That's The Way To Do It.

Mad Men Yourself

Like so.




The charming fellows were even kind enough to provide a date.

Spirit Tracks.

Zelda seems to have popped her clogs.

Possible Roger Rabbit II.

Please, please, please, please, please, please, please...

X-Rated Disney.

Well, not quite, but a bit raunchy. And palpably not actually by Disney.

I don't mind admitting I had a couple of crushes on Disney guys when I was a kid, notably Prince's Philip (Sleeping Beauty) and Eric (The Little Mermaid) respectively. Filthy minded beast I was I still never pictured them quite like this...

Jam Talks About U2.

And his good friend Bongo.

The Thick Of It.

Looking good...

Well... I'm done!

My dissertation is finished, handed it in last week, can be seen here if anybody's actually interested.

Bit of a mixed time otherwise though, the past weeks have included Ian's funerals, and finding out I'm likely to loose my job next month (and then more recently finding out I may not be). On the other hand I did climb a mountain.

I climbed Helvellyn as part of Jamie's stag do, which was a bit of a surprise since as far as I was concerned we were going for a high altitude walk before the drinking commenced. Lovely surprise to find myself climbing a mountain, two hours in to a six hour hike. A perfect time to find I have a problem with heights.

Still, I've been able to catch up on all the other stuff in the past few days, happily the new Terry Pratchett and Bernard Cornwell books both came out pretty much on the day I handed the accursed thing in. Read Unseen Academicals in a weekend, The Burning Land shall soon follow.

Had my proper celebration the weekend just gone, been in London to see Andy's new play and now I'm desperately in need of sleep. because tomorrow all those fun things like learning driving theory, applying for jobs, and finding out where I've left my bloody glasses can begin. Though, and I'm looking forward to this a bit more, I'm also going to start work on the second draft of my book.

Went for a walk.

One of the benefit's of living out in Wylam has been the decent walks immediately on hand, a benefit which goes tits up the minute the evenings (and soon enough late afternoons) get dark. Moreso right now because all of the surrounding fields have been ploughed up. Went out briefly tonight, had a wonder through some woods, got the shit scared our of me several times by some birds, scratched my hand, got stung by nettles, muddied my shoes, nearly hung myself on a weird bundle of metal wire in thicket, and almost ripped my coat climbing a barbed wire fence. Marvellous really.

I then found myself in a field, right next to my house, and because I'd never actually been in it before (which is weird, now I'm thinking about it) I didn't realise it was my house at first. Got the crap scared out of me (again) by a couple of deer, who jumped out of the long grass and pelted away, little orange buggers. Then I turned around, realised it was suddenly quite dark and I had about quarter of an hour until it went all "don't go out on the moors".

Took the opportunity to listen to some of the Silmarillion whilst wondering, lets just say it works better as an audiobook. The levels of incomprehensibility are somewhat reduced by Martin Shaw's narration, and walking in woods similar to those I imagine Tolkien composed much of his mythology in does help. There was a very peculiar moon this evening as well, which was nice, it looked like one you get in the prettier anime films. I tried to take a picture but it didn't come out well.

Thought for the day: fuck, the Beatles did all that in eight year?

A diet drink I would consider.

Things.

Good news: Stephen Fry, it seems, has finished a book, which is always something to look forward to. The Hippopotamus is still his best, but for how long?

Bad news: Keith Waterhouse, aka the man who gave us the Association for the Annihilation of the Aberrant Apostrophe (not to mention Billy Liar), has died.

Envious news: Neil Gaiman has let some internet types photograph his basement library, and quite unfeasibly huge it is too. Smaller but sexier is his second library (in the same house), where he keeps his reference books. Wow.

Petition for a posthumous apology to Alan Turing.

Worth a look, really. Seeing as the poor man, who should be a national hero, was chemically castrated as the only alternative to prison.

From the petition.

Alan Turing was the greatest computer scientist ever born in Britain. He laid the foundations of computing, helped break the Nazi Enigma code and told us how to tell whether a machine could think.

He was also gay. He was prosecuted for being gay, chemically castrated as a 'cure', and took his own life, aged 41.

The British Government should apologize to Alan Turing for his treatment and recognize that his work created much of the world we live in and saved us from Nazi Germany. And an apology would recognize the tragic consequences of prejudice that ended this man's life and career.

Shaw quote.

"The power of accurate observation is commonly called cynicism by those who have not got it." George Bernard Shaw

One to memorise I think.

The Owl Service.

A chance discovery of the full series on DVD at Newcastle Central Library has got me hooked on The Owl Service, an adaption of Alan Garner's book of the same name.

I brought it home (as I often do with these series) in the hopes that it might turn out to be that bloody series I vaguely remember from being a kid with the golder masks and the waterfalls, but it hasn't.

Still, even taking the late sixties production into account (actually, that helps with the atmosphere if I'm honest, makes it look a little bit Wicker Man) it's very very good, which I should have expected considering it's by Garner. A mixed cast*, but interestingly filmed, and with some beautiful ideas. I think the book is definitely worth a look.

*Michael Holden, the Welsh boy who plays Rhys (on the left in the below picture), in particular impresses. I tried looking him up, expecting to have seen him do at least moderately well, only to find he died eight years after in rather unpleasant circumstances.

Can you do...

...my little film quiz?

(Made during breaks in reading through horrid notes on horrid industrial documents.)

Facewhoops.

If you don't see enough of this sort of thing on your own PC, then lamebook.com should be on your favourites list.

And it's all real too.

Et In Arcadia Ego.

Have been in London this weekend, very much enjoyed myself too. Much drinking, consumption of caffeine, seeing of friends and of course, plays. Good birthday fun all the way.

First we saw The Libertine (at Clapham's Landor Theatre, which is really a pub with a spare attic), a play I've never been awfully keen on (though that's largely thanks to my memories of the particularly shoddy film) but found myself very much enjoying for more reasons than my friend was in it (Graeme Thompson). Had to repress a fit of the giggles at the start when Graeme (playing the lead) came onto stage, his wig and costume making him look a little like Annie Lennox circa 1992, but otherwise very much enjoyed it. A decent cast and (thankfully, considering the budget) minimalist set put a lot of energy into a play which really needs it.

Most excitement was reserved for the much recommended production of Arcadia, at the Duke of York Theatre. Now Arcadia is my favourite play, ever. It has a combination of intelligence, humour and drama I've never seen matched. And Septimus Hodge is the foremost of my literary (I say literary, because I've only had the opportunity to read it up to now) boy crushes.

So a fair bit to live up to then. But it does, spectacularly (and tragically). I've no real desire to go into review mode about it but it's good. I already knew Samantha Bond and Neil Pearson would be good, but they weren't alone, Dan Stevens and Ed Stoppard in particular deserve to have spectacular careers. Believe me, Stoppard's casting has to be more than nepotism, he was the best thing in it for my money, he practically made Valentine the star of the show.

God bless Lemony Snickett.

And Stephen Merritt of course.

You know what it is.

Orson Scott Card is really starting to get on my tits.

Michael's Africa photos.

Well, my brothers back, and he's brought me a genuine Masai shield and lion club (used), which have become possibly my favourite things ever. His photos are up now.

Album 1.


Album 2.

A new favourite website, maybe.

Possibly it’s appeal won’t last but how brilliant is bestoldgames.net? With some lovely freeware downloading and a link to the equally ace DOSbox it’s allowing access to some gems, for free, that you may otherwise not have the opportunity to experience.

Another World is the current 32-bit classic of choice, but a quick browse of the site also proffers such delights as Lemmings, Dune, Gods, The Chaos Engine, Indiana Jones and the Last Crusade, Titus the Fox, Alone in the Dark*, Duck Tails and Discworld. Truly a Pandora’s box of wicked temptation



This is one of those developments, alongside the ever glorious ScummVM (allowing us access to the older works of Lucasarts and Revolution among others) that make the internet (and the world) a little bit of a better place. Speaking of which, can I make a miniature plea right now that Revolution’s update of Beneath A Steel Sky might be Nintendo bound. Be a nice little addition for the DS this...



And for a final touch of very exciting news, Studio Ghibli is working on a DS game called, Ninokuni: The Another World...



*Seriously, Infogrammes were ace, am still pissed off that they changed their name to Atari.

Fairy tale chainsaw action.

My finishing the dissertation reward was going to be the Broken Sword Director's Cut, but then I saw this...

Harlan Ellison.

Absolute legend.

Fancy a game show?

Atheists beware, the TV is trying to make you religious.

Could be good, personally I'd be more tempted to convert to a religion if I were allowed to create my own one.

A Fantasy Addict.

A nice little article on Guardian books blog about being a fantasy addict, the comments already have some decent reccomendations.

Am a bit curiouis about Guardian Books' many articles on fantasy, they always seem to be on why it's ok to be a fantasy fan or how fantasy is growing in popularity, and rarely much on fantasy itself.

New photos from recentish times.

Been busy, and often had no internet, so anyways...

Some randoms from Newcastle and Wylam.



Yeti's stag do in Liverpool.



And of course the Hay Festival.

Cheery Father's Day gift.

Good call, WH Smith.

An open letter from The British Royal Legion

...to the BNP.

Lovely.

British Library

Much excitement just now when I heard an (admittedly brief) news clip on Radio 5 about the British Library, who have placed the contents of 49 newspapers (national and local) dating from 1800 to 1900 online.

Very nice idea, sadly when I looked at the site it's not free, and a little too pricey for casual browsing. Still, who wouldn't want to read the Illustrated Police News, the Chartist Circula, the Hull Packet, the Odd Felow or the Trewman's Exeter Flying Post?

Andromeda.

In three billion years our galaxy is expected to collide with the Andromeda galaxy. And while this may be unfortunate to anybody living inside either galaxy at the time, it will apparantly be rather pretty.

Hot, sexy book action.

Sexy, very very sexy.

We didn't burn him.

Only just found out about Psychoville, but it does look rather good.

Makes me remember just how good the League of Gentlemen was in it's first two series (before things went steadily downhill with Series 3 and the film).

Zelda Wii.

Far more exciting than the dubious looking Spirit Tracks is this poster which has snuck online for Zelda's first proper Wii appearance (as in not a port or a mini games compilation - speaking of which, is a Wind Waker port really asking too much?).

There's very few video games I'd anticipate any more, but Zelda Wii? Hell yeah.

I'm happy to say I'm a 'Grazer'.

This article on types of customers that lurk in bookstores is rather funny, it makes American bookstores sound a little different to their British cousins however.

Free wi-fi and study areas? A cafe? We don't get that with Waterstones.

(Although we do with the very sexy new Central Library, which I have fallen very much in love with.)

“But that’s like calling Utopia a utopia... “

Splendidly withering response from Ursula K. Le Guin regarding Robert Weil's rather curious definition of Science Fiction.

And for the record, 1984 is very definitely SF.

Amanda Palmer.

I very much heart this song, what a voice (mint video too, whatever those weirdoes at her label might think). How quite disgustingly talented.

Lucky cow's dating Neil Gaiman too.

Sigh, so jealous.

One North East

certainly have a high opinion of themselves.



Absolutely astonishing.

"Greasy haired twat."

Gotta love those Lib Dems.

HP In the City.

Stag party.

Just got back, was surprisingly good. Liverpool is a an exceptionally metreosexual city, which was somewhat against my expectations. Some memory holes from last night but not many.

Bed now, need sleep, have work tomorrow and really wish I didn't.

Close House, little bit of bother.

Seems work has been cancelled, for now at least, looks like someone didn't get the correct planning permission...

Elijah Wood dances.

The sexy little minx.

Yo Gabba Gabba (elijah wood)


I've just returned from the hay Festival and am plum-knackered, but have had a wonderful time. And fallen a little bit more in love with Alan Bennett.

Hi ho. Hi ho.

It's off to Hay I go.

Finally!

Oh yes please...

I'm currently listening to the audiobook of The Graveyard Book when I go for walks (as I am about to do) and mow the lawn (as I have recently done).

But I wouldn't be saying no to the live version.

The Complete Smiley

Rather excitingly, Radio 4 is dramatising all eight of John le Carre's George Smiley books (though, in fairness, one or two of them are really other character's books with a guest appearance from the toad who dresses like a bookie).

Call For The Dead has already been broadcast today (though thanks to the ever wonderful iPlayer it can still be listened to here) with the following adaptions coming over the next month or two.

More information here.

Words of love, stamps of myth and Swedish boys in the nip.

You dance with the grace of a goat, my love,
And you sing soft like a cow on the mountains.

Truly words of poetic genius, God bless you DWJ.

If you click here, you can buy the sexy stamp and stories collection by Dave McKean and Neil Gaiman. And very lovely they are too.



Finally, this both makes me want to watch Britain's Got Talent as well as live in Sweedon. I'll not be doing either any time soon of course, but the thought was there.

Something about 'Nuclear Wessels'.

Gosh, it's been a couple of weeks since I posted. Bad boy.

I'm keeping low and quiet right now, very much looking forward to the Hay Festival, and nursing the delicious new crush that has emerged from the latest Star Trek movie.



Don't you just want to stroke him? And that access is just the cutest.

Weirdly I haven't been to see Coraline yet, which is actually quite surprising considering how much I was (am) looking forward to it. Maybe tomorrow.

I have seen Maximo Park at the Academy however, which was very enjoyable, though sadly the new tracks aren't exactly wonderful live (enjoying the album mind). The new ones - for all that there's a very upbeat element to them - pretty much drained the atmosphere from the room. I also saw Ross Noble the other week, also enjoyable, but people who clap instead of laughing should be shot by the authorities.

I am also now officially addicted to Diana Wynne Jones books.

Where black people and white people buy furniture.

Bizarre Commercial - Red House Furniture
Uploaded by rhettandlink

JG Ballard.

Has died.

Which is pretty awful news really.

Annie Lennox sings Simon and Garfunkel.

As will surprise absolutely nobody I know, I like this.

And it's not a song I'm that keen on normally.

Hey, hey, I saved a bird today.

Well, the other day actually but still.

Some fucker stood on the poor little thing (or maybe just kicked it) right out the front of the Civic Centre. Rescued him and took him up to the office (he was terrified, poor little bastard, so he shit himself on my jumper) then got out of work early to take him to the vet.

Turns out if you find an injured animal, you can ring the RSPCA they give you a code and they pay any vet you take the animal too to sort them out. Which is what I did, and they're taking it to a sanctuary in Whitley Bay (I shit thee not).

I got to name him, so of course he is now christened Godzilla. Not that I even know he is a he, but that is now his/her name.

I have a pic, I'll get it up at some point, but I'll say this now. He's an ugly little fucker like.

Almighty Monkey

My old Japanese teacher Kaoru Shimada has a shiny new website. He's a cracking artist, have a glance.

He did the picture below for me for a Halloween gig I organised, very good it is too.

Spirit Tracks.

Looks like I missed this at some point, first impression was that this was an April Fool still lingering on the net but it would seem not.

Trains...

Trains...

Eh?

Whitby.

Had a rather enjoyable day out with Messrs. Thompson, Bailes and Webb. Was very good fun too. We had fish and chips, had some drinks, saw the sights, pointed at the bits that were in Dracula and said "oooooh". You know the score.

As ever, photos on Facebook...

A bit of a catch up.

How lovely. Amazon have turned nasty and started blacklisting homosexual content, and despite claiming only adult material is affected, this would appear not to be the case (and not actually affecting heterosexual adult material).



David Starkey has done a grand job of reminding me why I think he's such a tool.



The new episode of Dr Who was tops, very much so in fact. More than made up for such a substandard Christmas Special. If only Lee Evans wasn't in it...



On the other hand Dave's somewhat misguided resurrection of Red Dwarf is pretty abysmal. And where the smeg is Holly? Either one of them would have done.



I went to see Jackson Browne last week, he was rather good, but ruined it by being so indulgent (knock the five minute instrumentals on the head, learn to understand that while people will tolerate a bit of your new stuff it isn't what they want to hear, and don't talk for so long when you've got so little of interest to actually say - then maybe you can justify £40 a head hot stuff).



I also recently saw A Woman of No Importance's one night reunion, great stuff, but they got Blackflowered. I bought Blackflower's CD that night as a matter of fact, I've had a demo since I interviewed them, God knows why I waited so long. Have a listen, it's simply beautiful. Or just buy it, you won't be disappointed.



I'm nearly finished Battlestar Galactica, despite the occasional hints of certain of the stupider plots (Gaius as Jesus, give me a break) it's cracking stuff.



Went to see The Boat That Rocked recently, hardly astonishing but I liked it more than I had thought I would. Little curious about the ongoing absence of black characters (and you can't claim realism reasons, because this is clearly Richard Curtis's fantasy of the pirate radio ship) not to mention the way women are portrayed. And the scene where what is essentially attempted rape is played for laughs as something men do? Seriously not on.

Mind, it did have one or two redeeming features, there was the excellent soundtrack, and of course...



I've been reading a few more Alan Bennett short stories since An Uncommon Reader, the first time I've really dallied with his fiction, and they're wonderful. Absolutely wonderful.



Most importantly notes for my second draft of Firebird & Nightingale are now done, just got to get typing now. I may even but up the introduction and first chapter on here once I'm done...

Wedding Plans.

Wedding Plans, originally uploaded by Non Blonde John.

Dani & James in Pateley Bridge as we make preparations for their wedding (at which I was a witness, thank you very much).

Watchmen series.

Oh if only this were really, and not a twisted (and thus highly amusing) joke.

The Secret of Moonacre.

Or The Lion, The Witch and The Unicorn as the poster seems to have it.

Poor Tim Curry, he used to have such a promising career.

Travel Map.

Not quite sure why I bothered with this, even updated it makes me feel like I've hardly been anywhere. Which I suppose is technically correct but still...

See the big one here.

My holiday is over.

Well, I think we can finally say my Africa mourning should come to an end, it has been a week. There’s a smattering of my better photos across the blog and should you really be interested in my scribblings I’ve got links to all the posts below. I’ve also included the videos I took of course (Chimp Smash!), and the bulk of my photos are now on Facebook (and I’ve included links to all eight frigging albums below). The experience always fades depressingly quickly, it’s irritatingly easy to get mired back into general life. Work’s not been too bad, though sleeping has been weirdly difficult. I think I’m now reacclimatised however.

This has probably been the favourite holiday I’ve taken, everything just seemed to work for once. It’s also a snook in the eye (is that a real phrase or have I imagined it?) for people who proclaim themselves to be ‘off the beaten track’ types. I noticed before I went that a number of such people questioned why I was going, which seems odd. But I suppose it isn’t that odd, because what such people tend to want is places well supplied for the backpacking tourist; well run ruins/temples, plenty of guesthouses/hotels, eateries that sell local and western food, and a population used to dealing with tourists who only speak English. We all do really, whatever we say. All of this is available here of course, though not in huge amounts, and it’s quite easy to avoid (but more importantly easy to find when needed - this was a holiday after all).

Most people I spoke to didn’t understand why I would want to go to Sierra Leone for that matter (main reason being that it’s A: Africa and B: where Michael is), not helped by the fact that many just seemed to take their immediate prejudices of parts of Africa with recent conflicts and apply them with little actual knowledge. Some such prejudices are of course true, but not all, or indeed that many to be perfectly honest. In a lot of ways people are happy, their problems are mostly long term and which doesn’t really affect day to day lives or their reception of foreigners at this point in time. The most dangerous thing I encountered was hippos and a lack of seatbelts.

The country’s problems are hardly over, Michael thinks there may well be another war at some point, and I agree. Not that it matters if I agree or not because frankly he knew more about it than pretty much any other of the volunteers I met when out there, as evidenced by his excellent Krio which pretty much pissed on most other westerner’s attempts.


Lots and lots of photos.

The first of many.

The second batch.

Lot three.

The quartet (or, in DVD language, The Quadrology).

Fifth lot (and we're still not done...)

Group six.

Septimus.

Eight and done!

The stuff what I wrote.

First few days in Freetown.
Being an introduction to this glorious epic.

Makeni.
Being an overly football focused account of the one time rebel lair of fair Sierra Leone.

Outamba.
Being an astonishing tale of hippos and scrabble.

Bambuna.
Being a nail-biting account of a swim in dangerous waters.

Kabala.
Being an expedition to the dusty outback and its fine sellers of goat meat.

Hill.
Being an account of a most perilous climb and much scaling of rocks.

A lazy day of pig and pool.
Being a break in the journey and a thrilling chase by rabid hounds.

A trip to Bunce Island.
Being a sombre story of slavery and industrial decline.

Trouble in Freetown.
Being a terrifying account of gunfire and rioting in fair Sierra Leone's capital.

Lobster at Lacca.
Being a nihilistic time on the sand, featuring the consumption of many fish.

Tacugama and home.
Being a comic yet melancholy tale of chimpanzees and our hero's return.


Video clip goodness.

These should be uploaded, but frankly they aren't. Tomorrow. Maybe.

The Wire is the exception, not the norm.

So I’ve started The Wire, as mentioned below, and I don’t really get why people keep on telling me you need to watch for a while in order to ‘get into it’. Seems pretty much excellent from the word go. It pretty much wipes the floor with most recent British drama, as Dominic West has been very keen to point out, but he’s kind of missing the point a bit.

American TV is not hundreds of shows this quality, American TV produces possibly an even higher proportion of drivel than UK TV (and UK TV produces a lot of drivel). We just get the highlights, and so stare enviously across the Atlantic, wishing we had what they had. Further to the point The Wire isn’t even a current show, it’s been finished for a year now, and is a past glory as a result. The only currently running American drama that holds a candle to it, at least off the top of my head, is Mad Men.

We’ve seen this before though, in the mid nineties, with American comedy. I remember it well, it was the heyday of Frasier and Seinfeld (another American show relegated to a disgracefully late slot by dear Aunty Beeb), before Friends had started its relentless march towards filling 25% of Channel 4’s schedules. And the first thing anybody would say was that if only British sitcoms were made the American way they’d suddenly be good again. Admittedly it was a very bad time for British comedy, particularly the lowly sitcom, which seemed perpetually hung-over from the eighties, and incapable of anything better than the Thin Blue Line.

And then Frasier and Seinfeld ended, and suddenly it became clear they were as rare as those great British series had once been - Porridge, Blackadder, the Young Ones and the like - and the best cross Atlantic humour seemed to be the limpid, derivative Dharma and Greg. Even worse a British sit com was made using American writing techniques. It’s been a ratings hit but My Family is utterly bland, I feel embarrassed watching actors as good as Robert Lindsey and Zoë Wannamaker prostituting themselves to appear in it (and what’s the deal with Cecilia Imrie appearing in that horrid affair with Rodney Trotter?).

This is likely to happen to these American productions soon, already some of the highlights (Lost and 24 notably) of American drama look embarrassingly cheesy when compared to The Wire (and are getting worse) while HBO seem increasingly desperate for a replacement flagship show (interesting to critics of British TV, HBO are currently adapting the ever wonderful Shameless for the US). West is missing one of the central points of the argument to my mind, Britain can do great drama beyond the corset mafia - and great drama writing, we have a booming theatre industry that ensures the country is never short of experienced actors or writers after all - but what Britain can’t match is the budget. Britain can never create shows that have that same feel because the BBC and others can’t afford it (or at least find it hard to justify the cost), and many attempts look feeble in comparison. Can you imagine the BBC period drama crew making Rome for God’s sake? Oh we can give it a fair go - a trawl through British past glories bring The Lakes, Taggert and Cracker to immediate mind - but it’s not the same. Recent Priests v Satan thriller Apparitions is a case in point, it had a massive budget, but its production looked shoddy because we see such better from the US. (And in fairness it was pretty badly written.) The less said about the production values of Spooks and Torchwood the better.

One thing West is spot on about is period dramas though. And I like period dramas, but I feel gluttoned on them. The problem goes back to the Andrew Davies’ adaptation of Pride & Prejudice, it was very good, became amazingly popular, and became imitated far too much. And its spawn - of a very mixed nature - have become ridiculously bad. He mentioned Cranford, which I actually hated, but has anybody seen the second Lark Rise to Candleford series? Drama on a par with Hollyoaks. The irony is of course I could easily see this happening with The Wire, too much imitation and diminishing returns sets in, and suddenly everybody looks at the original through a less pleasing perspective.

I would love to see more decent drama on British TV, I really would. But looking to The Wire is the wrong way to go about it, it’s brilliant, but firmly American. And who wants to watch the Brits pretending to be Americans? In TV as much as music it’s just embarrassing. No, Britain needs to do it its own way; grim oop north dramas are one way of course, but there’s others. When was the last time anybody tried their hand at a series in the mould of the BBC John le Carre adaptations? Both Tinker Tailor Soldier Spy and Smiley’s People were absolutely perfect television. You needed an attention span, you had to follow them closely, and of course Alex Guinness was sublime; this wasn’t action with guns, when British TV tries to do slick gunplay it feels far too Fisher Price. It’s the reason America makes Battlestar Galactica and the X-Files (two shows Britain could not make) while Britain makes Doctor Who and Shameless (the only American I’d even consider trusting with either would be Josh Whedon - I have low hopes for the adaption, HBO or not).

Books, books and more books.

One of the great joys of payday is that you can finally allow yourself to fork out on those sexy little copies, ones that have been winking at you from the shelves coquettishly for far too long. And that is exactly what I did yesterday afternoon. I probably shouldn’t because yesterday was a tired day, and on tired days I know I need to get that once a fortnight early night to enable me to keep functioning now I have to get up at 6am every day.

So I got in from work, and I fell asleep reading The Black Dossier. This was not The Black Dossier’s fault, The Black Dossier is excellent. It’s hard not to adore Moore’s weaving of so many different literary worlds into one sublime story, and the setting here (set shortly after the premature fall of Orwell’s Big Brother) nicely alters the previous dynamic. Stoker’s Mina Murray and Haggard’s Alain Quartermaine (last seen defeating Wells’ Martian invasion) are now immortal renegades pursued by James Bond of all people. Moore’s scathing parody of Fleming’s Bond - a rapist, liar thug and murderer with somewhat flexible patriotism - is brilliant, and a perfect foil for the more smug of the Moore and Connery films. This collision of the different worlds is sometimes bizarre but always satisfying - Mycroft and Sherlock Holmes being declared Unpersons in true 1984 style - hints that George Smiley worked for O’Brien - Virginia Woolfe’s Orlando mingling with 3000 years worth of fictional and mythological characters. And as for the end, well, that hurt my head slightly, but it was still magnificent.



Nevertheless, I fell asleep. I don’t think I napped long, so an early night should still have been possible. Dinner was had, then Moore was finished, and I went to bed about ninish. Hideously early but necessary. I could have slept then, easily, but what I did was start to read Alan Bennet’s An Uncommon Reader, after all, a few pages before bedtime never hurt anybody. I only went and read the whole thing. Admittedly it was definitely in the long short story / short novella leagues of length, but still. Read the full thing, giggling occasionally, slightly confused at Bennet’s scary ability to make me empathise with a member of the Royal family, thrilled at the potential power of a mobile library van. It’s a wonderful book, a story of a cut off woman who humanises herself through reading, and frankly worth the black rings now under my eyes as a result.



It's also a very strong argument for reading and for libraries, and talking about libraries brings me neatly to this marvellous Observer article on precisely that subject. It’s well worth a read to see just what threats the country’s libraries are under, and about the movements to stop them. The Brighton library incident she mentions is particularly horrific. It also says some very nice things about Newcastle’s soon to open new Central Library (to be called, my colleagues at the Council tell me, The Avison Building). Like the new super Hancock which is also (I believe) nearly done, I am very much looking forward to the opening. Hundreds of thousands spent upon new books? Hell yeah!

Yesterday, I also bought this.




Sexy isn’t it. Officially I tend to say what’s important about a book is its text, I’ve even written a short story on the subject (nothing I would put online I hasten to add, it wasn’t very good) but really I’m as drawn to a sexy edition as much as the next reading nerd. This is a reproduction of the original British edition; I’ve just learned from some of Christopher Tolkien’s notes that JRR Tolkien drew the beautiful cover illustration himself - and had a number of problems cause by his publisher’s mysterious aversion to red. I’m not sure if I want to read it or stroke it. And that reminds me...

I missed this because I was away and because, in Britain, The Colbert Report is on FX. (Who the hell watches FX?) Put it on proper telly you bunch of berks (I’ve recently found out what berk is rhyming slang for, and have resolved to use it more, in tribute to Ronnie Barker, who was forced to say ‘nerk’ instead) and not at gay O’clock like you have The Wire (serious BBC, pull your act together). But anyway, here’s Neil Gaiman being interviewed by everybody’s favourite Daily Show escapee.

The Colbert Report	Mon - Thurs 11:30pm / 10:30c
Neil Gaiman
comedycentral.com
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And he’s of course dead right. The Lord of the Rings is ace. Tom Bombadil is not. In fact Tom Bombadil seems to have been created by some perverse law of nature that a book as wonderful as The Ring Sets Out - featuring such satisfying creepiness as the black riders stalking the Hobbits through the abruptly sinister Shire, and the wraiths of the barrow downs - has to be dragged back by a yellow hatted freak with a dubious interest in ponies. And don’t pretend you disagree. I hate Tom Bombadil. You hate Tom Bombadil. I highly suspect JRR Tolkien hated Tom Bombadil, who can surely only be the result of a bad experience with hallucinogens.



I have a hunch the devoutly Catholic Tolkien said a large number of Hail Marys later in his life for everything between the hobbits being eaten by Old Man Willow and entering the Barrow Downs. The only shining lights is that adaptations are generally free to miss old Tom out, he has no real relevance to the central story, and off the top of my head the only adaptation I can remember that featured Bombadil was the SNES game. This would be very satisfactory, if only he wasn’t so linked in to the Barrow Downs, which have also tended to be absent. I suppose Tom Bombadil could work, but only if he was played by Lawrence Fishburne. Until then he shall continue to be the Tolkien lovers dirty little secret. Him and Fatty Lumpkin.

But back to the point, isn’t it pretty. Every time I even consider that there might be something in these Ebook things after all something like this reminds me why they’ll always be second rate to me. Even this geet expensive Sony thing. At first glance it looks rather good, but after thirty seconds of trying the demo model in Waterstones it was already annoying. They’ll have to get better than that (and make it cheaper too, to be perfectly honest), readers tend to be a bit more resistant to such things than music lovers, well, in Britain at least. Amusingly conservative about the whole thing in fact, and it’s not often I’ll admit to being that.