twice [entry, towards the end], decided that he neede to hook me up with someone and grabbed the nearest girl to hand and said 'Talk to Kev'.
Why did it have to be a brummie?
Don't get me wrong, she was a nice girl, but that accent, man . . .
Leaving the States
Scotty doesn't know that Fiona and me
Do it in my van every Sunday.
She tells him she's in church but she doesn't go
Still she's on her knees and Scotty doesn't know!
Eurotrip.
Not a bad brainless 90-minutes of fun. Some very funny moments, offset only by a few moments of dubious taste (even for a teen comedy) and some sporadic lapses in research on the part of the writers. Still an enjoyable way to kill an evening.
Good bits: Scotty Doesn't Know song ; the guy on the train; the idiot side-kick character.
Bad bits: the fact that I can't look at Michelle Trachtenberg without thinking Buffy's younger sister, and serious jailbait, and feeling guilty, even though she's eighteen years old, and shown in a sexual light (and rightly so, because she is hot); the fact that on a map of Europe, the Republic of Ireland is coloured with the Union Jack, which is just lazy research; the fact that apparently the best thing about England is 'No drinking age'--
(we have a drinking age here -- 18 -- we just try and get around it)
-- which is just lazy research; and dressing up a five-year old boy as Hitler, complete with Nazi salutes --
(I'm all in favour of taking the piss out of the Germans, but for fuck sake, it's been 60 years, surely even American scriptwriters are cleverer than that?)
-- which is both lazy comedy and tasteless as hell.
Leaving Portugal
Bit late, but I've been away from my computer since Thursday: cried like a baby.
Later . . .
Wednesday, June 23, 2004
Leaving instructions
I'm starting to post to Only Excellent more often now (or at least that's the intent), so get yourself over there. Today (or this week, or this month), it's a couple of two-second haikus.
Later . . .
Tuesday, June 22, 2004
Leaving Calla Bryn Sturgis
No writing to speak of last night, but I did watch England's final group game, and finish reading Song of Susannah (The Dark Tower VI) by Stephen King.
The match was good. Tense as hell in places, but most of the time we played quite well. Wayne Rooney consistently outclasses everyone else in a red shirt, but no complaints here as long as he's still scoring goals.
Song . . . is good. I had a few reservations about the lack of time given to Jake and the Pere, and the inclusion of the author as a character in his own work, but by the end you could see that both of these had a reason for being there, and they were both handled very well. My only real complaint with the story is with how it ended. Reassuring then, that The Dark Tower VII is to be released in September, which is only a three month wait. Hopefully then, we'll see these issues (and the whole story, in fact), wrapped up.
Leaving good sense
My thought: If you're going to wear shorts in the office, then you may as well leave the shirt and tie at home. You're not doing yourself any favours.
Later . . .
Sunday, June 20, 2004
Leaving via the first floor window
Made what I hope will be the final changes to Tymmy today. I've noticed a market that might be suitable for his little story, so I've decided to see if I can get it ready to send out before the deadline comes. Going to sit on it a couple of days, give it another read-through and see if I can't send it off.
Later . . .
Saturday, June 19, 2004
Leaving Soda
-- Do you think your housemate might be an alcoholic?
-- Which one?
Went out for Shameful's birthday last night, and as I suspected, I wasn't really up for drinking right up until I got that first pint out of the way.
Things got better after that, though :)
That girl came out :) First time I've seen her since last month, although I'm still unsure of whether she's single or not.
Scary fat chav woman tried pulling every guy in our group. Had some sober guy from work acting as my unofficial bodyguard, saving me every time the scary woman tried dancing with me or talking to me. Was a little strange.
Later . . .
Friday, June 18, 2004
Leaving early
England won their second, and rather crucial, Euro 2004 game last night. True to form they scored their first goal whilst I was up in the gents. Luckily, I didn't miss it because the pub has TV's set in the walls above the urinals.
Gotta love the Walkabout.
Drank far too much yesterday. Was in the pub by three o'clock and my ex is convinced we had eleven pints of lager. Suffering for it this morning, but it was worth every drop. I have to say I'm proud of her, most of the girls I've been out with have been serious lightweights.
My ex's friend is watching the game with us. She has huge breasts. Never has the word 'England' looked so good. Never has it been harder not to look at the word 'England'.
It's Shameful's birthday today, so I'm due to go out again
tonight. Not feeling up for it right now -- it's eleven o'clock in the morning, and I'm suffering in my office out at 'arwell -- but I'm sure I'll have got the love back by tonight. Better well have; if I start missing stuff because I'm feeling unwell then I can't really justify taking the piss out of Shameful and Gilly when they do it every week.
Thursday, June 17, 2004
Leaving my outbox
. . . and The Well's gone back out again [entry]. Quick turnaround time on this one.
Later . . .
Tuesday, June 15, 2004
Leaving the Talecrafters
I've stepped down from active participation in the Talecrafters workshop. I had planned on leaving it until July to tell them I was going to call it quits, but James emailed the group asking us to let him know if we were still in or not.
I had suspicions back in December that I wouldn't be able to make it work. I've always said that I'm not going to start workshopping my current novel until the first draft is completed, and that's not changing. I'm just not writing enough short stories to warrant staying in the group. Sure, I could continue reviewing without actually submitting anything but, selfish as it sounds, I'd be working for nothing. I want to get something out of the group if I'm going to be putting this much time in.
So, I've stepped down. I think it's a good choice, although I do intend participating in some sort of review group when I finally get the first draft finished. Just not yet. Even though I'm fairly motivated at the moment, I just don't have that much free time. Any of this free time spent reviewing, is time not writing. Take last night, frex; by the time I'd got home, gone for a run, showered, ironed shirts for work, cooked and eaten tea, and washed up, it was nine o'clock. Okay, every evening's not that bad, but it's just an example. I want to review -- and I will try and get the odd one done -- but it's pointless doing that if I'm not actually writing.
Regardless of how much reviewing can help your own skills develop, the writing's got to come first.
Leaving with my hair in a mess
Sometimes my vanity worries me. I went on a few walkdowns at work this morning that required the wearing of a hard hat, so as soon as I could after we finished I got myself to a tap and a mirror so I could sort my hair out. Damn, it's not even like there's anyone out here I would want to impress, not like it matters if I don't look my best when I'm surrounded by fifty-year old engineers and nuclear industry management, but no, I had to get rid of the hard-hat 'fro.
Later . . .
Monday, June 14, 2004
Leaving Erith
The Lady of the Sorrows (The Bitterbynde, 2) by Cecilia Dart-Thornton.
If possible, even better than the first one [entry, (although, I can't believe I waited a year and a half to read it)]. Cecilia's language is as rich and deep as before, but despite the long passages of description the writing is so good that you hardly even notice. Imrhein/Rohain/whatever-name-she's-going-by-this-chapter, is a sympathetic character, and you really feel for her as she starts to get back what was lost from her. You also feel her guilt as destruction is brought down on those around her for a reason that she doesn't know or understand. The ending is nicely worked, and you look back on what came before feeling very satisfied. Like Imrhein, we now have some answers, and nothing about them feels like a cheat or a weak effort. Definitely recommended.
That thing with the names is my only real sticking point about this book. She's known by about half-a-dozen by now, and as soon as a new one comes along it gets used pretty much exclusively. After getting to know her as Imrhein, these new names irritated me a little.
Later . . .
Leaving Salcombe
Notes from my weekend home:
-- 12 06 2004
The intention was there, so even though the sun wasn't yet out, I headed into Salcs. Today is the Rig Regatta, so Cliff House Gardens (and town for that matter) is full of rower-types. A good few of them are attractive.
I have my sun-glasses on, so the few people I recognise don't actually recognise me. Bizarrely, the one person who does is Joe, Salcombe's embarrassing bad penny. We talk briefly; I've never had much to say to him, and I find that hasn't much changed in the two years since I last saw him float into harbour.
I sit in the Garden and watch the rowing a while.
The intention is there, and eventually the Sun comes out.
-- 12 06 2004
It takes my dad and my step-mother two hours to ask if I've started wearing contacts. My Nan doesn't even notice.
-- 13 06 2004
I'm on the train. It's a beautiful day -- blue sky, hot -- and I'm spending the best part of it on the train.
The guy behind me has just got stuck on the train seeing his dear old mother off, and now faces an hour-long detour to Exeter. He's doing well keeping the tone of his voice light, but one look at his face tells me he is pissed. There's going to be some shouting when he finally gets off the train.
-- 13 06 2004
Went Fusioneering last night with Tris, Big Ron, Tom, and Uffy. No one mentions the fact that I'm not wearing glasses.
The club contains an unusually high number of women, and they're more attractive than I'd come to expect. No joy, although I do have a bit of fun egging Tom on in his conquest. I remember singing Sexual Healing with altered lyrics at him, but that's about it. I've had that song in my head all weekend.
Thursday, June 10, 2004
Leaving Swindon
Am heading back to the Sticks this weekend, so going to be away from this thing until Monday. Summer's finally here, so I figured I'd go back and annoy my parents and sit in the sun for a couple of days. Want to get back a lot more than I did last Summer, because, really, a sunny weekend in Salcs and a sunny weekend in Swin don't compare.
Beer garden with scantily clad and attractive young ladies, or high street with scantily clad but overweight chav women. Tough call.
Leaving alive
Your comic relief saved you. You were probably
the hero's best friend and messed up a lot, but
helped him in some major way, believing in
yourself, near the end. As the sympathetic
character, you live.
How fast would you die in a cheesy zombie flick?
brought to you by Quizilla
Leaving the Reactor Core
I'm so bored at work at the moment. Half of my week is spent doing design work (which I enjoy, and is what I signed up for), but the other half is spent reading forty year old descriptive manuals. Wednesday to Friday go so slowly, it's like time has no meaning here.
Later . . .
Wednesday, June 09, 2004
Leaving work behind
Book deliveries from Amazon this morning: The Chronicles of Thomas Covenant, the Unbeliever by Stephen Donaldson; Wolf in Shadow by David Gemmell; Guilty Pleasures by Laurell K Hamilton; Harry Potter and the Philosopher's Stone by J.K. Rowling (Yes, I decided to give Harry Potter a chance) . . .
. . . and The Dark Tower VI: Song of Susannah by Stephen King.
Yay! Dark Tower book!
Say goodbye to any hope of getting writing done for the next month or so :)
Monday, June 07, 2004
Leaving the Walkabout Inn
Friday night almost doesn't get off the ground, as Shameful and Gilly come home complaining that they're too tired to go out on the piss-up they've been talking up all week. I hunt down Demise and my ex and tag along with them. We go to the Walkabout Inn in Swin (it's where you always end up when you go out with these two). I don't mind; it's been at least a week since I've been there. The women are fine and some more mates turn up later on.
Leaving Lydiard Park
Saturday's fine, so about ten of us have a barbecue again. Mid-evening, when I've eaten plenty, my ex and I head into town. We go to the Walkabout Inn in Swin. I mind a little more than usual; it's been only 21hours since I've been there. The women are old -- Saturday night is D&D night, it seems -- and I know no one else there.
Leaving the Academy
What are you sad about?
Every day you make the sun come out.
A tip: if you want to see the band, don't stand behind me. I'm taller than you. My head is not going to suddenly become transparent when the band come on stage. Trust me on this, I've been taller than you for twenty-four and a half years, and I've never been transparent.
Despite my resolution to attend more live music this year, yesterday marked my first gig of 2004. My ex and I watched The Charlatans at the Bristol Academy.
(and yes, I realise that I've spent pretty much all weekend with her)
The support act say they are Engineers, but I don't believe them. Sure, they do a fairly good job of boring me, and they're an unattractive bunch, but there are not nearly enough checked shirts in evidence, and at no point do they talk about reinforced concrete or risk analysis. The small stage at the Academy is crowded with all of the Charlatans' equipment, and it looks like Engineers are playing out of the back of a removal van. I'm fairly sure the drummer is actually playing from the disabled toilet at the rear of the building.
The Charlatans are better. Plenty of songs I recognise, which is helpful, because I don't own any of their albums. My ex touches Tim Burgess' hand (and she's since told everybody about it). I think taping a carrier bag around your hand is a little extreme, but there you go, she's quite the little fan girl.
I'm unable to understand the significance she attaches to merely touching a pop star. I can envisage getting excited if your idol actually shook your hand or had a conversation with you, but being one of dozens of people who reached out and grabbed him when he walked around at the barriers during the show? I don't get it.
Leaving Mayhew
It's only blood, little brother.
Only blood.
I've just finished reading Preludes and Nocturnes, the first collection of Neil Gaiman's Sandman comics. My impressions are mixed; a couple of stories I loved, a couple I thought were okay, and a couple I didn't think too much of (although I'm aware of the purpose they solve in the greater story).
(and yes, I'm aware that there are eight stories, and that that doesn't add up to eight)
Imperfect Hosts is one of my favourites (the ending actually brought a lump to my throat), and A Hope in Hell is pretty good as well. Absolutely loved the depiction of hell in this story. The Sound of her Wings is a nice epilogue. On the other side, I felt 24 Hours had some nice horrific touches but was ultimately unfulfilling, and that Sound and Fury was weak.
Leaving Sweden
Got a couple of CDs delivered: Soundtrack to your Escape by In Flames and Deliverence by Opeth (which I've been looking for for a while now). Managed to get about 30% off the price I would have paid in the high street, which is pretty cool when all the music I like costs at least £16/CD.
Getting my death metal head back on.
Thursday, June 03, 2004
Wednesday, June 02, 2004
Leaving West Bay
We went on an last-minute visit to a colleague's site in Bridport, Dorset this morning.
My first mistake: wearing the shirt that darkens so quickly when I sweat, when we were walking around a beach all afternoon. My second mistake: managing to lose a high-visibility vest. My third mistake: not taking something to read; that's a boring drive when all you have to listen to is Radio Five Live.
I learn that Audi's have no head room in the rear passenger seats, nor enough leg room to properly slouch.
I learn that opening the sun roof and winding all the windows up doesn't work unless you're doing about 70mph.
I learn that West Bay is the same as many other holiday towns on the southwest coast, complete with shitehawks, chip and fish shops, overpriced cafe's, and elderly tourists.
I learn not to order a ham sandwich from the Beach Cafe in West Bay.
Tuesday, June 01, 2004
Leaving the back garden
It's official: the neighbourhood has a rat.
My housemates have both had rat-sitings this past week, but I didn't really believe them until this evening our next-door neighbour said that he too had spotted ratty, and was laying down poison.
I'm dead against it; that rat's the closest we've been to having a pet since I've been here.
Later . . .
