Great Britain

This entry was posted in Croydon Edinburgh Fiction Manchester on by


Seeds–

Kess had filled two small canvas bags with fine gravel and settled his rifle on them. The wind had picked up, so he clicked the scope offset up two. Squeezing the front bag shifted the target back into view. The autogunner in the far guard tower could strafe the whole assembly area, and had become the first target. There was another tower by the gate, target two, and two guards walking the perimeter. They were closer and presented easier shots.

Lensman had made position and signalled that Kess was gun free. He centred the scope dot on the autogunner�s head, exhaled slowly and began applying pressure to the trigger. Before the last of his breath had gone, he bought the trigger home. The report seemed so loud up close, but there were trees to deaden the sound, and the river would cover it as well. He brought the scope back into line and counted. On the second count, the autogunner�s head disappeared in a haze and his body slumped away.

Kess had ever seen the effect of any bullet on a human body, let alone one of his monstrous one digit shells. He put the disgust aside, fed another round into the breech and brought the second guard tower into view. He clicked the gravity adjust back up a couple and centred on this guard�s chest. Another breath out and the shot was away. He didn�t wait to see the effects of this round, shifting quickly to the nearer of the guards.

Boss Tunage- Wonderstuff- If The Beatles Had Read Hunter… The Singles, Wonderstuff- Eight Legged Groove Machine (I know I listened to this a few days ago, but I have two copies, this is the remastered one with extra tunes, Kingmaker- Sleepwalking (listed on amazon, but as unavailable. Come on, someone re release this, please. I spent six months of last year visiting record shops from Southampton to Edinburgh, via Croydon, Soho, Manchester and Cardiff trying to find a copy. In the end someone had to copy it for me. Definitely an argument in here somewhere for the music biz to set up their own cheap [pennies per song] online database of out of circulation music. Rant over.)

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Easy listening- Grandmaster Flash Vs The Sugarhill Gang

No new prose today. I’m going to keep weekend posts limited to pictures and the play list so I can get on with some work. (So far today, the work has consisted of reading all the sections of the paper and watching bits of the Commonwealth cycling road race. Tomorrow it will include going off to Salford Quays to watch the triathlon then going for a bike ride if the weather’s nice.)

This entry was posted in Manchester on by

Now, I may have put a variation of this piece up already. If so, my apologies-

DWEM

The building was shiny and new and had rooms named after famous painters. The canteen was the Matisse and the ground floor open plan the Turner. They were running training out of the Picasso, which had been decorated based upon his little known IKEA period. Paul was desperately tring to find the Duchamp room before his bladder burst.

Right after the reception desk, he had been told, but that corridor had led him to the Lowry room. On his way back he spotted it, a little alcove off to the side.

He couldn’t help but sigh with pleasure as he finally got to let go into the urinal. Then his phone rang.

He could ignore it. It rang some more. He couldn’t ignore it. “Yes.”

“Where are you?” Marie Daley.

He could just hang up. “I’m taking a piss.”

There was silence on the other end of the line. Paul could afford to smile as he cradled the phone between shoulder and chin and zipped up.

Back in the corridor, Paul stared with disgust at the phone in his palm, hoping to transmit the emotion even after disconnection. Turner was closer than Picasso, so he might as well go straight there. He selected Owen’s number and auto dialled.

“You got lost didn’t you?”

“Only a little. I’m just too lazy to climb the stairs and tell you I’m going to find a free PC.”

“Why you doing that? We do have training on.”

“Well the Bitch Queen wants me to get in my car and drive all the way back to Manchester. They’ve got some problem or other.”

“You’d get there at, what, ten o’clock? Does she expect you to start fixing things at that time of night?”

“Probably. That’s why I’m ignoring her and doing it over the network. There’s the added benefit of not having to see her ugly face.”

This entry was posted in Alcohol Comics Deadline List Manchester on by

In amongst the big box o’ stuff I had delivered from home were several copies of Deadline. The one from June 1993 had a questionnaire in it. I thought I’d go back over it and do a then and now (on the non Deadline ones, seeing as it’s not around any more)-
1 Are you
Then- Male
Now- Still Male (who’d have thought?)
2 How old are you?
T- 18-24
N- Old enough to know better
3 Are You?
T- Desperate
N- Still Desperate
4 Currently
T- Employed full time- University sabbatical officer
N- Employed full time (for the next fortnight)- IT thingummy
5 Where do you live?
T- Manchester
N- Manchester
6 Where do you live?
T- Rented house/ flat
N- Rented house/ flat (but this one’s not a share)
7 Who would you prefer to sleep with? (from a list of Glyn Dillon/ Keanu Reeves/ Our sad ad manager/ Winona Ryder/ Neither- my girlfriend, boyfriend, dog would freak)
T- Winona Ryder
N- Winona Ryder
8 How often do you go to the following-
T- Cinema (sometimes), Pub (once a week or more), Club (once a week or more), comic shop (once a month), record shop (once a month)
N- Cinema (once a month), Pub (once a week or less), Club (sometimes), Restaurant (sometimes), Comic shop (once a week), Record shop (once a week)
9 Which magazines do you read? (from a list)
T- Cosmo
N- NME, 2000AD, Judge Dredd megazine, Fortean Times
10 What do you own?
T- Stereo, Walkman, Bicycle, Deadline T-shirt
N- Stereo, Discman, Video, DVD player, Bicycle (*2), Console (PS2), PC
11 Average monthly spend on-
T- Singles (nowt), Albums (under �10), CDs (nothing), Blank tapes (�5-10), Clothes (under �25), Shoes (something), Comics (Under �5), Computer games (nothing), Alcohol (�25-50),
N- Singles [CD](�10+), Albums (nothing), CDs (�12-25), Blank tapes (nothing), Clothes (under �25), Shoes (something), Comics (face it, I’m a sad bastard), Computer games (�40+), Alcohol (�25-50)
12 What do you drink?
T- Bitter, Cocktails, Soft Drinks
N- Bitter, Lager, Spirits, Mineral Water, Soft Drinks
13 Do you smoke?
T- No
N- No

So, nine years on and it looks like things haven’t changed much, or they’ve just come full circle. I have more to spend, don’t go out as much and Winon Ryder is still cute.

This entry was posted in Slough on by

It’s been a while since any Eliza Effect went up, so here’s a little bit for you-

Career_Opportunities_2:

Mike and Paul were bouncing links back and forth by e-mail. There was nothing else to do, and sooner or later someone would destroy this tranquillity, so they made the most of it. Paul was specialising in odd news items and Mike had just discovered weblogs.
The door handle turned. Something in it was jamming and it made a warning click every time someone came in. They had their cover- tables of customer information- on screen before the door had even started opening. They looked round, busy innocence interrupted.
�I came for some catalogues.� Their visitor announced. He knew full well there were none, but the office had been a makeshift store until Mike discovered LAN connections in it and requisitioned it as an office. James Allison had signed the Tech Support paperwork to make it happen as his last action before moving to Customer Support.
�We shipped our last one just last week.� Mike assured him.
�I just thought I�d come down and see you boys before you move.�
�We�re losing our office?� Paul was aghast.
�You haven�t heard? You�re moving down to Slough.�
�Why would we do that?�
�It seems Bill Walsh was really impressed by your stocktaking system and wants you to put it into all of the new offices. You really didn�t know?�
�We�re always the last to be told.�
�Which one�s Bill Walsh?� Paul asked, �I�m not very good with names.�
�He�s the national head of Sales.� James informed him.
�Oh right, right.�
�I guess I shouldn�t tell you any more, if you haven�t been informed. There could be permanent jobs in it for you, though. And when it�s finished, there might be a job or two in Customer Support, if you want them.�
�Thanks. Yeah, we�ll keep that in mind.�
�Well, gotta go.�
The door clicked behind him. Paul stared at it for a moment. �Didn�t I tell the national head of Sales to fuck off at the big Christmas review?�
�No, that was the head of Marketing. And he deserved it.�

This entry was posted in Comics God Manchester Slough on by

Friendly_Bombs:
�I can see what he meant.�
�Sorry?�
Mike pointed down the street, filled with Saturday shoppers. �The guy who wrote that poem. �Come friendly bombs and fall on Slough.� Who was he?�
�Don�t know.� Owen was trying to concentrate on driving. He still got trapped in pointless circuits of the town centre when trying to escape from Slough.
�I�ll text my sister. She knows this sort of thing.� Paul had a new phone, though he had been complaining that the flip action wasn�t what he really wanted. If his head stayed down too long, he was going to get car sick from the round about route out of town.
�God, I was expecting it to be y�know�. I don�t know. Better. Down here.� Mike wasn�t impressed. They were on a road which promised to take them somewhere nicer. On the left were out of town shopping boxes, to the right identikit corporate buildings. They went past The Company�s headquarters.
�You�re not going to come over all Northern on me are you.� Owen averted his gaze from the office.
�What, and you haven�t been trading on it for the last six months. It has to have some redeeming features, doesn�t it?�
�There�s a BMX track. And I get to ride in through Windsor every day.�
�That may redeem it for you. What about me? Comic shop?�
�I think there�s one in Richmond.�
�It�s a start, I guess.�
�There. Sent it.�
�What was the answer?�
�Give her a chance, she won�t even have received it yet.�

They�d wound up in Staines, on the look out for Ali G, and gravitated to The Swan. Mike had found his redeeming feature. He loved rivers, and the Thames was better than most because it was alive with boats and the eponymous birds. He watched a cruiser going up stream. Maybe, one day, he could do that.
The beer wasn�t so bad, either. More expensive than in Manchester, but not as bad as he had expected. Owen, as designated driver, nursed his half pint of Speckled Hen. �The car has to go back on Tuesday.�
�What you got it for?�
�I�ve got to go down to Southampton and have a look at one of the offices. Dull as fuck, but someone�s got to.� He turned to Paul, �So tell us about this mystery woman.�
�There�s no mystery. I�m just not telling you anything.�
�Nothing.�
�She�s someone I know.�
�I should fuckin� well hope so.�
�What�s her name?�
Paul�s pocket beeped. He pulled out his phone and flipped it open as nonchalantly as possible, read the TXT and nodded. �John Betjeman.�
�Your girlfriend?�
�The guy who wrote the poem you were on about.�

This entry was posted in Manchester on by

Career_Opportunities_1:

There was no reason to be at Kate�s desk, except Kate herself, but Owen pretended they weren�t just chatting. He flicked through Marketing Week, registering one headline per page.

�How many bikes do you have?� Kate asked.

�Oh, just the three.�

�Three?�

�Yeah.�

�Three?�

�I�m thinking of getting another. I�ve got a mountain bike, a play bike and a commuter. I really want a proper road bike.�

�Ah, there you are.� It was a familiar voice. They both looked up at Bill Walsh. He was tall, stood straight to emphasise it and had a full head of white hair. Depending upon lighting, the lines on his face could equally cast benign shadows as scary ones. �I wanted to have a word with you.� For a moment, Owen hoped he meant Kate, but he followed as Bill walked away.

�You�re the guy who cycles in every day, aren�t you?� Bill asked over his shoulder. �I�ve seen your bike in the carpark.�

�Er, yeah.�

�Why do you do it? You must have been sorted with a company car by now.�

�It keeps me fit. And I�m only a temp, I don�t think I qualify for a company car.� Or the sharesave scheme, or a pension, he didn�t add.

Bill stared at Owen for a moment, his hand on the meeting room door knob. He seemed ready to cancel the whole meeting. �We�ll have to see about that.�

Owen took the seat facing away from the window, so he wouldn�t be distracted by the planes gliding into Heathrow.

�You know two lads in Manchester, Mike and Paul- I forget their surnames. Work for Sales up there?�

�Yes. Mike took over from me and he recommended Paul when the workload ramped up.�

�Good. They�ve revolutionised the stock control system up there. And returns. Sharon Walker recommended it for our all our new offices.�

�Really?�

�I�d like you to work with them when they come down here. You don�t have any major projects coming up do you?�

�No. None.�

�Good. Sharon will fill you in when their move is arranged.�

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Today’s picture of the day.

Fox hunting is up for debate and a free vote again, and I’m more against a ban than ever. I’ve been considering this every time it comes up, and the main problem with the whole debate is that both sides are wrong.

The calls to ban hunting come from the urbs and suburbs and is raised by people who haven’t grasped one important fact. The foxes will still be killed, even if they are no longer hunted with dogs. The animal is a predator and scavenger, albeit a cute ginger one, and it will still be a threat to livestock. They’ll be shot, trapped or poisoned. None of these options is particularly nice, except when compared to being torn to shreds by hounds, and the trapping and poisoning will affect other animals as well.

And on the other side we have the Countryside Alliance, who keep making their claims about the number of people mobilised to support fox hunting on their march in London. Except that people were there for a number of rural matters, all of them far more important than the rights of the unspeakable to pursue the uneatable. And as for all those claims that the sport is traditional. Well, I’m sure people have been hunting for centuries but I’d lay evens odds on it being the Victorians who created the ‘traditional’ aspects, all the halloos and red (or pinque apparently) outfits.

Each side has half a dozen other arguments to trash, and given time I happily would. But the important thing here is that this fuss over a minor, if sadistic, hobby is the only real discussion of country matters. If either side actually cares about the future of the countryside they should give up this fight and start thinking about rural transport, the shrinking rural population, or the factory farming which caused BSE and Foot and Mouth. But then, solutions would require unglamorous stuff like work, planning and investment.

This entry was posted in Bogle Slough on by

In one of those wierd things you do, I picked up shiny new bike, rode it through the park on the way home, caressed it lovingly for a while- then put it away and went off for a thirty mile ride on my other bike. I thought I’d train for Bogle by covering the actual route. It would have been easier if they hadn’t changed it. I’ve gone round the old one, by bike and van, so many times that I sailed past the turning which is new for this year. Hey ho, did it in the end. Next week I’m going to try for two circuits.
Page Sixteen of Bulletproof Poets. And another bit of The Eliza Effect-

Seat_To_Keyboard_Interface:
Kate could argue employment law with people on ten times her income- and win more often than they�d like to admit- but she always came to Owen for the simplest of computer problems. She was sitting on the edge of her desk swinging her legs as he fiddled around in the code window. They were nice legs, not quite cyclist�s, but definitely toned on something, but he tried not to be distracted by them. �I thought you�d finished?�
�I�m just putting some error trapping in.�
�I don�t make mistakes.�
The assertion elicited a chuckle. �We all make mistakes.� Like moving down to the Slough office, he didn�t add. �This is the algorithm for checking customer numbers.� He tapped the screen, �I built it, so you get it for free. Don�t tell anyone else, or they�ll all want it too.�
Kate leaned forward and a corkscrew of red hair hung down toward the keyboard. She had put a lot of thought into just how big a braid could escape without looking untidy. �It can be our little secret.� She bounced off the desk and grabbed the chair from across the way. �Tell me how it works.� She said, sliding in close to Owen.

This entry was posted in Bryan Talbot Chorlton Comics on by

Busy day.

I bought the bike. It was practically half price, and still quite expensive. To be honest, it’s probably more bike than my current riding ability deserves, but I guess I’ll just have to improve.

Then this evening, I went to see a talk by Bryan Talbot at Chorlton library. Very interesting, I learnt a lot about page layout, pacing, speech ballon placement and colour. A lot of it is stuff that’s lodged in your subconcious if you’ve read enough comics, but it’s good to hear a master of the art on the subject. You absolutely must buy Tale of One Bad Rat, one of the best graphic novels ever.

I feel a little embarassed to mention Bulletproof Poets after talking about the man. But, hey, here’s page twelve.

This entry was posted in Daily Mail internet Leicester on by

Despite the heavy rain, Leicester refused to wash away, so I had to go there today. I’ve got to go on Thursday and Friday as well. Looks like I’ve got another week in the job. I was the only person who even thought leaving this week was a (slim) possibility. I feel so tired.

Page Eleven of Bulletproof Poets. I’m going to start on full art when I finally finish my job. I’m feeling generous, here’s some more Eliza Effect as well-

Agc01935:

Sarah was sure she should be holding up a board with her new works number etched on it. �If I�d known you�d be taking my picture I�d have worn more make up.�

�Oh don�t worry about it love. This thing makes everyone look anaemic.� The guard adjusted the focus of the video camera then checked the framing of the image on the screen in front of him. �Okay. Hold still. And now.�

The strange little machine beside the PC started whirring and, after a minute, clunked out a pass. Sarah checked out her picture, it looked like she had been living in a box for three months. The card came with a magnetic strip for the doors and a chip for the vending machines. He retrieved the card and punched a hole in it, �There you go. He should be along for you in a minute. You can wait in reception.�

�Thanks.�

There were company magazines on the tables. She tried to read one, but found her eyes slipping off articles after the first paragraph. Under the magazine were newspapers- the Daily Mail and Express, both even harder to read than the promo magazine. She stared, soft focus, at the front of the reception desk.

There was movement by the turnstiles and Sarah looked up. Two guys hurried past, the taller one merited a second glance. Not bad, could have done with a hair cut. She flicked through the Express and found a Dilbert she�d read on the Internet weeks earlier.

Her new manager turned up fifteen minutes later. He was wearing a suit which didn�t look as expensive as he thought. As he strode toward her, he smoothed his unruly tie back into place. �Hello, I�m George Webb. You must be Sarah. If you�ll come with me, we can get the induction started.�