Randomly

I had an active weekend. It didn't really start out that way, but momentum grew until I was aching throughout and just wanted to sleep. It doesn't take a lot, believe me.

Friday was a long day - I started work at 9am, finished at 4pm and took my girlfriend, Dee, home as she had walked the 4 1/2 miles to work purely for a bit of exercise. Once I had dropped her off, I went to my second job and worked from 4.45pm until 9pm. I'm not doing manual labour, but it still becomes an arduous task when you have to stay mentally alert - something I usually arrive at at about 10.30am on any given day.

Winding down is something that just has to be done. Unless severely sleep deprived, or work consisted of eight solid hours of meetings, getting home from a day's work means spending a little time adjusting from the frantic pace of sitting at a desk and ignoring answering telephone calls/emails. Nodding off immediately is generally something I cannot do, in fact I usually want to do something that lets my mind feel liberated, engaged, and above all working for me instead of the boss. This can be any number of things, such as reading a book, watching a movie, playing the guitar - well, you get the picture. Tonight, it was some light video gaming, and at 3.30am I decided that the quick session had definitely come to an end. I wasn't concerned about the time because I knew that I could make it up in the morning (I am in no way a morning person).

About 5 hours later, I was awoken to the tune of a vacuum cleaner whistling outside my door. That was the first plan that ended in failure, but to show that I am as stubborn as a grass stain against a generic brand of washing powder, I stayed put in my pit. If I remain unmoving, I argued internally, I could reserve the energy required for the day ahead.

I finally discarded the idea of slumber late in the morning, threw on some clothes and joined the rest of the household. Rugby was starting just after midday, so I had enough time to move a few boxes and eat a cooked lunch of gammon, egg and potato croquettes. Lovely stuff.

I got to the club at 12.15pm, and met with a few of the other prompt players. The plan this week was to turn up at the away game with plenty of time for warm-up and practise. A completely foreign concept to the Old Mods 2nd XV, but we were willing to give it a try. Once the team had all turned up, we piled into cars and set off. Halifax was the destination, a good 45 minute drive away. Conversation in the car was interesting, but not something that I will divulge here. All was going well until a tirade of beeps from the car behind alerted us to the horrible news that the game had been cancelled. We were halfway there - so we turned around and went back to the club.

Some players were devastated, having been robbed of a game, while others were at the bar ordering beers. Myself, I felt a bit lost. I wasn't sure whether to watch the first team, who were playing at home, or go home. Either way I had resigned to the fact that playing was not on the cards. Enter Ian Armitage, club legend and third team coach:
'Have we got and second rows?'
My mind knows that I am a second row, but my body doesn't react.
'Andy can play second row.' Ste says.
'Are you a second row?' Armitage asks.
'No, but I can play there if you want.' Andy replies.
'Hoff is a second row.' Ste offers.
'Do you want a game?' Armitage asks.
'Yes.' a voice says. It is mine, I realise, and off I go to get my bag.

The game was, erm, different. I am used to knowing all the players on the team, having played with most of them all season, and I think we have all developed a chemistry, a bond. The 2nd team always play as a team, and at the beginning of the second half, we always switch off as a team. Everything we do, it is as one - and that is the way a team is supposed to be. The thirds have not quite got that gel. I don't mean it in a disrespectful way either - it is difficult to create that synergy when the team changes every week, and don't really train together as a team. The players themselves are good, some of them have enough energy and enthusiasm for the whole team, but when you don't play together as a team things can fall apart. That being said, we only missed by one try, losing 34-29 to Burley. I don't think my mind had switched back on to playing mode; I felt detached from the game and didn't really make a difference.

After the game, and returning to the clubhouse for some banter with the lads that hadn't played, I headed off to Dee's house. I had chili and tacos, with Desperados (best lager ever) and lounged on the sofa. This was the point I managed to recoup some of those lost hours of sleep.

Sunday saw even more energy spent. It started with a trip to the gym shortly after breakfast, where I pushed myself and ended up feeling completely drained. A bold move, knowing that I still had the food shopping to conquer. Leaving the gym, we went to B&Q to get some tools and supplies (I am currently working on the garden) and then headed back. I dropped off the lot (including Dee) and I embarked on the food-gathering quest. To be honest, the usually horrific endurance test of Morrisons at the weekend was quite quick and painless, so I returned home with my temper still leashed and put the shopping away. I cleaned the kitchen, cooked (and ate) some lunch, put up a clothes line, installed a new kitchen light to compliment the replacement light I installed last week (not as easy as I had hoped), attempted to as least start the new fence for the rabbit's enclosure (I failed), had a shower, and cooked dinner (lasagna, if you are interested - from scratch). When I could finally park my arse and relax, Dee reminded me that I still had to clean out the hamster cages. I managed it, but I was running on reserves. I saw the day out watching a movie, not wanting to move and finally not having to either.

True Realm: Episode 3

‘Rizdok.’ Nelevin nudged his companion who lay on his back, sprawled across the table. ‘Rizdok, wake up!’

‘Leave me.’ He grunted.

‘Get up you drunk! You really should have stopped at the ninth ale you know.’

Rizdok yawned, rubbed his eyes, and slowly rose to the melody of his cracking spine. He stared at Nelevin with vacant bloodshot eyes, and shrugged. ‘I did stop. I only had nine flagons, then I took your advice. I remember it well; you nagged like an old hen until I gave in and stopped drinking ale.’

‘Yes. Then you started on the spirits. I can’t recall how many glasses of poteen you threw back, but I remember when you passed out on that table. I thought I would leave you to sleep it off, seeing as everyone else had started to leave.’

Rizdok swung his legs around and jumped down from the table. Nelevin was impressed at the relative ease Rizdok had dismounted, without even a stumble.

‘Yes, a good night I think. Today is a good day, maybe we will find Guadelin.’

Nelevin looked quizzically at Rizdok. ‘Is that it? You drink enough booze to sterilize a small village, and you can just sleep it off?! Now you want to run off and find death with an angry preacher?!’

‘Yeah, that’s about the size of it. What you standing around for? Let’s go!’

Peaks of grey rock loomed either side of them as they walked. They were in a pass between the mountains of Alldorn, barren rocky behemoths scratching the sky North of their homeland, Hondale. Nelevin had not seen any forms of life for miles, other than some small cacti clumped together around splits in the path, and some insects that moved too fast to appear as much more than just a blur.

‘Is Allchun really this way?’

‘I keep telling you: yes. It’s just passed the next cairn.’

Nelevin let out a sigh. This would be the fourth cairn they would pass since Rizdok first said that. He shouldn’t mind, but he was tired and had no idea what to expect when they finally reached their destination. A priest? They were after a priest? Life had taken a dip in morality, he decided, if he was to kill a holy man. He changed the subject to take his mind off it.

‘How did you learn magik? That’s what you used, against that sorcerer, isn’t it?’

Rizdok grinned. ‘Yep, that was magik alright. I’m no mage though, I just picked up a few things from an old wizard that came to The Guild. He was a strange sort, always muttering to himself and collecting strange plants for no obvious reason. Still, he taught me to incant a few spells and how to channel the energy from my mind and use it.’
'Is it difficult?'
'Yes and no. The difficult bit is learning how to master the energy. Once you have got that worked out, it is easy to do. It takes it out of you though - like sprinting up a hill. That's why I don't use it much, I don't want to waste all my energy and have nothing left to finish them off.'
Nelevin thought about how he had always wanted to learn magic, to become a powerful sorcerer and use it for good. Magic had always been a rich man's pursuit, and he was in no way rich.
'Look,' Rizdok said, pointing ahead of them, 'I told you it was here. Behold: Allchurn!'
Nelevin's gaze followed the direction of his companion's finger, and saw a large gathering of what he thought were ruins. In the centre stood a tall monument, like a giant needle made of white stone, surrounded by small brown buildings.
'That's Allchun?! It looks like a ghost town!' he exclaimed. Maybe they were too far away, and it was just an illusion from high up in the mountains.
They continued down the path, walking away from the jagged rocks and encountering grass and other small signs of life. The wind whistled in Nelevin's ears as they picked up their pace; the path was dropping off and the steepness was sending them down the mountain with gathering speed. He almost lost his footing as his legs frantically pumped beneath him, struggling to keep up with the world rushing by underneath his feet. Before he started to tumble, the ground levelled out again and he managed to come to a stop.
'Finally,' he panted, 'I thought I was going to travel to Allchun in a ball of broken limbs!'
'Yeah, I was almost eating dirt and rock then too!'
They were both bent double, taking deep gulps of air. Rizdok flopped onto the ground, stretching out with his hands behind his head.
'Well, aren't we a pair of fine warriors! Almost defeated by a downhill slope!' Rizdok said, breaking into laughter.
'Nature is definitely the most dangerous opponent we have.' Nelevin said, having caught his breath.
The jovial mood evaporated as the air was filled with a horrific screeching noise. Nelevin rushed to a nearby boulder and peered over it, towards the origin of the sound.
'Rizdok!' he screamed in a whisper, 'I think we might have company!'
Rizdok leapt to his feet and scuttled over to the boulder. Nelevin was right: there were two giants heading their way, bellowing cries as they came. They looked as if they had been sculpted from the rock of the mountains, and that they could crush the pair of them at their will. Judging by the looks on their faces, that is exactly what they planned to do.

Find out what happens next in episode 4!

Practise, practise, practise

I subscribe to the school of practise. The more you do, the better you get. It isn't always that simple though; some things you just won't ever be any good at. It's a horrible lesson to learn, if you ever have to, but life can be cruel.

It's nice to have an idol, especially growing up. Often it will be a musician or athlete, someone with a skill that you can aspire to. If you practise, you might be as good as them one day - that is the idea anyway. However, practise is only part of it. You also need to know how to play a guitar/sing/throw a javelin/leap into a box of sand. These pursuits aren't usually for free either, so you will need to pony up some dough if you want to get to the stage where you just have to practise to get good.

I started playing the guitar when I was 14 years old. I didn't have piles of money to throw into learning, so I had to read tutorials in books and magazines. I was a reasonable bedroom guitarist, quite content to learn and play the songs I liked. I played almost every day, but I had picked up some bad habits and missed out on some good ones.

These days I don't play very much, and that really is a shame. I sometimes play with my neighbour, who is much better than me so mostly I like to just listen to him - and it makes me realise that it is still possible for me to be that good, I just need to practise more, and maybe have a few professional lessons. I don't know that I will ever get around to doing it though, I have so many other things that need to be done now - life is getting in the way of doing the things I love.

What a Load of Politics

 I suppose it is quite important, when a collection of boring looking people get together and decide how much to rip off the public. I'm not politically inclined, although I know it has its place - just not in my head/conversation/earshot. Politicians all do such a good job telling each other how badly they are doing, that they are not thinking about the working man or the family man or the lazy man that wants to sponge off the state, but when they get the reins, they are equally as disastrous. The lot in charge now are no exception.



Man of the moment, George Osborne. A cheery bunch behind him.



So we should all be thankful that the petrol tax hike has been put on hold (for now). And we are getting one pence a litre reduction instead. For some reason, this news is being delivered as if they are thrusting paper money into my penniless hands. 'Thank you so much for the 40p reduction when I fill up my tank, that by far outweighs the rape you perform on my wages every month. And you don't even have to think about sorting out the NHS anymore, as I will be saving over one pound every single month on petrol!' I hear myself cry. Sure, I can earn more before they smash into my earnings with their big tax-hammer thanks to the raise in personal allowance, but then I'm not getting a pay rise or bonus this year, and VAT has gone up along with the cost of just about everything.



'Gimme 5' said the stern-faced shrew

 What makes matters worse, is that we have got used to all of this foolishness. I mean, we all moan as much as we can about tax, petrol prices, bent politicians, brainless government spending, etc., but the fact is that a good rant is about as far as we are willing to take it. If we march, protest and make a general nuisance of ourselves, it is just as likely to descend into anarchy by a few meat-heads as it is to make anybody with a modicum of importance take note of our pleas. Then we would receive a stern telling off, and absolutely nothing would change. So we instead opt for a bit of a gripe, usually with each other, and just get on with it. As far as I can see, the 40p on average that Joe Bloggs saves at each petrol tank fill-up equates to approximately £12,000,000 a week in overall savings - £12m that Mr. Taxman will have to find elsewhere.

He was so boring, everyone left

Of course alcohol has gone up, as has tobacco. If you care enough to protest about these, you are better spending your time at counselling. The first step is to admit that you have an addiction. There have been a few other changes, including freezing air passenger duty and helping first-time buyers to get on the property ladder with an injection of £250m for the a new shared ownership scheme. Overall, it does sound quite good - but I am sceptical as these compulsive liars politicians have a habit of going back on what they said. Most of the time.

There is some good news though: the super-rich are going to pay lots of tax. Temporarily, of course - 50p tax for high earners (plus NI contributions on top) means they will be going home with roughly 38p of every pound they earn.

I think we should start a money raising event like Red Nose Day - call it Black Eye Day, and we can all chip in to raise money and watch on TV as David Haye punches MPs in the face. National debt would be halved in one night.

Thieves, and other scum

Yesterday started with so much promise. The sun had welcomed me to the day, my head was clear and my body felt like it could withstand a good rugby match. Still feeling the high of the great match played last week, I was eager to get back on the pitch and continue with the same level of play.

I arrived at the club to find one teammate there, and the entire opposition getting changed and starting to warm up. Not a great start, but Mods 2nd team are not known for their promptness or willingness to get a good warm-up/practice in. The majority of the team arrived shortly after me, we got changed and headed out. Nothing out of the ordinary so far.

The match went very well, and in true Mods form we set up a good lead in the first half then swiftly went to sleep and conceded two tries at the beginning of the second half. However, we soon woke up and bit back, earning a victory at home 38-15.

My elation at winning was flattened shortly afterwards, when I found that my wallet had been pinched from the changing room. What lowlife degenrate thinks that is acceptable? Taking things that aren't yours just because you can't be bothered to earn it, I really think useless shits like that deserve to be burnt and used as biofuel, so we can at least get some use out of them. It really put me in such a foul mood, and after I had cancelled my cards and reported it to the police, I drove to my girlfriend's house. En route, I was confronted with one of the blights of the road - a jumped up taxi driver that thinks he rules the road. He simply refused to get out of my way when he found me approaching him past a long line of parked cars. He seriously wanted me to reverse 30 yards to a point where he could pass me, instead of reversing himself 5 yards. Due to my current state of mind, I refused myself to move and far more vocally. He eventually moved up onto the pavement and gave me just enough room to squeeze past. Before that, I wound down my window and gave him a piece of my mind - probably more than he has of his own judging by the gormless look he had plastered to his face.

And of course, England gave a terrible performance for their final 6 Nations match. That pretty much tied up the day, one that had started with the promise of perfection. What a lie.

True Realm: Episode 2

'You killed the sorcerer?' enquired the Guild Master. He was average height, but quite portly. He seemed to be in a good mood today which was unusual, but not unwelcome.
'Yes, him and his Gromellek servant. They weren't easy to put down, not at first. If it weren't for Nelevin here, they would have summoned more spirits.'
'So you couldn't have done it without him, eh? The mighty Rizdok does need help after all!'
Rizdok looked flustered, and a quick glance at Nelevin told him his new friend was enjoying watching him squirm. He scowled at the Guild Master, and spoke through gritted teeth.
'I would have put them both down on my own, make no mistake. I just wouldn't have been able to do it as swiftly, that's all.'
'It's alright, Rizdok. I understand what you are saying. It's good that you have found a partner, just in time. I don't want to hear about any more missed targets. Now your next target is a bit of a tricky one: Guadelin, the High Priest at Allchun has made himself some very powerful enemies with his recent 'aggresive sermons', and needs to be taken care of. This is a high priority mission, and pays double the rate of your last job. But you must not be seen, nobody can know the attack has come from a rival. If you can make it look like suicide that would be better, otherwise you will need to make it look like somebody else, someone unconnected.'
'Is that it?' Nelevin interrupted, 'I mean, did I pass a test or something? Am I now a member of some highly secret organisation?'
'Ha ha!' the Guild Master boomed, slapping Nelevin on the back. 'I like your spirit, young lad. Yes, I suppose you did pass the test! Old grouch-bags there has been making a few mistakes recently, most likely due to his stubborn lone-wolf mentality. The council decided that he had to find a partner, or he would be expelled. If he has picked you, Nelevin, then you have passed his test, and ours.'
Rizdok caught the stare from Nelevin and shrugged, grinning. 'If I had told you everything, you wouldn't have come. Good job you did, too!'
'And now you want me to continue risking my life with you?' Nelevin did not show any of the humour that Rizdok did in his face. He felt like he should be furious, that he was deceived into playing a part in this surreal experiment, but he didn't. He wasn't happy about it, not really, but he did feel like he belonged here.
'What else is there? I watched you for weeks, saw your skill with the bow when you were hunting, and how you made your own weapons. If you don't join me, you will be back to the struggle, back to poaching and stealing. It is your choice.'
Rizdok knew he didn't really have a choice, but still found himself silently hoping that the new addition to his one-man army would actually stick around. For too long he had wallowed in solitary self pity, trying to drown his anger and guilt in the blood of others. The council had offered him a chance to change, turn over a new leaf and he didn't want to miss the opportunity.
'At least I am going into this with my eyes open.' Nelevin said.
'Good! Now that we are all friends, let's get on with business. Larah has details on your target, and you can see her about the bounty for your last job too. Now go and enjoy yourselves, the tavern is open!' The Guild Master dismissed them both with a wave, and sat back in his chair.

'Do you mind explaining a few things to me?' Nelevin asked, after they had collected their pay from Larah.
'Sure, shoot.'
'Well, firstly I have to ask exactly what is this place? And what are we, assassins or something?'
'This is The Guild. It has been here for centuries, helping those that need help - if they can pay, that is. We aren't assassins, but sometimes that's what we do. We are more like heroes! We get tasks and we complete them, and that's what we get paid for. The jobs we do, like the one in the forest, come from people who go to the Guild for help. Maybe it's a farmer who is having some pest problems, and needs someone to get rid of them. Or maybe there is an army of death mages that has to be destroyed. Whatever the problem, The Guild will offer to sort it out.'
Nelevin thought about it for a moment, then looked at Rizdok with more questions in his eyes.
'Why did you pick me? How long have you worked for them? What if we fail?'
'Alright, one at a time! I picked you because I had seen you around with your bow and it got me interested. I followed you for a long time, just watching what you did. I got to tell you, I was impressed! I saw that you had something that the others didn't have, strength of character, or something. I don't know really, I just felt drawn to you.'
'That sounds creepy!'
'Shut up! You know what I mean! Anyway, when I left you the note to meet me, it was because I thought we could help each other. I was right, so-'
'Yes, I am grateful for your help. What happens if we fail?'
'Ah yes, that. It all depends on the job. I mean, if it was like last night, most likely we would be dead. If it's a smaller job, one where death isn't likely, or if we were to just run away like cowards, well the Guild Master would decide. We might end up dead anyway, depends what mood you get him in.'
It was obvious from the look of horror on Nelevin's face that he wasn't expecting to consider the prospect of dying. This was all new to him though, unlike Rizdok who had pretty much grown up working for The Guild.
'It won't happen, not while you are with me.' Rizdok said, slapping a hand on his partner's shoulder.
'Death? Or Failure?'
'Both! They mean the same thing to me. Come on, let's get a drink at the tavern and forget all this talk about failing!'
Rizdok marched into the tavern, followed by a sheepish looking Nelevin. Neither of them were aware of the dangers they were about to face.



Don't miss next week's episode!

Bundle of Joy

The phone rang in the early hours of this morning. It is an odd sensation, to be roused from your dream-filled euphoria by something so merciless and caustic as a telephone ringing. That and alarm clocks - they both seem to have the same unrelenting qualities. Strangely, my mind finds some way to incorporate the sound into my dream - I will be living out some fantasy where I am the most famous man alive for inventing zero calorie chocolate, out for a stroll in Miami where I have been made King and all other men and unsightly women are banished, when out of nowhere a spaceship descends with a deafening pulsing shriek. As I wake from this surreal state, the noise continues and I realise that it is the phone/alarm. It is quite odd to process all of that, especially as I cannot be considered a morning person.

This morning, however, was news of the arrival of another family member. The birth of a healthy baby girl, my new niece. It is wonderful news, and I am very happy for my sister and brother-in-law. It worries me slightly because I still don't really understand the role of Uncle, and I am not rich enough to be eccentric (yet). I'm probably the last in a long list of people who you would consider for the responsibility of looking after your child - let's face it, I seem to be having difficulty looking after myself, let alone someone as dependent as a baby.

Congratulations to the Rentons for their new addition, I look forward to meeting her soon!

The problem with... movies

There must be more ideas out there. There has to be other avenues of entertainment we have not yet travelled. I often find myself praying to the unknown deity of escapism, pleading for something different, something exciting. Then I return to an article about another 'rebooted' franchise, or a classic film remade, or another action blockbuster with the same ingredients, just a different skin. And the same goes for games, not just movies. I have seen it all before. I have experienced everything they can offer. I want more.

Have we used up all the good ideas for movies? Is it too much to ask for, to have something uncharted, something out of everybody's comfort zone? Yes, probably. What major film company is going to shell out hundreds of thousands of dollars on a risk? There was a time when they would, they did, but since the planet's economy got sick of all our moaning and buggered of to who knows where, nobody wants to spend a penny. Or a cent. Or whatever.

Technology has made huge improvements, so who can blame us for wanting to see our favourite childhood heroes brought back in high definition, or to seemingly fly without strings? Sometimes it is done well, occasionally better, but too many times it just serves to cock up our fond memories and tarnish the original film. And 3D is an ugly beast if it isn't done well - I don't think side effects of going to the cinema should be intense headaches and nausea. When I first heard of 3D movies, I fully expected to be flinching in my seat every five minutes, that things would be tearing out of the screen and stopping only inches in front of my nose. What a disappointment it was, to realise that there was just an added depth to the picture that would make my eyes work tenfold to adjust to the change. What a wonderful benefit that I had the pleasure of paying extra for.

I would like to say, though, that Avatar in 3D was fantastic. I was enveloped by this fantasy world, and after I had seen it I raved about it for weeks - until someone shattered my illusions of grandiose with the following succinct review: It's Ferngully with giant Smurfs. Wow, so it is. I don't think that was the line that brokered the deal with 20th Century Fox, but when you boil it down to it's constituent parts, it is scary how similar they are. Rainforest habitat, humans with their big bulldozers and greed, a human that is transformed into one of the natives. Which one am I talking about? The thing is, back in 1992 we didn't have the ability to make Avatar as we see it today. Cartoon animation was the best way to make a fantasy film 20 years ago (and more), not because it was more realistic but because the audience didn't expect it to be realistic, so could accept the story without the feeling of disbelief. With today's technology, anything short of photo-realism is dismissed and vast vaults of cash are poured into computer animation and rendering. Sadly, this often means that the budget is absorbed and nothing is left for i) good writing, ii) good directing and iii) good acting.

Sequels are another example of absent originality. It can be a curse for a movie to do well presently, as executives get dollar signs rolling in their eyes as they prepare for the next installment. It needn't have anything engaging in it, just the same characters/graphics/catchphrases. They don't know when to stop either. It all comes down to paper - will they make a profit? A sad fact about moviemaking: it doesn't matter if it is the best idea in the world, if there is a chance that it won't make a return on investment it won't exist. Sometimes they do make mistakes though, and a movie flops - maybe that's karma for all the great movies they didn't make because of greed.

When asked, most people have to think about what their favourite movie is. There are too many to choose from, they whine. Rubbish! There aren't enough films with the substance, direction, acting and plot required to make it into a top 10. My favourite film is Cinema Paradiso - not everybody's cup of tea and that is a real shame. It is an Italian film about a film director's childhood, and the relationships he had. It is a beautifully crafted and polished movie, and I would urge anyone who has not seen it to do so. Don't be put off by the subtitles - it actually engages you more in the film, and enables you to take in the grandeur of this classic. It doesn't rely on computer graphics, catchphrases, or any other Hollywood glitz - it is wonderful in its simplicity, even after 23 years.

Do Video Games Make Children Violent?

We all know what games I am talking about. They make news headlines with tedious frequency, and some games are so controversial that they become banned in some countries. These are the new 'video nasties'.

Not seen in My Horse and Me 2

As a game player myself, I have first-hand knowledge of what these games are about. I have witnessed the realism and violence in these games. I have also read the reports in the news, the accusations that have been directed at the developers, and the arguments that they have created.

The most popular debate that is currently going on is whether violent video games make children aggressive. It's a question that I liken to whether a pride of lions would shoot their prey if they were equipped with an arsenal of rifles. Of course, that is highly unlikely; the point I am making is that it simply shouldn't happen. We should only be able to hypothesise because lions don't have guns. Sure, there might be some irresponsible and naive gamekeeper somewhere in Africa that thinks it doesn't matter if he furnishes his animals with semi-automatic weapons, but that isn't the gun's fault. That's just down to human error, a fundamental flaw that we all bear.

PEGI rating: 18+

Violent video games are not meant for children, and that is the bottom line. Children are only playing them because their parents don't know or don't care, or both. The age restriction on games is not determined by a panel of mindless chimpanzees spinning a wheel to get the magic number - it is a thorough process. Pan European Game Information (PEGI - pegi.eu) rate all console and PC games, and state that only 4% of games are 18+. This is clearly visible on the front of every game case, helping people decide whether a game is suitable for the intended audience. There is also an option on video games consoles to moderate gaming so that children cannot play a game that is for an adult audience, among other restrictions. These safeguards have been put in place to minimise the amount of violence a child observes, but if they are not used and taken advantage of, then who do we blame?

Health and safety in the workplace is there to stop people cracking their heads open when they cut corners or do things they really shouldn't be doing. If somebody does balance precariously on the back of an office chair while being lifted on a forklift truck, and they fall and hurt themselves, we do not start shouting at the office chair manufacturer, or the forklift truck provider. Blame goes to the responsible party, as it should, and in the case of children playing violent video games the responsibility is with the parents or guardians.

Controversial 'No Russian' Level

Last year, Call of Duty: Modern Warfare 2 made waves with 'No Russian', a level that puts the player in control of an undercover operative infiltrating a Russian military gang. The level is set in a Russian airport, where the gang move throughout killing innocent people, then continue the rampage when heavily armed enforcers show up. In itself, it is not a great argument for violence in video games. The controversy caused masses of people to demand that the level was withdrawn, and I can only assume that the majority of these people knew nothing about it. The level itself is part of the game's storyline, and only aids the narrative to create an immersive world that can teach us a lesson. That lesson is not 'shoot people in public places', but for those jumping on the hate-wagon it doesn't matter. It also doesn't matter that players have the option of skipping the level at the start, and any point during the level. It is also possible to complete the level without shooting any innocent bystanders directly, and there are no definitive instructions that the player should shoot the civilians. None of this matters though. And apparently neither does the PEGI rating of 18+.

The bad press has created somewhat of a social stigma for gamers. Non-gamers look at us in the same way as non-smokers react to smokers. 'You do realise that it is going to make you aggressive?' or 'Why would anyone choose to play something that makes them killers?'. The fact that it is the biggest entertainment industry should account for something. I am just one gamer, and I have never thought about acting out a scene from Grand Theft Auto IV. If these video games make us all so violent, shouldn't we be seeing it everywhere we go? Millions of people play the games in question, yet I haven't seen millions of reports of fights, stabbings, car-jackings, etc. The few that do get violent after playing games might not be all that affected by the game itself. It could be argued that they are already violent, and only play the game as an outlet for their aggression.

It has been proven that people who play violent video games are desensitised to real-life violence. However, this could be true of the audience to many things - horror movies, sports, the news - there are so many ways to witness violence and the atrocities that go on. Video games seem to be the current scapegoat, and until we can all show a bit of responsibility I think it is going to stay that way.

So, do video games make children violent? Maybe. Should they be playing 18+ rated games? Nope.

Starting to Write

I have written stories for years. I don't want to mislead you here - I haven't written huge volumes of novels, in fact I haven't yet finished anything more than a short story. I have a novel that I have been writing for years, mainly because I haven't got the time to focus on it. I originally started it when I was bored at work almost ten years ago, just to pass the time. It was never meant to be anything more than that, and I surprised myself when I realised I was enjoying it, and started researching and mapping out the path that the characters took. Sadly, though, I came across a block that had me setting down my pen (keyboard) and I only recently revisited the half finished book. I aim to get it finished this year, along with another I have started, and see if anybody else likes them.

I have handed them around my family and friends, and they have given me some good feedback. Part of me thinks that this might be slightly biased so I feel the need to spread my prose to get a more rounded assessment. Not that I don't value the opinions of my loved ones, I certainly do. I don't have the kind of family that feels the need to crush other people's esteem in order to feel better about themselves. If they do, then they are doing a poor job because I haven't noticed!

To be honest, I write because I find it therapeutic. I would love to be published, but I am happy just to have people read my stuff and enjoy it. If nobody enjoys it, I am obviously doing something wrong - but I can't address that if nobody is reading it! I am optimistic that my Friday short episodic story entitled True Realm will get at least a few readers, and if I can keep it up it will serve to teach me about writing, and what I can expect if I am able to take it further. I am looking forward to what the future might bring!

Rugby Saturday

Today was an away game at Morley, playing against their third team. Traffic meant half the team were delayed in arriving until twenty minutes before kick-off, which meant pretty much zero warm up and practice. Not a good start, but we are the Old Modernians second team, and we are well experienced in playing without much of a warm-up.
The main pitch at Morley is big - it looks almost square, so there is plenty of width to spin the ball out and slip through the opposition's back line. But also plenty of room for them to run around our line, especially if there are any missed tackles. The spirit of the team is high before kick-off, and the team appear to be switched on to the game.
The first half started with our kick, so the forwards chased Ed's drop-kick deep into Morley's half. The ball was caught cleanly, but immediately spun out and their backs gave it a run. Obviously they didn't feel confident taking on the might of the Mods forwards.
Play seemed to move across the pitch without many breaks, tackles were made and taken, rucks and mauls hit by both sides with great energy. Morley appeared to have more power in the scrums early on, and they had an efficient line out which meant stealing was off the cards and disruption was kept to a minimum. But for all their discipline in the forward set pieces, it didn't stop Hatty getting the first try of the match, after a great run from the backs ending with a corner try.
There was a strange air of insanity around the game, which initially raised its misshapen head when Morley had a penalty in front of the sticks and made the right choice when opting for kicking for goal. While the ref was busy tending to an injured player, Morley's number 10 took the kick and astonishingly missed. However, the ref ruled that he hadn't seen it, so Morley had another go. This time, the kick was true and they put their first 3 points on the scoreboard.
Back into the thick of the game, Mods pushed towards Morley's try line. Full back Dan made an absolutely beautiful line from who knows where, blasting through the Morley line after receiving a pass from number 10 Ed, and scoring the second best try of the game. Most beautiful, definitely, but the best try came later.
Both sides managed to touch the ball down in the try-scoring areas before half time, but Mods started the second half with the lead.
Mods received the starting second-half kick, but quickly error was made with a knock-on and subsequent scrum. At this point, Mods had started to push back in the scrums and had even gained yards in some. Morley looked tired, and with chasing on the scoreboard there was no surprise.
After what recently could be considered the Mods' obligatory second half deficit, Morley took the lead at 25-24. After a tongue lashing from captain Dunnie, the Mods pushed forwards - and almost immediately conceded another unconverted try. 30-24. Not good.
Ed's quick thinking at the next kick-off, switching the kick to the unaware backs of Morley meant we went to another line out. Mods had started to ruffle some feathers in their opposition's line outs, and the intensity of the Mods' players was reaching an all-time high. There was an element of desperation, but experience and control meant the Mods could use it to their advantage. Scrum-half Rob almost scored, the ball held up by the defense of Morley's waning team over the line. Mods kept the aggression up, and managed another score with only minutes to spare. It was up to Ed to kick the ball through the posts to send us into the lead by a single point. Ed stepped up and as he started his path to glory, the Morley team bellowed a distractionary cry. Illegally. Ed's innocent demeanour was wobbled, and the ball hit the upright and bounced back onto the pitch. The score remained 30-29 to Morley. Time was completely against us.
Morley kicked the ball back into play from the halfway line, and the kick went too deep - out of play behind the dead-ball line. Mods had a scrum at half way, and everything to play for. The referee indicated that this would be the last play of the game, and Dunnie's burning enthusiasm spread throughout the team. The ball could not go out of play, we had to score. Ed decided that a win could be stolen from Morley if the forwards could drive up the field, enough for him to make a drop goal. Spirits were high even in this frantic situation, and the Mods kept their heads. The ball went through the hands of the backs from the scrum, and the forwards followed and set up a ruck inside Morley's 22. The try line was in sight, and Stu Kennedy took up the ball and rushed towards the posts. Morley piled in to stop the juggernaut, who managed to keep possession of the ball and present it for the backs. Receiving the ball, Ed looked up to see that the Mods had a two man overlap. The ball was spun out expertly, giving Giles the honour of crashing over the line and scoring the winning try. Without doubt, the best try of the game, and scored by every member of the team. Ed did not manage to convert it, but it didn't matter; the final score was 34-30 for the Old Modernians.
This was a huge effort by the 15 men that turned up to the game at Morley. With no substitutes, 100% was required from all members for the full 80 minutes, and nothing less was given. Good work guys.

True Realm: Episode 1

To give myself a bit of a challenge, I decided to start an episodic story. I'm not really sure which direction it is going to take, I haven't mapped out who or what is going to appear in it, or whether it will follow a similar structure each week. I'm just going to see how it goes, and hopefully I will have a new episode every Friday! Here is the first (of many)...

Crickets played their cheeping song, and moonlight filtered through the branches of the towering trees. The forest was still, which filled Nelevin with worry. He crouched behind an old rotting tree stump, his haunches starting to burn from holding the position. Slowly, he adjusted his posture without making a sound. An ice cold sensation swam through his legs and the burning faded. He eyed the clearing just ahead of him, but only bare patches of earth and moss-covered rocks looked back. Was this a trap? He had felt a shudder of doubt when he had arranged to meet with his mysterious aide. He held his breath as his ears picked up a murmuring from beyond the clearing. Voices. Coming closer. He strained to see who approached.
'Yes, here we are. Perfect. Well done Wormskall.'
'Thank you, Master. Wormskall knows it would be to Master's liking.'
Two figures shuffled into the clearing, and Nelevin could clearly see the difference between the two. 'Master' was a tall man, garbed in black with a long cloak and cowl casting a shadow over his face. Only the tip of his long, bony nose was visible, lit by the moonlight to give an eerie corpse-like hue. In his hand he held a dark wooden staff, misshapen and worn. He gestured to Wormskall with his free hand, who scuttled in front of him and unstrapped the leather sack he had been carrying.
'Yes, Master is happy with Wormskall. Wormskall is good.' Wormskall muttered to himself as he removed the items from the pack with anxious haste. He was the size of a child but moved around with a strange fluidity, as if he was made of mercury. His limbs were short but powerful and allowed him to lift the heavy looking rock-like objects without any strain, and placed them on the ground in what appeared to be a formation or order. Once they were set in place, he picked up a fallen branch and traced straight lines in the dirt between each of the large stones, and his Master stepped into the middle of the arrangement, where the lines intersected.
'I didn't think you would show up.' whispered a voice from behind Nelevin. He glanced around, eyes wide with surprise. 'Glad you did though, this is going to be pretty tough.'
Rizdok did not look the way Nelevin expected him to. He had built up an image of a behemoth of a man, muscular and dark, hate written across his features. Instead here was a slight, fair man, perhaps still a boy. His clothes were dark and thin, covering him but not giving any protection. He carried a small sword at his waist, and a sack made of coarse fabric was slung over his shoulder. He grinned at Nelevin, meeting his quizzical glare.
'Not what you expected? I get that a lot.'
Nelevin felt his face redden. He hadn't meant to show his shock, and looked away in shame. 'You took me by surprise, that is all.' He watched as the odd pair in the clearing performed some sort of ritual with the stones.
'These are the ones responsible for the Elder's deaths. They are using dark magic to bring spirits from the Otherworld to use as assassins. If we take their heads, it will get us a lot of coin. Are you ready Nelevin?'
'Yes, I was born ready. What is the plan?'
'You take the sorcerer and I will take his bodyguard.'
'Bodyguard?! He is three foot tall! And I get the one summoning spirits to do his bidding?! I don't think this partnership is going to last long Rizdok.'
'He is a Gromellek, Nelevin. Have you never come across one? Ha, you are in for a surprise! Anyway, I am going to go around the edge of the clearing. When you see me ready, put an arrow in the sorcerer and I will take the Gromellek.'
Rizdok crept around the edge of the clearing, always staying in the shadows and not making the slightest sound. Nelevin took an arrow from the quiver on his back and set it against the string of his bow, so that it was resting on the knuckle of his left hand where he gripped the shaft. Both men were ready.
'Master! Wormskall smells bad meat! Bad meat!' said the Gromellek with his nose in the air, sniffing. That was all Nelevin needed, and he sprang from behind the tree stump. While airborne he released the taught string on his bow, and sent the arrow directly at the cowled head of the sorcerer. As he watched the arrow near its target, the sorcerer raised his hand to meet it. Blue flames danced across his palm, and the arrow disappeared into the fire as if it was a portal to another land. Nelevin's face dropped, and the sorcerer pulled back his cowl and looked directly at him. His face was gaunt, his eye sockets set deep into his skull. His lips hardly covered his teeth, which looked as though there were too many to fit in his mouth. His skin looked grey, with darkness around his eyes like pools of ink. He did not look afraid at all, or even surprised.

Nelevin felt his skin shiver as the sorcerer spoke. Without blinking he fired off three more arrows, each one met the same fate as the first.
'Not too bright, are you?' the sorcerer asked, as he moved his staff with both hands. Orange sparks spat from the end of it, and a ball of light formed with a low moaning noise. Nelevin dived back behind the tree stump just before the ball of fiery energy shot passed him. What next? he thought.
He peered over the lip of the stump and saw Rizdok charging towards Wormskall. Nelevin could not believe his eyes. Wormskall seemed to be scratching at his skin, tearing the clothes from his back. He let out a mighty roar, and fell to the floor. His entire body looked as though it was vibrating, his skin turning redder and redder. Nelevin thought he heard a ripping sound, and watched as the muscle and sinew tore and grew across Wormskall's body. Finally, he stood stretching his limbs, his joints cracking and crunching. He was now at least three times taller, arms as thick as a normal man's chest and a grotesque bulging head dripping with glistening fluid. A clawed hand shot out and grabbed the onrushing Rizdok by the throat, stopping him in his tracks. The short sword he was wielding flailed around, cutting in to the flesh around the beast's wrist. Wormskall bellowed in pain, and threw his assailant sending him smashing into a dead tree next to Nelevin. He lay unmoving for moments, before moaning and turning onto his back. He managed to croak at Nelevin.
'Throat. You have to cut his throat.'
'How am I supposed to do that? Maybe when he was three foot tall, but now I can't even reach his throat!'
Interrupted by another war-cry, Nelevin pulled 2 arrows from a quiver strapped to his right leg, aimed and released sending both arrows at the beast. They struck him in the chest, stopping his roar and causing him to look down at the thin splinters standing out from his flesh. A swollen hand lifted and tried to pull them out, but he could not get a purchase on them. Frustrated, he roared to the sky, both hands raised towards the heavens. Nelevin didn't hesitate in sending every arrow he had at the beast, each one puncturing his throat and lodging there.
'Master?' Wormskall croaked, gurgling with the blackened blood that spilled from his lips. He stood where he was, looking at his master, pleading visible in his bloodshot eyes. 'Master?'
The beast toppled with an earth-shaking thud, dead. Rizdok was already up and moving past Nelevin. He reached into his sack and pulled out three silver blades, each the length of writing quill. Rizdok shouted in a tongue Nelevin did not recognise, and threw one of the blades. He span, throwing the second and then the third. The wake of each blade seemed to shimmer and distort, and Nelevin swore that they started to glow as they span through the air.
'Fool,' the sorcerer said, raising his hand to stop the projectiles.Blue flames engulfed his palm again, but as the silver daggers touched the flames, and bright green spark lit the clearing. The sorcerer howled in pain.
'I'm no fool, conjurer. My knives are made with blessed metals - designed to ignore your devilment. Stings, doesn't it?'
The sorcerer panted, holding his bloodied hand to is chest. The knives were sticking out of his hand, forearm and shoulder. His face was contorted with the pain he felt.
'That pain you are feeling, that will be spreading through your body right now. Your blood will be on fire. It might look like a flesh wound, but the magiks surrounding those blades is a deadly poison. One that not even a filthy dark sorcerer like you can cure.' Rizdok raised his sword, smiled, and swung the blade through the sorcerer's neck.
'Is that it?' Nelevin asked.
'Yes, that's it. I thought they would put up more of a fight, bit of a shame really. Still, money's money, and this will pay richly back at the guild. There's more like it if you are interested - I think we make a pretty good team!'

Okay, that's your lot for this week! Remember to check back next week for episode 2!

\rant

I'm a laid-back sort of guy. I don't let things get to me, and if I do lose my temper it's never for very long. That being said, my opinion is always something I stand by. It irks me when people say 'You think you are always right', because I can't see a great deal of use spouting garbage-infested inaccuracies if you believe them to be untrue. And I'm not saying that I am always right; from time to time I back the wrong horse, or history changes to make a liar of me. But I never argue my case if I think it is incorrect, that is preposterousness beyond my comprehension.

Being wrong is something that we all have to deal with from time to time. Some more than me others. I would like to think that I am decent enough to acknowledge when I am proven to be in the wrong, and I show my acknowledgement by sticking my fingers in my ears and blurting 'Blah, blah, blah! I can't hear you!'.

On a serious note, if you are wrong you should just admit it. It saves a lot of embarrassment in the long run, because if you keep arguing your point you just look more and more foolish. And if you find yourself getting angry when you are putting your point across, regardless of who is right, it's probably best to just forget it. When discussions become heated, things can escalate quickly and perhaps some phrases might fall from your lips that you hadn't planned on voicing, or that heavy blunt object in your hand is looking more and more like a tool that you should use to bludgeon your beliefs into others. It rarely works.

I do think, though, that arguing has its merits. If you are in a relationship and you argue incessantly, you should probably think about going your separate ways. However, if you do not argue at all then you have either got the perfect relationship (which doesn't exist), you are being drugged by your lover (that actually happens all the time), or you don't care enough about each other to bother arguing. The latter is the more likely of the three, and again you should probably start shopping around. Unless your careless partner is a millionaire, or something that completely outweighs the loveless prison you have built for yourself. Occasional arguments in a relationship are good - they help you to understand each other more, show that you have passion for each other, and sometimes you argue your point because you think it will better your significant other. From time to time, of course, you argue because they are doing that really annoying thing that you just can;t stand and you've told them hundreds of times before but they just don't listen and keep on and on and... well, nobody's perfect.

The First of Many

Well, today was a bit of a disappointment. Work was as it always is: a chore. The day passed by while I watched unamused, then after the tedium was over, it was time for the first meeting of a writer's club I have joined (can you join something before it has started?). We actually started it last year, kind of. We attended a writing course with Ian Clayton, then another earlier this year. From there, we decided that we would meet once a month or so, tonight being the starting point. Except it wasn't. There were only two of us, everybody else bailed! If at first, you don't succeed...

Anyway, I had written a short piece for my clubmates to peruse, but as they weren't there to have a gander, I will publish it here. Of course, with this being a new blog, I don't expect anyone to read it - other than the obligatory family members/girlfriend (separate people, before I am accused of incest). I must also warn any potential readers to the insinuated nudity throughout most of the story. Enjoy.

A Day in the Park

I was glad that my breathing had returned to normal. These days it takes longer for me to recover.Another benefit of getting older I suppose.

I stepped onto the cold tiled floor and made my way to one of the shower heads. I don't know whether the process of showering afterwards is to remove the dirt or to remove the feeling; it is refreshing and obviously cleans the body, but it also helps to get rid of the intensity, and wind down after being so worked up. As it turns out, it also helps to bring back memories from the last eighty minutes.

I pressed the button below the shower head, and felt the sudden cascade of cold water on my face - albeit a weak cascade. The water gradually warmed, and I began cleaning my body and soul. As I started to rub my hands over my face to remove the mud, sweat and anything else that shouldn't be there, I was reminded of the opening five minutes of the game by the tender area below my right eye.

The whistle blows, and Ed drop-kicks the ball high into the air, aiming for the middle of the opposition's spread out pack. The ball is caught by one of their forwards, just in time for the arrival of some of the members of my pack. Both sides have competent teams, and the ball gets tied up in a maul. I arrive and charge in head first, ready to help shove the mass of bodies towards their try line. As my shoulder makes contact with one of the entangled bodies, my face meets the elbow of one of their players as he wrestles to free the ball. It hits me like a sledgehammer, directly in the eye socket. The pain swims through my head but is brief, and after shaking it off I dive back into the game.

I recalled the memory, realising that had his elbow been just one inch to the left, my nose would have been splattered across my face. I continued to wash, using shower gel and the trickle of water to help scrub away the mud. As the lathered foam ran down the back of my left leg, I was reminded of the early moments of the second half by the stinging wound running from my calf to my ankle.

A deep kick from inside our twenty-two from the full back, Dan, sends the ball back into their half. The swifter of our players give chase, but the referee has spotted that one of them is offside and gives a penalty. They opt to kick the ball out of play back in our twenty-two, and we form the two lines ready for a line-out. Their hooker, a miserable veteran with a crop of whitish-grey hair, stands on the touch line ready to throw the ball between our formed lines. I have taken my place as second in our line, with my teammate Sam standing in front of me holding the bottom of my shorts. Behind me another bulky fellow forward readies himself, gripping the backs of my thighs. As the ball is launched into the air, I leap up to intercept the throw. My two assistants lift me as if I am made of feathers, displaying no signs of effort or struggle, and I manage to rise in front of my opposite number in the line. I manage to tap the ball down to Dunnie at scrum-half, who spins the ball out to Ed while I am still airborne. I am returned to Earth half a second before the opposing player that I have just deftly stolen the pass from. As he lands, the studs on his boot scrape down my calf. Searing pain shoots through my leg, but it is forgotten a moment later as adrenaline allows me to chase the kick that has sent the ball back into their half.

Well, that definitely left a mark. I inspected the thick, angry red lines on the back of my leg, and found that I was pleased with my war wound, as if it was a badge of honour. I finished washing and rinsing, grabbed my towel and headed back to the changing room. Dunnie was standing in the centre of the room, half stripped and grinning from ear to ear, addressing all that would listen to his post-match captain's speech.

'Great game lads, we were caught sleeping at the beginning of the second half, but we showed that we can switch it on and work as a team. Well done!'

'What was that fight all about?'

'Dunnie threw his toys out the pram, I think someone recognised him from that hairdresser show.'

'So why did their winger run sixty yards and just start throwing punches at anyone?!'

'Er, that anyone was me! Thanks a lot!'

Changing room banter never changes; win, lose or draw everyone has something to say and it generally results in some good-humoured mockery of someone. As I listened, and joined in, I was reminded of why I play rugby: the game is great, but the brotherhood that comes from being part of a team makes the scratches, scrapes and occasional broken bones worthwhile.

Based on a true story. And we won.

On the Precipice of Change

I have decided to start a blog. I know, I know - I'm a few years late at jumping on the bandwagon, but we all have to start somewhere, right?

I have spent my working life moving slowly from job to job, never really realising my potential and merely coasting along without racing up the career ladder as I had aspired to do when at school. I don't really have anyone else to blame, although I do a lot of finger-pointing until it sinks in that I am the one responsible for my actions. It really is something we all have to make peace with; when dealing with regret and what ifs, it is always - and I mean always - down to the choice maker (that's you). Not those that could be construed as an influence on the decision, nor actions or events that resulted in the decision being made. It is all your fault! Just deal with it, and move on.

So, I now want to make a change. 30 is grinning at my maniacally from its perch, about to descend on me and wither my already waning bones. My achievements are too few to mention, and my goals that I made as an impressionable (and slightly naive) youngster have drowned in the abyss of wrong choices (my fault - see above). However, I have found that I enjoy some creative writing. A bit of escapism, an oulet to channel my vast meager energies, a chance for some praise and recognition. In any case, it is what I want to do. I have written a few short stories, and have started a longer story (not sure how long yet), but the main aim is to see my name in print.

This blog is going to follow my journey. Wish me luck.